Canto V

Already had the time prescribed expired,
And still the fort Nasidio maintained ;
By word and countersign his friends conspired,
To promise succour if he but remained ;
The Potta hummed, the king's advice required,
What vengeance should be given for truth disdained.
The dawn was only glimmering, dimly veiled,
When, on a hundred sides, the fortress he assailed.

The Germans and the Cremonese were there
By Bosio Duara thither led ;
And horsemen, Modenese, tossing in air
Their banners, — o'er the field in legions spread ;
The Potta his own troops inspired with care,
Promising cash, and honour too ! he said :
"The first who scales the walls, with struggle hard,
"Two thousand golden crowns are his reward !

"One thousand to the second, to third
"Five hundred !" Therefore, running- to ascend
And try their valour, so intensely stirred,
All feel like heroes ; boldly they contend ;
But the assailed, who cautiously inferred
What might, too surely, be their wretched end,
For breaking faith, and promises neglecting,
With desperate fury fight — their posts protecting.

They from the embattled walls now hurl a shower
Of stones and arrows, mortal and astounding ;
The assailants also with intrepid power
Move their machinery on, the foe confounding ;
The cross-bows make them all with horror cower,
Producing cruel harm, destroying, wounding ;
Soon as a bust popped up, ashamed of masking,
"T'was most exactly hit by Mastro Pasquin. ".

I do not think the Greek geometrician,
Old Archimedes, showed superior skill ;
Among the deeds the Muse with nice precision
Records, she speaks of one he chanced to kill ;
Bastian da Sant' Oreste — in derision
This jester turned his back, contemptuous still;
So Pasquin quickly, nothing could protect him,
Drove an unerring dart right up his rectum.

Three times the dreadful storming was renewed,
Successive squadrons to the attack repairing- ;
Within the ditch, and on the walls were strewed
Dead bodies numberless—with eye-balls glaring ;
When fierce Ramberto scaled, with fortitude,
The rock, and snatched the standard, proudly flaring;
Meanwhile his troops, with arrows sharp and true,
Made clear the battlements, and windows too,

Sandrin Pedoca, Luca Ponticel,
And Battistin Panzetta—all were near ;
Alas ! the second by an arrow fell,
Shot by del Gesso — christened Berlinghier.
But see Ramberto now the summit scale,
Confronted with the captain ; not with spear,
But hedge-bill armed, Nasidio ran with speed,
To yield assistance in that hour of need.

Soon as his foot was on the embrasure,
He fixed his standard, and his shield opposed
Against Nasidio ; who, to make more sure
His blow, with both hands round the hedge-bill closed,
Struck him and threatened a discomfiture ;
The shivered corslet left the arm exposed,
And wounded. Thus, Ramberto partly foiled,
Poison and fury in his bo som boiled.

He darts upon Nasidio, And fiercely grasps
His sinewy throat, and then his loins amain ;
Nasidio likewise his opponent clasps,
Throws down his hedge-bill to augment ihe strain;
On this side and on that like foaming asps
They struggle, tug, the mastery to gain ;
Their limbs are twisted round each other tight,
Now to the left they roll, and now the right.

Nasidio roared : — " Release me — take him off,
"Or I shall perish in his dragon-fold,"
The other, furious from the first rebuff,
Uplifted him with might ; firm in his hold
He kept him hanging' on the brink, — enough ;
Then forthwith plunged below—below they rolled ;
Ovid's descendant falling through the air,
"Gesu" exclaimed — " I am going — Lord knows where !"

Down in the fosse, deep at the very base
Of the assaulted fortress, there was thrown
A mass of putrid dung, it was a place
The filthiest that perhaps was ever known ;
There both together fell — 'twas hard to trace
Their dress or fig-ure — injury there was none,
Saving a savoury plunge of stink and stain ;
For soon they viewed the heavenly sphere again.

The contest is renewed with furious heat,
Like two mad forest boars with hatred burning ;
Splashing amidst the mud they grunting meet,
And gnash their crooked tusks, submission spurning;
But the Potta's men beheld the desperate feat,
And to them without ceremony turning,
From the proud conqueror they bore away
Nasidio, captive, in profound dismay.

Before the Potta was Nasidio brought,
And he was punished with extreme severity ;
In memory of engagements set at nought,
And as a right example to posterity ;
To his prodigious nose with wire, red-hot,
A badge was stuck with surgical dexterity ;
Giving a further proof of the success
Of his perfidious tricks and wickedness!

Meanwhile the flag, with which Rambert ascended,
And planted on the battlements, was spread ;
Sandrin and Battistin their charge defended,
And many others by the example led ;
But on that spot so vigorously contended
The enemy's troops, and still the struggle fed,
That there the tug of war was terrible,
And none could get into the citadel.

Behold upon the fosse suddenly rose
The Queen of Love, to great Voluce's sight !
Hid, in a golden cloud, she sparkling glows,
And stimulates him to pursue the fight ;
Shows him the captive leader, and his foes
Assembled, full of terror and affright ;
All on the planted standard hang their fate,
And the dire conflict at the abandoned gate.

This was enough, for soul magnanimous ;
Rekindled was his valour once again ;
Turning towards his soldiers, emulous,
He takes the flower, the choicest, for his train ;
Scours to the gateway gallantly, and thus
Inspires them all with terrible disdain ;
Attolino, Folco, Bagarotto, fly
To the same spot, and others urge — to die.

Inflamed with fiercest wrath he fearless stood,
Upon the threshold threatening desolation,
And with his weapon struck the solid wood ;
The lofty portal shook to its foundation.
Others the ram, with mighty force endued,
Applied, and hurled, with such determination,
That bars and clamps were loosened by the shock,
And all around re-echoed to the stroke.

The frightened few who then on guard remained,
Cast stones, and propped up what was doomed to fall,
Afflicted by their fears,— their courage drained,
They peeped through slits and loop-holes in the wall ;
But from the blow, the shattered wood sustained,
Down dropped the bolt-work, barricades and all ;
And from the hinges great Voluce tore
The lofty gate at once, with a prodigious roar,

As it occurs when that most sacred gate
Is opened by the Pope, five lustres oer ;
When crowds from distant provinces await,
At Rome, the ancient Mother to adore ;
Useless alike is barrier, chain, or grate,
To stop the pilgrim-squadrons ; more and more
Roll on, a dreadful deluge, those who stop
Are smothered by the mob, and lifeless drop.

So at the enemy's gate, at once o'erthrown,
Impetuous forward rushed the eager crowd ;
And cries of blood and death, and many a moan
Of horror marked the passage ; and the proud,
Valiant, and timorous, met one destiny, one.
The victor scatters every hostile cloud ;
The vanquished flee, and skulking cede their arms,
And kneeling down, for mercy ask, in swarms.

But they nor courtesy nor mercy find ;
In vain they plead, in vain they ask for life ;
The Potta Castelfranco has consigned
To be a lasting mark of coward strife,
And broken faith : revenge o'erpowers his mind,
No pity smiles where flame and sword are rife ;
Reduced to ashes ! towers so fair to see !
That loveliest castle in all Lombardy.

And now amidst the ruins, black and drear,
Down sits the victor-chief — awhile to rest ;
"When lo ! a distant tumult meets his ear,
Resounding o'er the plain ; — 'twas manifest
The enemy's battalions were near,
Knowing the peril his allies opprest.
And hence, the notes upon the breezes flung,
With horn and trumpet, hill and forest rung.

Mvse! thou who sung the memorable deeds
Of the mouse-king, and gallant frogs of yore;
So that they still through Heliconian meads,
Bloom with the same fresh beauty as before ;
Of the proud enemy who now proceeds
To war, the names, their bravery and power
Narrate ; — united closely to confound
The city for fine sausages renowned !

When fame had spread abroad the preparation
For the new strife, Bologna had begun ;
The noble enterprize and the occasion
Drew fourteen cities in defence of one ;
The empire trembled, and the church's station
Grew prouder, Italy seemed chilled to stone ;
And I believe the Mamaluke Soldan sent
News to the cuckow-king of their intent.

The pope was of the church and Guelfic side
The father and protector; he had heard
In France the rumour, duly certified,
The cause, too, of the conflict was averred.
And his own faith and valour, often tried,
To show, he not a moment's space demurred,
But sent a nuncio ; — who from Austria came,
His own domestic priest, Querenghi was his name

He was a linguist, and a good one too ;
A famous bard in Tosco and Latino ;
An orator, philosopher, and knew
By heart the whole of Sainted Agostino ;
But he was not a cardinal 'tis true,
Because the pope thought him a Ghibellino.
After returning from the nunciate — he
Thus lost his labour and expectancy.

He was a Paduan, that too was not right ;
Subject to Ezzelin, though free from blame ; ";
The Roman pontiff never took delight
In trusting any of that luckless name ;
But as a priest and courtier polite,
He, above others, was endeared to fame ;
And thus by showing a wise man neglect,
The pompous pontiff gathered no respect.

He left Vienna quickly by the post,
And passing midst the Alps a broken bridge,
The faithless horse his equilibrium lost,
And without one word to his lawful liege
Fell down; — beneath him was the prelate tost,
And he above upon the slippery ridge,
The nuncio thus thrown headlong from his pad, ",
Rose with a broken arm, an omen bad !

A litter then conveyed him on his way,
With shoulder out of architectural line,
And to Bologna got that very day
On which the troops were marching ; the divine
Was forthwith robed in clerical array,
Uy old Don Santi, on the walls to shine ;
There as he stands the squadrons by him stream,
Lowering their arms in token of e.steem.

And he, with open outstretched hand, above
The friendly concourse, courteously bestowed
His benedictions with most Christian love ;
Which from his heart spontaneously flowed ;
And when the people saw the crosses move,
They fell upon their knees upon the road,
Crying " Viva il Papa, Bonsignor,
"And death to Frederic the Emperor."

But as his right hand was with splints confined,
He blessed them with the left ; — and hence they wrote
To tell the pope he had to them consigned
A wretched Ghibelline priest ; for so they thought.
Enough; — the people, martially combined,
Went out, and first, Perugians of note
Three thousand—by the church commissioned there,
Led by Paulucci to that cruel war.

He from a courtier turned a soldier gay,
And Hugonots and Calvinists deserted ;
Made red the Scheld, and then he took his way
To France, and fought by Navarrese converted ;
He sailed the Danube, and his next essay
Was in the west, and higher schemes concerted ;
The Pyrenees he crossed, and went to Spain ;
And carried back by sea gloves of Ocagn.

His golden armour had a splendid gloss,
And various hues composed his upper vest;
So gracefully he tripped the field across,
That he seemed dancing, dancing too his best.
A proud and desperate band, of men the dross,
He led, such men as equally detest
Both enemy and friend; and only love
In deeds of blood and vengeance to improve.

The banner of Milan was next, and brought
In shoe and saddle numerous people, bent
On plundering prog ; and they, by hunger wrought,
Made tripe and fritters dear where'er they went ;
Bold Tagliapelle, Marion di Marmott,
Led on six thousand foot, to battle sent ;
A thousand horsemen had two captains bold,
Martin di Torrian young, and Galeazzo old.

The third bright standard was the Florentine,
With horse and foot five thousand, fresh and flaunty,
Led forward by Antonfrancesco Din,
And Averard di Baccio Cavalcanti ;
Then partridge was not known, nor marzolin,
Nor turkey, nor the rich wine of Chianti ;
Their victuals were tough cheese, and nuts, beside
Chesnuts and.apples, in the sunbeams dried.

Of these they had, in bags and baskets, laden
A thousand asses when from home they parted,
That hunger might not their battalions deaden,
And the rough travelling make them sickly-hearted.
But they the sumpter-beasts with care had spread on
Gay painted cloths, which other thoughts imparted,
For at a distance from above, below,
Truly superb and pompous was the show.

But still more numerous was the fourth division,
And beautiful and charming to the sight;
The Donna of the Po with prompt decision
Had sent her choicest warriors to the fight ;
Resplendent youths, elated by ambition,
Were under arms, in lace and purple dight ;
Glittered the gold, and helmets sparkles cast,
As the intrepid foot and horsemen passed.

Three thousand cavalry, and twice that number
Of foot trod mother Earth, and made her groan ;
Maurilio Turchi led the tramping lumber,
Bevilacq Borso led the horsemen on;
But far o'er all who did the roads encumber
With succours for Bologna, proudly shone
The towering Salinguerra, glorious knight !
At whose great name earth trembled with affright,

He "d lately of Ferrara got possession,
And to the church his enmity betrayed ;
Yet the Bolognians by great intercession,
And weighty gifts could only gain his aid ;
The nuncio who 'd receive the right impression,
Held over him his hand, but still delayed,
Till he had passed, and then the cross he signed ;
This Salinguerra saw, and scornful looked behind.

Him the best troops of low Romagna follow,
All volunteers, preferring his command ;
Lugo, Argenta, Massa, Bagnacavallo,
Colognola, and Barbian, hero-land ;
These with the others joined wore not so small a
Contingent; but, as he with judgment planned,
They soon were parted ; Faceo di Milan
Was captain of the foot, an honest man.

Now Cervia and Ravenna, under one
Bright banner pass successively, with spears
And spits armed lightly, each a champion ;
Guido Polenta as their chief appears,
The numerous host of Cervian troops had thrown
A shade o'er many a furlong, if the fears
Of noxious air had not removed them thence,
O'er all the world, as from a pestilence.

The infantry in gallant order passed,
And then a troop of warriors in succession ;
On foot two hundred, and three hundred classed
As men inhorsed Florentine expression) ;
Upon a fine bay horse of noble caste,
Ravenna's Signer led the grand procession ;
The courser had a star, one foot was white,
And pranced along the plain with proud delight.

With the sixth standard followed Rimini ;
The second son of Malatesta led
One thousand horse, one thousand infantry,
His fate to lovers a sad tale conveyed.
Unhappy youth! how shrunk with misery ;
His pallid mien and lovely looks displayed,
Engraven deep, the flame consuming life,
Which glowed within him for his brother's wife.

To him Francesca gave the golden chain,
At parting-time, from which his sword was hung ;
The wretched lover gazed at it with pain,
Adding new pangs to those his heart had wrung';
The more he sought to fly the luscious bane,
The firmer he was bound, the deeper stung ;
His furious passions mastered reason quite,
And counsel then was useless in his sight.

"Why, Mistress," said he, " Mistress of my heart!
"Bind me again, and with your own sweet hand ?
"Did not the other chain perform its part,
"The chain of love, by which I captive stand ;
"Captive to peerless beauty, without art ;
"Haply my woe you will not understand,
"Mad, mad, I am, all mad; I own it true;
"But who has drawn me from myself but you "?

"You with those speaking eyes gave hope to mine,
"When you perceived the lambent flame of love
"Sparkle and meekly ask at beauty's shrine
"For pity, saddest torments to remove ;
"But why, alas ! why do I thus repine,
"As if my own ingratitude to prove ;
"And take ungraciously, with spirits broken,
"From one so fair, so dearly loved a token ?

"Spoil of my mistress, beautiful and rare !
"By her bestowed, come, come along with me ;
"So that her love may still my soul ensnare,
"Binding me up in chains eternally;
"Thou shalt renew my hope, and crush despair ;
"And thou a solace to my pain shalt be !"
Kissing it o'er and o'er again, he goes,
And every kiss alleviates his woes.

The love-lorn youth passed on, and close behind
The people of Faenza, gentle, good,
Excepting two, the menial grooms, assigned
To Capitan Fracassa, of the blood
Of brave Manfredi, honoured by mankind,
In that degenerate age a rock he stood ;
With him six hundred and a hundred more,
Arms of the finest manufacture wore.

Then came Cesena, under the command
Of Maynard Susinana, who had made
Himself a Signor, aided by his band,
Wicked and impious; rapine was their trade ;
He had eight hundred, each a bold brigand,
Accustomed to a life of toil ; he said
He had no horsemen, but his infantry
Were better than another's cavalry.

The ninth division were the Imolese,
Petro Pagani led them full of bravery ;
A thousand a hundred Bandarese,
Pickpockets, thieves, and adepts at all knavery;
And after them the gallant Forlivese,
By Ordilaffs reduced to utter slavery ;
Scarpetta was their chieftain, and ne other,
Because, they say, he was the elder brother.

Next followed Forlimpopoli, and then
A city no less famed, no less renowned,
Sinbald, the younger brother, led his men
Under another banner, they were found
To be eight hundred, armed with bows, and ten
Good hundred more the others, o'er the ground
They marched, as in review, with vast precision,
Which showed their gallant hearts and fine condition.

With Fano's people at the back of these,
Sagram Bicardi to the Nuncio bowed ;
And led a thousand foot, upon the seas
Well practised pirates. Fossombruno pro"d,
Pesaro, and the neighbouring Senigaglese,
Fidelity to Malatest avowed ;
And with the flag of Paulo hurried on
To the sixth squadron, thus their speed was shown.

The choicest of Romagna having past,
Behold the waggon issue from the gate,
Covered with glittering gold, and o'er it cast
The spoils and trophies of the dead ; the great
Standard is there seen fluttering from the mast.
Escorted by a hundred horse in state,
And other valiant warriors give their aid,
By Captain Tog Lambertazzi led.

Twelve oxen of enormous stature:drew
The waggon, three and three, their covering, gear,
And top-knots, scarlet silk — gaily in view
The Pretor of Bologna sat, and near
Him on the top his family, not a few,
Crowning the equipage, from front to rear;
Purple and yellow robes they all had on,
Cross-bows and hatchets o'er their shoulder thrown.

Filip Ugone Brescian was his name,
With double chin, or dangling dew-lap, graced ;
He wore a gown, to which his rank had claim,
Of rustling stiff brocade, superbly laced ;
The standard and the richly laden team
Were guarded by four hundred, duly placed
In pairs, their horse-apparel swept the ground,
From Brescia sent with loyalty profound.

Then the Petronian infantry were seen,
With all their baggage, and machinery,
Twenty-six thousand strong, of threatening mien,
Led by the good Count Romeo Pepoli ;
His arms of silver chaced with gold and green,
And Braccalon da Casalecchio ; he,
Left handed, on his dexter shoulder held
His shield and cross-bow, in the battle field.

The infantry passed on, and after them
The horsemen, and three squadrons, formed with care ;
They were led on by Bigon di were,
Among, the best Bologna knew that war;
And by Malvizzo's sons, each son a gem,
Perinto and Peritio, gallant pair;
Unequalled and resplendent in command,
The most illustrious of the warrior band.

Bologna and Romagna to the tight
Poured all they could supply, and pushing on,
Seven miles along the road, encamped at night
In martial order, till the following dawn :
And when the windows for the king of light
Were opened to peep through and gild the lawn,
A thousand trumpets thrilled the aerial arch,
And, well refreshed, the troops resumed their march.

They had not journeyed far, before they knew
Of Castelfranco's fall, by many a tongue
Repeated ; forthwith all the squadrons flew
In hopes of meeting with the enemy, long
Ere they had rested; Salinguerra drew
Apart the right wing, whilst the left, as strong,
The Bolognese retained, thinking the king
Upon that side his gallant force would bring.

With Salinguerra were the Florentines
Firmly united, and the Milanese ;
A squadron with them of the Perugines,
And cavalry, composed of Riminese;
Ravenna's Signor, and the Faentines,
Fano, Imola, and the Forlivese,
Pesaro, Fossombruno, Sinigaglia,
Kept in the centre part della battaglia.

The waggon midst the Bolognese remained
As usual, and was zealously defended
By numerous knights, foot soldiers, duly trained ;
Machinery too for deadly acts intended ;
Then moved the camp and order strict maintained,
And as the sun's bright coursers had ascended
The top of heaven, before the foe they came,
The plains and mountains echoing with acclaim.

The Modenese now issuing forth appear,
From Castelfranco with heroic might ;
Joined with Sardinia's king they boldly rear
Their standard, distant but an arrow's flight ;
And place in front their bravest, free from fear,
Extend their flanks at once to left and right ;
Pursuing thus a wise and prudent course
Not to be shut in by superior force.

Upon the left a stagnant pond extends ;
There, good four thousand bean-eaters obey
Bosio Duara, hungry-stomached friends ;
He had not all the Cremonese that day,
But numerous chesnut-crunchers made amends,
Drawn from the mountains in their strange array ;
The cavalry of good Manfredi hovered
About them, and both flanks completely covered.

In the right column to the southern breeze
The royal standard was unfolded ; there
King Enzio stood, with his Garfagnanese,
And lowland tribes embodied for the war;
Right gloriously, with majesty and ease,
He looked, his upper vest with many a star,
And golden eagle trimmed; his plumes were white,
And under him a steed impatient for the fight.

The royal youth had not his nineteenth year
Attained, and yet he half a giant seemed ;
Flaxen his hair, he was without compeer
In mien and valour ; where the battle gleamed
In horsemanship, in letting fly the spear,
In running, swift of foot, a wonder deemed.
With lance or sword in tourney, or the field,
The palm to him all rival warriors yield.

On every side he bustles, and excites
His wretched rogues to die without a fear !
But in the midst the furious Potta bites
His hands, because Gherardo is not near ;
And then he Tommasin Gorzan invites
To lead the Modenese on foot; and here
It was a bad exchange, upon my life !
To give a stick the office of a knife !