yet no body will come against me. I have slain right and left, and
cannot comprehend what it is that makes the stoutest infidels avoid me."
"Take off your vest," cried Orlando, contemptuously, "and you will soon
discover the secret, if you wish to know it. Your father has sold us to
Marsilius, all but his honourable son."
"If my father," cried Baldwin, impetuously tearing off the vest, "has
been such a villain, and I escape dying any longer, by God! I will
plunge this sword through his heart. But I am no traitor, Orlando;
and you do me wrong to say it. You do me foul dishonour, and I'll not
survive it. Never more shall you behold me alive."
Baldwin spurred off into the fight, not waiting to hear another word
from Orlando, but constantly crying out, "You have done me dishonour;"
and Orlando was very sorry for what he had said, for he perceived that
the youth was in despair.
And now the fight raged beyond all it had done before; and the Paladins
themselves began to fall, the enemy were driven forward in such
multitudes by Marsilius. There was unhorsing of foes, and re-seating of
friends, and great cries, and anguish, and unceasing labour; and twenty
Pagans went down for one Christian; but still the Christians fell. One
Paladin disappeared after another, having too much to do for mortal men.
Some could not make way through the press for very fatigue of killing,
and others were hampered with the falling horses and men. Sansonetto was
thus beaten to earth by the club of Grandonio; and Walter d'Amulion had
his shoulders broken; and Angiolin of Bayona, having lost his lance,
was thrust down by Marsilius, and Angiolin of Bellonda by Sirionne; and
Berlinghieri and Ottone are gone; and then Astolfo went, in revenge of
whose death Orlando turned the spot on which he died into a gulf of
Saracen blood. Rinaldo met the luckless Bujaforte, who had just begun to
explain how he seemed to be fighting on the side which his father hated,
when the impatient hero exclaimed, "He who is not with me is against
me;" and gave him a volley of such horrible cuffs about the head and
ears, that Bujaforte died without being able to speak another word.
Orlando, cutting his way to a spot in which there was a great struggle
and uproar, found the poor youth Baldwin, the son of Gan, with two
spears in his breast. "I am no traitor now," said Baldwin; and so
saying, fell dead to the earth; and Orlando lifted up his voice and
wept, for he was bitterly sorry to have been the cause of his death. He
then joined Rinaldo in the hottest of the tumult; and all the surviving
Paladins gathered about them, including Turpin the archbishop, who
fought as hardily as the rest; and the slaughter was lavish and
horrible, so that the eddies of the wind chucked the blood into the air,
and earth appeared a very seething-cauldron of hell. At length down went
Uliviero himself. He had become blind with his own blood, and smitten
Orlando without knowing him, who had never received such a blow in his
life.
"How now, cousin!" cried Orlando; "have you too gone over to the enemy?"
"O, my lord and master, Orlando," cried the other, "I ask your pardon,
if I have struck you. I can see nothing--I am dying. The traitor
Arcaliffe has stabbed me in the back; but I killed him for it. If you
love me, lead my horse into the thick of them, so that I may not die
unavenged."
"I shall die myself before long," said Orlando, "out of very toil and
grief; so we will go together. I have lost all hope, all pride, all wish
to live any longer; but not my love for Uliviero. Come--let us give them
a few blows yet; let them see what you can do with your dying hands. One
faith, one death, one only wish be ours."
Orlando led his cousin's horse where the press was thickest, and
dreadful was the strength of the dying man and of his half-dying
companion. They made a street, through which they passed out of the
battle; and Orlando led his cousin away to his tent, and said, "Wait
a little till I return, for I will go and sound the horn on the hill
yonder."
"'Tis of no use," said Uliviero; "and my spirit is fast going, and
desires to be with its Lord and Saviour." He would have said more, but
his words came from him imperfectly, like those of a man in a dream;
only his cousin gathered that he meant to commend to him his sister,
Orlando's wife, Alda the Fair, of whom indeed the great Paladin had not
thought so much in this world as he might have done. And with these
imperfect words he expired.
But Orlando no sooner saw him dead, than he felt as if he was left alone
on the earth; and he was quite willing to leave it; only he wished that
Charles at St. John Pied de Port should hear how the case stood before
he went; and so he took up the horn, and blew it three times with such
force that the blood burst out of his nose and mouth. Turpin says, that
at the third blast the horn broke in two.
In spite of all the noise of the battle, the sound of the horn broke
over it like a voice out of the other world. They say that birds fell
dead at it, and that the whole Saracen army drew back in terror. But
fearfuller still was its effect at St. John Pied de Port. Charlemagne
was sitting in the midst of his court when the sound reached him; and
Gan was there. The emperor was the first to hear it.
"Do you hear that?" said he to his nobles. "Did you hear the horn, as I
heard it?"
Upon this they all listened; and Gan felt his heart misgive him.
The horn sounded the second time.
"What is the meaning of this?" said Charles.
"Orlando is hunting," observed Gan, "and the stag is killed. He is at
the old pastime that he was so fond of in Aspramonte."
But when the horn sounded yet a third time, and the blast was one of so
dreadful a vehemence, every body looked at the other, and then they all
looked at Gan in fury. Charles rose from his seat. "This is no hunting
of the stag," said he. "The sound goes to my very heart, and, I confess,
makes me tremble. I am awakened out of a great dream. O Gan! O Gan! Not
for thee do I blush, but for myself, and for nobody else. O my God, what
is to be done! But whatever is to be done, must be done quickly. Take
this villain, gentlemen, and keep him in hard prison. O foul and
monstrous villain! Would to God I had not lived to see this day! O
obstinate and enormous folly! O Malagigi, had I but believed thy
foresight! 'Tis thou went the wise man, and I the grey-headed fool."
Ogier the Dane, and Namo and others, in the bitterness of their grief
and anger, could not help reminding the emperor of all which they had
foretold. But it was no time for words. They put the traitor into
prison; and then Charles, with all his court, took his way to
Roncesvalles, grieving and praying.
It was afternoon when the horn sounded, and half an hour after it when
the emperor set out; and meantime Orlando had returned to the fight that
he might do his duty, however hopeless, as long as he could sit his
horse, and the Paladins were now reduced to four; and though the
Saracens suffered themselves to be mowed down like grass by them and
their little band, he found his end approaching for toil and fever,
and so at length he withdrew out of the fight, and rode all alone to a
fountain which he knew of, where he had before quenched his thirst.
His horse was wearier still than he, and no sooner had its master
alighted, than the beast, kneeling down as if to take leave, and to
say, "I have brought you to your place of rest," fell dead at his feet.
Orlando cast water on him from the fountain, not wishing to believe him
dead; but when he found it to no purpose, he grieved for him as if he
had been a human being, and addressed him by name in tears, and asked
forgiveness if ever he had done him wrong. They say, that the horse at
these words once more opened his eyes a little, and looked kindly at his
master, and so stirred never more.
They say also that Orlando then, summoning all his strength, smote a
rock near him with his beautiful sword Durlindana, thinking to shiver
the steel in pieces, and so prevent its falling into the hands of the
enemy; but though the rock split like a slate, and a deep fissure
remained ever after to astonish the eyes of pilgrims, the sword remained
unhurt.
"O strong Durlindana," cried he, "O noble and worthy sword, had I known
thee from the first, as I know thee now, never would I have been brought
to this pass."
And now Rinaldo and Ricciardetto and Turpin came up, having given chase
to the Saracens till they were weary, and Orlando gave joyful welcome to
his cousin, and they told him how the battle was won, and then Orlando
knelt before Turpin, his face all in tears, and begged remission of his
sins and confessed them, and Turpin gave him absolution; and suddenly a
light came down upon him from heaven like a rainbow, accompanied with
a sound of music, and an angel stood in the air blessing him, and then
disappeared; upon which Orlando fixed his eyes on the hilt of his sword
as on a crucifix, and embraced it, and said, "Lord, vouchsafe that I may
look on this poor instrument as on the symbol of the tree upon which
Thou sufferedst thy unspeakable martyrdom!" and so adjusting the sword
to his bosom, and embracing it closer, he raised his eyes, and appeared
like a creature seraphical and transfigured; and in bowing his head he
breathed out his pure soul. A thunder was then heard in the heavens,
and the heavens opened and seemed to stoop to the earth, and a flock of
angels was seen like a white cloud ascending with his spirit, who were
known to be what they were by the trembling of their wings. The white
cloud shot out golden fires, so that the whole air was full of them; and
the voices of the angels mingled in song with the instruments of their
brethren above, which made an inexpressible harmony, at once deep and
dulcet. The priestly warrior Turpin, and the two Paladins, and the
hero's squire Terigi, who were all on their knees, forgot their own
beings, in following the miracle with their eyes.
It was now the office of that squire to take horse and ride off to
the emperor at Saint John Pied de Port, and tell him of all that had
occurred; but in spite of what he had just seen, he lay for a time
overwhelmed with grief. He then rose, and mounted his steed, and left
the Paladins and the archbishop with the dead body, who knelt about it,
guarding it with weeping love.
The good squire Terigi met the emperor and his cavalcade coming towards
Roncesvalles, and alighted and fell on his knees, telling him the
miserable news, and how all his people were slain but two of his
Paladins, and himself, and the good archbishop. Charles for anguish
began tearing his white locks; but Terigi comforted him against so
doing, by giving an account of the manner of Orlando's death, and how
he had surely gone to heaven. Nevertheless, the squire himself was
broken-hearted with grief and toil; and he had scarcely added a
denouncement of the traitor Gan, and a hope that the emperor would
appease Heaven finally by giving his body to the winds, than he said,
"The cold of death is upon me;" and so he fell dead at the emperor's
feet.
Charles was ready to drop from his saddle for wretchedness. He cried
out, "Let nobody comfort me more. I will have no comfort. Cursed be Gan,
and cursed this horrible day, and this place, and every thing. Let us go
on, like blind miserable men that we are, into Roncesvalles; and have
patience if we can, out of pure misery, like Job, till we do all that
can be done."
So Charles rode on with his nobles; and they say, that for the sake of
the champion of Christendom and the martyrs that died with him, the sun
stood still in the sky till the emperor had seen Orlando, and till the
dead were buried.
Horrible to his eyes was the sight of the field of Roncesvalles. The
Saracens, indeed, had forsaken it, conquered; but all his Paladins but
two were left on it dead, and the slaughtered heaps among which they lay
made the whole valley like a great dumb slaughter-house, trampled up
into blood and dirt, and reeking to the heat. The very trees were
dropping with blood; and every thing, so to speak, seemed tired out, and
gone to a horrible sleep.
Charles trembled to his heart's core for wonder and agony. After dumbly
gazing on the place, he again cursed it with a solemn curse, and wished
that never grass might grow within it again, nor seed of any kind,
neither within it, nor on any of its mountains around with their proud
shoulders; but the anger of Heaven abide over it for ever, as on a pit
made by hell upon earth.
Then he rode on, and came up to where the body of Orlando awaited him
with the Paladins, and the old man, weeping, threw himself as if he had
been a reckless youth from his horse, and embraced and kissed the dead
body, and said, "I bless thee, Orlando. I bless thy whole life, and all
that thou wast, and all that thou ever didst, and thy mighty and holy
valour, and the father that begot thee; and I ask pardon of thee for
believing those who brought thee to thine end. They shall have their
reward, O thou beloved one! But, indeed, it is thou that livest, and I
that am worse than dead."
And now, behold a wonder. For the emperor, in the fervour of his heart
and of the memory of what had passed between them, called to mind that
Orlando had promised to give him his sword, should he die before him;
and he lifted up his voice more bravely, and adjured him even now to
return it to him gladly; and it pleased God that the dead body of
Orlando should rise on its feet, and kneel as he was wont to do at the
feet of his liege lord, and gladly, and with a smile on its face, return
the sword to the Emperor Charles. As Orlando rose, the Paladins and
Turpin knelt down out of fear and horror, especially seeing him look
with a stern countenance; but when they saw that he knelt also, and
smiled, and returned the sword, their hearts became re-assured, and
Charles took the sword like his liege lord, though trembling with wonder
and affection: and in truth he could hardly clench his fingers around
it.
Orlando was buried in a great sepulchre in Aquisgrana, and the dead
Paladins were all embalmed and sent with majestic cavalcades to their
respective counties and principalities, and every Christian was
honourably and reverently put in the earth, and recorded among the
martyrs of the Church.
But meantime the flying Saracens, thinking to bury their own dead, and
ignorant of what still awaited them, came back into the valley, and
Rinaldo beheld them with a dreadful joy, and shewed them to Charles. Now
the emperor's cavalcade had increased every moment; and they fell upon
the Saracens with a new and unexpected battle, and the old emperor,
addressing the sword of Orlando, exclaimed, "My strength is little, but
do thou do thy duty to thy master, thou famous sword, seeing that he
returned it to me smiling, and that his revenge is in my hands." And so
saying, he met Balugante, the leader of the infidels, as he came borne
along by his frightened horse; and the old man, raising the sword with
both hands, cleaved him, with a delighted mind, to the chin.
O sacred Emperor Charles! O well-lived old man! Defender of the Faith!
light and glory of the old time! thou hast cut off the other ear of
Malchus, and shown how rightly thou wert born into the world, to save it
a second time from the abyss.
Again fled the Saracens, never to come to Christendom more: but Charles
went after them into Spain, he and Rinaldo and Ricciardetto and the good
Turpin; and they took and fired Saragossa; and Marsilius was hung to the
carob-tree under which he had planned his villany with Gan; and Gan was
hung, and drawn and quartered, in Roncesvalles, amidst the execrations
of the country.
And if you ask, how it happened that Charles ever put faith in such a
wretch, I shall tell you that it was because the good old emperor, with
all his faults, was a divine man, and believed in others out of the
excellence of his own heart and truth. And such was the case with
Orlando himself.
APPENDIX.
No. I.
STORY OF PAULO AND FRANCESCA.
Poscia ch' i' ebbi il mio dottore udito
Nomar le donne antiche e i cavalieri,
Pietà mi vinse, e fui quasi smarrito.
I' cominciai: Poeta, volentieri
Parlerei a que' duo the 'nsieme vanno,
E pajon sì al vento esser leggieri.
Ed egli a me: Vedrai, quando saranno
Più presso a noi: e tu allor gli piega,
Per quell' amor ch' ei mena; e quei verranno.
Si tosto come 'l vento a noi gli piega,
Mossi la voce: O anime affannate,
Venite a not parlar, s' altri nol niega.
Quali colombe dal disio chiamate,
Con l' ali aperte e ferme, al dolce nido
Volan per l' aer dal voter portate:
Cotali uscir de la schiera ov' è Dido,
A noi venendo per l' aer maligno,
Si forte fu l' affettuoso grido.
O animal grazioso e benigno,
Che visitando vai per l' aer perso
Noi che tignemmo it mondo di sanguigno;
Se fosse amico il Re de l'Universo,
Noi pregheremmo lui per la tua pace,
Poich' hai pietà del nostro mal perverso.
Di quel ch'udire e che parlar ti piace,
Noi udiremo, e parleremo a vui,
Mentre che 'l vento, come fa, si tace.
Siede la terra, dove nata fui,
Su la marina, dove 'l Pò discende,
Per aver pace co' seguaci sui.
Amor ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende,
Prese costui de la bella persona
Che mi fu tolta, e 'l modo ancor m'offende
Amer ch'a null'amato amar perdona,
Mi prese del costui piacer si forte,
Che come vedi ancor non m'abbandona
Amor condusse noi ad una morte
Caina attende chi 'n vita ci spense.
Queste parole da lor ci fur porte.
Da ch'io 'ntesi quell'anime offense,
Chinai 'l viso, e tanto 'l tenni basso,
Finchè 'l poeta mi disse: Che pense?
Quando risposi, cominciai: O lasso,
Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio
Menò costoro al doloroso passo!
Po' mi rivolsi a loro, e parla' io,
E cominciai: Francesca, i tuoi martiri
A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pie.
Ma dimmi: al tempo de' dolci sospiri,
A che, e come concedette amore
Che conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?
Ed ella a me: Nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Ne la miseria; e ciò sa 'l tuo dottore.
Ma s'a conoscer la prima radice
Del nostro amor to hai cotanto affetto,
Farò come colui the piange e dice.
Noi leggiavamo tin giorno per diletto
Di Lancilotto, come amor to strinse
Soli eravamo, e senza alcun sospetto.
Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse
Quella lettura, e scolorocci 'l viso
Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.
Quando leggemmo il disiato riso
Esser baciato da cotanto amante,
Questi che mai da me non sia diviso,
La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante:
Galeotto fu il libro, e chi to scrisse:
Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.
Mentre the l'uno spirto questo disse,
L'altro piangeva si, che di pietade
I' venni men cosi com' io morisse,
E caddi come corpo morto cade.
* * * * *
_Translation in the terza rima of the original._
Scarce had I learnt the names of all that press
Of knights and dames, than I beheld a sight
Nigh reft my wits for very tenderness.
"O guide!" I said, "fain would I, if I might,
Have speech with yonder pair, that hand in hand
Seem borne before the dreadful wind so light."
"Wait," said my guide, "until then seest their band
Sweep round. Then beg them, by that lose, to stay;
And they will come, and hover where we stand."
Anon the whirlwind flung them round that way;
And then I cried, "Oh, if I ask nought ill,
Poor weary souls, have speech with me, I pray."
As doves, that leave some bevy circling still,
Set firm their open wings, and through the air
Sweep homewards, wafted by their pure good will;
So broke from Dido's flock that gentle pair,
Cleaving, to where we stood, the air malign;
Such strength to bring them had a loving prayer.
The female spoke. "O living soul benign!"
She said, "thus, in this lost air, visiting
Us who with blood stain'd the sweet earth divine;
Had we a friend in heaven's eternal King,
We would beseech him keep thy conscience clear,
Since to our anguish thou dost pity bring.
Of what it pleaseth thee to speak and hear,
To that we also, till this lull be o'er
That falleth now, will speak and will give ear.
The place where I was born is on the shore,
Where Po brings all his rivers to depart
In peace, and fuse them with the ocean floor.
Love, that soon kindleth in a gentle heart,
Seized him thou look'st on for the form and face,
Whose end still haunts me like a rankling dart.
Love, which by love will be denied no grace,
Gave me a transport in my turn so true,
That to! 'tis with me, even in this place.
Love brought us to one grave. The hand that slew
Is doom'd to mourn us in the pit of Cain."
Such were the words that told me of those two.
Downcast I stood, looking so full of pain
To think how hard and sad a case it was,
That my guide ask'd what held me in that vein.
His voiced aroused me; and I said, "Alas
All their sweet thoughts then, all the steps that led
To love, but brought them to this dolorous pass."
Then turning my sad eyes to theirs, I said,
"Francesca, see--these human cheeks are wet--
Truer and sadder tears were never shed.
But tell me. At the time when sighs were sweet,
What made thee strive no longer?--hurried thee
To the last step where bliss and sorrow meet?"
"There is no greater sorrow," answered she,
"And this thy teacher here knoweth full well,
Than calling to mind joy in misery.
But since thy wish be great to hear us tell
How we lost all but love, tell it I will,
As well as tears will let me. It befel,
One day, we read how Lancelot gazed his fill
At her he loved, and what his lady said.
We were alone, thinking of nothing ill.
Oft were our eyes suspended as we read,
And in our cheeks the colour went and came;
Yet one sole passage struck resistance dead.
'Twas where the lover, moth-like in his flame,
Drawn by her sweet smile, kiss'd it. O then, he
Whose lot and mine are now for aye the same,
All in a tremble, on the mouth kiss'd _me_.
The book did all. Our hearts within us burn'd
Through that alone. That day no more read we."
While thus one spoke, the other spirit mourn'd
With wail so woful, that at his remorse
I felt as though I should have died. I turned
Stone-stiff; and to the ground fell like a corse.]
No. II.
ACCOUNTS GIVEN BY DIFFERENT WRITERS OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES RELATING TO
PAULO AND FRANCESCA; CONCLUDING WITH THE ONLY FACTS ASCERTAINED.
BOCCACCIO'S ACCOUNT
Translated from his Commentary on the Passage.
"You must know, that this lady, Madonna Francesca, was daughter of
Messer Guido the Elder, lord of Ravenna and of Cervia, and that a long
and grievous war having been waged between him and the lords Malatesta
of Rimini, a treaty of peace by certain mediators was at length
concluded between them; the which, to the end that it might be the more
firmly established, it pleased both parties to desire to fortify by
relationship; and the matter of this relationship was so discoursed,
that the said Messer Guido agreed to give his young and fair daughter
in marriage to Gianciotto, the son of Messer Malatesta. Now, this being
made known to certain of the friends of Messer Guido, one of them
said to him, 'Take care what you do; for if you contrive not matters
discreetly, such relationship will beget scandal. You know what manner
of person your daughter is, and of how lofty a spirit; and if she see
Gianciotto before the bond is tied, neither you nor any one else will
have power to persuade her to marry him; therefore, if it so please you,
it seems to me that it would be good to conduct the matter thus: namely,
that Gianciotto should not come hither himself to marry her, but that a
brother of his should come and espouse her in his name.'