The Press.
London, England, 1858-12-11 00:00:00

fittraturt.

THE THEOLOGY OF BOCCACCIO.
Boccwocio can scarcely be pronounced either a
very moral or a very religious writer. His opi-
nions on the fair sex are decidedly lax, and his
reverence for Holy Mother Church is by no
means up to the orthodox filial mark. It is
always, indeed, where there is most dearth of
" the decorums" that the racy naivete which
gives to his tales their highest zest seems most
abundant, while it positively overflows when the
chief actor in licentiousness is a priest or a nun.
Such being the case, although poets and play-
wrights—a Chaucer, a Shakespeare, or a Dryden
—may be permitted to apply to the Decamerone
for a character or a plot, still it would seem rather
anomalous when grave and earnest men search
its pages for a lesson in theology. That such
instances, however, are far from rare will, we
think, be freely admitted by those who shall have
patience to accompany us to the end of this article.
In, we believe, one only of the cents novelle
does a theological question—a conversion to
Romanism—form the pivot and Gnouement of
the plot. Two Florentine merchants, Antonio
and Abramo (if we rightly remember) by name,
have formed a close friendship, based on sympa-
thetic characters and joint-stock speculations in
silks and woollens. But Antonio is a fervent
Catholic ; Abramo a rigid Jew. Their post-
humous paths, therefore, must necessarily diverge
—an oppressive conviction which urges upon the
former unremitting efforts to convert his friend.
Deaf at first to the pious importunity, Abramo
begins at length to waver. He recognizes some
weight in this argument—some truth in that.
Christianity, after all, does not strike him as half
so bad as he had once imagined, and he confesses
to a long-standing persuasion that pork is a
wholesome and sap►d diet. Thick-coming doubts
rack his brain, disturb his rest, disorder his diges-
tion. He can bear this no longer. A solution
must be arrived at. Yes! he will investigate
Catholicism at its fountain head—he will go to
Rome at once !

Those days were the medieval days—that
Papal golden ogc dice whose poetic purity PPG..
Raphaelite; PUgiiliSta, and PUSeyttes so pas-
sionately pine. Strange to say, however, the
mores catholiei of the Eternal City did not strike
our friend Antonio under the same light in which
they have since presented themselves to Mr.
Kenelm Digby. A visit to Rome—a personal
inspection of the abuses and iniquities which
kept open revel around the pontifical throne—
wouid, Antonio felt convinced, undo at once even
the ambiguous results so painfully won ; and it
was with a heavy heart that he aided his friend
to pack up his carpet-bag and charter a rettura
fir this fatal journey.
Weeks, months elapse without any news of the
hproblematical proselyte. At length, however, a
ilrried messenger announces his approach ; and,
, with steps alternately accelerated by friendship
and retarded by foreboding, Antonio hastens
forth to meet and greet him. But does he dream ?
Can this advancing figure be, indeed, Abram° ?
A " Roman collar" clasps his throat ; a close-
fitting soutane-shaped frock (very much resem-
bling the orthodox Puseyite garment) clings to
his somewhat lanky person ; a boxwood rosary,
blessed by the Pope, adorns his neck ; and, as he
stretches forth one hand to the grasp of friend-
ship, he piously brandishes in the other a conse-
crated tallow candle. " How !" exclaims the
enraptured and mystified Antonio. " Art thou,
indeed, one of us at last ? But explain. Is
Rome all thou couldst hope ? Are my ideas of
its depravity exaggerated—false ?" "False !"
echoes the convert; "yea of a verity, if, as vain
philosophers hold, imperfect truth be falsehood ;
for know, my friend, that all thy imagination can
paint of the iniquities of Rome falls immeasu-
rably short of the reality." "Thou speakest in
riddles ; or has some special miracle been vouch-
safed to cancel from thy mind the diabolic dis-
suasion of so much foulness ?" "It needed no
miracle beyond the clear exercise of reason,"
replied Abram° ; "once arrived at a faint con-
ception of the ineffable abominations around me,
' Surely,' I said within myself, Sodom and Go-
morrah were pure as crystal beside this loathsome
town ! And yet did not the Lord of Hosts smite
and utterly destroy then from the face of the