Massimo D'Azeglio

> Fieramosca's father, grown old in the wars that tore Italy asunder during the fifteenth century, could give Ettore nothing but a sword; and as a youth, the latter believed the profession of arms to be the only one worthy of him, nor could he for many years conceive thoughts above the times in which he lived, wherein the force of arms was employed solely to augment reputation and wealth. Ma wisdom grew with the passing of years; and in the brief lulls from warring, rather than spending his leisure in hunts, jousts, and other youthful pleasures, he held studies and letters dear; and having come to know the ancient authors, and the honorable deeds of those who had shed their blood for the good of their homeland and not for the profit of whoever could best pay them, he understood how wicked a trade the profession of arms was in itself, if practiced in the manner of a brigand with the sole aim of enriching oneself with the spoils of the weak, and not for the virtuous cause of defending oneself and one's people from foreign aggression . This lengthy quotation, with which D’Azeglio encapsulates the protagonist’s formation, aptly conveys the style and meaning of the novel: the story of a duel fought to redeem slighted Italian honor, but also a reflection of a towering figure of our Risorgimento, Massimo D’Azeglio. A man of letters, painter, writer, soldier, patriot, and ultimately prime minister and mentor to Victor Emmanuel II during the turbulent years that followed the defeat in the First War of Independence. With this novel, D’Azeglio embellishes with imagination a historical event that genuinely took place in 1503: the Challenge of Barletta. Several Italian knights in the service of Spain were gravely insulted by a French baron, who had cast doubt upon the valor and loyalty of our fighters. A challenge ensued, from which the Italians emerged victorious. The historical event, however, serves as a backdrop to an intense and ill-fated love story. Ettore Fieramosca, > perfect in the proportions of his body, [which] he displayed... in close-fitting attire , is in love with Ginevra. The young woman is the object of Cesare Borgia’s depraved desires. Ettore fortuitously manages to save Ginevra, hiding her in a convent near Barletta. It is not merely romantic passion—chaste though it is—that binds the two youths. Ginevra, too, is a fervent patriot. When Ettore informs her of the challenge, > Ginevra’s breathing grew more hurried; her bosom, like a sail caught by the gusts of an oncoming wind, rose and fell, swelling with vehement, conflicting passions, yet all worthy of her; her eyes, which seemed to temper themselves according to the youth’s words, caught fire, casting sparks. What daring sensuality in D’Azeglio’s words! It is pointless to expect a happy ending. We are in the nineteenth century, and love stories must end tragically. Ginevra dies, abducted and defiled in her virtue by the cruel Borgia. Ettore, unaware of the loss of his beloved, wins the challenge, but upon learning the truth, disappears without a trace. For many years, the mountaineers of the Gargano spoke > of an armed knight upon the summit of certain inaccessible crags, which hung above a chasm plunging sheer into the sea . Adventures of daring and love, intrigues and betrayals follow one another with an agility and mastery that are surprising and in some ways unique for nineteenth-century Italian literature. D’Azeglio is a forerunner of Salgari. The wealth of episodes and characters nevertheless weighs down the plot, often making it difficult to return to the main thread. In many instances, the narrative seems merely an occasion for grand frescoes. D’Azeglio, as an accomplished painter, depicts with meticulous detail and vivid colors the feasts, receptions, and duels of a century that loved amusement even while constantly waging war. And the author recalls that the culinary art was exceedingly difficult in those days, because > all dishes were required not only to please the palate, but likewise to delight the eyes of the guests... the platters of confections were fashioned, now like mounds upon which grew trees laden with candied fruits, now in the likeness of ponds of distilled waters, wherein floated little skiffs of worked sugar, filled with sweets: some depicted an alpine mountain with a volcano at its peak, and the smoke that issued from it was of the most delightful fragrance . It is difficult to find the novel in its unabridged form, as D’Azeglio’s Italian is often archaic, even grandiloquent. One must not surrender. It is precisely his writing that imparts that sense of the imaginative and the unreal which is the book’s very charm. Why read it? It is a pleasure to lose oneself in D’Azeglio’s ardor and imagination.