Sigtryg would have waited till morning, trusting in the honor of

the king, but Hereward disguised himself as a minstrel and

obtained admission to the bridal feast, where he soon won applause

by his beautiful singing. The bridegroom, Haco, in a rapture

offered him any boon he liked to ask, but he demanded only a cup

of wine from the hands of the bride. When she brought it to him he

flung into the empty cup the betrothal ring, the token she had

sent to Sigtryg, and said: "I thank thee, lady, and would reward

thee for thy gentleness to a wandering minstrel; I give back the

cup, richer than before by the kind thoughts of which it bears the

token." The princess looked at him, gazed into the goblet, and saw

her ring; then, looking again, she recognized her deliverer and

knew that rescue was at hand.

While men feasted Hereward listened and talked, and found out that

the forty Danes were prisoners, to be released on the morrow when

Haco was sure of his bride, but released useless and miserable,

since they would be turned adrift blinded. Haco was taking his

lovely bride back to his own land, and Hereward saw that any

rescue, to be successful, must be attempted on the march.

Returning to Sigtryg, the young Saxon told all that he had

learned, and the Danes planned an ambush in the ravine where Haco

had decided to blind and set free his captives. The whole was

carried out exactly as Hereward arranged it. The Cornishmen, with

the Danish captives, passed first without attack; next came Haco,

riding grim and ferocious beside his silent bride, he exulting in

his success, she looking eagerly for any signs of rescue. As they

passed Hereward sprang from his shelter, crying, "Upon them,

Danes, and set your brethren free!" and himself struck down Haco

and smote off his head. There was a short struggle, but soon the

rescued Danes were able to aid their deliverers, and the Cornish

guards were all slain; the men of King Alef, never very zealous

for the cause of Haco, fled, and the Danes were left masters of

the field.

Sigtryg had in the meantime seen to the safety of the princess,

and now, placing her between himself and Hereward, he escorted her

to the ship, which soon brought them to Waterford and a happy

bridal. The Prince and Princess of Waterford always recognized in

Hereward their deliverer and best friend, and in their gratitude

wished him to dwell with them always; but the hero's roving and

daring temper forbade his settling down, but rather urged him on

to deeds of arms in other lands, where he quickly won a renown

second to none.

ROBIN HOOD

Among the earliest heirlooms of the Anglo-Saxon tongue are the

songs and legends of Robin Hood and his merry outlaws, which have

charmed readers young and old for more than six hundred years.

These entertaining stories date back to the time when Chaucer

wrote his "Canterbury Tales," when the minstrel and scribe stood

in the place of the more prim and precise modern printed book.

The question of whether or not Robin Hood was a real person has

been asked for many years, just as a similar question has been

asked about William Tell and others whom everyone would much

rather accept on faith. It cannot be answered by a brief "yes" or

"no," even though learned men have pored over ancient records and

have written books on the subject. According to the general belief

Robin was an outlaw in the reign of Richard I, when in the depths

of Sherwood Forest he entertained one hundred tall men, all good

archers, with the spoil he took; but "he suffered no woman to be

oppressed or otherwise molested; poore men's goods he spared,

abundantlie relieving them with that which by theft he got from

abbeys and houses of rich carles." Consequently Robin was an

immense favorite with the common people.

This popularity extended from the leader to all the members of his

hardy band. "God save Robin Hood and all his good yeomanry" is the

ending of many old ballads. The clever archer who could outshoot

his fellows, the brave yeoman inured to blows, and the man who

could be true to his friends through thick and thin were favorites

for all time; and they have been idealized in the persons of Robin

Hood and his merry outlaws.

One of the best-known stories of this picturesque figure of early

English times is that given by Sir Walter Scott in "Ivanhoe,"

concerning the archery contest during the rule or misrule of

Prince John, in the absence of Richard from the kingdom. Robin

Hood, under the assumed name of Locksley, boldly presents himself

at a royal tournament at Ashby, as competitor for the prize in

shooting with the long-bow. From the eight or ten archers who

enter the contest, the number finally narrows down to two,--

Hubert, a forester in the service of one of the king's nobles, and

Locksley or Robin Hood. Hubert takes the first shot in the final

trial of skill, and lands his arrow within the inner ring of the

target, but not exactly in the centre.

"'You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,' said Locksley, 'or

that had been a better shot.'

"So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause upon

his aim, Locksley stepped to the appointed station, and shot his

arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not even looked at

the mark. He was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft

left the bow-string, yet it alighted in the target two inches

nearer to the white spot which marked the centre than that of

Hubert.

"'By the light of Heaven!' said Prince John to Hubert, 'an thou

suffer that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of

the gallows!'

"Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. 'An your

highness were to hang me,' he said, 'a man can but do his best.

Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow--'

"'The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!'

interrupted John; 'shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall

be worse for thee!'

"Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the

caution which he had received from his adversary, he made the

necessary allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just

risen, and shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in the

very centre of the target.

"'A Hubert! a Hubert!' shouted the populace, more interested in a

known person than in a stranger. 'In the clout!--in the clout!--a

Hubert forever!'

"'Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,' said the Prince, with

an insulting smile.

"'I will notch his shaft for him, however,' replied Locksley.

"And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than

before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it

split to shivers. The people who stood around were so astonished

at his wonderful dexterity, that they could not even give vent to

their surprise in their usual clamor. 'This must be the devil, and

no man of flesh and blood,' whispered the yeomen to each other;

'such archery was never seen since a bow was first bent in

Britain.'

"'And now,' said Locksley, 'I will crave your Grace's permission

to plant such a mark as is used in the North Country; and welcome

every brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from

the bonny lass he loves best.'"

Locksley thereupon sets up a willow wand, six feet long and as

thick as a man's thumb. Hubert is forced to decline the honor of

taking part in such a trial of archery skill, but his rival easily

splits the wand at a distance of three hundred feet and carries

off the prize.

"Even Prince John, in admiration of Locksley's skill, lost for an

instant his dislike to his person. 'These twenty nobles,' he said,

'which, with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we

will make them fifty, if thou wilt take livery and service with us

as a yeoman of our bodyguard, and be near to our person. For never

did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye direct a

shaft.'" [Footnote: Ivanhoe, Vol. 1, chap. XIII.]

Locksley, however, declares that it is impossible for him to enter

the Prince's service, generously shares his prize with the worthy

Hubert, and retires once more to his beloved haunts among the

lights and shadows of the good greenwood.

LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE

INTRODUCTION

Those who have investigated the origin of the romantic fables

relating to Charlemagne and his peers are of opinion that the

deeds of Charles Martel, and perhaps of other Charleses, have been

blended in popular tradition with those properly belonging to

Charlemagne. It was indeed a most momentous era; and if our

readers will have patience, before entering on the perusal of the

fabulous annals which we are about to lay before them, to take a

rapid survey of the real history of the times, they will find it

hardly less romantic than the tales of the poets.

In the century beginning from the year 600, the countries

bordering upon the native land of our Saviour, to the east and

south, had not yet received his religion. Arabia was the seat of

an idolatrous religion resembling that of the ancient Persians,

who worshipped the sun, moon, and stars. In Mecca, in the year

571, Mahomet was born, and here, at the age of forty, he

proclaimed himself the prophet of God, in dignity as superior to

Christ as Christ had been to Moses. Having obtained by slow

degrees a considerable number of disciples, he resorted to arms to

diffuse his religion. The energy and zeal of his followers, aided

by the weakness of the neighboring nations, enabled him and his

successors to spread the sway of Arabia and the religion of

Mahomet over the countries to the east as far as the Indus,

northward over Persia and Asia Minor, westward over Egypt and the

southern shores of the Mediterranean, and thence over the

principal portion of Spain. All this was done within one hundred

years from the Hegira, or flight of Mahomet from Mecca to Medina,

which happened in the year 622, and is the era from which

Mahometans reckon time, as we do from the birth of Christ.

From Spain the way was open for the Saracens (so the followers of

Mahomet were called) into France, the conquest of which, if

achieved, would have been followed very probably by that of all

the rest of Europe, and would have resulted in the banishment of

Christianity from the earth. For Christianity was not at that day

universally professed, even by those nations which we now regard

as foremost in civilization. Great part of Germany, Britain,

Denmark, and Russia were still pagan or barbarous.

At that time there ruled in France, though without the title of

king, the first of those illustrious Charleses of whom we have

spoken, Charles Martel, the grandfather of Charlemagne. The

Saracens of Spain had made incursions into France in 712 and 718,

and had retired, carrying with them a vast booty. In 725, Anbessa,

who was then the Saracen governor of Spain, crossed the Pyrenees

with a numerous army, and took by storm the strong town of

Carcassone. So great was the terror excited by this invasion, that

the country for a wide extent submitted to the conqueror, and a

Mahometan governor for the province was appointed and installed at

Narbonne. Anbessa, however, received a fatal wound in one of his

engagements, and the Saracens, being thus checked from further

advance, retired to Narbonne.

In 732 the Saracens again invaded France under Abdalrahman,

advanced rapidly to the banks of the Garonne, and laid siege to

Bordeaux. The city was taken by assault and delivered up to the

soldiery. The invaders still pressed forward, and spread over the

territories of Orleans, Auxerre and Sens. Their advanced parties

were suddenly called in by their chief, who had received

information of the rich abbey of St. Martin of Tours, and resolved

to plunder and destroy it.

Charles during all this time had done nothing to oppose the

Saracens, for the reason that the portion of France over which

their incursions had been made was not at that time under his

dominion, but constituted an independent kingdom, under the name

of Aquitaine, of which Eude was king. But now Charles became

convinced of the danger, and prepared to encounter it. Abdalrahman

was advancing toward Tours, when intelligence of the approach of

Charles, at the head of an army of Franks, compelled him to fall

back upon Poitiers, in order to seize an advantageous field of

battle.

Charles Martel had called together his warriors from every part of

his dominions, and, at the head of such an army as had hardly ever

been seen in France, crossed the Loire, probably at Orleans, and,

being joined by the remains of the army of Aquitaine, came in

sight of the Arabs in the month of October, 732. The Saracens seem

to have been aware of the terrible enemy they were now to

encounter, and for the first time these formidable conquerors

hesitated. The two armies remained in presence during seven days

before either ventured to begin the attack; but at length the

signal for battle was given by Abdalrahman, and the immense mass

of the Saracen army rushed with fury on the Franks. But the heavy

line of the Northern warriors remained like a rock, and the

Saracens, during nearly the whole day, expended their strength in

vain attempts to make any impression upon them. At length, about

four o'clock in the afternoon, when Abdalrahman was preparing for

a new and desperate attempt to break the line of the Franks, a

terrible clamor was heard in the rear of the Saracens. It was King

Eude, who, with his Aquitanians, had attacked their camp, and a

great part of the Saracen army rushed tumultuously from the field

to protect their plunder. In this moment of confusion the line of

the Franks advanced, and, sweeping the field before it, carried

fearful slaughter amongst the enemy. Abdalrahman made desperate

efforts to rally his troops, but when he himself, with the bravest

of his officers, fell beneath the swords of the Christians, all

order disappeared, and the remains of his army sought refuge in

their immense camp, from which Eude and his Aquitanians had been

repulsed. It was now late, and Charles, unwilling to risk an

attack on the camp in the dark, withdrew his army, and passed the

night in the plain, expecting to renew the battle in the morning.

Accordingly, when daylight came, the Franks drew up in order of

battle, but no enemy appeared; and when at last they ventured to

approach the Saracen camp they found it empty. The invaders had

taken advantage of the night to begin their retreat, and were

already on their way back to Spain, leaving their immense plunder

behind to fall into the hands of the Franks.

This was the celebrated battle of Tours, in which vast numbers of

the Saracens were slain, and only fifteen hundred of the Franks.

Charles received the surname of Martel (the Hammer) in consequence

of this victory.

The Saracens, notwithstanding this severe blow, continued to hold

their ground in the south of France; but Pepin, the son of Charles

Martel, who succeeded to his father's power, and assumed the title

of king, successively took from them the strong places they held;

and in 759, by the capture of Narbonne, their capital,

extinguished the remains of their power in France.

Charlemagne, or Charles the Great, succeeded his father, Pepin, on

the throne in the year 768. This prince, though the hero of

numerous romantic legends, appears greater in history than in

fiction. Whether we regard him as a warrior or as a legislator, as

a patron of learning or as the civilizer of a barbarous nation, he

is entitled to our warmest admiration. Such he is in history; but

the romancers represent him as often weak and passionate, the

victim of treacherous counsellors, and at the mercy of turbulent

barons, on whose prowess he depends for the maintenance of his

throne. The historical representation is doubtless the true one,

for it is handed down in trustworthy records, and is confirmed by

the events of the age. At the height of his power, the French

empire extended over what we now call France, Germany,

Switzerland, Holland, Belgium, and great part of Italy.

In the year 800 Charlemagne, being in Rome, whither he had gone

with a numerous army to protect the Pope, was crowned by the

Pontiff Emperor of the West. On Christmas day Charles entered the

Church of St. Peter, as if merely to take his part in the

celebration of the mass with the rest of the congregation. When he

approached the altar and stooped in the act of prayer the Pope

stepped forward and placed a crown of gold upon his head; and

immediately the Roman people shouted, "Life and victory to Charles

the August, crowned by God the great and pacific Emperor of the

Romans." The Pope then prostrated himself before him, and paid him

reverence, according to the custom established in the times of the

ancient Emperors, and concluded the ceremony by anointing him with

consecrated oil.

Charlemagne's wars were chiefly against the pagan and barbarous

people, who, under the name of Saxons, inhabited the countries now

called Hanover and Holland. He also led expeditions against the

Saracens of Spain; but his wars with the Saracens were not carried

on, as the romances assert, in France, but on the soil of Spain.

He entered Spain by the Eastern Pyrenees, and made an easy

conquest of Barcelona and Pampeluna. But Saragossa refused to open

her gates to him, and Charles ended by negotiating and accepting a

vast sum of gold as the price of his return over the Pyrenees.

On his way back, he marched with his whole army through the gorges

of the mountains by way of the valleys of Engui, Eno, and

Roncesvalles. The chief of this region had waited upon

Charlemagne, on his advance, as a faithful vassal of the monarchy;

but now, on the return of the Franks, he had called together all

the wild mountaineers who acknowledged him as their chief, and

they occupied the heights of the mountains under which the army

had to pass. The main body of the troops met with no obstruction,

and received no intimation of danger; but the rear-guard, which

was considerably behind, and encumbered with its plunder, was

overwhelmed by the mountaineers in the pass of Roncesvalles, and

slain to a man. Some of the bravest of the Prankish chiefs

perished on this occasion, among whom is mentioned Roland or

Orlando, governor of the marches or frontier of Brittany. His name

became famous in after times, and the disaster of Roncesvalles and

death of Roland became eventually the most celebrated episode in

the vast cycle of romance.

Though after this there were hostile encounters between the armies

of Charlemagne and the Saracens, they were of small account, and

generally on the soil of Spain. Thus the historical foundation for

the stories of the romancers is but scanty, unless we suppose the

events of an earlier and of a later age to be incorporated with

those of Charlemagne's own time.

There is, however, a pretended history, which for a long time was

admitted as authentic, and attributed to Turpin, Archbishop of

Rheims, a real personage of the time of Charlemagne. Its title is

"History of Charles the Great and Orlando." It is now

unhesitatingly considered as a collection of popular traditions,

produced by some credulous and unscrupulous monk, who thought to

give dignity to his romance by ascribing its authorship to a well-

known and eminent individual. It introduces its pretended author,

Bishop Turpin, in this manner:

"Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, the friend and secretary of Charles

the Great, excellently skilled in sacred and profane literature,

of a genius equally adapted to prose and verse, the advocate of

the poor, beloved of God in his life and conversation, who often

fought the Saracens, hand to hand, by the Emperor's side, he

relates the acts of Charles the Great in one book, and flourished

under Charles and his son Louis, to the year of our Lord eight

hundred and thirty."

The titles of some of Archbishop Turpin's chapters will show the

nature of his history. They are these: "Of the Walls of Pampeluna,

that fell of themselves." "Of the War of the holy Facundus, where

the Spears grew." (Certain of the Christians fixed their spears in

the evening, erect in the ground, before the castle; and found

them, in the morning, covered with bark and branches.) "How the

Sun stood still for Three Days, and of the Slaughter of Four

Thousand Saracens."

Turpin's history has perhaps been the source of the marvellous

adventures which succeeding poets and romancers have accumulated

around the names of Charlemagne and his Paladins, or Peers. But

Ariosto and the other Italian poets have drawn from different

sources, and doubtless often from their own invention, numberless

other stories which they attribute to the same heroes, not

hesitating to quote as their authority "the good Turpin," though

his history contains no trace of them; and the more outrageous the

improbability, or rather the impossibility, of their narrations,

the more attentive are they to cite "the Archbishop," generally

adding their testimonial to his unquestionable veracity.

The principal Italian poets who have sung the adventures of the

peers of Charlemagne are Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto. The

characters of Orlando, Rinaldo, Astolpho, Gano, and others, are

the same in all, though the adventures attributed to them are

different. Boiardo tells us of the loves of Orlando, Ariosto of

his disappointment and consequent madness, Pulci of his death.

Ogier, the Dane, is a real personage. History agrees with romance

in representing him as a powerful lord who, originally from

Denmark and a Pagan, embraced Christianity, and took service under

Charlemagne. He revolted from the Emperor, and was driven into

exile. He afterwards led one of those bands of piratical Northmen

which ravaged France under the reigns of Charlemagne's degenerate

successors. The description which an ancient chronicler gives of

Charlemagne, as described by Ogier, is so picturesque, that we are

tempted to transcribe it. Charlemagne was advancing to the siege

of Pavia. Didier, King of the Lombards, was in the city with

Ogier, to whom he had given refuge. When they learned that the

king was approaching they mounted a high tower, whence they could

see far and wide over the country. "They first saw advancing the

engines of war, fit for the armies of Darius or Julius Caesar.

'There is Charlemagne,' said Didier. 'No,' said Ogier. The Lombard

next saw a vast body of soldiers, who filled all the plain.

'Certainly Charles advanced with that host,' said the king. 'Not

yet,' replied Ogier. 'What hope for us,' resumed the king, 'if he

brings with him a greater host than that?' At last Charles

appeared, his head covered with an iron helmet, his hands with

iron gloves, his breast and shoulders with a cuirass of iron, his

left hand holding an iron lance, while his right hand grasped his

sword. Those who went before the monarch, those who marched at his

side, and those who followed him, all had similar arms. Iron

covered the fields and the roads; iron points reflected the rays

of the sun. This iron, so hard, was borne by a people whose hearts

were harder still. The blaze of the weapons flashed terror into

the streets of the city."

This picture of Charlemagne in his military aspect would be

incomplete without a corresponding one of his "mood of peace." One

of the greatest of modern historians, M. Guizot, has compared the

glory of Charlemagne to a brilliant meteor, rising suddenly out of

the darkness of barbarism to disappear no less suddenly in the

darkness of feudalism. But the light of this meteor was not

extinguished, and reviving civilization owed much that was

permanently beneficial to the great Emperor of the Franks. His

ruling hand is seen in the legislation of his time, as well as in

the administration of the laws. He encouraged learning; he upheld

the clergy, who were the only peaceful and intellectual class,

against the encroaching and turbulent barons; he was an

affectionate father, and watched carefully over the education of

his children, both sons and daughters. Of his encouragement of

learning we will give some particulars.

He caused learned men to be brought from Italy and from other

foreign countries to revive the public schools of France, which

had been prostrated by the disorders of preceding times. He

recompensed these learned men liberally, and kept some of them

near himself, honoring them with his friendship. Of these the most

celebrated is Alcuin, an Englishman, whose writings still remain,

and prove him to have been both a learned and a wise man. With the

assistance of Alcuin, and others like him, he founded an academy

or royal school, which should have the direction of the studies of

all the schools of the kingdom. Charlemagne himself was a member

of this academy on equal terms with the rest. He attended its

meetings, and fulfilled all the duties of an academician. Each

member took the name of some famous man of antiquity. Alcuin

called himself Horace, another took the name of Augustin, a third

of Pindar. Charlemagne, who knew the Psalms by heart, and who had

an ambition to be, according to his conception, A KING AFTER GOD'S

OWN HEART, received from his brother academicians the name of

David.

Of the respect entertained for him by foreign nations an

interesting proof is afforded in the embassy sent to him by the

Caliph of the Arabians, the celebrated Haroun al Raschid, a prince

in character and conduct not unlike to Charlemagne. The

ambassadors brought with them, besides other rich presents, a

clock, the first that was seen in Europe, which excited universal

admiration. It had the form of a twelve-sided edifice with twelve

doors. These doors formed niches, in each of which was a little

statue representing one of the hours. At the striking of the hour

the doors, one for each stroke, was seen to open, and from the

doors to issue as many of the little statues, which, following one

another, marched gravely round the tower. The motion of the clock

was caused by water, and the striking was effected by balls of

brass equal to the number of the hours, which fell upon a cymbal

of the same metal, the number falling being determined by the

discharge of the water, which, as it sunk in the vessel, allowed

their escape.

Charlemagne was succeeded by his son Louis, a well-intentioned but

feeble prince, in whose reign the fabric reared by Charles began

rapidly to crumble. Louis was followed successively by two

Charleses, incapable princes, whose weak and often tyrannical

conduct is no doubt the source of incidents of that character

ascribed in the romances to Charlemagne.

The lawless and disobedient deportment of Charles's paladins,

instances of which are so frequent in the romantic legends, was

also a trait of the declining empire, but not of that of

Charlemagne.

THE PEERS, OR PALADINS

The twelve most illustrious knights of Charlemagne were called

Peers, for the equality that reigned among them; while the name of

Paladins, also conferred on them, implies that they were inmates

of the palace and companions of the king. Their names are always

given alike by the romancers, yet we may enumerate the most

distinguished of them as follows: Orlando or Roland (the former

the Italian, the latter the French form of the name), favorite

nephew of Charlemagne; Rinaldo of Montalban, cousin of Orlando;

Namo, Duke of Bavaria; Salomon, king of Brittany; Turpin, the

Archbishop; Astolpho, of England; Ogier, the Dane; Malagigi, the

Enchanter; and Florismart, the friend of Orlando. There were

others who are sometimes named as paladins, and the number cannot

be strictly limited to twelve. Charlemagne himself must be counted

one, and Ganelon, or Gano, of Mayence, the treacherous enemy of

all the rest, was rated high on the list by his deluded sovereign,

who was completely the victim of his arts.

We shall introduce more particularly to our readers a few of the

principal peers, leaving the others to make their own introduction

as they appear in the course of our narrative. We begin with

Orlando.

ORLANDO

Milon, or Milone, a knight of great family, and distantly related

to Charlemagne, having secretly married Bertha, the Emperor's

sister, was banished from France, and excommunicated by the Pope.

After a long and miserable wandering on foot as mendicants Milon

and his wife arrived at Sutri, in Italy, where they took refuge in

a cave, and in that cave Orlando was born. There his mother

continued, deriving a scanty support from the compassion of the

neighboring peasants; while Milon, in quest of honor and fortune,

went into foreign lands. Orlando grew up among the children of the

peasantry, surpassing them all in strength and manly graces. Among

his companions in age, though in station far more elevated, was

Oliver, son of the governor of the town. Between the two boys a

feud arose that led to a fight, in which Orlando thrashed his

rival; but this did not prevent a friendship springing up between

the two, which lasted through life.

Orlando was so poor that he was sometimes half naked. As he was a

favorite of the boys, one day four of them brought some cloth to

make him clothes. Two brought white and two red; and from this

circumstance Orlando took his coat-of-arms, or quarterings.

When Charlemagne was on his way to Rome to receive the imperial

crown he dined in public in Sutri. Orlando and his mother that day

had nothing to eat, and Orlando coming suddenly upon the royal

party, and seeing abundance of provisions, seized from the

attendants as much as he could carry off, and made good his

retreat in spite of their resistance. The Emperor, being told of

this incident, was reminded of an intimation he had received in a

dream, and ordered the boy to be followed. This was done by three

of the knights, whom Orlando would have encountered with a cudgel

on their entering the grotto, had not his mother restrained him.

When they heard from her who she was they threw themselves at her

feet, and promised to obtain her pardon from the Emperor. This was

easily effected. Orlando was received into favor by the Emperor,

returned with him to France, and so distinguished himself that he

became the most powerful support of the throne and of

Christianity. [Footnote: It is plain that Shakspeare borrowed from

this source the similar incident in his "As you Like it." The

names of characters in the play, Orlando, Oliver, Rowland indicate

the same thing.]

ROLAND AND FERRAGUS

Orlando, or Roland, particularly distinguished himself by his

combat with Ferragus. Ferragus was a giant, and moreover his skin

was of such impenetrable stuff that no sword could make any

impression upon it. The giant's mode of fighting was to seize his

adversary in his arms and carry him off, in spite of all the

struggles he could make. Roland's utmost skill only availed to

keep him out of the giant's clutches, but all his efforts to wound

him with the sword were useless. After long fighting Ferragus was

so weary that he proposed a truce, and when it was agreed upon he

lay down and immediately fell asleep. He slept in perfect

security, for it was against all the laws of chivalry to take

advantage of an adversary under such circumstances. But Ferragus

lay so uncomfortably for the want of a pillow that Orlando took

pity upon him, and brought a smooth stone and placed it under his

head. When the giant woke up, after a refreshing nap, and

perceived what Orlando had done, he seemed quite grateful, became

sociable, and talked freely in the usual boastful style of such

characters. Among other things he told Orlando that he need not

attempt to kill him with a sword, for that every part of his body

was invulnerable, except this; and as he spoke, he put his hand to

the vital part, just in the middle of his breast. Aided by this

information Orlando succeeded, when the fight was renewed, in

piercing the giant in the very spot he had pointed out, and giving

him a death-wound. Great was the rejoicing in the Christian camp,

and many the praises showered upon the victorious paladin by the

Emperor and all his host.

On another occasion Orlando encountered a puissant Saracen

warrior, and took from him, as the prize of victory, the sword

Durindana. This famous weapon had once belonged to the illustrious

prince Hector of Troy. It was of the finest workmanship, and of

such strength and temper that no armor in the world could stand

against it.

A ROLAND FOR AN OLIVER

Guerin de Montglave held the lordship of Vienne, subject to

Charlemagne. He had quarrelled with his sovereign, and Charles

laid siege to his city, having ravaged the neighboring country.

Guerin was an aged warrior, but relied for his defence upon his

four sons and two grandsons, who were among the bravest knights of

the age. After the siege had continued two months Charlemagne

received tidings that Marsilius, king of Spain, had invaded

France, and, finding himself unopposed, was advancing rapidly in

the Southern provinces. At this intelligence Charles listened to

the counsel of his peers, and consented to put the quarrel with

Guerin to the decision of Heaven, by single combat between two

knights, one of each party, selected by lot. The proposal was

acceptable to Guerin and his sons. The names of the four, together

with Guerin's own, who would not be excused, and of the two

grandsons, who claimed their lot, being put into a helmet,

Oliver's was drawn forth, and to him, the youngest of the

grandsons, was assigned the honor and the peril of the combat. He

accepted the award with delight, exulting in being thought worthy

to maintain the cause of his family. On Charlemagne's side Roland

was the designated champion, and neither he nor Oliver knew who

his antagonist was to be.

They met on an island in the Rhone, and the warriors of both camps

were ranged on either shore, spectators of the battle. At the

first encounter both lances were shivered, but both riders kept

their seats, immovable. They dismounted, and drew their swords.

Then ensued a combat which seemed so equal, that the spectators

could not form an opinion as to the probable issue. Two hours and

more the knights continued to strike and parry, to thrust and

ward, neither showing any sign of weariness, nor ever being taken

at unawares. At length Orlando struck furiously upon Oliver's

shield, burying Durindana in its edge so deeply that he could not

draw it back, and Oliver, almost at the same moment, thrust so

vigorously upon Orlando's breastplate that his sword snapped off

at the handle. Thus were the two warriors left weaponless.

Scarcely pausing a moment, they rushed upon one another, each

striving to throw his adversary to the ground, and failing in

that, each snatched at the other's helmet to tear it away. Both

succeeded, and at the same moment they stood bare-headed face to

face, and Roland recognized Oliver, and Oliver Roland. For a

moment they stood still; and the next, with open arms, rushed into

one another's embrace. "I am conquered," said Orlando. "I yield

me." said Oliver.

The people on the shore knew not what to make of all this.

Presently they saw the two late antagonists standing hand in hand,

and it was evident the battle was at an end. The knights crowded

round them, and with one voice hailed them as equals in glory. If

there were any who felt disposed to murmur that the battle was

left undecided they were silenced by the voice of Ogier the Dane,

who proclaimed aloud that all had been done that honor required,

and declared that he would maintain that award against all

gainsayers.

The quarrel with Guerin and his sons being left undecided, a truce

was made for four days, and in that time, by the efforts of Duke

Namo on the one side, and of Oliver on the other, a reconciliation

was effected. Charlemagne, accompanied by Guerin and his valiant

family, marched to meet Marsilius, who hastened to retreat across

the frontier.

RINALDO

Rinaldo was one of the four sons of Aymon, who married Aya, the

sister of Charlemagne. Thus Rinaldo was nephew to Charlemagne and

cousin of Orlando.

When Rinaldo had grown old enough to assume arms Orlando had won

for himself an illustrious name by his exploits against the

Saracens, whom Charlemagne and his brave knights had driven out of

France. Orlando's fame excited a noble emulation in Rinaldo. Eager

to go in pursuit of glory, he wandered in the country near Paris,

and one day saw at the foot of a tree a superb horse, fully

equipped and loaded with a complete suit of armor. Rinaldo clothed

himself in the armor and mounted the horse, but took not the

sword. On the day when, with his brothers, he had received the

honor of knighthood from the Emperor he had sworn never to bind a

sword to his side till he had wrested one from some famous knight.

Rinaldo took his way to the forest of Arden, celebrated for so

many adventures. Hardly had he entered it when he met an old man,

bending under the weight of years, and learned from him that the

forest was infested with a wild horse, untamable, that broke and

overturned everything that opposed his career. To attack him, he

said, or even to meet him, was certain death. Rinaldo, far from

being alarmed, showed the most eager desire to combat the animal.

This was the horse Bayard, afterward so famous. He had formerly

belonged to Amadis of Gaul. After the death of that hero he had

been held under enchantment by the power of a magician, who

predicted that, when the time came to break the spell, he should

be subdued by a knight of the lineage of Amadis, and not less

brave than he.

To win this wonderful horse it was necessary to conquer him by

force or skill; for from the moment when he should be thrown down

he would become docile and manageable. His habitual resort was a

cave on the borders of the forest; but woe be to any one who

should approach him, unless gifted with strength and courage more

than mortal. Having told this, the old man departed. He was not,

in fact, an old man, but Malagigi, the enchanter, cousin of

Rinaldo, who, to favor the enterprises of the young knight, had

procured for him the horse and armor which he so opportunely

found, and now put him in the way to acquire a horse unequalled in

the world.

Rinaldo plunged into the forest, and spent many days in seeking

Bayard, but found no traces of him. One day he encountered a

Saracen knight, with whom he made acquaintance, as often happened

to knights, by first meeting him in combat. This knight, whose

name was Isolier, was also in quest of Bayard. Rinaldo succeeded

in the encounter, and so severe was the shock that Isolier was a

long time insensible. When he revived, and was about to resume the

contest, a peasant who passed by (it was Malagigi) interrupted

them with the news that the terrible horse was near at hand,

advising them to unite their powers to subdue him, for it would

require all their ability.

Rinaldo and Isolier, now become friends, proceeded together to the

attack of the horse. They found Bayard, and stood a long time,

concealed by the wood, admiring his strength and beauty.

A bright bay in color (whence he was called Bayard), with a silver

star in his forehead, and his hind feet white, his body slender,

his head delicate, his ample chest filled out with swelling

muscles, his shoulders broad and full, his legs straight and

sinewy, his thick mane falling over his arching neck,--he came

rushing through the forest, regardless of rocks, bushes, or trees,

rending everything that opposed his way, and neighing defiance.

He first descried Isolier, and rushed upon him. The knight

received him with lance in rest, but the fierce animal broke the

spear, and his course was not delayed by it for an instant. The

Spaniard adroitly stepped aside, and gave way to the rushing

tempest. Bayard checked his career, and turned again upon the

knight, who had already drawn his sword. He drew his sword, for he

had no hope of taming the horse; that, he was satisfied, was

impossible.

Bayard rushed upon him; fiercely rearing, now on this side, now on

that. The knight struck him with his sword, where the white star

adorned his forehead, but struck in vain, and felt ashamed,

thinking that he had struck feebly, for he did not know that the

skin of that horse was so tough that the keenest sword could make

no impression upon it.

Whistling fell the sword once more, and struck with greater force,

and the fierce horse felt it, and drooped his head under the blow,

but the next moment turned upon his foe with such a buffet that

the Pagan fell stunned and lifeless to the earth.

Rinaldo, who saw Isolier fall, and thought that his life was reft,

darted towards the horse, and, with his fist gave him such a blow

on the jaws that the blood tinged his mouth with vermilion.

Quicker than an arrow leaves the bow the horse turned upon him,

and tried to seize his arm with his teeth.

The knight stepped back, and then, repeating his blow, struck him

on the forehead. Bayard turned, and kicked with both his feet with

a force that would have shattered a mountain. Rinaldo was on his

guard, and evaded his attacks, whether made with head or heels. He

kept at his side avoiding both; but, making a false step, he at

last received a terrible blow from the horse's foot, and at the

shock almost fainted away. A second such blow would have killed

him, but the horse kicked at random, and a second blow did not

reach Rinaldo, who in a moment recovered himself. Thus the contest

continued until by chance Bayard's foot got caught between the

branches of an oak. Rinaldo seized it and putting forth all his

strength and address, threw him on the ground.

No sooner had Bayard touched the ground than all his rage

subsided. No longer an object of terror, he became gentle and

quiet, yet with dignity in his mildness.

The paladin patted his neck, stroked his breast, and smoothed his

mane, while the animal neighed and showed delight to be caressed

by his master. Rinaldo, seeing him now completely subdued, took

the saddle and trappings from the other horse, and adorned Bayard

with the spoils.

Rinaldo became one of the most illustrious knights of

Charlemagne's court,--indeed, the most illustrious, if we except

Orlando. Yet he was not always so obedient to the Emperor's

commands as he should have been, and every fault he committed was

sure to be aggravated by the malice of Gan, Duke of Maganza, the

treacherous enemy of Rinaldo and all his house.

At one time Rinaldo had incurred the severe displeasure of

Charlemagne, and been banished from court. Seeing no chance of

being ever restored to favor, he went to Spain, and entered into

the service of the Saracen king, Ivo. His brothers, Alardo,

Ricardo, and Ricciardetto, accompanied him, and all four served

the king so faithfully that they rose to high favor with him. The

king gave them land in the mountains on the frontiers of France

and Spain, and subjected all the country round to Rinaldo's

authority. There was plenty of marble in the mountains, the king

furnished workmen, and they built a castle for Rinaldo, surrounded

with high walls, so as to be almost impregnable. Built of white

stone, and placed on the brow of a marble promontory, the castle

shone like a star, and Rinaldo gave it the name of Montalban. Here

he assembled his friends, many of whom were banished men like

himself, and the country people furnished them with provisions in

return for the protection the castle afforded. Yet some of

Rinaldo's men were lawless, and sometimes the supplies were not

furnished in sufficient abundance, so that Rinaldo and his

garrison got a bad name for taking by force what they could not

obtain by gift; and we sometimes find Montalban spoken of as a

nest of freebooters, and its defenders called a beggarly garrison.

Charlemagne's displeasure did not last long, and, at the time our

history commences, Rinaldo and his brothers were completely

restored to the favor of the Emperor, and none of his cavaliers

served him with greater zeal and fidelity than they, throughout

all his wars with the Saracens and Pagans.

THE TOURNAMENT

It was the month of May, and the feast of Pentecost. Charlemagne

had ordered magnificent festivities, and summoned to them, besides

his paladins and vassals of the crown, all strangers, Christian or

Saracen, then sojourning at Paris. Among the guests were King

Grandonio, from Spain; and Ferrau, the Saracen, with eyes like an

eagle; Orlando and Rinaldo, the Emperor's nephews; Duke Namo;

Astolpho, of England, the handsomest man living; Malagigi, the

Enchanter; and Gano, of Maganza, that wily traitor, who had the

art to make the Emperor think he loved him, while he plotted

against him.

High sat Charlemagne at the head of his vassals and his paladins,

rejoicing in the thought of their number and their might, while

all were sitting and hearing music, and feasting, when suddenly

there came into the hall four enormous giants, having between them

a lady of incomparable beauty, attended by a single knight. There

were many ladies present who had seemed beautiful till she made

her appearance, but after that they all seemed nothing. Every

Christian knight turned his eyes to her, and every Pagan crowded

round her, while she, with a sweetness that might have touched a

heart of stone, thus addressed the Emperor:

"High-minded lord, the renown of your worthiness, and of the valor

of these your knights, which echoes from sea to sea, encourages me

to hope that two pilgrims, who have come from the ends of the

world to behold you, will not have encountered their fatigue in

vain. And, before I show the motive which has brought us hither,

learn that this knight is my brother Uberto, and that I am his

sister Angelica. Fame has told us of the jousting this day

appointed, and so the prince my brother has come to prove his

valor, and to say that, if any of the knights here assembled

choose to meet him in the joust, he will encounter them, one by

one, at the stair of Merlin, by the Fountain of the Pine. And his

conditions are these: No knight who chances to be thrown shall be

allowed to renew the combat, but shall remain prisoner to my

brother; but if my brother be overthrown he shall depart out of

the country, leaving me as the prize of the conqueror."

Now it must be stated that this Angelica and her brother, who

called himself Uberto, but whose real name was Argalia, were the

children of Galafron, king of Cathay, who had sent them to be the

destruction of the Christian host; for Argalia was armed with an

enchanted lance, which unfailingly overthrew everything it

touched, and he was mounted on a horse, a creature of magic, whose

swiftness outstripped the wind. Angelica possessed also a ring

which was a defence against all enchantments, and when put into

the mouth rendered the bearer invisible. Thus Argalia was expected

to subdue and take prisoners whatever knights should dare to

encounter him; and the charms of Angelica were relied on to entice

the paladins to make the fatal venture, while her ring would

afford her easy means of escape.

When Angelica ceased sneaking she knelt before the king and

awaited his answer, and everybody gazed on her with admiration.

Orlando especially felt irresistibly drawn towards her, so that he

trembled and changed countenance. Every knight in the hall was

infected with the same feeling, not excepting old white-headed

Duke Namo and Charlemagne himself.

All stood for a while in silence, lost in the delight of looking

at her. The fiery youth Ferrau could hardly restrain himself from

seizing her from the giants and carrying her away; Rinaldo turned

as red as fire, while Malagigi, who had discovered by his art that

the stranger was not speaking truth, muttered softly, as he looked

at her, "Exquisite false creature! I will play thee such a trick

for this, as will leave thee no cause to boast of thy visit."

Charlemagne, to detain her as long as possible before him, delayed

his assent till he had asked her a number of questions, all which

she answered discreetly, and then the challenge was accepted.

As soon as she was gone Malagigi consulted his book, and found out

the whole plot of the vile, infidel king, Galafron, as we have

explained it, so he determined to seek the damsel and frustrate

her designs. He hastened to the appointed spot, and there found

the prince and his sister in a beautiful pavilion, where they lay

asleep, while the four giants kept watch. Malagigi took his book

and cast a spell out of it, and immediately the four giants fell

into a deep sleep. Drawing his sword (for he was a belted knight),

he softly approached the young lady, intending to despatch her at

once; but, seeing her look so lovely, he paused for a moment,

thinking there was no need of hurry, as he believed his spell was

upon her, and she could not wake. But the ring which she wore

secured her from the effect of the spell, and some slight noise,

or whatever else it was, caused her at that moment to awake. She

uttered a great cry, and flew to her brother, and waked him. By

the help of her knowledge of enchantment, they took and bound fast

the magician, and, seizing his book, turned his arts against

himself. Then they summoned a crowd of demons, and bade them seize

their prisoner and bear him to King Galafron, at his great city of

Albracca, which they did, and, on his arrival, he was locked up in

a rock under the sea.

While these things were going on all was uproar at Paris, since

Orlando insisted upon being the first to try the adventure at the

stair of Merlin. This was resented by the other pretenders to

Angelica, and all contested his right to the precedence. The

tumult was stilled by the usual expedient of drawing lots, and the

first prize was drawn by Astolpho. Ferrau, the Saracen, had the

second, and Grandonio the third. Next came Berlinghieri, and Otho;

then Charles himself, and, as his ill-fortune would have it, after

thirty more, the indignant Orlando.

Astolpho, who drew the first lot, was handsome, brave, and rich.

But, whether from heedlessness or want of skill, he was an unlucky

jouster, and very apt to be thrown, an accident which he bore with

perfect good-humor, always ready to mount again and try to mend

his fortune, generally with no better success.

Astolpho went forth upon his adventure with great gayety of dress

and manner, encountered Argalia, and was immediately tilted out of

the saddle. He railed at fortune, to whom he laid all the fault;

but his painful feelings were somewhat relieved by the kindness of

Angelica, who, touched by his youth and good looks, granted him

the liberty of the pavilion, and caused him to be treated with all

kindness and respect.

The violent Ferrau had the next chance in the encounter, and was

thrown no less speedily than Astolpho; but he did not so easily

put up with his mischance. Crying out, "What are the emperor's

engagements to me?" he rushed with his sword against Argalia, who,

being forced to defend himself, dismounted and drew his sword, but

got so much the worse of the fight that he made a signal of

surrender, and, after some words, listened to a proposal of

marriage from Ferrau to his sister. The beauty, however, feeling

no inclination to match with such a rough and savage-looking

person, was so dismayed at the offer, that, hastily bidding her

brother to meet her in the forest of Arden, she vanished from the

sight of both by means of the enchanted ring. Argalia, seeing

this, took to his horse of swiftness, and dashed away in the same

direction. Ferrau pursued him, and Astolpho, thus left to himself,

took possession of the enchanted lance in place of his own, which

was broken, not knowing the treasure he possessed in it, and

returned to the tournament. Charlemagne, finding the lady and her

brother gone, ordered the jousting to proceed as at first

intended, in which Astolpho, by aid of the enchanted lance,

unhorsed all comers against him, equally to their astonishment and

his own.

The paladin Rinaldo, on learning the issue of the combat of Ferrau

and the stranger, galloped after the fair fugitive in an agony of

love and impatience. Orlando, perceiving his disappearance, pushed

forth in like manner; and, at length, all three are in the forest

of Arden, hunting about for her who is invisible.

Now in this forest there were two fountains, the one constructed

by the sage Merlin, who designed it for Tristram and the fair

Isoude; [Footnote: See their story in "King Arthur and His

Knights."] for such was the virtue of this fountain, that a

draught of its waters produced on oblivion of the love which the

drinker might feel, and even produced aversion for the object

formerly beloved. The other fountain was endowed with exactly

opposite qualities, and a draught of it inspired love for the

first living object that was seen after tasting it. Rinaldo

happened to come to the first mentioned fountain, and, being

flushed with heat, dismounted, and quenched in one draught both

his thirst and his passion. So far from loving Angelica as before

he hated her from the bottom of his heart, became disgusted with

the search he was upon, and, feeling fatigued with his ride,

finding a sheltered and flowery nook, laid himself down and fell

asleep.

Shortly after came Angelica, but, approaching in a different

direction, she espied the other fountain, and there quenched her

thirst. Then resuming her way, she came upon the sleeping Rinaldo.

Love instantly seized her, and she stood rooted to the spot.

The meadow round was all full of lilies of the valley and wild

roses. Angelica, not knowing what to do, at length plucked a

handful of these, and dropped them, one by one, on the face of the

sleeper. He woke up, and, seeing who it was, received her

salutations with averted countenance, remounted his horse, and

galloped away. In vain the beautiful creature followed and called

after him, in vain asked him what she had done to be so despised.

Rinaldo disappeared, leaving her in despair, and she returned in

tears to the spot where she had found him sleeping. There, in her

turn, she herself lay down, pressing the spot of earth on which he

had lain, and, out of fatigue and sorrow, fell asleep.

As Angelica thus lay, fortune conducted Orlando to the same place.

The attitude in which she was sleeping was so lovely that it is

not to be conceived, much less expressed. Orlando stood gazing

like a man who had been transported to another sphere. "Am I on

earth," he exclaimed, "or am I in Paradise? Surely it is I that

sleep, and this is my dream."

But his dream was proved to be none in a manner which he little

desired. Ferrau, who had slain Argalia, came up, raging with

jealousy, and a combat ensued which awoke the sleeper.

Terrified at what she beheld, she rushed to her palfrey, and,

while the fighters were occupied with one another, fled away

through the forest. The champions continued their fight till they

were interrupted by a messenger, who brought word to Ferrau that

king Marsilius, his sovereign, was in pressing need of his

assistance, and conjured him to return to Spain. Ferrau, upon

this, proposed to suspend the combat, to which Orlando, eager to

pursue Angelica, agreed. Ferrau, on the other hand, departed with

the messenger to Spain.

Orlando's quest for the fair fugitive was all in vain. Aided by

the powers of magic, she made a speedy return to her own country.

But the thought of Rinaldo could not be banished from her mind,

and she determined to set Malagigi at liberty, and to employ him

to win Rinaldo, if possible, to make her a return of affection.

She accordingly freed him from his dungeon, unlocking his fetters

with her own hands, and restored him his book, promising him ample

honors and rewards on condition of his bringing Rinaldo to her

feet.

Malagigi accordingly, with the aid of his book, called up a demon,

mounted him, and departed. Arrived at his destination, he

inveigled Rinaldo into an enchanted bark, which conveyed him,

without any visible pilot, to an island where stood an edifice

called Joyous Castle. The whole island was a garden. On the

western side, close to the sea, was the palace, built of marble,

so clear and polished that it reflected the landscape about it.

Rinaldo leapt ashore, and soon met a lady, who invited him to

enter. The house was as beautiful within as without, full of rooms

adorned with azure and gold, and with noble paintings. The lady

led the knight into an apartment painted with stories, and opening

to the garden, through pillars of crystal, with golden capitals.

Here he found a bevy of ladies, three of whom were singing in

concert, while another played on an instrument of exquisite

accord, and the rest danced round about them. When the ladies

beheld him coming they turned the dance into a circuit round him,

and then one of them, in the sweetest manner, said, "Sir knight,

the tables are set, and the hour for the banquet is come;" and,

with these words, still dancing, they drew him across the lawn in

front of the apartment, to a table that was spread with cloth of

gold and fine linen, under a bower of damask roses by the side of

a fountain.

Four ladies were already seated there, who rose, and placed

Rinaldo at their head, in a chair set with pearls. And truly

indeed was he astonished. A repast ensued, consisting of viands

the most delicate, and wines as fragrant as they were fine, drunk

out of jewelled cups; and, when it drew towards its conclusion,

harps and lutes were heard in the distance, and one of the ladies

said in the knight's ear: "This house and all that you see in it

are yours; for you alone was it built, and the builder is a queen.

Happy indeed must you think yourself, for she loves you, and she

is the greatest beauty in the world! Her name is Angelica."

The moment Rinaldo heard the name he so detested he started up,

with a changed countenance, and, in spite of all that the lady

could say, broke off across the garden, and never ceased hastening

till he reached the place where he landed. The bark was still on

the shore. He sprang into it, and pushed off, though he saw nobody

in it but himself. It was in vain for him to try to control its

movements, for it dashed on as if in fury, till it reached a

distant shore covered with a gloomy forest. Here Rinaldo,

surrounded by enchantments of a very different sort from those

which he had lately resisted, was entrapped into a pit.

The pit belonged to a castle called Altaripa, which was hung with

human heads, and painted red with blood. As the paladin was

viewing the scene with amazement a hideous old woman made her

appearance at the edge of the pit, and told him that he was

destined to be thrown to a monster, who was only kept from

devastating the whole country by being supplied with living human

flesh. Rinaldo said, "Be it so; let me but remain armed as I am,

and I fear nothing." The old woman laughed in derision. Rinaldo

remained in the pit all night, and the next morning was taken to

the place where the monster had his den. It was a court surrounded

by a high wall. Rinaldo was shut in with the beast, and a terrible

combat ensued. Rinaldo was unable to make any impression on the

scales of the monster, while he, on the contrary, with his

dreadful claws, tore away plate and mail from the paladin. Rinaldo

began to think his last hour was come, and cast his eyes around

and above to see if there was any means of escape. He perceived a

beam projecting from the wall at the height of some ten feet, and,

taking a leap almost miraculous, he succeeded in reaching it, and

in flinging himself up across it. Here he sat for hours, the

hideous brute continually trying to reach him. All at once he

heard the sound of something coming through the air like a bird,

and suddenly Angelica herself alighted on the end of the beam. She

held something in her hand towards him, and spoke to him in a

loving voice. But the moment Rinaldo saw her he commanded her to

go away, refused all her offers of assistance, and at length

declared that, if she did not leave him, he would cast himself

down to the monster, and meet his fate.

Angelica, saying she would lose her life rather than displease

him, departed; but first she threw to the monster a cake of wax

she had prepared, and spread around him a rope knotted with

nooses. The beast took the bait, and, finding his teeth glued

together by the wax, vented his fury in bounds and leaps, and,

soon getting entangled in the nooses, drew them tight by his

struggles, so that he could scarcely move a limb.

Rinaldo, watching his chance, leapt down upon his back, seized him

round the neck, and throttled him, not relaxing his gripe till the

beast fell dead.

Another difficulty remained to be overcome. The walls were of

immense height, and the only opening in them was a grated window

of such strength that he could not break the bars. In his distress

Rinaldo found a file, which Angelica had left on the ground, and,

with the help of this, effected his deliverance.

What further adventures he met with will be told in another

chapter.

THE SIEGE OF ALBRACCA

At the very time when Charlemagne was holding his plenary court

and his great tournament his kingdom was invaded by a mighty

monarch, who was moreover so valiant and strong in battle that no

one could stand against him. He was named Gradasso, and his

kingdom was called Sericane. Now, as it often happens to the

greatest and the richest to long for what they cannot have, and

thus to lose what they already possess, this king could not rest

content without Durindana, the sword of Orlando, and Bayard, the

horse of Rinaldo. To obtain these he determined to war upon

France, and for this purpose put in array a mighty army.

He took his way through Spain, and, after defeating Marsilius, the

king of that country, in several battles, was rapidly advancing on

France. Charlemagne, though Marsilius was a Saracen, and had been

his enemy, yet felt it needful to succor him in this extremity

from a consideration of common danger, and, with the consent of

his peers, despatched Rinaldo with a strong body of soldiers

against Gradasso.

There was much fighting, with doubtful results, and Gradasso was

steadily advancing into France. But, impatient to achieve his

objects, he challenged Rinaldo to single combat, to be fought on

foot, and upon these conditions: If Rinaldo conquered, Gradasso

agreed to give up all his prisoners and return to his own country;

but if Gradasso won the day, he was to have Bayard.

The challenge was accepted, and would have been fought had it not

been for the arts of Malagigi, who just then returned from

Angelica's kingdom with set purpose to win Rinaldo to look with

favor upon the fair princess who was dying for love of him.

Malagigi drew Rinaldo away from the army by putting on the

semblance of Gradasso, and, after a short contest, pretending to

fly before him, by which means Rinaldo was induced to follow him

into a boat, in which he was borne away, and entangled in various

adventures, as we have already related.

The army, left under the command of Ricciardetto, Rinaldo's

brother, was soon joined by Charlemagne and all his peerage, but

experienced a disastrous rout, and the Emperor and many of his

paladins were taken prisoners. Gradasso, however, did not abuse

his victory; he took Charles by the hand, seated him by his side,

and told him he warred only for honor. He renounced all conquests,

on condition that the Emperor should deliver to him Bayard and

Durindana, both of them the property of his vassals, the former of

which, as he maintained, was already forfeited to him by Rinaldo's

failure to meet him as agreed. To these terms Charlemagne readily

acceded.

Bayard, after the departure of his master, had been taken in

charge by Ricciardetto, and sent back to Paris, where Astolpho was

in command, in the absence of Charlemagne. Astolpho received with

great indignation the message despatched for Bayard, and replied

by a herald that "he would not surrender the horse of his kinsman

Rinaldo without a contest. If Gradasso wanted the steed he might

come and take him, and that he, Astolpho, was ready to meet him in

the field."

Gradasso was only amused at this answer, for Astolpho's fame as a

successful warrior was not high, and Gradasso willingly renewed

with him the bargain which he had made with Rinaldo. On these

conditions the battle was fought. The enchanted lance, in the

hands of Astolpho, performed a new wonder; and Gradasso, the

terrible Gradasso, was unhorsed.

He kept his word, set free his prisoners, and put his army on the

march to return to his own country, renewing his oath, however,

not to rest till he had taken from Rinaldo his horse, and from

Orlando his sword, or lost his life in the attempt.

Charlemagne, full of gratitude to Astolpho, would have kept him

near his person and loaded him with honors, but Astolpho preferred

to seek Rinaldo, with the view of restoring to him his horse, and

departed from Paris with that design.

Our story now returns to Orlando, whom we left fascinated with

the sight of the sleeping beauty, who, however, escaped him while

engaged in the combat with Ferrau. Having long sought her in vain

through the recesses of the wood, he resolved to follow her to her

father's court. Leaving, therefore, the camp of Charlemagne, he

travelled long in the direction of the East, making inquiry

everywhere, if, perchance, he might get tidings of the fugitive.

After many adventures, he arrived one day at a place where many

roads crossed, and meeting there a courier, he asked him for news.

The courier replied that he had been despatched by Angelica to

solicit the aid of Sacripant, king of Circassia, in favor of her

father Galafron, who was besieged in his city, Albracca, by

Agrican, king of Tartary. This Agrican had been an unsuccessful

suitor to the damsel, whom he now pursued with arms. Orlando thus

learned that he was within a day's journey of Albracca; and,

feeling now secure of Angelica, he proceeded with all speed to her

city.

Thus journeying he arrived at a bridge, under which flowed a

foaming river. Here a damsel met him with a goblet, and informed

him that it was the usage of this bridge to present the traveller

with a cup. Orlando accepted the offered cup and drank its

contents. He had no sooner done so than his brain reeled, and he

became unconscious of the object of his journey, and of everything

else. Under the influence of this fascination he followed the

damsel into a magnificent and marvellous palace. Here he found

himself in company with many knights, unknown to him and to each

other, though if it had not been for the Cup of Oblivion of which

they all had partaken they would have found themselves brothers in

arms.

Astolpho, proceeding on his way to seek Rinaldo, splendidly

dressed and equipped, as was his wont, arrived in Circassia, and

found there a great army encamped under the command of Sacripant,

the king of that country, who was leading it to the defence of

Galafron, the father of Angelica. Sacripant, much struck by the

appearance of Astolpho and his horse, accosted him courteously,

and tried to enlist him in his service; but Astolpho, proud of his

late victories, scornfully declined his offers, and pursued his

way. King Sacripant was too much attracted by his appearance to

part with him so easily, and having laid aside his kingly

ornaments, set out in pursuit of him.

Astolpho next day encountered on his way a stranger knight, named

Sir Florismart, Lord of the Sylvan Tower, one of the bravest and

best of knights, having as his guide a damsel, young, fair, and

virtuous, to whom he was tenderly attached, whose name was

Flordelis. Astolpho, as he approached, defied the knight, bidding

him yield the lady, or prepare to maintain his right by arms.

Florismart accepted the contest, and the knights encountered.

Florismart was unhorsed and his steed fell dead, while Bayard

sustained no injury by the shock.

Florismart was so overwhelmed with despair at his own disgrace and

the sight of the damsel's distress, that he drew his sword, and

was about to plunge it into his own bosom. But Astolpho held his

hand, told him that he contended only for glory, and was contented

to leave him the lady.

While Florismart and Flordelis were vowing eternal gratitude King

Sacripant arrived, and coveting the damsel of the one champion as

much as the horse and arms of the other, defied them to the joust.

Astolpho met the challenger, whom he instantly overthrew, and

presented his courser to Florismart, leaving the king to return to

his army on foot.

The friends pursued their route, and ere long Flordelis

discovered, by signs which were known to her, that they were

approaching the waters of Oblivion, and advised them to turn back,

or to change their course. This the knights would not hear of,

and, continuing their march, they soon arrived at the bridge where

Orlando had been taken prisoner.

The damsel of the bridge appeared as before with the enchanted

cup, but Astolpho, forewarned, rejected it with scorn. She dashed

it to the ground, and a fire blazed up which rendered the bridge

unapproachable. At the same moment the two knights were assailed

by sundry warriors, known and unknown, who, having no recollection

of anything, joined blindly in defence of their prison-house.

Among these was Orlando, at sight of whom Astolpho, with all his

confidence not daring to encounter him, turned and fled, owing his

escape to the strength and fleetness of Bayard.

Florismart, meanwhile, overlaid by fearful odds, was compelled to

yield to necessity, and comply with the usage of the fairy. He

drank of the cup and remained prisoner with the rest. Flordelis,

deprived of her two friends, retired from the scene, and devoted

herself to untiring efforts to effect her lover's deliverance.

Astolpho pursued his way to Albracca, which Agrican was about to

besiege. He was kindly welcomed by Angelica, and enrolled among

her defenders. Impatient to distinguish himself, he one night

sallied forth alone, arrived in Agrican's camp, and unhorsed his

warriors right and left by means of the enchanted lance. But he

was soon surrounded and overmatched, and made prisoner to Agrican.

Relief was, however, at hand; for as the citizens and soldiers

were one day leaning over their walls they descried a cloud of

dust, from which horsemen were seen to prick forth, as it rolled

on towards the camp of the besiegers. This turned out to be the

army of Sacripant, which immediately attacked that of Agrican,

with the view of cutting a passage through his camp to the

besieged city. But Agrican, mounted upon Bayard, taken from

Astolpho, but not armed with the lance of gold, the virtues of

which were unknown to him, performed wonders, and rallied his

scattered troops, which had given way to the sudden and unexpected

assault. Sacripant, on the other hand, encouraged his men by the

most desperate acts of valor, having as an additional incentive to

his courage the sight of Angelica, who showed herself upon the

city walls.

There she witnessed a single combat between the two leaders,

Agrican and Sacripant. In this, at length, her defender appeared

to be overmatched, when the Circassians broke the ring, and

separated the combatants, who were borne asunder in the rush.

Sacripant, severely wounded, profited by the confusion, and

escaped into Albracca, where he was kindly received and carefully

tended by Angelica.

The battle continuing, the Circassians were at last put to flight,

and, being intercepted between the enemy's lines and the town,

sought for refuge under the walls. Angelica ordered the drawbridge

to be let down, and the gates thrown open to the fugitives. With

these Agrican, not distinguished in the crowd, entered the place,

driving both Circassians and Cathayans before him, and the

portcullis being dropped, he was shut in.

For a time the terror which he inspired put to flight all

opposers, but when at last it came to be known that few or none of

his followers had effected an entrance with him, the fugitives

rallied and surrounded him on all sides. While he was thus

apparently reduced to the last extremities, he was saved by the

very circumstance which threatened him with destruction. The

soldiers of Angelica, closing upon him from all sides, deserted

their defences; and his own besieging army entered the city in a

part where the wall was broken down.

In this way was Agrican rescued, the city taken, and the

inhabitants put to the sword. Angelica, however, with some of the

knights who were her defenders, among whom was Sacripant, saved

herself in the citadel, which was planted upon a rock.

The fortress was impregnable, but it was scantily victualled, and

ill provided with other necessaries. Under these circumstances

Angelica announced to those blockaded with her in the citadel her

intention to go in quest of assistance, and, having plighted her

promise of a speedy return, she set out, with the enchanted ring

upon her finger. Mounted upon her palfrey, the damsel passed

through the enemy's lines, and by sunrise was many miles clear of

their encampment.

It so happened that her road led her near the fatal bridge of

Oblivion, and as she approached it she met a damsel weeping

bitterly. It was Flordelis, whose lover, Florismart, as we have

related, had met the fate of Orlando and many more, and fallen a

victim to the enchantress of the cup. She related her adventures

to Angelica, and conjured her to lend what aid she might to rescue

her lord and his companions. Angelica, accordingly, watching her

opportunity and aided by her ring, slipped into the castle unseen,

when the door was opened to admit a new victim. Here she speedily

disenchanted Orlando and the rest by a touch of her talisman. But

Florismart was not there. He had been given up to Falerina, a more

powerful enchantress, and was still in durance. Angelica conjured

the rescued captives to assist her in the recovery of her kingdom,

and all departed together for Albracca.

The arrival of Orlando, with his companions, nine in all, and

among the bravest knights of France, changed at once the fortunes

of the war. Wherever the great paladin came, pennon and standard

fell before him. Agrican in vain attempted to rally his troops.

Orlando kept constantly in his front, forcing him to attend to

nobody else. The Tartar king at length bethought him of a

stratagem. He turned his horse, and made a show of flying in

despair. Orlando dashed after him as he desired, and Agrican fled

till he reached a green place in a wood, where there was a

fountain.

The place was beautiful, and the Tartar dismounted to refresh

himself at the fountain, but without taking off his helmet, or

laying aside any of his armor. Orlando was quickly at his back,

crying out, "So bold, and yet a fugitive! How could you fly from a

single arm and think to escape?"

The Tartar king had leaped on his saddle the moment he saw his

enemy, and when the paladin had done speaking, he said in a mild

voice, "Without doubt you are the best knight I ever encountered,

and fain would I leave you untouched for your own sake, if you

would cease to hinder me from rallying my people. I pretended to

fly, in order to bring you out of the field. If you insist upon

fighting I must needs fight and slay you, but I call the sun in

the heavens to witness I would rather not. I should be very sorry

for your death."

The Count Orlando felt pity for so much gallantry, and he said,

"The nobler you show yourself the more it grieves me to think that

in dying without a knowledge of the true faith you will be lost in

the other world. Let me advise you to save body and soul at once.

Receive baptism, and go your way in peace."

Agrican replied: "I suspect you to be the paladin Orlando. If you

are I would not lose this opportunity of fighting with you to be

king of Paradise. Talk to me no more about your things of another

world, for you will preach in vain. Each of us for himself, and

let the sword be umpire."

The Saracen drew his sword, boldly advancing upon Orlando, and a

combat began, so obstinate and so long, each warrior being a

miracle of prowess, that the story says it lasted from noon till

night. Orlando then seeing the stars come out was the first to

propose a respite.

"What are we to do," said he, "now that daylight has left us?"

Agrican answered readily enough, "Let us repose in this meadow,

and renew the combat at dawn."

The repose was taken accordingly. Each tied up his horse, and

reclined himself on the grass, not far from the other, just as if

they had been friends, Orlando by the fountain, Agrican beneath a

pine. It was a beautiful clear night, and, as they talked together

before addressing themselves to sleep, the champion of

Christendom, looking up at the firmament, said, "That is a fine

piece of workmanship, that starry spectacle; God made it all, that

moon of silver, and those stars of gold, and the light of day, and

the sun,--all for the sake of human kind."

"You wish, I see, to talk of matters of faith," said the Tartar.

"Now I may as well tell you at once that I have no sort of skill

in such matters, nor learning of any kind. I never could learn

anything when I was a boy. I hated it so that I broke the man's

head who was commissioned to teach me; and it produced such an

effect on others that nobody ever afterwards dared so much as show

me a book. My boyhood was therefore passed, as it should be, in

horsemanship and hunting, and learning to fight. What is the good

of a gentleman's poring all day over a book? Prowess to the

knight, and preaching to the clergyman, that is my motto."

"I acknowledge," returned Orlando, "that arms are the first

consideration of a gentleman; but not at all that he does himself

dishonor by knowledge. On the contrary, knowledge is as great an

embellishment of the rest of his attainments, as the flowers are

to the meadow before us; and as to the knowledge of his Maker, the

man that is without it is no better than a stock or a stone or a

brute beast. Neither without study can he reach anything of a due

sense of the depth and divineness of the contemplation."

"Learned or not learned," said Agrican, "you might show yourself

better bred than by endeavoring to make me talk on a subject on

which you have me at a disadvantage. If you choose to sleep I wish

you good night; but if you prefer talking I recommend you to talk

of fighting or of fair ladies. And, by the way, pray tell me, are

you not that Orlando who makes such a noise in the world? And what

is it, pray, that brings you into these parts? Were you ever in

love? I suppose you must have been; for to be a knight, and never

to have been in love, would be like being a man without a heart in

his breast."

The count replied: "Orlando I am, and in love I am. Love has made

me abandon everything, and brought me into these distant regions,

and, to tell you all in one word, my heart is in the hands of the

daughter of King Galafron. You have come against him with fire and

sword, to get possession of his castles and his dominions; and I

have come to help him, for no object in the world but to please

his daughter and win her beautiful hand. I care for nothing else

in existence."

Now when the Tartar king, Agrican, heard his antagonist speak in

this manner, and knew him to be indeed Orlando, and to be in love

with Angelica, his face changed color for grief and jealousy,

though it could not be seen for the darkness. His heart began

beating with such violence that he felt as if he should have died.

"Well," said he to Orlando, "we are to fight when it is daylight,

and one or other is to be left here, dead on the ground. I have a

proposal to make to you--nay, an entreaty. My love is so

excessive for the same lady that I beg you to leave her to me. I

will owe you my thanks, and give up the siege and put an end to

the war. I cannot bear that any one should love her, and that I

should live to see it. Why, therefore, should either of us perish?

Give her up. Not a soul shall know it."

"I never yet," answered Orlando, "made a promise which I did not

keep, and nevertheless I own to you that, were I to make a promise

like that, and even swear to keep it, I should not. You might as

well ask me to tear away the limbs from my body, and the eyes out

of my head. I could as well live without breath itself as cease

loving Angelica."

Agrican had hardly patience to let him finish speaking, ere he

leapt furiously on horseback, though it was midnight. "Quit her,"

said he, "or die!"

Orlando seeing the infidel getting up, and not being sure that he

would not add treachery to fierceness, had been hardly less quick

in mounting for the combat. "Never," exclaimed he; "I never could

have quitted her if I would, and now I would not if I could. You

must seek her by other means than these."

Fiercely dashed their horses together, in the nighttime, on the

green mead. Despiteful and terrible were the blows they gave and

took by the moonlight. Agrican fought in a rage, Orlando was

cooler. And now the struggle had lasted more than five hours, and

day began to dawn, when the Tartar king, furious to find so much

trouble given him, dealt his enemy a blow sharp and violent beyond

conception. It cut the shield in two as if it had been made of

wood, and, though blood could not be drawn from Orlando, because

he was fated, it shook and bruised him as if it had started every

joint in his body.

His body only, however, not a particle of his soul. So dreadful

was the blow which the paladin gave in return, that not only

shield, but every bit of mail on the body of Agrican was broken in

pieces, and three of his ribs cut asunder.

The Tartar, roaring like a lion, raised his sword with still

greater vehemence than before, and dealt a blow on the paladin's

helmet, such as he had never yet received from mortal man. For a

moment it took away his senses. His sight failed, his ears

tingled, his frightened horse turned about to fly; and he was

falling from the saddle, when the very action of falling threw his

head upwards, and thus recalled his recollection.

"What a shame is this!" thought he; "how shall I ever again dare

to face Angelica! I have been fighting hour after hour with this

man, and he is but one, and I call myself Orlando! If the combat

last any longer I will bury myself in a monastery, and never look

on sword again."

Orlando muttered with his lips closed and his teeth ground

together; and you might have thought that fire instead of breath

came out of his nose and mouth. He raised his sword Durindana with

both his hands, and sent it down so tremendously on Agrican's

shoulder that it cut through breastplate down to the very haunch,

nay, crushed the saddle-bow, though it was made of bone and iron,

and felled man and horse to the earth. Agrican turned as white as

ashes, and felt death upon him. He called Orlando to come close to

him, with a gentle voice, and said, as well as he could: "I

believe on Him who died on the cross. Baptize me, I pray thee,

with the fountain, before my senses are gone. I have lived an evil

life, but need not be rebellious to God in death also. May He who

came to save all the rest of the world save me!" And he shed

tears, that great king, though he had been so lofty and fierce.

Orlando dismounted quickly, with his own face in tears. He

gathered the king tenderly in his arms, and took and laid him by

the fountain, on a marble rim that it had, and then he wept in

concert with him heartily, and asked his pardon, and so baptized

him in the water of the fountain, and knelt and prayed to God for

him with joined hands.

He then paused and looked at him; and when he perceived his

countenance changed, and that his whole person was cold, he left

him there on the marble rim of the fountain, all armed as he was,

with the sword by his side, and the crown upon his head.

ADVENTURES OF RINALDO AND ORLANDO

We left Rinaldo when, having overcome the monster, he quitted the

castle of Altaripa, and pursued his way on foot. He soon met with

a weeping damsel, who, being questioned as to the cause of her

sorrow, told him she was in search of one to do battle to rescue

her lover, who had been made prisoner by a vile enchantress,

together with Orlando and many more. The damsel was Flordelis, the

lady-love of Florismart, and Rinaldo promised his assistance,

trusting to accomplish the adventure either by valor or skill.

Flordelis insisted upon Rinaldo's taking her horse, which he

consented to do, on condition of her mounting behind him.

As they rode on through a wood, they heard strange noises, and

Rinaldo, reassuring the damsel, pressed forward towards the

quarter from which they proceeded. He soon perceived a giant

standing under a vaulted cavern, with a huge club in his hand, and

of an appearance to strike the boldest spirit with dread. By the

side of the cavern was chained a griffin, which, together with the

giant, was stationed there to guard a wonderful horse, the same

which was once Argalia's. This horse was a creature of

enchantment, matchless in vigor, speed, and form, which disdained

to share the diet of his fellow-steeds,--corn or grass,--and fed

only on air. His name was Rabican.

This marvellous horse, after his master Argalia had been slain by

Ferrau, finding himself at liberty, returned to his native cavern,

and was here stabled under the protection of the giant and the

griffin. As Rinaldo approached, the giant assailed him with his

club. Rinaldo defended himself from the giant's blows, and gave

him one in return, which, if his skin had not been of the

toughest, would have finished the combat. But the giant, though

wounded, escaped, and let loose the griffin. This monstrous bird

towered in air, and thence pounced down upon Rinaldo, who,

watching his opportunity, dealt her a desperate wound. She had,

however, strength for another flight, and kept repeating her

attacks, which Rinaldo parried as he could, while the damsel stood

trembling by, witnessing the contest.

The battle continued, rendered more terrible by the approach of

night, when Rinaldo determined upon a desperate expedient to bring

it to a conclusion. He fell, as if fainting from his wounds, and,

on the close approach of the griffin, dealt her a blow which

sheared away one of her wings. The beast, though sinking, griped

him fast with her talons, digging through plate and mail; but

Rinaldo plied his sword in utter desperation, and at last

accomplished her destruction.

Rinaldo then entered the cavern, and found there the wonderful

horse, all caparisoned. He was coal-black, except for a star of

white on his forehead, and one white foot behind. For speed he was

unrivalled, though in strength he yielded to Bayard. Rinaldo

mounted upon Rabican, and issued from the cavern.

As he pursued his way he met a fugitive from Agrican's army, who

gave such an account of the prowess of a champion who fought on

the side of Angelica, that Rinaldo was persuaded this must be

Orlando, though at a loss to imagine how he could have been freed

from captivity. He determined to repair to the scene of the

contest to satisfy his curiosity, and Flordelis, hoping to find

Florismart with Orlando, consented to accompany him.

While these things were doing, all was rout and dismay in the

Tartarian army, from the death of Agrican. King Galafron, arriving

at this juncture with an army for the relief of his capital,

Albracca, assaulted the enemy's camp, and carried all before him.

Rinaldo had now reached the scene of action, and was looking on as

an unconcerned spectator, when he was espied by Galafron. The king

instantly recognized the horse Rabican, which he had given to

Argalia when he sent him forth on his ill-omened mission to Paris.

Possessed with the idea that the rider of the horse was the

murderer of Argalia, Galafron rode at Rinaldo, and smote him with

all his force. Rinaldo was not slow to avenge the blow, and it

would have gone hard with the king had not his followers instantly

closed round him and separated the combatants.

Rinaldo thus found himself, almost without his own choice,

enlisted on the side of the enemies of Angelica, which gave him no

concern, so completely had his draught from the fountain of hate

steeled his mind against her.

For several successive days the struggle continued, without any

important results, Rinaldo meeting the bravest knights of

Angelica's party, and defeating them one after the other. At

length he encountered Orlando, and the two knights bitterly

reproached one another for the cause they had each adopted, and

engaged in a furious combat. Orlando was mounted upon Bayard,

Rinaldo's horse, which Agrican had by chance become possessed of,

and Orlando had taken from him as the prize of victory. Bayard

would not fight against his master, and Orlando was getting the

worse of the encounter, when suddenly Rinaldo, seeing Astolpho,

who for love of him had arrayed himself on his side, hard beset by

numbers, left Orlando to rush to the defence of his friend. Night

prevented the combat from being renewed; but a challenge was given

and accepted for their next meeting.

But Angelica, sighing in her heart for Rinaldo, was not willing

that he should be again exposed to so terrible a venture. She

begged a boon of Orlando, promising she would be his if he would

do her bidding. On receiving his promise, she enjoined him to set

out without delay to destroy the garden of the enchantress

Falerina, in which many valiant knights had been entrapped, and

were imprisoned.

Orlando departed on his horse Brigliadoro, leaving Bayard in

disgrace for his bad deportment the day before. Angelica, to

conciliate Rinaldo, sent Bayard to him; but Rinaldo remained

unmoved by this as by all her former acts of kindness.

When Rinaldo learned Orlando's departure, he yielded to the

entreaties of the lady of Florismart, and prepared to fulfil his

promise, and rescue her lover from the power of the enchantress.

Thus both Rinaldo and Orlando were bound upon the same adventure,

but unknown to one another.

The castle of Falerina was protected by a river, which was crossed

by a bridge, kept by a ruffian, who challenged all comers to the

combat; and such was his strength that he had thus far prevailed

in every encounter, as appeared by the arms of various knights

which he had taken from them, and piled up as a trophy on the

shore. Rinaldo attacked him, but with as bad success as the rest,

for the bridge-ward struck him so violent a blow with an iron mace

that he fell to the ground. But when the villain approached to

strip him of his armor, Rinaldo seized him, and the bridge-ward,

being unable to free himself, leapt with Rinaldo into the lake,

where they both disappeared.

Orlando, meanwhile, in discharge of his promise to Angelica,

pursued his way in quest of the same adventure. In passing through

a wood he saw a cavalier armed at all points, and mounted, keeping

guard over a lady who was bound to a tree, weeping bitterly.

Orlando hastened to her relief, but was exhorted by the knight not

to interfere, for she had deserved her fate by her wickedness. In

proof of which he made certain charges against her. The lady

denied them all, and Orlando believed her, defied the knight,

overthrew him, and, releasing the lady, departed with her seated

on his horse's croup.

While they rode another damsel approached on a white palfrey, who

warned Orlando of impending danger, and informed him that he was

near the garden of the enchantress. Orlando was delighted with the

intelligence, and entreated her to inform him how he was to gain

admittance. She replied that the garden could only be entered at

sunrise and gave him such instructions as would enable him to gain

admittance. She gave him also a book in which was painted the

garden and all that it contained, together with the palace of the

false enchantress, where she had secluded herself for the purpose

of executing a magic work in which she was engaged. This was the

manufacture of a sword capable of cutting even through enchanted

substances The object of this labor, the damsel told him, was the

destruction of a knight of the west, by name Orlando, who she had

read in the book of Fate was coming to demolish her garden. Having

thus instructed him, the damsel departed.

Orlando, finding he must delay his enterprise till the next

morning, now lay down and was soon asleep. Seeing this, the base

woman whom he had rescued, and who was intent on making her escape

to rejoin her paramour, mounted Brigliadoro, and rode off,

carrying away Durindana.

When Orlando awoke, his indignation, as may be supposed, was great

on the discovery of the theft; but, like a good knight and true,

he was not to be diverted from his enterprise. He tore off a huge

branch of an elm to supply the place of his sword; and, as the sun

rose, took his way towards the gate of the garden, where a dragon

was on his watch. This he slew by repeated blows, and entered the

garden, the gate of which closed behind him, barring retreat.

Looking round him, he saw a fair fountain, which overflowed into a

river, and in the centre of the fountain a figure, on whose

forehead was written:

"The stream which waters violet and rose,

From hence to the enchanted palace goes."

Following the banks of this flowing stream, and rapt in the

delights of the charming garden, Orlando arrived at the palace,

and entering it, found the mistress, clad in white, with a crown

of gold upon her head, in the act of viewing herself in the

surface of the magic sword. Orlando surprised her before she could

escape, deprived her of the weapon, and holding her fast by her

long hair, which floated behind, threatened her with immediate

death if she did not yield up her prisoners, and afford him the

means of egress. She, however, was firm of purpose, making no

reply, and Orlando, unable to move her either by threats or

entreaties, was under the necessity of binding her to a beech, and

pursuing his quest as he best might.

He then bethought him of his book, and, consulting it, found that

there was an outlet to the south, but that to reach it a lake was

to be passed, inhabited by a siren, whose song was so entrancing

as to be quite irresistible to whoever heard it; but his book

instructed him how to protect himself against this danger.

According to its directions, while pursuing his path, he gathered

abundance of flowers, which sprung all around, and filled his

helmet and his ears with them; then listened if he heard the birds

sing. Finding that, though he saw the gaping beak, the swelling

throat, and ruffled plumes, he could not catch a note, he felt

satisfied with his defence, and advanced toward the lake. It was

small but deep, and so clear and tranquil that the eye could

penetrate to the bottom.

He had no, sooner arrived upon the banks than the waters were seen

to gurgle, and the siren, rising midway out of the pool, sung so

sweetly that birds and beasts came trooping to the water-side to

listen. Of this Orlando heard nothing, but, feigning to yield to

the charm, sank down upon the bank. The siren issued from the

water with the intent to accomplish his destruction. Orlando

seized her by the hair, and while she sang yet louder (song being

her only defence) cut off her head. Then, following the directions

of the book, he stained himself all over with her blood.

Guarded by this talisman, he met successively all the monsters set

for defence of the enchantress and her garden, and at length found

himself again at the spot where he had made captive the

enchantress, who still continued fastened to the beech. But the

scene was changed. The garden had disappeared, and Falerina,

before so haughty, now begged for mercy, assuring him that many

lives depended upon the preservation of hers. Orlando promised her

life upon her pledging herself for the deliverance of her

captives.

This, however, was no easy task. They were not in her possession,

but in that of a much more powerful enchantress, Morgana, the Lady

of the Lake, the very idea of opposing whom made Falerina turn

pale with fear. Representing to him the hazards of the enterprise,

she led him towards the dwelling of Morgana. To approach it he had

to encounter the same uncourteous bridge-ward who had already

defeated and made captive so many knights, and last of all,

Rinaldo. He was a churl of the most ferocious character, named

Arridano. Morgana had provided him with impenetrable armor, and

endowed him in such a manner that his strength always increased in

proportion to that of the adversary with whom he was matched. No

one had ever yet escaped from the contest, since, such was his

power of endurance, he could breathe freely under water. Hence,

having grappled with a knight, and sunk with him to the bottom of

the lake, he returned, bearing his enemy's arms in triumph to the

surface.

While Falerina was repeating her cautions and her counsels Orlando

saw Rinaldo's arms erected in form of a trophy, among other spoils

made by the villain, and, forgetting their late quarrel,

determined upon revenging his friend. Arriving at the pass, the

churl presuming to bar the way, a desperate contest ensued, during

which Falerina escaped. The churl finding himself overmatched at a

contest of arms, resorted to his peculiar art, grappled his

antagonist, and plunged with him into the lake. When he reached

the bottom Orlando found himself in another world, upon a dry

meadow, with the lake overhead, through which shone the beams of

our sun, while the water stood on all sides like a crystal wall.

Here the battle was renewed, and Orlando had in his magic sword an

advantage which none had hitherto possessed. It had been tempered

by Falerina so that no spells could avail against it. Thus armed,

and countervailing the strength of his adversary by his superior

skill and activity, it was not long before he laid him dead upon

the field.

Orlando then made all haste to return to the upper air, and,

passing through the water, which opened a way before him (such was

the power of the magic sword), he soon regained the shore, and

found himself in a field as thickly covered with precious stones

as the sky is with stars.

Orlando crossed the field, not tempted to delay his enterprise by

gathering any of the brilliant gems spread all around him. He next

passed into a flowery meadow planted with trees, covered with

fruit and flowers, and full of all imaginable delights.

In the middle of this meadow was a fountain, and fast by it lay

Morgana asleep; a lady of a lovely aspect, dressed in white and

vermilion garments, her forehead well furnished with hair, while

she had scarcely any behind.

While Orlando stood in silence contemplating her beauty he heard a

voice exclaim: "Seize the fairy by the forelock, if thou hopest

fair success." But his attention was arrested by another object,

and he heeded not the warning. He saw on a sudden an array of

towers, pinnacles and columns, palaces with balconies and windows,

extended alleys with trees, in short a scene of architectural

magnificence surpassing all he had ever beheld. While he stood

gazing in silent astonishment the scene slowly melted away and

disappeared. [Footnote: This is a poetical description of a

phenomenon which is said to be really exhibited in the strait of

Messina, between Sicily and Calabria. It is called Fata Morgana,

or Mirage.]

When he had recovered from his amazement he looked again toward

the fountain. The fairy had awaked and risen, and was dancing

round its border with the lightness of a leaf, timing her

footsteps to this song:

"Who in this world would wealth and treasure share,

Honor, delight, and state, and what is best,

Quick let him catch me by the lock of hair

Which flutters from my forehead; and be blest.

"But let him not the proffered good forbear,

Nor till he seize the fleeting blessing rest;

For present loss is sought in vain to-morrow,

And the deluded wretch is left in sorrow."

The fairy, having sung thus, bounded off, and fled from the

flowery meadow over a high and inaccessible mountain. Orlando

pursued her through thorns and rocks, while the sky gradually

became overcast, and at last he was assailed by tempest,

lightning, and hail.

While he thus pursued, a pale and meagre woman issued from a cave,

armed with a whip, and, treading close upon his steps, scourged

him with vigorous strokes. Her name was Repentance, and she told

him it was her office to punish those who neglected to obey the

voice of Prudence, and seize the fairy Fortune when he might.

Orlando, furious at this chastisement, turned upon his tormentor,

but might as well have stricken the wind. Finding it useless to

resist, he resumed his chase of the fairy, gained upon her, and

made frequent snatches at her white and vermilion garments, which

still eluded his grasp. At last, on her turning her head for an

instant, he profited by the chance, and seized her by the

forelock. In an instant the tempest ceased, the sky became serene,

and Repentance retreated to her cave.

Orlando now demanded of Morgana the keys of her prison, and the

fairy, feigning a complacent aspect, delivered up a key of silver,

bidding him to be cautious in the use of it, since to break the

lock would be to involve himself and all in inevitable

destruction; a caution which gave the Count room for long

meditation, and led him to consider

How few amid the suitors who importune

The dame, know how to turn the keys of Fortune.

Keeping the fairy still fast by the forelock, Orlando proceeded

toward the prison, turned the key, without occasioning the

mischiefs apprehended, and delivered the prisoners.

Among these were Florismart, Rinaldo, and many others of the

bravest knights of France. Morgana had disappeared, and the

knights, under the guidance of Orlando, retraced the path by which

he had come. They soon reached the field of treasure. Rinaldo,

finding himself amidst this mass of wealth, remembered his needy

garrison of Montalban, and could not resist the temptation of

seizing part of the booty. In particular a golden chain, studded

with diamonds, was too much for his self-denial, and he took it

and was bearing it off, notwithstanding the remonstrances of

Orlando, when a violent wind caught him and whirled him back, as

he approached the gate. This happened a second and a third time,

and Rinaldo at length yielded to necessity, rather than to the

entreaties of his friends, and cast away his prize.

They soon reached the bridge and passed over without hindrance to

the other side, where they found the trophy decorated with their

arms. Here each knight resumed his own, and all, except the

paladins and their friends, separated as their inclinations or

duty prompted. Dudon, the Dane, one of the rescued knights,

informed the cousins that he had been made prisoner by Morgana

while in the discharge of an embassy to them from Charlemagne, who

called upon them to return to the defence of Christendom. Orlando

was too much fascinated by Angelica to obey this summons, and,

followed by the faithful Florismart, who would not leave him,

returned towards Albracca. Rinaldo, Dudon, Iroldo, Prasildo, and

the others took their way toward the west.

THE INVASION OF FRANCE

Agramant, King of Africa, convoked the kings, his vassals, to

deliberate in council. He reminded them of the injuries he had

sustained from France, that his father had fallen in battle with

Charlemagne, and that his early years had hitherto not allowed him

to wipe out the stain of former defeats. He now proposed to them

to carry war into France.

Sobrino, his wisest councillor, opposed the project, representing

the rashness of it; but Rodomont, the young and fiery king of

Algiers, denounced Sobrino's counsel as base and cowardly,

declaring himself impatient for the enterprise. The king of the

Garamantes, venerable for his age and renowned for his prophetic

lore, interposed, and assured the King that such an attempt would

be sure to fail, unless he could first get on his side a youth

marked out by destiny as the fitting compeer of the most puissant

knights of France, the young Rogero, descended in direct line from

Hector of Troy. This prince was now a dweller upon the mountain

Carena, where Atlantes, his foster-father, a powerful magician,

kept him in retirement, having discovered by his art that his

pupil would be lost to him if allowed to mingle with the world. To

break the spells of Atlantes, and draw Rogero from his retirement,

one only means was to be found. It was a ring possessed by

Angelica, Princess of Cathay, which was a talisman against all

enchantments. If this ring could be procured all would go well;

without it the enterprise was desperate.

Rodomont treated this declaration of the old prophet with scorn,

and it would probably have been held of little weight by the

council, had not the aged king, oppressed by the weight of years,

expired in the very act of reaffirming his prediction. This made

so deep an impression on the council that it was unanimously

resolved to postpone the war until an effort should be made to win

Rogero to the camp.

King Agramant thereupon proclaimed that the sovereignty of a

kingdom should be the reward of whoever should succeed in

obtaining the ring of Angelica. Brunello the dwarf, the subtlest

thief in all Africa, undertook to procure it.

In prosecution of this design, he made the best of his way to

Angelica's kingdom, and arrived beneath the walls of Albracca

while the besieging army was encamped before the fortress. While

the attention of the garrison was absorbed by the battle that

raged below he scaled the walls, approached the Princess

unnoticed, slipped the ring from her finger, and escaped

unobserved. He hastened to the seaside, and, finding a vessel

ready to sail, embarked, and arrived at Biserta, in Africa. Here

he found Agramant impatient for the talisman which was to foil the

enchantments of Atlantes and to put Rogero into his hands. The

dwarf, kneeling before the king, presented him with the ring, and

Agramant, delighted at the success of his mission, crowned him in

recompense King of Tingitana.

All were now anxious to go in quest of Rogero. The cavalcade

accordingly departed, and in due time arrived at the mountain of

Carena.

At the bottom of this was a fruitful and well-wooded plain,

watered by a large river, and from this plain was descried a

beautiful garden on the mountain-top, which contained the mansion

of Atlantes; but the ring, which discovered what was before

invisible, could not, though it revealed this paradise, enable

Agramant or his followers to enter it. So steep and smooth was the

rock by nature, that even Brunello failed in every attempt to

scale it. He did not, for this, despair of accomplishing the

object; but, having obtained Agramant's consent, caused the

assembled courtiers and knights to celebrate a tournament upon the

plain below. This was done with the view of seducing Rogero from

his fastness, and the stratagem was attended with success.

Rogero joined the tourney, and was presented by Agramant with a

splendid horse, Frontino, and a magnificent sword. Having learned

from Agramant his intended invasion of France, he gladly consented

to join the expedition.

Rodomont, meanwhile, was too impatient to wait for Agramant's

arrangements, and embarked with all the forces he could raise,

made good his landing on the coast of France, and routed the

Christians in several encounters. Previously to this, however,

Gano, or Ganelon (as he is sometimes called), the traitor, enemy

of Orlando and the other nephews of Charlemagne, had entered into

a traitorous correspondence with Marsilius, the Saracen king of

Spain, whom he invited into France. Marsilius, thus encouraged,

led an army across the frontiers, and joined Rodomont. This was

the situation of things when Rinaldo and the other knights who had

obeyed the summons of Dudon set forward on their return to France.

When they arrived at Buda in Hungary they found the king of that

country about despatching his son, Ottachiero, with an army to the

succor of Charlemagne. Delighted with the arrival of Rinaldo, he

placed his son and troops under his command. In due time the army

arrived on the frontiers of France, and, united with the troops of

Desiderius, king of Lombardy, poured down into Provence. The

confederate armies had not marched many days through this gay

tract before they heard a crash of drums and trumpets behind the

hills, which spoke the conflict between the paynims, led by

Rodomont, and the Christian forces. Rinaldo, witnessing from a

mountain the prowess of Rodomont, left his troops in charge of his

friends, and galloped towards him with his lance in rest. The

impulse was irresistible, and Rodomont was unhorsed. But Rinaldo,

unwilling to avail himself of his advantage, galloped back to the

hill, and having secured Bayard among the baggage, returned to

finish the combat on foot.

During this interval the battle had become general, the Hungarians

were routed, and Rinaldo, on his return, had the mortification to

find that Ottachiero was wounded, and Dudon taken prisoner. While

he sought Rodomont in order to renew the combat a new sound of

drums and trumpets was heard, and Charlemagne, with the main body

of his army, was descried advancing in battle array.

Rodomont, seeing this, mounted the horse of Dudon, left Rinaldo,

who was on foot, and galloped off to encounter this new enemy.

Agramant, accompanied by Rogero, had by this time made good his

landing, and joined Rodomont with all his forces. Rogero eagerly

embraced this first opportunity of distinguishing himself, and

spread terror wherever he went, encountering in turn and

overthrowing many of the bravest knights of France. At length he

found himself opposite to Rinaldo, who, being interrupted, as we

have said, in his combat with Rodomont, and unable to follow him,

being on foot, was shouting to his late foe to return and finish

their combat. Rogero also was on foot, and seeing the Christian

knight so eager for a contest, proffered himself to supply the

place of his late antagonist. Rinaldo saw at a glance that the

Moorish prince was a champion worthy of his arm, and gladly

accepted the defiance. The combat was stoutly maintained for a

time; but now fortune declared decisively in favor of the infidel

army, and Charlemagne's forces gave way at all points in

irreparable confusion. The two combatants were separated by the

crowd of fugitives and pursuers, and Rinaldo hastened to recover

possession of his horse. But Bayard, in the confusion, had got

loose, and Rinaldo followed him into a thick wood, thus becoming

effectually separated from Rogero.

Rogero, also seeking his horse in the medley, came where two

warriors were engaged in mortal combat. Though he knew not who

they were, he could distinguish that one was a paynim and the

other a Christian; and moved by the spirit of courtesy he

approached them and exclaimed, "Let him of the two who worships

Christ pause, and hear what I have to say. The army of Charles is

routed and in flight, so that if he wishes to follow his leader he

has no time for delay." The Christian knight, who was none other

than Bradamante, a female warrior, in prowess equal to the best of

knights, was thunderstruck with the tidings, and would gladly

leave the contest undecided, and retire from the field; but

Rodomont, her antagonist, would by no means consent. Rogero,

indignant at his discourtesy, insisted upon her departure, while

he took up her quarrel with Rodomont.

The combat, obstinately maintained on both sides, was interrupted

by the return of Bradamante. Finding herself unable to overtake

the fugitives, and reluctant to leave to another the burden and

risk of a contest which belonged to herself, she had returned to

reclaim the combat. She arrived, however, when her champion had

dealt his enemy such a blow as obliged him to drop both his sword

and bridle. Rogero, disdaining to profit by his adversary's

defenceless situation, sat apart upon his horse, while that of

Rodomont bore his rider, stunned and stupefied, about the field.

Bradamante approached Rogero, conceiving a yet higher opinion of

his valor on beholding such an instance of forbearance. She

addressed him, excusing herself for leaving him exposed to an

enemy from his interference in her cause; pleading her duty to her

sovereign as the motive. While she spoke Rodomont, recovered from

his confusion, rode up to them. His bearing was, however, changed;

and he disclaimed all thoughts of further contest with one who, he

said, "had already conquered him by his courtesy." So saying, he

quitted his antagonist, picked up his sword, and spurred out of

sight.

Bradamante was now again desirous of retiring from the field, and

Rogero insisted on accompanying her, though yet unaware of her

sex.

As they pursued their way, she inquired the name and quality of

her new associate; and Rogero informed her of his nation and

family. He told her that Astyanax, the son of Hector of Troy,

established the kingdom of Messina in Sicily. From him were

derived two branches, which gave origin to two families of renown.

From one sprang the royal race of Pepin and Charlemagne, and from

the other, that of Reggio, in Italy. "From that of Reggio am I

derived," he continued. "My mother, driven from her home by the

chance of war, died in giving me life, and I was taken in charge

by a sage enchanter, who trained me to feats of arms amidst the

dangers of the desert and the chase."

Having thus ended his tale, Rogero entreated a similar return of

courtesy from his companion, who replied, without disguise, that

she was of the race of Clermont, and sister to Rinaldo, whose fame

was perhaps known to him. Rogero, much moved by this intelligence,

entreated her to take off her helmet, and at the discovery of her

face remained transported with delight.

While absorbed in this contemplation, an unexpected danger

assailed them. A party which was placed in a wood, in order to

intercept the retreating Christians, broke from its ambush upon

the pair, and Bradamante, who was uncasqued, was wounded in the

head. Rogero was in a fury at this attack; and Bradamante,

replacing her helmet, joined him in taking speedy vengeance on

their enemies. They cleared the field of them, but became

separated in the pursuit, and Rogero, quitting the chase, wandered

by hill and vale in search of her whom he had no sooner found than

lost.

While pursuing this quest he fell in with two knights, whom he

joined, and engaged them to assist him in the search of his

companion, describing her arms, but concealing, from a certain

feeling of jealousy, her quality and sex.

It was evening when they joined company, and having ridden

together through the night the morning was beginning to break,

when one of the strangers, fixing his eyes upon Rogero's shield,

demanded of him by what right he bore the Trojan arms. Rogero

declared his origin and race, and then, in his turn, interrogated

the inquirer as to his pretensions to the cognizance of Hector,

which he bore. The stranger replied, "My name is Mandricardo, son

of Agrican, the Tartar king, whom Orlando treacherously slew. I

say treacherously, for in fair fight he could not have done it. It

is in search of him that I have come to France, to take vengeance

for my father, and to wrest from him Durindana, that famous sword,

which belongs to me, and not to him." When the knights demanded to

know by what right he claimed Durindana, Mandricardo thus related

his history:

"I had been, before the death of my father, a wild and reckless

youth. That event awakened my energies, and drove me forth to seek

for vengeance. Determined to owe success to nothing but my own

exertions, I departed without attendants or horse or arms.

Travelling thus alone, and on foot, I espied one day a pavilion,

pitched near a fountain, and entered it, intent on adventure. I

found therein a damsel of gracious aspect, who replied to my

inquiries that the fountain was the work of a fairy, whose castle

stood beyond a neighboring hill, where she kept watch over a

treasure which many knights had tried to win, but fruitlessly,

having lost their life or liberty in the attempt. This treasure

was the armor of Hector, prince of Troy, whom Achilles

treacherously slew. Nothing was wanting but his sword, Durindana,

and this had fallen into the possession of a queen named

Penthesilea, from whom it passed through her descendants to

Almontes, whom Orlando slew, and thus became possessed of the

sword. The rest of Hector's arms were saved and carried off by

Aeneas, from whom this fairy received them in recompense of

service rendered. 'If you have the courage to attempt their

acquisition,' said the damsel, 'I will be your guide.'"

Mandricardo went on to say that he eagerly embraced the proposal,

and being provided with horse and armor by the damsel, set forth

on his enterprise, the lady accompanying him.

As they rode she explained the dangers of the quest. The armor was

defended by a champion, one of the numerous unsuccessful

adventurers for the prize, all of whom had been made prisoners by

the fairy, and compelled to take their turn, day by day, in

defending the arms against all comers. Thus speaking they arrived

at the castle, which was of alabaster, overlaid with gold. Before

it, on a lawn, sat an armed knight on horseback, who was none

other than Gradasso, king of Sericane, who, in his return home

from his unsuccessful inroad into France, had fallen into the

power of the fairy, and was held to do her bidding. Mandricardo,

upon seeing him, dropt his visor, and laid his lance in rest. The

champion of the castle was equally ready, and each spurred towards

his opponent. They met one another with equal force, splintered

their spears, and, returning to the charge, encountered with their

swords. The contest was long and doubtful, when Mandricardo,

determined to bring it to an end, threw his arms about Gradasso,

grappled with him, and both fell to the ground. Mandricardo,

however, fell uppermost, and, preserving his advantage, compelled

Gradasso to yield himself conquered. The damsel now interfered,

congratulating the victor, and consoling the vanquished as well as

she might.

Mandricardo and the damsel proceeded to the gate of the castle,

which they found undefended. As they entered they beheld a shield

suspended from a pilaster of gold. The device was a white eagle on

an azure field, in memory of the bird of Jove, which bore away

Ganymede, the flower of the Phrygian race. Beneath was engraved

the following couplet:

"Let none with hand profane my buckler wrong

Unless he be himself as Hector strong."

The damsel, alighting from her palfrey, made obeisance to the

arms, bending herself to the ground. The Tartar king bowed his

head with equal reverence; then advancing towards the shield,

touched it with his sword. Thereupon an earthquake shook the

ground, and the way by which he had entered closed. Another and an

opposite gate opened, and displayed a field bristling with stalks

and grain of gold. The damsel, upon this, told him that he had no

means of retreat but by cutting down the harvest which was before

him, and by uprooting a tree which grew in the middle of the

field. Mandricardo, without replying, began to mow the harvest

with his sword, but had scarce smitten thrice when he perceived

that every stalk that fell was instantly transformed into some

poisonous or ravenous animal, which prepared to assail him.

Instructed by the damsel, he snatched up a stone and cast it among

the pack. A strange wonder followed; for no sooner had the stone

fallen among the beasts, than they turned their rage against one

another, and rent each other to pieces. Mandricardo did not stop

to marvel at the miracle, but proceeded to fulfil his task, and

uproot the tree. He clasped it round the trunk, and made vigorous

efforts to tear it up by the roots. At each effort fell a shower

of leaves, that were instantly changed into birds of prey, which

attacked the knight, flapping their wings in his face, with horrid

screeching. But undismayed by this new annoyance, he continued to

tug at the trunk till it yielded to his efforts. A burst of wind

and thunder followed, and the hawks and vultures flew screaming

away.

But these only gave place to a new foe; for from the hole made by

tearing up the tree issued a furious serpent, and, darting at

Mandricardo, wound herself about his limbs with a strain that

almost crushed him. Fortune, however, again stood his friend, for,

writhing under the folds of the monster, he fell backwards into

the hole, and his enemy was crushed beneath his weight.

Mandricardo, when he was somewhat recovered, and assured himself

of the destruction of the serpent, began to contemplate the place

into which he had fallen, and saw that he was in a vault,

incrusted with costly metals, and illuminated by a live coal. In

the middle was a sort of ivory bier, and upon this was extended

what appeared to be a knight in armor, but was in truth an empty

trophy, composed of the rich and precious arms once Hector's, to

which nothing was wanting but the sword. While Mandricardo stood

contemplating the prize a door opened behind him, and a bevy of

fair damsels entered, dancing, who, taking up the armor piece by

piece, led him away to the place where the shield was suspended;

where he found the fairy of the castle seated in state. By her he

was invested with the arms he had won, first pledging his solemn

oath to wear no other blade but Durindana, which he was to wrest

from Orlando, and thus complete the conquest of Hector's arms.

THE INVASION OF FRANCE (Continued)

Mandricardo, having completed his story, now turned to Rogero, and

proposed that arms should decide which of the two was most worthy

to bear the symbol of the Trojan knight.

Rogero felt no other objection to this proposal than the scruple

which arose on observing that his antagonist was without a sword.

Mandricardo insisted that this need be no impediment, since his

oath prevented him from using a sword until he should have

achieved the conquest of Durindana.

This was no sooner said than a new antagonist started up in

Gradasso, who now accompanied Mandricardo. Gradasso vindicated his

prior right to Durindana, to obtain which he had embarked (as was

related in the beginning) in that bold inroad upon France. A

quarrel was thus kindled between the kings of Tartary and

Sericane. While the dispute was raging a knight arrived upon the

ground, accompanied by a damsel, to whom Rogero related the cause

of the strife. The knight was Florismart, and his companion

Flordelis. Florismart succeeded in bringing the two champions to

accord, by informing them that he could bring them to the presence

of Orlando, the master of Durindana.

Gradasso and Mandricardo readily made truce, in order to accompany

Florismart, nor would Rogero be left behind.

As they proceeded on their quest they were met by a dwarf, who

entreated their assistance in behalf of his lady, who had been

carried off by an enchanter, mounted on a winged horse. However

unwilling to leave the question of the sword undecided, it was not

possible for the knights to resist this appeal. Two of their

number, Gradasso and Rogero, therefore accompanied the dwarf.

Mandricardo persisted in his search for Orlando, and Florismart,

with Flordelis, pursued their way to the camp of Charlemagne.

Atlantes, the enchanter, who had brought up Rogero, and cherished

for him the warmest affection, knew by his art that his pupil was

destined to be severed from him, and converted to the Christian

faith through the influence of Bradamante, that royal maiden with

whom chance had brought him acquainted. Thinking to thwart the

will of Heaven in this respect, he now put forth all his arts to

entrap Rogero into his power. By the aid of his subservient demons

he reared a castle on an inaccessible height, in the Pyrenean

mountains, and to make it a pleasant abode to his pupil, contrived

to entrap and convey thither knights and damsels many a one, whom

chance had brought into the vicinity of his castle. Here, in a

sort of sensual paradise, they were but too willing to forget

glory and duty, and to pass their time in indolent enjoyment

It was by the enchanter that the dwarf had now been sent to tempt

the knights into his power.

But we must now return to Rinaldo, whom we left interrupted in his

combat with Rodomont. In search of his late antagonist and intent

on bringing their combat to a decision he entered the forest of

Arden, whither he suspected Rodomont had gone. While engaged on

this quest he was surprised by the vision of a beautiful child

dancing naked, with three damsels as beautiful as himself. While

he was lost in admiration at the sight the child approached him,

and, throwing at him handfuls of roses and lilies, struck him from

his horse. He was no sooner down than he was seized by the

dancers, by whom he was dragged about and scourged with flowers

till he fell into a swoon. When he began to revive one of the

group approached him, and told him that his punishment was the

consequence of his rebellion against that power before whom all

things bend; that there was but one remedy to heal the wounds that

had been inflicted, and that was to drink of the waters of Love.

Then they left him.

Rinaldo, sore and faint, dragged himself toward a fountain which

flowed near by, and, being parched with thirst, drank greedily and

almost unconsciously of the water, which was sweet to the taste,

but bitter to the heart. After repeated draughts he recovered his

strength and recollection, and found himself in the same place

where Angelica had formerly awakened him with a rain of flowers,

and whence he had fled in contempt of her courtesy.

This remembrance of the scene was followed by the recognition of

his crime; and, repenting bitterly his ingratitude, he leaped upon

Bayard, with the intention of hastening to Angelica's country, and

soliciting his pardon at her feet.

Let us now retrace our steps, and revert to the time when the

paladins having learned from Dudon the summons of Charlemagne to

return to France to repel the invaders, had all obeyed the command

with the exception of Orlando, whose passion for Angelica still

held him in attendance on her. Orlando, arriving before Albracca,

found it closely beleaguered. He, however, made his way into the

citadel, and related his adventures to Angelica, from the time of

his departure up to his separation from Rinaldo and the rest, when

they departed to the assistance of Charlemagne. Angelica, in

return, described the distresses of the garrison, and the force of

the besiegers; and in conclusion prayed Orlando to favor her

escape from the pressing danger, and escort her into France.

Orlando, who did not suspect that love for Rinaldo was her secret

motive, joyfully agreed to the proposal, and the sally was

resolved upon.

Leaving lights burning in the fortress, they departed at

nightfall, and passed in safety through the enemy's camp. After

encountering numerous adventures they reached the sea-side, and

embarked on board a pinnace for France. The vessel arrived safely,

and the travellers, disembarking in Provence, pursued their way by

land. One day, heated and weary, they sought shelter from the sun

in the forest of Arden, and chance directed Angelica to the

fountain of Disdain, of whose waters she eagerly drank.

Issuing thence, the Count and damsel encountered a stranger-

knight. It was no other than Rinaldo, who was just on the point of

setting off on a pilgrimage in search of Angelica, to implore her

pardon for his insensibility, and urge his new found passion.

Surprise and delight at first deprived him of utterance, but soon

recovering himself, he joyfully saluted her, claiming her as his,

and exhorting her to put herself under his protection. His

presumption was repelled by Angelica with disdain, and Orlando,

enraged at the invasion of his rights, challenged him to decide

their claims by arms.