Terrified at the combat which ensued, Angelica fled amain through

the forest, and came out upon a plain covered with tents. This was

the camp of Charlemagne, who led the army of reserve destined to

support the troops which had advanced to oppose Marsilius. Charles

having heard the damsel's tale, with difficulty separated the two

cousins, and then consigned Angelica, as the cause of quarrel, to

the care of Namo, Duke of Bavaria, promising that she should be

his who should best deserve her in the impending battle.

But these plans and hopes were frustrated. The Christian army,

beaten at all points, fled from the Saracens; and Angelica,

indifferent to both her lovers, mounted a swift palfrey and

plunged into the forest, rejoicing, in spite of her terror, at

having regained her liberty. She stopped at last in a tufted

grove, where a gentle zephyr blew, and whose young trees were

watered by two clear runnels, which came and mingled their waters,

making a pleasing murmur. Believing herself far from Rinaldo, and

overcome by fatigue and the summer heat, she saw with delight a

bank covered with flowers so thick that they almost hid the green

turf, inviting her to alight and rest. She dismounted from her

palfrey, and turned him loose to recruit his strength with the

tender grass which bordered the streamlets. Then, in a sheltered

nook tapestried with moss and fenced in with roses and hawthorn-

flowers, she yielded herself to grateful repose.

She had not slept long when she was awakened by the noise made by

the approach of a horse. Starting up, she saw an armed knight who

had arrived at the bank of the stream. Not knowing whether he was

to be feared or not, her heart beat with anxiety. She pressed

aside the leaves to allow her to see who it was, but scarce dared

to breathe for fear of betraying herself. Soon the knight threw

himself on the flowery bank, and leaning his head on his hand fell

into a profound reverie. Then arousing himself from his silence he

began to pour forth complaints, mingled with deep sighs. Rivers of

tears flowed down his cheeks, and his breast seemed to labor with

a hidden flame. "Ah, vain regrets!" he exclaimed; "cruel fortune!

others triumph, while I endure hopeless misery! Better a thousand

times to lose life, than wear a chain so disgraceful and so

oppressive!"

Angelica by this time had recognized the stranger, and perceived

that it was Sacripant, king of Circassia, one of the worthiest of

her suitors. This prince had followed Angelica from his country,

at the very gates of the day, to France, where he heard with

dismay that she was under the guardianship of the Paladin Orlando,

and that the Emperor had announced his decree to award her as the

prize of valor to that one of his nephews who should best deserve

her.

As Sacripant continued to lament, Angelica, who had always opposed

the hardness of marble to his sighs, thought with herself that

nothing forbade her employing his good offices in this unhappy

crisis. Though firmly resolved never to accept him as a spouse,

she yet felt the necessity of giving him a gleam of hope in reward

for the service she required of him. All at once, like Diana, she

stepped forth from the arbor. "May the gods preserve thee," she

said, "and put far from thee all hard thoughts of me!" Then she

told him all that had befallen her since she parted with him at

her father's court, and how she had availed herself of Orlando's

protection to escape from the beleaguered city. At that moment the

noise of horse and armor was heard as of one approaching; and

Sacripant, furious at the interruption, resumed his helmet,

mounted his horse, and placed his lance in rest. He saw a knight

advancing, with scarf and plume of snowy whiteness. Sacripant

regarded him with angry eyes, and, while he was yet some distance

off, defied him to the combat. The other, not moved by his angry

tone to make reply, put himself on his defence. Their horses,

struck at the same moment with the spur, rushed upon one another

with the impetuosity of a tempest. Their shields were pierced each

with the other's lance, and only the temper of their breastplates

saved their lives. Both the horses recoiled with the violence of

the shock; but the unknown knight's recovered itself at the touch

of the spur; the Saracen king's fell dead, and bore down his

master with him. The white knight, seeing his enemy in this

condition, cared not to renew the combat, but, thinking he had

done enough for glory, pursued his way through the forest, and was

a mile off before Sacripant had got free from his horse.

As a ploughman, stunned by a thunder-clap which has stricken dead

the oxen at his plough, stands motionless, sadly contemplating his

loss, so Sacripant stood confounded and overwhelmed with

mortification at having Angelica a witness of his defeat. He

groaned, he sighed, less from the pain of his bruises than for the

shame of being reduced to such a state before her. The princess

took pity on him, and consoled him as well as she could. "Banish

your regrets, my lord," she said, "this accident has happened

solely in consequence of the feebleness of your horse, which had

more need of rest and food than of such an encounter as this. Nor

can your adversary gain any credit by it, since he has hurried

away, not venturing a second trial." While she thus consoled

Sacripant they perceived a person approach, who seemed a courier,

with bag and horn. As soon as he came up, he accosted Sacripant,

and inquired if he had seen a knight pass that way, bearing a

white shield and with a white plume to his helmet. "I have,

indeed, seen too much of him," said Sacripant, "it is he who has

brought me to the ground; but at least I hope to learn from you

who that knight is." "That I can easily inform you," said the man;

"know then that, if you have been overthrown, you owe your fate to

the high prowess of a lady as beautiful as she is brave. It is the

fair and illustrious Bradamante who has won from you the honors of

victory."

At these words the courier rode on his way, leaving Sacripant more

confounded and mortified than ever. In silence he mounted the

horse of Angelica, taking the lady behind him on the croup, and

rode away in search of a more secure asylum. Hardly had they

ridden two miles when a new sound was heard in the forest, and

they perceived a gallant and powerful horse, which, leaping the

ravines and dashing aside the branches that opposed his passage,

appeared before them, accoutred with a rich harness adorned with

gold.

"If I may believe my eyes, which penetrate with difficulty the

underwood," said Angelica, "that horse that dashes so stoutly

through the bushes is Bayard, and I marvel how he seems to know

the need we have of him, mounted as we are both on one feeble

animal." Sacripant, dismounting from the palfrey, approached the

fiery courser, and attempted to seize his bridle, but the

disdainful animal, turning from him, launched at him a volley of

kicks enough to have shattered a wall of marble. Bayard then

approached Angelica with an air as gentle and loving as a faithful

dog could his master after a long separation. For he remembered

how she had caressed him, and even fed him, in Albracca. She took

his bridle in her left hand, while with her right she patted his

neck. The beautiful animal, gifted with wonderful intelligence,

seemed to submit entirely. Sacripant, seizing the moment to vault

upon him, controlled his curvetings, and Angelica, quitting the

croup of the palfrey, regained her seat.

But, turning his eyes toward a place where was heard a noise of

arms, Sacripant beheld Rinaldo. That hero now loves Angelica more

than his life, and she flies him as the timid crane the falcon.

The fountain of which Angelica had drunk produced such an effect

on the beautiful queen that, with distressed countenance and

trembling voice, she conjured Sacripant not to wait the approach

of Rinaldo, but to join her in flight.

"Am I, then," said Sacripant, "of so little esteem with you that

you doubt my power to defend you? Do you forget the battle of

Albracca, and how, in your defence, I fought single-handed against

Agrican and all his knights?"

Angelica made no reply, uncertain what to do; but already Rinaldo

was too near to be escaped. He advanced menacingly to the

Circassian king, for he recognized his horse.

"Vile thief," he cried, "dismount from that horse, and prevent the

punishment that is your due for daring to rob me of my property.

Leave, also, the princess in my hands; for it would indeed be a

sin to suffer so charming a lady and so gallant a charger to

remain in such keeping."

The king of Circassia, furious at being thus insulted, cried out,

"Thou liest, villain, in giving me the name of thief, which better

belongs to thyself than to me. It is true, the beauty of this lady

and the perfection of this horse are unequalled; come on, then,

and let us try which of us is most worthy to possess them."

At these words the king of Circassia and Rinaldo attacked one

another with all their force, one fighting on foot, the other on

horseback. You need not, however, suppose that the Saracen king

found any advantage in this; for a young page, unused to

horsemanship, could not have failed more completely to manage

Bayard than did this accomplished knight. The faithful animal

loved his master too well to injure him, and refused his aid as

well as his obedience to the hand of Sacripant, who could strike

but ineffectual blows, the horse backing when he wished him to go

forward, and dropping his head and arching his back, throwing out

with his legs, so as almost to shake the knight out of the saddle.

Sacripant, seeing that he could not manage him, watched his

opportunity, rose on his saddle, and leapt lightly to the earth;

then, relieved from the embarrassment of the horse, renewed the

combat on more equal terms. Their skill to thrust and parry were

equal; one rises, the other stoops; with one foot set firm they

turn and wind, to lay on strokes or to dodge them. At last

Rinaldo, throwing himself on the Circassian, dealt him a blow so

terrible that Fusberta, his good sword, cut in two the buckler of

Sacripant, although it was made of bone, and covered with a thick

plate of steel well tempered. The arm of the Saracen was deprived

of its defence, and almost palsied with the stroke. Angelica,

perceiving how victory was likely to incline, and shuddering at

the thought of becoming the prize of Rinaldo, hesitated no longer.

Turning her horse's head, she fled with the utmost speed; and, in

spite of the round pebbles which covered a steep descent, she

plunged into a deep valley, trembling with the fear that Rinaldo

was in pursuit. At the bottom of this valley she encountered an

aged hermit, whose white beard flowed to his middle, and whose

venerable appearance seemed to assure his piety.

This hermit, who appeared shrunk by age and fasting, travelled

slowly, mounted upon a wretched ass. The princess, overcome with

fear, conjured him to save her life; and to conduct her to some

port of the sea, whence she might embark and quit France, never

more to hear the odious name of Rinaldo.

The old hermit was something of a wizard. He comforted Angelica,

and promised to protect her from all peril. Then he opened his

scrip, and took from thence a book, and had read but a single page

when a goblin, obedient to his incantations, appeared, under the

form of a laboring man, and demanded his orders. He received them,

transported himself to the place where the knights still

maintained their conflict, and boldly stepped between the two.

"Tell me, I pray you," he said, "what benefit will accrue to him

who shall get the better in this contest? The object you are

contending for is already disposed of; for the Paladin Orlando,

without effort and without opposition, is now carrying away the

princess Angelica to Paris. You had better pursue them promptly;

for if they reach Paris you will never see her again."

At these words you might have seen those rival warriors

confounded, stupefied, silently agreeing that they were affording

their rival a fair opportunity to triumph over them. Rinaldo,

approaching Bayard, breathes a sigh of shame and rage, and swears

a terrible oath that, if he overtakes Orlando, he will tear his

heart out. Then mounting Bayard and pressing his flanks with his

spurs, he leaves the king of Circassia on foot in the forest.

Let it not appear strange that Rinaldo found Bayard obedient at

last, after having so long prevented any one from even touching

his bridle; for that fine animal had an intelligence almost human;

he had fled from his master only to draw him on the track of

Angelica, and enable him to recover her. He saw when the princess

fled from the battle, and Rinaldo being then engaged in a fight on

foot, Bayard found himself free to follow the traces of Angelica.

Thus he had drawn his master after him, not permitting him to

approach, and had brought him to the sight of the princess. But

Bayard now, deceived like his master with the false intelligence

of the goblin, submits to be mounted and to serve his master as

usual, and Rinaldo, animated with rage, makes him fly toward

Paris, more slowly than his wishes, though the speed of Bayard

outstripped the winds. Full of impatience to encounter Orlando, he

gave but a few hours that night to sleep. Early the next day he

saw before him the great city, under the walls of which the

Emperor Charles had collected the scattered remains of his army.

Foreseeing that he would soon be attacked on all sides, the

Emperor had caused the ancient fortifications to be repaired, and

new ones to be built, surrounded by wide and deep ditches. The

desire to hold the field against the enemy made him seize every

means of procuring new allies. He hoped to receive from England

aid sufficient to enable him to form a new camp, and as soon as

Rinaldo rejoined him he selected him to go as his ambassador into

England, to plead for auxiliaries. Rinaldo was far from pleased

with his commission, but he obeyed the Emperor's commands, without

giving himself time to devote a single day to the object nearest

his heart. He hastened to Calais, and lost not a moment in

embarking for England, ardently desiring a hasty despatch of his

commission, and a speedy return to France.

BRADAMANTE AND ROGERO

Bradamante, the knight of the white plume and shield, whose

sudden appearance and encounter with Sacripant we have already

told, was in quest of Rogero, from whom chance had separated her,

almost at the beginning of their acquaintance. After her encounter

with Sacripant Bradamante pursued her way through the forest, in

hopes of rejoining Rogero, and arrived at last on the brink of a

fair fountain.

This fountain flowed through a broad meadow. Ancient trees

overshadowed it, and travellers, attracted by the sweet murmur of

its waters, stopped there to cool themselves. Bradamante, casting

her eyes on all sides to enjoy the beauties of the spot,

perceived, under the shade of a tree, a knight reclining, who

seemed to be oppressed with the deepest grief

Bradamante accosted him, and asked to be informed of the cause of

his distress. "Alas! my lord," said he, "I lament a young and

charming friend, my affianced wife, who has been torn from me by a

villain,--let me rather call him a demon,--who, on a winged horse,

descended from the air, seized her, and bore her screaming to his

den. I have pursued them over rocks and through ravines till my

horse is no longer able to bear me, and I now wait only for

death." He added that already a vain attempt on his behalf had

been made by two knights, whom chance had brought to the spot.

Their names were Gradasso, king of Sericane, and Rogero, the Moor.

Both had been overcome by the wiles of the enchanter, and were

added to the number of the captives, whom he held in an

impregnable castle, situated on the height of the mountain. At the

mention of Rogero's name Bradamante started with delight, which

was soon changed to an opposite sentiment when she heard that her

lover was a prisoner in the toils of the enchanter. "Sir Knight,"

she said, "do not surrender yourself to despair; this day may be

more happy for you than you think, if you will only lead me to the

castle which enfolds her whom you deplore."

The knight responded, "After having lost all that made life dear

to me I have no motive to avoid the dangers of the enterprise, and

I will do as you request; but I forewarn you of the perils you

will have to encounter. If you fall impute it not to me."

Having thus spoken, they took their way to the castle, but were

overtaken by a messenger from the camp, who had been sent in quest

of Bradamante to summon her back to the army, where her presence

was needed to reassure her disheartened forces, and withstand the

advance of the Moors.

The mournful knight, whose name was Pinabel, thus became aware

that Bradamante was a scion of the house of Clermont, between

which and his own of Mayence there existed an ancient feud. From

this moment the traitor sought only how he might be rid of the

company of Bradamante, from whom he feared no good would come to

him, but rather mortal injury, if his name and lineage became

known to her. For he judged her by his own base model, and,

knowing his ill deserts, he feared to receive his due.

Bradamante, in spite of the summons to return to the army, could

not resolve to leave her lover in captivity, and determined first

to finish the adventure on which she was engaged. Pinabel leading

the way, they at length arrived at a wood, in the centre of which

rose a steep, rocky mountain. Pinabel, who now thought of nothing

else but how he might escape from Bradamante, proposed to ascend

the mountain to extend his view, in order to discover a shelter

for the night, if any there might be within sight. Under this

pretence he left Bradamante, and advanced up the side of the

mountain till he came to a cleft in the rock, down which he

looked, and perceived that it widened below into a spacious

cavern. Meanwhile Bradamante, fearful of losing her guide, had

followed close on his footsteps, and rejoined him at the mouth of

the cavern. Then the traitor, seeing the impossibility of escaping

her, conceived another design. He told her that before her

approach he had seen in the cavern a young and beautiful damsel,

whose rich dress announced her high birth, who with tears and

lamentations implored assistance; that before he could descend to

relieve her a ruffian had seized her, and hurried her away into

the recesses of the cavern.

Bradamante, full of truth and courage, readily believed this lie

of the Mayencian traitor. Eager to succor the damsel, she looked

round for the means of facilitating the descent, and seeing a

large elm with spreading branches she lopped off with her sword

one of the largest, and thrust it into the opening. She told

Pinabel to hold fast to the larger end, while, grasping the

branches with her hands, she let herself down into the cavern.

The traitor smiled at seeing her thus suspended, and, asking her

in mockery, "Are you a good leaper?" he let go the branch with

perfidious glee, and saw Bradamante precipitated to the bottom of

the cave. "I wish your whole race were there with you," he

muttered, "that you might all perish together."

But Pinabel's atrocious design was not accomplished. The twigs and

foliage of the branch broke its descent, and Bradamante, not

seriously injured, though stunned with her fall, was reserved for

other adventures.

As soon as she recovered from the shock Bradamante cast her eyes

around and perceived a door, through which she passed into a

second cavern, larger and loftier than the first. It had the

appearance of a subterranean temple. Columns of the purest

alabaster adorned it, and supported the roof; a simple altar rose

in the middle; a lamp, whose radiance was reflected by the

alabaster walls, cast a mild light around.

Bradamante, inspired by a sense of religious awe, approached the

altar, and, falling on her knees, poured forth her prayers and

thanks to the Preserver of her life, invoking the protection of

his power. At that moment a small door opened, and a female issued

from it with naked feet, and flowing robe and hair, who called her

by her name, and thus addressed her: "Brave and generous

Bradamante, know that it is a power from above that has brought

you hither. The spirit of Merlin, whose last earthly abode was in

this place, has warned me of your arrival, and of the fate that

awaits you. This famous grotto," she continued, "was the work of

the enchanter Merlin; here his ashes repose. You have no doubt

heard how this sage and virtuous enchanter ceased to be. Victim of

the artful fairy of the lake, Merlin, by a fatal compliance with

her request, laid himself down living in his tomb, without power

to resist the spell laid upon him by that ingrate, who retained

him there as long as he lived. His spirit hovers about this spot,

and will not leave it, until the last trumpet shall summon the

dead to judgment. He answers the questions of those who approach

his tomb, where perhaps you may be privileged to hear his voice."

Bradamante, astonished at these words, and the objects which met

her view, knew not whether she was awake or asleep. Confused, but

modest, she cast down her eyes, and a blush overspread her face.

"Ah, what am I," said she, "that so great a prophet should deign

to speak to me!" Still, with a secret satisfaction, she followed

the priestess, who led her to the tomb of Merlin. This tomb was

constructed of a species of stone hard and resplendent like fire.

The rays which beamed from the stone sufficed to light up that

terrible place, where the sun's rays never penetrated; but I know

not whether that light was the effect of a certain phosphorescence

of the stone itself, or of the many talismans and charms with

which it was wrought over.

Bradamante had hardly passed the threshold of this sacred place

when the spirit of the enchanter saluted her with a voice firm and

distinct: "May thy designs be prosperous, O chaste and noble

maiden, the future mother of heroes, the glory of Italy, and

destined to fill the whole world with their fame. Great captains,

renowned knights, shall be numbered among your descendants, who

shall defend the Church and restore their country to its ancient

splendor. Princes, wise as Augustus and the sage Numa, shall bring

back the age of gold. [Footnote: This prophecy is introduced by

Ariosto in this place to compliment the noble house of Este, the

princes of his native state, the dukedom of Ferrara.] To

accomplish these grand destinies it is ordained that you shall wed

the illustrious Rogero. Fly then to his deliverance, and lay

prostrate in the dust the traitor who has snatched him from you,

and now holds him in chains!"

Merlin ceased with these words, and left to Melissa, the

priestess, the charge of more fully instructing the maiden in her

future course. "To-morrow," said she, "I will conduct you to the

castle on the rock where Rogero is held captive. I will not leave

you till I have guided you through this wild wood, and I will

direct you on your way so that you shall be in no danger of

mistaking it."

The next morning Melissa conducted Bradamante between rocks and

precipices, crossing rapid torrents, and traversing intricate

passes, employing the time in imparting to her such information as

was necessary to enable her to bring her design to a successful

issue.

"Not only would the castle, impenetrable by force, and that winged

horse of his baffle your efforts, but know that he possesses also

a buckler whence flashes a light so brilliant that the eyes of all

who look upon it are blinded. Think not to avoid it by shutting

your eyes, for how then will you be able to avoid his blows, and

make him feel your own? But I will teach you the proper course to

pursue.

"Agramant, the Moorish prince, possesses a ring stolen from a

queen of India, which has power to render of no avail all

enchantments. Agramant, knowing that Rogero is of more importance

to him than any one of his warriors, is desirous of rescuing him

from the power of the enchanter, and has sent for that purpose

Brunello, the most crafty and sagacious of his servants, provided

with his wonderful ring, and he is even now at hand, bent on this

enterprise. But, beautiful Bradamante, as I desire that no one but

yourself shall have the glory of delivering from thraldom your

future spouse, listen while I disclose the means of success.

Following this path which leads by the seashore, you will come ere

long to a hostelry, where the Saracen Brunello will arrive shortly

before you. You will readily know him by his stature, under four

feet, his great disproportioned head, his squint eyes, his livid

hue, his thick eyebrows joining his tufted beard. His dress,

moreover, that of a courier, will point him out to you.

"It will be easy for you to enter into conversation with him,

announcing yourself as a knight seeking combat with the enchanter,

but let not the knave suspect that you know anything about the

ring. I doubt not that he will be your guide to the castle of the

enchanter. Accept his offer, but take care to keep behind him till

you come in sight of the brilliant dome of the castle. Then

hesitate not to strike him dead, for the wretch deserves no pity,

and take from him the ring. But let him not suspect your

intention, for by putting the ring into his mouth he will

instantly become invisible, and disappear from your eyes."

Saying thus, the sage Melissa and the fair Bradamante arrived near

the city of Bordeaux, where the rich and wide river Garonne pours

the tribute of its waves into the sea. They parted with tender

embraces. Bradamante, intent wholly on her purpose, hastened to

arrive at the hostelry, where Brunello had preceded her a few

moments only. The young heroine knew him without difficulty. She

accosted him, and put to him some slight questions, to which he

replied with adroit falsehoods. Bradamante, on her part, concealed

from him her sex, her religion, her country, and the blood from

whence she sprung. While they talk together, sudden cries are

heard from all parts of the hostelry. "O queen of heaven!"

exclaimed Bradamante, "what can be the cause of this sudden

alarm?" She soon learned the cause. Host, children, domestics,

all, with upturned eyes, as if they saw a comet or a great

eclipse, were gazing on a prodigy which seemed to pass the bounds

of possibility. She beheld distinctly a winged horse, mounted with

a cavalier in rich armor, cleaving the air with rapid flight. The

wings of this strange courser were wide extended, and covered with

feathers of various colors. The polished armor of the knight made

them shine with rainbow tints. In a short time the horse and rider

disappeared behind the summits of the mountains.

"It is an enchanter," said the host, "a magician who often is seen

traversing the air in that way. Sometimes he flies aloft as if

among the stars, and at others skims along the land. He possesses

a wonderful castle on the top of the Pyrenees. Many knights have

shown their courage by going to attack him, but none have ever

returned, from which it is to be feared they have lost either

their life or their liberty."

Bradamante, addressing the host, said, "Could you furnish me a

guide to conduct me to the castle of this enchanter?" "By my

faith," said Brunello, interrupting, "that you shall not seek in

vain; I have it all in writing, and I will myself conduct you."

Bradamante, with thanks, accepted him for her guide.

The host had a tolerable horse to dispose of, which Bradamante

bargained for, and the next day, at the first dawn of morning, she

took her route by a narrow valley, taking care to have the Saracen

Brunello lead the way.

They reached the summit of the Pyrenees, whence one may look down

on France, Spain, and the two seas. From this height they

descended again by a fatiguing road into a deep valley. From the

middle of this valley an isolated mountain rose, composed of rough

and perpendicular rock, on whose summit was the castle, surrounded

with a wall of brass. Brunello said, "Yonder is the stronghold

where the enchanter keeps his prisoners; one must have wings to

mount thither; it is easy to see that the aid of a flying horse

must be necessary for the master of this castle, which he uses for

his prison and for his abode."

Bradamante, sufficiently instructed, saw that the time had now

come to possess herself of the ring; but she could not resolve to

slay a defenceless man. She seized Brunello before he was aware,

bound him to a tree, and took from him the ring which he wore on

one of his fingers. The cries and entreaties of the perfidious

Saracen moved her not. She advanced to the foot of the rock

whereon the castle stood, and, to draw the magician to the combat,

sounded her horn, adding to it cries of defiance.

The enchanter delayed not to present himself, mounted on his

winged horse. Bradamante was struck with surprise mixed with joy

when she saw that this person, described as so formidable, bore no

lance nor club, nor any other deadly weapon. He had only on his

arm a buckler, covered with a cloth, and in his hand an open book.

As to the winged horse, there was no enchantment about him. He was

a natural animal, of a species which exists in the Riphaean

mountains. Like a griffin, he had the head of an eagle, claws

armed with talons, and wings covered with feathers, the rest of

his body being that of a horse. This strange animal is called a

Hippogriff.

The heroine attacked the enchanter on his approach, striking on

this side and on that, with all the energy of a violent combat,

but wounding only the wind; and after this pretended attack had

lasted some time dismounted from her horse, as if hoping to do

battle more effectually on foot. The enchanter now prepares to

employ his sole weapon, by uncovering the magic buckler which

never failed to subdue an enemy by depriving him of his senses.

Bradamante, confiding in her ring, observed all the motions of her

adversary, and, at the unveiling of the shield, cast herself on

the ground, pretending that the splendor of the shield had

overcome her, but in reality to induce the enchanter to dismount

and approach her.

It happened according to her wish. When the enchanter saw her

prostrate he made his horse alight on the ground, and,

dismounting, fixed the shield on the pommel of his saddle, and

approached in order to secure the fallen warrior. Bradamante, who

watched him intently, as soon as she saw him near at hand, sprang

up, seized him vigorously, threw him down, and, with the same

chain which the enchanter had prepared for herself, bound him

fast, without his being able to make any effectual resistance.

The enchanter, with the accents of despair, exclaimed, "Take my

life, young man!" but Bradamante was far from complying with such

a wish. Desirous of knowing the name of the enchanter, and for

what purpose he had formed with so much art this impregnable

fortress, she commanded him to inform her.

"Alas!" replied the magician, while tears flowed down his cheeks,

"it is not to conceal booty, nor for any culpable design that I

have built this castle; it was only to guard the life of a young

knight, the object of my tenderest affection, my art having taught

me that he is destined to become a Christian, and to perish,

shortly after, by the blackest of treasons.

"This youth, named Rogero, is the most beautiful and most

accomplished of knights. It is I, the unhappy Atlantes, who have

reared him from his childhood. The call of honor and the desire of

glory led him from me to follow Agramant, his prince, in his

invasion of France, and I, more devoted to Rogero than the

tenderest of parents, have sought the means of bringing him back

to this abode, in the hope of saving him from the cruel fate that

menaces him.

"For this purpose I have got him in my possession by the same

means as I attempted to employ against you; and by which I have

succeeded in collecting a great many knights and ladies in my

castle. My purpose was to render my beloved pupil's captivity

light, by affording him society to amuse him, and keep his

thoughts from running on subjects of war and glory. Alas! my cares

have been in vain! Yet, take, I beseech you, whatever else I have,

but spare me my beloved pupil. Take this shield, take this winged

courser, deliver such of your friends as you may find among my

prisoners, deliver them all if you will, but leave me my beloved

Rogero; or if you will snatch him too from me, take also my life,

which will cease then to be to me worth preserving."

Bradamante replied: "Old man, hope not to move me by your vain

entreaties. It is precisely the liberty of Rogero that I require.

You would keep him here in bondage and in slothful pleasure, to

save him from a fate which you foresee. Vain old man! how can you

foresee his fate when you could not foresee your own? You desire

me to take your life. No, my aim and my soul refuse the request."

This said, she required the magician to go before, and guide her

to the castle. The prisoners were set at liberty, though some, in

their secret hearts, regretted the voluptuous life which was thus

brought to an end. Bradamante and Rogero met one another with

transports of joy.

They descended from the mountain to the spot where the encounter

had taken place. There they found the Hippogriff, with the magic

buckler in its wrapper, hanging to his saddle-bow. Bradamante

advanced to seize the bridle; the Hippogriff seemed to wait her

approach, but before she reached him he spread his wings and flew

away to a neighboring hill, and in the same manner, a second time,

eluded her efforts. Rogero and the other liberated knights

dispersed over the plain and hilltops to secure him, and at last

the animal allowed Rogero to seize his rein. The fearless Rogero

hesitated not to vault upon his back, and let him feel his spurs,

which so roused his mettle that, after galloping a short distance,

he suddenly spread his wings, and soared into the air. Bradamante

had the grief to see her lover snatched away from her at the very

moment of reunion. Rogero, who knew not the art of directing the

horse, was unable to control his flight. He found himself carried

over the tops of the mountains, so far above them that he could

hardly distinguish what was land and what water. The Hippogriff

directed his flight to the west, and cleaved the air as swiftly as

a new-rigged vessel cuts the waves, impelled by the freshest and

most favorable gales.

ASTOLPHO AND THE ENCHANTRESS

In the long flight which Rogero took on the back of the Hippogriff

he was carried over land and sea, unknowing whither. As soon as he

had gained some control over the animal he made him alight on the

nearest land. When he came near enough to earth Rogero leapt

lightly from his back, and tied the animal to a myrtle-tree. Near

the spot flowed the pure waters of a fountain, surrounded by

cedars and palm-trees. Rogero laid aside his shield, and, removing

his helmet, breathed with delight the fresh air, and cooled his

lips with the waters of the fountain. For we cannot wonder that he

was excessively fatigued, considering the ride he had taken. He

was preparing to taste the sweets of repose when he perceived that

the Hippogriff, which he had tied by the bridle to a myrtle-tree,

frightened at something, was making violent efforts to disengage

himself. His struggle shook the myrtle-tree so that many of its

beautiful leaves were torn off, and strewed the ground.

A sound like that which issues from burning wood seemed to come

from the myrtle-tree, at first faint and indistinct, but growing

stronger by degrees, and at length was audible as a voice which

spoke in this manner: "O knight, if the tenderness of your heart

corresponds to the beauty of your person, relieve me, I pray you,

from this tormenting animal. I suffer enough inwardly without

having outward evils added to my lot."

Rogero, at the first accents of this voice, turned his eyes

promptly on the myrtle, hastened to it, and stood fixed in

astonishment when he perceived that the voice issued from the tree

itself. He immediately untied his horse, and, flushed with

surprise and regret, exclaimed, "Whoever thou art, whether mortal

or the goddess of these woods, forgive me, I beseech you, my

involuntary fault. Had I imagined that this hard bark covered a

being possessed of feeling, could I have exposed such a beautiful

myrtle to the insults of this steed? May the sweet influences of

the sky and air speedily repair the injury I have done! For my

part, I promise by the sovereign lady of my heart to do everything

you wish in order to merit your forgiveness."

At these words the myrtle seemed to tremble from root to stem, and

Rogero remarked that a moisture as of tears trickled down its

bark, like that which exudes from a log placed on the fire. It

then spoke:

"The kindness which inspires your words compels me to disclose to

you who I once was, and by what fatality I have been changed into

this shape. My name was Astolpho, cousin of Orlando and Rinaldo,

whose fame has filled the earth. I was myself reckoned among the

bravest paladins of France, and was by birth entitled to reign

over England, after Otho, my father. Returning from the distant

East, with Rinaldo and many other brave knights, called home to

aid with our arms the great Emperor of France, we reached a spot

where the powerful enchantress Alcina possessed a castle on the

borders of the sea. She had gone to the water-side to amuse

herself with fishing, and we paused to see how, by her art,

without hook or line, she drew from the water whatever she would.

"Not far from the shore an enormous whale showed a back so broad

and motionless that it looked like an island. Alcina had fixed her

eyes on me, and planned to get me into her power. Addressing us,

she said: 'This is the hour when the prettiest mermaid in the sea

comes regularly every day to the shore of yonder island. She sings

so sweetly that the very waves flow smoother at the sound. If you

wish to hear her come with me to her resort.' So saying, Alcina

pointed to the fish, which we all supposed to be an island. I, who

was rash, did not hesitate to follow her; but swam my horse over,

and mounted on the back of the fish. In vain Rinaldo and Dudon

made signs to me to beware; Alcina, smiling, took me in charge,

and led the way. No sooner were we mounted upon him than the whale

moved off, spreading his great fins, and cleft rapidly the waters.

I then saw my folly, but it was too late to repent. Alcina soothed

my anger, and professed that what she had done was for love of me.

Ere long we arrived at this island, where at first everything was

done to reconcile me to my lot, and to make my days pass happily

away. But soon Alcina, sated with her conquest, grew indifferent,

then weary of me, and at last, to get rid of me, changed me into

this form, as she had done to many lovers before me, making some

of them olives, some palms, some cedars, changing others into

fountains, rocks, or even into wild beasts. And thou, courteous

knight, whom accident has brought to this enchanted isle, beware

that she get not the power over thee, or thou shalt haply be made

like us, a tree, a fountain, or a rock."

Rogero expressed his astonishment at this recital. Astolpho added

that the island was in great part subject to the sway of Alcina.

By the aid of her sister Morgana, she had succeeded in

dispossessing a third sister, Logestilla, of nearly the whole of

her patrimony, for the whole isle was hers originally by her

father's bequest. But Logestilla was temperate and sage, while the

other sisters were false and voluptuous. Her empire was divided

from theirs by a gulf and chain of mountains, which alone had thus

far prevented her sister from usurping it.

Astolpho here ended his tale, and Rogero, who knew that he was the

cousin of Bradamante, would gladly have devised some way for his

relief; but, as that was out of his power, he consoled him as well

as he could, and then begged to be told the way to the palace of

Logestilla, and how to avoid that of Alcina. Astolpho directed him

to take the road to the left, though rough and full of rocks. He

warned him that this road would present serious obstacles; that

troops of monsters would oppose his passage, employed by the art

of Alcina to prevent her subjects from escaping from her dominion.

Rogero thanked the myrtle, and prepared to set out on his way.

He at first thought he would mount the winged horse, and scale the

mountain on his back; but he was too uncertain of his power to

control him to wish to encounter the hazard of another flight

through the air, besides that he was almost famished for the want

of food. So he led the horse after him, and took the road on foot,

which for some distance led equally to the dominions of both the

sisters.

He had not advanced more than two miles when he saw before him the

superb city of Alcina. It was surrounded with a wall of gold,

which seemed to reach the skies. I know that some think that this

wall was not of real gold, but only the work of alchemy; it

matters not; I prefer to think it gold, for it certainly shone

like gold.

A broad and level road led to the gates of the city, and from this

another branched off, narrow and rough, which led to the mountain

region. Rogero took without hesitation the narrow road; but he had

no sooner entered upon it than he was assailed by a numerous troop

which opposed his passage.

You never have seen anything so ridiculous, so extraordinary, as

this host of hobgoblins were. Some of them bore the human form

from the neck to the feet, but had the head of a monkey or a cat;

others had the legs and the ears of a horse; old men and women,

bald and hideous, ran hither and thither as if out of their

senses, half clad in the shaggy skins of beasts; one rode full

speed on a horse without a bridle, another jogged along mounted on

an ass or a cow; others, full of agility, skipped about, and clung

to the tails and manes of the animals which their companions rode.

Some blew horns, others brandished drinking-cups; some were armed

with spits, and some with pitchforks. One, who appeared to be the

captain, had an enormous belly and a gross fat head; he was

mounted on a tortoise, that waddled, now this way, now that,

without keeping any one direction.

One of these monsters, who had something approaching the human

form, though he had the neck, ears, and muzzle of a dog, set

himself to bark furiously at Rogero, to make him turn off to the

right, and reenter upon the road to the gay city; but the brave

chevalier exclaimed, "That will I not, so long as I can use this

sword,"--and he thrust the point directly at his face. The monster

tried to strike him with a lance, but Rogero was too quick for

him, and thrust his sword through his body, so that it appeared a

hand's breadth behind his back. The paladin, now giving full vent

to his rage, laid about him vigorously among the rabble, cleaving

one to the teeth, another to the girdle; but the troop were so

numerous, and in spite of his blows pressed around him so close,

that, to clear his way, he must have had as many arms as Briareus.

If Rogero had uncovered the shield of the enchanter, which hung at

his saddle-bow, he might easily have vanquished this monstrous

rout; but perhaps he did not think of it, and perhaps he preferred

to seek his defence nowhere but in his good sword. At that moment,

when his perplexity was at its height, he saw issue from the city

gate two young beauties, whose air and dress proclaimed their rank

and gentle nurture. Each of them was mounted on a unicorn, whose

whiteness surpassed that of ermine. They advanced to the meadow

where Rogero was contending so valiantly against the hobgoblins,

who all retired at their approach. They drew near, they extended

their hands to the young warrior, whose cheeks glowed with the

flush of exercise and modesty. Grateful for their assistance, he

expressed his thanks, and, having no heart to refuse them,

followed their guidance to the gate of the city.

This grand and beautiful entrance was adorned by a portico of four

vast columns, all of diamond. Whether they were real diamond or

artificial I cannot say. What matter is it, so long as they

appeared to the eye like diamond, and nothing could be more gay

and splendid.

On the threshold, and between the columns, was seen a bevy of

charming young women, who played and frolicked together. They all

ran to receive Rogero, and conducted him into the palace, which

appeared like a paradise.

We might well call by that name this abode, where the hours flew

by, without account, in ever-new delights. The bare idea of

satiety, want, and, above all, of age, never entered the minds of

the inhabitants. They experienced no sensations except those of

luxury and gayety; the cup of happiness seemed for them ever-

flowing and exhaustless. The two young damsels to whom Rogero owed

his deliverance from the hobgoblins conducted him to the apartment

of their mistress. The beautiful Alcina advanced, and greeted him

with an air at once dignified and courteous. All her court

surrounded the paladin, and rendered him the most flattering

attentions. The castle was less admirable for its magnificence

than for the charms of those who inhabited it. They were of either

sex, well matched in beauty, youth, and grace; but among this

charming group the brilliant Alcina shone, as the sun outshines

the stars. The young warrior was fascinated. All that he had heard

from the myrtle-tree appeared to him but a vile calumny. How could

he suspect that falsehood and treason veiled themselves under

smiles and the ingenuous air of truth? He doubted not that

Astolpho had deserved his fate, and perhaps a punishment more

severe; he regarded all his stories as dictated by a disappointed

spirit, and a thirst for revenge. But we must not condemn Rogero

too harshly, for he was the victim of magic power.

They seated themselves at table, and immediately harmonious lyres

and harps waked the air with the most ravishing notes. The charms

of poetry were added in entertaining recitals; the magnificence of

the feast would have done credit to a royal board. The traitress

forgot nothing which might charm the paladin, and attach him to

the spot, meaning, when she should grow tired of him, to

metamorphose him as she had done others. In the same manner passed

each succeeding day. Games of pleasant exercise, the chase, the

dance, or rural sports, made the hours pass quickly; while they

gave zest to the refreshment of the bath, or sleep.

Thus Rogero led a life of ease and luxury, while Charlemagne and

Agramant were struggling for empire. But I cannot linger with him

while the amiable and courageous Bradamante is night and day

directing her uncertain steps to every spot where the slightest

chance invites her, in the hope of recovering Rogero.

I will therefore say that, having sought him in vain in fields and

in cities, she knew not whither next to direct her steps. She did

not apprehend the death of Rogero. The fall of such a hero would

have reechoed from the Hydaspes to the farthest river of the West;

but, not knowing whether he was on the earth or in the air, she

concluded, as a last resource, to return to the cavern which

contained the tomb of Merlin, to ask of him some sure direction to

the object of her search.

While this thought occupied her mind, Melissa, the sage

enchantress, suddenly appeared before her. This virtuous and

beneficent magician had discovered by her spells that Rogero was

passing his time in pleasure and idleness, forgetful of his honor

and his sovereign. Not able to endure the thought that one who was

born to be a hero should waste his years in base repose, and leave

a sullied reputation in the memory of survivors, she saw that

vigorous measures must be employed to draw him forth into the

paths of virtue. Melissa was not blinded by her affection for the

amiable paladin, like Atlantes, who, intent only on preserving

Rogero's life, cared nothing for his fame. It was that old

enchanter whose arts had guided the Hippogriff to the isle of the

too charming Alcina, where he hoped his favorite would learn to

forget honor, and lose the love of glory.

At the sight of Melissa joy lighted up the countenance of

Bradamante, and hope animated her breast. Melissa concealed

nothing from her, but told her how Rogero was in the toils of

Alcina. Bradamante was plunged in grief and terror; but the kind

enchantress calmed her, dispelled her fears, and promised that

before many days she would lead back the paladin to her feet.

"My daughter," she said, "give me the ring which you wear, and

which possesses the power to overcome enchantments. By means of it

I doubt not but that I may enter the stronghold where the false

Alcina holds Rogero in durance, and may succeed in vanquishing her

and liberating him." Bradamante unhesitatingly delivered her the

ring, recommending Rogero to her best efforts. Melissa then

summoned by her art a huge palfrey, black as jet, excepting one

foot, which was bay. Mounted upon this animal, she rode with such

speed that by the next morning she had reached the abode of

Alcina.

She here transformed herself into the perfect resemblance of the

old magician Atlantes, adding a palm-breadth to her height, and

enlarging her whole figure. Her chin she covered with a long

beard, and seamed her whole visage well with wrinkles. She assumed

also his voice and manner, and watched her chance to find Rogero

alone. At last she found him, dressed in a rich tunic of silk and

gold, a collar of precious stones about his neck, and his arms,

once so rough with exercise, decorated with bracelets. His air and

his every motion indicated effeminacy, and he seemed to retain

nothing of Rogero but the name; such power had the enchantress

obtained over him.

Melissa, under the form of his old instructor, presented herself

before him, wearing a stern and serious visage. "Is this, then,"

she said, "the fruit of all my labors? Is it for this that I fed

you on the marrow of bears and lions, that I taught you to subdue

dragons, and, like Hercules, strangle serpents in your youthful

grasp, only to make you, by all my cares, a feeble Adonis? My

nightly watchings of the stars, of the yet warm fibres of animals,

the lots I have cast, the points of nativity that I have

calculated, have they all falsely indicated that you were born for

greatness? Who could have believed that you would become the slave

of a base enchantress? O Rogero, learn to know this Alcina, learn

to understand her arts and to countervail them. Take this ring,

place it on your finger, return to her presence, and see for

yourself what are her real charms."

At these words, Rogero, confused, abashed, cast his eyes upon the

ground, and knew not what to answer. Melissa seized the moment,

slipped the ring on his finger, and the paladin was himself again.

What a thunderclap to him! Overcome by shame, he dared not to

encounter the looks of his instructor. When at last he raised his

eyes he beheld not that venerable form, but the priestess Melissa,

who in virtue of the ring now appeared in her true person. She

told him of the motives which had led her to come to his rescue,

of the griefs and regrets of Bradamante, and of her unwearied

search for him. "That charming Amazon," she said, "sends you this

ring, which is a sovereign antidote to all enchantments. She would

have sent you her heart in my hands, if it would have had greater

power to serve you."

It was needless for Melissa to say more. Rogero's love for Alcina,

being but the work of enchantment, vanished as soon as the

enchantment was withdrawn, and he now hated her with an equal

intensity, seeing no longer anything in her but her vices, and

feeling only resentment for the shame that she had put upon him.

His surprise when he again beheld Alcina was no less than his

indignation. Fortified by his ring from her enchantments, he saw

her as she was, a monster of ugliness. All her charms were

artificial, and, truly viewed, were rather deformities. She was,

in fact, older than Hecuba or the Sibyl of Cumae; but an art,

which it is to be regretted our times have lost, enabled her to

appear charming, and to clothe herself in all the attractions of

youth. Rogero now saw all this, but, governed by the counsels of

Melissa, he concealed his surprise, assumed under some pretext his

armor, long neglected, and bound to his side Belisarda, his trusty

sword, taking also the buckler of Atlantes, covered with its veil.

He then selected a horse from the stables of Alcina, without

exciting her suspicions; but he left the Hippogriff, by the advice

of Melissa, who promised to take him in charge, and train him to a

more manageable state. The horse he took was Rabican, which

belonged to Astolpho. He restored the ring to Melissa.

Rogero had not ridden far when he met one of the huntsmen of

Alcina, bearing a falcon on his wrist, and followed by a dog. The

huntsman was mounted on a powerful horse, and came boldly up to

the paladin, demanding, in a somewhat imperious manner, whither he

was going so rapidly. Rogero disdained to stop or to reply;

whereupon the huntsman, not doubting that he was about making his

escape, said, "What if I, with my falcon, stop your ride?" So

saying, he threw off the bird, which even Rabican could not equal

in speed. The huntsman then leapt from his horse, and the animal,

open-mouthed, darted after Rogero with the swiftness of an arrow.

The huntsman also ran as if the wind or fire bore him, and the dog

was equal to Rabican in swiftness. Rogero, finding flight

impossible, stopped and faced his pursuers; but his sword was

useless against such foes. The insolent huntsman assailed him with

words, and struck him with his whip, the only weapon he had; the

dog bit his feet, and the horse drove at him with his hoofs. At

the same time the falcon flew over his head and over Rabican's and

attacked them with claws and wings, so that the horse in his

fright began to be unmanageable. At that moment the sound of

trumpets and cymbals was heard in the valley, and it was evident

that Alcina had ordered out all her array to go in pursuit. Rogero

felt that there was no time to be lost, and luckily remembered the

shield of Atlantes, which he bore suspended from his neck. He

unveiled it, and the charm worked wonderfully. The huntsman, the

dog, the horse, fell flat; the trembling wings of the falcon could

no longer sustain her, and she fell senseless to the ground.

Rogero, rid of their annoyances, left them in their trance, and

rode away.

Meanwhile Alcina, with all the force she could muster, sallied

forth from her palace in pursuit. Melissa, left behind, took

advantage of the opportunity to ransack all the rooms, protected

by the ring. She undid one by one all the talismans and spells

which she found, broke the seals, burned the images, and untied

the hagknots. Thence, hurrying through the fields, she

disenchanted the victims changed into trees, fountains, stones, or

brutes; all of whom recovered their liberty, and vowed eternal

gratitude to their deliverer. They made their escape, with all

possible despatch, to the realms of the good Logestilla, whence

they departed to their several homes.

Astolpho was the first whom Melissa liberated, for Rogero had

particularly recommended him to her care. She aided him to recover

his arms, and particularly that precious golden-headed lance which

once was Argalia's. The enchantress mounted with him upon the

winged horse, and in a short time arrived through the air at the

castle of Logestilla, where Rogero joined them soon after.

In this abode the friends passed a short period of delightful and

improving intercourse with the sage Logestilla and her virtuous

court; and then each departed, Rogero with the Hippogriff, ring,

and buckler; Astolpho with his golden lance, and mounted on

Rabican, the fleetest of steeds. To Rogero Logestilla gave a bit

and bridle suited to govern the Hippogriff; and to Astolpho a horn

of marvellous powers, to be sounded only when all other weapons

were unavailing.

THE ORC

We left the charming Angelica at the moment when, in her flight

from her contending lovers, Sacripant and Rinaldo, she met an aged

hermit. We have seen that her request to the hermit was to furnish

her the means of gaining the sea-coast, eager to avoid Rinaldo,

whom she hated, by leaving France and Europe itself. The pretended

hermit, who was no other than a vile magician, knowing well that

it would not be agreeable to his false gods to aid Angelica in

this undertaking, feigned to comply with her desire. He supplied

her a horse, into which he had by his arts caused a subtle devil

to enter, and, having mounted Angelica on the animal, directed her

what course to take to reach the sea.

Angelica rode on her way without suspicion, but when arrived at

the shore, the demon urged the animal headlong into the water.

Angelica in vain attempted to turn him back to the land; he

continued his course till, as night approached, he landed with his

burden on a sandy headland.

Angelica, finding herself alone, abandoned in this frightful

solitude, remained without movement, as if stupefied, with hands

joined and eyes turned towards heaven, till at last, pouring forth

a torrent of tears, she exclaimed: "Cruel fortune, have you not

yet exhausted your rage against me? To what new miseries do you

doom me? Alas! then finish your work! Deliver me a prey to some

ferocious beast, or by whatever fate you choose bring me to an

end. I will be thankful to you for terminating my life and my

misery." At last, exhausted by her sorrows, she fell asleep, and

sunk prostrate on the sand.

Before recounting what next befell, we must declare what place it

was upon which the unhappy lady was now thrown. In the sea that

washes the coast of Ireland there is an island called Ebuda, whose

inhabitants, once numerous, had been wasted by the anger of

Proteus till there were now but few left. This deity was incensed

by some neglect of the usual honors which he had in old times

received from the inhabitants of the land, and, to execute his

vengeance, had sent a horrid sea-monster, called an Orc, to devour

them. Such were the terrors of his ravages that the whole people

of the isle had shut themselves up in the principal town, and

relied on their walls alone to protect them. In this distress they

applied to the Oracle for advice, and were directed to appease the

wrath of the sea-monster by offering to him the fairest virgin

that the country could produce.

Now it so happened that the very day when this dreadful oracle was

announced, and when the fatal mandate had gone forth to seek among

the fairest maidens of the land one to be offered to the monster,

some sailors, landing on the beach where Angelica was, beheld that

beauty as she lay asleep.

O blind Chance! whose power in human affairs is but too great,

canst thou then abandon to the teeth of a horrible monster those

charms which different sovereigns took arms against one another to

possess? Alas! the lovely Angelica is destined to be the victim of

those cruel islanders.

Still asleep, she was bound by the Ebudians, and it was not until

she was carried on board the vessel that she came to a knowledge

of her situation. The wind filled the sails and wafted the ship

swiftly to the port, where all that beheld her agreed that she was

unquestionably the victim selected by Proteus himself to be his

prey. Who can tell the screams, the mortal anguish of this unhappy

maiden, the reproaches she addressed even to the heavens

themselves, when the dreadful information of her cruel fate was

made known to her? I cannot; let me rather turn to a happier part

of my story.

Rogero left the palace of Logestilla, careering on his flying

courser far above the tops of the mountains, and borne westward by

the Hippogriff, which he guided with ease, by means of the bridle

that Melissa had given him. Anxious as he was to recover

Bradamante, he could not fail to be delighted at the view his

rapid flight presented of so many vast regions and populous

countries as he passed over in his career. At last he approached

the shores of England, and perceived an immense army in all the

splendor of military pomp, as if about to go forth flushed with

hopes of victory. He caused the Hippogriff to alight not far from

the scene, and found himself immediately surrounded by admiring

spectators, knights and soldiers, who could not enough indulge

their curiosity and wonder. Rogero learned, in reply to his

questions, that the fine array of troops before him was the army

destined to go to the aid of the French Emperor, in compliance

with the request presented by the illustrious Rinaldo, as

ambassador of King Charles, his uncle.

By this time the curiosity of the English chevaliers was partly

gratified in beholding the Hippogriff at rest, and Rogero, to

renew their surprise and delight, remounted the animal, and,

slapping spurs to his sides, made him launch into the air with the

rapidity of a meteor, and directed his flight still westwardly,

till he came within sight of the coasts of Ireland. Here he

descried what seemed to be a fair damsel, alone, fast chained to a

rock which projected into the sea. What was his astonishment when,

drawing nigh, he beheld the beautiful princess Angelica! That day

she had been led forth and bound to the rock, there to wait till

the sea-monster should come to devour her. Rogero exclaimed as he

came near, "What cruel hands, what barbarous soul, what fatal

chance can have loaded thee with those chains?" Angelica replied

by a torrent of tears, at first her only response; then, in a

trembling voice, she disclosed to him the horrible destiny for

which she was there exposed. While she spoke, a terrible roaring

was heard far off on the sea. The huge monster soon came in sight,

part of his body appearing above the waves and part concealed.

Angelica, half dead with fear, abandoned herself to despair.

Rogero, lance in rest, spurred his Hippogriff toward the Orc, and

gave him a thrust. The horrible monster was like nothing that

nature produces. It was but one mass of tossing and twisting body,

with nothing of the animal but head, eyes, and mouth, the last

furnished with tusks like those of the wild boar. Rogero's lance

had struck him between the eyes; but rock and iron are not more

impenetrable than were his scales. The knight, seeing the

fruitlessness of the first blow, prepared to give a second. The

animal, beholding upon the water the shadow of the great wings of

the Hippogriff, abandoned his prey, and turned to seize what

seemed nearer. Rogero took the opportunity, and dealt him furious

blows on various parts of his body, taking care to keep clear of

his murderous teeth; but the scales resisted every attack. The Orc

beat the water with his tail till he raised a foam which enveloped

Rogero and his steed, so that the knight hardly knew whether he

was in the water or the air. He began to fear that the wings of

the Hippogriff would be so drenched with water that they would

cease to sustain him. At that moment Rogero bethought him of the

magic shield which hung at his saddle-bow; but the fear that

Angelica would also be blinded by its glare discouraged him from

employing it. Then he remembered the ring which Melissa had given

him, the power of which he had so lately proved. He hastened to

Angelica and placed it on her finger. Then, uncovering the

buckler, he turned its bright disk full in the face of the

detestable Orc. The effect was instantaneous. The monster,

deprived of sense and motion, rolled over on the sea, and lay

floating on his back. Rogero would fain have tried the effect of

his lance on the now exposed parts, but Angelica implored him to

lose no time in delivering her from her chains before the monster

should revive. Rogero, moved with her entreaties, hastened to do

so, and, having unbound her, made her mount behind him on the

Hippogriff. The animal, spurning the earth, shot up into the air,

and rapidly sped his way through it. Rogero, to give time to the

princess to rest after her cruel agitations, soon sought the earth

again, alighting on the shore of Brittany. Near the shore a thick

wood presented itself, which resounded with the songs of birds. In

the midst, a fountain of transparent water bathed the turf of a

little meadow. A gentle hill rose near by. Rogero, making the

Hippogriff alight in the meadow, dismounted, and took Angelica

from the horse.

When the first tumults of emotion had subsided Angelica, casting

her eyes downward, beheld the precious ring upon her finger, whose

virtues she was well acquainted with, for it was the very ring

which the Saracen Brunello had robbed her of. She drew it from her

finger and placed it in her mouth, and, quicker than we can tell

it, disappeared from the sight of the paladin.

Rogero looked around him on all sides, like one frantic, but soon

remembered the ring which he had so lately placed on her finger.

Struck with the ingratitude which could thus recompense his

services, he exclaimed: "Thankless beauty, is this then the reward

you make me? Do you prefer to rob me of my ring rather than

receive it as a gift? Willingly would I have given it to you, had

you but asked it." Thus he said, searching on all sides with arms

extended like a blind man, hoping to recover by the touch what was

lost to sight; but he sought in vain. The cruel beauty was already

far away.

Though sensible of her obligations to her deliverer, her first

necessity was for clothing, food, and repose. She soon reached a

shepherd's hut, where, entering unseen, she found what sufficed

for her present relief. An old herdsman inhabited the hut, whose

charges consisted of a drove of mares. When recruited by repose

Angelica selected one of the mares from the flock, and, mounting

the animal, felt the desire revive in her mind of returning to her

home in the East, and for that purpose would gladly have accepted

the protection of Orlando or of Sacripant across those wide

regions which divided her from her own country. In hopes of

meeting with one or the other of them she pursued her way.

Meanwhile Rogero, despairing of seeing Angelica again, returned to

the tree where he had left his winged horse, but had the

mortification to find that the animal had broken his bridle and

escaped. This loss, added to his previous disappointment,

overwhelmed him with vexation. Sadly he gathered up his arms,

threw his buckler over his shoulders, and, taking the first path

that offered, soon found himself within the verge of a dense and

widespread forest.

He had proceeded for some distance when he heard a noise on his

right, and, listening attentively, distinguished the clash of

arms. He made his way toward the place whence the sound proceeded,

and found two warriors engaged in mortal combat. One of them was a

knight of a noble and manly bearing, the other a fierce giant. The

knight appeared to exert consummate address in defending herself

against the massive club of the giant, evading his strokes, or

parrying them with sword or shield. Rogero stood spectator of the

combat, for he did not allow himself to interfere in it, though a

secret sentiment inclined him strongly to take part with the

knight. At length he saw with grief the massive club fall directly

on the head of the knight, who yielded to the blow, and fell

prostrate. The giant sprang forward to despatch him, and for that

purpose unlaced his helmet, when Rogero, with dismay, recognized

the face of Bradamante. He cried aloud, "Hold, miscreant!" and

sprang forward with drawn sword. Whereupon the giant, as if he

cared not to enter upon another combat, lifted Bradamante on his

shoulders, and ran with her into the forest.

Rogero plunged after him, but the long legs of the giant carried

him forward so fast that the paladin could hardly keep him in

sight. At length they issued from the wood, and Rogero perceived

before him a rich palace, built of marble, and adorned with

sculptures executed by a master hand. Into this edifice, through a

golden door, the giant passed, and Rogero followed; but, on

looking round, saw nowhere either the giant or Bradamante. He ran

from room to room, calling aloud on his cowardly foe to turn and

meet him; but got no response, nor caught another glimpse of the

giant or his prey. In his vain pursuit he met, without knowing

them, Ferrau, Florismart, King Gradasso, Orlando, and many others,

all of whom had been entrapped like himself into this enchanted

castle. It was a new stratagem of the magician Atlantes to draw

Rogero into his power, and to secure also those who might by any

chance endanger his safety. What Rogero had taken for Bradamante

was a mere phantom. That charming lady was far away, full of

anxiety for her Rogero, whose coming she had long expected.

The Emperor had committed to her charge the city and garrison of

Marseilles, and she held the post against the infidels with valor

and discretion. One day Melissa suddenly presented herself before

her. Anticipating her questions, she said, "Fear not for Rogero;

he lives, and is as ever true to you; but he has lost his liberty.

The fell enchanter has again succeeded in making him a prisoner.

If you would deliver him, mount your horse and follow me." She

told her in what manner Atlantes had deceived Rogero, in deluding

his eyes with the phantom of herself in peril. "Such," she

continued, "will be his arts in your own case, if you penetrate

the forest and approach that castle. You will think you behold

Rogero, when, in fact, you see only the enchanter himself. Be not

deceived, plunge your sword into his body, and trust me when I

tell you that, in slaying him, you will restore not only Rogero,

but with him many of the bravest knights of France, whom the

wizard's arts have withdrawn from the camp of their sovereign."

Bradamante promptly armed herself, and mounted her horse. Melissa

led her by forced journeys, by field and forest, beguiling the way

with conversation on the theme which interested her hearer most.

When at last they reached the forest, she repeated once more her

instructions, and then took her leave, for fear the enchanter

might espy her, and be put on his guard.

Bradamante rode on about two miles when suddenly she beheld

Rogero, as it appeared to her, hard pressed by two fierce giants.

While she hesitated she heard his voice calling on her for help.

At once the cautions of Melissa lost their weight. A sudden doubt

of the faith and truth of her kind monitress flashed across her

mind. "Shall I not believe my own eyes and ears?" she said, and

rushed forward to his defence. Rogero fled, pursued by the giants,

and Bradamante followed, passing with them through the castle

gate. When there, Bradamante was undeceived, for neither giant nor

knight was to be seen. She found herself a prisoner, but had not

the consolation of knowing that she shared the imprisonment of her

beloved. She saw various forms of men and women, but could

recognize none of them; and their lot was the same with respect to

her. Each viewed the others under some illusion of the fancy,

wearing the semblance of giants, dwarfs, or even four-footed

animals, so that there was no companionship or communication

between them.

ASTOLPHO'S ADVENTURES CONTINUED, AND ISABELLA'S BEGUN

When Astolpho escaped from the cruel Alcina, after a short abode

in the realm of the virtuous Logestilla, he desired to return to

his native country. Logestilla lent him the best vessel of her

fleet to convey him to the mainland. She gave him at parting a

wonderful book, which taught the secret of overcoming all manners

of enchantments, and begged him to carry it always with him, out

of regard for her. She also gave him another gift, which surpassed

everything of the kind that mortal workmanship can frame; yet it

was nothing in appearance but a simple horn.

Astolpho, protected by these gifts, thanked the good fairy, took

leave of her, and set out on his return to France. His voyage was

prosperous, and on reaching the desired port he took leave of the

faithful mariners, and continued his journey by land. As he

proceeded over mountains and through valleys he often met with

bands of robbers, wild beasts, and venomous serpents, but he had

only to sound his horn to put them all to flight.

Having landed in France, and traversed many provinces on his way

to the army, he one day, in crossing a forest, arrived beside a

fountain, and alighted to drink. While he stooped at the fountain

a young rustic sprang from the copse, mounted Rabican, and rode

away. It was a new trick of the enchanter Atlantes. Astolpho,

hearing the noise, turned his head just in time to see his loss;

and, starting up, pursued the thief, who, on his part, did not

press the horse to his full speed, but just kept in sight of his

pursuer till they both issued from the forest; and then Rabican

and his rider took shelter in a castle which stood near. Astolpho

followed, and penetrated without difficulty within the court-yard

of the castle, where he looked around for the rider and his horse,

but could see no trace of either, nor any person of whom he could

make inquiry. Suspecting that enchantment was employed to

embarrass him, he bethought him of his book, and on consulting it

discovered that his suspicions were well founded. He also learned

what course to pursue. He was directed to raise the stone which

served as a threshold, under which a spirit lay pent, who would

willingly escape, and leave the castle free of access. Astolpho

applied his strength to lift aside the stone. Thereupon the

magician put his arts in force. The castle was full of prisoners,

and the magician caused that to all of them Astolpho should appear

in some false guise--to some a wild beast, to others a giant, to

others a bird of prey. Thus all assailed him, and would quickly

have made an end of him, if he had not bethought him of his horn.

No sooner had he blown a blast than, at the horrid larum, fled the

cavaliers and the necromancer with them, like a flock of pigeons

at the sound of the fowler's gun. Astolpho then renewed his

efforts on the stone, and turned it over. The under face was all

inscribed with magical characters, which the knight defaced, as

directed by his book; and no sooner had he done so, than the

castle, with its walls and turrets, vanished into smoke.

The knights and ladies set at liberty were, besides Rogero and

Bradamante, Orlando, Gradasso, Florismart, and many more. At the

sound of the horn they fled, one and all, men and steeds, except

Rabican, which Astolpho secured, in spite of his terror. As soon

as the sound had ceased Rogero recognized Bradamante, whom he had

daily met during their imprisonment, but had been prevented from

knowing by the enchanter's arts. No words can tell the delight

with which they recognized each other, and recounted mutually all

that had happened to each since they were parted. Rogero took

advantage of the opportunity to press his suit, and found

Bradamante as propitious as he could wish, were it not for a

single obstacle, the difference of their faiths. "If he would

obtain her in marriage," she said, "he must in due form demand her

of her father, Duke Aymon, and must abandon his false prophet, and

become a Christian." The latter step was one which Rogero had for

some time intended taking, for reasons of his own. He therefore

gladly accepted the terms, and proposed that they should at once

repair to the abbey of Vallombrosa, whose towers were visible at

no great distance. Thither they turned their horses' heads, and we

will leave them to find their way without our company.

I know not if my readers recollect that at the moment when Rogero

had just delivered Angelica from the voracious Orc that scornful

beauty placed her ring in her mouth, and vanished out of sight. At

the same time the Hippogriff shook off his bridle, soared away,

and flew to rejoin his former master, very naturally returning to

his accustomed stable. Here Astolpho found him, to his very great

delight. He knew the animal's powers, having seen Rogero ride him,

and he longed to fly abroad over all the earth, and see various

nations and peoples from his airy course. He had heard

Logestilla's directions how to guide the animal, and saw her fit a

bridle to his head. He therefore was able, out of all the bridles

he found in the stable, to select one suitable, and, placing

Rabican's saddle on the Hippogriff's back, nothing seemed to

prevent his immediate departure. Yet before he went he bethought

him of placing Rabican in hands where he would be safe, and whence

he might recover him in time of need. While he stood deliberating

where he should find a messenger, he saw Bradamante approach. That

fair warrior had been parted from Rogero on their way to the abbey

of Vallombrosa, by an inopportune adventure which had called the

knight away. She was now returning to Montalban, having arranged

with Rogero to join her there. To Bradamante, therefore, his fair

cousin, Astolpho committed Rabican, and also the lance of gold,

which would only be an incumbrance in his aerial excursion.

Bradamante took charge of both; and Astolpho, bidding her

farewell, soared in air.

Among those delivered by Astolpho from the magician's castle was

Orlando. Following the guide of chance, the paladin found himself

at the close of day in a forest, and stopped at the foot of a

mountain. Surprised to discern a light which came from a cleft in

the rock, he approached, guided by the ray, and discovered a

narrow passage in the mountain-side, which led into a deep grotto.

Orlando fastened his horse, and then, putting aside the bushes

that resisted his passage, stepped down from rock to rock till he

reached a sort of cavern. Entering it, he perceived a lady, young

and handsome, as well as he could discover through the signs of

distress which agitated her countenance. Her only companion was an

old woman, who seemed to be regarded by her young partner with

terror and indignation. The courteous paladin saluted the women

respectfully, and begged to know by whose barbarity they had been

subjected to such imprisonment.

The younger lady replied, in a voice often broken with sobs:

"Though I know well that my recital will subject me to worse

treatment by the barbarous man who keeps me here, to whom this

woman will not fail to report it, yet I will not hide from you the

facts. Ah! why should I fear his rage? If he should take my life,

I know not what better boon than death I can ask.

"My name is Isabella. I am the daughter of the king of Galicia, or

rather I should say misfortune and grief are my parents. Young,

rich, modest, and of tranquil temper, all things appeared to

combine to render my lot happy. Alas! I see myself to-day poor,

humbled, miserable, and destined perhaps to yet further

afflictions. It is a year since, my father having given notice

that he would open the lists for a tournament at Bayonne, a great

number of chevaliers from all quarters came together at our court.

Among these Zerbino, son of the king of Scotland, victorious in

all combats, eclipsed by his beauty and his valor all the rest.

Before departing from the court of Galicia he testified the wish

to espouse me, and I consented that he should demand my hand of

the king, my father. But I was a Mahometan, and Zerbino a

Christian, and my father refused his consent. The prince, called

home by his father to take command of the forces destined to the

assistance of the French Emperor, prevailed on me to be married to

him secretly, and to follow him to Scotland. He caused a galley to

be prepared to receive me, and placed in command of it the

chevalier Oderic, a Biscayan, famous for his exploits both by land

and sea. On the day appointed, Oderic brought his vessel to a

seaside resort of my father's, where I embarked. Some of my

domestics accompanied me, and thus I departed from my native land.

"Sailing with a fair wind, after some hours we were assailed by a

violent tempest. It was to no purpose that we took in all sail; we

were driven before the wind directly upon the rocky shore. Seeing

no other hopes of safety, Oderic placed me in a boat, followed

himself with a few of his men, and made for land. We reached it

through infinite peril, and I no sooner felt the firm land beneath

my feet, than I knelt down and poured out heartfelt thanks to the

Providence that had preserved me.

"The shore where we landed appeared to be uninhabited. We saw no

dwelling to shelter us, no road to lead us to a more hospitable

spot. A high mountain rose before us, whose base stretched into

the sea. It was here the infamous Oderic, in spite of my tears and

entreaties, sold me to a band of pirates, who fancied I might be

an acceptable present to their prince, the Sultan of Morocco. This

cavern is their den, and here they keep me under the guard of this

woman, until it shall suit their convenience to carry me away."

Isabella had hardly finished her recital when a troop of armed men

began to enter the cavern. Seeing the prince Orlando, one said to

the rest, "What bird is this we have caught, without even setting

a snare for him?" Then addressing Orlando, "It was truly civil in

you, friend, to come hither with that handsome coat of armor and

vest, the very things I want." "You shall pay for them, then,"

said Orlando; and seizing a half-burnt brand from the fire, he

hurled it at him, striking his head, and stretching him lifeless

on the floor.

There was a massy table in the middle of the cavern, used for the

pirates' repasts. Orlando lifted it and hurled it at the robbers

as they stood clustered in a group toward the entrance. Half the

gang were laid prostrate, with broken heads and limbs; the rest

got away as nimbly as they could.

Leaving the den and its inmates to their fate, Orlando, taking

Isabella under his protection, pursued his way for some days,

without meeting with any adventure.

One day they saw a band of men advancing, who seemed to be

guarding a prisoner, bound hand and foot, as if being carried to

execution. The prisoner was a youthful cavalier, of a noble and

ingenuous appearance. The band bore the ensigns of Count Anselm,

head of the treacherous house of Maganza. Orlando desired Isabella

to wait, while he rode forward to inquire the meaning of this

array. Approaching, he demanded of the leader who his prisoner

was, and of what crime he had been guilty. The man replied that

the prisoner was a murderer, by whose hand Pinabel, the son of

Count Anselm, had been treacherously slain. At these words the

prisoner exclaimed, "I am no murderer, nor have I been in any way

the cause of the young man's death." Orlando, knowing the cruel

and ferocious character of the chiefs of the house of Maganza,

needed no more to satisfy him that the youth was the victim of

injustice. He commanded the leader of the troop to release his

victim, and, receiving an insolent reply, dashed him to the earth

with a stroke of his lance; then by a few vigorous blows dispersed

the band, leaving deadly marks on those who were slowest to quit

the field.

Orlando then hastened to unbind the prisoner, and to assist him to

reclothe himself in his armor, which the false Magencian had dared

to assume. He then led him to Isabella, who now approached the

scene of action. How can we picture the joy, the astonishment,

with which Isabella recognized in him Zerbino, her husband, and

the prince discovered her whom he had believed overwhelmed in the

waves! They embraced one another, and wept for joy. Orlando,

sharing in their happiness, congratulated himself in having been

the instrument of it. The princess recounted to Zerbino what the

illustrious paladin had done for her, and the prince threw himself

at Orlando's feet, and thanked him as having twice preserved his

life.

While these exchanges of congratulation and thankfulness were

going on, a sound in the underwood attracted their attention, and

caused the two knights to brace their helmets and stand on their

guard. What the cause of the interruption was we shall record in

another chapter.

MEDORO

France was at this time the theatre of dreadful events. The

Saracens and the Christians, in numerous encounters, slew one

another. On one occasion Rinaldo led an attack on the infidel

columns, broke and scattered them, till he found himself opposite

to a knight whose armor (whether by accident or by choice, it

matters not) bore the blazon of Orlando. It was Dardinel, the

young and brave prince of Zumara, and Rinaldo remarked him by the

slaughter he spread all around. "Ah," said he to himself, "let us

pluck up this dangerous plant before it has grown to its full

height."

As Rinaldo advanced, the crowd opened before him, the Christians

to let his sword have free course, the Pagans to escape its sweep.

Dardinel and he stood face to face. Rinaldo exclaimed, fiercely,

"Young man, whoever gave you that noble buckler to bear made you a

dangerous gift; I should like to see how you are able to defend

those quarterings, red and white. If you cannot defend them

against me, how pray will you do so when Orlando challenges them?"

Dardinel replied: "Thou shalt learn that I can defend the arms I

bear, and shed new glory upon them. No one shall rend them from me

but with life." Saying these words, Dardinel rushed upon Rinaldo

with sword uplifted. The chill of mortal terror filled the souls

of the Saracens when they beheld Rinaldo advance to attack the

prince, like a lion against a young bull. The first blow came from

the hand of Dardinel, and the weapon rebounded from Mambrino's

helmet without effect. Rinaldo smiled, and said, "I will now show

you if my strokes are more effectual." At these words he thrust

the unfortunate Dardinel in the middle of his breast. The blow was

so violent that the cruel weapon pierced the body, and came out a

palm-breadth behind his back. Through this wound the life of

Dardinel issued with his blood, and his body fell helpless to the

ground.

As a flower which the passing plough has uprooted languishes, and

droops its head, so Dardinel, his visage covered with the paleness

of death, expires, and the hopes of an illustrious race perish

with him.

Like waters kept back by a dike, which, when the dike is broken,

spread abroad through all the country, so the Moors, no longer

kept in column by the example of Dardinel, fled in all directions.

Rinaldo despised too much such easy victories to pursue them; he

wished for no combats but with brave men. At the same time, the

other paladins made terrible slaughter of the Moors. Charles

himself, Oliver, Guido, and Ogier the Dane, carried death into

their ranks on all sides.

The infidels seemed doomed to perish to a man on that dreadful

day; but the wise king, Marsilius, at last put some slight degree

of method into the general rout. He collected the remnant of the

troops, formed them into a battalion, and retreated in tolerable

order to his camp. That camp was well fortified by intrenchments

and a broad ditch. Thither the fugitives hastened, and by degrees

all that remained of the Moorish army was brought together there.

The Emperor might perhaps that night have crushed his enemy

entirely; but not thinking it prudent to expose his troops,

fatigued as they were, to an attack upon a camp so well fortified,

he contented himself with encompassing the enemy with his troops,

prepared to make a regular siege. During the night the Moors had

time to see the extent of their loss. Their tents resounded with

lamentations. This warrior had to mourn a brother, that a friend;

many suffered with grievous wounds, all trembled at the fate in

store for them.

There were two young Moors, both of humble rank, who gave proof at

that time of attachment and fidelity rare in the history of man.

Cloridan and Medoro had followed their prince, Dardinel, to the

wars of France. Cloridan, a bold huntsman, combined strength with

activity. Medoro was a mere youth, his cheeks yet fair and

blooming. Of all the Saracens, no one united so much grace and

beauty. His light hair was set off by his black and sparkling

eyes. The two friends were together on guard at the rampart. About

midnight they gazed on the scene in deep dejection. Medoro, with

tears in his eyes, spoke of the good prince Dardinel, and could

not endure the thought that his body should be cast out on the

plain, deprived of funeral honors. "O my friend," said he, "must

then the body of our prince be the prey of wolves and ravens?

Alas! when I remember how he loved me, I feel that if I should

sacrifice my life to do him honor, I should not do more than my

duty. I wish, dear friend, to seek out his body on the

battlefield, and give it burial, and I hope to be able to pass

through King Charles's camp without discovery, as they are

probably all asleep. You, Cloridan, will be able to say for me, if

I should die in the adventure, that gratitude and fidelity to my

prince were my inducements."

Cloridan was both surprised and touched with this proof of the

young man's devotion. He loved him tenderly, and tried for a long

time every effort to dissuade him from his design; but he found

Medoro determined to accomplish his object or die in the endeavor.

Cloridan, unable to change his purpose, said, "I will go with you,

Medoro, and help you in this generous enterprise. I value not life

compared with honor, and if I did, do you suppose, dear friend,

that I could live without you? I would rather fall by the arms of

our enemies than die of grief for the loss of you."

When the two friends were relieved from their guard duty they went

without any followers into the camp of the Christians. All there

was still; the fires were dying out; there was no fear of any

attempt on the part of the Saracens, and the soldiers, overcome by

fatigue or wine, slept secure, lying upon the ground in the midst

of their arms and equipage. Cloridan stopped, and said, "Medoro, I

am not going to quit this camp without taking vengeance for the

death of our prince. Keep watch, be on your guard that no one

shall surprise us; I mean to mark a road with my sword through the

ranks of our enemies." So saying, he entered the tent where

Alpheus slept, who a year before had joined the camp of Charles,

and pretended to be a great physician and astrologer. But his

science had deceived him, if it gave him hope of dying peacefully

in his bed at a good old age; his lot was to die with little

warning. Cloridan ran his sword through his heart. A Greek and a

German followed, who had been playing late at dice: fortunate if

they had continued their game a little longer; but they never

reckoned a throw like this among their chances. Cloridan next came

to the unlucky Grillon, whose head lay softly on his pillow. He

dreamed probably of the feast from which he had but just retired;

for when Cloridan cut off his head wine flowed forth with the

blood.

The two young Moors might have penetrated even to the tent of

Charlemagne; but knowing that the paladins encamped around him

kept watch by turns, and judging that it was impossible they

should all be asleep, they were afraid to go too near. They might

also have obtained rich booty; but, intent only on their object,

they crossed the camp, and arrived at length at the bloody field,

where bucklers, lances, and swords lay scattered in the midst of

corpses of poor and rich, common soldier and prince, horses and

pools of blood. This terrible scene of carnage would have

destroyed all hope of finding what they were in search of until

dawn of day, were it not that the moon lent the aid of her

uncertain rays.

Medoro raised his eyes to the planet, and exclaimed, "O holy

goddess, whom our fathers have adored under three different

forms,--thou who displayest thy power in heaven, on earth, and in

the underworld,--thou who art seen foremost among the nymphs

chasing the beasts of the forest,--cause me to see, I implore

thee, the spot where my dear master lies, and make me all my life

long follow the example which thou dost exhibit of works of

charity and love."

Either by accident, or that the moon was sensible of the prayer of

Medoro, the cloud broke away, and the moonlight burst forth as

bright as day. The rays seemed especially to gild the spot where

lay the body of Prince Dardinel; and Medoro, bathed in tears and

with bleeding heart, recognized him by the quarterings of red and

white on his shield.

With groans stifled by his tears, and lamentations in accents

suppressed, not from any fear for himself, for he cared not for

life, but lest any one should be roused to interrupt their pious

duty while yet incomplete, he proposed to his companion that they

should together bear Dardinel on their shoulders, sharing the

burden of the beloved remains.

Marching with rapid strides under their precious load, they

perceived that the stars began to grow pale, and that the shades

of night would soon be dispersed by the dawn. Just then Zerbino,

whose extreme valor had urged him far from the camp in pursuit of

the fugitives, returning, entered the wood in which they were.

Some knights in his train perceived at a distance the two

brothers-in-arms. Cloridan saw the troop, and, observing that they

dispersed themselves over the plain as if in search of booty, told

Medoro to lay down the body, and let each save himself by flight.

He dropped his part, thinking that Medoro would do the same; but

the good youth loved his prince too well to abandon him, and

continued to carry his load singly as well as he might, while

Cloridan made his escape. Near by there was a part of the wood

tufted as if nothing but wild animals had ever penetrated it. The

unfortunate youth, loaded with the weight of his dead master,

plunged into its recesses.

Cloridan, when he perceived that he had evaded his foes,

discovered that Medoro was not with him. "Ah!" exclaimed he, "how

could I, dear Medoro, so forget myself as to consult my own safety

without heeding yours?" So saying, he retraced the tangled passes

of the wood toward the place from whence he had fled. As he

approached he heard the noise of horses, and the menacing voices

of armed men. Soon he perceived Medoro, on foot, with the

cavaliers surrounding him. Zerbino, their commander, bade them

seize him. The unhappy Medoro turned now this way, now that,

trying to conceal himself behind an oak or a rock, still bearing

the body, which he would by no means leave. Cloridan not knowing

how to help him, but resolved to perish with him, if he must

perish, takes an arrow, fits it to his bow, discharges it, and

pierces the breast of a Christian knight, who falls helpless from

his horse. The others look this way and that, to discover whence

the fatal bolt was sped. One, while demanding of his comrades in

what direction the arrow came, received a second in his throat,

which stopped his words, and soon closed his eyes to the scene.

Zerbino, furious at the death of his two comrades, ran upon

Medoro, seized his golden hair, and dragged him forward to slay

him. But the sight of so much youth and beauty commanded pity. He

stayed his arm. The young man spoke in suppliant tones. "Ah!

signor," said he, "I conjure you by the God whom you serve,

deprive me not of life until I shall have buried the body of the

prince, my master. Fear not that I will ask you any other favor;

life is not dear to me; I desire death as soon as I shall have

performed this sacred duty. Do with me then as you please. Give my

limbs a prey to the birds and beasts; only let me first bury my

prince." Medoro pronounced these words with an air so sweet and

tender that a heart of stone would have been moved by them.

Zerbino was so to the bottom of his soul. He was on the point of

uttering words of mercy, when a cruel subaltern, forgetting all

respect to his commander, plunged his lance into the breast of the

young Moor. Zerbino, enraged at his brutality, turned upon the

wretch to take vengeance, but he saved himself by a precipitate

flight.

Cloridan, who saw Medoro fall, could contain himself no longer. He

rushed from his concealment, threw down his bow, and, sword in

hand, seemed only desirous of vengeance for Medoro, and to die

with him. In a moment, pierced through and through with many

wounds, he exerts the last remnant of his strength in dragging

himself to Medoro, to die embracing him. The cavaliers left them

thus to rejoin Zerbino, whose rage against the murderer of Medoro

had drawn him away from the spot.

Cloridan died; and Medoro, bleeding copiously, was drawing near

his end when help arrived.

A young maiden approached the fallen knights at this critical

moment. Her dress was that of a peasant-girl, but her air was

noble, and her beauty celestial; sweetness and goodness reigned in

her lovely countenance. It was no other than Angelica, the

Princess of Cathay.

When she had recovered that precious ring, as we have before

related, Angelica, knowing its value, felt proud in the power it

conferred, travelled alone without fear, not without a secret

shame that she had ever been obliged to seek protection in her

wanderings of the Count Orlando and of Sacripant. She reproached

herself too as with a weakness that she had ever thought of

marrying Rinaldo; in fine, her pride grew so high as to persuade

her that no man living was worthy to aspire to her hand.

Moved with pity at the sight of the young man wounded, and melted

to tears at hearing the cause, she quickly recalled to remembrance

the knowledge she had acquired in India, where the virtues of

plants and the art of healing formed part of the education even of

princesses. The beautiful queen ran into the adjoining meadow to

gather plants of virtue to staunch the flow of blood. Meeting on

her way a countryman on horseback seeking a strayed heifer, she

begged him to come to her assistance, and endeavor to remove the

wounded man to a more secure asylum.

Angelica, having prepared the plants by bruising them between two

stones, laid them with her fair hand on Medoro's wound. The remedy

soon restored in some degree the strength of the wounded man, who,

before he would quit the spot, made them cover with earth and turf

the bodies of his friend and of the prince. Then surrendering

himself to the pity of his deliverers, he allowed them to place

him on the horse of the shepherd, and conduct him to his cottage.

It was a pleasant farmhouse on the borders of the wood, bearing

marks of comfort and competency. There the shepherd lived with his

wife and children. There Angelica tended Medoro, and there, by the

devoted care of the beautiful queen, his sad wound closed over,

and he recovered his perfect health.

O Count Rinaldo, O King Sacripant! what availed it you to possess

so many virtues and such fame? What advantage have you derived

from all your high deserts? O hapless king, great Agrican! if you

could return to life, how would you endure to see yourself

rejected by one who will bow to the yoke of Hymen in favor of a

young soldier of humble birth? And thou, Ferrau, and ye numerous

others who a hundred times have put your lives at hazard for this

cruel beauty, how bitter will it be to you to see her sacrifice

you all to the claims of the humble Medoro!

There, under the low roof of a shepherd, the flame of Hymen was

lighted for this haughty queen. She takes the shepherd's wife to

serve in place of mother, the shepherd and his children for

witnesses, and marries the happy Medoro.

Angelica, after her marriage, wishing to endow Medoro with the

sovereignty of the countries which yet remained to her, took with

him the road to the East. She had preserved through all her

adventures a bracelet of gold enriched with precious stones, the

present of the Count Orlando. Having nothing else wherewith to

reward the good shepherd and his wife, who had served her with so

much care and fidelity, she took the bracelet from her arm and

gave it to them, and then the newly-married couple directed their

steps toward those mountains which separate France and Spain,

intending to wait at Barcelona a vessel which should take them on

their way to the East.

ORLANDO MAD

Orlando, on the loss of Angelica, laid aside his crest and arms,

and arrayed himself in a suit of black armor expressive of his

despair. In this guise he carried such slaughter among the ranks

of the infidels that both armies were astonished at the

achievements of the stranger knight. Mandricardo, who had been

absent from the battle, heard the report of these achievements and

determined to test for himself the valor of the knight so

extolled. He it was who broke in upon the conference of Zerbino

and Isabella, and their benefactor Orlando, as they stood occupied

in mutual felicitations, after the happy reunion of the lovers by

the prowess of the paladin.

Mandricardo, after contemplating the group for a moment, addressed

himself to Orlando in these words: "Thou must be the man I seek.

For ten days and more I have been on thy track. The fame of thy

exploits has brought me hither, that I may measure my strength

with thine. Thy crest and shield prove thee the same who spread

such slaughter among our troops. But these marks are superfluous,

and if I saw thee among a hundred I should know thee by thy

martial bearing to be the man I seek."

"I respect thy courage," said Orlando; "such a design could not

have sprung up in any but a brave and generous soul. If the desire

to see me has brought thee hither, I would, if it were possible,

show thee my inmost soul. I will remove my visor, that you may

satisfy your curiosity; but when you have done so I hope that you

will also try and see if my valor corresponds to my appearance."

"Come on," said the Saracen, "my first wish was to see and know

thee; I will not gratify my second."

Orlando, observing Mandricardo was surprised to see no sword at

his side, nor mace at his saddle-bow. "And what weapon hast thou,"

said he, "if thy lance fail thee?"

"Do not concern yourself about that," said Mandricardo; "I have

made many good knights give ground with no other weapon than you

see. Know that I have sworn an oath never to bear a sword until I

win back that famous Durindana that Orlando, the paladin, carries.

That sword belongs to the suit of armor which I wear; that only is

wanting. Without doubt it was stolen, but how it got into the

hands of Orlando I know not. But I will make him pay dearly for it

when I find him I seek him the more anxiously that I may avenge

with his blood the death of King Agrican, my father, whom he

treacherously slew. I am sure he must have done it by treachery,

for it was not in his power to subdue in fair fight such a warrior

as my father."

"Thou liest," cried Orlando; "and all who say so lie. I am

Orlando, whom you seek; yes, I am he who slew your father

honorably. Hold, here is the sword: you shall have it if your

courage avails to merit it. Though it belongs to me by right, I

will not use it in this dispute. See, I hang it on this tree; you

shall be master of it, if you bereave me of life; not else."

At these words Orlando drew Durindana, and hung it on one of the

branches of a tree near by.

Both knights, boiling with equal ardor, rode off in a semicircle;

then rushed together with reins thrown loose, and struck one

another with their lances. Both kept their seats, immovable. The

splinters of their lances flew into the air, and no weapon

remained for either but the fragment which he held in his hand.

Then those two knights, covered with iron mail, were reduced to

the necessity of fighting with staves, in the manner of two

rustics, who dispute the boundary of a meadow, or the possession

of a spring.

These clubs could not long keep whole in the hands of such sturdy

smiters, who were soon reduced to fight with naked fists. Such

warfare was more painful to him that gave than to him that

received the blows. They next clasped, and strained each his

adversary, as Hercules did Antaeus. Mandricardo, more enraged than

Orlando, made violent efforts to unseat the paladin, and dropped

the rein of his horse. Orlando, more calm, perceived it. With one

hand he resisted Mandricardo, with the other he twitched the

horse's bridle over the ears of the animal. The Saracen dragged

Orlando with all his might, but Orlando's thighs held the saddle

like a vise. At last the efforts of the Saracen broke the girths

of Orlando's horse; the saddle slipped; the knight, firm in his

stirrups, slipped with it, and came to the ground hardly conscious

of his fall. The noise of his armor in falling startled

Mandricardo's horse, now without a bridle. He started off in full

career, heeding neither trees nor rocks nor broken ground. Urged

by fright, he ran with furious speed, carrying his master, who,

almost distracted with rage, shouted and beat the animal with his

fists, and thereby impelled his flight. After running thus three

miles or more, a deep ditch opposed their progress. The horse and

rider fell headlong into it, and did not find the bottom covered

with feather-beds or roses. They got sadly bruised; but were lucky

enough to escape without any broken limbs.

Mandricardo, as soon as he gained his feet, seized the horse by

his mane with fury; but, having no bridle, could not hold him. He

looked round in hopes of finding something that would do for a

rein. Just then fortune, who seemed willing to help him at last,

brought that way a peasant with a bridle in his hand, who was in

search of his farm horse that had strayed away.

Orlando, having speedily repaired his horse's girths, remounted,

and waited a good hour for the Saracen to return. Not seeing him,

he concluded to go in search of him. He took an affectionate leave

of Zerbino and Isabella, who would willingly have followed him;

but this the brave paladin would by no means permit. He held it

unknightly to go in search of an enemy accompanied by a friend,

who might act as a defender. Therefore, desiring them to say to

Mandricardo, if they should meet him, that his purpose was to

tarry in the neighborhood three days, and then repair to the camp

of Charlemagne, he took down Durindana from the tree, and

proceeded in the direction which the Saracen's horse had taken.

But the animal, having no guide but its terror, had so doubled and

confused its traces that Orlando, after two days spent in the

search, gave up the attempt.

It was about the middle of the third day when the paladin arrived

on the pleasant bank of a stream which wound through a meadow

enamelled with flowers. High trees, whose tops met and formed an

arbor, over-shadowed the fountain; and the breeze which blew

through their foliage tempered the heat. Hither the shepherds used

to resort to quench their thirst, and to enjoy the shelter from

the midday sun. The air, perfumed with the flowers, seemed to

breathe fresh strength into their veins. Orlando felt the

influence, though covered with his armor. He stopped in this

delicious arbor, where everything seemed to invite to repose. But

he could not have chosen a more fatal asylum. He there spent the

most miserable moments of his life.

He looked around, and noted with pleasure all the charms of the

spot. He saw that some of the trees were carved with inscriptions

--he drew near, and read them, and what was his surprise to find

that they composed the name of Angelica! Farther on he found the

name of Medoro mixed with hers. The paladin thought he dreamed. He

stood like one amazed--like a bird that, rising to fly, finds its

feet caught in a net.

Orlando followed the course of the stream, and came to one of its

turns where the rocks of the mountain bent in such a way as to

form a sort of grotto. The twisted stems of ivy and the wild vine

draped the entrance of this recess, scooped by the hand of nature.

The unhappy paladin, on entering the grotto, saw letters which

appeared to have been lately carved. They were verses which Medoro

had written in honor of his happy nuptials with the beautiful

queen. Orlando tried to persuade himself it must be some other

Angelica whom those verses celebrated, and as for Medoro, he had

never heard his name. The sun was now declining, and Orlando

remounted his horse, and went on his way. He soon saw the roof of

a cottage whence the smoke ascended; he heard the barking of dogs

and the lowing of cattle, and arrived at a humble dwelling which

seemed to offer an asylum for the night. The inmates, as soon as

they saw him, hastened to tender him service. One took his horse,

another his shield and cuirass, another his golden spurs. This

cottage was the very same where Medoro had been carried, deeply

wounded,--where Angelica had tended him, and afterwards married

him. The shepherd who lived in it loved to tell everybody the

story of this marriage, and soon related it, with all its details,

to the miserable Orlando.

Having finished it, he went away, and returned with the precious

bracelet which Angelica, grateful for his services, had given him

as a memorial. It was the one which Orlando had himself given her.

This last touch was the finishing stroke to the excited paladin.

Frantic, exasperated, he exclaimed against the ungrateful and

cruel princess who had disdained him, the most renowned, the most

indomitable of all the paladins of France,--him, who had rescued

her from the most alarming perils,--him, who had fought the most

terrible battles for her sake,--she to prefer to him a young

Saracen! The pride of the noble Count was deeply wounded.

Indignant, frantic, a victim to ungovernable rage, he rushed into

the forest, uttering the most frightful shrieks.

"No, no!" cried he, "I am not the man they take me for! Orlando is

dead! I am only the wandering ghost of that unhappy Count, who is

now suffering the torments of hell!"

Orlando wandered all night, as chance directed, through the wood,

and at sunrise his destiny led him to the fountain where Medoro

had engraved the fatal inscription. The frantic paladin saw it a

second time with fury, drew his sword, and hacked it from the

rock.

Unlucky grotto! you shall no more attract by your shade and

coolness, you shall no more shelter with your arch either shepherd

or flock. And you, fresh and pure fountain, you may not escape the

rage of the furious Orlando! He cast into the fountain branches,

trunks of trees which he tore up, pieces of rocks which he broke

off, plants uprooted, with the earth adhering, and turf and

brushes, so as to choke the fountain, and destroy the purity of

its waters. At length, exhausted by his violent exertions, bathed

in sweat, breathless, Orlando sunk panting upon the earth, and lay

there insensible three days and three nights.

The fourth day he started up and seized his arms. His helmet, his

buckler, he cast far from him; his hauberk and his clothes he rent

asunder; the fragments were scattered through the wood. In fine,

he became a furious madman. His insanity was such that he cared

not to retain even his sword. But he had no need of Durindana, nor

of other arms, to do wonderful things. His prodigious strength

sufficed. At the first wrench of his mighty arm he tore up a pine-

tree by the roots. Oaks, beeches, maples, whatever he met in his

path, yielded in like manner. The ancient forest soon became as

bare as the borders of a morass, where the fowler has cleared away

the bushes to spread his nets. The shepherds, hearing the horrible

crashing in the forest, abandoned their flocks to run and see the

cause of this unwonted uproar. By their evil star, or for their

sins, they were led thither. When they saw the furious state the

Count was in, and his incredible force, they would fain have fled

out of his reach, but in their fears lost their presence of mind.

The madman pursued them, seized one and rent him limb from limb,

as easily as one would pull ripe apples from a tree. He took

another by the feet, and used him as a club to knock down a third.

The shepherds fled; but it would have been hard for any to escape,

if he had not at that moment left them to throw himself with the

same fury upon their flocks. The peasants, abandoning their

ploughs and harrows, mounted on the roofs of buildings and

pinnacles of the rocks, afraid to trust themselves even to the

oaks and pines. From such heights they looked on, trembling at the

raging fury of the unhappy Orlando. His fists, his teeth, his

nails, his feet, seize, break, and tear cattle, sheep, and swine;

the most swift in flight alone being able to escape him.

When at last terror had scattered everything before him, he

entered a cottage which was abandoned by its inhabitants, and

there found that which served for food. His long fast had caused

him to feel the most ravenous hunger. Seizing whatever he found

that was eatable, whether roots, acorns, or bread, raw meat or

cooked, he gorged it indiscriminately.

Issuing thence again, the frantic Orlando gave chase to whatever

living thing he saw, whether men or animals. Sometimes he pursued

the deer and hind, sometimes he attacked bears and wolves, and

with his naked hands killed and tore them, and devoured their

flesh.

Thus he wandered, from place to place, through France, imperilling

his life a thousand ways, yet always preserved by some mysterious

providence from a fatal result. But here we leave Orlando for a

time, that we may record what befell Zerbino and Isabella after

their parting with him.

The prince and his fair bride waited, by Orlando's request, near

the scene of the battle for three days, that, if Mandricardo

should return, they might inform him where Orlando would give him

another meeting. At the end of that time their anxiety to know the

issue led them to follow Orlando's traces, which led them at last

to the wood where the trees were inscribed with the names of

Angelica and Medoro. They remarked how all these inscriptions were

defaced, and how the grotto was disordered, and the fountain

clogged with rubbish. But that which surprised them and distressed

them most of all was to find on the grass the cuirass of Orlando,

and not far from it his helmet, the same which the renowned

Almontes once wore.

Hearing a horse neigh in the forest, Zerbino turned his eyes in

that direction, and saw Brigliadoro, with the bridle yet hanging

at the saddle-bow. He looked round for Durindana, and found that

famous sword, without the scabbard, lying on the grass. He saw

also the fragments of Orlando's other arms and clothing scattered

on all sides over the plain.

Zerbino and Isabella stood in astonishment and grief, not knowing

what to think, but little imagining the true cause. If they had

found any marks of blood on the arms or on the fragments of the

clothing, they would have supposed him slain, but there were none.

While they were in this painful uncertainty they saw a young

peasant approach. He, not yet recovered from the terror of the

scene, which he had witnessed from the top of a rock, told them

the whole of the sad events.

Zerbino, with his eyes full of tears, carefully collected all the

scattered arms. Isabella also dismounted to aid him in the sad

duty. When they had collected all the pieces of that rich armor

they hung them like a trophy on a pine; and to prevent their being

violated by any passers-by, Zerbino inscribed on the bark this

caution: "These are the arms of the Paladin Orlando."

Having finished this pious work, he remounted his horse, and just

then a knight rode up, and requested Zerbino to tell him the

meaning of the trophy. The prince related the facts as they had

happened; and Mandricardo, for it was that Saracen knight, full of

joy, rushed forward, and seized the sword, saying, "No one can

censure me for what I do; this sword is mine; I can take my own

wherever I find it. It is plain that Orlando, not daring to defend

it against me, has counterfeited madness to excuse him in

surrendering it."

Zerbino vehemently exclaimed, "Touch not that sword. Think not to

possess it without a contest. If it be true that the arms you wear

are those of Hector, you must have got them by theft, and not by

prowess."

Immediately they attacked one another with the utmost fury. The

air resounded with thick-falling blows. Zerbino, skilful and

alert, evaded for a time with good success the strokes of

Durindana; but at length a terrible blow struck him on the neck.

He fell from his horse, and the Tartar king, possessed of the

spoils of his victory, rode away.

ZERBINO AND ISABELLA

Zerbino's pain at seeing the Tartar prince go off with the sword

surpassed the anguish of his wound; but now the loss of blood so

reduced his strength that he could not move from where he fell.

Isabella, not knowing whither to resort for help, could only

bemoan him, and chide her cruel fate. Zerbino said, "If I could

but leave thee, my best beloved, in some secure abode, it would

not distress me to die; but to abandon thee so, without

protection, is sad indeed." She replied, "Think not to leave me,

dearest; our souls shall not be parted; this sword will give me

the means to follow thee." Zerbino's last words implored her to

banish such a thought, but live, and be true to his memory.

Isabella promised, with many tears, to be faithful to him so long

as life should last.

When he ceased to breathe, Isabella's cries resounded through the

forest, and reached the ears of a reverend hermit, who hastened to

the spot. He soothed and calmed her, urging those consolations

which the word of God supplies; and at last brought her to wish

for nothing else but to devote herself for the rest of life wholly

to religion.

As she could not bear the thoughts of leaving her dead lord

abandoned, the body was, by the good hermit's aid, placed upon the

horse, and taken to the nearest inhabited place, where a chest was

made for it, suitable to be carried with them on their way. The

hermit's plan was to escort his charge to a monastery, not many

days' journey distant, where Isabella resolved to spend the

remainder of her days. Thus they travelled day after day, choosing

the most retired ways, for the country was full of armed men. One

day a cavalier met them, and barred their way. It was no other

than Rodomont, king of Algiers, who had just left the camp of

Agramant, full of indignation at the treatment he had received

from Doralice. At sight of the lovely lady and her reverend

attendant, with their horse laden with a burden draped with black,

he asked the meaning of their journey. Isabella told him her

affliction, and her resolution to renounce the world and devote

herself to religion, and to the memory of the friend she had lost.

Rodomont laughed scornfully at this, and told her that her project

was absurd; that charms like hers were meant to be enjoyed, not

buried, and that he himself would more than make amends for her

dead lover. The monk, who promptly interposed to rebuke this

impious talk, was commanded to hold his peace; and still

persisting was seized by the knight and hurled over the edge of

the cliff, where he fell into the sea, and was drowned.

Rodomont, when he had got rid of the hermit, again applied to the

sad lady, heartless with affright, and, in the language used by

lovers, said, "she was his very heart, his life, his light."

Having laid aside all violence, he humbly sued that she would

accompany him to his retreat, near by. It was a ruined chapel from

which the monks had been driven by the disorders of the time, and

which Rodomont had taken possession of. Isabella, who had no

choice but to obey, followed him, meditating as she went what

resource she could find to escape out of his power, and keep her

vow to her dead husband, to be faithful to his memory as long as

life should last. At length she said, "If, my lord, you will let

me go and fulfil my vow, and my intention, as I have already

declared it, I will bestow upon you what will be to you of more

value than a hundred women's hearts. I know an herb, and I have

seen it on our way, which, rightly prepared, affords a juice of

such power, that the flesh, if laved with it, becomes impenetrable

to sword or fire. This liquor I can make, and will, to-day, if you

will accept my offer; and when you have seen its virtue you will

value it more than if all Europe were made your own."

Rodomont, at hearing this, readily promised all that was asked, so

eager was he to learn a secret that would make him as Achilles was

of yore. Isabella, having collected such herbs as she thought

proper, and boiled them, with certain mysterious signs and words,

at length declared her labor done, and, as a test, offered to try

its virtue on herself. She bathed her neck and bosom with the

liquor, and then called on Rodomont to smite with all his force,

and see whether his sword had power to harm. The pagan, who during

the preparations had taken frequent draughts of wine, and scarce

knew what he did, drew his sword at the word, and struck across

her neck with all his might, and the fair head leapt sundered from

the snowy neck and breast.

Rude and unfeeling as he was, the pagan knight lamented bitterly

this sad result. To honor her memory he resolved to do a work as

unparalleled as her devotion. From all parts round he caused

laborers to be brought, and had a tower built to enclose the

chapel, within which the remains of Zerbino and Isabella were

entombed. Across the stream which flowed near by he built a

bridge, scarce two yards wide, and added neither parapet nor rail.

On the top of the tower a sentry was placed, who, when any

traveller approached the bridge, gave notice to his master.

Rodomont thereupon sallied out, and defied the approaching knight

to fight him upon the bridge, where any chance step a little aside

would plunge the rider headlong in the stream. This bridge he

vowed to keep until a thousand suits of armor should be won from

conquered knights, wherewith to build a trophy to his victim and

her lord.

Within ten days the bridge was built, and the tower was in

progress. In a short time many knights, either seeking the

shortest route, or tempted by a desire of adventure, had made the

attempt to pass the bridge. All, without exception, had lost

either arms or life, or both; some falling before Rodomont's

lance, others precipitated into the river. One day, as Rodomont

stood urging his workmen, it chanced that Orlando in his furious

mood came thither, and approached the bridge. Rodomont halloed to

him, "Halt, churl; presume not to set foot upon that bridge; it

was not made for such as you!" Orlando took no notice, but pressed

on. Just then a gentle damsel rode up. It was Flordelis, who was

seeking her Florismart. She saw Orlando, and, in spite of his

strange appearance, recognized him. Rodomont, not used to have his

commands disobeyed, laid hands on the madman, and would have

thrown him into the river, but to his astonishment found himself

in the gripe of one not so easily disposed of. "How can a fool

have such strength?" he growled between his teeth. Flordelis

stopped to see the issue, where each of these two puissant

warriors strove to throw the other from the bridge. Orlando at

last had strength enough to lift his foe with all his armor, and

fling him over the side, but had not wit to clear himself from

him, so both fell together. High flashed the wave as they together

smote its surface. Here Orlando had the advantage; he was naked,

and could swim like a fish. He soon reached the bank, and,

careless of praise or blame, stopped not to see what came of the

adventure. Rodomont, entangled with his armor, escaped with

difficulty to the bank. Meantime, Flordelis passed the bridge

unchallenged.

After long wandering without success she returned to Paris, and

there found the object of her search; for Florismart, after the

fall of Albracca, had repaired thither. The joy of meeting was

clouded to Florismart by the news which Flordelis brought of

Orlando's wretched plight. The last she had seen of him was when

he fell with Rodomont into the stream. Florismart, who loved

Orlando like a brother, resolved to set out immediately, under the

guidance of the lady, to find him, and bring him where he might

receive the treatment suited to his case. A few days brought them

to the place where they found the Tartar king still guarding the

bridge. The usual challenge and defiance was made, and the knights

rode to encounter one another on the bridge. At the first

encounter both horses were overthrown; and, having no space to

regain their footing, fell with their riders into the water.

Rodomont, who knew the soundings of the stream, soon recovered the

land; but Florismart was carried downward by the current, and

landed at last on a bank of mud where his horse could hardly find

footing. Flordelis, who watched the battle from the bridge, seeing

her lover in this piteous case, exclaimed aloud, "Ah! Rodomont,

for love of her whom dead you honor, have pity on me, who love

this knight, and slay him not. Let it suffice he yields his armor

to the pile, and none more glorious will it bear than his." Her

prayer, so well directed, touched the pagan's heart, though hard

to move, and he lent his aid to help the knight to land. He kept

him a prisoner, however, and added his armor to the pile.

Flordelis, with a heavy heart, went her way.

We must now return to Rogero, who, when we parted with him, was

engaged in an adventure which arrested his progress to the

monastery whither he was bound with the intention of receiving

baptism, and thus qualifying himself to demand Bradamante as his

bride. On his way he met with Mandricardo, and the quarrel was

revived respecting the right to wear the badge of Hector. After a

warm discussion both parties agreed to submit the question to King

Agramant, and for that purpose took their way to the Saracen camp.

Here they met Gradasso, who had his controversy also with

Mandricardo. This warrior claimed the sword of Orlando, denying

the right of Mandricardo to possess it in virtue of his having

found it abandoned by its owner. King Agramant strove in vain to

reconcile these quarrels, and was forced at last to consent that

the points in dispute should be settled by one combat, in which

Mandricardo should meet one of the other champions, to whom should

be committed the cause of both. Rogero was chosen by lot to

maintain Gradasso's cause and his own. Great preparations were

made for this signal contest. On the appointed day it was fought

in the presence of Agramant, and of the whole army. Rogero won it;

and Mandricardo, the conqueror of Hector's arms, the challenger of

Orlando, and the slayer of Zerbino, lost his life. Gradasso

received Durindana as his prize, which lost half its value in his

eyes, since it was won by another's prowess, not his own.

Rogero, though victorious, was severely wounded, and lay helpless

many weeks in the camp of Agramant, while Bradamante, ignorant of

the cause of his delay, expected him at Montalban. Thither he had

promised to repair in fifteen days, or twenty at furthest, hoping

to have obtained by that time an honorable discharge from his

obligations to the Saracen commander. The twenty days were passed,

and a month more, and still Rogero came not, nor did any tidings

reach Bradamante accounting for his absence. At the end of that

time, a wandering knight brought news of the famous combat, and of

Rogero's wound. He added, what alarmed Bradamante still more, that

Marphisa, a female warrior, young and fair, was in attendance on

the wounded knight. He added that the whole army expected that, as

soon as Rogero's wounds were healed, the pair would be united in

marriage.

Bradamante, distressed by this news, though she believed it but in

part, resolved to go immediately and see for herself. She mounted

Rabican, the horse of Astolpho, which he had committed to her

care, and took with her the lance of gold, though unaware of its

wonderful powers. Thus accoutred, she left the castle, and took

the road toward Paris and the camp of the Saracens.

Marphisa, whose devotion to Rogero in his illness had so excited

the jealousy of Bradamante, was the twin sister of Rogero. She,

with him, had been taken in charge when an infant by Atlantes, the

magician, but while yet a child she had been stolen away by an

Arab tribe. Adopted by their chief, she had early learned

horsemanship and skill in arms, and at this time had come to the

camp of Agramant with no other view than to see and test for

herself the prowess of the warriors of either camp, whose fame

rang through the world. Arriving at the very moment of the late

encounter, the name of Rogero, and some few facts of his story

which she learned, were enough to suggest the idea that it was her

brother whom she saw victorious in the single combat. Inquiry

satisfied the two of their near kindred, and from that moment

Marphisa devoted herself to the care of her new-found and much-

loved brother.

In those moments of seclusion Rogero informed his sister of what

he had learned of their parentage from old Atlantes. Rogero, their

father, a Christian knight, had won the heart of Galaciella,

daughter of the Sultan of Africa, and sister of King Agramant,

converted her to the Christian faith, and secretly married her.

The Sultan, enraged at his daughter's marriage, drove her husband

into exile, and caused her with her infant children, Rogero and

Marphisa, to be placed in a boat and committed to the winds and

waves, to perish; from which fate they were saved by Atlantes. On

hearing this, Marphisa exclaimed, "How can you, brother, leave our

parents unavenged so long, and even submit to serve the son of the

tyrant who so wronged them?" Rogero replied that it was but lately

he had learned the full truth; that when he learned it he was

already embarked with Agramant, from whom he had received

knighthood, and that he only waited for a suitable opportunity

when he might with honor desert his standard, and at the same time

return to the faith of his fathers. Marphisa hailed this

resolution with joy, and declared her intention to join with him

in embracing the Christian faith.

We left Bradamante when, mounted on Rabican and armed with

Astolpho's lance, she rode forth, determined to learn the cause of

Rogero's long absence. One day, as she rode, she met a damsel, of

visage and of manners fair, but overcome with grief. It was

Flordelis, who was seeking far and near a champion capable of

liberating and avenging her lord. Flordelis marked the approaching

warrior, and, judging from appearances, thought she had found the

champion she sought. "Are you, Sir Knight," she said, "so daring

and so kind as to take up my cause against a fierce and cruel

warrior who has made prisoner of my lord, and forced me thus to be

a wanderer and a suppliant?" Then she related the events which had

happened at the bridge. Bradamante, to whom noble enterprises were

always welcome, readily embraced this, and the rather as in her

gloomy forebodings she felt as if Rogero was forever lost to her.

Next day the two arrived at the bridge. The sentry descried them

approaching, and gave notice to his lord, who thereupon donned his

armor and went forth to meet them. Here, as usual, he called on

the advancing warrior to yield his horse and arms an oblation to

the tomb. Bradamante replied, asking by what right he called on

the innocent to do penance for his crime. "Your life and your

armor," she added, "are the fittest offering to her tomb, and I, a

woman, the fittest champion to take them." With that she couched

her spear, spurred her horse, and ran to the encounter. King

Rodomont came on with speed. The trampling sounded on the bridge

like thunder. It took but a moment to decide the contest. The

golden lance did its office, and that fierce Moor, so renowned in

tourney, lay extended on the bridge. "Who is the loser now?" said

Bradamante; but Rodomont, amazed that a woman's hand should have

laid him low, could not or would not answer. Silent and sad, he

raised himself, unbound his helm and mail, and flung them against

the tomb; then, sullen and on foot, left the ground; but first

gave orders to one of his squires to release all his prisoners.

They had been sent off to Africa. Besides Florismart, there were

Sansonnet and Oliver, who had ridden that way in quest of Orlando,

and had both in turn been overthrown in the encounter.

Bradamante after her victory resumed her route, and in due time

reached the Christian camp, where she readily learned an

explanation of the mystery which had caused her so much anxiety.

Rogero and his fair and brave sister, Marphisa, were too

illustrious by their station and exploits not to be the frequent

topic of discourse even among their adversaries, and all that

Bradamante was anxious to know reached her ear, almost without

inquiry.

We now return to Gradasso, who by Rogero's victory had been made

possessor of Durindana. There now only remained to him to seek the

horse of Rinaldo; and the challenge, given and accepted, was yet

to be fought with that warrior, for it had been interrupted by the

arts of Malagigi. Gradasso now sought another meeting with

Rinaldo, and met with no reluctance on his part. As the combat was

for the possession of Bayard, the knights dismounted and fought on

foot. Long time the battle lasted. Rinaldo, knowing well the

deadly stroke of Durindana, used all his art to parry or avoid its

blow. Gradasso struck with might and main, but wellnigh all his

strokes were spent in air, or if they smote they fell obliquely

and did little harm.