ABSTRACT TEOFILO FOLENGO: ECCE HOMO

ABSTRACT TEOFILO FOLENGO: ECCE HOMO Ann Mullaney Yale University 1984 Teofilo Folengo (1491-1544), although the author of several very popular volumes, remains largely unknown today. His lack of fame is partially due to his extensive use of pseudonyms: he is better known as Merlin Cocaio or Aquario Lodola than as Teofilo Folengo. The web of biographies which Folengo wove around his pseudo-personages caught the attention of too many positivist critics. These scholars have executed valuable studies on Folengo’s “real” life, but in doing so they have discarded his intricate play of authorial figures. In addition to the dozen prefatory pieces and the myriad cameo appearances of authorial names and authorial personalities within the texts, there is one entire volume, the Chaos del Triperuno which is dedicated to the evolution of one self from the interaction among Folengo’s leading pseudoselves. This work especially merits the consideration of scholars who are not intent upon proving the Catholic or the unorthodox nature of the Benedictine Folengo’s writings. While it is true that the monk took a firm stance on many of the salient issues of his day: faith over works, mistrust of intermediaries for confession and prayer, p. i the improperness of buying salvation and the necessity of clerical reform, as well as the “questione della lingua,” the “moderns versus the ancients,” etc., he is far too rich an author to be co-opted by any one group. The Chaos is composed mainly in Italian poetry and prose, but the epic poem for which Merlin Cocaio is justly famous, is written in Macaronic Latin (a hybrid construct of Classical Latin and Northern Italian dialects). Folengo’s choice of this language – in use in the late fifteenth century mostly for short humorous poems – for his 15,000 hexameter Baldus constitutes another reason for our poet’s scant fame. Macaronic Latin is not an easy language to read. “Teofilo Folengo: Ecce Homo” examines in chronological order, the appearances of the author within and around all of his major works. It examines these passages directly and does not explain them away as true or false according to information gleaned from other sources. This dissertation also addresses itself to the problem of Folengo’s lack of recognition in his own era, despite the vast number of printings and reprintings of his works. Teofilo very often alludes to contemporary poets; he praises Ariosto extensively and chides him for his failure to acknowledge his indebtedness to Boiardo. But only Rabelais seems to have embraced Folengo, or rather, Merlin Cocaio, as one of the great authors of his day. “Teofilo Folengo: Ecce Homo” presents a well-rounded view of the author in his works and in his world. p. ii TEOFILO FOLENGO: ECCE HOMO A Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Yale University in Candidacy for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy by Ann E. Mullaney December 1984 Copyright by Ann E. Mullaney 1984 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ACKOWLEDGMENTS All of my good teachers, from my parents, siblings and neighbors, to my Professors and colleagues at Yale University, deserve my most heartfelt thanks. They have shown a largess of spirit and of time which I can repay only indirectly now, to my new colleagues and students at the University of New Hampshire. Mine was a left-handed approach to the Doctoral program, and I both needed and appreciated the example of my right-witted friends: mellifluous John McLucas, my knight in shining armor in so many arenas; Carla Freccero, my strongest link to Ivy League seminars and the sixties; keenminded and charming Barbara Spackman; and my cheerful computer tutors, Professors Marilyn Migiel and Leslie Morgan. I would also like to thank David Hensley, Lee Andrews and Florence Moore who provided respectively a fresh outlook on Graduate studies and a most humane atmosphere for Departmental life. I am indebted to my expert readers: Professors Dante Della Terza, Margaret Ferguson, and Thomas Greene, whose contributions will certainly lead to an improved version of this study. Above all, I will continue to thank Paolo Valesio, Professor first of politics and linguistics, then of poetry and “cosis tam subtilibus quas homines non decet eloquitur.” Somehow, back in the late summer of p. iii 1976, in just a few moments, Professor Valesio managed to pull together everything I had ever studied. Folengo was just one of the gifts which followed from the dozens of courses, the many lectures, the several books and bountiful articles, which Paolo offered to us all. My hopes for future collaboration, if not with Paolo, with other scholars of language and literature, history and psychology, are very high. For now, I must extend my gratitude again to John McLucas for his careful editing and encouragement, and to Moira MacDonald Dow who found more than mere “typos” in the penultimate draft. Finally, I would like to thank Jo, Karen, Leslie, Eden, Mary Jane and the Rolling Stones. p. iv CONTENTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS CHAPTER p. iii page 1. FIRST NAMES 1 Bio-bibliography 3 Merlin before and after Cocaio 16 Macaronic exordium 31 On the periphery 47 The first Baldus 48 Author named characters 49 Merlin to the rescue 54 2. THE TOSCOLANA EDITION: PROLIFERATION AND POLEMIC Continuing Life and times 62 64 Preliminaries and Postscripts 67 Passing the Buck to Gonzaga 71 A rare revelation 76 Lodola and Merlin: More peripheral material 82 The revised Maccheronee: the Zanitonella 88 Baldus Two 93 Patronage and poetic rank 95 Mutiny? 98 Seraphus: The naughty twin 105 Macaronic interlude 108 Philotheus: the good twin 109 Crispis the good wife 110 Poets in the Pumpkin 114 The “Moschaeae” 121 Just for laughs 123 3. OLD WAY A NEW: THE ORLANDINO AND CHAOS 127 Background 131 Patronage 133 An Apology for Protestant Fiction 139 Castrating the wolf 152 Politics 155 Sex 159 Folengo and his Predecessors 164 The “heteronyms” 171 p. v 4. THE AUTHOR AS HIMSELF 179 Reconciliation? 180 “L’Humanità del figliuolo di Dio” 185 “Pomiliones, Varium Poema, Ianus” 190 Return to the monastery and to the “Maccheronee” 195 The Cipadense 196 “Francesco Folengo alli lettori” 197 Learning the ways of the world 199 Calling the shots and posing for them 210 Teofilo Folengo and Vigaso Cocaio to the readers 221 Unfinished business 228 CRITICAL WORKS ON FOLENGO 237 GENERAL CRITICISM AND THORY 242 p. vi Chapter I FIRST NAMES Teofilo Folengo, when recognized, is ushered to his place beside Ariosto and decorated together with Tasso as one of the “tre corone” of Italy’s renaissance in poetry. Often, however, Folengo stands undetected: he must keep silent, or announce himself, as the officials scramble for some sonneteer to receive the laurel wreath in his stead. During his lively years, Folengo sang out his own name; indeed, he tried many names and many tunes and still his contemporaries refused to acknowledge him, perhaps because he spoke Italian and Latin simultaneously (Folengo claims to have approached them initially in good Latin, only to be snubbed).1 Now, nearly half a millennium later, a calling card must be devised to present Folengo in such a way as to assure his collocation among Italy’s greatest poets. The best presentation to date is Carlo Cordié’s annotated Opere di Teofilo Folengo (1977). This volume will remain the sine qua non of Folengo studies for generations to come. Ugo Paoli before him offered a thorough but less ample introduction in Il Baldus a le altre latine e volgari (1941). A handsome edition by Dossena and Tonna, p. 2 published in 1958, illustrated with reproductions of the earliest woodcuts, offers a very readable Italian translation facing the Macaronic fourth version of the Baldus. Other scholars have handed over well copied chunks of Folengo’s works, details of the artist’s life or glosses on some aspect of his writings. The bulk of these studies attempts to plot the “true” story behind the autobiographical digressions. My proposal for a letter of presentation is to collect Folengo’s own fictive attempts at self-presentation, and to integrate them on a background of early sixteenth century Italy, especially the world of letters. Mine should be a two-way calling card, one which grants both the designer and the designated a right to passage. This dissertation then, will focus on what Folengo says about his selves: either in the authoritative first person, or in the guise of his acknowledged pseudonyms, or as he appears, semi-directly, by dint of characters who bear some form of his names, or are otherwise connected to his self-personages. It is this kaleidoscope of authorial images which makes Teofilo Folengo stand out among other writers of the genres in which he excelled: the epic, the epistle, the 1 Please see the lists of Folengo’s works and of his “heteronyms” in Appendices One and Two. For a moving account of the young poet’s traditional overtures to Apollo see the Proemium to the Moschaeae and the discussion of it toward the end of Chapter Two. chivalric romance, the apology, autobiography, biblical narration, lyric poetry, dialogue, and satire. His nine volumes will be investigated in order of their publication, so that the development of Folengo’s selves can be followed chronologically. The notion that our poet’s contradictory accounts of himself fall apart like card houses, because the man is simply “troppo onesto per avere l’abilità di mentire” (Luzio, 85), must be rejected. The card house which holds together for the duration of a hexameter will suffice. p. 3 By aiming too high, at the large question of literary tradition (which works blazon main arteries and which do not seem to and why), I hope to strike the circles of Folengo’s wonderfully wrought appearances in his texts and I hope to graze the areas of his immediate reception and the denial of this reception. 1.1 BIO-BIBLIOGRAPHY Because Folengo is so little known by any name, some parameters of his life and times will be distilled from the research which deals specifically with his dates and places. The last of nine* [about 6] children born to Federico Folengo and Paola Ghisi presumably appeared at twelve o’clock midnight, on the eighth of November; he was christened Girolamo. This seemingly exact but willfully ambiguous hour is offered in Folengo’s somewhat autobiographical Chaos del Triperuno thus setting the tone for a lifetime of conflicting clues. The year, after centuries of controversy generated by such clues, has been fixed at 1491 by counting backwards from Folengo’s documented date of profession in the Benedictine Order.2 Federico, a 2 Giuseppe Billanovich is responsible for much of this biographical “certainty,” see his Tra Don Teofilo a Merlin Cocaio, 1948. Rodolfo Signorini furnishes convincing documents (family wills) attesting to nine Folengo children, in “Un nuovo contributo alla biografia di Teofilo Folengo,” Cultura letteraria a tradizione popolare in Teofilo Folengo: Atti del Convegno tenuto a Mantova il 15-17 ottobre, 1977, (hereafter Convegno), pp. 371-400. Previously, five and possibly six notary of minor nobility, worked in p. 4 Mantua; Girolamo was born either there or in Cipada, a tiny settlement nearby where the Folengo family owned property. Federico’s brother Nicodemo wrote poetry in Latin: one extant collection of his verse is addressed to Federico di Montefeltro, another survives only in its dedication to Lorenzo de’ Medici. Correspondence between Vittorino da Feltre (c.1378-1446) and Girolamo’s paternal grandparents indicates that the Folengos shared with the famous educator friendly and financial as well as blood ties (Billanovich, pp. 3-8). This connection would imply some early bond between the Folengos and the ruling Gonzaga family, since Giovan Francesco Gonzaga was the proud and generous promotor of Vittorino’s school. It can be assumed that Girolamo began studying Latin grammar and metrics at an early age, probably at home. In his Chaos del Triperuno, one of Folengo’s selves, Limerno, alludes to a first teacher, by way of an introduction to a fourteen-line Latin poem on bothersome insects in Ferrara: non mi ritraggo a dirti alquanti versi da me ancor fanciulino composti, trovandomi su quello di Ferrara in certa villa, mandatovi da mio padre per imparare lettere appresso d’un prete, lo quali molti scolari teneva soggetti, e più li belli che li brutti, nel qual luogo, per corruttela di grosso aere, soprabbondavano tante bisce, rane, zenzale et pipistrelli, che uno inferno mi pareva di tormentatori. (p. 276) In the poem which follows Limerno also complains of nocturnal birds who troubled him with damned exploits, while he would write. Merlino, another of Folengo’s “selves,” answers Limerno’s poem with his own Latin composition against biting insects in Ferrara. Neither of these siblings were accounted for through pioneering research done by Billanovich and others who perused registries at monasteries throughout Italy. p. 5 two believe that such pests were the true reason for their joint disaffection with Ferrara, and the Ferrarese. When pressed by his anagramic self, Merlino avows that in fact what made Ferrara unacceptable to him is the way they “raccoglion loro vini nelle groppe delle rane” (see Chapter Three). At any rate, autobiographical “facts” such as these lessons in insect-ridden Ferrara must be regarded as literary statements which reflect what Folengo wishes to say about himself and others, rather than accepted as items in a registry. Too often one finds “information” of this sort transformed into biographical fact: “fanciullino è mandato a scuola da certo prete, in quel di Ferrara.”3 One question to be kept in mind throughout this study is Paul de Man’s thesis in “Autobiography as deface-ment” (1979): “is the illusion of reference not a correlation of the structure of the figure, that is to say no longer clearly and simply a referent at all but something more akin to a fiction which then however, in its own turn, acquires a degree of referential productivity?” (pp. 920-921). Our lense will be continually adjusted to focus in on Folengo’s “displayed self” (Gunn); the large contemporary (to him and to us) frames need enter the picture only temporarily, until the object becomes familiar to us. Actually, little is known about Folengo’s family life, but much has been conjectured. Crowning the thumbnail sketches of Girolamo the rake, are Francesco De Sanctis’ colorful phrases: p. 6 Merlino, o piuttosto Teofilo, o piuttosto Girolamo, era come vedete, uno di quegli uomini che si chiamano “scapestrati”, e fin dal principio perdono l’orizzonte, e fanno una vita “sbagliata”. Messosi fuori di ogni regola e convenienza sociale, si abbrutì, divenne cinico, sfrontato e volgare’.4 3 A. Luzio, in “Nuove ricerche su Folengo” Giornale Storico della Letteratura Italiana, hereafter GSLI, 1889, 13, p. 166. 4 F. De Sanctis, Chap. 14, “La Maccaronea” in Storia della letteratura italiana (1870-1871), Alessandro Luzio, although sympathetic to the young man, agrees with De Sanctis as to his basic nature. He posits a conflict in Girolamo’s relationship to his father, based on an absence of textual references: Non può passare inosservato che mentre Teofilo ci presenta nel Chaos sua madre Paola, con un carattere della più affettuosa indulgenza... tace sempre al contrario del padre, nel quale perciò s’indovina un severo riprensore per le scappate del figlio. Dopo il disordine avvenuto a Bologna, più che lo sconvolgimento provato, più che l’esempio de’ fratelli, furono certo i rimproveri acerbi dell’arcigno Francesco che spinsero in convento il chiassoso ragazzo.5 The subtext of this Oedipal difficulty which Luzio perceives, is not just the omission of his father from the Chaos del Triperuno but also a direct reference to fatherly disapproval found in the posthumous preface “Vigaso Cocaio alli lettori.” In this passage (edited by, but not cited here by Luzio) Vigaso Cocaio describes “un gran disordine e pericolo della vita” which forces him and his tutee to flee Bologna and return home: “Laonde ebbe egli dal padre tal rimbrotto e reprensione che in guisa di disperato ando errando per lo mondo.” This posthumous preface supports a version of Folengo’s wild life which he himself was anxious to establish throughout his lifetime. The author could be trying to free his father of responsibility by high-lighting his disapproval. The family coat of arms is reproduced several times in p. 7 the Chaos and the House of Folengo is often praised in the Maccheronee; the third version is prefaced by a Francesco Folengo: Girolamo’s father, the notary Francesco, is linked to his son’s literary endeavors despite his absence from the Chaos. An attempt to explore the poet’s relationship to his father, while considering the omissions and the obvious inclusions, should not disregard the role of Guidone and other father figures in Folengo’s works, nor the picture of money grubbing, peasant duping notaries which Folengo provides us, best viewed in the person (Milano: Bietti, 1970), p. 484. 5 A. Luzio, GSLI, 1889, 13, p. 173. of Briossus, (9, 344-353).6 When Folengo does introduce into the Chaos not only his mother but his sister and his niece as well, critics read them as allegorical figures. Despite the fact that these ladies are identified by their Christian names, and their relationship to the author is specified, C.F. Goffis concludes that they could not possibly stand for his real mother, sister and niece because Folengo would never have compromised them thus: Per che motivo infatti l’autore, che tende continuamente a mettersi al riparo dalle persecuzioni dei superiori, si sarebbe potuto indurre a compromettere così gravemente la propria sorella faccendola commentatrice del Caos.7 The fact is that Paola, Camilla and Flavia are named and fully identified; Folengo’s alleged tendency to shelter himself from superiors shall be examined below. p. 8 Instead of the angry father motive, several scholars have identified a young lady who was claimed to have driven Girolamo into the monastery, or to have caused him to leave it some fifteen years later.8 An explicit reference to a consummate but ultimately unsuccessful temptress 6 References to the Baldus, unless otherwise specified, will be cited from A. Luzio’s 1911 edition based on the fourth and final version of the work. 7 Goffis, Teofilo Folengo: Studi di storia e di poesia, 1934, p. 3. 8 Representative of this first hypothesis is Umberto Renda’s commentary on the Nocentina passage in Paganini 16: “nulla di più naturale che il Folengo, colpito nell’intimo del cuore per l’inganno di quella donna che avrà di certo amato... abbia cercato nelle silenziose mura d’un chiostro la pace e l’obblio,” in Scampoli folenghiani, 1898), p. 25. For the latter notion, let De Sanctis’ succinct narrative suffice. At this point in his story, Girolamo has been expelled from the University of Bologna and then denied admittance to his Father’s house: “sicché fini frate in Brescia... Ma ne fuggì con una donna e, ricomparso nel secolo, per campare la vita si dié a scriver romanzi sotto il nome di quel tal Cocaio” (p. 483). appears in both the first and second editions of the Maccheronee; a series of acrostics in the Chaos (pp. 298-301) gives rise to speculation about one Hieronima Dieda as this temptress. But there is nowhere enough evidence to justify the query which C.F. Goffis proposes: “Ed ora esaminiamo se veramente questa maga meretrice abbia avuto rapporti con nostro frate” (p. 8). To correct this image of the poet as a young dandy, recent biographical studies follow in the footsteps of Tomasino’s 1692 “Vita”9 to offer us glimpses of his pious and serene family life. Billanovich writes that one would seem to hear issuing from this most religious household “più forte e più continuo delle declamazioni retoriche, un mormorio di invocazioni devote” (p. 9). C.F. Goffis imagines “genitori molto pii... coniugi esemplari di vita integerrima,” (p. 2). These p. 9 studies prompted Raul Lunardi, in a one-page response “Don Teofilo Folengo contro Merlin Cocaio” to argue that whether or not this sanctified image of Folengo matches reality, his piety is not what interests us, but rather those “belle panzane e avventure” which Merlin Cocaio invented for us.10 One fact remains: all of the nine* [most of the six or so] Folengo children became members of religious orders. This was a common “career choice” for unwealthy minor nobles. Since Girolamo was the youngest in this family of clerics, he needed neither an irenic nor an erotic motive to bring him to the monastery door, which he entered at age sixteen. After one year in the Benedictine convent of Santa Eufemia in Brescia, Girolamo was ordained Fra Teofilo, in June, 1509. The abbot of Sant’Eufemia at this time was Giovanni Cornaro, a kind and able man, to be recorded as such by Folengo in years to come.11 9 I. Phil. Tomasino, “Vita Teophili Folengi” in the reprint of the 1521 edition, Amsterdam (Napoli): A. Someri, 1692. 10 R. Lunardi, in Italia Che Scrive, 32, 1949, pp. 221-222. 11 See Toscolana Zanitonella 6, and Chaos, pp. 236-237. Billanovich (p. 58) and Goffis, (Teofilo After Venice was defeated by the legions of Pope Julius at the battle of Agnadello in 1509, the nobles of Brescia, Padua and other northern cities tried to re-establish local rule. The peasants sided with distant Venice; skirmishes were frequent. (In the Toscolana Zanitonella, Ecl. 1, peasants flee the fields near Brescia complaining about the constant fighting.) These years saw the arrival of French p. 10 troops in Brescia. Intermittent raids culminated in the bloody sack led by Gaston de Foix in February of 1512. A monk who refused to hand over the treasury of Sant’Eufemia to the soldiers was tortured to death in front of the other monks.12 Before the subsequent plague had become widespread, Teofilo was transferred to San Benedetto Po, several miles south-east of Mantua. Here he continued his studies under the direction of the abbot, Don Gregorio Cortese. From various contemporary sources and from Folengo’s writings, it can be deduced that the young monk studied, among other subjects: Latin, Greek, Hebrew, rhetoric, logic, theology, canon law, music, and a great deal of Italian and Latin poetry. He also seems to have acquired thorough knowledge of both astronomy and gastronomy. According to Billanovich, Folengo learned how to buy and sell oxen, grain, and wine; he supposedly did his share of the actual planting and harvesting (p. 33). Too many scholars speak of Folengo’s “antipatia personale” (Messedaglia) towards the peasants that he may have dealt with on a daily basis. The poet’s Zanitonella portrays peasants in their own world; the Baldus offers a panoramic view of peasants interacting with townspeople, authorities and marauding soldiers. One of the major protagonists of the epic poem, Zambello, is Folengo, p. 18) concur in equating Cornaro with Palermo in the Palermitana; Menegazzo hypothesizes that the figure of Sordello, protector of Baldus (who for him represents Folengo) in V. C. 11, represents the reverend Cornaro (“Contributo alla biografia di T. F.”, (p. 400). 12 G.K. Brown, Italy and the Reformation to 1550, 1933. surely a stupid oaf of a peasant, but he is also a well developed character whose trials the reader follows with sympathy. His peasant father, Berto, is the epitome of civility, and Baldus’ stepfather. Because of Zambellus’ complaints of (the “noble”) Baldus’ cruel treatment of him and his p. 11 wife, the reader is forced to think about the lot of peasants who toil daily only to have the fruits of their labors appropriated by bullies from the military class. The fact is, Folengo writes about peasants. He does ridicule “villani,” as does Il Ruzante – with impunity – in his comedies; but the only real villains, the only characters who are tortured corporally, by Baldus’ best friend, the low class “hero” Cingar, are the ruler of Mantua, Gaioffo, and the dictator of Cipada, Tognazzo. It would be a mistake to see only an “aspra ostilità antivillanesca”13 in Folengo’s tens of thousands of verses, without also recognizing the prominent place the poet accorded peasants. In fact, a strong case can be made for Folengo’s recurring anti-authority stance, but even “antiestablishmentarianism” is not a large enough label to encompass all of Folengo’s targets for abuse, which besides leaders, cops and senators, includes: the elderly, lovers, the wealthy, Jews, monks, innkeepers, shepherds, witches, and many others. During the last months of 1513, Teofilo was again under the guidance of Don Giovanni Cornaro, now at the large monastery of Santa Giustina in Padua. (Cornaro dies in 1515 and is replaced by Ignazio Squarcialupi, whom Folengo blames for the death of Cornaro.)14 In 13 This quote is taken from Nino Borsellino’s study “Gli anticlassicisti nel Cinquecento”, 1973, p. 88; Borsellino expresses a well-rounded view of Folengo and “villani.” 14 See Chaos pp. 236-237, especially the explicit quatrain entitled “Tumulo del Cornagianni” (underlining mine): p. 12 addition to the stimulating life within the confines of the monastery, the twenty-two year old Folengo found himself very near the famous Studio of Padua. This University had long been a center of Aristotelian philosophy, and still enjoyed the reputation earned by its excellent educators – both Vittorino da Feltre and Gasparino Barzizza taught at the Studio. Well known writers had also resided in Padua: Giovanni Pontano, Battista Mantovano, and more recently, Pietro Bembo. The Mantuan Pietro Pomponazzi lectured here until Padua revolted against Venice in 1509 and the University was temporarily closed. Pomponazzi eventually went to Bologna, where Folengo, in the persona of Merlin Cocaio, will claim to have studied under him. Our young poet seems not to have been cowed by the well known philosopher: Traditur inde viro savio doctoque pedanto Merlinus puer, et versu prosaque peritus cum sociis multis ivit studiare Bolognam, et philosophastri baias sentire Peretti … Ad macaroneas potius se tradidit artes, in quibus a teneris ungis fuit ille Cocaio praeceptore datus pinguisque poeta dicatus. Dum Pomponazzus legit ergo Perettus, et omnis voltat Aristotelis magnos sotosora librazzos, carmina Merlinus secum macaronica pensat et giurat nihil hac festivius arte trovari. (V.C. 22, 121-132) (Then young Merlin, already skilled in both verse and prose, was entrusted to a wise and learned teacher, and he went to Bologna with many of his peers to study and to hear the nonsense of the philosopher Peretto (Piero Pomponazzi)... But instead he entrusted himself to the macaronic arts to which (art) he was handed over by that tutor Cocaio, his fingernails still tender, and was dedicated to being a plump poet. And therefore, while Ecco, del monte nella congrega-cio nella ruppe – gran pianto pel suo cor nar ciso Il fior anti no fu sua morte fella Tal fu’l mio verso, ma per tema scuro. little Piero Pomponazzi lectured, p. 13 and threw around all of the huge volumes of Aristotle, Merlin ruminated macaronic poems within himself and swore that nothing could be found more fun than this (macaronic) art.15 This less than edifying reference to the little quack philosopher who tosses around enormous volumes of Aristotle, while one of his students sits conjuring up macaronic verse, first appears in the third edition and is momentarily offset in the fourth and final edition by a simple tribute: “Girolamo Folengo mantoano, ed a me discepolo nella professione grammaticale, fu da suo padre mandato a Bologna in studio, per udire il grande aristotelico Pereto Pomponazzo” (“Vigaso Cocaio alli lettori”); however, the little vignette quoted above is also included in this edition. Although Billanovich has proven to almost everyone’s satisfaction that Folengo could not have been in Bologna in 1512, the year Pomponazzi assumed his position as first lecturer in Philosophy (p. 60), it is significant that throughout his life Folengo openly allied himself to this controversial concittadino.16 Pomponazzi stands for Paduan Humanism, more specifically for reason as the basis of knowledge: miracles, prophecies and other “supernatural” events could ultimately be explained naturally. Folengo shares this philosopher’s stance against superstition, and against esoteric theological discussions. The Lateran Council (1513-1517) condemned p. 14 Pomponazzi’s ideas on the mortality of the soul (i.e., that its immortality cannot be established by reason). He was declared a heretic in Venice, and his book De immortalitate animae was 15 Translations here and elsewhere are mine, with help from my friend and colleague, John McLucas, unless otherwise specified. They have also been further corrected by Paolo Valesio. 16 To study in Bologna was also a commonplace ideal: Fra Iacopino spends years trying to learn the alphabet “Ut tandem posset studiis andare Bolognae (V.C. 8, 540). In the second, Toscolana edition, Baldus twin sons speak of a pleasant sojourn in Bologna, (Book 23). publicly burned there. Later evolution of his thought led him away from the notion of free will stressed by Florentine Platonists, to a Stoic acceptance of divine will. Folengo also emphasizes faith over good works as a means to salvation; his Orlandino is replete with statements which reflect this faith in faith, and his last work, the Palermitana, although written ostensibly to redeem him to his Order, does not swerve from the Protestant preference for faith over works (see especially Orl. 8, 75 and Palerm. 1, 18). Folengo was not alone in his beliefs: a certain Ferrus, quoted by G.K. Brown in his Italy and the Reformation, claimed that by 1530, the Lutherans had completely taken over Humanist culture in Padua. Besides the Studio-centered discussions, Folengo no doubt observed many other facets of this multifarious plurilingual society. It should be noted that followers of the newest theories in literature and the sciences were referred to in Paris as “Padouans”.17 Despite the Studio’s offerings in every field of higher learning regularly pursued at the time, it is recorded that many a student moved from the University of Padua into the Monastery of Santa Giustina where even higher learning was pursued. Thus we can be sure that our Folengo was presented with an ample selection of material for his studies. In p. 15 addition to the academic attractions, Padua offered dramatic arts pursued in dialect by Ruzante and others, as well as the colorful hybrid Macaronic Latin poetry for which the town had recently become yet more renowned. (Macaronic Latin is a fabricated literary language in which Latin syntax and morphology hold together not only proper classical Latin words but also words and idiomatic expressions from several northern dialects as well as from the unofficial Italian koine in use at the time. U.E. Paoli has dedicated an entire volume to an analysis of this language: Il latino maccheronico, 1959. More information about the state of Macaronic poetry prior to Folengo’s epic poem is offered below.) The possibilities of interest were numerous: Folengo’s eldest brother, Ludovico, chose a career in administration and became a prior; his brother 17 G. Fabris, “Padova culla delle muse maccheroniche”, reprinted by I. Paccagnella in Le Macarone Padovane: Tradizione e lingua, p. 253. Giambattista received a Doctoral degree in Theology and later published a commentary on the Psalms; Fra Teofilo ended his sojourn in Padua by publishing a 6,000 verse epic in macaronic hexameters, under the name Merlinus Cocaius. This elegant and supple volume left the press of Alessandro Paganini in January of 1517, the year in which Teofilo returned to Sant’Eufemia and was ordained a priest. One can understand why a priest might prefer to protect himself and his Order with a pseudonym, but why Merlin Cocaio? What prompted Folengo’s choice of this particular combination of legendary and homey names which succeeded in replacing the author’s given names? (Even today, the “Scrittori d’Italia” edition sports the name Merlin Cocaio on the cover.) Not content with the one pseudonym, Folengo creates an editor persona Aquarius Lodola, whose opinionated p. 16 prefatory epistles and constant marginal glosses call to mind the irrepressible Charles Kinbote of Pale Fire fame (Nabokov, 1962). Having constructed these and other “heteronyms,”18 Folengo then unmasks himself at frequent intervals. He pops into all of his works in one guise or another, sometimes simply as Teofilo Folengo. His choice of names, his fictional appearances and his confrontations with other poets past and present will provide us with a kaleidoscopic view of Folengo’s poetic world. 1.2 MERLIN BEFORE AN AFTER COCAIO In attempting to determine what effect the name Merlin had on contemporary readers, it is 18 At the suggestion of Paolo Valesio, I consulted works by the Portuguese poet and critic, Fernando Pessoa who coined the term “heteronym.” Pessoa explains in an anonymous article: a heteronymic work is one by an author writing outside his personality, “it is the work of a complete individuality made up by him, just as the utterances of some character in a drama of his would be”; a pseudonymic work is by the author writing as himself. Fernando Pessoa: Selected Poems, edited and translated by Peter Richard, 1971. Folengo’s authorial selves are not quite the discreet individuals of Pessoa’s heteronyms. And yet, Merlin Cocaio, Aquarius Lodola, Limerno Pitocco and others, are more complete personalities than they are mere pseudonyms, as will become clear during the course of this study. important for us to know what accounts of Merlin’s powers were available to sixteenth century Italians. However, we need not push aside the complex notion of Merlin current in our day, due among other representations, to T.H. White’s novel The Once and Future King, and its film version “Camelot.” From the vanishing beginning point of legend and chronicle, Merlin comes to us already wrapped in a wealth of conflicting origins, means and goals. By p. 17 calling himself Merlin (“cuius stat nomen apertum,” Paganini, 14), Folengo acquired instant fame. Our poet may have been familiar with Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Vita Merlini, yet he does not adhere to the British “biographer’s” portrayal of the mad magician-prophet, the “boy without a father” who grows up to serve the English kings. Folengo was most likely familiar with the 1480 Italian prose translation of Robert de Boron’s Merlin (c.1220) which Pio Rajna assigns to Ariosto’s list of readings.19 And the Orlando Furioso itself, in which Merlin is responsible for uniting Bradamante and Ruggiero in order to produce the Este clan, could have influenced Folengo’s choice. (Ariosto’s first version of the poem, in forty cantos was printed by April 22, 1516, and may have circulated in manuscript before this; the Liber macaronices did not appear until January, 1517, or perhaps even 1518, see Billanovich pp. 86-87, note 43). Of particular interest in the Historia di Merlino (Boron) is Merlin’s origin as a creature of the devil implanted in a virgin, and his subsequent transformation by God’s will into a baptized prophet who fights against the devil. Our Merlin first appears in “his” epic poem by means of his 19 P. Rajna, Le fonti del “L’Orlando Furioso” (Firenze: Sansoni, (1876) 1975). For the Boron text, I consulted the modern French translation by Henri de Briel, Le Roman de Merlin L’Enchanteur (Paris: Klincksieck, 1971), this includes the Huth-Merlin addition, and the reprinted Italian translation: La istoria di Merlino: I primi due libri secondo la rarissima edizione del 1480, edited by G. Ulrich (Bologna: Romagnoli, 1884). tomb and epitaph: one of the warriors, Philotheus p. 18 (anagram of Teofilo), removes the covering on Merlin’s white sepulcher and out pops a black devil ready to fight them (Book 14). Later (Book 16), Merlin shows up very much alive, a “senior barbatus... Splendidus et sensu parens superare Catonem.” Hailed by the band of thugs turned heroes-to-be, as “Pater Cocaio,” Merlin confesses each man before sending the group off on its preordained mission to purge hell of demons and witches. The exaltation of battle as means to salvation is perpetrated by Merlin Cocaio (Hell lies teeming with witches and demons who must be annihilated in order to – fulfill the Macaronic Epic?). He himself remains above the line of skirmish, sending his “soldiers” down into the underworld to carry on a Catonian crusade against corruption. Paul Zumthor has distilled from Boron notions that constitute a code “de ce qui serà la chevalerie” according to Merlin’s standards. The first three of five elements he elencates in Merlin le prophète, 1943, seem most relevant to the task for which Cocaio recruits these warriors: 1. la bataille est un exercice de piété, d’humanité, de loyauté; 2. le guerrier ne s’y livre que pour la justice, pour achever sa “proudhomie”, c’est-à-dire, tout l’idéal humain du Xllle siècle tel qu’il s’epanouit dans la sainteté 3. (le guerrier) se confesse d’abord, et sa première arme est la foi en la Trinité et en la puissance rédemtrice du Christ (p. 152) This serious, teleological behavior (although one must question the appropriateness of chasing witches and demons out of Hell) is not maintained by Merlin in later works, especially not in the Chaos del Triperuno where Merlin shows himself to be decidedly less dignified p. 19 and Stoic than he appeared in this first work. But even in the Paganini Baldus Merlin does not inspire unquestioned obedience: one of Baldus’ group steals wine and two cups from the poor hermit Merlin’s canteen. Through the centuries, perhaps the most famous attribute of Merlin has been his prophetic sense. Ariosto’s Merlin excels in prophesying Este marvels. His role in the Orlando Furioso seems to grow from an addition to the Boron manuscript, called the Huth-Merlin, which was included in the Italian translation. In this tale, a virgin Lady of the Lake, whom Merlin loved and to whom he had taught certain of his magic formulas, tricks him into entering a cavern. Disgusted by the knowledge of Merlin’s demon origins, and afraid of losing her virginity, she puts him to sleep forever with his own curse. She gloats over his imprisoned body, unaware that his spirit will live and continue to prophesy. This is akin to Merlin Cocaio’s status: his tomb houses a black devil, but Merlin turns out to be alive and well underground. In the mirrors around him he has foreseen the arrival of the ruffian-heroes from Cipada, for whom he has been waiting for one hundred years. It is to this “vocal tomba” that Bradamante is lead by the good maga Melissa. Within a clearing glowing with sculptures and mural paintings, the lady warrior learns the names and deeds of the Este to come from her union with Ruggiero. Four cantos later, Bradamante has exhausted herself searching and sighing for her long gone lover, and she is anxious to find Merlin’s p. 20 cave again to ask him for advice. Melissa steps in and describes to Bradamante her female issue (7, 37ff). This time she uses only words because she does not possess Merlin’s art of image projection. We see further on in the Orlando Furioso that Merlin can indeed sculpt in the “visibile parlare” style Dante attributes to God in Purgatorio 10. The octave which depicts Merlin’s handiwork may have prompted Folengo’s memorable creation of the engraved tombstones in the prefatory epistle to his Liber macaronices (below): Era una de le fonti di Merlino de le quattro di Francia da lui fatte, d’intorno cinta di bel marmo fino lucido e terso, e bianco più che latte. Quivi d’intaglio con lavor divino avea Merlino imagini ritratte: direste che spiravano, e, se prive non fossero di voce, ch’eran vive. (26, 30) Just like the magical Vergil of the Middle Ages, Ariosto’s Merlin has his own school of helpers. The fountains mentioned above were contracted out to skilled artisans and the stunning murals in Tristan’s castle were frescoed by demons. These frescoes, captioned in gold, depict a battle-bybattle history of French defeats: Merlin wanted King Author’s successors to understand that they could acquire victory and honor by defending Italy against foreign aggression (33, 12). Thus, Ariosto makes Merlin not only the catalyst for the Este dynasty, but the protector of the Italian peninsula. Folengo makes himself Merlin. In the first Maccheronee, Merlin is the already famous magician-prophet, now featured as poet and protagonist. And he is homonymous to a character in the recently successful Orlando Furioso. p. 21 In the Orlandino, Merlin is touted as the boldest of (Benedictine) writers (3, 65); in the Chaos del Triperuno Merlin blossoms into a very un-Catolike bonvivant-disputant. As for public exaltation, at first the only indication of this desire is a little hint found in the lineage of Baldus, the main character. The heroic knight Guido who runs off with Charlemagne’s daughter and fathers Baldus, is said (“si veram cantant Turpin scripta”) to stem from the great Rinaldus of Montalbanus. More importantly, the beautiful and undefeated Guido when singled out by Princess Baldovina, is called a Maecenas: “Maecenasque alter reliquos erat intra barones” (Pag. 1). Although Maecenas was a fighting general, it was his patronage of the arts which gave his name lasting fame. This attribution would be negligible if a further link between Guido/Guidone and a patron were not attempted elsewhere. In the Toscolana edition, Guidone’s son Baldus, is championed by Augustus, and one of Baldus’ twin sons is named Marcellinus: Folengo introduced the names of the most famous ancient Roman patrons into his masterpiece, without linking them explicitly to his own patrons. In the Orlandino we find a direct but peculiar claim to a dynasty stemming from a Guidone. In chapter six of this Italian poem, the father-to-be of the Baldus-like Orlandino, Milone, is eloping by water with the King’s daughter, Berta.20 Curious to know Carlomagno’s p. 22 reaction, Milone disguises himself and asks the news of a venerable old man, Atlante, who is with them on the boat. We are told that this bearded ancient is unknown to anyone aboard; the passengers are likewise unaware that he is propelling the boat by telekinesis. Born of the union of Merlin and a sybil, Atlante is said to be a very capable necromancer who can do no evil (Orl. 6, 14-15). When questioned by Milone, Atlante waxes eloquent – the gloss reads “lungo ragionamento di Atlante”: Love causes war, Paris ruined Troy with his lasciviousness, Milone should have left Berta alone, the Maganza family must be overcome. He invokes that day of liberation: O stelle, O punti, O troppo tardi segni che prometteti al mondo un sì bel sole, apríti, che oggi è tempo, e raggi pregni al’aureo seclo, a l’aspettata prole! Nascan li quattro di vertù sostegni, per cui rumor eterno al mondo vole; nasca quel forte Orlando, alto coraggio, 20 Mario Chiesa in “Due fonti del L’Orlandino” (Convegno, pp. 249-267), documents the similarities of Orlandino to the young Baldus, and to the verbatim source of some verses from the Orlandino in an anonymous poem (in 160 octaves) popular in Folengo’s day. Some critics have linked Baldus directly to Folengo: Goffis discusses “la celebrazione dell’amore di Baldo, cioè del poeta, per Crispide,” L’eterodossia dei fratelli (1950), p. 193. Emilio Menegazzo makes a convincing equation of the deceased Cornaro to the dying Sordello, and of Folengo to the young Baldus whom Sordello sought to protect, in “Contributo alla biographia di Teofilo Folengo (1512- 1520)” (1959), p. 400. Renaldo, e ’l mio Ruggier, Guidon Selvaggio! (6, 27) This Atlante, son of Merlin, champions a Guidon Selvaggio who accomplishes nothing within the poem. After his brief prominence here in Atlante’s vision, Guidone is referred to only once more in passing (in 8, 88, he is identified as the offspring of Amon and Costanza, queen of Dacia). Note that Ruggiero (of Ariostan fame) is not listed in his own right but only as a coopted paragon “’l mio Ruggier.” Then, p. 23 out of the unwritten blue, Atlante speaks most passionately of “his” Guidone, whom he claims as the ancestor of the Gonzagas: D’Orlando una colonna nascer deve, che non pur Roma, anzi sostien il mondo; ma de Rinaldo un orso tanto greve che di sue forze il Ciel sentir fa il pondo. Rugier il sangue d’Este in sé riceve, d’ingegno saldo e di vertù profondo: ma ’l mio Guidone infonderà Gonzaga per cui sol nacque la tebana maga. Guidon Selvaggio, di Renaldo frate, la sora di Rugier avrà per moglie; quindi verrà quell’inclita bontate Gonzaga, ch’in un punto il mondo accoglie: Mantoa famosa per il primo vate, ma più famosa pei trofei e spoglie che riportar in lei Gonzaga deve dal Gange al Nilo e d’iperborea neve. (6, 28-29) To recapitulate, an old man launches unprovoked into octaves of praise for a chivalrous knight who is destined to marry Marfisa, father the House of Gonzaga and become the most famous son of Mantua. Neither the ancient Atlante nor the wondrous Guidone are ever heard from again, not even indirectly do they serve any purpose in the Orlandino. Regardless of the nature of Atlante’s relationship to “mio Guidone,” this makes of Merlin, the ancient one’s father, a catalyst of the Gonzaga family. It makes both the Este, (descended according to Ariosto, from Bradamante and Ruggiero) and the Orsini (supposedly descended from Rinaldo), age-old in-laws of the Gonzagas. Given the example of Vergil’s dynastic epic, and of Ariosto’s explicit, if sophisticatedly tonguein-cheek endorsement of the Este family, it is curious that Folengo chose to conjure up this strange p. 24 scene on the boat. Some of the names have not been changed: the role of Atlante as Ruggiero’s secret guardian originated with Boiardo and was fleshed out by Ariosto. In the Orlando Furioso, Atlante and Merlin work towards the common goal of establishing the Este clan, but Ariosto does not link the two magicians, nor does he coordinate their actions. (Ruggiero was already claimed for the Este by Boiardo: the second book of the Orlando Innamorato announces the continuation of Charlemagne’s wars and “la invenzione de Rugiero, terzo paladino primogenito de la inclita casa d’Este.”) In the Storie di Rinaldo and in the Ancroia, Guidone is the natural son of Rinaldo, and hence, an excellent knight. Ariosto’s character Guidon Selvaggio, as Rinaldo’s half brother, is a worthy ancestor to the Gonzagas. He demonstrates the requisite skills of prowess in his dealings with the man-killing women (Orl. Fur. 19-20). Marfisa’s pedigree proves her an equally worthy parent to the noble Gonzagas. But the invention of their union and its issue are attributable only to Folengo’s fertile, independent, inconclusive imagination. It seems as though Folengo wanted to establish himself as the Gonzaga court poet, just as Ariosto had established himself as the Este poet, but his is a hit-and run attempt to link one of his heteronym’s offspring to the Gonzaga family.21 p. 25 To date, the commentary on the Atlante passage is minimal. Attilio Portioli, in the third volume of his 1882-1889 edition, notes that here “[Folengo] accoglie la parola della origine bastarda di Casa Gonzaga.” He then alludes to falsified documents in the Gonzaga archives which make the Mantuan family descendants of Ugo di Provenza, an item which has little to do with Atlante’s sudden proclamation. Jacob Burckhardt, perhaps the only other critic to address Atlante’s claim to fame, sees this genealogy as another example of the ridicule Folengo heaps upon the system of chivalry in general and upon Ariosto in particular. In his own (translated) words: Mixed with all this, a certain derision of Ariosto is unmistakable, and it was fortunate for the Orlando Furioso that the Orlandino, with its Lutheran heresies, was soon put out of the way by the Inquisition. The parody is evident when (cap. V [sic.], 28) the house of Gonzaga is deduced from the paladin Guidone, since the Colonna claimed Orlando, the Orsini Rinaldo, and the house of Este – according to Ariosto – Ruggiero, as their ancestors. Perhaps Ferrante Gonzaga, the patron of the poet, was a party to this sarcasm. The Civilization of the Renaissance in 1860, p. 323. For the record, Ferrante is the youngest son of Isabella d’Este, and is not mentioned by Folengo; the Gonzagas maintained very close ties with their Este cousins. It is doubtful that Folengo was 21 One of Folengo’s habits should be pointed out here: when the subject is one of Folengo’s “selves,” there is often a piling up of little allusions to various Folengo names; for example, Atlante’s entrance into the text is accompanied by the description of a Merlin-like old man: E col suave noto, ch’un aquatico mergo tra folghe segue alcun piscicolo Nel lito e primo mar de l’Adriatico, tal va per l’onde salse il trave piccolo sotto governo di quel vecchio pratico (Acquatico – Lodola Aquario, Folengo’s faithful editor pseudonym; folaga is synonymous with folenga). More will be said about these extra self-references as they occur. sarcastically parodying Ariosto’s rendering of the Este’s Ruggiero-Bradamante ancestry. Ariosto receives frequent and emphatic praise from Folengo: Tosc. 25, Orl. 1, 21 and 6, 2; Chaos p. 379; Uman. preface; V.C. p. 26 preface. Research by Menegazzo has shown that Folengo met with Ariosto (p. 408). But it is not clear what Folengo hoped to achieve with these octaves. One can only note that our poet is not at all afraid to be utterly whimsical in his dealings with political power or literary convention; (please see Chapter Three for further discussion of this issue of patronage). Other abilities usually ascribed to Merlin are sleight-of-hand and protean metamorphoses. Our Cocaio can materialize and dematerialize at will, but he does not perform magic tricks. This talent he bestows on another character, the buffoon (and thief) Boccalus. In the last versions of the Baldus, Bocalus is linked in a peculiar way to the House of Folengo, (at the end of book 19). From the second edition onward, there is also another, more mysterious Merlin figure, named Seraphus. Seraphus is first introduced in the Toscolana as a “divus vates” (Bk. 10), and then in Books 20-25 performs minor miracles to help the band of Cipadensi in their infernal struggles. He also pinches the men while he is invisible, and is otherwise sort of a naughty free agent mago (see Chapter Two). Folengo chose a bloody witch hunt for the quest, the final goal of his epic, and yet he grants supernatural powers both to his pseudo-self Merlin and to Merlin’s doubles. This double standard might perplex the modern reader, but Jacob Burckhardt clarifies the dichotomy in his chapter “Mixture of Ancient and Modern Superstition”: a magician could maintain a sterling reputation even after witch burnings became frequent, because he was seen as a competitor to the witch, not as her aider and abettor (p. 503). p. 27 Merlin shared the status of white magician with a figure of major importance both for Folengo and for literature at large. Throughout the Middle Ages, Vergil’s fame as a poet was overshadowed by various Vergil-in-a-basket legends which featured him as a thaumaturgic avenger, and master builder. Vergil is more present in Folengo’s writings than in Dante’s, so this reputation as necromancer which associates him with Merlin is worth discussing. (The most salient of Folengo’s and Merlin’s jibes at and bows to Vergil will be taken up as they arise in this dissertation.) John Spargo, in his book on Vergilian legends, reports an interesting anecdote concerning demons enlisted as helpers, in which we see the famous Vergil interact with his “discipulo” Melino (sic).22 This story is told in the fifteenth century Cronaca di Mantova, written in terza rima by Bonamente Aliprandi.23 (There is also a rumor that the Merlin legend had its origins in Mantua.)24 p. 28 Zumthor (who also reports on Melino and his Master Vergil) calls attention to a “rapprochement” between Vergil’s name and Folengo’s leading pseudonym: Rappelons enfin que Folengo publia ses poèmes macaroniques sous le pseudonyme de Merlin Cocaio: ce dernier terme formait jeu de mots avec Virgilius Maro (“Cocaio” et “maron” étant synonymes dans son patois): on tient là encore le rapprochement. (p. 230) The Dizionario Etimologico Italiano, Battisti-Alessio, 1951, lists a third meaning for marrone – after a chestnut, and chestnut brown – “errore, sproposito.” “Far di coccai” means to make 22 J. Spargo, Virgil the Necromancer: Studies in Virgilian Legends (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1934), pp. 60-68. 23 B. Aliprandi, Cronaca di Mantova, in “Rerum Italicorum Scriptores” vol. 23, part 13, edited by Orsini Begani, (Città di Castello: Lapi, 1910), pp. 36-38. 24 In a patriotic statement from Mantova: Le lettere, E. Faccioli writes: “E appare evidente che, così facendo, egli intendesse richiamare sopratutto il lettore alle origini mantovane della leggenda di Merlino e alle ragioni intrinseche del proprio operare di poeta che doveva il meglio di sé alle illustri ascendenze patrie della propria educazione letteraria,” p. 307. blunders, in Mantuan,25 but Folengo does not link Cocaio with Maro denotatively. He employs the Mantuan word cocaio, or its synonyms “cocamen et cocaius et coconus” (Tosc. 25, gloss), to mean bottle stopper (see below, the “Libellus in laudibus Merlini Cocai”), but he never acknowledges the blunder meaning of cocaius. He does however take advantage of this meaning for marronem: one gloss reads “Maronem, fallum, errorem” (Tosc. 6; and see V.C. 8, 220). The Zingarelli Vocabolario shows for marrone an additional “volgare” definition: “testicolo”. It is clear that Folengo has this last meaning in mind when he tells us that Bocalus the magician is a descendant of the: “stirpe Maronorum, quam menzonare pudemus/ vergognantque illam fomnae nomare fameiam” (“Marone family, which we are shy to mention, and the women are embarrassed to name,” 13, 125-126). Occasionally, the allusion to Marone is ambiguous, as in the following example from the Orlandino: p. 29 O tempi grassi, O giorni fortunati, quando e’ poeti si trovarono boni mercé Gian Bocca d’or de’ Mecenati ch’ingrossar fenno già molti Maroni! (Orl. 1, 4) The tone of this passage causes one to read “Maroni” as a defamatory epithet, despite the possibly edifying presence of “Mecenati.” One pugnacious rejection of Parnassus and of Vergil juxtaposes the famous name and the common cuss word. In a macaronic invocation to Book 19 of the last edition, Cocaio, the self-proclaimed poet laureate of Bergamo and Cipada, scoffs at the author of the Eclogues declaring to his own muses: Non ego frigidibus Parnassi expiscor aquabus, Ceu Maro Castronus, quo non castronior alter, dum gelidas Heliconis aquas in corpora cazzat, agghiazzatque sibi stomacum, vinumque refudat, 25 Cherubini, Vocabolario Mantovano-Italiano (Milano: Bianchi, 1827). For Italian, the Zingarelli Vocabolario della lingua italiana (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1970) is consulted. unde dolet testam rumpitque in pectore venam. Per quid? Per quatros soldos, dum cantat in umbra – Dic mihi, Dameta – tondenti braga cadebat. Malvasia mihi veniat, non altra miora est manna, nec ambrosiae, nec nectares altra bevanda. (Not me, I don’t fish in the frigid waters of Parnassus, as does Maro, the castrated [or foolish] who is more castrated than anyone else. While he plies his body with gelid Helicon waters, he freezes his stomach, and refuses wine, whence his head aches and he ruptures a vein in his chest. For what? For a lousy two bits, while he sings in the shade “Speak to me, Dameta,” with his pants filling up and falling down. Let Malvasian wine come to me, no other manna is better, nor is ambrosia or nectar a better drink.) By the last, posthumous edition, Folengo’s Merlin displays supreme confidence in his macaronic muses, and a spiteful disregard for Vergil. Already in the first Liber macaronices the young poet openly challenges his most illustrious (Latin) predecessor. First, the young Mantuan adopts a famous stage name (with one false start: originally the name p. 30 in the text was Cocaius Merlinus, altered emphatically in the prefatory letter by Aquarius Lodola), which he himself belittles by deriving from the merle. Folengo thus deprives detractors of the opportunity of cutting Merlin Cocaio down to size. His name, despite what he tells us about its origins, convinces us that he is a great man, blessed with myriad talents. His persona executes the challenge to Vergil on poetic, theatrical and physiological grounds. Merlin is no capon to lie around in the shade singing incontinently to shepherds. He is a great epic poet. If the name and the character do not evoke sufficient respect, Folengo’s public relations man, Aquarius Lodola, rehearses Merlin’s talents for us. Perhaps more erosive than this mud-slinging, is Folengo’s appropriation of the name Maro in his mid-career Chaos. While the braggadocio Merlin is recounting his Baldus within Chaos, a gesture superficially similar to that of Nietzsche’s chapter “Why I write such good books” (Ecce Homo, 1888), he simply uses Vergil’s name to represent epic verse. In so doing, he subsumes the great Aeneid into his text: “... Baldi / gesta maronisono cantemus digna stivallo” (p. 246). Merlin’s successful usurpation can be measured by Cordié’s translation of this phrase as “noi Merlino, dico, cantiamo di nuovo di Baldo, maccheroneamente, le imprese degne del coturno”, (p. 837). Cordié’s note leads one to believe that he did not notice a “rapprochement” here with Maro: “Maronisono – altro composto conservato solo nel presente brano.” Alas, poor Vergil! p. 31 1.3 MACARONIC EXORDIUM The title page of the beautiful Paganini edition announces: MERLIN COCAI POETAE/ MANTUANI LIBER MA/ CARONICES LI/BRI XVIII NON ANTE IMPRESSI. The reader is then immediately greeted by an open letter from Magister Aquarius Lodola, herbologist, specialist in enemas, to a Count Passarini, not further identified.26 This lively prose epistle, in some 350 macaronic lines, relates the discovery of the seventeen books at hand. It also serves as an introduction and eulogy of the author, as its title “Libellus in laudibus Merlini Cocai” indicates. Magister Lodola, whose name invokes the harmonious trill of the lark, associated with flattery (“specchietto per le allodole” is defined “lusinga vana,” Zingarelli), manages to give us a complete picture of himself, while seeming to concentrate his attention on Merlin.27 He begins the epistle by emphasizing that everything which he is about to describe, however outrageous it may seem, was experienced by him in the flesh: “Accipe rem non quam audivi sed his manibus 26 The only other Passarini I have found was the family who overthrew the Gonzaga’s in 1318 and briefly took control of Mantua. 27 (The use of the English Merlin seems less distracting than the Latin Merlinus.) The name of one of the five muses in the last two editions is Lippae Mafelinae Lodolae. Lodola appears briefly as a character in V.C 11, 518-520, and in V.C. 15, 389-391. Note the consistent use of bird names: Folengo, in the course of his writings, makes much of the three black birds on the family coat of arms: folenga (Latin fulica, a character in the Chaos del Triperuno) means coot; Merlinus he explains with “merla”; and “lodola” (or “allodola”) means lark. pertocavi.” He and his fellow herbologists, Salvanellus Boccatorta, Dimeldeus Zucconus, Ioannes Baricocola, and Buttadeus de Grattarognus p. 32 (perhaps these too are pseudo-nyms), are off on an expedition to Armenia in search for the antidote treacle [used for poisonous bites]. Fleeing the broiling sun, they find themselves in a clearing before an immense mountain cavern. Here they stand for an hour admiring the well carved bronze doors, debating whether or not to enter; finally, “ad forzam pergorarum unum presumptiosiorem aliis,” they move forward. Inside, the timid party stumbles upon all manner of rusted smith’s tools, and human heads, arms and legs. They are momentarily disoriented. Then they continue along, to discover eleven enormous tombs. Over these tombs hangs a large porphyry tablet with an epigram engraved in gold letters: Hos sculpsit tumulos Merlini dextra Cocai, Texit magnanimos in quibus ipse viros. Hi Phlegethonteas caelo donante per umbras Lustrarunt ac res quas retulere mihi, Scripsimus haeroico libros in quinque coturno: De baratro sensi quidquid ab ore suo. (The right hand of Merlin Cocaio sculpted these tombs, and the same concealed great men in them. These men, with Heaven’s consent, traveled through Phlegethontean shadows, and I wrote the things which they brought back to me, whatever I learned about the Abyss, I got from their mouths. [I wrote them] in five books in the heroic meter.) We recognize the name Merlinus Cocaius from the title page; and here we are told that Merlin works in sculpture and embalming. The first person narrator (“mihi,” “scripsimus”), who claims to have written the five books of Phlegethontean deeds, is not necessarily the third person Merlin. By including the two in one epitaph, Folengo implies an intimate connection between the author (of at least five of the seventeen books) and this artisan Merlin. He does not actually say “I, p. 33 the poet, am Merlin.” Here the reader is told only that Merlin sculpted tombs to house the protagonists of shadow-world exploits. One assumes that it is Merlin who chiseled the epigrams (mostly in distichs). Aquarius and his colleagues, by reading the brief commemorations, become acquainted with these characters. They report each epitaph in turn as they walk around the cemetery-studio, describing the location and appearance of every tomb. The group shows no interest in the dis-bodied members lying around. Clearly the once live (fictive) heroes hold more meaning for them in dead, but poetic stone, than do the raw materials, the ante-text, from which they were formed. With this rag-and-bone shop28 Folengo makes real and tangible a phrase usually rendered as an abstract concept: authors create characters. The nearest stone honors Baldus with a sextet in the first person (one of the epigrams is in the second person, and two are in the third person) for his fearless feats in the underworld. Then we meet the epitaphs of Falchettus, half man half dog; Vinmazzus (later Virmazzus) likewise a “mezzo-vir”; Cingar, “perversus” in a manner as yet unspecified; also Hircanus, Moschinus, Lironus, and a Philotheus, who was captured by love for Baldus, saw Hell and reigns now in Heaven (“Captus ab egregio Baldi Philotheus amore,/ Infernum vidit nunc tenet astra iugi.”). Even without knowledge of our author’s religious name, p. 34 the switch from the strangely formed and/or oddly named creatures to this noble Philotheus, beloved of God, capable of a Dantesque journey through all three reigns, would cause a reader to pause and take notice. (This metathesized Latinized version of Teofilo leads in a sapphic lyric, “Ad Seipsum” and in the later Palermitana, an often present character is variably named Folengo, Teofilo and Filoteo.) After this brief mention, Philotheus does not enter the poem proper until 28 From F. B Yeats, “The Circus Animals’ Desertion”: “... Now that my ladder’s gone,/ I must lie down where all the ladders start,/ In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.” (Collected Poems, Macmillan, 1961). Book 13; he discovers Merlin’s tomb in Book 14. From then on, as we shall see, he is a prominent figure whose excellent character traits make him any author’s ideal counterpart, but especially Teofilo Folengo’s. The young author’s presentation (in the prefatory epistle) of Merlin, Philotheus and all the other major characters as entombed beings, and his introduction of Merlin into the text by means of another tomb, found by Philotheus, attest to Folengo’s preoccupation with his “heteronyms.” But these are also examples of the sixteenth century preoccupation with resurrection. Thomas Greene writes of the Humanist program which preceded the “Re-naissance”: There is first the archeological impulse downward into the earth, into the past, the unknown and recondite, and then the upward impulse to bring forth a corpse whole and newly restored, re-illuminated, made harmonious and quick... At the core of Humanism lies this instinct to reach into Chaos, oblivion, mystery, the alien, the subterranean, the dead, even the demonic, to reach out and in the act of reaching out already to be reviving and restoring.29 p. 35 Merlin is reintroduced in the text proper by means of another epigram; he resides beneath his tombstone. Nine epigrams are read and reported and just when the cemetery visit is becoming tedious, a tenth posits a live creature in the tomb beneath it: “Nec in coelo gratia, nec in inferno pena / datur buffonis hic ergo vivam Bocalus.” Like Dante’s middle of the road angels, Bocalus (mentioned above for his magic tricks, and his connection to Folengo in Vigaso Cocaio 19) is acceptable to neither Heaven nor Hell. Upon removing the stone covering, the herbologists find a thin bearded man playing with various toys (“nonullis bagatellis”). By a series of questions, to which they receive enigmatic answers, the would-be healers finally understand the buffoon’s predicament: it is up to them to decide his final destination. Bocalus for his part says only that he desires “quod naturaliter homo desiderat.” Accompanied momentarily by a Fra Gelminus who 29 9. T. Greene, “Restoring Rome: The Double Task of the Humanist Imagination,” 1980, pp. 2 and mumbles psalms, the men choose Paradise. Angels swoop down and scoop Bocalus, “solutus corpore,” up to Heaven. (The presence of the stuttering priest seems as gratuitous as it is fleeting.) Aquarius derives a moral from this climactic encounter: one must pray for buffoons. A final epigram is cited and then the intrepid band turns to searching for those books alluded to in Merlin’s epitaph, now referred to as the “quinque libros de diavolorum patria.”30 Luckily, they soon unearth an entire treasure of immensely learned macaronic volumes – p. 36 “libros librettos libriculos librazzos et milles alios schartafacios” – all penned by Cocaio. The intrepid little group is thus confronted with an immense store of books, not unlike Borges’ Library of Babel,31 but with the eerier touch of finding that all tomes have been written by the same hand. Magister Lodola, in his unflagging obsequiousness notes that he and his friends preferred such tomes to money. Among the works is one on witches (Liber de striis et strionibus). There are several with quasi-Hebraic titles: Barrichut, Transbaruch, Robaiott; others have uncategorizably nonsensical names: Sgnirifot, Scharacol, Cracricron, Stritricez, Argnafel, still others have escaped Lodola’s memory because they dealt with “cosis tam subtilibus quas homines non decet loqui.” Merlin is so unspeakably great that not even his (self-appointed) editor can fathom the subtleties of his texts. (Surely Nabokov’s Kinbote must have communed with Aquarius.) The party then locates a chest containing not only the aforementioned five books of Hell but also the present volume, which treats of the heroics of the great Baldus. Just in the nick of time, too, for all of a sudden, while the men are shouldering the chest in order to carry it back with them to the ship, an earthquake sends them scurrying. They scarcely board ship when the island they had 30 Rabelais’ catalogue of the Library of Saint Victor ends with the entry: “Merlinus Coccaius, de patria diabolorum” (2, 7). 31 Juan Luis Borges, Ficciones, 1945. been exploring swims away (echoes of St Brendan’s Journey).32 Once home, Aquarius opens the chest to discover the Opus Baldi safe, but not the Hell Chronicles “quos aut miracolose evanuisse, aut aliquem robasse p. 37 valde suspicor, et forsitan ad lucem in processu temporis videbuntur.” The topos of the text snatched from the hands of the author before he could correct it was very common in this era: for a less hysterical version of this theme, one can read the introduction to Castiglione’s Il Cortegiano. But Folengo develops the commonplace into an elaborate fiction. In the next edition, Aquarius accuses someone, by the name of Scardaffus, of having stolen from his study Merlin’s opus and his (the Magister’s) commentary. This thief turns out to be a notorious castrator of people, as well as of Folengo’s text. Many artists project future works and parts of works which then haunt their accomplished works: the “libros de inferno” may be one such mirage. Barberi-Squarotti offers an interesting interpretation in “L’inferno del Baldus”: he maintains that “l’inferno alla fine non c’è, nel Baldus” because a victory over Lucifer belongs to Christ, not to the band of misfits who rightly remain in the Zucca.33 Now that Aquarius Lodola has brought us full circle, back to his desk and his protegé, he sets out to convince us (and Count Passarini) of the supreme superiority of Merlin’s poetic genius. He begins the real “Libellus in laudibus Merlini Cocai” by calling up passages of the inferior writings of Pythagoras, Plato, Vergil, Cicero, Horace, Juvenal, Vergil, Terence, Euclid and again, Vergil, to stand beside excerpts from Merlin’s macaronic epic. While witnessing these p. 38 insulting comparisons, we are asked to acknowledge Merlin’s unsurpassed achievement in 32 See Acta Sancti Brendani, editor P. Moran (Dublin, 1872). 33 G. Barberi-Squarotti, Convegno, pp. 152-185. See also Goffis, “Merlino Cocaius de Patria diabolorum,” L’ Italia Che Scrive, 26, 1943, p. 50. military and pastoral descriptions, in sententiousness, and in astronomical observations. One instance of direct line by line comparison pits Merlin’s magnificent opening against Vergil’s meager “Arma virumque...”: Fantasia mihi quaedam fantastica venit, Historiam Baldi grossis cantare camaenis. Altivagam cuius faam nomenque gaiardum Terra tremit baratrumque metu se cagat adossum. (In Book 1 itself, these words read: Phantasia, musis... novellis, altisonam; the next three editions retain Lodola’s changes. In general, in both the first and second editions, Lodola’s epistles give slightly altered quotations from the text, the changes are usually incorporated in the next editions.) In conclusion, the prince (count) is urged to read for himself the entire volume immediately. Aquarius airs his regret that this noble poem was not reworked by the author, since better plowed lands do yield more abundant crops. Our volatile apologist then abruptly attacks certain “Pedagogi Idioti” who don’t believe that Merlin Cocaio hails from Mantua. To prove the poet’s Mantuan heritage beyond a doubt, Aquarius cites a verse from Book 16 where Merlin himself says: “Nomine Cocaius dicor de sanguine mantos.” And to this solid proof he adds the weight of yet more textual evidence: one need only observe the fine picture of Mantuan “mores et costumes” which Merlin paints for us, especially in the first seven books. Furthermore, this irrefutable critic continues, there were eighteen verses affixed to the front of this volume, in p. 39 which the poet speaks “ipse de seipso.” He introduces himself in phrases which call to mind Virgil’s self presentation in Dante’s Inferno 1: Si queris qui sim patria – Mantous, et annis Sub quibus imperii vixi, sub rege Gaioffo, Cuius in arbitrio macaronica regna stetere, Si nomen, Cocaius ego Merlinus apellor … (If you ask who I am, as concerns my fatherland, I am Mantuan; in which years of the empire did I live (many) years – under King Gaioffo, in whose jurisdiction stands the macaronic reign; if you ask my name, I am called Cocaius Merlinus [or Merlinus Cocaius?]) … Most of the eighteen verse passage partially quoted above explains Merlin’s name. He is called Cocaius because his pregnant mother was looking for a cork (cocaium) to stop a bottle when he popped out. The thirsty mother soon drowns in a vat of wine (“O grandis et nunquam audita disgratia”), and the infant is fed daily in his crib by a merla (blackbird), hence Merlinus. This “merle” story obviously pleased Folengo (if “merla” meant dupe in the sixteenth century, as it does now in both Italian and English, the poet excludes this meaning from his account), we find it retained and embellished through to the final edition. However, some scholars have been less than receptive to this autobiographic etymology. Continelli sees no reason to believe any part of this story: In questa dichiarazione io non vedo che una semplice bizzaria dell’Autore, perché le parole “piccolo merlo” e “tappo” a cui equivalgono Merlino e Coccaj, non hanno alcun senso adeguato alla contenenza del Poema...34 p. 40 The critics are not to be fooled by Folengo, Merlin or Lodola. Behind the diversionary definition, they (Portioli, Luzio, Continelli, Goffis and others) discern the multifaced Merlin of legendary fame, and they offer various (better) explanations of “coccaio.” The faithful Luzio disagrees with Portioli’s suggestion that the author used the blunder meaning to characterize his macaronic language (p. 5). Continelli reads the bottle stopper definition as a metonymy: it is really the lightness of cork which Folengo meant to invoke with “coccaj.” In support of this meaning, he cites from the Toscolana “Dicor ego superans alios levitate poetas / Ut Maro medesimos superat gravitate poetas” (Tosc. 3), and from the Chaos, were Limerno asks Merlin why he doesn’t remove that name Cocaio: “nome, dico, di somma leggerezza,” p. 271. At any rate, by providing 34 34 G. Continelli, II Baldus di Merlin Coccaj: Studio critico (Città di Castello: Lapi, 1904), pp. 22-24. this folkloric naming, Folengo prods the reader to object “No, no, Merlin is really that great prophet, that magician, that divinely inspired sculptor.” Had Folengo insisted on the excellence of his chosen name, the reader might want to deflate such hubris. With the help of Aquarius Lodola, the poet preempts any foul name playing of the sort which he inflicts upon Publius Vergilius Maro. Some version of “Cocaius nomen, titulus Merlinus” is repeated three times in these eighteen verses. Folengo seems to be struggling with a change in the order of his names. The textual appearance no doubt came first: in Book 16, we read: “Nomine Cocaius dicor de sanguine manto,/ Est mihi cognomen Merlinus macaronensis.” The marginal gloss confirms the original christening: “Iste senior est noster praeclarus poeta p. 41 Cocaius Merlinus quis non auditu sed palpatu Baldum decantavit.” Once again, alterations made by the editor persona Lodola, become Merlin’s future text. Our diligent Magister Lodola sees fit to comment on the straightforward if uncommon nativity `and christening. His expansive paraphrase includes information about the poet’s parents – they were both “villani,”35 and about Merlin’s meeting with Baldus when the latter returned to Mantua. With the quotation of these autobiographical lines, Aquarius dismisses the ignoramuses who foolishly questioned the veracity of the poet’s testimony. A vigorous refutation of this sort would normally imply at least one real detractor, but with Folengo this is not even probable. If our poet deems it advisable to stress Merlin’s Mantuan origins, belligerent doubters are summoned and another heteronym comes forward to deal with them. Although the Magister swears to the veracity of all he has written, and although Alessandro Luzio writes emphatically concerning the substantiality of Baldus, Cingar, Falchettus and other 35 It is mere prudence for a would-be star, to claim a low birth, in order to exaggerate his own achievement and to minimize the weight of possible blame – who could expect more from him? personages, perhaps one should question the fact of this historic encounter between the poet and his principle protagonist. Luzio points to one of the many lyrics Merlin addressed to these characters, “Ad Baldum de ira,” and asks what fun it would be if this Baldus did not exist, and insists p. 42 “chi può supporre che un ingegno così nemico di banalità come il Folengo abbia intitolato ad un Baldo immaginario questi luoghi comuni?” (p. 69ff). Along with Goffis, I would protest: “I luoghi comuni sono sempre banalità a chiunque siano rivolti.36 Goffis calls attention to the changing physical descriptions of these characters from one edition to another. The addressee of the lyrics changes as well, for example “Ad Baldum de ira” was originally “De ira (ad Paulum Ursinum).” But to be fair to Luzio, the posthumous Vigaso Cocaio edition includes a paragraph entitled “Argomento sopra il Baldo” in which it is claimed that a Francesco Donesmonda was a companion of Merlin’s in Bologna, and the original model for Baldus. The “Argomento” which will be discussed more fully further on, concludes: E così per la sua baldanza chiamollo Baldo, e li compagni secondo il vario costume loro nominolli chi Cingaro, chi Falchetto e il resto.” One of the Toscolana editions contains a Latin dialogue in which this Donesmonda is said to be a friend of Merlin’s and the model for Baldus; this young man was killed before 1521, and lyrics continue to be written to him after this date. One must never hesitate to give “tout simplement del bugiardo al Folengo,” something the positivistic Luzio finds abhorrent. One can, if necessary, accept Folengo’s word that there was a flesh and blood friend who inspired the Baldus personality. Like most literary characters, Baldus and company were no doubt conglomerate figures based on various friends, acquaintances and antagonists of the poet. The focus of this study is on what Folengo says about his constructs and p. 43 the (literary) resonances their names evoke, rather than on their possible historic reality. 36 C.F. Goffis, Teofilo Folengo, pp. 21-28. The final paragraph of this wondrous epistle harps on the normative nature of macaronic hexameters. Aquarius adds his usual abusive accusations of any who would contest the validity of Merlin’s methodological manifesto, which here concludes the eighteen-verse miniautobiography: Cocaius vocor hinc, Merlinus nominor illinc Inclita magnanimi Baldi cantavimus arma: Non stilus heroicus placuit mihi, clara poesis Me macaronenscis vatem manifestat in orbem. Sillaba longa brevis propriam tenet undique normam. Libertate mea raro corrumpimus illas, Multa meo ingenio vocabula plura cantavi Quae sine comentis intendere quisque valebit. (Here I am called Cocaius, there, Merlinus; I sing of the noble arms of the magnanimous Baldus: the heroic style did not please me, Macaronic poetry, with its brilliance shows me to the whole world as a poet. Throughout, the syllables maintain their proper length, rarely do I corrupt them with my (poetic) liberty. I often sang many vocabulary words [fabricated] in my mind. These can be understood without commentary by anyone.) Many of the marginal glosses in the text are occupied with signaling variants in spelling for metric purposes. Typical of these are: “Fames habet primam brevem auctoritate sua corripit et illud ex longum breviat,” and “Diablus pro diabolus sincopa est.” Other glosses point out stylistic niceties: “Et et geminatus est color rhetoricus.” Obviously Aquarius wants us to know Merlin for a competent classicist and a conscientious versifier. p. 44 Before signing off, Magister Lodola again insists on the truthfulness of the contents of his epistle: “Denique splendidissime princeps... annuncio tibi quam dixi fuisse verissima et sic testor coram supradictis meis coherbolattis.” A postscript explains that two eclogues found in the same chest as the Baldus poem will follow. Even with the “Iterum vale” we do not lose the fiery Aquarius, for his are the macaronic verse Argomenti which precede each of the seventeen books, and it is he who faithfully glosses the entire text. In addition to the glosses on form, there are others which are merely humorous: the verse “Omne matina fosso se vodat in uno” is glossed: “Intende o lector nam turpe est dicere cagat” (Every day he emptied himself in a ditch... Mark, O reader, for it is wicked to say shit, Bk. 2). Further on, when the topic in the text is merda, we read “Excusatio poetae nam supra dixit turpe est dicere cagat” (Bk. 4), when in fact it was not the poet but the commentator Lodola who wrote this caution. Although they flow from Lodola’s pen, many of the glosses purport to register how Merlin feels: “Iocatur poeta,” “Hic poeta sibimet comentum fecit.” Others urge the reader to consider the poet’s feelings. One such marginal note provides a link between Merlin and Zambello; the latter is complaining about his half brother Baldus’ harsh treatment of him, he concludes in a moving series of antitheses: Omnes compagni sed non campagna scudella, Sum felix omnis pro me vult ponere vitam Sum pauper nullus pro me vult ponere robbam. (Book 2) p. 45 Folengo intends to impress the reader with his solitary poverty, via Merlin and spokesperson Lodola, who notes “Infinem cuiuscumque libri de se poeta loquitur.” Allusions to penury will become more and more frequent in later works; they are especially noticeable in the Orlandino written after Folengo left the monastery. Another bitter interjection is doubly marked, first by Merlin’s apologetic framing, then by Aquarius’ redundant note “Poeta increpat seipsum” (“The poet accuses himself”): Non cessant chartam semper spegazzare nodari Mandatos faciunt ac instrumenta reformant Namque guadagnandi sic urget coeca cupido Per fas atque nephas poveri lacerantur ubique. Sed non historicum Satyras cantare Poetam Condecet en Baldus salam nil territus intrat. (Book 3) (The notaries never cease to scribble papers. They make mandates and sharpen their pens for thus the blind lust for gain urges them on, rightly and wrongly the poor are everywhere afflicted. But it is not fitting for a poet of history (an epic poet) to write satires. Behold Baldus, not terrified in the least, entered the room.) Merlin concedes that as a poet of (epic) history, he should not change his lense to bring blindly grasping notaries into focus. He corrects this impulse by returning immediately to the fearless Baldus in action. Yet other glosses call auctores to witness things to which they never would have testified for posterity: “Nulla bosia vera est teste Plutarco”; “Correzant ait Aristoteles est ventositas discurrens per budellas.” Of particular interest is the gloss to Guidone’s seizure of Baldovina “Poeta noster amator honestatis fuit imitans Virgilium in sua Aeneidam unde dicit speluncam Dido dux et troianus eadem.” This is the only edition in which Folengo supplies not only the witness Sinibaldo p. 46 (“Hanc in conubio Sinibaldo teste piavit”), but further clears himself by calling in Vergil as an authority on elopement. In the Toscolana, Sinibaldo is present, but the gloss reads simply: “Guido et Baldovina conjunguntur.” By the third and fourth editions, Folengo is no longer concerned with the Manzonian nicety of having a witness legally present to hear the vows, nor does he feel the need for any auctoritas: he announces the event with a no-frills “Hanc rapit.” Neither Lodola’s long letter to Passarini nor his outrageous “Epistolium Colericum ad Scardaffum Zaratanum” of the second edition, nor any of the glosses of the first two versions, are featured in the third and fourth editions. The Magister does not appear in any of the later works, except for a cameo appearance on a battle front, (11, 511). In the Preface to the Cipadense, Francesco Folengo graciously refers to our editor’s printing of the earlier publications, saying they were printed “per consiglio e spesa del magnifico maestro Aquario Lodola.” And yet despite his early disappearance, Aquarius Lodola more than Merlin, Limerno, Triperuno, or for that matter, Folengo, offers a coherent predictable personality. He is then, a rather wealthy, highstrung scientific humanist with friends among the nobility. As the self-appointed executor of Merlin’s publications, Lodola takes his distance from the poet while trying to present the Maccheronee in the most flattering light. p. 47 1.4 ON THE PERIPHRY Before turning to the Baldus, we shall look at those two “aeglogas” which eventually expand to become the eighteen-part, 1158 verse Zanitonella. Ever ready to stand up to Vergil, Folengo does not hesitate to stand in settings composed by his illustrious predecessor: his first hexameter: “Tu solus, Bigoline, iacens stravacatus in umbra,” is a macaronic rendering of “Tityre, patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi” (Ecl. 1).37 However, instead of the dignified Vergilian lament over lost lands (confronted in the next version’s “Eccloga Prima”), we hear reciprocal accusations of theft, which recall Vergil’s third Eclogue. These complaints are delivered with aggressive cantankerousness in Macaronic Latin, which further highlights the desired degradation of Vergil’s opus. The second “Aegloga” gives us two drunk shepherds extolling women.38 These two slapstick rustic encounters, more akin to Ruzante’s dramas than, say, the Aminta to come, in time grow into an accomplished pastoral canzoniere, parts of which will be examined in the next chapter. p. 48 37 Vergil and other classical Latin authors are quoted from the Loeb Classical Library. 38 See A. Momigliano, “Le quattro redazioni della Zanitonella”, GSLI 1919, pp. 1-43 and 159- 202. 1.5 THE FIRST BALDUS A skeletal plot of Folengo’s great poem, six times longer than any previous (known) macaronic work, must be provided if one is to understand Merlin’s role as a protagonist within it. The 1517 Baldus is to the 1552 version what the leafing sapling is to the grown oak: the structure remains the same but the roots and branches increase in strength, depth and breadth. Briefly then, Baldovina, daughter of Charlemagne, falls in love with a most talented and handsome knight, Guidone, descendant of Rinaldo. Having been pierced by Cupid’s arrow, Guido runs off with Baldovina. They arrive exhausted in Cipada where they are warmly welcomed by a kind contadino, Bertus. Baldovina dies while giving birth to Baldus. And Guidone goes off to Armenia, where, by the way, Aquarius Lodola and friends found the text. He leaves the infant with Bertus. Books 2-15 show Baldus growing up precociously strong and able. He makes friends among the riff-raff of nearby Mantua, and enemies among the children of the wealthy. After Baldus is imprisoned in Mantua for oppressing his hard working “half-brother” Zambellus (son of Bertus), and for being the leader of local thugs, we follow the escapades of his trickster friend Cingar. Baldus’ bloody escape from prison and Mantua launches the gang on adventures. In Book 16, they are met by the prophetic poet Cocaius Merlinus who confesses them one by one and enjoins them to descend into Hell and destroy the kingdom of Witches. In this penultimate Book, not only do Philotheus and Merlin enter the action, but a young Folengo too is invoked. p. 49 Allow me to say at the outset of this enterprise that I am aware of culling all the “wrong” passages. Like a poetry anthology filled only with those poems which thematize writing, or a Hitchcock film review which features only the cameo appearances of the pasty rotund director, we will observe Folengo’s protrusions into his captivating texts. And yet these insinuations of the poet’s personae into the production process and into the fiber of his poems make Folengo and his works, especially his Chaos del Triperuno composed entirely of the interaction between Folengo’s heteronyms, a most fascinating arena for study. Thomas Greene observes in The Light in Troy (1982): “The discovery of the ancient world imposed enormous anxiety upon the humanist Renaissance, but its living poetry represents a series of victories over anxiety, based upon a courage that confronts the model without neurotic paralysis and uses the anxiety to discover selfhood,” (p. 3.). I subscribe to this statement, but will explore instead what could be called the failures of anxiety, the instances of a sort of neurotic paralysis which when added up together contribute a great deal to the discovery of selfhood. 1.5.1 Author named characters As stated earlier, Baldus can be read as a Folengo figure, in the same way that Ruggiero can be considered Ariosto’s projected self. But Philotheus cannot be ignored as a silhouette of the author. p. 50 After his liberation from Muselina’s dungeon (in Book 13), Philotheus appears to us handsome, strong and fearsome: “Alter quinetiam Philotheus nomine pulcher / Corpore terribilis multuque gaiardus in armis,” (Pag. 14, 38-9). A Frenchman, Philotheus tells of how Guidone, his father’s best friend, carried him around and kissed him. In fact, Philotheus’ father was exiled from France for this loving devotion to the man who escaped with the King’s only daughter. Thus, Philotheus carries on a family tradition when he swears to follow Baldus wherever he may go – on land, on sea, even to witch country (“contradas strigias”). To this long self-presentation, Baldus replies magniloquently: “... nos alta simul providentia iunxit:/ Qualiter in cunctis concordes simus amici” (Pag. 13* [14, 50-1]). In addition to this inherited fondness for Baldus, son of Guidone, Philotheus is assigned duties which show his close ties to the narrator. His first assignment is to uncover Merlin’s tomb. Thus Philotheus and Merlin enter the action almost simultaneously. When a fighting devil emerges from Merlin’s sepulcher, the warriors are forced to forgo further knowledge of Merlin. Later, in Book 16, when it comes time for the crew to choose arms from among those worn by the greatest warriors of all times, the reader is not surprised to find Philotheus donning the arms Venus had made for Aeneas. (I say this bearing in mind the improbability of today’s reader turning to the quite rare 1517 edition without some awareness of the author’s Vergil obsession; contemporary readers would have perceived Folengo’s anxiety of p. 51 influence.)39 Nor is one amazed to learn that while it takes some members of the group days to confess their sins to “pater Cocaius,” our Philotheus “pura colomba est” (Pag 16). The sinless knight then follows Baldus and friends into the realm of witches, a comrade in combat until the end of the struggle and the poem. Philotheus returns in the 1521 Toscolana edition, but his role in it is reduced, and the poem doubles in length, further diminishing his impact. In the third and fourth editions, there is no Philotheus. Instead a Philoforno, Prince of Modena arrives (in V.C. 25, 314) and joins the Cipadensi in their sundry skirmishes. Also, in these further augmented versions, 120-140 hexameters of autobiographical misinformation and self-exaltation are included (V.C. 22). So the obvious namesake, with its recent precedence in earlier macaronic poems, will be replaced by a first person insertion from the poet as Merlin Cocaio, born to the “Casa folenghiana,” and raised at public expense to rival Vergil. A word about these pre-Folengo macaronic poems is in order here. “Macaronic” may initially have served as the epithet for convivial drinking partners who eat lots of pasta. William Schupbach traces the term back to Latin maccus: a fool, a stage buffoon.40 Macaronic types 39 Harold Bloom’s homonymous volume (The Anxiety of Influence, 1975), is not being called upon directly; I use anxiety of influence in its now broad, nearly self-explanatory signification. 40 W. Schupbach, “Dr. Parma’s Medicinal Macaronic”, The Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institute, vol. 41, 1978, pp. 147-149. Schupbach offers here the first and only edition of the hilarious “Medicinal Macaronic” (1498). p. 52 came to include prostitute muses, necromancers, doctors, cooks, pedants, thieves, and other marginal characters. Often there were real people, whose names were decipherable to the immediate public, unhidden behind these farcical types. Two of the seven surviving Macaronee are open invectives in tenzone. The others, which vary in length from 145 to 1030 verses, contain grotesquely detailed descriptions of “macaroni” who are presented as protagonists or victims in a loose narrative plot.41 Much fuss is made over food preparation, its consumption, and other bodily functions. Tifi, pseudonym of Michele Bartolomeo degli Odasi, is traditionally dubbed the father of macaronic poetry, and is claimed by Padua. In the last decade of the fifteenth century, Tifi (taking his name from the pilot of the Argonauts) lead a group of poets in confecting these savory conglomerations of classical learning and gossipy adventure. Tifi demonstrates a thorough grounding in Latin grammar and metrics which surpasses that evidenced by his cohorts; his talent for physical descriptions has rarely been rivaled (see the notorious depiction “De massara Cusini spiciari” in his “Macaronea” (c. 1485). Not only are friends, relatives, and enemies satirized or at least cameo’d in these vignettes, the authors do not hesitate to introduce themselves into the action. Tifi frequently enters his “Macaronea” as “parvus Tifis” and” Tiphetus” and his co-authors and their mate-muses are also addressed directly. Matteo Fossa gives us a personal travelogue in the midst of his “Virgiliana”; his appearance is p. 53 announced “Ipse ego sum Fossa...” Nor are the authors themselves the only ones to mention their names: the anonymous author of the bumptious “Nobile Vigonze Opus” refers twice to Tiphis (11. 62 and 69). The outrageously funny “Macaronea medicinalis” contains hexameters similar enough to some in the “Macaronea” and the “Nobile Vigonze Opus” to induce Schupbach to speak of plagiarism. The cross-referencing of one poem to another implies rapidly circulating manuscripts and/or printed copies of the macaronic mini-masterpieces. 41 The texts for some of these pre-folenghiani are found in the appendix to Cordié’s Opere di Folengo (1977). See also I precursori di Merlin Cocai: Studi e ricerche, editor G. Zannoni, (Città di Castello: Lapi, 1888). When Folengo arrived in Padua, no doubt these texts presented themselves to him in all their ribald glory. In his first work, Folengo does not acknowledge Tifi or other macaroni but he does adopt the namesake character: in addition to Philotheus, a “juvenum Folengum” is also cited in the Paganini, and the Toscolana. However, in the subsequent three revisions of the Liber macaronices, Tifi receives immoderate praise from his increasingly successful heir: Tosc. 25, Cip. 5, and V.C. 22. It would seem that as Folengo moved further away from this precedence, he became more willing to credit his forebearers. The perfect Philotheus of the Paganini is replaced in later editions by the rather negligible Philophornus.42 The even more telling namesake “juvenum Folengum” also disappears, thus completing the move from mimetic imitation of name play found in earlier macaronic poems, to gracious gratitude for these predecessors and a very new approach to p. 54 self-aggrandizement in verse. 1.5.2 Merlin to the rescue Merlin’s name first appears in Aquarius Lodola’s reproduction of his epitaph; within the epic poem, Merlin’s name again appears on his epitaph. In Book 14, the Cipadensi discover a tomb and read the “Epigrama super sepulchrum Merlini” engraved upon it: Merlinus iacet hic cuius stat nomen apertum, In magica nemo sibi par fuit arte magistro. (Here lies Merlin, whose name is open to all, no one was equal to him, the master in magic arts) 42 Paolo Valesio pointed out that in the Italian Renaissance “forno” is used to represent the female genitalia* [orifice; anus], so the name change is dramatic. Lacking clues, one is tempted to explain away Philoforno with Continelli’s “io non veda che una semplice bizzaria dell’autore.” Here in Folengo’s first authorial protrusion into the text proper, the reader finds the identification of Merlin he expects: the famous name, the unsurpassed skills. As soon as Philotheus lifts the cover from Merlin’s white tomb, a black devil emerges, and the battle between Cipadensi and demons commences. Fighting keeps the thug-warriors from speculating as to why a devil emerges from this tomb. Merlin is temporarily forgotten. In Book Sixteen, a “senior barbatus... splendidus et sensu parens superare Catonem” arrives in the nick of time. Before he can identify himself, he must intervene to save Baldus and his friends from a witch’s powers. The Argumentum which precedes this book, mentions a Merlinus Cocaius, but as yet the reader has no reason to identify the venerable old gentleman with Merlin. There is no time for introductions: a fierce dragon has eluded the combatting Cipadensi by becoming a ravishing female beauty. She has almost convinced p. 55 Falchettus to relinquish to her a tome of magic formulas when the “senior barbatus” pops in. He exchanges friendly greetings with the barroni, and ask Falchettus to hand him the magic book. A verbal tug-of-war ensues; the old man triumphs over the fickle young dragon lady. She, having lost her powers, confesses: Nocentina vocor magicis tam dedita chartis, Decepique mea juvenum cum fraude Folengum Quem quia non potui foedare libidinis actu Disfamare tuli, posuique in grande periclum. Iam valeat mundus mea sint habitatio vermes, Tartar serpentes ignes lachrimosaque vallis. Et sic stridendo fertur cum corpore ad orcum. (Pag 16, 177-83) (I call myself Nocentina, so much given to magical studies, and I deceived the young Folengo with my fraudulence, but since I could not defile him in an act of libido, I undertook to defame him, and I placed him in great danger. Let the world fare well; now may these my dwelling be: Tartarus, worms, serpents, fire and a tearful dale. And thus, with a shriek, she is carried with her body, to Hell.) (The death of Nocentina is rendered almost tragic by the echoes here from Aeneas slaying of Turnus which Ariosto in his turn adapted to Rodomonte’s death.) The elderly man has not been identified, so one might assume that he was the uncorruptible Folengo, but there is no compelling evidence of this. C.F. Goffis is not only convinced that Folengo himself was wounded by this woman (not for instance, a brother or a cousin of Teofilo’s), he also believes that Folengo tried to suppress all report of his near involvement with her: “aveva tentato fin all’ultimo di evitare uno scandalo e non c’era riuscito” (p. 32). But of course since our only knowledge of the near coital mishap comes from this passage, this is akin to saying that Dante did everything in his power to keep Bruno Latini in the closet. Goffis allows as how “un p. 56 lettore attento avrebbe svelato il nome di lui [Folengo],” but surely even a dull reader could see Folengo through the “veil” of “juvenum Folengum.” Moreover, Goffis reads the death of Baldus’ virgin friend Leonardo at the hands of the evil Muselina (Toscolana version of Nocentina; in V.C. she is called Pandraga) as the “sviluppo letterario del fatto autobiografico,” that is, of the autobiographical fact of Nocentina and the “juvenum Folengum.” It is here in his comment on the “autobiographical” Nocentina and her literary counterpart Muselina that he proposes “Ed ora esaminiamo se veramente questa maga meretrice abbia avuto rapporti col nostro frate” (p. 8). With this revelation from Nocentina, the little wicked one, Folengo introduces his family name to the campaign against witches, a campaign formalized earlier by a Papal Bull of 1484, authorizing Dominicans to use any means to squelch these uncanny women. By the turn of the sixteenth century, northern Italy was suffering from what J.A. Symonds termed a “popular epidemic” of witches (p. 305). We have no way of knowing what prompted the poet to point to himself as a victim of one of these witches, whose main activity seems to have been the temptation of good boys and girls to carnal relations. (In all four editions, the virgin Leonardo’s murder launches the poet on a verbal offensive against lusty witches, Tosc. 16 and V.C. 16, 489626.) Something must be said in an attempt to explain why the witch hunt fulfills the role of epic quest in Folengo’s poem. One hypothesis concerning witches in the Renaissance can be found in the opening sentence of Harry Miskimin’s The Economy of Late Renaissance (1400-1600) (1977): p. 57 Witchcraft proliferates when fundamental premises are challenged and society itself appears unstable; it is thus no accident that the later Renaissance witnessed a profusion of witches. By definition, witches are supernatural creatures who exist beyond and in defiance of the laws of nature. (p. 1) Miskimin goes on to show how belief in bad demons and good saints thrived alongside advanced engineering and mechanical skills. Perhaps most relevant for an understanding of Folengo’s attitude toward witches is the link to other powers that be: “At the extreme, political power becomes analogous to witchcraft, since both are viewed as capable of bringing about the unnatural and subverting the chain that leads from action to reaction.” Folengo, as we shall see more and more clearly, was vehemently opposed to the subversion of his order by undisciplined and unscrupulous monks. The young Benedictine needed to construct himself in opposition to the putrid “incantatrice e maga” Squarcialupi, who reigned off and on as an abbot, and then became president of the entire congregation. Stephen Greenblatt, in Renaissance Self Fashioning (1980), elaborates upon this concept of the distorted image of authority: Self fashioning is achieved in relation to something perceived as alien, strange, or hostile. The threatening Other: heretic, savage, witch, adulteress, traitor, Antichrist – must be discovered or invented in order to be attacked and destroyed. Witches, for an avowed celibate living in the heart of witch country, would be a ready target. If all witches (and perverted monks) could be obliterated, order could be restored. p. 58 At Nocentina’s demise, the “senior barbatus” laughs and leads the stunned band together with their horses to a smithy. Here he welcomes them warmly: for one hundred years he has foreseen their arrival in the mirrors around him. He is delighted to have been granted life long enough to see Baldus; if conceded yet more time, he shall sing of Baldus’ exploits in the secret netherworld. He presents himself, as we have seen, saying: “Nomine Cocaius dicor de sanguine mantos / Est mihi cognomen Merlinus macaronensis.” (Aquarius Lodola’s “Argumentum” foretold the arrival of a Merlinus Cocaius.) Then “pater Cocaius” tells the troupe what its mission is, albeit in rather abstract terms: Vos deus in unum iunxit tutasque reduxit, Restat adimplatis summi praecepta tonnantis Qui vos elegit propter lustrare paesos Tartareos nobisque illas contare facendas. Vobis conveniet magnas passare fatigas, Quod desperati vitae quandoque saritis. (Book 16) (God has joined you in one and has brought you back safe. It remains that you should fulfill the precepts of the most high thunderer who chose you to wander over the counties of Hell and to recite those accomplishments to me. It will be necessary for you to go through great toils such that you will be at times despairing of life.) They must all confess their sins to Cocaius before heading out on their campaign. The lengthy confession scene (Cingar needs two full days to recount all his sins) is quite humorous but does not necessarily betray condemnation of this sacrament. Finally, Cocaius absolves the heroes, and takes them to choose arms from among those worn by the greatest warriors of all times, from Achilles and Aeneas, to Buovo d’Antona and Guerin Meschino (heroes of popular chivalric romances), to Orlando and p. 59 Guidone. The soldiers of Christ, called simply “Christicolae,” also keep arms here. The venerable old man then gives the armed Cipadensi his blessing and sends them down through a hole under a rock, down a thousand steps into “Tartara” where witches rule. Cocaius remains above, which is why he must get the story second hand from his characters, as was hinted at in Merlin’s epitaph, cited in Lodola’s epistle. Eventually, with the help of the redoubtable Philotheus and others, Baldus corners the queen witch Gulfora, Goddess Gulfora to her subjects. Baldus taunts the witch “Cur tua nunc deitas tibi non prestavit aiutum?” with the question the bad thief puts to Christ on the cross (Matth. 27, 42; Luke 24, 39). Just when it seems as though these small-town thugs have been raised to the level of Christian heroes, we are reminded of their persistent irreverence. An irreverence for all, even for God’s text. Then Baldus lets fly a kick at the hapless Gulfora who calls out to her father, the Devil. The poem ends clamorously: “Ut sic stridendo rapitur miserabilis inde,/ Vitaque cum gemitu fugit indignata sub umbras.” More than reminiscent, this is an exact duplication of the last verse of Vergil’s Aeneid. The first edition begins with a challenge to Vergil’s famous “Arma virumque” opening, proceeds through echoes of Vergil’s works, and ends on the same challenging note. The reader perceives resonances from the Bible and from the Aeneid which simultaneously lift the Baldus to epic heights, and sound out the vast differences between this Macaronic p. 60 masterpiece and those classics of World Literature. No new kingdom is being won by sacrificial death, no founding of a Rome is projected for the Cipadensi, nor are there any plans for the future of our poet or his patrons. The warriors, although victorious, remain in Hell; Merlin like Bocalus has returned to an intermediate level of existence – neither on Earth nor in the depths of the underworld. In these final hexameters, Folengo creates a form of imitation that loosely fits a description of the humanist text offered by Thomas Greene: “a locus of struggle between two rhetorical or semiotic systems that are vulnerable to one another and whose conflict cannot easily be resolved,” (The Light in Troy, p. 46). Folengo’s choices demonstrate Greene’s next observation, that “Anacronism becomes a dynamic source of artistic power.” Folengo’s epic poem thrives on the Macaronic hexameter which is itself an anachronistic blend of pure literary Latin and idiomatic dialectal phrases, and on characters who are at the same time noble warriors and pathetic bullies. Teofilo Folengo, ordained Benedictine, poses as Merlin, the famous prophet, magician, and Macaronic poet, who in turn poses as a long-suffering agent of God. Folengo also invents the aggressive, fawning discoverer-publisher, Magister Aquarius Lodola, who presents the text in a rainbow-colored skein of fictions. Folengo uses his own name (“juvenum Folengum”) to thwart a libidinous encounter, and an anagram of his religious name (Philotheus) for the perfect knight and friend to Baldus. None of these guises is utterly unique in Western Literature; Stephen Greenblatt itemizes some of the new meanings self-fashioning acquires in the Renaissance: p. 61 It invariably crosses the boundaries between the creation of literary characters, the shaping of one’s own identity, the experience of being molded by forces outside one’s control, the attempt to fashion other selves. (p. 8.) What is unusual about Folengo’s works, is the presence in them of a tremendous variety of selves. Equally unusual is Folengo’s (unfortunate) ability to convince even critical readers that this multiplication of selves was staged for merely pragmatic ends: to avoid censure, to clear his conscience. Our scope here is to embrace all the conflicting aspects of Folengo, without being seduced by any one voice. Thus, in my presentation of the appearances of the author in his texts, I shall try to steer clear of the Scylla of De Saussure’s inconclusive work on elusive anagrams, and the Charybdis of Lermontov’s cocky pronouncements concerning his hero: Perhaps all these observations came to mind only because I knew some details of his life, and perhaps upon someone else his looks might have produced an entirely different impression; but since you will hear of him from no one but me, you must needs be satisfied with this portrayal.43 43 M. Lermontov, A Hero of Our Times, (1840), transl. V. Nabokov. (New York: Doubleday, 1958), p. 57. Chapter II THE TOSCOLANA EDITION: PROLIFERATION AND POLEMIC Within four years of the debut Maccheronee, Folengo produced a second volume more than double the first in length and strength. The nearly 15,000 verses of this Toscolana edition (printed again by Paganini but now from his press near the Lago di Garda) swell with names, criticisms and recipes not to be found again in the two later versions.44 The by-products are innumerable. In addition to the new little epic, Moschaeae, a much expanded pastoral and an almost doubled Baldus, there are: tables of contents, prefatory poems, two epistles from Aquario Lodola, an apology, a grammar, an excuse, a proemiunculum, illustrations for every book, a prophecy, titles and subtitles, glosses, a “strambotolegia,” a proemium, book summaries, a prologue (to the Moschaeae), correspondence between Merlin and Paganini, a Latin Dialogue, verse epistles to various characters, epigrams, a sonnet, a “tabula vel repertorium facetiarum,” and errata.45 The Toscolana p. 63 edition was the most popular: it was reprinted eight times in the first eighty years. And in every century thereafter. Although it was included on the Index of Forbidden Books in 1596. 44 John Buehrens, in the only English monograph on Folengo to date, compares the Paganini and the Toscolana and notes the increase in the number of proper names which crop up in this second version, “Teofilo Folengo: A Prefatory Study in Historical and Literary Perspective”, (B.A. Thesis, Harvard University, 1968). 45 These parts are elencated in order as they appear. The four 1521 volumes which I consulted, as well as later copies of this edition, although bearing differing titles on the binding, are alike in size: the Toscolana is narrower and shorter than the Paganini (approximately 12 by 8 centimeters versus 15 by 10), and yet there are 36 lines of print per page, versus 27 lines in the original edition. This smaller, densely packed volume could have been sold more cheaply than its deluxe predecessor. A quick look at this itemized list of “peripheral” trappings leads one to deduce that Folengo received positive reactions to the interventions of Merlin Cocaio and Aquarius Lodola in the first edition. But perhaps the dozens of critical additions which grace the Toscolana are the result of limited reader reaction: Folengo felt the need to increase the volume of his own unanswered voice by multiplying the number of speakers. Whatever the impulse. The new Maccheronee broadcasts Merlin’s names at frequent intervals; each book begins “Merlini Cocaii Poetae Mantuani Macaronice...” The incessant repetition of Merlin Cocaio is no doubt responsible for the fact that this “heteronym” eclipses other names of its creator. In a gloss found in Book 2. Aquario Lodola attributes deliberateness to this saturation technique: “Hic poeta frequentat nominare Baldum/ ut magis imbuatur lector eo nomine” (“imbuare” = to bull shit, here passive; or maybe just to imbue, or imbibe). A successful first publication often results in a somewhat more daring second volume: one might review events both in Folengo’s life and in Europe-at-large which could have contributed to his confident criticism of specific people and general foibles. And which may have increased his readiness to grace his works with many partially masked p. 64 images of himself. The reader cannot know whether the guises Folengo assumes provide necessary refuge from censure, or if the various personages who countenance his belligerent stance serve to enlarge the censors’ target area. Victor Brombert’s insights on Stendhal’s subterfuges help explain the dual purpose of the “heteronym”: “Walls, masks, impersonations function not merely as protective screens; they insure existential freedom. Enclosure and constraint serve the sense of becoming and of discovery.”46 Too many scholars of Folengo have seen his network of pseudoselves as “abili stratagemmi per celarsi nell’anonimo” (Guerrini), or worse, as “artifici abbastanza ingenui” (Cian), when clearly the masks are neither anonymous 46 V. Brombert, “Stendhal’s Silken Prison,” in The Author in His Works, ed. Martz, 1978, p. 369. nor the products of naiveté. The heteronyms Folengo constructs are more like members of a sophisticated public relations staff who compensate for their employer’s much touted modesty by staging media events to display his “hidden” talents. 2.1 CONTINUING LIFE AND TIMES Folengo’s monkish existence followed prescribed patterns: having been ordained at the customary age of twenty-five, Teofilo then left Sant’Eufemia in Brescia to sojourn at another monastery, in Cesena (Romagna). He probably returned to Sant’Eufemia the next year, 1518, and there worked, studied and rewrote his macaronic masterpiece. During these years a potentially violent division had been growing p. 65 within the Benedictine Order. Francesco Gonzaga was attempting to usurp the riches of Santa Giustina by appointing an abbot of his choice (in commendam) at San Benedetto Po, near Mantua. This involvement in monastic matters by a political head had been standard procedure throughout the centuries, but Benedictine leaders had fought hard and had won the right to internal control: since 1418 they had not suffered a Gonzaga appointee. The peasants sided with the Gonzagas, the Medici did not: Ercole Cardinal Gonzaga was unable to persuade Pope Leo X to install Benedetto da Reggio, his family’s choice, as abbot. Instead, the Florentine Ignazio Squarcialupi, a Medici protegé, was placed in charge of the monastery. The Gonzagas’ unsuccessful campaign for control of Benedictine monies may have cost them the dedication of the Maccheronee: Folengo dedicated later works to this first family of Mantua but not his Lebenswerk, which came into being while his Order was still fighting Gonzaga interference. Luzio speaks of veritable “guerre di frati”; Billanovich too recounts the turbulence of these years in dramatic terms.47 Clearly this issue was close to Folengo’s heart and pen: in the 47 A. Luzio, “Guerre di frati”, Raccolta di studi critici dedicata ad Alessandro D’Ancona (Firenze: G. Barbera, 1901), pp. 423-444; G. Billanovich, pp. 68-84. Toscolana, various church abuses and one clergyman in particular receive considerable negative attention. Thereafter, the abbot (and later President of the Benedictine Congregation) Squarcialupi is singled out as Folengo’s Enemy Number One: not just Teofilo, but Giambattista and Ludovico too are unable to live under this Medicean p. 66 Florentine. (Squarcialupi’s name as is and in its allegorical variations occurs as frequently in Folengo’s Chaos del Triperuno as Laura’s does in Petrarch’s Canzoniere; nor is frequency the only connection between this lady and that abbot: Folengo juxtaposes “larva” for Squarcialupi with Laura, (see Chaos, p. 297, and [my] Chapter Three). At the same time that these internecine battles raged, Folengo’s works were causing some little wars of their own. While the Toscolana version was being written, two reprints of the Paganini saw the light: one by Cesare Arrivabene, in Milano, January 20, 1520; the other also in Milano, by the Fratelli da Legnano (typographer Agostino da Vimercate), November 17, 1520. Both volumes carry title pages which read much the same: Post omnes impressiones, ubique locorum excussas, novissime recogniti, omnibusque mend is expurgati, adiectis insuper pluribus pene vivis imaginibus materie librorum aptissimis, e congruis locis insertis, et alia multa, quae in aliis hactenus impressionibus non reperies.48 The implication is that there were numerous inferior editions on book shelves everywhere. In addition to the really not so very apt illustrations (in keeping with the state of the art at that time), the Arrivabene contains one hundred-odd, perhaps apocryphal glosses which may comprise the bone of contention in the Toscolana prefatory epistles. The printers’ claims are surely exaggerated, and yet 48 The Arrivabene reprint is available at the Library of Congress; most of the extra glosses are cited by A. Luzio in Studi, p. 11-47, and by Cordié, “Ricerche bibliografiche intorno a Teofilo Folengo”, 1951, pp. 331ff. p. 67 despite the strong language there is no need to posit unauthorized printings by a ruthless imposter: “il quale sfruttando il segreto imposto al Folengo dalla sua condizione di monaco, pensava di potersi impunemente far bello delle pene del pavone” (Luzio, p. 8). Luzio’s premise, “nessuno vorrà ammettere che l’Arrivabene adoperasse quelle espressioni altisonanti se nel mercato libraio non fosse comparsa che la sola stampa paganiniana,” makes sense, but the most reasonable conclusion belongs to Cordié, who sees the two 1520 reprints as part of an editorial bid for the next, greatly amplified Maccheronee.49 Vimercate did succeed in printing a copy of the Toscolana, in 1522. Whether or not there were other printings in addition to the Arrivabene and the Vimercate, these two alone attest to a rather large readership, even before the prolific second version appeared. 2.2 PRELIMINARIES AND POSTSCRIPTS The popular, compact Toscolana volume opens with a nasty Macaronic “Hexasticon Joannis Baricocolae.” In this little poem in elegiac pentameter, penned by a colleague of Aquarius (J. B. accompanied the Magister on the fruitful expedition to Armenia recounted in the “Epistola” to the Paganini edition) we see the first of a series of fierce accusations against the text thief, Scardaffus Zaratanus: Merdiloqui putrido Scardaffi stercore nuper Omnibus in bandis imboazata fui Me tamen Acquarii Lodolae sguratio lavit, p. 68 Sum quoque savono facta galanta suo. Ergo me populi comprantes solvite bursas, 49 C. Cordié, “L’ edizione principe delle Maccheronee folenghiane e le sue due ristampe”, La Bibliofilia, vols. 51-52, 1949-1950, pp. 44-50, 68-81. Si quis avaritia non emit, ille miser. (I was defiled by the smelly shit of Scardaffus all over, and yet Aquarius Lodola washed me with soap; and I have been made pretty by his detergent. Therefore open up your purses you people purchasing me, whoever does not buy me out of avarice, is a miser.) Here the book speaks for itself (herself?) and uses the accusation against Scardaffus’ filthy meddling to assert the expurgated state of its pages. (The reader as yet knows nothing about Scardaffus.) The topos of the text snatched from the author’s grasp and published despite his reluctance here becomes more than a coy disclaimer. If the first edition had earned Merlin a reputation for dirty play, the promise of a new, squeaky clean version would win over previously recalcitrant readers; those who had heartily enjoyed the Paganini volume would probably not be fooled by this publicity pitch. Neither Merlin nor Magister Lodola hawks his product; instead, Johannis Baricocola is retained for this task. Like his fellow heteronyms, J.B. is a master of detail, and synonymic doubling: the public is urged to loosen its purse strings and purchase this volume, cleansed of vile editing not only with “savone,” from the late Latin sapo, saponis but also with the dialectal sguratio. The publicity harangue, which results here in name calling (anyone who will not buy the book is a miser), calls to mind Aquarius’ attacks, for instance his rebuke to the “idioti pedagogi” in the “Epistola.” Upon close inspection then, the wordwork seems to be fashioned by one hand, but each persona serves a separate purpose. In this case, the reader would not expect to see the p. 69 independently solvent Magister Lodola (who offers the annotated text gratis to Count Passerini) peddling his product. Nor would he want to see the venerable, white haired Merlin stoop to such blatant appeals for funds. Only Johannis Baricocola, who can be expected to look after his friend’s time investment, is a suitable candidate for the hardsell. Aquarius’ first epistle is addressed to the same putrid Scardaffus: “Epistolum Colericum Magistri Acquarii ad Scardaffum Zaratanum Merlini Poematis Corruptorem.” This letter flows like lava: a run of clever backhanded insults and wicked name calling onslaughts leads to the final accusation. Tu tamen fraudolenter me inadvertente poema praeclarissimi poetae Merlini Cocai macaronicum robasti, corrupisti, falsificasti, et multa non sua interposuisti, et plures libros surripisti, quos tibi tribuere volebas, manigolde, furcifer malignissime.50 The circumstances leading up to the crime are melodramatic, even bloody: after an initial flare up, during which Aquarius denounced Scardaffus as a quack pharmacist and a witch, peace was made and the man was granted access to our herbologist’s study (in order that he might hear the Magister’s brilliant “lucubrationes”). Scardaffus then committed a gross violation of this privilege by sneaking into the study and stealing the texts Aquarius was preparing for publication. Not only did Scardaffus suppress both the Moschaeae and the Zanitonella, but he mutilated the Baldus: “Ipse magnum volumen Baldi deturpavit, violavit, robbavit et castravit.” The lengthy salutation p. 70 expands on the theme of castration, which is the focal point of this epistolary tour de force. Under Merlin’s pen, the alleged castration of texts becomes the basis for a history of actual castrations: Scardaffus, a famous castrator, killed a soldier who had come to him with hernia trouble: “illi miserulo genitalia simul et animam cavasti.” The soldier’s friends avenged him by uprooting Scardaffus’ “baricocolos.” This elaborate fictionalization of a predatory editorial enterprise is further “authorized” by the inclusion of a quatrain, by the poet Godianus (another Folengo construct).51 The poet assures us that justice has been executed: Legis adimpletor meritat Scardaffus honorem, vult oculum pro oculo, pro pede vultque pedem Sic, dum testiculos morienti taiat ab uno milite, testiculos praebet et ipse suos. 50 These letters are quoted from the “Saggio di varianti della Toscolana”, pp. 273-283 of Luzio’s edition. 51 For other pronouncements by the poet from Godi, see Luzio, Studi, pp. 40-41. These minor fictive authorities who pop into the glosses will be dealt with collectively below. There is no external evidence to support Folengo’s claim; one can easily imagine some sort of run-in with a would be publisher, but by going to such extreme lengths to depict a deadly (text) castrator, Folengo prohibits the reader from assigning any truth value to his outrageous accusation. In point of fact, Paganini was the editor of the three versions of the Maccheronee published in Folengo’s lifetime. He does not seem to have mutilated Merlin’s texts (but see the epistles from Paganini to Merlin discussed immediately below). What is most interesting in all this is the extreme lengths to which Folengo is willing to go when constructing a fictional account around a literary topos: he explodes idiom and shatters plausibility. p. 71 Throughout the epistle, Aquario Lodola plays the role of the “Counterfeiter,” analyzed by Walter Stevens as “a contextual voice which obsessively, even pathologically, implicates and explicates the dualities writer/rewriter and source book/transcript.”52 Aquarius also acts as Stevens’ interpres, the rewriter obsessed with the appropriation of authority, the discoverer, the “inventor” of the text. In the final two versions of the Baldus, Aquario Lodola is no longer the commentator or the writer of epistles but he makes a cameo appearance in the poem proper, where he is said to be the author of the Baldus stories (Bk 11). Thus we see not only a complex family of heteronyms, but each heteronym possesses a complex personality who acts in a great diversity of roles. 2.2.1 Passing the Buck to Gonzaga The correspondence between the poet and the editor/publisher is included at the end of the Toscolana volume, but since these letters deal with the printing of the text, they are best discussed now. The “Epistola volgare dil autore di Merlin Cocai all’impressore di esse Alessandro Paganino” 52 W. Stevens, “Mimesis, Meditation and Counterfeit,” 1984. opens ruefully: “Odo Alessandro mio, che soperchiamente ramaricandovi, di sleale e mancator di fede, ovunque me chiamati, quando che io v’abbia promisso quel nostro volume de sogni, appellato Merlino.” Unlike Magister Aquarius’ macaronic combination of narrative and diatribe, this Italian letter reads like an actual piece p. 72 of correspondence. The “author of Merlin Cocaio” continues with seeming sincerity, convincing us that he has changed both life style and habit since first allowing that “volume de sogni” to be anonymously published. He, like his text, has been cleansed. The attribution of literary output to youthful folly follows a well worn path: most familiar are Petrarch’s assignations of the poems in his nine-times-revised Canzoniere as “nugae” and “nugellae”; closer at hand is the disclaimer which Mantuanus attaches to his Eclogues (published in his fiftieth year and titled Adulescentia): anno praeterito, cum Florentia rediens Bononiam, pervenissem, intellexi apud quendam litterarium virum esse quendam libellum meum quem olim ante religionem, dum in gymnasio Paduano philosophari inciperem, ludens excuderam et ab illa aetate Adulescentiam vocaveram.53 (Two eclogues said to be added later each carry the tag “Post religionis ingressum.”) The motives for antedating one’s work to a pre-mature, unaffiliated period are numerous. In many cases it may be simply a safety measure akin to the current “any resemblance to persons living or dead is merely coincidental.” A rather poor monk may have chosen a pseudonym automatically; what is unusual about Folengo’s frequent dissociations from works forever in progress is the variety of elaborate and colorful stage settings. From myriad poses, the poet overstates his innocence to such a degree that no one could possibly believe a word he says in his own defense, even if he were willing to ignore all internal contradictions. 53 The Eclogues of Mantuanus, ed. W. Mustard, (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1911), p. 62. p. 73 The contents of this letter can be summarized in a few sighs: the work no longer belongs to him, Merlin, but to his superiors. It would be wrong to reproduce this augmented version since the first Maccheronee brought him vituperation from learned and consummate poets. He had thought – hélas – that his identity would remain forever hidden by the covername Merlin. The doubleblind arrangement whereby the editor was ignorant of the author’s true name and the author did not know the editor should have protected them both. All this is accompanied by a “profusione di lagrime” over his present inability to keep the agreement. That Attilio Portioli reduces all this to proof of Folengo’s absence from the monastery from 1517 to 1521, is merely one more indication of the direction Folengo studies have almost always gone. It is peculiar however, that Portioli was willing to accept these explanations while ignoring striking clues to the author’s identity provided in the texts themselves. Both in the Paganini and the Toscolana, Folengo allows Nocentina to brag about having tempted the “juvenum Folengum”; the Latin dialogue speaks of a Hieronymus (Folengo’s baptismal name) who adopts the pen name Merlin and who later becomes a monk; the epic poem, the pastoral, and other lyrics are often set in Cipada, where the Folengos were among very few landowners. Just how sincere is Merlin’s attempt to maintain the screen of anonymity the infiltration of which he laments? As stated above, it does not suffice to speak of Folengo’s “abili stratagemmi per celarsi nell’anonimo e per togliersi dalle spalle dinanzi ai superiori monastici la responsibilità p. 74 delle sue audaci fantasticherie.”54 On the contrary, these hide-and-seek games are provocatory. They make it impossible for readers past and present to forget the existence of the cleric author behind his projected images. The “author of Merlin” manages to dry his tears in order to conclude his epistle self-righteously: “... donde giustissimamente negarvi la promissa debbo e voglio. Dio vi consola.” Paganini is not 54 P. Guerrini, “Intorno alle edizioni della Toscolana”, 1946, p. 247. to be put off. He must answer to his clients, all of whom “signori, cardinali, vescovi, Dottori, Oratori, Relligiosi, Laici” – are clamoring for the newly revised work. Since the author is being difficult, Paganini takes it upon himself to request a copy of the text from none other than Federico Gonzaga. The newly appointed, twenty-year old Marquis thus participates in the printer’s plan to bypass the poet’s objections: most fortunately, a copy of Federico’s response was found in the Gonzaga archives. Writing from Marmirolo in November of 1520, Federico summarizes Paganini’s request as though he is aware of his role in this comic authorization: Perché intendemo che stampando voi Merlino Cocajo, seti stato interotto dal Autore di esso, perho havendomi noi ricercato che vi vogliamo accomodare di una copia che havemo presso noi, volentieri semo contenti, et mandamovila.55 As in the other two letters, the text itself is called Merlin Cocaio; the author of “Merlin Cocaio” is unnamed. Federico encourages a careful but rapid printing of the sought after volume: “così vi piacerà p. 75 con diligentia di proseguir l’opera che vi fareti singular piacer, et instamovine molto facendola coretta et più presto sia possibile.” The enterprising printer offers reasons for disobeying the author’s wishes: everyone accepts the fact that the author composed the poem for the enjoyment of his friends at a time when he was still free to do so. Paganini’s position is that it doesn’t much matter when the Maccheronee was written; the world awaits this masterpiece and nothing now in it should prohibit its publication. He contends that suspicious people do not realize that the work has been purged: “chi me la diede secretamente da stampire molte cose vi sottrasse, le quali penso che alquanto fossero tinte, ovver macchiate.” Unfortunately, Paganini does not speculate as to what the subtracted passages were tinged with, or spotted with: despite the inevitable similarities in stylistic traits (synonymic 55 Portioli prints Gonzaga’s letter from the Archivio Gonzaga F.11.8., p. LXI; it is not included in the Toscolana. doubling, for instance), Folengo here manages to maintain the fiction of an actual exchange of letters between two civilized, articulate people at odds with each other. The motif of removed stains, which we saw above in the “Hexasticon Johannis Baricocolae,” is repeated in the Latin “Dialogus Philomusi.” The reader must be assured of the volume’s cleanliness. The result of this exchange of letters between the repentant Merlin and the determined Paganini is the absolution of both, and the neat transfer of responsibility for the entire Toscolana edition to the powerful new Gonzaga ruler. For his pains, Federico, together with his famous mother, Isabella d’Este, is glorified extensively. (Other p. 76 writers, especially Ariosto, saw fit to praise the lovely learned Isabella.) Detailed praises in Book 3 are reiterated in the marginal glosses there. Folengo dedicates later works to this widely known patron, who reigned in Mantua from 1519 to 1540; in the final two versions praises are addressed to his successor, Francesco. It is difficult to know what effect this direct Gonzaga sponsorship had on Folengo, and on his “superiori”: did Federico’s participation keep the Benedictine rulers from squelching the young poet’s boisterous pen? 2.2.2 A rare revelation Yet another few bits of information regarding the troubled birth of this edition are supplied by the rare “Dialogus Philomusi” which follows the Merlin-Paganini epistles in only two of the many 1521 copies.56 The Latin conversation is announced: “Ultra queste [the letters], un Dialogo fatto in vostra defensione contra li maledici, pregato volsi far imprimere.” Why this request was honored in so few copies, and never in any of the reprints, can be deduced in part from the 56 Cordié called the copy he found the Lechi Toscolana, and thought it to be unique, but one of the three 1521 editions held in Harvard’s Houghton Library also includes this dialogue. This “Dialogus Philomusi” is reprinted in its entirety in C. Cordié, “Ricerche bibliographiche intorno a Teofilo Folengo,” Miscellanea Giovanni Galbiati, vol. 2, 1951, pp. 336-339. following paraphrase and commentary. The interlocutors are Euticio and Eudemo (both names signifying in Greek something like “well off, happy”). Euticio utters the opening greeting: he just happened to be passing by this most pleasant p. 77 neighborhood, when he spotted Eudemo at work. He proposes that instead of toiling, Eudemo should consult bird entrails, or that he enjoy the [hunting] of some wild animal. But then, seeing that Eudemo is still occupied, he asks him what he is doing. The response, “Legebam nescio quid,” prompts a scoff: “Ha, ha, optime, se te quid facias latet.” Instead of answering the question about his reading matter, Eudemo wonders aloud what horrible specter might succeed in turning Euticio away from the hunt. He cites the case of Adonis slain by a boar because of Venus’ lust for him, and that of Meleager, who, for the love of Atlantidis, ended up wreaking havoc (at the Calydonian boar hunt), killing his uncles and thus infuriating his mother.57 He concludes this pointed digression by querying, “Why doesn’t the hunt supply the woods with tragic poets? To fight with savage beasts is savage.” Euticio commends his interlocutor’s speech, but wants to know why he is being kept in suspense concerning Eudemo’s choice of reading material. Again, Eudemo delays his response, this time with a coquettish “Vin scire?” Finally he answers in an apostrophe, ‘someone very ingenious with witticisms’, and then after yet more prompting, with a proper name, “Merlinus.” Euticio recognizes the name immediately. He says such a man, who makes a name for himself by the solitary entertainment of a lowly throng of Muses (“poetridis”), offends him. Eudemo quickly defends his author on the grounds that weary depressed students need these “non insulsis libellis” to alleviate their boredom; and anyway, he adds, variety is the spice of life (“quot filii tot matres, … 57 Leonardus, the virgin friend of Baldus, and, according to Goffis and others, the literary version of Donismundus, is slain by boars. p. 78 trahit sua quemque voluptas, quot homines, tot sententiae”).58 After some more two-way banter, Eudemo then describes Merlin, whom he knew as an adolescent, by the name of Hieronymus: the lad was a funny, festive, charming young man, liked by everyone. He showed early signs of virtue, and a natural talent for composing “Milesian” tales. Euticio wishes to know who compelled Merlin to write this work, and Eudemo answers at length. The information he provides here does not reappear in Folengo’s works for at least twenty years; some details show up only in the posthumous edition, other admissions never again reach the printed page. Eudemus explains that a certain Donismundus – whether this be his first or his family name is not known – studied with Hieronymus in Bologna, before his death. Merlin dubbed this friend Baldus, and made him a character in his volume of humorous verse. Unfortunately, Donismundus was killed, and Merlin left his poetry to go off and become a soldier of the Church. Then, unbeknownst to Hieronymus/Merlin/the monk, this playful work was published. Eudemo says that the ex-poet was despondent not because his hexameters were published unpolished, but because he feared that it would come to the ears of the crowd that a man who belonged to a strict religious order would produce such tales, a rumor “quod procul dubio falsum est.” p. 79 Never again will Folengo mention Donismundus’ murder. Even the name of this friend who inspired the Baldus character, does not return to print until 1552. In addition to implicating Folengo in a tumult which ended in a fatality, the “Dialogus” also establishes the first link between Hieronymus and Merlin (likewise not repeated until the posthumous edition of 1552), and contains the first mention of the author as a monk of a strict order. And the “Dialogus 58 The hemistich – “trahit sua quemque voluptas” – appears again at the conclusion to the Cipadense edition (Bk. 25). It is borrowed almost verbatim from Vergil’s second Eclogue a poem often dipped into by Merlin. Philomusi” is the only place where Folengo categorizes his Maccheronee as Milesian, a genre usually defined as comprising tales of the supernatural, involving sexual exploits, written in a mixture of verse and prose.59 There is yet another instance of unique disclosure which may contribute to the rarity of this Dialogue. After talking about how the poet overcame the prodding of highbrow enthusiasts, including bishops, and burned his second version, Eudemo finally lets slip something more telling. He admits that “Merlin” was urged not to be reckless, not to contaminate the sweet songs of his youth: “proinde ab omnibus fere exoratus suas exitiosas (ut aiunt) alioqui dulcissimas emaculavit sirenas.” What this contamination consists of is not stated. If, on the basis of references to very rowdy student days, and the labeling of the Maccheronee as Milesian, one were to look for condemnably erotic p. 80 passages, one would be disappointed. There is playful eroticism (Cingar’s extremely long nose is rubbed by Seraphus until it shrinks – Book. 21); there is thwarted eroticism (Muselina/ Pandraga’s unsuccessful seduction of Leonardus, resulting in the young man being gored to death by Muselina’s boars – Book 16, or Tognazzo’s exposed courtship of the wily Berta – Book. 5); or sentimental eroticism (Baldus’ friendship with the virgin Leonardus, beginning with Book 9); or incidental eroticism (Cingar urinates on one of Baldus’ twin sons, Cingarinus, to revive him – Book 23). But in the age of La Calandria, L’Orlando Furioso, and I Ragionamenti, the passages referred to above would have aroused neither criticism nor censure. So, something other than explicit erotics threatened to stain Folengo’s sweet sirens. One must take the cue from Eudemo’s insistence on the propriety of someone composing 59 One Source of information about Milesian tales (from the Enciclopedia della letteratura, Garzanti, 1972, p. 488) reads: “racconti erotici, in voga nell’età ellenistica... di temi frivoli e crudamente licenziosi, composti da Aristide di Mileto, (II sec. a.c.).” Examples of these tales which influenced the Greek novel include Apuleus’ The Golden Ass (cited by Folengo in his Chaos del Triperuno) and the Matron of Ephesus story in Petronius’ Satyricon. There is no evidence that the reputation of Milesian tales was much different in the sixteenth century. humorous verse during his student days, and only during his student days: “Nec mirum si quidem huic in huiusmodi milesiis versari cupido incesserit, nil tamen ex quo professus est, quam nunc incolit, Achademiam.” (“Nor should it be astonishing if someone were assailed by desire to versify in the Milesian style, however, he wrote nothing after having professed at the Academy, which he now inhabits.”) Since we know that this “Academy” is a religious Order (Catholic), we must suspect stains of a Protestant sort. And in fact, one long passage in Book 7 emerges as the most striking collection of unacceptably Reformist ideas found in the Maccheronee. Although later versions also provide vivid accounts of disgusting p. 81 “capuzzos,” over one hundred lines of Toscolana Book 7 disappear. These verses will be examined below. In the “Lechi” Toscolana, in addition to the “Dialogus Philomusi” one finds a second letter from Merlin to Alessandro Paganini. Here, among the usual complaints concerning the sloppy editing of his text, the author confesses to having written “molti carmi e sentenzie alquante mordace che sarebbero stati meglio secreti.” He asks forgiveness for his sins. Just as the glosses “Notatur” (replaced in the Cipadense edition by a pointing finger) call attention to potentially dangerous hexameters, the Merlin-Paganini letters and the Dialogue serve to excite the reader to cautious but constant vigilance. We are invited to read tainted meanings into an opaque passage. Folengo behaves like a child who defends himself loudly from a transgression as yet unnoticed by his guardians, and yet his disclosures are most willful. Witness the outrageous and still somehow effective disavowal of Protestantism in the “Apologia” to the Orlandino, (see chapter 3); or the equally bold recognition of Boiardo he puts in the mouth of Ariosto (in the Preface to the Vigaso Cocaio). He does protest too much, but by doing so he diffuses the impact of his broadly unorthodox ideas and ever so earthy subject matter. The impact remains considerable. p. 82 2.2.3 Lodola and Merlin: More peripheral material Magister Aquarius Lodola’s original epistle (“Libellus de laudibus Merlini Cocai”) now sports the more appropriate title: “De vita et moribus Merlini Cocaii et de inventione huius voluminis”; more appropriate except for the fact that this second (and final) version omits the information concerning Merlin’s life: his naming and feeding, his mother’s tragic drowning, etc. There are an infinite number of small stylistic changes in the second version. When Aquarius pits Merlin against classical Latin authors, he cites many more hexameters from the Baldus. Besides the general augmenting of parts and the mention of Scardaffus’ theft, a couple of small additions must be noted. The word cocaius in its meaning of bottle stopper, which in the Paganini epistle is attached to the infant when he popped out of his mother while she was searching for a cork, is omitted in the Toscolana along with that entire biographical passage. But when Lodola and his friends find Bocalus alive in his tomb, the word returns: “Obstupefacti pro huiusmodi epitaphio deliberavimus evolvere petram instar cocaii stopantem os urnae.” This establishes another little link between the magician Bocalus and Merlin. (When the christening incident returns in Book 22 of the final editions it is the name Merlin rather than the named Cocaius which is explained with an anecdote.) A new paragraph closes the letter, which is for the most part similar to the first version. Verum super omnes quae in ipso fuerat virtutes, propheticum habuit spiritum, nam de pontificatu Iuli et Leonis predixit, deque Gonzagarum felicitate, diversorumque nobilium suae civitatis. p. 83 Now Folengo inserts himself into the ranks of prophetic poets who represent temporal powers: it should be important to Popes Julius and Leo that Merlin predicted their reigns, to the Gonzagas and other Mantuan nobles that Merlin foresaw their present happiness. The ever present regrets over the unpolished aspect of Merlin’s poem are this time accompanied by an assertion of Merlin’s poetic franchise: “Id probatur quia (sicut Vergilius) multa carmina reliquit imperfecta.” As usual, we see our poet place himself “fra cotal senno,” ready to abuse his privilege and to mock the privileged. Following the Magister’s letters to Scardaffus, and to Count Passarini, comes a two page “Apologetica in sui excusationem.” Merlin cautions his reader-critics lest they presume to laugh at, rather than with, his text. They could well end up dying like Margutte: “Quisquis es, O tu qui meum hoc grassiloquum perlegendo volumen ridere paras, ride, sed non irride, quia si dementer irridendo rides, alter Marguttus rideas irrisus.” Merlin then says the task of the critic is to explain unknown words, and although he realizes it is not his business to interpret himself (“Ergo non fas est meipsum interpretare”), he does write this “Apologia” specifically to tell the reader how to respond to his poetry. He would persuade the reader of the necessity of using gross, crude words. Just as macaroni are made from a mixture of cheese flour and butter, making a product which is “grossum, rude et rusticanum,” so macaronic verse: “nil nisi grassedinem, ruditatem et vocabulazzos debet in se continere.” The poet stresses the fact that different events require different registers: obviously neither a p. 84 storm at sea, nor battle reports should contain rustic phrases. Merlin goes so far as to say that the grosser the vocabulazzos, the better both the aesthetic effect and the recognition value: “Nam quo magis grossiliora sunt eo magis macaronicam adducunt elegantiam, et tanto plus intelligibilia quanto grossolania.” Naturally he provides examples to illustrate the rusticity of his language. An interesting study of Folengo’s various editions could examine the changes in the ratio of the ingredients which seem to make the last version the most readily comprehensible today. Ugo Paoli has found in the Vigaso Cocaio a decrease (with respect to the Toscolana) in the number of Folengo’s hexameters which are composed of Latin words alone, and hence an increase in “vocabulazzos.” Laura Carotti, in her comparative analysis of the last Books of these two editions, while agreeing with Paoli as to Folengo’s tendency toward macaronization, offers examples of changes toward Latin words.60 A preliminary guess as to why the Vigaso Cocaio is more readable than the Toscolana would point also to a further vulgarization of the syntax, to a 60 U. Paoli, II Latino Maccheronico (1959), pp. 220-235. L. Carotti, Convegno, pp. 186-208. And see Luzio’s chapter “La superiorità artistica delle due ultime redazioni del Baldo”, Studi, pp. 112-148. reduction in the number of verses spent on personal, partly allegorized grudges, and to the larger type of Luzio’s edition. Whether or not the grossolanity of the vocabulary is the key, Folengo managed to forge a language which can be understood even by inhabitants of a continent about which he knew nothing, strangers whose knowledge of Latin and Northern Italian dialects is limited. p. 85 To the purported accusation that only a Mantuan or a Brescian could understand these macaronics, Merlin has an unusual response: quod veluti non omnes aut grecum, aut hebreum, aut arabicum, aut chaldeum, aut denique latinum simul intelligunt, ita nil mirum si cuncti mantuanicum, aut florentinicum, aut bergamascum, aut todescum, aut sguizzarum, aut scarpacinum, aut spazzacaminum minime sciunt pariter intelligere. He places Chimneysweepese on an equal footing with Greek and Bergamsco, thus nullifying the validity of the “questione della lingua.” Given the debates raging around the intrinsic superiority of one language over another, and of one particular epoch of a language over a later, decadent development, Folengo’s stance here is radically liberal. Elsewhere Merlin champions Latin over Italian, and an eclectic Italian over Tuscan (see Chaos, pp. 267-268). Folengo’s stance on language alone could have cursed his works with critical silence during those first centuries in which they saw so many printings. Although not concerned with establishing a hierarchy of languages, Folengo insisted upon respecting the laws of vowel quantity in his otherwise irregular Latin. As we saw in the first edition, all of his not infrequent deviations are bargained for in the glosses. Before closing this “Apologetica” in a rare show of humility, Merlin clarifies: Iterum obiurgaris me non sillabarum quantitatem observasse respondeo iterum quod veluti summopere differt orthographia vulgaris et toscana latinitati Ciceronis et Vergilii carminibus, ita macaronices regula difert a latina sicut inferius videbis. p. 86 What is referred to “below” is a separate little piece: “Normula Macaronica de sillabis” in which the reader is asked to accord Merlin all the rights and privileges of an ancient renowned poet. But should the liberties taken exceed all acceptable bounds, Merlin (writing again in the first person) allows for an unfavorable response: “Preterea si me ignorantem, minime doctum, minime poeticum reperis et probas, non erras, immo cedo et fateor id humeris meis pondus congruum non fuisse.” This hypothetical yielding closes the apology proper, but the “Normula” continues the defense of macaronic verse. The first three paragraphs read like any grammar of syllabification except that there are an unduly large number of “rules” which terminate in “ad placitum,” or “ut stare possit carmen”; (a welcome admission to anyone who has spent untold hours learning the proper terminology for the many alterations in orthography and syllabification which poets permit themselves). The justification provided for this license is predictable: Denique sicut Vergilius ac caeteri vates in arte poetica potuerunt alterare sillabas auctoritate sua, verbi gratia “relliquias”, ita macaronicus poeta non minus hanc auctoritatem possidet circa scientiam et doctrinam propriam, ut “catare” et “cattare” quamvis rarissime. Merlin is clearly obsessed with asserting his authority vis-a-vis Vergil. His “De macaronica eloquentia” is less a treatise on the state of the art than a theme, “Tamen de principio ad finem libri repperies me latinae poesiae et regulae summa cum dilligentia adhaerere,” and variations. Aquarius Lodola is as concerned as Merlin himself with establishing Merlin’s authority as a regular poet. As in the Paganini, many of the p. 87 marginal glosses justify our poet’s metrics. But, the Magister occupies himself with ethical issues as well. In this, his last stand (subsequent editions are supported neither by prefatory defenses nor by ever-ready glosses), Aquarius attempts to clear Merlin of several charges. For example, when Baldus mistreats his half-brother Zambellus (son of Berto who so warmly received Baldus’ parents), the gloss explains: “Baldus sic pius et prudens, creditum germanum tam male tractabat: audi Platonem, vir naturaliter gentilis vilanum abhorrere cogitur,” Book 2). Another gloss asserts the author’s right to create fictional characters who express opinions differing from those of their creator: when a woman’s advice is compared to the advice of an ass, the apologetic Lodola reminds us “Nota quod Cingar loquitur et non poeta” (Book 14). Nowhere is it more clear that the nature of the gloss is to call attention to controversial material in the text, than in a note to the invective in Book 7 against Church abuses. The text itself will be analyzed below; the gloss accompanying the verse dealing with the hoped for miraculous appearance of Mary reads, “Si poeta ironice loquatur, multa inter doctores fit disputatio.” (Tosc. 7, p. 92v) Marginal notes are only one of dozens of features which disappear in the evolution towards the unfettered Vigaso Cocaio text. However, it should be kept in mind that the popular Toscolana edition was in circulation after the appearance of the later versions. The omissions could cause alert readers to peruse the Toscolana and the Cipadense to p. 88 review those passages which, for one reason or another, are not retained in the final, posthumous, Vigaso Cocaio. 2.3 THE REVISED MACCHERONEE: THE ZANITONELLA The two original eclogues, now altered, are preceded by eighteen pastoral poems: thirteen sonolegiae (“Sonolegia dicitur Sonettus in versu elegiaco, qui constat ex quatuor decim metris, veluti Sonetti vulgares”) and five other eccloghe there are also two poems by Merlin to the reader. The work now entitled Zanitonella, a conflation of Tonellus and his beloved “pastorella” Zanina, begins with a “Proemiunculum” by Merlin Cocaio: Libriculum quisque capit, quem perlegat, istum, cesset si nasum Rhinocerotis habet. Non me nasutis, non meque dicacibus edo, Non quibus est humiles nausa videre libros. Me legat amussim quisquis legit omnia, quisquis scit quia fert aliquid lectio quaeque boni. Lusimus ista puer ficto sub amore Tonelli, Libriculi titulum Zanitonella voco. (Whoever takes this little book, let him read it through, (but) let him cease if he has the nose of a rhinoceros. I do not offer myself to a nosey, sarcastic reader. Not to one who is nauseated to see the humble book. Let him who reads everything read me accurately, whoever knows how to bring any reading to good. We played this (fiction) under the feigned love of Tonellus, when we were a boy; I call the title of the little book “Zanitonella.”) By warning the faultfinding reader not to stick his long fussy nose into this book, Folengo nips would-be critics in the bud. The first poem, “Tonellus ad Lectores Sonolegia prima,” explains how Tonellus has been moved to write by Venus’ bastard son. The plow p. 89 is the pen of the peasant just as the oar is the pen of the sailor. But these compositions soon belie their simple, rustic, Nencia-like appearance: the “Eccloga Prima” is subtitled “in qua continetur Prophetia de Federico Marchione Gonzagiaco.” And here we begin to find many direct quotes from Vergil’s works, as well as similar themes.61 Aquarius notes the presence of Vergil, telling us “Multa de Vergilio sumuntur,” as the eclogue opens with three shepherds stretching out under a shade tree. Pedralus chastises Tonellus for singing about his woman while all around them the Germans are plundering and raping. Tonellus defends himself saying that on the contrary, Mantua enjoys peaceful conviviality on account of the good Duke’s able rule: Mantuae princeps Federicus istud 61 See V. Russo, La Zanitonella e L’Orlandino di Teofilo Folengo, (Bari: Petruzelli, 1890). for some o these allusions. ocium nobis dedit O Pedrale, Deque camporum stipulis suorum Pascolo cravas. Semper illius volo schiavus esse Glossed: Multa de Vergilio sumuntur, ut in principio/ O Toni. Titure tu patulae. O Meliboee, deus nobis haec ocia fecit./ Ille meos errare boves./ Cravas senonese, capras, latinae/ Namque erit ille mihi semper deus* [This last line is not included in the 1521 edition at hand.] (Prince Federico of Mantua gave us this peace, O Pedralus, I pasture my goats on the tow of his fields. I want always to be his slave... He will always be a god to me. Unhindered by feuds between Guelph and Ghibelline factions, Mantua produces rich grain, sheep, olives, fish, grapes, musicians, dancers, and excellent poets. Placing this encomium to Gonzaga in a setting which inevitably recalls to mind Vergil’s thinly veiled complaints concerning his lost lands, Folengo wants to appear the more content. p. 90 This appearance is later altered a bit by hefty attacks leveled at the judicial system in Mantua, and at Mantua itself (Tosc. 6, and V.C. 5, 375ff).62 In calling Federico “Duca vel signorus,” Folengo jumps the title by a decade: Gonzaga was a marquis until 1530 when Mantua was raised to a Duchy by Charles V. This premature attribution of dukedom to Federico might qualify as prophetic; it was his ability to maintain peace which won him the honor of ruling as Duke. In the final version, the praise for Gonzaga is even more superlative: “Sit meus semper duca, sit patronus/ imperadorus, papa, rex, compadrus”; however, at this point in history, the Gonzagas had every reason to hope for the papacy, and there was some hope too of one family ruling most of Italy. It is not clear what Folengo hoped to gain for his praising labors: there is no record of his having received money or favors from the Gonzaga family, other than Federico’s nihil obstat for the Toscolana. 62 For a keen analysis of these and similar invectives, see A. Fontes-Baratto, “Mantoue et Cipada dans les quatre rédactions du Baldus de Teofilo Folengo,” 1976. In the midst of this glowing praise for all things Mantuan, there are a couple of rhetorical devices which should be mentioned. The first of these is another gratuitous occurrence of the word “Cocaium”: Tonellus asks Philippus for his hip flask, saying “... Sitio Philippe,/ atque brusatas habeo ganassas,/ Nolo lorettum./ Tu prius buso remove Cocaium,/ En bibo clo, clo, resonat botazzus.” No narrative necessity exists for Tonellus’ desire to drink straight from the unstoppered bottle, without the help of a funnel – although this description is in keeping with the detailed, Homeric quality of the Maccheronee. This p. 91 name dropping is done consciously, as we shall see below, three such instances of cameo appearances by Folengo names are seen to disappear from the third to the fourth edition. The second curious device involves a slip of memory: Tonellus cannot remember the family name of the Duke of Mantua to whom he has vowed life long servility. But he can describe the birds which represent the family: Quattuor nigras habet hic osellas, Nomen illarum male me ricordor, Esse cornacchias tacolasve penso Non tamen illas. Sunt aves quae non metuunt lusorem Solis, at fixis oculis in illum Clariter guardant, quibus ales omnis Praebet honorem. Coelicos istae pratigant paesos. Hasque reginas vocitant oselli. Quae fretum, terram, baratrum spaventant Tempore guerrae. Glossed: Aquilas intellige quae apertis oculis Solem contemplantur (Here there are four blackbirds, I can’t quite remember their name, but I don’t think they are crows or jackdaws (fig. defects). They are birds which do not fear the light of the sun, rather they look straight at it with steady eyes, and to them every bird shows honor. These (birds) frequent the heavenly countries, and the (other) birds call them queens. In time of war, they terrify the sea, the earth and the underworld.) Since Folengo gives so much importance to the birds on his own family coat of arms, and often chooses pseudonyms which refer to birds, the allusion here to the daring Gonzaga eagles brings the poet closer to the ruling family. (In the opening poem of the Chaos, the Gonzaga eagle is invited to feed upon the folaga. Not only do the Folengo’s p. 92 various pseudonyms pile up with each other, but frequently they show up in close proximity to Gonzaga’s name and/or attributes. Inserted between the thirteenth sonolegia and the sixth eclogue is a difficult “Strambotolegia Merlini in excusationem huius Zanitonella.” It separates the new Toscolana material from the two Paganini eclogues which have been expanded to become the last two eclogues of the Zanitonella. Livida semineci Mors quae tulit inguem Achillis, Reddita quo falsum Troia domaret Equum. Bistonios audet (fateor) dispellere Nautas, Sed non Zaniphili carpere fata mei. Dixit Apollinei quantum ferat Ulna Phitonis, Dixit et obscurae quanta sit esca Lyrae. Non reprobent latinae, Pastor quae dixerit, Aures Castus in hoc gracili cortice gaudet amor. (Tosc. p. 26v) (Malicious death which carried off the groin of half-dead Achilles, by whom surrendered Troy overpowered the false horse. (Death?) dared, I confess, to drive away Thracian sailors, but not to seize the fates of my Zamphile. (Death?) said of Apollo how many times he bore the wounds of a python, and said how great is the lure of a faint lyre. Your Latin ears do not revile the shepherd who spoke, chaste love rejoices in this graceful reed.) Perhaps more significant than the as yet undiscovered meaning of this macaronic octave, is the fact that only the Toscolana version contains the “Proemiunculum, “the address to the readers and this “Strambotolegia.” We may be perceiving here an instance of an overworked textual canvas, extremely rare in Folengo’s studio. Other significant changes in the later editions of the Zanitonella will be discussed in Chapter Four. 2.4 BALDUS TWO Only in the Toscolana is the Baldus preceded by a forty verse “Proemium Merlini Cocaii Super Phantasiam suam.” Addressed to his Fantasy – a Fantasy so vast that he who reads the entire poem will become a Nestor, this proemium is a list of the characters and their primary traits. The constant glosses echo in epithets the information provided in the text: “Non tibi Moschini suavis natura modesti / Atque Leonardi forma pudorque mei,” glossed “Moschinus affabilis / Leonardus virgo.” Only Merlin’s antedating gloss “Merlinus in adolescentia sua macaronicus” differs in content from the text proper, which reads “Vitaque Merlini semidicata tibi.” The emphasis is on the semi-dedication to Fantasy: these writings are a product of the youthful half of Merlin’s life, not the mature, religious half. In the Baldus, Aquarius reinforces the fiction of Merlin as an old man, as when the poet rails against old people the Magister notes: “Hic poeta non in persona sua qui senex erat sed cuiuscumque iuvenis loquitur” (Book 5). Thus the reader is asked to believe that the epic was really written by a callow youth, masquerading in the text as a white haired old man, who occasionally speaks from youthful sympathies. Following this list of “Drammatis personae” we find an illustration of a hearty happy man (labeled “Mer”) being fed macaroni63 by some plump ladies (his Muses). Finally the poem opens with a further 63 See L. Messedaglia, Vita a costume della Rinascenza in Merlin Cocai, (Padova: Antenore, 1973), for a detailed account of how these macaroni, present day gnocchi were made. p. 94 invocation to Phantasia, one which will remain in subsequent editions. These are the brilliant opening hexameters which put Vergil to shame: Phantasia mihi quaedam fantastica venit Historiam Baldi grossis cantare camoenis. Altisonam cuius faram, nomenque gaiardum Terra tremit, Baratrumque metu se cagat adossum. (A certain fantastic fantasy came to me to sing the history of Baldus with the fat Muses; he whose high-sounding fame and courageous name the earth admires trembling and (whom) the underworld shits from fear of.) Continuing in the epic tradition Merlin invokes his gamey Muses and gives us a full description of their dwelling, situated upon an Olympic size mound of cheese. This passage concludes with the macaronic manifesto: Ergo macaronicas illic acatavimus artes, Et me grossiloquum vatem statuere sorores. Misterum facit hinc nostrum clamemus aiuttum, Ac mea pinguiferis panza est implenda lasagnis. (Thus we grasped there the macaronic art, and the Sisters established me as the fat-talking vatic poet. It behooves us to call them for help, and to be sure, my belly should be filled with plump lasagna.) These five Muses from now on make their presence felt. Each small section of the text sports either a thematic heading (for example: “Ordo giostrae,” “querela Guidonis”) or, more frequently, the name of a Muse. There seems to be no basis for choosing one woman over another at any given point, so the appearance of these names – Gosa, Mafelina, Pedrala, Comina, Berta – in the midst of ongoing episodes, is distracting. Of course, there may be some reason for assigning various parts of the text to Gosa rather than Berta which continues to escape today’s readers. In the final edition, none of this muse apparatus remains. p. 95 The Toscolana plot is a fleshed out version of the Paganini. The significant differences which touch upon Folengo, Merlin, Aquarius, Philoteus and other authorial or homonymical selves will be noted in the remainder of this Chapter. Of special importance are those passages in which the Toscolana differs not only from the Paganini, but from the two later versions as well. 2.4.1 Patronage and poetic rank In keeping with the tendency of the Toscolana, to name names wherever possible, Book 2 contains a list of young Baldus’ literary heroes. The lad uses his Donatus and other Latin texts to cook sausages in, but he devours (figuratively) the popular chivalric epics which relate the adventures of Orlando and Rinaldo. Anchroia, Buovo d’Antona, Reali di Francia, Il Morgante and several other books are mentioned, as are a few characters from Ariosto’s poem: naked Orlando’s love for Angelica, and Astolfo’s trip to the moon are rehearsed in three hexameters. Thus the Toscolana version merely shows Folengo’s familiarity with the genre of epic poetry popular in his day; the next, Cipadense version expands the list of Ariosto’s cast to twenty verses, and the final version eliminates all but Orlando and Angelica. In Book 3 is a list of some forty names of prominent Mantuan families following close upon the litany of praise for Federico and Isabella D’Este Gonzaga. The narrator is proclaiming Mantua’s satisfaction with her noble barons who are a credit to her, as are the p. 96 Orsini and Colonna families a credit to Rome. We find among the first families of Mantua, several Folengo names: Vivite Tercetti, Luzzere, vivite Ghisi, Vivite Malusi, Collumbae, vivite Bozi, Vivatque Hippolytus, nigra stirps, vetus inde folenga Denique Danesi vivant, clarique Ruberti. Vivat quaeque Domus quas nescio tradere menti, Magna suo veniat Merlino parva Cipada, . Atque Cocaiorum surgat casa bassa meorum. Mantua Virgilio gaudet, Verona catullo, Danthe suo florens urbs Tusca, cipada cocaio. Dicor ego superans alios levitate poetas, ut Maro medesimos superat gravitate poetas. Parcite si paucis datur ista scientia, sed de Conclusio Sed de proposito video cascasse Cominam Dum panem facio reperi fecisse fugazzam, Ergo repossandum terzo bastante, Valete. This passage represents a typical jumbling of disparate genealogical elements. Given names appear with names wrought anew by our poet from literary, legendary and linguistic traditions: Folengo’s mother was named Paola Ghisi; his age-old family was symbolized by the blackbird (folenga); Merlin, who stems from the first person narrator’s House of Cocaio, steps aside from the narration to praise himself as the supreme poet of light verse (paraphrasing Ovid’s similar claim to fame)64 and then reenters the text only to retire promptly with his sleepy Muse, Comina, who gives him his due (‘rendere pane per foccaccia’). Thus, with the enlightened Gonzagas ruling over peaceful Mantua, [the noble Ghisi and Folengo families unite in Cipada to produce] Merlin, who, through the excellence of his (light) verse raises the name of the House of Cocaio to unprecedented fame. The gloss, terminating here in p. 97 “Virgilius, Catullus, Danthes, Merlinus,” firmly establishes our poet Cocaius among the greatest poets of all time. The three poets chosen here for comparison to Merlin are well known. They are claimed by 64 Ovid, Amores 3, 15: “Mantua Vergilio, gaudet Verona Catullo;/ Paelignae dicar gloria gentis ego...” towns of renown: Mantua, Verona, Florence. Only Merlin is a dark horse, from a dark ranch. In the next edition, small towns and unknown poets replace these famous names; in the final edition, only Merlin is named: this move toward the affirmation of the Macaronic poet will be elaborated below. To collocate with these passages mixing patrons and poets, is a scene in Book 12, where Manto appears to the travelling band of Cipadensi. The beautiful, grave Manto immediately praises Federico Gonzaga for freeing Mantua from the bitter tyranny of the “praetore Gaioffo” (in fact, Federico assumed power upon the death of his father Francesco, who had incurred our poet’s wrath for intervening in Benedictine matters). The goddess goes on to inform her audience that a room is being prepared to house Federico when his long victorious life on earth shall be finished. She remarks about the color of the Gonzaga eagles: At praeclara, ferox, regalis, sancta propago Iam Gonzaga prope est aquilis dignissima nigris Quas natura nigras fecit dedit atque ferendas Imperii signis banderis atque theatris, pingere purpureas Aquilis bizzarica res est. Gloss: Naturales Aquilae, et fictae. (But the noble, courageous, regal, saintly progeny of the most worthy Gonzaga is near to the black eagles, which Nature made black and gave to the bearing of the signal of the Empire, and the banners of theatres; to paint the eagle purple is a bizarre thing.) p. 98 This preference for the black eagles of Nature and the Gonzaga family, over the purple Imperial eagle, may have had some serious political importance; it was omitted from the later versions of the text. The Vigaso Cocaio rendering speaks of a bitter tyrant, whom the Gonzagas replaced, but this tyrant is no longer called the praetor Gaioffus (who for imprisoning Baldus, is mutilated by Cingar, in Book 10). Manto imparts her knowledge of stones, stars and alchemy to the rag-tag band and sends them on their way. 2.4.2 Mutiny? Book 7 calls attention to itself with 18 verses of tortured reticentia. The ample attack on Church corruption and lay gullibility which follows is fraught with interjections expressing fear and trepidation, (on the order of “Est formido nefas cum fari vera timemus”). The author insists upon the ethical necessity of telling the truth, despite probable harm to himself. Of course, by signaling danger with bright red flares, Folengo attracts the attention of the authorities who make truth telling hazardous. One is reminded of a person who notifies half a dozen people before a suicide attempt, or, more appropriately, one recalls Dante’s nervous preface to his De monarchia, Book 3.65 The poet thinks aloud: Nil nisi crassiloquas dicor scivisse camoenas. Crassiloquis igitur dicamus magna camoenis. p. 99 Siste labrum. Quare? Cupies tacuisse, tacendum est. Quod nocet? Immo nocet vatem nimis esse loquacem. Vera loquor, num vera loqui tibi convenit uni? Num sequar errorem communem vera silendo? Et facis errorem tu solus vera loquendo. Vera loqui est error? Non error vera tacere. (I am said to know nothing if not the grossly-loquacious Camoenae (Muses). Therefore, we say great things with the grossly-loquacious Camoenae. Cease lip. Why? You wish to keep silent, silence shall be kept. What harm? Assuredly it is harmful for a poet to be too loquacious. Truthfulness I speak. Is it fitting for you alone to speak the truth? Dare I commit a common error by keeping silent about the truth? And you, do you err when you alone are ready to speak the truth. Is it an error to speak the truth? Not an error to hold truth in silence[?]) 65 Dante, in Marsilio Ficino’s translation: “E’ perché la verità di questa non si può dichiarare senza vergogna e rossore d’alcuni, sarà forse in me qualche cagione d’indegnazione,” Opere edit. Fredi Chiappelli (Milan: Mursia, 1978), p. 880. Although the gloss says “Dialogizat secum poeta,” because of the use of the second person, the reader feels involved in what could be termed “una vera e propria ‘opera aperta’ ante litteram” (to borrow a phrase from Cordié’s description of the Chaos del Triperuno, p. XLV). What reader does not look over his shoulder only to realize that the knocking he hears is internal? This passage and especially the marginal note fit the formulation for the “author in his work” which Pat Spacks has distilled: If poets create themselves as figures in their poems, readers choose, consciously or unconsciously, to accept such figures as more or less approximate to reality. Moreover, a poet’s manipulations of his own presence in his work often involve the reader directly in the action and the problems of the poem.66 The first wave of nervous reticentia expires, carrying the reader into a risky allegory: Arrigo, iam satis est, dixisti, iure tacendum est. Tu facies melius Zambelli dicere vaccam, p. 100 Ergo Zambelli vaccam Mafelina canamus. (I listen, for now it is enough, you have spoken, by law silence is to be kept. You will do better to speak of Zambellus’ cow, therefore, Mafelina, let us sing of the cow of Zambellus.) The episode which follows allows us to see the decadent monks of the monastery “Motella” in practice: they cheat Zambellus out of his cow Chiarina by convincing the peasant that she is a goat. Much of the rich criticism of the clergy, especially of the stolid Fra Iacopino, of the wealthy who purchase indulgences, and of the masses who so easily believe in miracles, returns in the later editions, (V.C. 8, and 25, 222-284). However, the long section of criticism which follows, eventually gets entirely cut from the text. 66 P. Spacks, Introduction to The Author in His Work (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978), p. XII. First, the case against indulgences is extensively developed and includes an incidental critique of capitalism. Oh nimis immensam bonitatem summa regentis, qui (non quod inops sit qui parit omne metallum) quaeque bagarottum delet commissa perunum. Non tamen id fieri credamus propter aquistum, sed templum pariter fabricant culpas remittunt. (Oh too extreme bounty of the one ruling on high, who (in such a way that he who is poor produces all the metal) abolish enterprises for the sake of one lousy nickel. We don’t consider [such a thing] to be an acquisition, but they, however, build such a temple [a very high temple, to house the giant Saint Christopher] in order to remit their guilt.) Then, as the feigned hesitations become more frequent, the reader realizes that the target area is approaching. A gloss pinpoints the bull’s eye: “Si poeta ironice loquatur, multa inter doctores fit disputatio.” Est tamen in vulgo murmur, livore tabescunt quidam cagnazzi mordaces, nomina quorum p. 101 subticeo pro nunc, illos desistere credam, sin autem Archilochi iactabo furentis iambos, fata novabuntur veteris fortasse Lycambe. Est formido nefas cum fari vera timemus. (Nevertheless, there is a murmur in the crowd, that certain biting mongrels are wasting away with spite, whose names I shall keep quiet for now, because I believe they will stop, but if they do not, I shall hurl (at them) the iambics of the enraged Archilochus, and perhaps the fate of old Lycambis will be repeated. Fear is wicked when we are afraid to speak the truth.) By invoking the deadly poetic power of the wronged Archilocus (a note clarifies the allusion: “Archilocus poeta iambicis suis coegit Lycambem semet suspendere”), Folengo is once again calling attention to the potential danger of truth in verse, and to his own ability to harm an aged foe. He does not go so for as to list the “cagnazzi mordaci” alphabetically; instead he blames their destructive nature on one beast in particular. The last twenty-five lines build toward an accusation of this one dog who gets the others barking, this “lupo” who feeds on diseased lambs which the pastor offers him in order to save the rest of the flock. But the conclusion never arrives: Forsitan obscurus videor, sapientia patrum multa fuit, per quam mala bestia cessit, et urbem incolit, unde cito rediit pax pristina. Dixi. Dixi inquam, quisnam male me dixisse probabit? Attamen est melius Zambelli dicere vaccam, … (Perhaps I seem obscure, the wisdom of the fathers was great by which the evil beast withdrew and inhabited the city, whence pristine peace quickly returned. I have spoken. I have spoken. I say: who then will prove that I have spoken badly? But it is better to speak of Zambellus’ cow.) Billanovich interprets the “mala bestia” as a not so oblique reference to Benedetto da Reggio, Gonzaga’s would-be puppet abbot. The beast p. 102 probably stands for the ancient but still very powerful Squarcialupi (see the “stulto... praeside” in the quotation below). For our purposes, it is enough to know that Folengo insists upon indicating one culprit, who leads others astray. Further proof of the poet’s anger and his desire to blame show up in the epitaph Cocaio inscribed on the tomb of Chiarina, the luckless cow devoured by the unscrupulous monks of Mottella. It leaves little doubt as to Folengo’s willingness to state his mind about his superiors: Vendita quod fuerim bis falso Cingaris astu. Quodve mea fratres Mottellae carne cibarim, Non multum toedet, fleo sed mea fata sub orco Namque sub insano vixi male ducta magistro. Sic nos mortales stulto sub praeside stantes Flere licet potius quam dulcem perdere vitam. (Although I was auctioned twice by the false Cingar, and although my meat was food to the monks of Motellae, I am not very bothered, but I weep in hell at my fate because I lived under the evil rule of an insane master. Thus it is more fitting for us mortals to weep for our lives spent under a stupid rector, than for us to weep for the loss of our sweet life itself.) The most tragic life is that lived under a fatuous boss (Zambello, in the case of Chiarina), so that when the poet says (above) that it is best to switch the subject to Zambello’s cow, he is merely switching to an allegorical mode: whether the cow or the monk is speaking, death itself is deemed preferable to living under the present master(s). If today’s reader is made to squirm, and indeed an exasperated Ugo Paoli, careful scholar and editor of our poet, seems to have been co-opted by the text: Folengo è sempre lì presente: ti domina e ti opprime col suo malumore, col suo iroso spirito di satira col tono del predicatore e la burbanza di frate intollerante, anarcoide e p. 103 brontolone; e non lascia requie al lettore, ne gli permette, mai, quando segue le sorti degli eroi del Baldus, di dimenticare che quei personaggi hanno un autore.67 then surely Folengo’s first readers, especially those who are under relentless attack by the young, and supposedly powerless monk, found it impossible to ignore his message, delivered repeatedly in person. In subsequent versions, all the quibbling about truth and silence disappears, as does the whole “mala bestia” development. A further indication of the dangerousness of accusing one’s superiors of unbearable stupidity, is the change in authorship of Chiarina’s epitaph from Cocaio to Seraphus. In Book 8, Cingar delivers a very learned sermon in an attempt to convince the people of the 67 U. Paoli, “II Baldus del Folengo,” La Rinascita 4, 1941, pp. 524ff. Paoli goes on in his article to lament the “ingombrante personalità del poeta” which prevents the reader from living in peace with the creatures of his fantasy. He amplifies: “c’è tutto un mondo cerebrale di canzonature, di principi teorici e di proteste a partecipare del quale il lettore dev’essere tratto per forza.” sacred powers of a knife he wishes to sell (to Zambellus). In the course of his sermon, Cingar, posing as Fra Roberto, does not stop at citing famous Church fathers, but “makes up names”: Mox alios plures quos non memorarier unquam Noverat, ut credo fingebat nomen eorum. Erasmus quendam, Martinu Luther, et unum Sylvestrum, qui non bleumatica scrimilat ochnos (Soon he counted many others which can never be remembered, or as I believe, he made up their names. A certain Erasmus, a Martin Luther, and a Sylvester...) p. 104 Cingar does go on to invent several foreign sounding names, “Gnephot, Schuriotta, Crofnec” etc., but this nonsense does not alter the fact that our poet boldly uses the most controversial names of his times to adorn his text. He calls in Erasmus and Luther precisely when the action of the story involves the mockery of miracles. (Neither name survives in the final edition.) Another impressive section is a litany on Ambition in Book 12 which for some reason gets dropped after the Toscolana. For eighty hexameters the poet develops a wonderfully wordy description of the inflated man of ambition. One has the feeling that there was no doubt in the minds of Folengo’s first readers as to just who he meant by the ambitious “rector habenae” who destroyed the ancient order and established worthless laws for subjected peoples. Teranza, in his annotations to the 1771 “Amsterdam” edition, says of this portrait: Haec scripsit poeta ad Ignatii Squarcialupi mores et ambitionem alludens. Hic enim gratia et eloquentia abutens, sanctas et veteres religiones, institutiones covellere conabatur.68 There is no gloss nor overt clue to give away the identity of the ambitious man, so he could be the “mala bestia” of Book 7, who may or may not be Squarcialupi. Our poet ends the long harangue on evil Ambition vowing to fight hypocrites and ambitious people, forever: Sed de proposito video cascare Cominam, Parcite, non vini, colerae sed copia fecit. Semper ero, semperque fui, non esse rafinam 68 From Luzio, Studi, pp. 100-101. Hypocritis, nec non contrarius ambitiosis, Qui possint utinam medium sibi rumpere collum. p. 105 (By the way, I see Comina about to drop, forgive me, for she brought an abundance of not wine, but anger: I always was, I have always been, I shall not cease to be contrary not only to the ambitious men but to the hypocrites, who can break their necks in two.) Whoever the target, Folengo did not retain this rich portrait in the later versions. 2.4.3 Seraphus: The naughty twin Not quite midway in the Baldus, we find a second invocation to the Muses, which uses a macaronic version of the image of the bark hoisting its sail, reminiscent of Vergil (Georgics 4, 177), and Dante (Purg. 1, Par. 2). The poet then proceeds to introduce a new character, on the run: Altius, O, Musae nos tollere vela bisognat misterumque facit gravius distendere schenam, usque modo fregavit aquas mea barca poazzi,… Nunc mare tentandum, cui vitam credere mors est Magnanimi Baldi celeberrima gesta canenti, Dexter ades Serraffe pater, vatumque magister. (Book 10) Glossed: Serraffus maximus in quibuslibet liberalibus artibus fuit. (Higher. O Muses, we must hoist the sails, it is necessary to stretch the back harder so that my bark can now reach the waters of the Po. Now, the sea is to be attempted, whose life it is death to believe in when singing the most famous deeds of the magnanimous Baldus. Come propitious Seraphus, father poet and master.) Nothing more is said about Seraphus here, the “Narratio fecunda” resumes with Baldus on the rampage in Mantua. The Vigaso Cocaio substitutes Zoppinus for Seraphus in this passage (Bk. 11); Zoppinus is p. 106 mentioned in the Chaos, p. 246 and Cordié identifies him as the Venetian cantastorie and editor, Niccolò d’Aristotele. In this later edition, Seraphus is first introduced in Book 8, where the epitaph for Chiarina is attributed to him, that epitaph which expresses displeasure at living under stupid authorities. Seraphus himself, master poet and supreme humanist, does not appear until Book 21 but before his entrance we learn a bit about his talents. In Book 16, Vinmazzus comes to Cingar’s aid with an unguent prepared for him by Seraphus “Vates, Magus, Astronomusque.” His major contribution is the reduction of Cingar’s enormous nose. Book 21 finds Cingar immobilized in the netherworld by a nose bewitched, Seraphus shows up in the nick of time. He arrives with three young men – the stunningly handsome musician Giubertus, the well-built hedonist “stradiottus” Pizza Capellettus, a.k.a. Pizza Guerra, and the ethereal Milanese Raffellus who literally lives on love and is hence perfect to play the part in Seraphus’ love games: Qui nunquam panem nec quicquid corpora nutrit Summebat, dulci tantum se pascit amore, Qua propter quicquid contrectat, replet amore, Serraffo multum fuit haec complexio grata, Utebatur eo variis in rebus Amore. (Book 21) (He who never ate bread nor nourished his body with anything, but pastures only on sweet love, on account of which, whatever he touches is filled with love. His embrace was very pleasing to Seraphus, who used him in various love intrigues.) Before coming to Cingar’s aid, the master magician makes himself and the playful trinity invisible in order to pinch and poke the heroes p. 107 with impunity. Satisfied with the stir this causes, the now visible Seraphus rubs Cingar’s nose with his famous unguent, and it shrinks, once and for all; Cingar will never let anyone near his nose again. In the same Book, when Baldus is slaughtering Gulphoras’ troops, the queen of witches recognizes the hand behind the sword as that of either Seraphus or Merlin Cocaio. The nexus of names must be noted: Irruit in coecam lapidis virtute cohortem, At velut undicolas falcho secant ungue Folengas, Sic Baldus Christo distemperat ense rebelles … Fama novellatrix Reginae percutit aures, Quae transmutavit vultus in mille colores. Extimet esse magnum Serraffum, sive Cocaii Fraudes Merlini, quibus est invasa frequenter. (Book 21) (He rushes into the cohort blinded by the properties of the stone, but just as a falcon cuts the wavedwelling “folengas” with one claw, thus Baldus with his sword separates the rebels from Christ... Fame, the announcer, touched the ears of the Queen (Gelphora) whose face is transmuted into a thousand colors. She figures this must be (the work of) the great Seraphus or the fraud of Merlin Cocaio, by whom she has frequently been invaded.) (In the Vigaso Cocaio, Gelphora thinks her opponent must be “seu Coclen, sive Seraphum”, thus introducing yet another variant of Folengo’s leading pseudonym (23, 625).) We see a casual occurrence of folenga, while Baldus is destroying those who rebelled against Christ, and Gulphora suspects he is being helped by one of the two great poet-magicians. Seraphus is so close in skills as to be Merlin’s double; he supplies the author with material for the poem: Per quem Seraffum revidentem saepe baratrum Cuncta baroniae Merlinus gesta canebat, Quae mox scribebat nec non referebat amicis. (Book 25) ([and] through Seraphus who often revisited the underworld, Merlin was singing all the other deeds of the barons, which he soon wrote and passed along to his friends.) p. 108 But Seraphus takes the low road of pranks and puckish tricks to Merlin’s high road of father confessor, director and holy scribe. In the Toscolana, Seraphus receives the final honor of crowning, in his own macaronic way, the poet’s choice for laureate dunce: (Durante) composuit quondam (quem nolo dicere librum sed scartafazzum) nomen ponendo “Leandram” cui dignum fecit noster Seraffus honorem, namque sigillatus caera fuit ille culina. (Durante one day composed that which I do not wish to call a book, but a scribblement, giving it the name Leandra, to which our Seraphus gave a deserved honor, for he sealed it with culine wax.) 2.4.4 Macaronic interlude Book 14 includes a long disquisition on the state of the culinary arts in Jove’s kitchen. Each of the twenty “Doctrinae... cosinandi” is a very thorough recipe for some scrumptious dish. At the beginning of the last set of instructions, the first person narrator speaks up, and thus squelches the notion that some unacknowledged cooking consultant had drawn up the maps to these gourmet treasures. The voice is argumentative enough to catch the reader’s attention: Sed quid ego longis pario fastidia verbis? Illic divinum facitur solummodo nectar. Multi bugiardi dicunt hoc esse bevandam, id nego, sed cibus est quo morti surgere possent. Despite Merlin’s characteristic verbal aggression, this 150 verse section smacks of earlier Macaronic poems: the action in Tifi’s “Macaronea” centers around the roasting of a goose. Not one recipe p. 109 remains in the Vigaso Cocaio edition, the poet is content with the foody description of his Muses’ macaronic dwelling, at the opening of the Baldus. 2.4.5 Philotheus: the good twin Handsome, sinless Philotheus, although less noticeable in the augmented Toscolana adventures, is still the same valiant character he was in the Paganini. The only significant change which touches the Philotheus story, is the new inscription on Merlin’s tomb which he uncovers. The Paganini distich told us that (the name) Merlin was widely famous and that no one could surpass him in magical arts. Merlin’s tombstone now tells us: Merlinus iacet hic natus sine patre, propheta vixit, et in magica nulli fuit arte secundus. (Book 18) Earlier, a claim to prophetic powers was made for Merlin, by Aquarius Lodola, in an addition to the epistle to Count Passarini Scarduarus, examined above. (Although Aquarius implies that Merlin predicted the pontificate of Julius and Leo, in the text, it is Seraphus’ prophecy for them which is cited.) More than a prophet without a country, Merlin is a poet without a country. The final tribute in Book 25, to poetic contemporaries, stands as a monument to Merlin’s ostracization: all the world hails Ariosto as the “laus, gloria, palma Ferarae”; nobody knows anything about the “laus, gloria, fama Cipadae” despite Folengo’s manifold boasting. p. 110 Merlin’s role is not altered by the unrecognized prophetic powers attributed to him in this new epitaph. As before, he enters the action in time to keep the Cipadensi from succumbing to Nocentina. The little witch confesses to having deceived a Folengo youth with her fraudulence, but now nothing is said about a near libidinous act with the lad (Book 20). Merlin again informs the band of their divinely inspired task of ridding the underworld of witches and demons; he confesses them and arms them. The intermittent appearances of Seraphus (who is totally absent from the Paganini) reduce the impact of Merlin Cocaio’s presence in the poem. Now Merlin is just one of the magic poets who lend a hand to the Cipadensi. 2.4.6 Crispis the good wife In the last books of the Toscolana, Folengo further complicates the Baldus story by introducing a second wife, Crispis, a lady whose name and character are Christ-like. Towards the end of Book 23, Baldus explains how, thinking himself to be a peasant, he had married Berta, then, upon discovering his true parentage, he left her for the angelic Crispis (“Sed tamen ut male stat cum fango gemma bovino / Sic contadina male stat cum cuniuge barro”). A long (36 verse) “Summa Laus Crispide” follows, with the name Crispis at the beginning of 14 (almost rhyming) verses in succession. Matteo Fossa, in his macaronic “Virgiliana,” when speaking as Fossa swears: “Ad Corpus Crispi virgate et sancte Barile! (Cordié, p. 986). Even if the reader does not make any connection between this all-perfect Crispis, and the name of Christ, p. 111 the position of the litany of praise is significant: it concludes Book 23, which then terminates with a distich of self-reproach taken from Vergil’s second eclogue: Sed venit ecce Charon, iam trappassabimus amnem, Cum mihi tempus erit, vobis de Crispide dicam. Conclusio Sic ergo Macaronicum penitus volo linquere carmen Cum mihi tempus erit, quod erit, si celsa voluntas Flectitur et nostris lachrimis, et supplice voto. He heu quod volui misero mihi, floribus Austrum Perditus, et liquidis immisi fontibus apros. (But behold Charon comes, now we shall cross the river, when my time shall come, I will speak to you of Crispis. Conclusion: Thus, I wish to wholly relinquish the Macaronic poem, when my time comes, and it will come, if lofty desire is swayed by our tears and by beseeching prayer. Alas, alas, what have I wished for my miserable self, lost man, I have let loose the south wind amid the flowers, and the wild boars amid the gleaming fountains.) By repeating the clause “cum tempus mihi erit,” just used by Baldus, the narrator, without calling much attention to the link, identifies himself here with Baldus, the hero happily married to Crispis. This is no doubt why Goffis speaks of the “celebrazione dell’amore di Baldo, cioè del poeta per Crispide” (L’eterodossia, p. 193). In Book 25, Crispis returns as an important element in a detailed moral lesson. Cingar is surprised to find Berta among the enfurnaced witches instead of Crispis, believing her to be the first, legal wife of Baldus; he exclaims: Ah!... cur fallit opinio vulgum? Quis non pensasset potius cum Crispide Baldum Istic damnari veluti damnatur amantes? Ecce quid aequus amor coniunxit Crispida Baldum. (Ah!... why does common opinion err? Who didn’t think that Baldus would instead be damned here with Crispis as lovers are damned. Behold what a just love joins Baldus to Crispis.) p. 112 Baldus answers with his heroic haughtiness: ... nihil est, mi Cingar, opinio vulgi, Et licet haec speculum nostri denigret honoris, Summa tamen Deitas ad lucem denique veram Prodit Amicitiam ceu nunc de Crispide fecit. Sed quid de nobis opus est narrare prophanis, quando quidem sanctos etiam mala lingua premebat? (Baldus says: “The opinion of the crowd means nothing, my Cingar, and although it is permitted that this opinion blacken the looking glass of our honor, nevertheless the Deity finally brings forth the best things into the true light, as he did just now the friendship of Crispis. But what concern is it of ours to tell about the ignorant when indeed the saints are strangled by an evil tongue?) Readers of Dante are familiar with the Deity’s powers of seeing through seemingly good characters to their bad core, and of rescuing seemingly lost souls, all at the last possible moment: Guido da Montefeltro (Inf. 28) and his son, Buonconte Purg. 5) are the most memorable examples of this phenomenon. Folengo is not satisfied with Baldus’ delineation of the ways of God, he goes on to render his own situation more explicit, while still cloaking his complaint in a sort of allegory. He complains that even saints are ruined by wicked rumors, and (Baldus) immediately offers specific examples: Maxime Hieronymum dictum cognomine divum Et qui Martini Bricius possessit honorem. Quid referam Carolum Benedicti, claustra colentem, Quem tamquam purum Ioseph, castamque Susannam Crimine adulterii, furti quoque lingua gravabat? Sed tamen ad finem Calicutti secta ribaldi Qui dabat accusam Carolo tenuata remansit, Et Caroli tandem patuit mens candida mundo. Unquam nemo sua voluit deffendere causam, Immo tota cohors ipsum crucifige gridabat. (Most of all [rumors are spread about] Girolamo who is called god-like, and Bricius who possessed the honor of Martin. Why mention the Benedictine Carlo who inhabited the cloisters? Whom as pure as Joseph and chaste Susanna, a tongue burdened with accusations of adultery and theft? But, in the end, the p. 113 sect of the scoundrel Calcuttus who accused Carlo was left weakened, and the pure mind of Carlo remained apparent to the world. No one ever wanted to defend his cause, and in fact the whole crowd shouted – Crucify him!) The goodness of Crispis is the excuse for this digression, in which the author maintains the innocence of Hieronymus (Girolamo) called god-like (Teofilo), Carolus (Teofilo’s brother Fra Ludovico was probably baptized Carlo) and others. (Ludovico, after being cleared of an initial charge, was, in 1524, convicted of adultery (p. 99). Our poet, after leaving the monastery, around 1525, was charged with theft by two of Squarcialupi’s friends. This passage proved prophetic.) The target of Folengo’s criticism here is Calcuttus, the accuser, and he goes on to blame Pilate, Caiphas and Annas, who did nothing to see that justice was being carried out. This is the type of personal grudge, incompletely allegorized, which drops out of the Baldus after the Toscolana. On the one hand, this passage seems sloppy, because it requires inside information of the reader, on the other hand, it is a bold move to liken yourself, your brothers, and your friends not only to the saints, but to Christ crucified. It is even more bold to accuse your superiors of calumny and your fellow monks of desertion. The Cipadense and the Vigaso Cocaio retain none of this passage. In fact, Crispis is altogether absent from any of the other editions. Book 23, which housed the long lyrical litany to the beautiful Crispis, loses its invocation to the Muses wherein the poet despaired of his approaching descent into the underworld. This book loses as well its moving finale of selfrebuke – this Vergilian lament is transferred to the closing lines of the last book of the Vigaso Cocaio. Once Crispis is removed, p. 114 Book 23 needs neither a lengthy introduction nor an eloquent salutation. And since there is no longer a perfect Crispis, there is no ready excuse for introducing the analogous blamelessness of Girolamo, Teofilo and Carolus [Ludovico?]. Consequently, the accusation of the bad sect of the Benedictines disappears here as it does from the passage in Book 7, considered above. However, as we have learned, it is the Toscolana version with all its many grudges and glosses, which was most in demand. Long after the third and forth versions appeared, the Toscolana was being reprinted. 2.4.7 Poets in the Pumpkin In the final books of the Baldus, Folengo masterminds an intricate mosaic of his own, Homer’s, Vergil’s and Dante’s journeys to the underworld. The resultant poetry shows most clearly the Renaissance artist’s ability to build new monuments from the incalculable interest on his inheritance. Typical of the intermingling of classical and macaronic elements, is the encounter with Charon, in Book 24. The ferryman has been off courting Thesiphone, by offering to her a youth (one of Baldus’ twin sons, Marcellinus). She wasn’t very interested, so Charon is in a foul mood and refuses to transport anybody still alive. Baldus dickers a bit: “Nonne hic Aeneas passavit corpore vivo?/ Nonne hic Meschinus Guerrinus? Tantalus atque?” Fracassus ends the problem by dashing Charon to pieces (“Ille fracassasset sibi collum, totaque membra”), and p. 115 Cingar takes over his ferry. The group eventually fights its way past Minossus and Cerberus as well, the macaronic way: give no quarter. The penultimate Book ends with a call to Italy and all her inhabitants: Currite, mortales, vestras audire pacias, Currite, et error is vestri cognoscite causas. O Italia infoelix propera, Currite vos omnes, tandem (si curritis) urbes Veras rixarum vestrarum audite casones. The thud of the macaronic pacias (lies), and rixarum... casones, add to the impact of the call. Italy, at the time, was a battlefield from tip to toe; many of her writers felt obliged to present a solution to the continual wars. Folengo’s last book offers a twist: the furies are fighting for top prize in the contest for destroying the world. Thesiphone has ruined the Church and has turned churches into ruins. Alecto by giving birth to twin sons named Guelph and Ghibelline, has succeeded in getting all the cities in Italy to fight one another (a complete list of these cities is provided in the Toscolana, but not in the Vigaso Cocaio). Megaera takes the wind out of her sisters’ hoary sails by pointing out that she alone has been able to upset Mantua and Cipada. At this boast, Baldus comes out of hiding and scatters the entire assembly with the help of the magic jewel he wears (a present from Seraphus). Then Seraphus himself appears with the Cipadensi and unites them with their leader, only to disappear again, accompanied by his two male companions. Unlike the gods who intervene in classic epics, Seraphus is a whimsical friend of the authorcharacter Merlin, and he is a master versifier in his own right. p. 116 The whole group, including Baldus’ sons Cingarinus and Marcellinus, walks on. They talk of many things, especially of other journeys to Avernus. While Cingar is in the midst of retelling Vergil’s sixth book to Falchetto, they all lose control of their higher faculties. Cingar, lost in his imagination, doesn’t remember speaking about Vergil’s sixth book. Falchettus, assaulted by fantasies, doesn’t remember hearing about Vergil’s sixth book. Only Baldus escapes being overcome by levity, all the others float through the air right into a cavern: the House of Fantasy. Here reside grammars, dialectical arguments, sophistic gibberish, lies and poet’s fictions. The Cipadensi are now surrounded by the tiny fanciful ideas of various theologians and philosophers, just as the poet himself, when he goes about the countryside of Godi half-drunk, is encircled by millions of flies. They try to capture these solecisms and lies, but they cannot seem to grasp them long enough to throw them into a stoppered bottle: the gloss to this verse calls attention to the use of cocamine by noting “Cocamen et cocaius et coconus.” After the appearance of the huge “Chimera,” the band of heroes encounters a large gathering of prostitutes in a pleasant setting, which then turns into a Dantesque Hell: there are loud cries of pain, sulfuric flames, demons, and tears. The band suddenly has enough presence of mind to express surprise at finding women of apparent virtue in the furnace with whores. Cingar spots Berta, and this sparks the discussion of Crispis and deceiving appearances, analyzed above. Finally, a crazy buffoon, nakedly astride a stick, dances with Baldus right up to a mountainous pumpkin, a p. 117 “Zucca” as big as the mountains in the Val Camonica. Here holding court among men in togas, magicians, astronomers, skilled doctors and profound logicians, is Utrum who fills their minds with nonsense: “Hereticosque facit, negat hanc, probat hanc, tenet illanc,/ Et sibimet diris semper dat verbera pugnis.” Poets too end up in the Zucca; they are urged to listen to the punishment awaiting them: Herbologists appoint three thousand devils, who serve as barbers, and pull out a tooth for each lie the poet has told; the teeth grow back only to be pulled again. The first hapless poet recognized is Durante, writer of the Leandra, which our poet refuses to call a book. In fact, as we saw above, Seraphus sealed the work with wax from his backend. Cingar makes the diabolic barber stop so he can ask Durante why he foolishly spoke ill of Orlando, and championed Rinaldo. The toothless Durante answers: “quia iam pacueunt futa ialdi,” which the gloss tells us is the gummed version of “Quoniam placuerunt furta Rinaldi.” This cunning linguistic insult to a poet whom Folengo succeeds in thoroughly degrading, launches the poet into a diatribe against those who slight the great Orlando. And yet, Baldus descends from Rinaldo and is called “rinaldicus” in Book 25. The meeting with Durante leads into a litany of praise, beginning with the poets who championed Orlando: Ast veri Auctores Orlandum praeposuerunt, Ac in venturo praeponent tempore vates. Maxime Boiardus, dictusque Maria Matheus, Plus sentimento facili, quam carmine dives. Surget Alovisus, tuscus Franciscus et orbus, Magnus Ariostus, laus, gloria, palma Ferarae, Tempore mancus erit Petrarcha, carmine sed non. Inveterata nocet laus nobis saepe modernis. p. 118 (But the true authors put Orlando first, and in the future they will put poets first. Especially Boiardus, called Maria Mattheo, more rich in affable sentiment than in poetry. Alovisus will arise, and the blind Tuscan Franciscus; Great Ariosto, praise, glory and palm of Ferrara will be lesser than Petrarch in age but not in poetry. Praise of the ancients often hurts us moderns.) The plight of the modern poet in hopeless competition with the ancients, becomes a constant refrain in this roster of poets doomed to the “Zucca.” Coupled with this complaint of ineluctable modern inferiority is the more specific threat of Vergil’s superiority: Mons quoque Carmelus Baptistae versibus altis Iam boat, atque novum Manto fecisse Maronem, Gaudet, nec primo praefert tamen illa Maroni, Namque vetusta nocet laus nobis saepe modernis. (A mountain already bursts with the exalted verse of the Carmelite Baptista, and Manto has made a new Maro. She enjoys him yet she prefers the first Maro, for praise of the ancients often hurts us moderns.) Poets then mentioned, who are not equal to Vergil, Petrarch, Dante and the other ancients are: Pontano, Sannazaro, Vida, Marullo, Bembo, Tebaldeo, Serafino, Cornaggiani, and Panfilo Sasso (there are also references to a Zacharias and an author of an Armenides). These men were born twenty to thirty years before Folengo; in 1521 they were widely known poets in Latin and Italian. But neither individually nor collectively will they ever measure up to their predecessors: None of the poets, with the exception of the luckless Durante, is allowed to speak for himself. Their names are simply piled up in the verses between the refrain: Non tamen aequatur vati quem protulit Andes, Namque vetusta nocet laus nobis saepe modernis. p. 119 From this quick litany, only two names stand out: “Magnus Ariosto, laus, gloria, palma Ferrarae” and “Merlinus ego, laus, gloria, fama Cipadae.” How different is Merlin’s parade of doomed poets from Ariosto’s long list of well-wishers who greet him upon his re-entry into port. This list covers the first 19 octaves of Canto 46 which was added for the 1521 edition of the Orlando Furioso. Ariosto’s cast includes patrons, cardinals, noblemen, and truly contemporary authors, namely Francesco Berni and Pietro Aretino, whom Folengo chose not to include. Instead of Ariosto’s triumphal return in glory, Merlin depicts himself about to suffer the “Barber-ic” tooth pulling in the Pumpkin: Nec Merlinus ego, laus, gloria, fama Cipada Quamvis fautrices habui Tognamque Gosamque, Quamvis implevi totum Macaronibus orbem, Quamvis promerui Baldi cantare bataiias, Non tamen altoloquis Tiphi, Caroloque futuris Par ero, nec dignus sibi descalzare stivallos. (Not even I, Merlin, the praise, glory and fame of Cipada, although I had Togna and Gosa as helpers, although I deserved to sing the battles of Baldus, nevertheless, I shall not be equal to Tiphis nor to the future Carolus, nor worthy to take off their boots.)69 Merlin did not mention Tifi degli Odasi, the father of Macaronic verse, in his first Liber macaronices, but here he acquits himself well, bowing low to his forefather. Just when it seems as though Merlin is resigned to his fate, he hedges. He says he will lose as many teeth as there are saintly men in illustrious Rome, as many as there are honest clerics, as many as there are just laws, etc. In other words Merlin is 69 It is not clear who this Carolus is, nor whether he is the same Carolus we saw earlier in Book 25. p. 120 not really going to be punished because despite his fantastic lies, he is no worse than other men. Finally, as Merlin’s weary ship reaches the long-desired haven, the poet asks for our forgiveness: Immo probos vitae mores, breve tempus et annos scripsimus, ad veniam propero, si scripsimus ulla forsitan auditu male consona, parcite, quaeso. Et iam confectus senio, terrae recurvus corpore destituor, vitae quoque cedo valete. (Assuredly my life and habits were virtuous, we wrote for a brief time, and I hasten to ask indulgence if we wrote anything which perhaps jars the ear; pardon I beg you. And now, having completed [my life], I grow old, turning away from the earth, I am abandoned by my body, I withdraw as well from my life. Farewell.) If we did not know the whole story: the inclusion in the texts for instance, of a nearly sinful “juvenum Folengum,” of a perfect Philotheus, of a Hieronymus turned Merlin turned monk, we might explain this ending as a simple attempt by the thirty year old poet to deflect censure. By declaring himself innocent, aged and apologetic, the poet, in a few humble hexameters, lulls the reader into accepting him as benign, if a little eccentric. But clearly, Folengo’s repeated attacks on the Church and his Order’s leaders, as well as the violence inflicted upon the tyrant of Mantua, cannot be called simply benign. Folengo is coy. We are co-opted into the lingering impression that he is above all a great story teller, and so if he is a bit vulgar and brash from time to time, well, no one is perfect. p. 121 2.5 THE “MOSCHAEAE” The penultimate passage of this Toscolana edition to be examined here is the 102 verse “Prologus” to the Moschaeae, a 1140 verse imitation of (pseudo?) Homer’s Batrachomyomachia. The first couplet of this prologue indicates the subject: “Nuper ego nostra paulo digressus ab Urbe,/ quam celebrem toto fecit in orbe Maro,...” In melancholy strains, Folengo invokes the great love for Vergil which fills Mantua: his simulacrum has been adorned for the festival held annually in his honor, Mars has been banned from the realm. Gonzaga is praised for keeping the city peaceful so that she can give birth to many kinds of poets. (In 1514, a bust of the poet Baptista Mantuanus (dubbed the Christian Maro) was erected in Mantua alongside the statues of Vergil and Francesco Gonzaga, so perhaps the young Folengo aspired to similar concrete recognition.) But then the tone turns to unrequited yearning for a pre-Vergilian, pre-Homeric past. The would-be Number One poet, our first person narrator, leaves Mantua to try once more to entreat Apollo. The god immediately snaps at him: “audacio me quoque, stulte, rogas?” and the wretched applicant scarcely escapes from his quickly drawn bow. Forced to flee like a goat before Diana, or a hare chased by biting dogs, the aspiring poet moves toward the Mincio, to swell it with his tears. He ruminates his unfair fate: Illius, heu, frustra doctas captare sorores speravi, ac multa laude tenere polos. Nil fuit evigiles studio concludere noctes, postquam tot menses abrogat una dies. (I had hoped, alas in vain, to captivate the learned sisters, and to reach the poles with much praise. The sleepless nights of study came to naught, after so many months, one day displaces all.) p. 122 Just when the man is about to give up altogether, a young girl appears strumming a lyre. She sings of Vergil who joined Homer at the crest of Parnassus; a throng of aspiring poets crowd the base of the mountain but they are eclipsed by these two great ancients. Our desperate pilgrim asks the nymph how he had managed to incur the wrath of Apollo: the god of poetry had strenuously objected to the young poet’s vile Muses. His filthy verse had dirtied the pools of Pegasus. The wretch then begs the girl to intercede for him with the god. She, indignant, refuses, telling him that now he shall learn what it means to spurn the (legitimate) “Camoenae.” Our poet finally rebels: “Nec Phoebo, dixi, nec tibi subjicior.” He breaks the lyre and takes up the shepherd’s pipes. This fabulous account of the poet’s career choice does not end with the “Prologus.” After a 24 line in medias res opening, there is an 18 line section “Invocat” in the same defiant vein: Quae dabit altorium mihi Guerras Musa canenti, blanditias sperno perfida Clio tuas … Attamen incago teque tuas lyras … Vade in malorum, atque tuo succurre Maroni, canzones quoniam recte petezo tuas. (Which Muse will give me help to sing of wars; perfidious Clio, I spurn your favors... And I piss on your lyres. Go to Hell, and succor your Maro, and polish your songs with a fart.) The poet asks his “poetessae macaronicesque Deae” to smear butter on his lips, “per quem ladinior vox queat ire foras”; (glossed: “Ladinum bergamasche. Facilis latine dicitur”). He calls for meat and wine, then he begins again his three short books of bloody insect battles. p. 123 Although this prologue is henceforth cut, the account of the thwarted plea to Apollo forms the heart of the “autobiographical digression” in Book 22 of the last two editions. In the final version of the Moschaeae Folengo continues to harp on the inferiority of Homer and Vergil. Only a fool would compare his great battle of ants and flies to the measly battle of Troy. 2.6 JUST FOR LAUGHS A sonnet delivers the final message. In simple Italian, our poet states his conviction that all unfeeling seriousness and no play would ruin mankind. Se di piacer, trastullo, goia e spasso mancasse l’human cestro mentre fede qua giù, sol di sospir e pianti erede, natura cum virtù girebbe al basso. Soperchio vuol fa presto l’huomo casso di vita, ne vivante a quel si crede, di cui tristitia, che ogni mal possede, tanto ne sente, quanto un freddo sasso. But God in his infinite wisdom, provided for a light-hearted soul to save us now and again from ourselves: Ma Dio fece il tutto saggiamente, svelse col variare nostra natura tal peste, che col’alma il corpo attosca, Ecco dum lieto spirto qual ventura nacque per trastullar un egra e fosca e colma di martiri e fioca mente. (If humankind were to lack pleasure, amusement, joy and play, while faith here below is heir to sighs and crying alone, nature together with virtue would swing down. To desire too much soon makes a man empty of life, nor does he believe himself alive who feels sadness, which possesses all badness as does a cold stone. But God who created all wisely, by varying our nature rid us of that plague which poisons the p. 124 body and/with the soul. Behold therefore a happy spirit, born by chance to delight a sick and grim and brimful of torments and weak mind.) The closing thrust, with that crescendo of adjectives and faint enjambments assures us that the poet has suffered life’s pains, but that he has chosen to play the jester, in order to entertain us. In the end, Folengo does not pretend to be a poet of great lasting moral value. The proliferation of Folengo’s authorial selves then can be seen as a comic gesture, like those perpetrated in a Hall of Mirrors. The images projected by the poet provide protection from a censuring blackout not because their source is difficult to trace, but because through the shimmering subterfuge of Merlin Cocaio, Aquarius Lodola, Seraphus, Scardaffus and others, Folengo managed to produce a volume of captivating adventures steeped in criticism of the Church, the clergy, the police, soldiers, peasants and poets. In this, Merlin’s tale is similar to Dante’s journey through the afterworlds. Dante wove, wove inextricably, his views on the monarchy and the papacy into his Commedia, knowing that his divine terzine would carry his ideas into eternity. And yet, at a time when the Medici controlled Rome and Tuscany and banks everywhere, Pietro Bembo succeeded in convincing his contemporaries (and ours) that Dante’s poetry itself was lacking, that his language was primitive and ugly. Bembo’s assessment of Dante in the Prose del volgar lingua (1525) states clearly that a poet is not supposed to be anything other than a pretty versifier: “quanto ancora sarebbe egli miglior poeta che non è, se altro che poeta parere agli p. 125 uomini voluto non avesse nelle sue rime” (Book 2, section 20). Bembo’s pronouncement on the Divina Commedia is equally damning, he sees it as composed of a jumble of Latin, foreign and esoteric Tuscan words, mixed together: senza alcuna scelta o regola... da se formandone e fingendone [le parole], ha in maniera operato che si può la sua Commedia giustamente rassomigliare ad un bello e spazioso campo di grano, che sia tutto d’avene e di logli e d’erbe sterili e dannose mescolato, o ad alcuna non potata vite al suo tempo, la qual si vede essere poscia la state sì di foglie e di pampini e di viticce ripiena, che se ne offendono le belle uve. (Prose, 2, 20) If Bembo successfully turned people away from Dante’s text by promulgating a change in poetic fashion, which propelled the safer Petrarch to the highest heights of emulation and publication, then, Folengo never had a chance to win approval from the Medici-fed literati.70 But since 70 Even twentieth century critics, with the exception of Mazzacurati and a few others, accept Bembo’s campaign at face value. Cecil Grayson, for example, speaks of Dante’s fall from favor in the early sixteenth century as due to the fact that “his vernacular no longer satisfied the needs Folengo’s macaronic hexameters never were in style, they can never go out of fashion. Folengo gambled on the survival of Latin and Italian, on man’s continual wars with his superiors, be they poetic, religious, political, or economic. He also gambled on the reader’s delight at being made part of the fight, part of the network of truth and fantasy which pulls the poet back into his Pumpkin-head for more of the (self-induced) torture of art. It is the p. 126 involvement of the reader, who is invited by the conglomeration of “peripheral” texts and intratextual polemics to choose sides, which makes the Toscolana the most often reproduced edition of the Maccheronee p. 127 Chapter III OLD WAY AND NEW: THE ORLANDINO AND CHAOS In November of 1526, Folengo published two works in one volume, a recent hit and an unknown song.* [Just the Orlandino was published in 1526.] The Orlandino, “per Limerno Pitocco da Mantoa composto,” had first been printed in July; now it contained a new final chapter and a compelling “Apologia de l’auttore.” The title, the illustration of Orlando astride Brigliadoro, and the poem’s Italian octaves indicate an epic romance, but the Orlandino is actually a hasty repository of lively verse expressing (Protestant) religious beliefs, complaints of poverty, and questions of language, poetics and patronage, all in the midst of travels and battles (on nags with kitchen utensils). The second work, the Chaos del Triperuno is a brilliant account of an autobiographical homunculus who attempts to form a better composite self through his interaction with Merlino, Limerno, Fulica (Latin for Folenga) and others; at the same time, it is a of a new poetic and a new aesthetic outlook,” (from “Dante and the Renaissance,” in Italian Studies Presented to E.R. Vincent, (Cambridge: W. Heffer and Sons Ltd., 1962), p. 73. My point, of necessity schematic here, is that there was a new political power which could not foster Dante’s text, rife as it is with the demand to separate the realms of church and state. severe censure of church corruption in the person of Ignatius Squarcialupi, President of the Benedictine Congregation. Triperuno’s creation of himself and this attack on Squarcialupi are carried out in witty dialogues, prose, Macaronic hexameters, and a great variety of Italian verse; the poetry is highlighted by scathing acrostics. The quick, readable Orlandino was published with the new and unusual Chaos within two months (January, 1527). But then the coupling p. 128 strategy failed: the Orlandino was published separately in 1530, 1539, 1550, 1770, 1775, 1841, 1842, and in 1851; the Chaos del Triperuno saw the light only once more, in 1547, before Portioli’s joint edition in 1889.71 Because of its trappings as another Orlando poem, in addition to annotated editions, the Orlandino has received critical attention denied the unclassifiable Chaos. J.A. Symonds gives a generous synopsis with samples of the Italian poem, and translates three passages (the overtly Protestant declarations) into English octaves.72 Giorgio Petrocchi accuses Aretino of imitating the Orlandino and another, later work by Folengo, but it is doubtful whether “la concorenza sleale” is “palese” to anyone except recent scholars of Folengo.73 The Chaos has been maligned by those who should rather have enjoyed its vivacious interaction of colorful characters, and its advanced approach to the self divided. And yet Giuseppe Billanovich, Folengo’s “official” biographer, speaks of “i laberinti insulsi del Caos.” The work provides little by way of concrete biographical facts. Billanovich finds the Chaos (with its parts labeled selvae and “Laberinto”), of all things, chaotic: 71 Cordié provides a very thorough history of these texts, pp. 1048-1053. The 1527 Chaos exists in its own volume, with three illustrations: Triperuno as a baby surrounded by animals and flanked by two women (Anchinia and Technilla); the youth Triperuno looking at a young woman freeing on a horse; Triperuno speaking to Christ, whom he resembles. 72 Symonds, The Renaissance in Italy: Italian Literature, (New York: Capricorn Books, 1964), pp. 274-285 and Appendix. 73 G. Petrocchi, “Aretino e Folengo”, Convegno, pp. 132-133. The evidence of this semi- plagiarism seems merely circumstantial: Orlando and the Humanity of Christ were the common stock of Renaissance letters. p. 129 Per gli imbrogli confusi e vuoti che vi si aggrovigliano dentro il Caos e una scrittura più debole e più irritante delle molte opere pie, pallide di anemia congenita, ma per lo meno liscie e uniformi. (p. 117) Goffis judges the work by standards appropriate only to a scientific tract: “I dialoghi sono stesi per lo più senza vigore drammatico e d’altra parte, senza la concisione del teorizzare severo.” (p. 95). I cannot imagine anyone reading the many dialogues in the Chaos and feeling that they lack dramatic vigor; only if someone were looking for something specific (blatant unorthodox views, confirmation of Catholicism) could he find the exchanges between Triperuno and Merlino, Merlino and Limerno, Limerno and Triperuno and Fulica other than captivating. This assurance of mine is a matter of opinion, but the omission of the Chaos from literary discourse is a matter of wrongful neglect. The Chaos del Triperuno should not be abandoned because of its abundance of riches. The Chaos is perhaps closest to the category of Menippean Satire as it is defined by Mikhail Bakhtin (in Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, 1973). Like these satires, the Chaos is comic, contains instances of split personalities, eccentric scandalous behavior, an intense search for truth, and sharp contrasts in style including inserted genres. Likewise, Triperuno’s account exhibits the moral, psychological and philosophical experimentation common to Menippean satire, and like them, it makes steps towards a social utopia (pp. 92-93 of Bakhtin’s text). But the Chaos itself claims to be an account of Triperuno’s spiritual, social and literary development; and Triperuno is the son? p. 130 father? brother? of Merlino, Limerno and Fulica, hence a composite of Folengo’s heteronyms.74 74 David Sikes, in response to a talk I gave on the Chaos del Triperuno to the faculty of French and Italian at Dartmouth College (January, 1983), suggested that the Chaos is its own genre: a Therefore, the Chaos is an autobiography, it represents: “a single radical and radial energy originating in the subjective center, an aggressive, creative expression of the self.” This is James Olney’s definition from his work Metaphors of the Self: The Meaning of Autobiography (1972). Chaos fits not just Olney’s definition, but all leading recipes (except Philippe Lejeune’s which requires that an autobiography be written in prose).75 Whether or not a critic be enchanted by the Chaos, he should treat the work as an early attempt by a writer to examine himself closely and thoroughly in an artistic mode. Thus, a book which claims to cover “L’autobiografia da Dante a Cellini” should mention the Chaos, over ninety percent of which is written in Italian. (Guglielminetti’s book Memoria e scrittura (1977) carrying the above as a subtitle, does not even footnote Folengo.) p. 131 It is not possible to provide a plot summary of the Chaos: essentially, Folengo becomes Folengo. By grouping our author’s observations, complaints and declarations thematically we can see some of the major concerns displayed in this his spiritual-aesthetic autobiography, and in the Orlandino with which it was first published.* [It was initially published on its own.] 3.1 BACKGROUND In order to understand the selves Folengo exposes to us in 1526, it is necessary to recall a few of the events current in that important decade. Luther’s influence was already great enough in 1520 chaos. It should be noted that the only Renaissance Italian work which mentions Merlin Cocaio is Anton Francesco Doni’s chaotic Zucca, (this title itself seems borrowed from Folengo’s Baldus). 75 I am thinking here of works by G. Gusdorf, J.V. Gunn, W. Spengemann, K.J. Weintraub and studies by P.J. Eakin and M. Sprinker (found in Olney’s more recent volume Autobiography, 1980). Some scholars of Autobiography (Roy Pascal, for one) judge a work on the moral fiber of the author/ subject and on his truthfulness in writing the story of his life: I do not know if Folengo’s portrait of himself would qualify as honest autobiography in this sense. to bring about his excommunication by Leo X. The following year Charles V also denounced the reform-minded monk although he did not outlaw Protestantism. The large girth of tolerance around Leo X shrank under both Adrian VI (1521-1523) and Clement VII (the second Medici pope). Many humanists withdrew their support for unorthodox interpretations of doctrine: in 1524 Erasmus published his Discourse on Free Will, an attack on Luther’s platform. While Francesco Berni was busy washing Boiardo in the Arno, papal secretary Pietro Bembo issued the manifesto of Tuscanism, the Prose della volgar lingua. As stated above, Bembo’s Prose were not only a canonization of Petrarch’s verse forms and word choices based supposedly on aesthetic criteria, but also a condemnation of Dante’s frequent pleas for a separation of spiritual and temporal powers. Stephen Greenblatt assesses the “resolutely dialectal” nature of the global changes taking place during this era; he reasons: p. 132 if we say that there is a heightened awareness of the existence of alternative modes of social, theological, and psychological organization, we must say that there is a new dedication to the imposition of control upon those modes and ultimately to the destruction of alternatives. (p. 2) With the Turks menacing northeastern Italy, and Charles V preparing to drive the French out of Lombardy, this was no time for Clement VII to foster the Dante studies which had flourished under his uncle Lorenzo. Taxes levied by the Vatican in 1525 were double what they had been in 1492; one fifth of the land in western Europe belonged to monastic foundations.76 The times called for a show of unity by Pope and Emperor; promises for reform were necessary to stem the tide of uprisings which reached a peak in Germany in the so-called Peasant Wars of 1524, and in Northern-Italy, in skirmishes between hired soldiers and peasants. Something also had to be done about the corruption of the clergy. The aged but still powerful Ignatius Squarcialupi was dubbed by Clement “Apostolicus Nuntius ac Reformator totius cleri summa potesta per universam Italiam.” That same year, 1524, Teofilo’s eldest brother, Prior 76 G. Procacci, History of the Italian People, 1970, p. 128; Western Civilization, p. 491. Ludovico, was tried and convicted of “lussuria.” Earlier, Isabella d’Este Gonzaga had intervened on Ludovico’s behalf to acquit him of a charge of adultery, but since 1519 when the Gonzagas had welcomed Francesco Maria Rovere, ousted by the Medici from Urbino, they could not expect favors from Clement and his followers.77 Personal p. 133 difficulties which the Folengo brothers experienced while serving under Squarcialupi were no doubt exacerbated by city-state enmities. Ludovico left the Order, soon to be followed by his brothers Teofilo and Giambattista, the latter two probably with papal permission.78 Predictably, Teofilo was charged with theft by two of Squarcialupi’s minions. Despite the accusation, the thirty four year old monk seems to have found work immediately tutoring the young son of Camillo Orsini, Captain General of the Republic of Venice.79 While the French army was losing to the Imperial forces of Charles V, La Serenissima remained calm, leaving the poet to his pedagogical duties and his pen. 3.2 PATRONAGE How this employment obliged the writer is hard to ascertain: the Orlandino is dedicated “A Federigo di Mantoa Marchese Illustrissimo” and in it, a son of Merlin champions the House of Gonzaga (6, 28-29); the work sports a final Latin lyric to tutee Paolo Orsini. Because of this double patronage, one does not always know the referent of certain attentions. When Folengo throws out an Ariostesque aside in the “Apologia”: “questa favoletta mia de l’Orlandino... uscita 77 Billanovich, pp. 98-107; Luzio, GSLI, 58, pp. 389-393. 78 “Emancipate summa Pontefice” quoted from Folengo’s Pomiliones by Billanovich, p. 105. 79 Folengo lambasts the two accusing monks in Chaos, p. 315. See also Orlandino 7, 68, and Billanovich pp. 104-111. mi è da le mani per complacenza di chi solo commandar mi puote,” Cordié begins his p. 134 long note “Cioè di Camillo Orsini.” An earlier commentator, “Clariso Melisseo” notes in the 1771 Amsterdam edition: “Cioè (come interpretar si deve) a Federico Gonzaga, suo principe, Marchese, ed indi primo Duca di Mantova” (pp. X-XI). So, despite the absolute “di chi solo,” the referent is not unambiguous. The poet does pay homage directly both to Orsini and to Gonzaga. Perhaps in this era of quickly shifting allegiances, it was simply prudent not to put all one’s hopes in any one family. There are probably many examples of homage paid to indefinite pronouns, yet Folengo does distinguish himself for a certain playful perversity in his patronage apparatus. The Orsini, for example, receive their longest encomium in the first selva of the Chaos, which is dedicated to Federigo Gonzaga. The vehicle of this praise is the constellations of the Great and Little Bear, the gloss thoroughly clarifies the tenor: “Sotto metafora del navigar sotto tramontana parla di Camillo e suo figliuolo Paolo de Casa Orsina” (p. 202). The second selva is dedicated to CA(milus) U(sinus) with a poem. Within it, Folengo lays claim to Orsini protection (right after a dangerous “lupo” has been mentioned): E so che quanto tuttavia ragiono non vien inteso; ma sotto ’l stendardo de l’Orso grande, ove posto mi sono, spero dir chiaro senza alcun risguardo. (p. 227) The third and last selva, in which the Paradiso Terrestre is likened to Gonzaga’s villa at Marmirollo, is presented to Francesco Grifalcone, biblical scholar and professor who welcomed Teofilo to Venice.80 Here, p. 135 80 For biographical and bibliographical details on Grifalcone see Cordié, p. 764, and Goffis, Varium Poema, pp. 56-59. in the nine-line double acrostic dedicatory poem to Grifalcone, one find Folengo’s most exuberant proclamation of faith in “un Mecenate,” who together with God, provides complete protection from Fortune. (Unless Grifalcone supplied all the money and connections Folengo needed, it would perhaps have made more sense to speak of “de’ Mecenati”: as it is the least powerful of these three patrons receives the most superlative gratitude. Federigo is not mentioned within his selva prima but in the second selva (dedicated to Orsini) he rises up, “Gonzaga pater,” and defends the young Baldus from the tyrant Gaioffus’ charges. For 144 hexameters Gonzaga explains how Baldus is a victim of his environment and should thus be acquitted from charges of murder (pp. 253-257). Both Orsini and Grifalcone are called upon in the last octave of the original Orlandino, (7, 70), and the latter has an active role in the Chaos, but it is Gonzaga who brings Atlante to rapturous heights of prophecy. As we saw in Chapter One, the mago Atlante, son of Merlin and a sybil, raves about “his” Ruggiero, Guidon Selvaggio (6, 27). Atlante appears out of nowhere and surreptitiously pilots the ship which is carrying Berta and Milone to Italy. (The two protagonists have just left a skiff that moved with the “... soave noto, ch’un acquatico mergo tra folghe segue alcun piscicolo...”: note again the piling up of Folengo names.) Milone, in disguise, asks the bearded Saturn-eyed Atlante what news he has from Paris (from whence Milone has just taken Carlo’s daughter and slaughtered some of his men), and Atlante, without p. 136 much of a preamble, launches tearfully into a prediction of dynastic victory for the Gonzaga family: D’Orlando una colonna nascer deve, che non pur Roma, anzi sostien il mondo; ma di Rinaldo un orso tanto greve che di sue forze il Ciel sentir fa il pondo, Rugier il sangue d’Este in se riceve, d’ingegno saldo e di vertù profondo: ma ‘l mio Guidone infonderà Gonzaga per cui sol nacque la tebana maga. Guidon Selvaggio, di Renaldo frate, la sora di Rugier avrà per moglie; quindi verrà quell’inclita bontate Gonzaga, ch’in un punto il mondo accoglie: Mantoa famoso per il primo vate, ma più famoso per i trofei e spoglie che riportar in lei Gonzaga deve dal gange al Nilo e d’iperborea neve. (6, 28-29) Neither Atlante nor Guidon Selvaggio play any part in this poem or in any of Folengo’s works. Guidone, in the Maccheronee, is the father of Baldus. The Toscolana edition, allegedly printed from Federigo Gonzaga’s manuscript copy, features Augustus as “defensor Baldi,” and names one of Baldus’ sons Marcellinus, as though there were some link between Vergil’s most famous patron, the great Emperor Augustus, his heir, Marcellus, and the grandson of Guidone. The Toscolana also shows the peasant Tonellus slavishly in awe of the Mantuan “Duca vel Signorus,” and displays a hearty round of praise for Federico and his mother Isabella d’Este. The last, Vigaso Cocaio edition tells us that the inspiration for the Baldus came from Francesco Donismundus – the boy was named for Francesco Gonzaga who held him in baptism. However, none of the Maccheronee were ever dedicated to the Gonzaga, nor were the later, religious works dedicated exclusively to them. And still p. 137 Atlante asks us to accept him as the protector, if not the primal mover of the Gonzaga line (in Orlandino 6, 27-29): the progeny of his Guidone bring more glory to Mantua with their Martial victories than does Vergil with his poetry. This claim to fame here in the Orlandino was either a hint to be fleshed out in Folengo’s later writings, or it was conceived in this aborted state. Throughout the 15,000 hexameters of the Baldus, Folengo maintains a very coherent plot; he was quite capable of weaving into his poems, the Baldus, the Orlandino, the Chaos, a dynastic thread. He obviously preferred to play at committing himself to being Gonzaga’s poet: perhaps Mantua’s first family declined Folengo’s overtures, or perhaps it is our poet who was unwilling to satisfy the Gonzaga’s desire for a “family” poem. When Folengo does present the Orlandino to Gonzaga, he begins the poem by complaining about his poverty-induced hunger, blaming it on potential patrons who have become rank hedonists: O tempi grassi, O giorni fortunati, quando e’ poeti si trovorno boni mercé Gian Bocca d’Or de’Mecenati ch’ingrossar fenno già molti Maroni! Or non così più, no; ch’oggi più grati son gli ubriachi, sguattari e buffoni, de quelli ch’immortal pon far altrui, perché “est” apprezzan più d’ “eram” e “fui”. (1, 4) Should one assume that the illustrious Federigo is exempt from these charges of a philistine carpe diem approach to talent? Our poet continues throughout the Orlandino to indicate his lack of substantial patronage as the only obstacle to his becoming a Petrarch or a Boccaccio (4, 69). Again Vergil is the scapegoat, with “marroni” here signifying “gold brickers” as well as Vergils. p. 138 Folengo shifts from this jocular but needling plug for funds, back to an extremely submissive position similar to that expressed in the Zanitonella by Tonellus, who wants only to be a slave to his god Gonzaga. The Latin dedicatory poem in the Chaos plays with the images of the fulica (the black coot) and the (Gonzaga) eagle. Either the fulica swims on the water with/ for/ by the love of the eagle, or she flies struck by fear towards the sun. The poem concludes: “At si illa (Fulica) huc humile ad stagnum descenderit ales,/ quae nat aquis, aquilis digna erit esca suis” (p. 189). It seems a little peculiar for the poet to offer himself as food to Gonzaga, especially since Federigo does not seem to have housed him, although he lodged Aretino, Castiglione, Giulio Romano, Tiziano and other artists. The Gonzagas allowed themselves to be the recipient of Folengo’s praise, but we do not know if they responded with material gratitude, as did the Orsini, by employing the defrocked monk. Consequently, when the author steps in to acknowledge obedience to one will (“di chi solo commandar mi puote”), we cannot be certain whose will this is. To choose Camillo Orsini, and then offer excerpts from the sketch Billanovich gives us of Orsini as “uno spirituale fervente, lettore assiduo delle lettere di San Paolo, amicissimo degli spirituali più famosi e rigorosi di quell’età,” muddies the already murky waters. The “Apologia” is a very bold and ribald defense, indirectly of Protestantism, but overtly of an author’s right to use fictional characters to present viewpoints for which he should not be held accountable. Neither Orsini nor Gonzaga nor Grifalcone could have been p. 139 terribly eager to be named here as the one person responsible for publishing this immoderate Italian (and hence accessible) work. In 1526, no one in Italy was being burned for adhering to Luther’s proposals for reform, but the climate was changing rapidly. Perhaps anticipating the storm to come, Folengo was reluctant to name his foremost benefactor in the blatantly unorthodox “Apologia.” And in fact, Merlino chides Limerno (in the Chaos) for his putrid subject matter, saying: “Ed al sogetto qual è quello, non accascava se non malgevolmente il nome di Pitocco, ed anco dedicarlo a un signore non si doveva.” (Limerno responds with a clue to his benefactor’s name “Orsù, dunque...”) 3.3 AN APOLOGY FOR PROTESTANT FICTION In the Orlandino, Folengo (writing under the name Limerno Pitocco) states very explicitly Protestant ideas which he then personalizes and allegorizes in the Chaos del Triperuno. The “Apologia de l’auttore,” which is printed between the two works (all together in one volume), establishes the writer’s privilege to express through his characters a variety of unorthodox opinions. First the “Apologia” will be examined, then the passages in the two works which necessitated an apology. The “Apologia de l’auttore” is a model of auto-accusal and agile denial. The constant, grave voice of the (unnamed) “auttore” compels attention, but let us pass by, for once, or at least for now, the introductory complaints, and touch the heart of the matter: p. 140 perché, quantunque alcune cose vi siano poste le quali in gravezza de la fede nostra o sia de la Sacra Scrittura o de li relligiosi appaiono essere, nulla di manco la mera intenzione de l’autore non vien in alquanti accomodamente intesa, la qual è via più presto inclinata in biasmar li mordaci di essa che morder universalmente la candidissima fede nostra. E’ in manifesto di mia sinceritade le pochette bestieme pongo sempre in bocca d’alcuno Tramontano, donde li errori il più de le volte sogliono repullulare. Vero è che da me stesso confermo poi li relligiosi d’oggi (non dico tutti) esserne potentissima cagione, la quale non mi curo testé quivi descrivere, ove solamente a la escusazione e deffensione mia sono intento. The sentence beginning “E’ in segno manifesto...” (emphasis mine), with its obvious understatement (a few little blasphemies rarely require ventriloquism), belies the serious tone by creating a comic image of Germanic types, curses swarming about their mouths. This defense is then knocked down by the author’s own testimony. It is not clear in the next sentence just what the “relligiosi” (clerics but also interested lay people) are thought to cause. The reader has to suppose either that they represent the most powerful motive for disregarding the author’s intention, or that they are the cause of certain things in the Orlandino which might appear to conflict with (Catholic) faith. At any rate, the author blames them. He then returns to his own defense, and justifies his portrayal of Griffarosto, the rotund self-serving Monsignor. Griffarosto must be seen as every bad prelate: “la intenzione mia non fu però d’alcuna particolaritade conceputa.” But of course, the critics Folengo purports to refute here have not yet seen the Griffarosto story, which, along with the “Apology” is added to the second edition. Nor is the portrayal of Griffarosto the most unacceptable addition in the new eighth chapter. p. 141 Then the reader is given further lessons in interpretation. The poet insists that those readers who would censure the pleasant joust where dung and odor are mentioned (Orl. 3) grasp neither the author’s didactic impulse nor the nature of fiction. Furthermore, those readers do not grasp the function of a nom de plume: non attendendo loro la persona lorda e vieta e stomacosa d’un furfante, la quale non mi sdegno rappresentarvi acciò che per mezzo di poter dire baldanzosamente ogni cosa pervegnasi finalmente a la veritade; che quando d’altra materia non così vile io parlassi, lo nome mio appropriato, anzi niuno, vi antiponerei. Statements concerning the “persona lorda e vieta e stomacosa” are better understood if one keeps in mind the Apology’s intermediate position as epilogue to the Orlandino and prologue to the Chaos. The author insists that the scoundrel he represents (Griffarosto is the grammatical antecedent) stands for no one person in particular, thus, that person could not possibly imagine or know who he is. He summarizes his usual prolix disclaimer with a characteristic reversal: “bastami solamente che ambi noi sapiamo di cui si parla.” Most of Folengo’s early readers could have ascertained from clues in the Orlandino the identity of the “potente tiranno” alluded to in an offhand manner at the end of the “Apologia.” But no one then or now can mistake the “sozza lorda e vieta” larva of the Chaos (p. 297) for anyone except Ignatius Squarcialupi. (“Ambi noi” may refer again to that unknown patron, who “solo commandar mi puote.”) Before returning to Folengo’s revelations on his use of pseudonyms and foreigners, I would like to follow the movement from a general call p. 142 for Church reform in the first work to the ferocious personal assault of the second; the Chaos is all about Squarcialupi’s destruction of the clergy and all about Folengo’s many selves. In the same way that the attack on indulgences, hypocrisy, superstition, etc. in Toscolana Book 7 ended by blaming one mutt, a wolf among sheep, a “mala bestia,” so once again the offensive begins in abstractions and abstruseness. Folengo does not hide behind his new name. On the contrary, he refers to Merlin directly within the poem proper: Finge chimere, sogni e fantasie, Quali non pose mai Merlin Cocaio, lo qual di Cingar sotto le bugie scrisse, che più mai fece alcun notaio, d’alcun Menchionazzi le pazzie, che intendon rari, ed io son il primaio che l’ho provate e forse ancora scritte fra genti negre, macilenti, afflitte. (3, 65) This and other self-referential octaves did not appear until the second edition of the poem, but from the first appearance of Limerno’s Orlandino, the poet deciphered “Limerno” in an epigram on the title page: Mensibus istud opus tribus indignatio fecit. Da medio capiti; notior author erit. Orlandum canimus parvum, parvum unde volumen. Si quid turpe sonat pagina, vita proba est. The hint of a warning here (“si quid turpe sonat pagina”) comes into focus in a “Sonetto de l’auttore” where the subject matter of the Orlandino is riddlingly set out. Folengo writes this sonnet full of halting allusions and sudden changes in subject matter, in the person of the author and not under his new name Limerno Pitocco.81 Our poet p. 143 switches from Macaronic Latin to the Italian rebus: Molte malizie copre in se la volpe e perde chi le crede fin al gallo; ragion però non era ch’l cavallo, 81 For information on Pitocco, see Orl., 8,3, Chaos p. 271, and below. l’ossa tenendo, a lei desse le polpe. This Burchiellesque beginning could have a broad political significance involving Pope Clement VII: if Clement is deceived by a fox (Charles?), he risks losing even his French backing. Or it could have an intramural meaning for Benedictines: whether or not Machiavelli’s advice on activating the lion and the fox in man, “perché il lione non si defende da’ lacci, la volpe non si defende da’ lupi” is invoked here, with the usual reference to the abbot Squarcialupi, the general message seems to be “Caution.” To leave the “polpa e l’ossa” in something, means to ruin oneself completely, (see also Boccaccio Dec. 10, 8). The second stanza seems more straightforward, but the meaning is still not transparent. I’ t’arricordo che per l’altrui colpe nanti la piva entrat’i’ son in ballo; volsi por man in trasmutar metallo, senz’arte, ond’e chi mi disnervi e spolpe. This could mean that the author regrets having jumped into the secular world and having tried to change his Macaronic Latin hexameters for Italian octaves. Or, as we see in the Chaos, Triperuno stumbles upon the shepherds (frati) at a tender age, and regrets having been misled by them. Or perhaps this is a basic human regret, similar to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 34: “Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day/ and make me travel forth without my cloak / to let base clouds o’er take me in my way...” Thus far we are as lost as in Rabelais’ opening p. 144 lyric-riddle “Les Fanfreluches antidotées”; but finally, the first tercet gives us a hint of the contents of the poem to follow: Cotesta mercanzia mi vien di Fiandra ove lo seme nacque de’ pedochi, che musico gentil m’han fatto d’arpa. Flanders was the birthplace of Erasmus; Cordié insists here that the “allusione comica” is to German theology and Luther, not to Erasmus, nor to the Flemish Pope Adrian VI. The allusion to Flanders recurs within the Orlandino, in 6, 46: it is said that theology had become “romana e fiandresca,” and heretical. At any rate: Erasmian or Lutheran Flanders (wool) is the breeding ground for the hordes of lice which plague the poet making him scratch himself, and thus produce music. (The body is likened to a harp also in Orl. 3, 83 and 4, 1.) Then we are confronted with an apparent about-face, a personal antipathy which the author shares with Merlin: Così fusse l’auttor de la Leandra, acciò che ‘l cancar gli mangiasse gli occhi, in un fondo di torre fatto a scarpa! There could be some connection between the unorthodox impulse behind the Orlandino and this curse on Durante, whom we last saw toothless and abused in Toscolana 25; a perusal of the Leandra offered no clues to this. It is interesting that in addition to unscrambling his new pseudonym, Folengo provides this link to Merlin’s text: Merlino and Limerno must be one and the same person if their dislikes are so similar. The sonnet puts the reader on the alert for Protestant tinged verses, but not until the end of the sixth chapter does the alarm go p. 145 off, quietly at first, then very very loudly.82 In an early chapter, there are somewhat obscure octaves of praise for, one presumes, Erasmus’ translation and commentary of the Bible, which enabled people to know virtue from vice (3, 20). In a passage reminiscent of Dante’s Purgatorio 82 There are oblique references to sexually active monks in earlier capitoli, and in 5, 57 of the first edition Christ creates peasants out of ass turds, for the amusement of a few apostles. This irreverent anecdote is somewhat muted in the second version, by changing Christ to Giove, and his companions to pagan gods (Panno, Priapo, Imeneo). 11, Limerno proclaims Erasmus as the new Duns Scott, the new Thomas Aquinas: ... or un Tedesco o sia di Franza, Erasmo, aperse il vaso, lo qual de’ frati il stile barbaresco avea rinchiuso, sì che nullo odore più si sentia d’alcun primo dottore. (3, 21) As is to be expected, Goffis reads this as confirmation “senza veli che il pensiero folenghiano muove da Erasmo.” The tone is slightly mocking and the words themselves only just laudatory; still, Erasmus is thanked here for having restored the odors of the Church Fathers, and for having helped open the doors to virtue. (In Folengo’s next publication, which includes a collection of Latin lyrics, there is a nasty poem “In maledicum aenigma” which is little more than an extended paronomasia on “errans mus”; the complaint there seems to be that Erasmus tears everything apart, see Chapter Four.) p.146 The author knows that he is treading on Reformation ground when he extols the merits of an earlier stage of the Church, he ends the passage on Erasmus in the Orlandino with what was becoming a Benedictine rallying phrase for reform: “O sante, O benedette, O degne scorte / a conoscer di Cristo il beneficio!”83 If the reader himself has not already noticed the author’s alarm bell here, the final couplet would send him to review the preceding octaves: “Ma perché forse i’ passo li confini,/ ora torniamo ai quatro paladini” (3, 21). These last verses are glossed succinctly “Il testo,” as though the Orlandino existed apart from the infinite digressions. 83 The famous pamphlet, the Beneficio di Cristo (edit. by S. Caponetti, Chicago: Newberry Library, 1972), was published in 1543 and became a dangerous book for reform-minded Church officials to acknowledge. Next, there are twinges of unorthodoxy when Milone tells the old fisherman who succors the eloping couple that he will some day be repaid for his charity just as John, James and Simon were blessed with a magnificent catch (5, 66). This touches the issue of salvation by works which Lutherans did not accept, and ridicules, lightly, the notion of miracles. The truly hazardous confession of faith is concentrated in the six octaves of Berta’s vows (6, 4045), making it easy to eliminate, should the need arise. Before beginning her prayer, Berta is praised for her refusal to succumb to carnal temptations; Milone falls prey to a woman as soon as he gets the chance (6, 47). The shipwrecked woman appeals directly to God. She makes quite a point of eschewing intermediary p. 147 saints, and she distinguishes herself from the “volgo sciocco” who blindly trust in priests, even though these priests honor pagan gods. So far, Berta’s “prayer” is typically Lutheran, with a Folenghian emphasis on the silliness and gullibility of the masses. But then she denounces confession because it leads priests to lasciviousness. (She thus avoids Luther’s more radical departure from the sacrament of penance on the grounds that it induces man to believe that he can rely on himself for redemption, redemption which resides solely in God.) Finally, Berta promises never to trust anyone who preaches the validity of indulgences (Luther’s first tenet). Naturally, Folengo keeps some distance from this overt profession of Protestant faith. First, he labels the prayer heretical, and, true to his “Apologia,” puts it in the mouth of a northerner: Cotal preghere carche d’eresia Berta facea, mercé ch’era tedesca perché in quel tempo la teologia era fatta romana e fiandresca… (6, 46) Then, in the last octave of this chapter, the poet (in the first person) dismisses the previous revelations as a product of whim, “Così col mio cervello assai lunatico,/ fantastico e bizarro sempre i’ masino.” In order to avoid being nuzzled by the monks, he mockingly affirms his beliefs. Confesso ben ch’io son puro grammatico, che tant’è dire quanto un puro asino, assai meglior d’un puro mattematico. Perché i capuzzati non mi annasino, io credo in tutto il Credo, e, se non vale, io credo ancor in quel di Dottrinale.84 (6, 58) p. 148 This same menace of “nosyness” is repeated immediately after Orlandino’s fiery denunciation of monks in the next chapter (7, 68). The references to sexually active clerics follow the general pattern of common public complaint against monks in the Orlandino, becoming personal trauma in the Chaos. Instances of these charges will be explored below. Folengo begins the new last chapter (added in the second edition of 1526) without his mask, or rather with his mask in hand, like Prologue in a comedy. There is none of the previous riddling ambiguity. The poet makes no attempt to crop himself out of the picture: Io dunque d’Orlandino canto poco e molto piango de l’altar di Cristo io fingermi “pitocco” movo a gioco e del fallir de’ chierici m’attristo di for Cerer e Bacco, dentro invoco lo mio Iesu, che faccia omai sia visto sott’ombra spesso del nobil vangelo regnar Satan d’un cherubin col pelo. (8, 3) The first-person author directly identifies himself with the name Pitocco. In the “Apologia” the author stated “quando d’altra materia non così vile io parlassi, lo nome mio appropriato, anzi niuno vi antiponerei,” and yet the eighth chapter, with its obese and negligent Fra Griffarosto, 84 Cordié: “il Dottrinale e un celebre testo medioevale latino di grammatica.” and with Rainer’s profession of faith, is the most offensive chapter of the Orlandino. And it is here that the poet reaffirms his existence behind the heteronym Limerno Pitocco, and states that his real purpose is the admonishment of the clergy. p. 149 The activities of the fat prelate, for which the author apologizes, do not present doctrinal problems as does Rainer’s detailed declaration of faith. The reader is warned from the onset by the gloss which reads “Risposta de Rainer eretico.” In attempting to refute Griffarosto’s charge of heresy, Rainer professes his belief in the Trinity, Mary’s virginity, the Gospels, Faith, Hell Purgatory and Heaven, and the worthlessness of scholastic argumentation and of bodily selfpenance. He also believes that lay sinners are more likely to be saved than clerical sinners (8, 7382). A tricky issue, the absolute authority of the Pope, is handled evasively. Rainer quibbles (to the gloss: “Potestà de’ pontefici”: credo ne la mirabil potestade da Dio concessa a l’uomo, per cui vanto darsi egli pò, se fusse ben nefario, non esser Dio, ma sol di Dio vicario. (8, 74) Rainer further degrades the papacy by calling Caiaphas “un malegno pontefice” who, with the support of the Pharisees (called “chierici” in 8, 76), ordered Christ to be killed (8, 77). We have seen how Folengo used the figures of Pilate, Caiaphas, and Annas to represent powerful and bad clergy (in Toscolana 25; see Chapter Two). When the bishop has heard enough from Rainer, he clears the room and sends up the cholera flag. Rainer laughs. But he too wonders if he is not already being invited to a “joust” in the House of God, by someone who misunderstands him. He reassures everyone of his respect for the clergy, and claims to be envious of them: “anzi vi onoro come grati a dio e cangerei col vostro l’esser mio” (8, 81). Furthermore, p. 150 in the final octave, Folengo/ Limerno explains that his language has of necessity been halting, due to the black dark places he frequents (see 3, 65 and below). The poet’s signature here resembles Arnaut Daniel’s famous paradoxical identification:85 Ma voglio questa impresa sia d’altrui, c’ho detto assai, signori, e forse troppo: date perdon, vi prego, se pur fui di andata sguerzo e di veduta zoppo: puotesi mal per loghi negri e bui correr di lungo senza qualche intoppo donde ne prego Dio che mi sovegna ed a chi mal mi vol, cancar gli vegna! (8, 93) Obviously the threat of an inquisition was not much of a deterrent, and the concern here over having perhaps said too much seems coy in light of the full scale war against Squarcialupi and the Church Decadent which is carried on openly in the Chaos. Caution may account for the move towards a personal, allegorical mode, in the Chaos, and a lack of it may account for the popularity of the Orlandino. In the Chaos del Triperuno one does not find bald Protestant statements per se. There is an emphasis on the redeeming death of Christ (p. 233) which was characteristic of early Protestant writings. There is also an utterly convincing portrayal, by an ass, of a fast-talking healer type who claims to be sent by God (pp. 312-326). A nostalgia for the olden days, when the Church concerned itself solely with spiritual matters, surfaces here and there: one of the acrostics p. 151 85 Borrowed by Petrarch for his Canzoniere, (212, 239), the original reads: “Ieu sui Arnautz q’amas l’aura,/ e chatz la lebre ab lo bou/ e nadi contra suberna.” Arnaut Daniel Canzoni, edit. G. Toja, (Firenze: Sansoni, 1961), no. 10. laments “Justina [the large Benedictine monastery in Padova] used to stay away from urban quarrels, hidden in remote cells within locked cloisters; now she enters the city in an inflated cowled tunic and she aspires to a bishop’s rank.” Although this charge is so common in Christian writings of all eras as to often lose its force, Folengo succeeds in infusing his personification of Justina with emotion. At every turn of Chaos, we are invited to delve more deeply, to feel the conflicts of a man who wants to dedicate himself to poetry and to Christ. Triperuno wants his labyrinthine life and verse to be an example to all. Ma poi che di mia sorte il duro esempio mostrato abbia del mondo in ogni clima, fia così noto, appeso in qualche tempio od in polito marmore s’imprima, che chi mirando ‘l così acerbo ed empio, considri ben qual sia buon calle, prima che l’un d’ambi sentieri d’esta vita si metta entrare a l’ardua salita. (p. 223) To this already intimate, Dantesque hope, he adds a gloss from Horace’s lyric (I, 5) in which the Roman poet commiserates with young men about to be fooled by fickle Pyrrha, into thinking that her attentions to each are eternal. He has barely escaped from her with his life, and thus gives thanks to Poseidon, as though saved from a tempest at sea: these are the verses quoted. This gloss then, compares Triperuno to Pyrrha, and the two lovers to the two paths of life: Triperuno, has finally seen the light, and he wants to direct others to it. When Triperuno recounts his life among the “pastori,” it is with seasoned regret, and more glosses from poignant Horace poems (Carmen 3, 6) p. 152 He seems to feel that he was hoodwinked, but as in the opening sonnet of the Orlandino, the specific cause of this remorse is not given. One must recognize that Folengo is perplexing. For instance, in the midst of other self-revelations, “Limerno” writes: E chi m’addimandasse s’io mi pento cangiar il basto vecchio per il novo, io ratto gli rispondo: – Domine, ita, mi doglio esser mai stato a cotal vita. (4, 72) Cordié defines “cotal vita” here as “la vita che il poeta conduce attualmente, fuori dal convento.” By contrast, Goffis interprets Triperuno’s words to Christ, “Ben or vi dico:/ s’uscirne poscio, mai, non mai più vi entro” (p. 349) as Folengo’s promise never to re-enter the monastery. The fact is, Folengo never labels any of the “sentieri d’esta vita.” For hundreds of pages we see the beautiful bewildering light of example, but we do not know where it leads. The final lines of the Chaos are a proverb for which neither the terminus ad quem nor ab quo is defined. They leave us tantalized: ed “ingannato al fine si ritrova chi lascia la via vecchia per la nova.” (p. 381) 3.4 CASTRATING THE WOLF At the same time that Rainer airs his articles of faith, he also makes references to “lupi” who destroy the flock (8, 22, 82-84). He answers the bishop’s fear of contagion with Scripture (John 10, 13): Così fugge chi non ama. Lo mercenario vede il lupo e scampa, perché non gli pertene del’armento. (8, 83-84) p. 153 These scant allusions to Squarcialupi in the Orlandino give way to an earsplitting crescendo of ad hominem (ad lupum) onslaughts in the Chaos. The Chaos del Triperuno is much more than a campaign against the powerful Squarcialupi, but denunciations of him occupy the central position in this multifaceted book. While the Italian verses of Triperuno, Limerno and a host of others develop a lively plot – involving at one point the castration of a wolf – the Latin acrostics batter mercilessly. The first message says: “In truth the ambition of Ignatius Squarcialupi is so great that it, being corrupt, destroys the purity of other souls altogether” (beginning p. 234). The second, even more specific, declares: “The one rule of St. Benedict, established with holy custom, is (now) putrid with the vile excrement of Ignatius” (p. 257). It is difficult to imagine the effect these banners dripping with loathing would have had on contemporary readers. Squarcialupi died on November 26, immediately after* [before] the appearance of Folengo’s work; thus, our poet’s invocation of Archilochus, in Toscolana 7, was not in vain. In the midst of these acrostic attacks, the text follows Triperuno during his Lehrjahre. Presented with two alternatives, Virtue and Fortune (Chance), the young Triperuno chooses the right fork, moved by the wise spirit of the Nursine fathers. But he is prohibited from entering the path of Virtue by some sinister women, who drag him under the shade of a myrtle tree. Quivi tra loro un lupo immantenente p. 154 comparse (onde non so) minace ed irto, del quale una di lor, se ben rimembro, svelse sdegnando il genitale membro. After castrating the wolf, these women suck its blood, and become mules. (The name Squarcialupi is thus transformed from wolf-tearer to the wolf that is torn.) The drained wolf is then suddenly transformed into a steed, upon which rides the myrtle tree turned into “Fortuna.” Together they chase Triperuno. Then, again in their human form and “sott’ombra della petrarchesca Laura,” the women sacrifice a tender unicorn. A lightening storm erupts, and Merlin appears in the nick of time. Some fifty pages after Triperuno’s nightmarish escape from the wolf and the mutating, mutilating women, we find some hint as to why the Petrarchan Laura is invoked in this context. A sonnet, attached to an oak tree, delineates the vast differences between Petrarch’s Laura and the “larva sozza and lorda” who has spoiled Triperuno’s innocent love for Galanta (p. 297). Then, thirty pages after this sonnet, Squarcialupi is directly identified with this larva in an acrostic: “Egnatius Squarcialupus fiorentinus destructor religionis divi Benedicti laure sibi nomen vindicavit at larvam illum appellandum censemus.” One’s first thought is that the old abbot would never call himself Laura even out of effeminate vanity, but a laura was the cluster of dwellings that grew up around a hermit monk, and by extension his followers themselves, thus, one can imagine the president of the Benedictine congregation calling himself a laura. Our poet expands the semantic field of Petrarch’s Laura to encompass all the evil qualities of a witch, or rather, he personifies larva (meaning p. 155 either that immature grubworm stage or ghost, mask) as Laura. Note the acrostics in the following stanza: Laura maligna, incantatrice e maga, Venefica non men di Circe fiera, Putta sfacciata, vecchia, il cui fetore Volge gli uomini in bestie, augelli e serpi, Stringendo ai carmi soi l’altrui costumi. (p, 327) Thus, not satisfied with the possibilities afforded him by the provocative name Squarcialupi, Folengo developed the despicable designation “larva.” From there the step to Petrarch’s Laura was somewhat inevitable. But it is not obvious at all why the “petrarchesca Laura” must shade the sacrifice of the tender unicorn, nor why Laura and Squarcialupi have to be compared. One is forced to examine Folengo’s stance vis-a-vis the great Petrarch, in search of some clue; this will be done below. 3.5 POLITICS Since Folengo is so explicit in his criticism of the man who is President of the Benedictine Order and “Reformator totius cleri...,” naturally he is a little worried about possible retaliation. The price Triperuno must pay for having erected himself as a bad example, not in marble, nor in a temple, but on the printed page, could be painful. When first the “lupo” is mentioned, Triperuno instantly looks for the Orsini umbrella, and standing beneath it says “spero dir chiaro senza alcun risguardo” (p. 227). Later, when most of the damage has been done, Limerno warns Triperuno of the various forms of revenge which p. 156 Squarcialupi has at his disposal. This dialogue between the worldly-wise Limerno, and the notso-naïve Triperuno is a masterpiece of Folenghian reversal. Before Limerno can elencate the possible methods of reprisal; Triperuno lets us know that he too is sophisticated enough to be deliberately misleading, to proceed “di andata sguerzo, e di veduta zappa.” He defends his use of those “maddening acrostics” and “pedantic Latin glosses” (Limerno’s judgements): “Io per confonderlo [Chaos] di più, come la materia istessa richiede, volsivi ancora la prosa latina in aiuto de lo argomento porre” (p. 303). The Chaos del Triperuno is chaotic then, because the material out of which it is created is inherently chaotic; its unformed nature must be highlighted, not downplayed. But even with the many glosses the selvae are not thick enough to sufficiently obscure Triperuno’s target. Limerno insists that “il dio Sterquilinio” will not practice the usual forms of revenge, not poison, sword, or slander. Because she (throughout this passage, Squarcialupi is referred to as a woman) is such a powerful witch, she will turn young Triperuno into an ass. At this dread possibility, Triperuno balks. Limerno tells him that there is no hope of his going undetected: once a work is in circulation, retraction is no longer an option. As expected, Limerno immediately follows up this concern over Squarcialupi’s retaliation against Triperuno with a sonnet which is so dangerous that many words in it are deleted in the first edition. This sonnet, which begins “Europa mia,” represents Folengo’s most audacious offensive against the powers that be. It is framed so as to diminish p. 157 (slightly) the author’s responsibility. After Limerno recites several sonnets based on the chance drawing of tarot cards, another five cards are drawn by (Grif?)Falcone and Limerno composes a sonnet around them. The first quatrain begins gently enough with the poet wondering when the Turks will ever be ousted, given that the Pope and the Emperor are always fighting for their own interests. The query then becomes a vicious complaint against the female hand of the “Papessa” (a tarot card, one must remember) which keeps the Imperial forces combatting the lily and not the moon: ... e tiene l’imperial furore sol contra il giglio e non contra la Luna. Che se’l papa non fusse una Papessa, che per un pie Marcin sospeso tiene, la Luna in griffo all’aquila vedrei. Ma questi papi o imperatori miei fan si che mia Papessa far si viene la Luna, e vo’ appiccarmi da me stesso. The nearly face value of this seems to be: if Pope Clement were not, I suppose, weak, vacillating, and if he did not keep Charles V warring against the French, rather than the sister planet, Florence, and if he did not hold Marcin in suspension,86 Gonzaga? Or maybe the Este who also sport an eagle on their coat of arms (or Charles?), would possess Florence; the Pope is calling to Florence for help. Clearly Folengo is very bold in his political advice, whatever it is: he shows no dread of Squarcialupi, and then abuses both Pope and Emperor. In the first p. 158 edition, this sonnet is full of lacunae. Triperuno, noticing these “points de suspension” remarks eagerly “Voi giocate, maestro mio, sovente al mutolo in questo sonetto.” Limerno then extols the benefits of the truth, that is, the benefits of being silent about the truth. In the second edition all 86 Marcin holds a position similar to that of Marcel in Purgatorio 6, who appears in the tercet preceding Dante’s “Fiorenza mia” harangue, in the midst of his apostrophe “Ahi serva Italia”. Marcel (according to Scartazzini) stands for a fierce opponent of central authority (perhaps C. Claudius Marcellus, partisan of Pompey who fought against Julius Caesar). the holes in the text were filled in, thus making this exchange a nonsequitur. In Orlandino, our Mantuan showed some restraint, for there is nothing at all like this censured sonnet. He complains about foreign occupation (1, 14, 43-45; 2, 1-4; 6, 55-57), but he does not blame anyone in particular. The closest he comes to charging someone is an innocuous hint, “la causa ben direi, ma temo guai” (1, 14). However, his portrayals of “Carlo” are rather unedifying. In the first chapter, Charles is seen to be eager to rule all of Europe, and is happy at having been raised to the Imperial throne by Pope Adrian. France is beside itself with festivities for the recent coronation; the streets are filled with nothing but “trombe, corni, e canti” (1, 44). Cordié adds to these octaves a note on Adrian I, Pope from 772-795, because Folengo writes “Adriano primo” both in the text and in a gloss. His information says that not Adrian, but Leo III (this is a rather well known item of Church History) crowned Charlemagne. The reader is thus encouraged to miss the connection here to young Charles V, who had recently been crowned Holy Roman Emperor (1519), and to his tutor, whom he managed to help raise to the papacy as Adrian VI. (The papacy during the reign of Charlemagne reached such depths that it is referred to by modern historians as the “pornocracy”.) And one is led to ignore p. 159 the poet’s cruel gibe at the French, who were not only much dismayed after Charles became ruler of Austria, Spain, and Germany, but decimated. It is a pity that Folengo’s statements concerning current events are ignored even by those scholars who know Folengo to be the author of political verse (Cordié refers to the sonnet “Europa mia,” analyzed above, as the “famoso sonetto politico,” p. 1052). If these were Dante’s octaves the connection to persons contemporary to him would not go unnoticed. Verses like these, replete with attention to current events, most have tickled Folengo’s earliest readers. The Orlandino was published five times during the author’s lifetime; the more extreme Chaos was published twice, and then once again three years after the author’s death. It is most curious, given the numerous printings of the Toscolana, and the popularity of these two Italian works, that, as far as we know, no one ever mentioned Folengo or his works, not even in a letter [or rather in an extant letter]. 3.6 SEX Another subject which Folengo connects to Squarcialupi and other bad monks is sex. A graphic declaration by Triperuno of his asceticism and chastity provides an example of this connection: Non mi levai dal dosso mai la gonna, Onde l’immondi vermi di più sorte M’erano sempre intorno vigilanti, Ed un setoso manto folto ed aspro Non mai giù da le nude carne i’ tolsi (p. 328) p. 160 While living among the shepherds, Triperuno preferred the discomfort of a hairshirt, even though he disapproves of self torture, to baring himself to filthy worms (p. 329). The image of the worms may derive from and amplify that of Squarcialupi as a grub-worm, a larva. In his aversion to small intrusive things, Triperuno is akin to both Limerno and Merlino. In a fascinating exchange between the two “older” selves, Limerno explains why he hated Ferrara as a young student. In addition to the complaints about biting insects and about a pederastic priest, “lo quale molti scolari teneva soggetti, e più li belli che li brutti,” the fourteen verse Latin poem says that Limerno was also bothered by loud nocturnal birds. Although aware that his songs lacked the savor of Bellerophontean springs, the youngster invoked Apollo, but instead of the Muses, swarms of gnats came and attacked his face: Dum cantare fletu mihi lumen inundat, factaque per culices vulnera rore madent. Hic quoque noctivagae strident ululantque volucres ac ventura nigrae damna minantur aves. Quid referam pulices, agili qui corpore saltant? Utraque quos caedens iam caret ungue manus! (p. 276) (While I prepare to write, my eyes inundate with tears and the wounds made by the gnats flow with dew-like liquid., Here also nocturnal birds screech and howl, black birds threaten disasters to come. What shall I say of the fleas, who jump about with their agile bodies? From killing them both, my hands lack fingernails.) Before attempting to analyze Limerno’s (poetic) experience with bothersome blackbirds, let us listen to Merlino’s response.87 p. 161 First Merlin commends Limerno on the verity and art of his verses. He confirms that he would rather live anywhere than Ferrara, because of the biting insects. He then quotes an eight verse poem, said to be written at the entrance to Ferrara by “non so qual poeta mantoano,” who, “per un eccesso non piccolo,” was exiled by the Lord of Mantua. The second half of the poem personifies Ferrara who says to the poet: Noster, ais, veni; nostros quoque suscipe ritus; vivitur humano sanguine, trade cibum! Mantous culicis funus iam lusit Homerus mantous culicum tu quoque gesta cane. (p. 277) (Come be ours, you say, and accept as well our rites; we live on human blood, offer food! The Mantuan Homer has already played the funeral (hymn) of a gnat, you too a Mantuan, sing the deeds of the gnats.) So far these poems could be read as publicity for the Moschaeae, but the discussion between Limerno and Merlino which follows this dual recital forces us to consider these poems in another light. Limerno accuses Merlin of lying because he doesn’t believe that the true cause of Merlin’s disaffection with Ferrara is the insect problem. Merlin answers reasonably: “Se per mezzo della 87 I am reminded here of Jane Gallup’s pronouncement on teachers who prefer “li belli” to “li brutti”: “Pederasty is undoubtedly a useful paradigm for classic Western Pedagogy. A greater man penetrates a lesser man with his knowledge. The student is empty, a receptacle for the phallus; the teacher is the phallic fullness of knowledge.” From “The Immoral Teachers,” Yale French Studies, no. 63, p. 118. menzogna tu intendi la veritade, perché mentitore mi fai?” But eventually Merlino admits his real reason for loathing Ferrara: “Perché ivi raccoglionsi lor vini su le groppe de le rane. Pensa mo’ tu qual eccidio, qual ruina sarebbe del mio stomaco.” The vehicle is a raw wine, but the tenor seems to be sex: the image of frogs mounting frogs, coming as it does, after talk about a potentially pederastic priest, night birds threatening black p. 162 adventures (Benedictines dressed in black), stinging insects which leave oozing wounds, and a city which says “Trade cibum.” Lest Ferrara alone be implicated, Limerno quickly replies: “Ferrara e Mantova di molte qualitadi si corrispondeno.” The issue itself is not as important to us [here] as the modes of presentation. First Limerno and Merlino complain in Italian dialogue and Latin poetry about being molested, then, fifty pages later, Triperuno warms to his topic and speaks of his long sojourn among the beasts who are ruled by Laura. Laberinto di errori colmo e pieno, Laberinto che già di Dio fu stanza. Augellazzi notturni d’ogn’intorno Non cessano volar con alte strida; Del sole omai non più vi entran le fiamme, Volti de spiriti neri sempre in gli occhi M’erano fisi digrignando e’ denti. (p. 329) Triperuno’s “augellazzi notturni” who fly and scream incessantly, corresponds to Limerno’s “noctivagae strident ululantque volucres.” The “volti de spiriti neri” corresponds to “Ventura nigrae damna minantur aves,” and to the octave cited above where Limerno talks about Merlin (in Orlandino 3, 65) and maintains that he was the first to write about “Chimere, sogni e fantasie... fra genti negre, macilenti, afflitte.” Folengo, in all his manifestations, complains bitterly of these black pests who would not leave him to write in peace. In the Orlandino, Limerno restricts himself to hit and run accusations, graphically detailed, but not laden with hurtful emotions: Quanto so ben che, s’io pescassi a fondo di questi santi ipocriti nel vaso, vi trovarei (che’l Ciel tutti li perda!) non muschio esser il suo, ma pura merda! (3,1) p. 163 Another of these gibes we have already seen: “Ma perché i capuzzati non mi annasino...” (6, 58). Elsewhere, Folengo mixes swipes at randy monks with remarks about the ready sexuality of the muse Caritunga (1, 65 and 5, 1-2). In the last octaves of chapter seven, Orlandino gives stolen bread to poor children, not to the monks (“musichi d’Arcadia sotto il basto”), as his mother had desired. The poet concludes this episode: Orsu non più; che di ignoranzia un vaso farmi bandir dal Ciel par si prometta; e perché di cervello non meno raso lo veggio che di testa in mia vendetta voglio tacer, che non mi dia del naso là dove spesso mi forbisce e netta “liber novarum legum quem de feno quidam composuerunt ventre pleno”. (7, 68) (“... the book of the new laws which certain people composed on full stomachs in the hay”) In chapter two there is a digression about a little ass who labored away in a convent for twenty years (with the obvious pun on “pene”): Pensate quante pene, quanti danni ivi sofferse l’animal scontento! Alfin ruppe ’l capestro e for d’affani calci e corregge trette più di cento; rubbo agli frati la discrezione. (2, 15) In the Chaos, in the introductory “Dialogo de le tre etadi,” Folengo’s relatives speak figuratively of Teofilo as an ass: Corona. La cagione? Paolo. S’ha gitato il basto da dosso l’asinello. Corona. E rottosi il capestro. Livia. E tratto di calzi. Paola. Or cangiamo cotesto ragionamento in altro, hai tu letto l’Orlandino? (p. 174) p. 164 By juxtaposing these passages, I do not mean to imply that Folengo was repeatedly sodomized while residing in the Benedictine monastery. But his is a rather more poignant and humorous and explicit account than was common in sixteenth century writings by clerics. His former (and future) superiors could not have been pleased at all with these insinuations. They seem to have decided that silence on their part would be less damaging to the reputation of the order, than an open condemnation. In his later writings, Folengo continues his complaints against monks who foul up the bell towers with their illicit activities, and supply the Church with lots of little altar boys. 3.7 FOLENGO AND HIS PREDECESSORS As in the Toscolana, Folengo is ready to pit himself against other poets, just as he is ready to praise his greatest predecessors. Naturally, the paragon of Tuscanism, is among the poets singled out by our poet; it is in the context of the “questione della lingua” that Petrarch’s name first appears in the Orlandino. The Lombard Limerno assures his Tuscan critics to come, that he is not afraid of them: non però, se non nacqui tosco, i’ piango, che anco lo ciatto gode nel suo fango. Però Dante, Francesco e Gian Boccaccio portato han seco tanto che sua prole uscir non sa di suo propio linguaccio, che quando alcun d’elli cantar vole, non odi se non “buio”, “areca”, e “caccio”, ne mai dal suo Burchiello si distole,88 p. 165 e pur loro pare che ‘l tempo si perda da noi, se nostre rime fusser merda. (1, 7-8) The Tuscanizing descendants of the “tre corone” are surely not those same poets and critics who cannot bear to tear themselves away from the Florentine barber Burchiello. Those who emulate ancient Tuscan are really emulating the great poets who wrote a couple of centuries earlier; they avoid the popular language, harsh rhymes and far-ranging subject matter (the gamut includes sickness and impotence) of the anti-Medicean Burchiello. The next mention of Petrarch pits him unfavorably against Dante. For three octaves, Limerno praises Dante. He cites Pico della Mirandola to corroborate his unpopular preference, alluding to Pico’s famous letter to Lorenzo de’ Medici (Cordié, p. 671-672). While concluding this bit of literary criticism, which includes a preference for the composer Josquin over Tamburino, and terminates in a commendation of Erasmus (discussed above), our poet manages to slip in a 88 In a preceding octave (1, 6), there are echoes of Burchiello’s sonnets in Limerno’s complaint of poverty, especially in the rhyme words “rannocchia” and “pannocchia.” Often, Folengo will gloss his poetic influences in a nearby reference: “tutto legato in un volume” (in 7, 58) for example, is followed up with another allusion to the Divina Commedia, “anzi se Morte non mi chiude il passo,/ spero di lui dirà Cirra e Parnasso!” (in 7, 70), from Par. 33, 85 and 1, 16-18 and 36. Protestant catch phrase: così parmi che Dante alto e divino si lascia po’ le spalle gli altrui canti, che quanto più de l’opre val la fede, a Beatrice tanto Laura cede. (3, 19) p. 166 Our poet is once again quick to preempt objections: “Lettor sta’ queto e ten più corto il naso / lode di Dante non biasman Francesco...” (3, 20). (The octaves praising Erasmus, which follow immediately upon this equitable reminder, may dispose the reader to deduce that tribute to Erasmus does not fault Luther). Although Limerno is loathe to raise Petrarch to the heights usually accorded him in the sixteenth century, he is not above quoting him: Per far una leggiadra tua vendetta e punir in un dì ben mille offese, celatamente l’arco e la saetta tua man spietata in mia ruina prese. (1, 60) In fact, Limerno recognizes Petrarch’s greatness, and desires to equal it: Oscuri sensi ed affettate rime qual è che dica mai compor Limerno? Tal volse del Petrarca su le cime salir, ch’or giace in terra con gran scherno, Icaro, per montar sublime, credendosi avanzar il vol paterno, perse con l’arte le incerate piume e venne giù dal ciel in un volume. Non tutti Sannazarri ed Ariosti, non tutti son Boiardi ed altri elletti, li cui sonori accenti fur composti de l’alma Clio negli ederati tetti, tetti si larghi a lor, a noi si angosti; e rari son pur troppo gli entro accetti! Però che meraviglia se ‘l gran sòno di loro sentenzie in tanto pregio sono? (6, 1-2) In the Chaos, Limerno reiterates to Merlino this desire to equal Boiardo, Ariosto and others: “ogni mio studio è di, se non equarmi, almanco appressarmi a loro.” (p. 268). This comparative modesty of p. 167 Limerno must be contrasted with the sublime confidence of Dante, the poet. Although Dante the pilgrim fears that he is not “pious” enough to embark upon the great journey which only Aeneas and Paul have undertaken, the poet does not fear his predecessors the way Folengo seems to: “Taccia Lucano omai... taccia di Cadmo e d’Aretusa Ovidio” (Inf. 25, 94, 97) are not the words of an anxious upstart. Folengo’s anxiety of influence alternates between outrageous selfaggrandizement and pitiful self-abasement. In a canzone of Petrarchan form, which closes the first selva of the Chaos, Folengo again shows his anxiety towards Petrarch. The poet is explaining that the subject matter of his song (“De la puerizia ed aurea stagione”) requires that it be a simple song; there are however glosses from Ovid, Dante, Gregory and Vergil. Despite the song’s simplicity, the author does not think he should suffer disregard: – Non son io di quelle che, Urania, scrivi con sì bel soggetto e ‘n’empi il sino e petto ai duo novi Franceschi, l’un ch’agnelli canta, lupi, e ruscelli, l’altro del Senator l’alta pazzia! (p. 217) The first Francesco would seem to be the saint, famous for his “Cantico de le creature.” The second Francesco may be Petrarch, the reference being to the “alta pazzia” of Senator Cola di Rienzo. Elsewhere, however, Petrarch is oddly maligned. His Laura is compared to, or rather usurped by Laura/Larva, one of the nicknames for Squarcialupi (p. 297). At one point, Triperuno sees the lupo being castrated, and then sees a tender unicorn sacrificed beneath the shade of a p. 168 “petrarchesca laura” (p. 244). It is difficult to grasp the significance of this roundabout although direct abuse of Petrarch’s principle attribute. Furthermore, Limerno depicts himself as a lyrestrumming Petrarchist. He is foppish and vain and he espouses love and the sonnet with all the enthusiasm of a devotee. Cordié reads in Limerno’s sonnets, “la dignitosa qualità di un petrarchismo intriso di una originale sprezzatura folenghiana” (p. 857). But the many sonnets in the Chaos would never be claimed by Petrarch. They are a bit too explicit, although subtle and elegant: Limerno often “spreads his wings” at an opportune moment; one sonnet finds his ship despairing of entering his lady’s port (“so ben che’l mio avezzato in fiumi legno/ trovar porto nel vostro mar dispera,” p. 264). In addition to the troubling connection between the detested Squarcialupi and Petrarch’s Laura, and the mockery of Petrarchists, Folengo expresses a preference for Dante throughout the Orlandino and the Chaos. The original Orlandino closes with an octave in which the poet expresses his hope for poetic excellence in terms which recall Dante’s Paradiso 1: ruppi mio legno in fortunato scoglio, che più di solcar onde ormai son franco, e se l’inchiostro, la lucerna, il foglio e l’Orsatino mio non fiami manco, anzi se Morte non mi chiude il passo, spero di lui dirà Cirra e Parnasso! (p. 221) Indeed, Triperuno’s journey through the selve of his selves frequently reminds one of Dante’s marvelous journey of the body and soul. Nor is the Divina Commedia the only work of Dante’s which our poet has studied. The unnamed narrator who speaks in the midst of the p. 169 Chaos, echoes Dante’s caution to other poets in the Vita Nova, 25. He assures the reader that for all the ornamentation of his vast array of verses, he, like Dante, can explain the meaning behind them. Or pervegnuti siamo al centro confusissimo di questo nostro Chaos, lo quale ritrovasi ne la presente seconda “selva” di varie maniere d’arbori, virgulti, spine e pruni mescolamente ripiena, cioè di prose, versi senza rime e con rime, latini, macaroneschi, dialoghi, e d’altra diversitade confusa, ma non anco si confusa e rammeschiata che, dovendosi questo Chaos con lo ‘ntelletto nostro disciogliere, tutti gli elementi non subitamente sapessero al proprio lor seggio ritornarsi. In the penultimate octave of the Chaos, Dante is called in when the poet hopes for future inspiration: Vedrò, se’l debil filo non si taglia nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, quel raggio, ch’ora il senso m’abbarbaglia con vista più vivace e più spedita. (p. 381) Just as the Paganini ended with the final hexameter of the Aeneid, and the Toscolana with the triple reference to the well known sixth book, followed by the refrain for Vergil’s supremacy (see Chapter Two), so the Chaos closes with the opening verse which is Dante’s calling card. A second poet is then called upon to provide stylistic inspiration for the octaves of the Chaos: De bianchi e negri spiriti la scrimaglia ben tengo de le muse al monte ordita, ma ch’abbia, se non tutto, almen in parte di Ludovico attendo il stile e l’arte. (p. 381) Folengo may state repeatedly that Merlin “Non solo Vergilium sed Homerum buttet abassum,/ qui nec sint digni sibi nettezare culamen,” but for all his bravado, he never fails to pay his poetic debts. p. 170 Ariosto, as we all know, was lax in paying his large debt to Boiardo, and Folengo takes him to task for this most humorously in the Preface to the Vigaso Cocaio, but only after eulogizing him warmly in the Umanità del figliuolo di Dio (see Chapter Four). Since, in addition to the tripartite scheme of man’s journey towards himself, the terza rima, the sestinas, and the narrative octaves, the Chaos sports Latinate hexameters, a third poet is acknowledged. Merlin identifies himself to Triperuno in a macaronic version of Vergil’s finally omitted incipit. In this signature Vergil humbly recalls his earlier works: Ille ego, qui quondam gracili modulatus avena carmen, et egressus silvis vicina coegi ut quamvis avido parerent arva colono, gratum opus agricolis, et nunc horrentia Martis... Very far from Vergil’s brief allusions to his Eclogues and Georgics, Merlin’s incipit plunges us into a twelve-page instant replay (with significant variations) of the Baldus. Ille ego qui quondam formaio plenus et ovis quique, bottivor stipans ventrone lasagnas, arma valenthominis cantavi horrentia Baldi quo non Hectorior, quo non Orlandior alter, ... Baldi gesta maronisono cantemus digna stivallo. (p. 246) But later, while defending the use of Latin, Merlino snaps at Limerno, Quanto al cantare, non ho già da imitare Virgilio, quando che del mio idioma, lo quale sopra tutti li altri appresso di me vien reputato nobile, io non mi tegna aver superiore alcuno. “Del mio idioma” – once again Folengo insists that his decision to write in Macaronic Latin was based on his desire to be the very best in his field. This meant greatly enlarging the small playing field of p. 171 Macaronic stories and turning it into the spectacular domed stadium of the Macaronic epic. This also meant creating a hybrid personality to produce the hybrid poetry. Ecce Merlinus Cocaius. But Merlin and Macaronics were not enough; Folengo then made his second debut in Italian as Limerno Pitocco, and his third in a variety of languages as Triperuno, his forth in Italian and then Latin as Fra Teofilo. 3.8 THE “HETERONYMS” Now it is time to approach the question of what purpose these different names, styles and personalities purport to serve. In the Orlandino proper, Folengo, or rather the author, said that he used the new name Limerno Pitocco as a jovial cover for his barbed scoldings, as a hedonistic mask for his religious zeal: Io dunque d’ Orlandino canto poco e molto piango de l’altar di Cristo io fingermi “pitocco” movo e gioco e del fallir de’ chierici m’attristo di for Cerer e Bacco, dentro invoco lo mio Iesu, … In the “Apology” to the Orlandino, the author say that he would have used his own name, had he not been writing about Protestant beliefs and “merda” and gluttonous clergy, thus the heteronym serves somehow as a screen. Or put more succinctly, by Corona, in the opening dialogue of the Chaos, “[Teofilo] fingesi “pitocco” per dar bastonate da cieco.” His reason for this feigning is, according to the distraught Corona, not yet recovered from the Baldus and the Orlandino, “per farci morir tutti spacciatamente di doglia, acciò più oltra non avesse chi gli gridasse in capo.” Merlin’s reason for the use of three names revolves p. 172 around the three distinct spheres which they occupy: of Nature, of schismatic things, and of the Evangelical rule. Also in the beginning of the Chaos, Limerno offers a more literary interpretation of the triad: Tre fonti, oltra le tre Fontane del mio Liburno,89 nacquer d’un capo santo al sbalzo terno: così Merlino, Fulica, Limerno si calcian d’un Teofilo il coturno. After pitting himself against all three of the most renowned writers of the Trecento, Folengo/Limerno singles out his other chief rival: Mantoa sen ride e parla con Virgilio: Tu sei pastor, agricola, soldato, perché del nomer terno Dio s’allegra. Ridi tu meco ancora, dolce filio, quando che sotto un nome triplicato sortisca una confusa mole e pegra. At least Folengo grants Vergil the distinction of being a thrice-great poet, the contender for whom he must triplicate himself. But Limerno is not content with the division of the self, later in the Chaos, he enjoins Merlino to rid himself of his separate identity: Qual foggia di vita potrai tu forse in questa regione de lupi adoperare, la quale posciati con la utilitade insieme recarti qualche onorevol fama in questa mondo e removerti finalmente quel nome di Cocaio, nome, dico, di somma leggerezza, si come il nome di Pitocco ancor io spero di lasciare? (p. 271) 89 G. Folena in “Il linguaggio del Caos” (Convegno) confirmed my interpretation of Liburno as referring to Niccolo Liburnio’s glossary of the Tre Fontane (Dante, Petrarca, Boccaccio). Cordié does not capitalize Liburno, and interprets it as the Latin liburna, meaning fast ship (p. 806). p. 173 Merlin counters that as far as fame goes, he has acquired as much honorable fame with his butter and lard as Limerno has with his musks and scents. As for utility, nothing is more useful than drinking and eating well. Triperuno is much more susceptible to this urgency to abandon the various heteronyms in order to form one better self. He is from the outset a composite figure: his book is called Chaos del Triperuno and not Chaos di Triperuno; he accepts the blame for the writings produced by his other selves. At the end of the second selva (it could be that Folengo knew enough English to be aware of the similarity of “selve” and selves) Triperuno acknowledges his guilt to God the Confessor: quid faciam, tanto qui absumpto tempore noctes produxi vigiles ea per figmenta, volumen nugarum aedificans? En culpae cognitor omnis, en quibus ingenium, quo nos decora alta subimus, turpiter implicui fabellis, quo per ineptos consenuit lusus virides squalore iuventa! Pars melior consumpta mei, rediturque numquam rapta est, unde animi ratio me conscia torquet. Heu! Heu! Quid volui misero mihi? Sordibus aurum, perditus, et gemmas immisi fecibus indas. (p. 333) (What shall I do, I who produced these figments during night vigils with so much wasted time, building this volume of trifles. See, I am a witness to all my guilt. See, I have disgracefully involved my intelligence in these little fables, by which we [should] ascend to elegant heights, [but] by which through silly games green youth degenerates into squalor. My best season has passed, once snatched away never to return, whence the conscious reason of my soul torments me. Alas, alas, what did I want for my miserable self? I cast gold to the despicable, and Indian jewels into feces.) The final couplet of Triperuno’s confession (which we find also in Toscolana Book 23 and Book 25 of the Cipadense and Vigaso Cocaio versions) is borrowed from Alexis’ lament for his unrequited love for p. 174 Corydon, in Vergil’s second eclogue. But here, as elsewhere, this regret over wasted efforts and lost time is pronounced by one of Folengo’s heteronyms, when he considers his past scribblings. Like Petrarch before him, Folengo continually distances himself from the nugae to which he returns until the last moments of his life. The difference between positing another person as an interlocutor (Augustine, say, in the case of the Secretum), and of positing one’s self as another discrete self is not merely formal. It is obvious to me that an examination of this difference requires a monograph of its own (all interested need only apply themselves to the texts). Here, we can only rush to the end point of Triperuno’s sojourn amid the pastors, of his visit to the Macaronic poet’s boozy realm and to the Petrarchist’s sweet wood, of his nightmare journey through sectors polluted by Squarcialupi and through the theologian’s labyrinths. With inspiration from Vergil, Dante, and Ariosto, Triperuno arrives at the culmination of his existence: “Non più Merlino, Fulica, e Limerno/ oltra sarovvi, ma sol Triperuno.” But the Chaos does not end on this note of triumphal unity. The final six verses of this last octave offer an ambivalent salutation: Tratto son oggi mai di quell’inferno ove chi faccia ben non vi è sol uno. Per te, Iesu, per te vedo e discerno esser del cibo tuo sempre degiuno; ed “ingannato al fine si ritrova chi lascia la via vecchia per la nova”. These ambiguous phrase are accompanied by a gloss, “Non est qui faciat bonum, non est usque ad unum. David”; this sentence forms the refrain p. 175 for Psalm 14, in which David describes the corruption of all men. Several close readings of the Chaos have not produced a master key to this finale. One can only say that the lack of substantial clues as to what constitutes the hell left behind, or the roads new and old, is deliberate, insofar as these open-ended phrases are repeated in following works; it is conscious insofar as Folengo knows how to speak clearly. Even after the excipit “Finisce lo Chaos del Triperuno,” this idiosyncratic work continues. There is a poem to the Eucharistic chalice, and then there are three triple-anagram epigrams, then a poem to the famous humanist, Alberto da Carpo and finally, a letter from Limerno to the other Alberto da Carpo “di tale nome indegno.” The vituperated Alberto is the monk who together with “Sebastiano di patria oscuro” accused Teofilo of theft. Limerno begins by acknowledging that perhaps Alberto has heard that he, Fulica and Triperuno employed him as an example of an intellectual hypocrite. His fury crescendos to a long haranguing question: Dimmi, uomo dappocaggine che tu ti sei, con che ragione, con che giustizia, con qual caritade tu con quell’altro che fiorentino si fa, Sebastiano “puzzabocca”, e con altri toi simili furfanti, a li quali ben sta quella sentenzia del mio barbato Girolamo: “Possident opes sub paupere Christo, quas sub locuplete diabolo non habuerint”, per qual, dico, necessaria cagione non mai vi straccate di cercare far danno ne la fama ed onore del giovene innocente Triperuno? In che cosa egli vi offende, diavoli che voi siete? It is curious and in character that Folengo introduces a quotation from “Girolamo,” Saint Jerome, but also Folengo’s baptismal name: surely some other author could have provided the accusation of unholy greed. p. 176 It is also curious that Limerno identifies the object of Alberto’s attack as the innocent Triperuno, given that Alberto and Sebastian accused thirty-four-year-old Teofilo of theft (upon his exit from the monastery), not young Triperuno. And Triperuno was hardly inoffensive: he is the most active participant in the first campaign (in the Chaos) against Alberto. According to Triperuno, Alberto “ha fatto la più bella pazzia che fusse mai”; although Triperuno does not disclose this “pazzia,” he does recite a very complicated, multi-anagram sextet about his destruction by a tongue. “Necat” does not actually mention Alberto’s name, a fact that Triperuno is quick to point out (p. 315). In this final epistle, Limerno seems convinced that jealousy is to blame for the false accusation, jealousy over his having possessed “Di libertade lo paradiso terrestre,” and the lost light of the evangel, and the favor of a kind “Orso.” His message to Albert is a threat: Alberto had best hold his tongue or he will learn that the baboon’s tongue is no match for the goose quill, “Guardati!” is the last word of the Chaos; anger is a theme equal in importance and not distinct from Triperuno’s spiritual and poetic development. Folengo is an angry monk, he is a thinking, searching, masterful poet. The question remaining is: why did Folengo present himself as many different authorial figures? Every poet faces choices which today one might put in these terms of style and survival: one can hang out in cafes reciting poems, working part-time jobs for “experiences,” publishing in small presses; p. 177 one may study and then teach Literature at an institute of higher learning, publishing in Atheneum, Norton or the campus journal; or one might quietly earn a living in a post office and polish her verse for posterity. Many poets today try all of the above in their desire to make a name for themselves. If they thought it would increase their chances for fame, they would no doubt publish under different pen names. But even the best of today’s poets is not as well known as Propertius, Cino da Pistoia or Gaspara Stampa. This Folengo knew and decried over and over again. He covered all bets, openly competing with former winners in the game of Fame and Fortune. So, do all of our poet’s versed challenges demonstrate only a pathetic delusion of grandeur? This, unfortunately, is Billanovich’s conclusion: Le piccole vane soddisfazioni dell’eccitazione ingiuriosa dell’Orlandino e i laberinti insulsi del Caos, suggestione stupida di innalzamento tra i poeti dotti e oscuri, erano torturanti esasperazioni di isolato e di dolenti. (p. 112) On the one hand, Billanovich is right, Folengo is an isolated man not generally considered when the best poets are being discussed. On the other hand, Giuseppe Billanovich is wrong, especially in his condemnation of the Chaos. Who would deny that the psyche is precisely “laberinti insulsi”? I see, rather, a poet’s lucid confrontation with his desire to be a great poet. Folengo, like Petrarch before him, examined himself closely on paper; and Folengo does not pretend to ignore Dante. In the final analysis, I think that Folengo’s personification of his strong divergent tendencies (to be a great [Macaronic] epic poet, to be a sonnet-singing pagan Petrarchist, a playful satirist, a p. 178 painful goad, a sincere religious writer) stupefied his readers into silence. If an era which championed the integrity of the individual can be excused for not embracing such an avant-garde approach to the self divided, today’s scholars have no excuse. Hopefully, the time has come for the Chaos to become familiar to scholars of Italian Renaissance Literature and Autobiography. The Orlandino deserves and has received some attention for its Protestant passages. The doublespeak “Apologia” for these loudly unorthodox views should also be examined, especially now that the Renaissance “genre” of defense has been elucidated. (Margaret Ferguson, in her recent book Trials of Desire, conducts the sort of in-depth psychological and broad sociological investigation of sixteenth century literary defenses, to which Folengo’s many pre-texts would respond generously.) Again, leaving aside the matter of Chaos del Triperuno’s overwhelming appeal to the modern reader, the book was, despite its unusual cast of talkative quadruplets, published three times in twenty-five years. The Orlandino, five times. Then, if one considers the four editions and the dozens of publications of the Maccheronee, one must conclude that Teofilo Folengo alias Merlin Cocaio alias Limerno Pitocco alias Triperuno – if only as a once popular literary curiosity – deserves our attention. Once we turn again to the dazzling Chaos and to the Baldus with all its trimmings, we may come to understand both Folengo’s indisputable success and his failure to receive the fame he claims for his selves. p. 179 Chapter IV THE AUTHOR AS HIMSELF True to his word at the close of Chaos del Triperuno, our poet becomes a unified authorial self: Merlin Cocaio, Limerno Pitocco, and Fulica disappear, Triperuno retreats and Fra Teofilo Folengo emerges, repentant pen in hand. Just a few years after the appearance of the magnificent, rabid Chaos, Teofilo together with his brother Giambattista applied for re-entry into the Benedictine Order. With President Squarcialupi dead, and the Florentine faction further weakened by a Medici battle for recovery of Florence, the Folengos’ request met with little resistance. In the autumn of 1530, the brothers headed for the peninsula of Sorrento, where they were to spend most of their required three-year hermitage. Once settled on Punta Campanella, Teofilo and his brother continued to write. It is clear from their writings that despite their hermit status, the Folengos aspired to secular literary contacts: Teofilo appealed for admission to the Sienese “Academia degli Intronati” and both he and Giambattista included Vittoria Colonna in their dialogues and poems; our poet continued to address Orsini and Gonzaga as patrons. During the final year of probation, the brothers published eighteen p. 180 Latin dialogues (the Pomiliones), together with a collection of Teofilo’s Latin poems. Teofilo also published a long poem in octaves, the Humanità del figluolo di Dio.90 While primarily a retelling of biblical stories, this book contains provocative commentary on patronage and literary tradition as well as bold auto-congratulations. We will turn to these sections of the Humanità next. 90 Aretino, after producing an Orlandino in octaves, published a Umanità del figluolo di Dio, in prose: Giorgio Petrocchi accuses Aretino of plagiarizing “il Nostro,” insisting that “la concorrenza sleale è palese,” in “Aretino e Folengo,” Convegno, pp. 132-133. 4.1 RECONCILIATION? On the first page of the original 1533 edition of the Humanità, the reader is immediately struck by a full page of illustrations – the pages of the Humanità are twice as large as those of previous works (16 cm. by 22 cm.). On the top center is a little print of Christ’s face on what may be Veronica’s towel. In the middle of the page, flanked by full-length portraits of apostle-like men, is a large print of the leper urging Christ to heal him. The caption repeats Christ’s response: “Volo. Mundare.” (from Matth. 8, 2-3).91 Is this not our poet himself begging to be rid of his past transgressions? Does not the religious nature of the work and the employment of his religious name in the title convince us of the man’s conversion? Does not the prominent position of the leper, surrounded by Christ, apostles and scribes demonstrate our poet’s unrelenting compulsion to star in his p. 181 own plays, even if he must act diseased? The initial letter “D” of the far-ranging open epistle which introduces the poem is inscribed with an infant examining a skull in one hand. This must be the new composite poet born of his former selves: “Non più il Merlino, Fulica e Limerno/ oltra sarovvi, ma sol Triperuno” (Chaos, p. 381). The epistle, “Alli valorosi campioni di Cristo, a del Padolirone abitatori” (could this mean that there are inhabitants of San Benedetto Po who are not valorous champions of Christ?) commences with a soft and elegant approach: Da più persone, secondo il mondo a me benevoli, sono stato importunamente solecitato di dovere a ricchi e poderosi uomini, si come a grossi pesci, gittar l’amo di questi miei semplicissimi ragionamenti per adescarne, oltra il favore, eziandio qualche cosetta dalli dati a loro beni di Fortuna. Io che, la Dio mercé, con meco mi godo di non aver terreno più di quello si m’appicia in andando sotto le piante, me ne sono liberamente riso: parendo egli a me non esser prodezza di fedel cavagliero di povertà il così voler fare, tuttoché se ne potesse non meno empier de ambiziosi perfumi la testa che del loro argento la borsa. E tanto più che essi valorosi principi ne più ne meno portano bisogna di questi 91 Cordié comments on Billanovich’s telling misreading of the caption as “Volo mundari”; see Cordié, p. 913. miei così fatti componimenti, perché ne possano esser fatti per lode immortali, che io di quelle facultà loro, perché ne riesca più beato di quello mi sono. Thus, Folengo laughs off secular, economic advice and asserts his desire to remain a “fedel cavagliero di povertà.” The image used here of one’s sole possessions being the earth attached to one’s soles will be discussed below when it occurs in the Cipadense. The assertion that princes need an artist’s works “ne più ne meno” than one needs their support, seems to be Folengo’s own declaration rather than a paraphrasis of his counselors’ words. Alas, it is a statement true only in theory, for many are the artists and few the monied princes. p. 182 Folengo does not say who payed the bill for this large, rather deluxe volume. Although some of Folengo’s superiors suggested that he write a prize-winning patron-pleasing composition, others, who had Teofilo’s spirit in mind rather than his purse, counseled him to produce something to compensate for those “più freschi giorni sì giovenilmente datorno al ridicoloso Baldo gittati.” He sets out to do this in his own language, shunning once again the elegance of Tuscan. In a petulant show of religious zeal, the reformed monk defies the secular literary world: “Tengansi essi l’un delli duoi Giovanni col suo Decamerone, che l’altro teneremo noi col suo Vangelo.” The final argument of the letter centers around the use of the octave. Folengo uses again the authority of an unnamed superior (as before, in the “Apologia” of the Orlandino): “per avviso di chi sa più di me ho voluto con ottave stanze passarmi il tempo in contemplare su per queste ripe la somma benignità di Dio verso di noi.” The poet allows as how the octave had been infelicitously employed in the past, but insists that it has been restored to its pristine candor by certain wits: “non meno per favore di loro fatiche e continuati studii di dotte carte che per natura e divine grazie.” Here the reader expects to see the name of some religious, or at least serious, work recently written in octaves. Instead, Folengo now begins a special encomium to Ariosto, just then deceased (July 6, 1533). For the famous poet, a mere seventeen years his senior, Folengo gushes: p. 183 Fortunato vecchio! Che ‘n così grave, acconcio e ben limato stile cagioni ha porto a la molle giovinezza di ritrarsi oggimai da giochi, putte ed altre infinite malfatte cose a l’onoratissimo studio delle letere, alla grandezza de l’arme e finalmente ad ogni atto generoso di cortesia: le quali tutte cose ponno essere chiamate le fide scorte al salire più in alto e ritrovare il nostro principale oggetto e, riconosciutolo, ad altro non fermar più oltre il pensiero che morire nel Signore e dispensatore d’eterni beni. (Cordié, p. 917) It would seem that Teofilo is twitting those literati who would canonize Ariosto and proclaim the Orlando Furioso a solemn epic to be studied along with the Aeneid, the Divine Comedy, selections of the Canzoniere, and other semi-sacred texts. For how could anyone congratulate Ariosto on having turned youth away from “le donne... gli amori”? By exaggerating the redemptive qualities of the Orlando Furioso, Folengo causes his readers to pause and consider. This generous assessment of Ariosto’s work must be read in the light of comments made about other poets, within the Humanità proper. In the first book, while speaking about Susanna’s unspeakable beauty (she is comparable only to Vittoria Colonna), he chides Petrarch: Or qui non vovvi ornar costei di stelle, perle, topazi, oro, diamanti ed ostro, materia di colui che ’n rime belle bel fatto avria parer qualunque mostro. Felici noi, beato lui se quelle sue tante carte e quel suo tanto inchiostro in se di croce avesser l’alto obbietto, come d’una Loretta ciò ch’è detto! (1, 42) Later, he emphasizes his exclusive interest in religious works, by chiding Homer and Vergil, and praising a Giambattista (“il qual è aurora / di questa eterno Apollo inanzi al corso”): Ben mi rammenta poi ch’a mille e mille narrò di questo Re l’opre soprane, discese a ragionar d’altro che Achille, p. 184 d’altro che Enea, nostre fatiche insane; (1, 92) However, Folengo finishes this octave with an allusion to nine-year-old Paolo (Orsini) che, se con lingue a quante in mar son stille e stelle in ciel parlammo, tutte vane foran in puoter dire l’alte imprese d’un Pavol, ch’or nov’anni ha manco un mese. Oh che sonora tromba, oh ch’armonia, oh vaso eletto, oh infaticabil duce! Here Cordié notes: “con un sottile gioco anfibologico la figura del Battista e quella dell’amato fratello Giambattista tendono a sovrapporsi, così come all’ottava seguente, dietro san Paolo, si potrà scorgere il ricordo di Paolo Orsini.” But this really not so subtle ambivalence makes Teofilo the “eterno Apollo” to his brother Giambattista, and makes his young tutee homonymous to St. Paul. Folengo’s self-aggrandizing play with the names and attributes of Christ, Apollo and Paul deliberately undercuts his stricture of other poets’ “fatiche insane.” If Homer, Vergil and Petrarch are to be rebuked, surely Ariosto’s success in bringing his readers straight to heaven is suspect. This prefatory passage then offers at once a eulogy to an admirable poet and a didactic hyperbole: all poets, even the great Ariosto, are guilty of fictitiousness. Proof that not all highranking men of letters approved of Ariosto’s masterpiece can be found in careful, almost-cardinal Pietro Bembo’s reluctance to pronounce one word in praise either during Ariosto’s lifetime or upon the poet’s death.92 p. 185 After the finale of Ariosto’s octaves guiding one to a holy death, we find a lone octave which expounds a defense of the Bible’s availability in the various vulgar tongues, titled simply 92 E. Zanette, in “I silenzi di Pietro Bembo” (Nuova Antologia, 1960) tells of how Bembo preferred to champion uncontroversial Petrarchists, for example, Tebaldeo, than to respond in any public way to Ariosto. “Giambattista Folengo.” Although pleasing to some of the Benedictine leaders, this ecumenical spirit no doubt had its detractors; Teofilo sidestepped the responsibility for the octave by making it appear the work of his brother. 4.2 “L’ HUMANITA’ DEL FIGLIUOLO DI DIO” The poem opens with a somewhat controversial theme which would seem to contradict the promise of its title. De l’alma e sempiterna trinitade l’alto, profondo e incompresibil senso dica chi dicer vuole. In me non cade se non folle pensier qualor vi penso. (1, 1) The humanity of Christ is of course important because of its contrast to the divinity of Christ, but instead of the Trinity, Folengo contemplates Christ crucified, who will dispel: “l’inferno/ d’importun ombre e d’intricati sogni.” This negation of interest in the Trinity would thus seem to disavow interest in his own Chaos del Triperuno while recalling it to the reader’s mind. Folengo wishes to repudiate his former involvement with importunate shadows, intricate dreams and theological discussions. He is now opting for the “simple” route of religious writings based on scripture. But our poet has not changed p.186 fundamentally: while asking Christ for protection, he makes the almost sacrilegious boast that his evangelical love is equal to St. John’s, even if his style should fall a bit short of the Evangelist’s. The rather lengthy mea culpa which follows in octaves 4-10 includes many phrases from the Chaos. Folengo invites Fame to use him as an example of whether “s’abbia d’ambe le vie di nostra vita/ tenersi o a la discesa o a la salita.” (1, 6); just as Triperuno asked that his destiny be displayed in a temple, or impressed on polished marble, so that the viewer might choose the good path (unspecified), Chaos, p. 223. In the very last verses of the Chaos, Triperuno says: “ed ‘ingannato al fine si ritrova/ chi lascia la via vecchia per la nova’.” Whereas this vagueness is appropriate in a layman’s “Chaos,” here in Fra Teofilo’s Humanità del figliuolo di Dio it would have been more fitting to define the ascent (to God) and the descent (to folly and sin). In the Humanità as in the Chaos, the poet speaks again of a “travagliato e cieco laberinto” (1, 5) and recounts his unhappy stay among beautiful sirens, an elect chorus of angelic voices, who then turned into “sozze larve” (1, 8-9). Not every poet would consider himself bound to repeat key phrases from a work written in foul-mouthed hostility towards the President of the Benedictine Congregation, in a work intended to redeem him to this same order. Even if Folengo’s superiors had merely skimmed the Chaos, or relied on second hand information about it, which seems unlikely, they would have been aware of the many angry acrostics. The image of the seemingly serene pastors turning into “sozze larve” is repeated often enough in the p. 187 Chaos that echoes of it here in the Humanità could not have gone unnoticed. Thus from the onset of his return, Folengo makes it clear that he is not willing to retract one iota of his complaint against Squarcialupi and his cohorts. Nor does Fra Teofilo anywhere elencate orthodox beliefs to offset the Protestant declarations of the Orlandino. But he says he is tearfully contrite: Ver è ch’un dolor grave ognor m’elice vento del petto e pioggia fuor degli occhi d’aver seguito invan l’adulatrice mia voglia e quella più d’alcuni sciocchi. Scrissi già sotto nome, onde l’ultrice fiamma del Ciel par sempre in me trabocchi, nome di leggerezza, or me ne spoglio e quel che sona amor di Dio ritoglio. (1, 4) Folengo rightly emphasizes the change in his authorial name, rather than in his nature. Book One (of ten) rehearses a few Old Testament stories: that of Susanna, to whom Vittoria Colonna is likened for her steadfastness, is the most extensive of these. Later, Daniel complains about priests who defile their egregious names, whose hearts are vases of ink and spent carbon. But the most memorable octaves are those which describe a pageant of Teofilo’s contemporaries together with early Church fathers. Vergil (whose Trojan might have equaled Achilles had the Mantuan poet lived longer) introduces Homer first to four sixteenth century Latin poets: Veranno i quattro miei seguaci, donde le costui prove in numer fien cantate: il Folgo, Sanazaro e chi le fronde sfronda del moro ai suoi bombici date; Scipio Capeccio del Giordano a l’onde poich’ivi avrà le Muse a se chiamate, (1, 88) p. 188 The very first poet, Folgo, can only be a syncopated version of our unabashed Folengo. The manner in which our poet advertises himself here is more than reminiscent of Petrarch’s self acclamation in Book 9 of the Africa.93 There, Homer indicates the iuvenum Francescus to Ennius (Homer’s first imitator in Latin) and praises him for his great epic poem. Perhaps Folengo is trying to be humble here: the full name Folengo would have been more jarring; corrupted to Folgo it seems somehow less boastful. And Folgo calls to mind Dante’s Folco: “Folco mi disse quella gente a cui/ fu noto il nome mio” (Par., 9). Folco of Marseille was a provençal troubadour who, as Bishop of Toulouse, ferociously persecuted the Albigensian heretics; Dante shows him bemoaning his own past transgressions of passion, and the corruption of the clergy and the neglect of the Gospels: Produce e spande il maladetto fiore c’ha disviate le pecore e li agni, perc che fatto ha lupo del pastore. (Par. 9) The association of Folgo and Folco is strong enough to partially transform this intervention of the self into an echo of a saintly Dantesque character. 93 Petrarch, Africa, edit. by N. Festa (Firenze: Sansoni, 1926). “Folgo” to date had written mothing under the name Folengo, except this same Humanità; the Pomiliones and the Varium poema [and Ianus] were probably published the following year, in 1534. To place himself first in line to receive Vergil’s and Homer’s attention on the basis of a group of lyric poems yet to appear, Folengo indeed shows the immodesty p. 189 characteristic of Merlin Cocaio. Only the name has been changed. The other three poets alluded to here (Iacopo Sannazzaro, A.M.G. Vida and Scipione Capece) are known for their religious Latin poetry (even if Vida’s work on silkworms is mentioned rather than his Christias). Perhaps it is due largely to the freeness with which Folengo changes all his names that “Folgo” here is the name least likely to be identified today by a Renaissance scholar. The remaining nine books of the Humanità more or less honor the conventions of a New Testament poem: they begin with the Nativity and end with Christ’s death on the cross. Despite the preface and the irregular first book, the work seems to have met with approval, it was reprinted in 1567 and 1578, during the Counter Reformation. Like the leper depicted on the frontispiece, Folengo submits himself together with this body of biblical tales and auto-publicity to the Benedictine leaders. In the spring of 1534, the general chapter at San Benedetto Po voted unanimously to readmit the Folengo brothers. Federico Gonzaga was notified of the Benedictines’ decision: Ill.mo et Ex.mo S.re Patrone et benefactore nostro singularissimo etc. si come li predetti [Don Gio. Bap.ta et Don Theophylus Folengo] umbra della Ex. V. hano conseguito tal gratia a pochi concessa con tanto favore, che anche per rispetto suo se debiano più disponere a deportarsi meglio per l’avenire che no hano facto per el passato. Don Leonardo Presidente (Billanovich, pp. 154-155) Not all secular and religious leaders were as benign as Gonzaga and Fra Leonardo: Henry VIII had Thomas More imprisoned during the same month; Francis I had already ordered the execution of several “heretics.” p. 190 4.3 “POMlLlONES, VARlUM POEMA, IANUS” The Pomiliones consist of eighteen largely autobiographical dialogues, written in Latin by Giambattista, perhaps with some help from his brother Teofilo. Despite our poet’s promise at the end of Chaos, he does assume new names in these dialogues: he is sometimes called Misopono, and is chided for having wasted time on the lascivious Baldus. The conversations read more like monologues, or diary entries than constructed dialogues. The sentences meander along, addressing public, religious and private issues seemingly at random. Goffis, naturally, sees in them a series of Protestant declarations, (see his L’eterodossia dei fratelli Folengo). For the most part, the Pomiliones rehash concerns addressed in Teofilo’s works (the brothers’ mother, Paolo, asserts Ludovico’s innocence, and expresses relief that finally Teofilo has changed his ways). Because these pages offer little new information concerning Folengo’s selves, and because they are probably written by Giambattista, and because the Latin prose seems to me a bit tedious* [arduous], the dialogues will not be analyzed individually here. Although may of the lyrics from the Varium poema are simple poems addressed to hoes and to Folengo’s deceased acquaintances, some are written to the author himself, or to his patrons and enemies, and are hence instrumental in refining our copy of Folengo’s map of the self.94 p. 191 In Phalacean meter, dear to Catullus, the poet recounts his search for a recipient of the little book’s dedication, someone who would censure all the book’s faults. He is worried lest a poet 94 These poems will be quoted from the bilingual edition published by C.F. Goffis in Il poema vario (Torino: Loescher, 1958). who shuns the lighthearted elegant verse of Catullus for the simple purity of Scripture might not find a patron. However, as the title of this composition (“Ad Paulum Orsinum”) has alerted us, the poet succeeded in finding a worthy beneficiary: en mi Paule, nihil modo repugnat, quin meam hanc tibi Lesbiam perito commendem, ut foveas sinu, velisque impune huic tot dare basiationes, quot naevos feries stilo nigellos. (p. 3) (Voila, dear Paul, nothing presently is opposed to my commending this my Lesbia to one skilled as you, so that you cherish her in your heart, and give her with impunity, as many kisses as you make black moles with your pen.) There is something unsettling in Fra Teofilo’s choice of Catullus as a rival model, of Lesbia as a pet name for his book of poems, of nine-year-old Paolo Orsini as patron. Folengo refuses to play the game, any game, even one of his own devising. And there is something maddening about apologies for errors continually committed. The second poem is a Petrarchan confession, “De seipso”: Quae quondam, fateor, docili mihi floruit aetas, magnificum poterat laudis adire iubar. At mens decipitur iuvenum, quae lubrica saepe unde decus poscit, dedecus inde refert. Cum mihi praeteritae subeunt insomnia vitae, tam pudet, ut pudeat non puduisse satis. Infelix taen ipse minus fortasse viderer, lusissem varios si sine dente modos. (I confess that when formerly my tender age flourished, the magnificent splendor of praise could have approached me. But the mind of young men, often unstable, is deceived: where it searches for honor it finds dishonor. When the insomnia of p. 192 years gone by steals upon me, then I am so ashamed that I am ashamed of not being ashamed enough. Perhaps I myself would seem less unhappy if I had joked in various ways without teeth.) This poem minus the last distich constitutes the final epigram (in the section “Epigrammata” which follows the Baldus) of the third Maccheronee. There, the sextet is followed by a vignette of a lamb returning humbly to the fold, captioned “Perieram.” Goffis says of “Ad seipsum”: “La Cipadense conservò burlescamente i primi sei versi”; the distich, however, “Vuol essere il ripudio della satira anticattolica ed antiecclesiastica del Baldus; ma non essendo per nulla sentito, fu tolto nella terza e quarta edizione del poema” (p. 4). In fact, the final couplet does return in the preface of the fourth edition, as proof of Teofilo’s about-face (with one change: the fifth verse now reads, “Dum mihi praeteriti subeunt insomnia Baldi”). Over a dozen of the sixty-eight poems in this collection find their way into the later editions. One poem, for example, “Ad Cyrillem increpat, quod ignaro literarium paulinas donasset epistolas” becomes “Ad Seraphum”, and the misdirected gift is changed from the epistles of Paul to the epistles of Horace. Teofilo Folengo’s “De ira, ad Paulum Ursinum” (no. 9) becomes Merlin Cocaio’s “Ad Baldum, de ira.” A couple of these poems appeared in previous works (no. 64, in the Chaos, no.45, in the Pomiliones). From this we can see that our poet is not keen on maintaining the integrity of his authorial selves, nor does he distinguish between living recipients for his poems, and his [fictional] character recipients. p. 193 Finally, the third poem seems fitting: it is addressed to the Virgin Mary and seeks her help in the undertaking at hand. But then the next lyrics demonstrate unreligious contents: no. 4 is a long poem in praise of Scipio Capece, nos. 5, 12, 16, 20 are invectives against the wife of a neighbor, no. 6 is an insult to a scabrous poet, no. 7 a “scherzo” on scabies. In fact only a few poems are not of a strictly secular nature. In one of these Erasmus, mentioned along with Luther in the Toscolana edition and again in the Orlandino, is the butt of a bitter octet of elegiac distichs. “In maledicum aenigma” reads unaenigmatically: “Errans mus” scribere, tuum nunc accipe nomen, idque tuis par sit moribus, idque iocis. Diceris “errans mus”, male si mutilata reducas; raptaque stent numeris bina elementa suis. Quis rogo diminuit meritum tibi nomen? An errans mus (nam mus peredit cuncta) peredit idem. Erras mus ita ne, ut laceres duro omnia dente? Denique erit tituli iam nota nota tui. (pp. 64-65) (“Errans mus” you are written, accept your name now, and let it be equal to your customs and to your jokes. You are said to be “errans mus”, if you take back the badly mutilated parts and let the two stolen elements stand with their own kind. Who, I ask, diminished your deserved name? Perhaps an “errans mus” (for the mouse gnaws at all things) gnawed it? Therefore, do you not err mouse in order to lacerate everything with your hard teeth? Eventually the letters of your title will be known.) The import of this poem is quite clear, Erasmus often had to defend himself from similar attacks by Protestants and Catholics alike; both groups found Erasmus unwilling to join them in putting together a coherent platform. In a letter to Alberto Pio of Carpi, Erasmus complains of being vilified with the names “Err-asmus” and p. 194 “Pornophagus.”95 Nonetheless, Goffis writes of Folengo’s poem: “L’epigramma contro Erasmo e velato di prudenza, presentato in forma di enigma: non sarebbe stato possibile colpire direttamente il polemista cattolico, prezioso per la chiesa, e protetto da Clemente VII. Ma non vi è dubbio che si tratti di lui anche se l’attacco può parer strano da parte di un erasmiano” (pp. 126-127). First of all, how veiled is this “enigma”? Clement VII was dying and his power had faded by 1533. Erasmus was not so very precious to many church people: his opponents had early branded him a Lutheran, the Sorbonne denounced his Colloquies in 1526, and all of his works were immediately placed on the Index (in 1559). Erasmus was mentioned by Cingar in Toscolana Book 8 side by side with Luther, by the third edition only Luther’s name remains and that too disappears in the final version. Apparently somewhere in the third decade of the century 95 From Myron Gilmore’s article, “Erasmus and Albert Pio, Prince of Carpi,” in Action and Conviction in Early Modern Europe, ed. Rabb and Seigel, (New Jersey: Princeton, 1969), pp. 299-318. Erasmus fell out of favor with at least this one “erasmiano.” “Ad seipsum” (no. 32) is a quick sapphic complaint to Philotheus about the damage caused by an insolent tongue. This poem to himself is preceded by one to Luigi Grifalcone and followed by one to Federico Gonzaga: both men were Folengo’s patrons, he dedicated to each a part of his Chaos. It was not uncommon for a Renaissance artist to paint himself and his patrons onto the canvas, but Folengo distinguishes himself by depicting his patron Gonzaga in a strange light. The gist of the poem is that Federico’s light shines too brightly. Folengo p. 195 worries lest by proximity to it he be driven back into the night, back into Styx. Goffis may be correct in his interpretation of this poem: “Forse vuol far intendere che, se accettasse le pressioni di Federico, capitolerebbe dinanzi ai frati, rinunziando ad ogni libertà religiosa.” At any rate, it is interesting that Folengo inserts the poem “Ad seipsum” between a poem to Grifalcone, and this poem asking Gonzaga to dim his light whenever he is near. Our artist always manages to paint himself in the best light, right alongside his patrons. The 300 verse Janus is more noticeable for its title, than for its themes: good usage of time, apology for the “insulso carmine Baldum,” praise for Gonzaga and Orsini. Janus Bifrons is the two-headed god of the gates, looking in both directions. Folengo speaks about the monstrous nature of Janus, but does not seem to play on the idea of a work looking both backward to previous writings and forward to new things. 4.4 RETURN TO THE MONASTERY AND TO THE “MACCHERONEE” The Humanità del figliuolo di Dio, and the volume containing the Pomiliones, the Ianus, and the Varium poema accompanied Teofilo during his reorientation at Santa Eufemia in Brescia. (The Folengo brothers sojourned along the way at St. George’s in Venice, where Gregorio Cortese was abbot, and Gaspare Contarini, Reginald Pole, Benedetto da Mantua and other scholars of the Catholic Reformation met.) Teofilo was soon made rector of a small convent northwest of Brescia, San p. 196 Benedetto di Capra on the Lago d’Iseo. [About this time, his annotated Hebrew Bible was published in Basel, by Froben.* Unfounded.] In 1538 Teofilo left northern Italy for Sicily. Captain Ferrante Gonzaga was viceroy of the Island and a large number of Mantuan monks exchanged places for a few years with their southern brothers. In Palermo, Folengo’s “L’Atto della Pinta” became Sicily’s first sacred representation. The poet began a collection of lives of the martyrs, in Latin hexameters; only some of these eighteen passiones have been published.96 But in these same years other literary activities also filled Fra Teofilo’s hours: the third revision of the Maccheronee appeared. 4.5 CIPADENSE The third version of Folengo’s masterpiece claims to be printed in Cipada by Aquario Lodola, sine data, but most likely the volume left Paganini’s press in Venice, in 1539* [1535] or 1540. The reader is immediately struck by infinite changes in the packaging of the Cipadense, in addition to the fictitious publishing information. Gone are all the glosses, both of the epistles by Magister Lodola, all three of the exchanges between Merlin and Paganini. The “Dialogus Philomusi” has disappeared forever, all the proemia, and the “Argumentum” before each book are gone, as are Merlin’s “Apologia in sui excusationem” and his “Normula.” Even the “Table or Repertory of Funny Things” and the p. 197 96 A. Rafanelli, L’agiomachia, (Salerno, 1898); see also F. Salsani, “L’agiomachia di T. F.” in GSLI, 114 (1939), pp. 50-65. affable final sonnet have been taken away. In their stead one sees signs of the author’s (re)conversion. In some copies of the Cipadense, the illustration of the lost sheep returning humbly to the fold bleating “Perieram,” greets the reader; in the 1555 reprint available in the United States, the illustration at the beginning of the book shows a knight charging with sword drawn but visor up, crying “Libera nos domini a furore rusticorum.” A quatrain convinces the reader of the author’s great change: Tam sibi dissimilis, tamque alter habetur ab illo Merlini, ut primu nesciat autor opus: Causa recantandi fama est aliena, malorum iudicio, haud vatis simplice morsa ioca. (So dissimilar from itself, so different from the other (work) by Merlin, that the author doesn’t recognize the first work: the reputation of others is the cause for recanting, bitten by the judgment of the wicked, not at all by a poet’s simple joke.) Thus, although Teofilo had previously admitted to having used his teeth (in the Varium poema), here he masks the date and the publisher and denies having injured anyone. 4.5.1 “Francesco Folengo alli lettori” For further elucidation of the poet’s recantation, the reader is presented with an Italian prose preface, “Francesco Folengo alli lettori.” (Francesco is the name of both Teofilo’s father, who died around 1527, and of one of his brothers.) The gist of Francesco’s information is that the author – never named – was persuaded to divert his attentions from a new and better work in order to counter charges p. 198 of libel leveled at his earlier writings. The inculpating rumors were twofold: one, disseminated the notion that the “volume di favole” was not what it appeared to be because the author had hidden “sotto ruvide scorze ingeniosissime allegorie.” This in itself did not disturb the author, but when it was also bruited about that this earlier work had led to the calumny and dishonor of illustrious persons, “tanto in dottrina quanto in onestà di vita,” then he felt compelled to react. Only a nail can drive out another. In a commentary on the times, Francesco explains how it had become evident to the author that his contemporaries now preferred serious works in Latin or Italian rather than lies in Macaronic or Pasquinian style. But he also realized that these superior works were read by a mere handful of people, so that if he really wanted to retract his former writings, he would have to resume Macaronics. The printers were, alas, unwilling to reprint the first edition. Hence, the poet’s sole purpose in producing this more polished, more delightful and less hurtful volume was to refute the rumor that he had previously dishonored certain people. Francesco Folengo received the volume on October 20, 1530 (approximately the date of Teofilo’s and Giambattista’s departure for their hermitage). He was told to publish it at his leisure. He closes his address to the reader by reiterating his desire to reissue the earliest version: “E più commodo mi apparve quello che fusse in nullo o puoco danno di coloro, i quali già molti anni stamparono la prima per consiglio e spesa del magnifico maestro Aquario Lodola.” This is the first and only mention of printing p. 199 expenses for any of our poet’s works; as we will see below, money matters play a much greater role in the last two editions than in the earlier Macaronic or Italian works. Not only the many many trappings, but the most dangerous passages from the Toscolana proper are cut.97 But, lest one think that the Cipadense Baldus is, as promised, a polite expurgated version, it must be made clear that many of the passages excluded appear quite benign and, that the sum total of verses in the Cipadense exceeds that of the Toscolana by almost 320 hexameters. The number of changes made within verses and within words comes close to baffling the human mind: obviously this new edition has been painstakingly revised. Only those changes which 97 Luzio, in an Appendix “Saggi di varianti della Toscolana,” lists fourteen pages of eliminated passages, pp. 299-313, noting that a complete list would be too extensive. pertain to the author’s presentation of himself and his fellow poets will be analyzed here.98 4.5.2 Learning the ways of the world The books of the Cipadense are not numbered progressively, but in groups of five, each one labeled with the full name of a Muse, thus, for example, Toscolana Book 7 is now “Simiae Cominae Bertuzzae Macaronicorum liber tertius.”* Due to the author’s choice and to the various additions and subtractions, material from the Toscolana is not p. 200 found in the corresponding book of the Cipadense; the division into five book groups contributes to the difficulty of comparing the two editions. This may have been its purpose. The final version is again numbered progressively and is also free of the interior divisions assigned to Muses in the Toscolana and Cipadense.99 Some of the infinite little changes beg for interpretation, others merely ask. Since there are no longer any glosses, addresses to the reader are sometimes incorporated into the text proper. Much of Aquarius Lodola’s commentary is simply lost: where earlier the Magister had carefully explained away the seeming impropriety of Guidone’s “elopement” with Baldovina, with reference to Aeneas and Dido’s hasty union, the text now bluntly declares “Hanc rapit” 1, 576). This is in keeping with a general tendency of the Cipadense to assert the Macaronic poet’s right to do as he pleases. No one is needed to justify Merlin’s text. There is also a show of concern for financial matters which was all but absent from the two earlier versions. In Book Two, the poet again uses the image of one’s sole possession being the earth attached to one’s shoes, which we saw above in the preface to the Humanità. 98 For more global discussions of the differences between these editions see Luzio, Studi, pp. 112-148, and Cordié, “Le quattro redazioni del Baldus di T. F.,” 1955. 99 Because of the unavailability of the Cipadense in the United States and because of this confusion of book numbers, the book and verse numbers from the fourth edition, the Vigaso Cocaio, which it closely resembles will be cited. Differences between these two editions will be noted. Here, Guidone, having just escaped from France with the King’s daughter, explains his state of affairs to Berto: ... nec altrum terrenum pensare velis nos prorsus habere, quam quod ataccatum scarpis gestamus eundo. (2, 362-364) p. 201 But Guidone does not consider himself a “fedel cavagliero di povertà.” He regrets that in exchange for Berto’s supreme hospitality, he and his consort can offer only lice (“pedocchi”) and a blessing: “Dii tibi, si guardant praestantes ulla pitocchis/ commoda, pro nobis poverettis munera donent.” (2, 373-374). He swears not by the numerous “pedocchi” which plague him, but by the “pitocchi”, within whose ranks Folengo lived and published (his Orlandino written while he was outside the monastery, is authored by Limerno Pitocco); Qua propter nunc iuro tibi, per quanta pitocchi frusta pitocarunt panis, quibus omnia nostra regna manent, sic sic non Bertum posse Panadam smenticare unquam… (2, 381-384) (On account of which I now swear to you, for however many scraps of bread begged by beggars, and our entire kingdom is overflowing with them, thus Berto Panada can never be forgotten...) Our poet’s overly confident stance in the Humanità, where he purported to be needed as much by princes as they are needed by him, has now changed to a recognition of the superabundance of “pitocchi.” Folengo, as a Pitocco, lasted only five years outside the monastery walls. In keeping with the superlative praise accorded Ariosto at the end of Book 25 in the Toscolana, and in the preface to the Humanità, the Cipadense bursts into a kaleidoscope of Ariostesque characters. After explaining how Baldus turns from Maro’s war tales to popular chivalric epics (3, 92-93), Folengo goes on a bit about Angelica and naked crazed Orlando, and expands on Astolfo’s trip to the moon (mentioned p. 202 very briefly in the Toscolana). Then he more or less just lists several other personages from Boiardo’s and Ariosto’s texts: Gradasso, Agricano, Anglante, Feragutto, Durastante etc. In the thirty hexameters that now treat this material, Folengo does not include the names of the wellknown heroes of either the Innamorato or the Furioso. Instead, the names he chooses provide filler for the Baldus rather than publicity for these two epics. In the Vigaso Cocaio, except for the few verses which tell of Angelica and Orlando, all of these names are eliminated from Book 3, but the preface to this edition carries fervent if jocular praise for the great Ferrarese. The Cipadense also includes a little self reference which is then omitted in the Vigaso Cocaio: “hinc Orlandini puerilia gesta pitocchi/ semper habet cerebro, cupidus simularia illi” (3, after 144). Perhaps Folengo feared that Limerno Pitocco’s Orlandino, with its loud Protestant declarations, would be banned, and so he thought better of subsuming this work into his final, hopefully immortal Maccheronee. A tendency not to advertise, falsely or otherwise, for other poets is evident only in the Vigaso Cocaio: the Cipadense repeats a previous erroneous retelling of the Margutte story. In Book 4, Cingar is introduced as someone who stems from the race of Margutte, who in turn is said to have died laughing while watching a monkey shit (4, after 129). This is the false account of Margutte’s death which we find in the Toscolana and in the Chaos. In the preface to the final edition, Folengo chides Ariosto and others for usurping Boiardo’s epic without p. 203 acknowledging their debt to him; in the text proper, Folengo avoids this perversion of Pulci’s famous death scene, without correcting it – six verses are simply cut. On the following page we find another self-reference in the Cipadense: the narrator is detailing Baldus’s preference for quails taken with sparrow-hawks and pheasants taken with “folengas.” This becomes “fasanos” in the Vigaso Cocaio (4, 170). It is inevitable that among the tens of thousands of tiny changes from the Cipadense to the Vigaso Cocaio that a Folengo word would be removed without the alteration bearing much significance, but Folengo’s near-names are only removed, not added; and here “folengas” has not been removed but substituted. It is as though Folengo wanted to leave to posterity a clean, “sophisticated” copy of his masterpiece, minus the name tags common to earlier Macaronic poems. The gentleman who helps the young Baldus is named neither Augustus, as in the Toscolana, nor Gonzaga, as in the Chaos, but Sordello. Besides being a convenient famous (thirteenth century) personality from Goito near Mantua, Sordello is also a poet to whom Dante assigns an ample role in his Purgatorio. In canto 6, Sordello embraces Vergil and sparks Dante’s fervid exhortation, “Ahi serva Italia, di dolor ostello,” which leads into the passionate rebuke of “Fiorenza mia.” In the Baldus, the elderly Sordello plays the staunch defender of Baldus accused of murder. He dies days after his eloquent defense, perhaps poisoned at the orders of the tyrant Gaioffus (4, 549-552). In the following book, the narrator launches into a diatribe against Mantua: p. 204 Et tu, quae primum sborrasti ventre poetam, Mantua, sic demens, sic grossolana fuisti, donaque nec nosti tibi gyramina coeli dant crebro, ut valeas urbs altera Roma vocari? Te stessam fallis, te stessam, Mantua damnas, tuque tibi stessae grandis menchiona fuisti. (5, 374-379) (And you, Mantua, who disgorged the first poet, demented, you were gross, nor did you recognize the gifts that the turning heavens brought you, they gave [you] so many, so that you could be called another Rome. You fail yourself, you damn yourself, Mantua, you are a great slut to yourself.) Ostensibly, Mantua is scolded here for having allowed Gaioffus to enchain Baldus, but, as we have just seen, the apostrophe begins with an allusion to Vergil, her first poet; thus, it is safe to say that Mantua is also at fault for not having recognized her second great poet, Baldus being a synecdoche for Folengo. However, all is not lost: At veniet tempus, veniet cito crede Cocaio, quem generosa domus, totum cantata per orbem, sanguine Caesarico veniens Gonzaga,… (5, 383-385) Mantua can and will be saved by Cocaio and Gonzaga. Instead of the fifty verses of florid praises of Federico and Isabella Gonzaga which fill the Toscolana, there is now a tritish salute to the courteous and kind Gonzaga proles followed by an ample disquisition on the House of Cocaius and Folengo. Instead of forty noble Mantuan families listed in the Toscolana, now only the Folengos are named. A detour on this illustrious warrior family begins: “Inde Cocaiorum surget casa bassa meorum,/ bassa quidem cuppis, sed rebus maxima gestis” and continues with a description of the family coat of arms, which appears everywhere: Apparent nostrae signalia vecchia fameiae scilicet in chartis, in muris, inque sepulchris: targa Folengazzi centum sbussata feritis p. 205 pendet adhuc muro,… (5, 405-408) (The ancient blazon of our family appears, if you will, on documents, on the walls, upon sepulchers: the Folengo shield, struck by a hundred wounds, still hangs on the wall...) As in the prefatory letter by Francesco Folengo, a tacit but solid connection is made between the poet Merlin Cocaio and the Mantuan Folengos, as though this were a known, accepted identity. In this version, Aquarius Lodola’s colorful details of the christening do not precede the poem, the reader is assumed to be sophisticated enough to handle the double identity. This diatribe against Mantua and its former tyrant (as was mentioned earlier, Federico peacefully took over the rule of the city upon the death of his father Francesco) turns into a Folengan call to patriotism, and a Cocaian (pace Ovid) call to poetry. Pietola Virgilio gaudet, Ceresara Pariso, Burchiello Fiorenza suo, Cipada Cocaio. Ut gravitate Maro, sic sic levitate Cocaius, praecellit vates, Typhin alter et alter Homerus. (5, after 414) Now Folengo deviates from the classic ratio of poets he extolled in the Toscolana, in order to offer his own Macaronic version of who’s who: Vergil is claimed not by Mantua but by the tiny Pietola (in Toscolana 25, the Latin name for this town, Andes, is used repeatedly to invoke Vergil). Naughty Catullus and fair Verona are cast aside in favor of Paride from Ceresara, near Mantua. Paride was known for his translations of Plautus; Baptista Mantuanus dedicates his Eclogues to him, but he is otherwise unremembered. Florence is honored again, but not for Dante’s achievements. The realist sonneteer, Domenico Burchiello, has replaced Italy’s most famous poet. p. 206 Just as Vergil is another Homer in regard to serious poetry, Merlin Cocaio is another Typhis (Michele degli Odasi, father of Macaronic verse). The last edition of Book 5, is similar in most respects, except that the comparison to other poets is entirely omitted. Laura Carotti sees these changes as “un mutamento nel gusto del poeta in senso anticlassico.”100 The thrust of the final chorus of Toscolana 25 is the impossibility of modern poets ever equaling the ancients; in the Cipadense, the praise of poets past disappears, and, as we have just seen, the classic paragons lose ground to little known “moderns.” Carotti rightly observes in the development of Folengo’s attitude toward other poets, an increase in self-assurance: questo atteggiamento di subordinazione alla poesia classica e alla tradizione e pian piano superato dal Folengo nel corso del suo lavoro, per lasciar posto, nella V.C., all’affermazione del valore assoluto della propria poesia maccheronica. (p. 202) In the end, not even the other underdogs are billed, out of all the Toscolana hype for Gonzagas, 100 L. Carotti, “La rielaborazione degli episodi della Domus Phantasiae della Zucca (Baldus 25),” Convegno, p. 202. and praise for great poets, only Merlin’s name remains: Me quoque, nec dubito, portabit phama per orbem, proque suo crescet plus magna Cipada Cocaio. (5, 415-416) The irreverent description of the monks of Motella in the Toscolana returns in the Cipadense, minus the 110-verse detour on indulgences and wicked church leaders. Not one word is said about suppressing the truth out of fear. Now we see a playful condemnation of the ignorant, p. 207 lusty, gluttonous Fra Iacopino and his conniving brothers. The narrator complains in anaphora that there are no longer any holy monks not tyrannized by their appetites, nor any who defend the church (putting mitered witches on asses), nor any who satisfy themselves with begged bread (“pitocato... pane”). Throughout the chapels, the description continues, in every nook, on every pillar in the church, papal bulls are posted: “... pontificum larghae pendant, ubi mille bolettae,/ pro quibus ad nostros datur indulgentia culpas.” But, instead of triggering off lengthy incriminating elaborations as in Toscolana Book 7, the word indulgences here merely triggers a switch in vehicles: “Sed tamen est melius Zambelli dicere vaccam” (8, 655). In the Vigaso Cocaio even this thirty verse section which borders on dangerous territory is omitted. The once hair-raising Toscolana version, ends up thirty years later as a somewhat innocuous gibe at the monastery of Motella: “Non ibi sobrieta, ibi nulla silentia, nulla/ disciplina datur, sed vita est congrua porcis./ Sed tamen est melius dicere vaccam.” Other passages follow these lines of caution in the Cipadense and greater caution in the fourth and final Vigaso Cocaio edition. In Book 9, Cingar’s hour long sermon (delivered to convince the people of the sacred powers of a knife for sale) retains only two of the dozen theologians cited by Cingar in the Toscolana: St. Thomas and Martin Luther. In 1521, Folengo qualified the names of both Luther and Erasmus by saying that they were perhaps invented by Cingar. Their inclusion was a taunt by the young author bent on proving that he was p. 208 not loathe to stir up trouble. Now, the nearly fifty-year-old poet is more cautious: “Sed quid non dixit Martinum contra Lutherum?/ quid non contra alios bravos de gente tedesca?” (9, after 249). It is as though he were saying, “There you see, I am being prudent.” But no news on Luther is the best news, so the Vigaso Cocaio omits this couplet entirely. One should bear in mind the fact that the Toscolana version did not disappear after the arrival of the Cipadense and the Vigaso Cocaio. Not only were the original editions still in circulation, but reprints began in 1522 and became numerous in the latter half of the sixteenth century. In the northeastern part of the United States dozens of copies of the Toscolana are still readily available. The large changes were no doubt noticed, and perhaps even small but significant changes, like the disappearance of Luther’s name, did not escape Folengo’s attentive readers. In Toscolana 10, we saw a simple ten-verse mid-poem invocation to the Muses Gosa and Thalia. The poet’s little skiff went to the sleepy port of Nolani, but in this version, now in Book 11, the skiff travels through the muddy, frog-filled waters of Cipada and heads for the perilous waters of Pietola (Vergil’s birthplace). For this voyage, not Seraphus but the Venetian editor and cantastorie Zoppinus (as in Chaos, p. 246) is invoked. Again we see Folengo alternate between a fictitious character (Seraphus) and a real, flesh and blood contemporary, as though these two beings were synonymous. The invocation is now made to the more macaronic muses, Lippa Mafelina Lodola and Simia Comina Bertuzza. No connection is made between the p. 209 muse named Lodola, and Aquario Lodola who shows up in this, Mafelina Lodola’s first book. My readers may remember that Maestro Aquario Lodola was mentioned by Francesco Folengo in his prefatory letter; it was Lodola who published the first versions at his own expense, and he is named the publisher of the Cipadense. Here, in Book 11, Aquario’s quick appearance on the battle front is again coupled with talk of money. After the fighting between Baldus’ gang and the citizens of Mantua has ceased, herbologist Aquarius Lodola and (mirabile dictu) his former enemy Scardaffus visit the wounded: accumulaverunt de paucis quippe guaritis, deque sibi occisis non pochis, mille cecinos. (11, 513-514) (they amassed, as you might expect, from the few men cured [by them] and the not so few men killed by them, a thousand ducats.) By a strange twist, these homicidal money-hungry herbologists become the previous authors of Baldus, and money becomes the moving force of all great poetry: Unde patet ratio, resolutave questio claret, quare tres illi de Baldi laudibus orbem implevere, librosque simul scripsere galantos, namque guadagnandi data causa, daturque canendi. Nec ferat Augustum sub sydera bocca Maronis, sentiat Augusti Raines nisi borsa Maronis.” (11, 518-520) (Whence it stands to reason, and the cancelled complaint illustrates why these three filled the world with praise of Baldus, and likewise, why they wrote gallant books, for earning money is the cause and shall be the cause for singing [praises]. Nor would the mouth of Maro carry Augustus to the stars, nor would the Rhine hear about Augustus if not for the purse of Maro.) Nor is this the only new textual reference to money, glorious money: in Book 13, when the Cipadense meet up with Manto (as in Toscolana 12), p. 210 she again praises the Gonzagas, and again she imparts her wisdom of the natural sciences to the would-be heroes. Then, in addition to the nature lore, she gives them practical advice: ... habendi denique plenam semper ducatis borsam donavit avisum: quod magis importat, magis altum recat honorem, quam studiando libros et stellis perdere sennum. (13, 340-344) (Finally, she gave the advice of having one’s purse always filled with ducats, since this is more important, this brings a man greater honor than does studying books and losing one’s wits on the stars.) 4.5.3 Calling the shots and posing for them The next significant change occurs in the beginning of Book 19 where our poet nastily asserts his dissimilarity from Vergil: Menter ego in Berghem lauratus, et urbe Cipada, praeparor ad sonitum gringhae cantare diablos, Fracassique provas, horrendaque facta balenae, altorium vestro, musae, donate Cocaio. Non ego frigidibus Parnassi expiscor aquabus, ceu Maro castronus, quo non castronio alter dum gelidas Heliconis aquas in corpora cazzat, agghiazzatque sibi stomacum, vinumque refudat, per quid? Per quatros soldos, dum cantat in umbra Dic mihi, Dameta – tondenti braga cadebat. Malvasia mihi veniat, non altra miora est manna, nec ambrosiae, nec nectares altra bevanda. (19, 1-12) (While I, the [poet] laureate in Bergamo and the city of Cipada, am preparing to sing to the sound of a cembalo about the devils, about the trials of Fracassus, about the deeds of the horrendous whale, give Cocaius your help, Muses. I do not fish in the frigid waters of Parnassus, as does Maro, the castrated (foolish), who is more castrated (foolish) than anyone else. While he plies his body with gelid Helicon waters, he freezes his stomach and refuses wine, whence his head aches and he ruptures a vein in his chest. For what? For a lousy two bits, while he sings in the shade “Speak to me, Dameta,” with his pants filling up and falling down. Let Malvasian wine come to me, no other manna is better, nor is ambrosia or nectar a better drink.) p. 211 This is the meanest of Merlin’s many attacks on Vergil; it sums up the Macaronic credo: scorn anything extrinsic to the supreme glory of the (one and only) Macaronic epic poet, especially anything considered to be of poetic value. This stance, instead of disgusting the reader, makes him an accomplice in Merlin’s scheme to triumph over all other poets. One must admit that compared to Merlin Cocaio, Vergil was something of a milquetoast. Not long after the virulent invocation, our heroes discover a tomb (19, 66-67). No longer is this Merlin’s tomb; now it houses the remains of two Babylonians: “Molchael et Bariel, alter magus, alter astrolech,/ ambo governarunt isto sua membra sepulchro.” As in the earlier versions, a black devil emerges from the tomb and a fierce battle ensues. The outcome is altered by an incident in which Bocalus, the amateur magician, is the protagonist. (This is that Bocalus who is said to stem from the Marone family, the one who appears alive under his tomb in the prefatory epistle.) Bocalus, in a hasty retreat at the sight of a monstrous devil astride a huge mule, ends up running off with a thorn bush in tow. Here the narrator is reminded of an incident in which his poorlygirthed mule ran off with saddle dangling; “ego Merlinus” landed head down in a stream* [mud]. Next, Bocalus manages to make his way to Guidone’s (Baldus’ father found blind and dying in Book 18) temporary tomb. From Guidone’s feet Bocalus grabs a crucifix and before he knows it, the devils are all fleeing. For his (unwitting) rout of the devils, Bocalus becomes the hero of the day. The Book ends: p. 212 Ergo Bocalus vivat, vivatque botazzus, vivat et antiquae domus inclita nostra Folengae. (Therefore long live Bocalus, and long live the bottle, and long live the illustrious house of the age-old Folengos.) How peculiar that the bottle rather than the crucifix is cheered, and the house of Folengo rather than the house of Guidone. Guidone was called a “Maecenas... alter” in the earliest. Versions of the Maccheronee; in the Orlandino, a Guidone is the founding father of the famous Gonzaga line: this would have been a good opportunity to strengthen the Guidone-Gonzaga connection. But instead, the poet chooses to praise his own family, despite the fact that it was Guidone’s crucifix which saved the day. Goffis sees in this finale “un naturale cenno d’intesa ad una famiglia di perseguitati per la loro fede nella salvezza senza meriti.”101 In partial agreeement with him is Barberi-Squarotti, who sees this as a message that only Christ can vanquish demons (Convegno). 101 Goffis, “La contestazione religiosa e linguistica nei testi folenghiani,” Convegno, p. 97. It is the strange play between fiction, profession of faith and ego-laden autobiography which is so characteristic of Folengo. In Book 20 a new character, Philofornus, Prince of Modena, joins the “barones” after a brief sea battle. (His name means “oven lover,” with the meaning of “forno” extending to the female genitalia* or anus) Although Philophornus is a valiant fighter, he is not the pristine, Aeneasarmed knight who was Philotheus in the first two editions of the Baldus. Thus both the metathesized religious name of p. 213 our author, and the epitaph of his heteronym Merlin drop out after the second version. These means of introducing one’s self were not uncommon in literature of this era. The Macaronic poets who preceded Folengo were especially fond of including themselves, by pen names, in their (short) works. Folengo eliminates these older forms of self presentation and introduces many new ways of calling attention to himself, the author/actor. As before, a Cato-like old man comes on the scene in the nick of time to stop Falchettus from returning Smiralda’s magic book to her. But this time no gloss informs us that this ancient is Merlin Cocaio; Book 21 ends with Smiralda being dragged off to Orcus, having been thwarted by this unnamed savior. Again it seems as though the reader is expected to recognize Merlin, almost as though he were expecting him. Book 22 opens with a brief appeal to Grugna to mount the narrator’s mule and finish the journey. It is important that the vates, the old fat bearded poet be known, so his story will be told ab ovo. And thus begins the famous autobiographical digression. First, in a loose imitation of Dante’s topographical account of the origins of Mantua (Inferno 20), the poet establishes the co-ordinates of the setting. Then the drama begins: the river Mincio divides the rival cities Pietola and Cipada, who like Rome and Carthage are in perpetual war: what can Cipada do to acquire a poet of Vergil’s stature? (22, 34-47). The town elects an ambassador and sends him to the tip of Parnassus to p. 214 speak with Phoebus Apollo. The ambassador does not mince words, he asks that: ... veluti de vate Pyetola tanto Virgilio godit, sic magnaa Cipada poetam possideat talem qui nervo carminis ipsum non tam Virgilium, sed Homerum buttet abassum, qui nec sint digni sibi nettezare culamen. (22, 62-66) (... just as Pietola thoroughly enjoys her poet Vergil, thus great Cipada should possess a poet who with the verve of his verse will unseat not only Vergil but Homer, who are not worthy of cleaning his backend.) Apollo cannot offer an easy solution; Homer and Vergil, “Illi poltrones sicophantes,” already emptied every last bit of gold from Apollo’s box. (Even Apollo is aware of the flattering, bumlike nature of the best poets.) Foreseeing an objection to this statement, Apollo counters: Si mihi Pontanum proponis, Sanque Nazarum, Si Fracastorum, si Vidam, sive Marullum, crede mihi, alchimia est quidquid dixere moderni. (22, 77-79) “I magis ad sguataros,” resounds Apollo’s advice, “Et clara trovare procazza/ regna lasagnarum, felix ubi vita menatur.” (“Go instead to the scullery servants and hunt to find the noble reign of lasagna, where a happy life is led.”) There the representatives of Cipada will find Tiphis, who, like Apollo himself, has dancing sisters all around him. They must hurry if the first Macaronic laurels are to be won by Cipada. After long travels, the happy, fruitful land is finally discovered and the ambassador is well received by Tiphis. The ambassador makes his request for a new recipe with which Cipada can acquire a “trippiferum... poetam/ cui Maro sit zagus et mulae p. 215 striggiator Homerus” (“a tripe-bearing poet to whom Maro will be a page and Homer a stable hand for his mule”). No sooner has Tiphis been petitioned, than the request is a fait accompli: Ergo putinellus clara de stirpe Folenghi/ eligitur patribus popoloque insemmma dunato.” (“Thus, a little boy from the illustrious Folengo clan is elected by the patricians and the people gathered together.”) Since all the citizens will benefit from this poet, all without exception are to be taxed for his upbringing. The baby is placed in the midst of the people, and right then a miracle takes place: just as Plato was fed by a swarm of bees, the infant is fed daily by a black merle, thus generating both a name for the poet, and an oft repeated refrain: “Merla Padum passat propter nutrire Cocaium.” (Earlier, a similar phrase, “passavit iam merla Padum,” was used to mean “the die is cast,” Book 7, 636.) Then Merlin is entrusted to a wise and learned man, who takes him to Bologna to study “et philosophastri baias sentire Peretti” (“and to hear the whoppers of the quack philosopher little Piero”). But the young Merlin, exactly like the young Baldus (in Book 3), uses his textbooks to cook sausages in. And he soon discovers his true calling, Ad macaroneas potius se tradidit artes, in quibus a teneris unguis fuit ille Cocaio praeceptore datus pinguisque poeta dicatus. (22, 126-129) (He preferred to throw himself into the Macaronic Arts, to which his tutor Cocaius had given him at a tender age and had declared him to be a plump (or fertile) poet.) p. 216 Should the reader have missed the first reference to “Peretti,” our author expands upon it: Dum Pompanazzus legit ergo Perettus, et omnis voltat Aristotelis magnos sotosora librazzos. Carmina Merlinus secum macaronica pensat et giurat nihil hac festivius arte trovari. (22, 129-132) (While little Pietro Pomponazzi lectures and turns all of Aristotle’s big bad books upside down, Merlin meditates on Macaronic poetry, and swears that nothing is more fun than this art.) As stated in Chapter One, the fact that Folengo insists on Merlin’s inattentive study at the feet of Pomponazzi should be at least as significant for Folengo studies as Billanovich’s insistence that Folengo could not have studied with the great philosopher. Here the Cipadense contains another twenty verses of the life and times of Merlin Cocaio. After writing the Moschaea and the Zanitonella, Merlin began together with some friends to construct the great Baldus. And here for the first time since the “Dialogus Philomusi” of 1521, Folengo mentions, but not by name, a companion of Merlin’s who for his strength virtue and quickness of mind was called Baldus (= courageous). The narrator who momentarily distinguishes himself from Merlin makes a point of establishing the chronology of these works against a background of the poet’s life: Talia Merlinus nobis essendo scolarus cantavit pueris non ut gentalia baiaffat: Quando cucullatae practicabat claustra Brigatae. (Such things Merlin sang to us boys while he was a student, not as the riff-raff tell tales, when he frequented the cloisters of the hooded brigade.) p. 217 All of a sudden, the person narrating the biographical passage has become a school chum of our poet. The candid narrator goes on to admit that Merlin had to abandon the as yet uncompleted Baldus because of some big tumult. Merlin then bartered (barattavit) his mind and his habit for a strict rule. He relinquished the inane Baldus and turned to better endeavors. The Paganini spoke of a libidinous act which Nocentina almost succeeded in committing with young Folengo; the Toscolana did not mention the libidinous act, but only some fraudulent trick which the bad witch Nocentina played on the “juvenum Folengum.” In the Cipadense Nocentina is called Smiralda; when Merlin enters the action of the poem to thwart her, not a word is said about any fraudulent or libidinous act, but instead the reader is treated to this long autobiographical digression. It is interesting that Folengo does not speak in the first person here, but rather, he maintains the fiction of Merlin the character existing apart from Merlin the poet. It is particularly interesting that this last section which delineates the difference between the student Merlin and the monk, as well as giving a description of the original Baldus, is not preserved in the final edition. Thus, only in the “Dialogus Philomusi,” found in just two of the dozens of extant Toscolana copies, and in this the rarest of the four versions of the Maccheronee, do we find allusions to the real “Baldus” and to the “disordine magno” which forced Merlin to flee. p. 218 The final book also shows vast changes.102 Crispis, Carolus and the concern with deceptive appearances is absent (see Chapter Two). The depiction of the church in decay is even more poignant, occupying over sixty verses (25, 221-283). There is more emphasis on the right of the macaronic poet to stand alongside other poets. O menchionazzi, qui fraschis tempora perdunt talibus at que suos credunt sic spendere giornos utilius quam qui macaronica verba misurant, quam qui supra humeros Pasquini carmina taccant. Isti nempe sua tandem levitate recedunt, vos ad nestoreos semper stultescitis annos. (25, 574-579) (O nitwits, who lose time in similar nonsense, but who believe they are spending their days more usefully than those who measure out their macaronic words, than those who tack up poems on the shoulders of Pasquinus. These (poets) eventually retreat from their levity, you others always stultify yourselves, until Nestorean old age.) This is the third time in the Cipadense that Folengo has spoken of Pasquinus. In the preface, Francesco Folengo speaks of his contemporaries’ distaste for “le menzogne o di macaronesco o di pasquiniano stile”; in Book 23, Pasquinus himself gives a wonderful account of his life as a tavern keeper first in Rome, then in Heaven, and finally in Hell. This is the same Pasquinus for whom a statue was erected (a bust actually, copied from an ancient statue). Poets were fond of attaching their satires and scurrilous pieces to the shoulders of Pasquinus. This could be an 102 In conjunction with this brief comparison of the last book of the Toscolana with that of the Cipadense/ Vigaso Cocaio, see the articles by G. Barberi-Squarotti, pp. 153-185, and L. Carotti, pp. 186-208, in Convegno. allusion to Aretino who was famous for his Pasquinate.103 (In the Toscolana this character is named Luca p. 219 Philippus.) Just as in the Toscolana, the barbers in the Pumpkin are ready to remove a tooth for every lie told by poets, singers, astrologers and their like. Our poet acknowledges his imminent end in the gigantic Pumpkin of punishment. This time around, Folengo does not list contemporary poets who are going to suffer along with him. In fact, he does not mention the name of even one other poet, but does incriminate Homer and Vergil by (insulting) allusion: non mihi convenis minus est habitatio Zucchae, quam qui greghettum quendam praeponit Achillem forzibus Hectoreis: quam qui alti pectora Turni spezzat per dominum Aeneam, quem carmine laudat moeonia mentum mitra, crinemque madentem. (25, 644-648) (the house of the Pumpkin is not less fitting than for him who put that little Greek Achilles before Hector’s strength; than for him who split the breast of noble Turnus by Lord Aeneas, whom he praised in song: “his moistened hair, [bound] to his chin with a Maeonian bonnet” [these are jealous Iarbus’ words when he calls Aeneas a Paris, “cum semiviro comitatu”, Aeneid 4, 213-217].) Even on gallows row, Merlin demands to be recognized as better than the best poets of all times. He indirectly includes yet another world-renowned poet, when he proclaims: “Zucca mihi patria est: opus est hic perdere dentes/ tot quot in immenso posui mendacio libro.” Folengo almost always contrives to portray other poets at their worst, Ovid says “Sulma mihi patria est” when he is in exile, in his autobiographical ending of the Tristia (4, 10, 3). Here, Ovid also 103 Cian wrote an article, “Teofilo Folengo e Pasquino” where, unfortunately this possible allusion to Aretino is not addressed, in Nuova Antologia, 1935, vol. 103, pp. 364-384. p. 220 remembers the famous poets of his day, and he thanks the Muses for having given him fame in his lifetime, fame which Folengo does not yet enjoy.) On this note Merlin waves farewell to Baldus, leaving him in the hands of another, and wishing him a safe and happy return to the upper world after he will have destroyed Lucifer’s reign. Our poet then draws out his finale with a long Vergilian cadence: Tange peroptatem, navis stracchissima, portum, tange, quod amisi longinqua per aequora remos: he heu, quid volui, misero mihi, perditus Austrum floribus et liquidis immisi fontibus apros. Quae tamen incidi digna est sententia vates cortice non tenero, Corydon quam dicit Alexi: marmore sed duro, phrygius quam proferat haeros. Absolvit me forte Trahit sua quemque voluptas. (Touch the long sought port, my oh so weary ship, touch, for I lost my oars in the distant waters. Oh, alas, what did I, a lost man, wish for my wretched self: I let the southwind amid the flowers and the boars amid the gleaming fountains; worthy is the sentence of the poet which I must engrave not on tender bark as Corydon says to Alexis, but on hard marble, as the Phrygian hero said. Absolve me.... Each according to his own pleasure. After the errata corrige the final words of the Cipadense are not in Merlin’s sonnet, which we saw in the Toscolana, but in a one-page letter by a “Nicolo Costanti altrimenti lo scorucciato.” This letter, clearly in Folengo’s style, explains how much more serious the loss of Merlin’s work would be than the loss of, say, Vergil, Dante or Petrarch’s work. Loss of these latter authors would signify the loss of one great opus among many in the same language whereas the loss of Merlin’s work would be sad for so many languages. And more importantly, the Macaronic works are one with Merlin: “questa sì p. 221 meravigliosa lingua è riposta in questo tale autore, come in specchio ed idea di tal idioma. E senza lui è fredda, muta, stroppiata, disgraziata e peggio assai che non sono i macaroni senza botiro.” Perhaps this letter was meant to discourage once and for all any would-be successors to Folengo’s macaronic throne. 4.5.4 Teofilo Folengo and Vigaso Cocaio to the readers Much of the previous section was devoted to a comparison of the fourth edition to earlier editions; there are yet a few more elements which distinguish the Vigaso Cocaio from its predecessors. First of all, the volume was not published until 1552, and Folengo, after returning to the Mantuan region from Sicily, died on December 9, 1544. Eight years after his death, the Vigaso Cocaio edition was published by Pietro Ravani in Venice. The text was reissued in 1554 and 1561 and forms the basis for the three editions published in this century (Luzio, 1911; Tonna-Dossena 1957; Cordié, 1977). The Vigaso Cocaio is highlighted by beautiful illustrations which far outshine the rather primitive prints of the Toscolana. The handsome black cover (of the 1554 copy available at Harvard) is engraved in gold with the Folengo coat of arms (three blackbirds). This solidifies all previous links between Folengo and Merlin Cocaio, or rather Merlin Cocalius: the sixteenth century editions of the Vigaso Cocaio all carry the title “Merlini Cocalii poetae mantuani macaronicorum poemata.” p. 222 Not only are all the trappings and glosses gone, but even the pointing finger, prominent in the Cipadense, has disappeared. What remains is an elegant adventure epic, and a prefatory epistle “Vigaso Cocaio alli lettori.” Here, Vigaso, who gives his name to this final version of the Maccheronee, explains his connection to the author: Girolamo Folengo mantoano, ed a me discipuli o nella professione grammaticale, fu da suo padre mandato a Bologna in studio, per udire il grande aristotelico Pereto Pomponazzo, ma volse ch’io parimente andassi con esso lui, solamente per guardarlo che non perdesse il tempo e i denari. (Prior to this posthumous preface, Folengo’s Christian name appeared only once, in its Latin form, in the “Dialogus Philomusi. “) Vigaso admits that he had little control over his lively charge: under the name Limerno, he composed La fanciulezza di Orlando paladino “opera ingeniosa ed assai mordace.” (Throughout this part of the epistle, Vigaso refers to Folengo in the third person without using any name or title for him.) Then, it says, he wrote the twenty-five books about Baldus, under the name Merlin. This confusion of chronology, and the change in the Orlandino title, work to dispel doubt about the authorship of this preface – who but Folengo himself would have diverged from facts so easily verifiable? However, the style is only weakly reminiscent of our author’s. After mentioning the Moschaeae and the Zanitonella, Vigaso continues, “Alfine come bizaro e fantastico che era, mandò fuora, sotto nome di Triperuno, il Chaos.” It appears that our poet did not want to rely on anyone else to establish him, Girolamo/Teofilo Folengo, as the one and only author of all these Italian, Macaronic and Italian works. p. 223 Next, Vigaso adds more fuel to the fire of Folengo’s fame: Fatto tutto questo, per un gran disordine e pericolo della vita fummo costretti tornarsi alla patria con la zucca piena più di lasagne che di filosofia. Laonde ebbe egli dal padre tal rimbrotto e reprensione, che in guisa di disperato ando errando per lo mondo, fatto in prima cortegiano, poi soldato, poi romito. Most of this information recapitulates the verses of the Cipadense autobiographical digression which are not included in Vigaso Cocaio Book 22. Our poet deemed it more fitting of a lasting epic poem to contain fewer auto-bio-bibliographical details, even if he could not refrain from providing these “facts” in an adjunct text. The usage of zucca for head in the phrase underlined above, is particularly loaded here, as the final verses of the Baldus proclaim: “Zucca mihi patria est.” Folengo’s domain is his mind, which is filled with lasagna, a metonymy for Macaronic verses. “Zucca mihi patria est” could be a rallying cry for the Renaissance artist. As a “romito,” Folengo, together with his brother, dedicated himself to sacred books. Vigaso quotes from the Umanità di Cristo figluolo di Dio that octave in which the poet tells us that he is quitting his “nome di leggerezza” and returning to “quel che sona amor di Dio.” In an imitation of Dante in the Vita Nova, Vigaso explains that he means by “nome di leggerezza,” Merlin, and so fourth. Then he quotes both the confessional poem “De Seipso” (which we saw above) and a few lines from the Ianus. All of the titles and all of the citations are slightly altered by Vigaso. p. 224 Finally, we are told that while persevering with his brother on a good and safe path, the poet died: “alfine d’una febbre maligno infermato, rese l’anima al suo fattore.” Vigaso and Teofilo’s brother rushed off to examine the poet’s papers. They found that he had redone the Maccheronee, “per cagione di ricantare.” It is “tutta tramutata, e di gran lunga più dotta, faceta e onesta della prima,” which is what Francesco Folengo claimed for the Cipadense, adding also that the third version was “men rincrescevole della prima.” Vigaso cites a tetrastich which looks like that of the title page of the Cipadense: Tam mihi dissimilis sum factus et alter, ut illud primum opus alterius constet, hoc esse meum. Causa recantandi phama est aliena, malorum iudicio et calami cuspide fossa mei. (I have become so dissimilar from myself, and different that that first work is evidently another’s, this being mine. The cause for retraction is the reputation of others, wounded by the opinion of the wicked and by the point of my pen.) Because all the other quotes had been altered only slightly in Vigaso’s rendering, one assumes that this too is but an imperfect rendition of the Cipadense tetrastich. But those verses gave quite a different message. Tam sibi dissimilis, tamque alter habetur ab illo Merlini, ut primum nesciat autor opus: Causa recantandi fama est aliena, malorum iudicio, haud vatis simplice morsa ioca. In the Cipadense, the emphasis is on the work which has changed (“Tam sibi dissimilis”); in the Vigaso preface, it is the person of the poet who has changed (“Tam mihi dissimilis”). The author recognizes the previous work, but it seems to him to be written by another person. Only this, the fourth and final version, is truly the poet’s opus. The p. 225 most striking change is of course the admission of hurtful words in the Vigaso Cocaio: the Cipadense maintained that people were harmed only by the “iudicio malorum” not by “a poet’s simple joke.” Now, however, in this new poem which masquerades as a poem already published, Folengo admits to having wounded others with his pen. How poignant is this perpetual obituary of our poet announcing his own death from a fever, and, at the last possible moment, his guilt as a sharp-tongued poet. The two executors also find “un poema vario” which they intend to publish so that one might see the difference between the name Merlin and the name Teofilo. They discover a “Si Deus est animus” (a provocative title otherwise unknown), and the Palermitana, published finally in 1876, discussed below. Next is a section of pure Folengan prose, to contrast with the only vaguely familiar style of the earlier part of the preface (it could be that our poet really was dying of a fever, and hence only capable of sketching out what he wanted printed in his final piece). In this second part of the open epistle, the poet is referred to several times by the name Merlin, he is not just an anonymous third person as before. There is no transition between the life-and-times beginning and the gem of literary criticism which follows. The section begins by telling us that our poet was a diligent student of the most excellent Conte Matteo Maria Boiardo da Scandiano - “altro Omero in volgar stile,” [just as Cocaius in the Cipadense was called the Macaronic Homer]. Merlin was concerned that Boiardo’s “onorate e stupevole invenzioni” are being denigrated and buried by those who usurp his stories and give him no credit for them. Merlin p. 226 himself, we are told by the omniscient Vigaso, met with Ariosto in Ferrara, and he understood from Ariosto that he [Ariosto] would have written little or nothing if he had not had Boiardo’s text at hand. Vigaso adds that Ariosto, the Tuscan Vergil, could have justly entitled his work: “La fine de l’Orlando innamorato del gran Boiardo, composta pel suo discepolo messer Lodovico Ariosto.” No doubt, Ariosto would rather have died than admit to his great debt to Boiardo in such a forthright and humble fashion. Folengo probably indulged in this wish-fulfillment because he was worried lest a poet’s name be lost to posterity because other poets failed to give him due credit, something he, as a writer of a great adventure story in Macaronic Latin, had reason to fear. As it turned out, sixty years later, a French translation of the Baldus appeared with the title “Histoire macaronique de Merlin Cocaie prototype de Rabelais”; to this day Merlin Cocaio is better known in France and elsewhere as one of Rabelais’ precursors, but not as one of Teofilo Folengo’s heteronyms. Merlin then laments having abandoned his plan to rewrite Boiardo to another poet who took too many liberties with Boiardo’s text, and then didn’t even name him as the author of the revised Orlando Innamorato. This poet must be Francesco Berni, whose Orlando Innamorato was published posthumously in 1541. Because of his dissatisfaction with this redoing, Merlin resumed his aborted work on Boiardo’s text, which will soon be brought to light; the work never surfaced. Folengo followed his own dictates: the Paganini never mentions Merlin’s father in Macaronic verses, Tifi degli Odasi. The Toscolana p. 227 mentions his name briefly (in Book 25) and the latter two editions accord Typhis full honors (in Books 5 and 22). Like most converts, our honest poet wanted two save others from the sin of literary ingratitude. The remainder of the preface is a partial repetition of the letter by Nicolo Costanti which closed the Cipadense. But after replaying the excellence of Merlin’s Macaronic art, Vigaso appeals to the audience for its gratitude: Ringraziate dunque lui primamente, che ha composto si miracoloso poema; da poi me (se non avete altro che fare) che l’ho recavato disotto terra, essendo egli sepolto in altro che nel formagio… The final sentence moves from this rather black humor to a salutation that sounds like something out of Rabelais’ great book: Venite dunque tutti ch’avete fame: vedete, leggete. Mangiate, sfamatevi, e ricordatevi sovra tutto non esser cosa al mondo più macaronesca che esser macarone e macaroni. Buon pro vi faccia. As we have just seen, some of the information which is omitted from Book 22, finds its way into Vigaso’s preface (the elencation of Folengo’s works, the allusion to the “disordine magno”). Other elements are expanded into a paragraph entitled “Argomento sopra il Baldo.” Here we are once again told about the original Baldus, who inspired the poet. The Cipadense did not name this lad, but he is named here: Francesco Donesmonda. The first and last time we saw this name was in the “Dialogus Philomusi” of 1521. But unlike that dialogue, this paragraph does not relate information about Donismundus’ p. 228 murder. But new details are provided: he was named Francesco for Francesco Gonzaga who held him at the baptismal font. His praises are sung; it is said that he was called Baldus for his “baldanza.” Others of the poet’s friends from his days in Bologna were likewise inspirations for Cingar, Falchettus, and other characters. It is curious that Folengo removes this information about Donismundus from the final edition of the Baldus proper, as though there really had been some fatal tumult. Odd, too, how the rarest of Folengo’s writings, the “Dialogus Philomusi,” guards the only mention of the murder of this courageous young man. As with the inclusion of the sorely tempted “juvenum Folengum” episode, Teofilo shows himself unwilling to hush up scandals in which he was involved. By making himself an object of and an accessory to serious mishaps, he aggrandizes himself, and titillates the reader. 4.6 UNFINISHED BUSINESS The Palermitana written by “Don Teofilo Folengo, Mantoano, Monaco Cassinese” in 1539 or so, was not published until 1876.104 This book length poem, which our author calls a “poco elegante e petrarchesca composizione” repeats in terza rima some of the subject matter of the Humanità del figluolo di Dio. It includes many of the themes dear to Folengo: his names, his fame as a poet, wickedness wrought by women, the necessity of faith for salvation, tyrants, bad shepherds (monks), p. 229 etc. The Palermitana also contains passages which may help to explain why it lay unpublished for nearly 350 years. The tercets themselves (grouped in two books of cantos) read somewhat like those of the Trionfi, but the role of the poet is closest to that of Dante in his Divina Commedia. In the first book of thirty cantos, Teofilo is a pilgrim, in Palestine, when he meets up with an old pastor (Palermitano) in whose company he witnesses a pageant which begins with the sybils, includes many Old Testament figures, and ends with Christ’s birth. Teofilo at one point introduces himself to other pilgrims in a boastful manner: ... il nome mio va lunge e dalle bocche molto e dall’inchiostro. Teofilo mi chiamo e ciò mi punge, che un nome tant’amor di Dio sonando, troppo dall’esser mio lontana e sgiunge. (1, 21, 145-149) Palermitano at times seems like a Vergilian guide, (he dies and is buried after the nativity of Christ: 1, 28). At other times he could be Cacciaguida: Ben l’hai tu ricerato in fondo, o del mio ceppo onor, gentil Folengo, che in scrivere a null’altro vai secondo. 104 G. di Marzo published the Palermitana in Biblioteca storica e letteraria della Sicilia, 22, pp. 1- 256. Quotes are from Renda’s 1914 edition. Il ver ciò mi fa dir, non ti losengo, che sopra i salmi a noi quant’hai produtto, tenuto è l’eccelente, ed io sì il tengo. (1, 17, 13-18) His overt declaration of fame, fortune spurned, and the ultimate domestic position (he serves the Holy Family) are somewhat balanced by other statements in which he seems to cower before the greatness of certain predecessors. In 1, 19, Folengo compares poetry to a garden p. 230 which to be pleasing requires variety, and then he goes on to express his pique at being a second rate poet: Molti che scrivon son, che ‘n gli antri e grotte fur di Parnaso a bevver, ma gli eletti e rari a noi del volgo dan le botte. Però quei soli vanno ad esser letti; e noi come abortivi stiamo ascosi, che l’eccelenza lor ci rende abbietti. Quanti d’amor han scritto, e sono esplosi, che il pover lor giudizio non attese a’ rai di quel del lauro luminosi. Quanti di guerre, che il gran ferrarese, fuor che il suo maestro ed altri duo, vilmente a far coperchi agli orcioletti rese. Writing in terza rima, Folengo once again tips his hat to Petrarch and Ariosto, sullenly acknowledging their superiority, or at least their greater fame. Folengo’s only hope is to please us, his readers yet to come: ma s’alcun forse, avendo stil decente d’ornarne un bel soggetto inusitato, come sì sempre adescasi la gente, del ver s’appone e celebrar lo stato, cacciando i sogni lunge e le chimere, con che hanno i nostri lumi* [Lui] sempre adombrato [che i vani giudicaro senza mere favole loro il porre Cristo in carte non esser grato e men poter piacere,] se tale avrà giudizio presso all’arte onde proceda il varar a tempo, questa fia letto a pieno e non in parte. E, se per esser nuovo, ed in quel tempo, che in l’ossa vive, ancora dispiacesse, non gli’ne incresca: piacerà col tempo. Così pretendo io far. Ma troppo eccesse questa digression; troppe son l’orme che fuor di strade il mio cavallo impresse (1, 19, 37-66) Whether or not Folengo’s text will be pleasing to future readers, he was accurate in predicting it’s lack of success with his contemporaries: the Palermitana lay unpublished for centuries and was often considered just another name for the drama “L’Atto della Pinta.” p. 231 Later, there is talk of a lupo who is intent upon destroying especially the leaders of the flocks (1, 30, 85-100). Then, outrageous statements arrive with the nativity of Christ. Teofilo Folengo is present at the birth of Baby Jesus. He builds a bungalow for the holy family, in order to keep out the scum, who would draw near “per fare le cose sconce” (1, 30, 72). Folengo amasses reeds and sticks to construct this hut: Io me le porto alle mie gemme ascose, per anco più celarle, acciò proposte non siano a’ porci ed a somier le rose. (1, 30, 82-84) But, despite the dwelling Folengo has erected, the masses attempt to enter. Venian talor a noi confuse frotte: io con dolci parole le affrenai, e pur vi furo alcune teste rotte. Volean entrar, ed io gridava: – Mentre che noi romani e gente di Quirino qui stiamo, non vogl’io ch’alcun v’entre. Noi siamo della famiglia del divino Imperador; guardate al fatto vostro; non son io circonciso, ma latino! (1, 30, 106-114) What can this be but a spoof on Roman clerical snobs? These passages are similar to those in Toscolana Book 7, where the author laments the fact that the poor are often excluded from the same Church that welcomes the wealthy, but by having Teofilo Folengo himself beat back the shepherds who have come to worship “his” baby Jesus, the rebuke has more force. p. 232 And Mary appreciates Folengo’s efforts, she merely tells him not to work so hard (“Folengo,” she says, “e perché fai più che non puoi?”). The Mother of God, who insists that Folengo call her simply Mary, consults our pilgrim on such weighty matters as whether or not she should visit cousin Elizabeth and baby John. Folengo holds Jesus at his circumcision because Joseph is too nervous (2, 3, 43-77). Although it was not uncommon for authors to urge their readers to “immedesimarsi” in the lives of the saints, here Folengo transgresses the bounds of propriety. For this extremity of self-presentation Folengo condemned this rather lively biblical Palermitana to the silent status of an unpublished work; the less whimsical Humanità del figliuolo di Dio was reissued twice during the Counter-Reformation. So, in this final analysis, we can see how Folengo’s continual intrusions into his works place him at the forefront of Renaissance writers and at the bottom of the list of famous authors. Despite the immediate appeal of the intrusions into the poems and into the packaging of the texts, Folengo eventually lost ground because his most articulate readers were unable to juggle the many heteronyms which they encountered. I am confident that now, with Carlo Cordié’s Opere di Teofilo Folengo and this dissertation (toute proportion gardée) “Teofilo Folengo: Ecce Homo,” Folengo studies will undergo an unprecedented flourishing. p. 233 Appendix One Editions of Folengo’s Works [Note that between 1984 and 2018 many new editions have been published.] (For details on these works in Italy, see Carlo Cordié’s thorough account of them in his Opere di Teofilo Folengo, 1977.) 1517 PAGANINI Baldus: 6230 verses. Liber macaronices XVII. Venice: Alessandro Paganini. January 1, 1517. Available at the Boston Public Library and Harvard’s Houghton Library. 1520 reprints of the Paganini with added glosses: Milano: Cesare Arrivabene. January 1, 1520. At the Library of Congress. Milano: Agostino da Vimercate, at the expense of the Fratelli da Legnano. November 17, 1520. 1521 TOSCOLANA Baldus: 12,668 verses. Opus Macaronicorum. Toscolana da Garda: Aquario Lodola [Alessandro Paganini]. 1521. Yale’s Beinecke Library. Lechi Toscolana contains a rare extra “Dialogus Philomusi” discovered and transcribed by Cordié, also found in one of the three Toscolana editions held in Houghton Library. 1522 reprint in Milano: Agostino da Vimercate for Nicola da Gorgonzola. Reprinted also in 1564, 1572, 1573, 1581, 1585, 1613, 1692, 1768-1771, and in 1882-1883 by Attilio Portioli. Many of these editions are available at Harvard, Yale, and Columbia. c. 1535 CIPADENSE Baldus: 15,522 verses. Macaronicorum poema. Cipada [Venice]: Aquario Lodola [Alessandro Paganini]. Sine data; preface gives October, 1530 as date of completion. Not available in the United States. p. 234 [CIPADENSE] 1555 reprint in Venice: Boselli. Columbia’s Butler and Harvard’s Houghton Libraries. 1552 VIGASO COCAIO (posthumous) Baldus: 14,940 verses. Macaronicorum poemata. Venice: Pietro Ravani. Reprint in 1554 and 1561 by Ravani: all three available at Houghton Library. 1911 critical edition of this last version, by Alessandro Luzio, Scrittori d’Italia, Bari: Laterza. Bi-lingual edition based on the Vigaso Cocaio text, by G. Dossena and G. Tonna, Milano: Feltrinelli, 1958, 2 vols. 1526 L’ORLANDINO Venice: Fratelli da Sabia. July, 1526. Houghton and Butler Libraries. [Apology added in 1527; many reprints.] L’Orlandino re-published in 1530, 1539,1550, 1773, 1841, 1889, and 1911. 1526* [1527] CHAOS DEL TRIPERUNO Published together with L’Orlandino in Venice: Fratelli da Sabia. November, 1526.* [Does not exist] Houghton Library. 1527 reprint of the joint volume. Chaos del Triperuno reprinted in 1546, 1889, and 1911. 1533 L’HUMANITA’ DEL FIGLIUOLO DI DIO Venice: Aurelio Pincio. August 13, 1533. Houghton. Reprinted in 1567, 1578 and 1912. 1534 POMILIONES, IANUS, VARIUM POEMA p. 235 “In Promontorio Minervae ardente Sirio,” but probably in Venice: Aurelio Pincio, 1534. (Pomiliones written by (and perhaps with) Teofilo’s brother, Giambattista. Butler and Houghton. 1540 PALERMITANA Not published until 1876, by G. Di Marzo, in Biblioteca storica e letteraria di Sicilia, 22. Published again by Renda in 1914. “L’ ATTO DELLA PINTA” AND “HAGIOMACHIA” Minor works; the latter are still partially unpublished lives of the martyrs. (I am indebted to all of the fine libraries where I have been welcomed to carry out my research.) Appendix Two Major Personalities Connected with Folengo PAGANINI edition Merlinus Cocaius: Author of the Macaronic Latin epic Baldus, sculptor, engraver, and an elderly character in the poem. Magister Aquario Lodola: Discoverer and aggressive public relations man for the Macaronic opus; provides marginal glosses throughout the text. Philotheus: Anagram of Teofilo; the character is a flawless knight; he uncovers Merlin’s tomb in the text. juvenum Folengum: This poor youth is alluded to in regard to his near temptation by a vixen, Nocentina. TOSCOLANA edition All of the above characters and a new one: Seraphus (spelled also Serraffus, Seraffus, etc.) This mago-poet is p. 236 something like Merlin’s naughty double. CIPADENSE edition Merlinus and Seraphus survive; Philotheus and the young Folengo drop out; Aquario Lodola makes a cameo appearance as a character in the poem proper. Prefatory letter by Francesco Folengo VIGASO COCAIO edition (posthumous) Same as the Cipadense, except that the new prefatory letter is by Vigaso Cocaio. L’ ORLANDINO Limerno Pitocco: Author of this poem in Italian octaves. Merlin mentioned in passing. CHAOS DEL TRIPERUNO Authored by Triperuno in conjunction with Merlino, Limerno and Fulica (Latin for Folenga). These characters are quite different in the Chaos than they are in their own previous works. L’HUMANITA DEL FIGLIUOLO DI DIO Folgo cited as a great poet. POMILIONES Theophilus, also called Misopono is major participant in these dialogues. PALERMITANA, Teofilo, Filoteo, Folengo caro protagonist in this biblical narrative. [Merlino cited as one name of the author.] p. 237 CRITICAL WORKS ON FOLENGO Barberi-Squarotti, Giorgio. “Bruno e Folengo,” Giornale Storico della Letteratura Italiana (hereafter GSLI), 135 (1958), 51-60. Billanovich, Giuseppe. “Per una revisione della biografia di Teofilo Folengo,” Reale istituto veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti: Atti, 96: 2 (1936-1937), 775-796. _____. “Un nuovo Folengo: Conclusione del mite di Merlino,” Reale istituto veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti: Atti, 97: 2 (1937-1938), 365-481. _____. “L’Atto della Pinta” di Teofilo Folengo,” Rivista italiana del dramma, 2 (1938), 205227. _____. Tra Don Teofilo e Merlin Cocai. Napoli: Pironti, 1948. Biondolillo, Francesco. La Macaronea di Merlin Cocai: Saggio critico. Palermo: A. Trimalchi, 1911. Bonora, Ettore. Le Maccheronee di Teofilo Folengo. Venezia: Neri-Pozza, 1956. _____. “Teofilo Folengo,” Letteratura italiana: I minori, vol. 2. Milano: Marzorati, 1961, pp. 987-1018. _____. Critica e letteratura del Cinquecento. Torino: Gianichelli, 1964. _____. Retorica e invenzione: Studi sulla letteratura italiana del Rinascimento. Milano: Rizzoli, 1970. _____. “Teofilo Folengo,” Dizionario critico della letteratura italiana. Torino: UTET, 1973, pp. 98-102. Borsellino, Nino. Gli anticlassicisti del Cinquecento. Bari: Laterza, 1973. Bosco, Umberto. “Atti del Convegno sul tema: la poesia rusticana del Rinascimento,” 10-13 ottobre, 1968, Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, collezione “Problemi attuali di scienza e di cultura,” 199 (1969). Branca, Vittorio. “Due note folenghiane,” La Rinascita, 5 (1942), 491-515. p. 238 Buehrens, John Allan. “Teofilo Folengo: A Prefatory Study on Historical and Literary Perspectives,” B.A. Thesis, Harvard, 1968. Carotti, L. Goggi. “La rielaborazione degli episodi della Domus Phantasiae della Zucca (Baldus 25),” Convegno, Cestaro, Clemente. “Vita mantovana nel Baldus con nuove osservazioni su l’arte e la satira del Folengo,” Reale Accademia Virgiliana di Mantova: Atti, n.s., 8- 9 (1915-1917), 21-160; 3-73. Chiesa, Mario. “La tradizione linguistica e letteraria cristiano-medievale nelle Maccheronee del Folengo,” GSLI 144 (1972), 48-86. _____. “A proposito di un’antologia folenghiana,” GSLI, 155 (1978), 268-288. Cian, Vittorio. “Teofilo Folengo e Pasquino,” Nuova Antologia, 379 (1935), 364-384. Continelli, Giovanni. Il “Baldus” di Merlin Cocai: Studio critico. Città di Castello: Lapi, 1904. Cotronei, Bruno. “Il contrasto di Tonin e Bighignol e due ecloghe maccheroniche di Teofilo Folengo,” GSLI, 36 (1900), 281-324. Cordié, Carlo. “Le quattro redazioni del Baldus di Teofilo Folengo,” Reale Accademia di Torino: Memorie, 68 (1935-1936), 144-248. _____. “Teofilo Folengo e la critica moderna dal DeSanctis ai nostri giorni,” La Rassegna, 44 (1936), 157-175. _____. “Sulla compagine del Baldus, Il Convivium, 9 (1937), 509-548. _____. “Il linguaggio maccheronico e l’arte del Baldus,” Archivium 21 (1937), 1-80. _____. “Metamorfosi di Berto Panata (notarella folenghiana),” GSLI, 120 (1947), 35-58. _____. “Rassegna folenghiana,” GSLI, 136 (1949), 160-186. _____. “L’edizione principe delle Maccheronee folenghiane e le sue due ristampe,” La Bibliofilia, 51 (1949), 37-85. _____. “Due dimenticati critici di Teofilo Folengo (Francesco Berlingieri e Albino Caffaro),” Lettere Italiane, 2 (1950), 36-45. _____. “Ricerche bibliografiche intorno a Teofilo Folengo,” Miscellanea Giovanni Galbiati, vol. 2 (1951), pp. 329-340. _____, ed. Le Opere di Teofilo Folengo. Milano: Ricciardi, 1977. Croccioni, Giovanni. Le tradizoni popolari nella letteratura italiana, edited Giuseppe Anceschi. Firenze: Olschki, 1970. p. 239 Croce, Benedetto. Poeti e scrittori del primo e del tardo Rinascimento, vol. 1. Bari: Laterza, 1945. Cultura letteraria e tradizione popolare di Teofilo Folengo. Atti del convegno tenuto a Mantova il 15-17 ottobre, 1977. Edited by E. Bonora and M. Chiesa. Hereafter Convegno. Milano: Feltrinelli, 1979. Delepierre, M. Octave. Macaronea ou Mélanges de littérature macaronique. Paris: M. Garcia, 1852. Faccioli, Emilio, editor. Mantova: Le lettere, vols. 1-2. Mantova: Istituto Carlo D’Arco, 1962. Filosa, Carlo. Nuove ricerche e studi su Teofilo Folengo. Venezia: Libreria Emiliana, 1953. Fontes-Baratto, Anna. “Mantoue et Cipada dans les quatre rédactions du Baldus de Teofilo Folengo,” Ville et campagne dans la littérature italienne de la Renaissance, vol. 1, pp. 976. Gaspary, Adolfo. Geschichte der italienischer Literatur. Berlin, 1888. Genthe, F.W. Geschichte der Macaronischen Poesie und Sammlung ihrer vorzuglichsten Denkmale. Wiesbaden: Dr. M. Sandig, 1804. Goffis, Cesare Federico. Teofilo Folengo: Studi di storia e di poesia. Torino: Vincenzo Bona, 1935. _____. “Merlino Cocaius de Patria diabolorum,” Italia che scrive, 26 (1943), 50. _____. “Finzioni editoriali di Merlin Cocai,” Convivium, 16 (1947), 770-788. _____. L’eterodossia dei fratelli Folengo. Genova: Frat. Pagano, 1950. _____. “Una collaborazione di Merlin Cocai con M. Alcofribas Nasier,” Il Rinascimento, 10 (1959), 137-140. _____. “Per la biografia dei Folengo,” Il Rinascimento, 11 (1960), 193-206. Guerrini, Paolo. “Intorno alla edizione Toscolana delle Maccheroniche di Merlin Cocaio,” Miscellanea Giovanni Mercati, vol. 4. Città del Vaticano, 1946, pp. 245-250. Gutkind, Curt S. “Die Sprache des Folengos: Beiträge zu einer Stilphysiognomie des GroteskKomischen, Archivium Romanicum, 4 (1922), 425-455. p. 240 Lehnert, Friedrich. Verhältnis der Ed. Toscolana des “Baldus” von Cipada Teofilo Folengos zur der Ed. Cipadense und zur Histoire Macaronique de Merlin Cocaie. Wurzburg, Dissertation, 1902. Lunardi, Raul. “Don Teofilo Folengo contro Merlin Cocaio?,” Italia che Scrive, 32 (1949), 221222. Luzio, Alessandro. “Nuove ricerche sul Folengo,” GSLI, 13 (1889), 159-198; 14 (1889), 364417. _____. Studi Folenghiani. Firenze: Sansoni, 1899. _____. “Guerre di frati,” Raccolta di studi critici dedicata ad Alessandro D’Ancona, pp. 423444. Firenze: G. Barbera, 1901. Mele, Eugenio. “Lope de Vega, Merlin Cocai e Luciano,” GSLI, 112 (1938), 323-328. Menegazzo, Emilio. “Contributo alla biografia di Teofilo Folengo (1512-1520),” Italia Medioevale e Umanistica, vol. 2., pp. 367-408. Padova: Antenore, 1959. Messedaglia, Luigi. Vita a costume della Rinascenza in Merlin Cocai, in Medioevo a umanesimo, vols. 13-14. Padova: Antenore, 1974. Migliorini, Bruno. “Sul linguaggio maccheronico del Folengo,” Linguaggio d’oggi e di ieri. Roma: S. Sciascia, 1973, pp. 75-100. Momigliano, Attilio. “Le quattro redazioni della Zanitonella,” GSLI, 73 (1919), 159-202. _____. “La critica e la fama del Folengo sino al DeSanctis,” GSLI, 77 (1921), 177-225. Mutini, Claudio. “Una lettura del Baldus,” in L’autore a l’opera: Saggi sulla letteratura del Cinquecento. Roma: Bulzoni, 1973. Paoli, U.E. “Per una futura edizione delle Maccheronee del Folengo,” GSLI, 112 (1938), 1-51. _____. Il “Baldus” a le altre opere latine e volgari: Passi scelti e commentati. Firenze: Le Monier, 1941. _____. “Il Baldus del Folengo.” La Rinascita, 4 (1941), 516-543. _____. Il latino maccheronico. Firenze: Le Monnier, 1959. Parodi, Ernesto Giacomo. Poeti antichi e moderni: Studi critici. Firenze: Sansoni, 1923 Parodi, Tommaso. Poesia a letteratura: Conquiste di anime a studi di critica. Posthumous, edit. by Benedetto Croce. Bari: Laterza, 1916. p. 241 Pozzi, Mario. “Teofilo Folengo e la resistenza alla toscanizzazione letteraria.” Convegno, pp. 209-229. 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