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TALES FROM SPENSER
CHOSEN FROM THE FAERIE QUEENE
BY SOPHIA H MACLEHOSE
PUBLISHED BY
JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW,
Publishers to the University.
MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK.
_London, Simpkin, Hamilton and Co._
_Cambridge, Macmillan and Bowes._
_Edinburgh, Douglas and Foulis._
MDCCCXCII.
TO MY NEPHEWS
HAMISH AND CRAWFORD.
PREFACE.
In writing these Tales from "The Faerie Queene," no attempt has been
made to interpret their allegorical or explain their historic bearing.
Intended for children, the stories are related simply as stories, and
therefore only those episodes in the poem most interesting and most
complete in themselves have been chosen. In no case do the Tales pretend
to relate the whole that Spenser tells of their heroes and heroines.
CONTENTS.
Una and the Lion
Prince Arthur helps Una to find the Red-cross Knight
How the Red-cross Knight slew the Dragon
Britomart and the Magic Mirror
Britomart and Amoret
The Story of Marinell and Florimell
Braggadochio
How Britomart found Artegal
Cambello and Triamond
The Story of Timias
Calidore and Pastorella
TALES FROM SPENSER.
UNA AND THE LION.
Faerie Queene. Book I. Cantos I., III., VI.
Once upon a time, while fairies and goblins still lingered in the
forests of Merry England, a great queen named Gloriana reigned over
Faeryland. The subjects over whom she ruled were not tiny creatures like
Oberon and Titania, but brave knights who went out from her court
endowed with magic powers to redress wrongs and help those in trouble.
Now there lived at this time a king and queen of very ancient lineage,
whose dominions stretched from east to west, and who had once held all
the world in subjection. But a cruel enemy had arisen against them, and
destroyed their rich lands, and killed the inhabitants, and forced the
king and queen to take refuge in a strong castle, guarded by a mighty
wall of brass. This enemy was no other than a huge and fearful dragon.
From every quarter of the globe knights came to fight the accursed
beast, but only those whose faith was strong and conscience clear could
prevail; and thus knight after knight fell before the dragon, who grew
stronger and more cruel in his success.
The king and queen had one child, a daughter, whose name was Una. She
loved her parents dearly, and hearing of the knights of queen Gloriana,
she resolved to go to the Faerie Court and pray for assistance for her
parents who had now been four years prisoners, and were in great
distress. She set out upon her journey, dressed in a long black robe
covered by a deep veil; she rode an ass as white as snow, and led by a
line a milk-white lamb, a symbol of innocence. Behind her followed a
dwarf, bearing a spear in his hand, and leading a war-like steed, on
whose back was laid a suit of armour. Thus accoutred, Una appeared at
the court of Gloriana.
Shortly before, a young man, tall and powerful, but clownish in
appearance, had arrived at the Faerie Court and had prayed to be sent on
the first adventure that should arise. When, therefore, Una came and
preferred her request, the young man claimed the enterprise as his
right. Gloriana wondered at his boldness, for he had not a knightly air,
and Una herself objected, but he only urged his suit the more, and at
length Una said he might try on the armour she had brought, but that,
unless it fitted him perfectly, it was impossible he could succeed in so
dangerous an enterprise.
Now, the armour which Una had was that of a Christian knight; and when
it was tried on, lo! the clownish youth changed into the noblest of all
the company. And Queen Gloriana conferred knighthood upon him; and he,
mounting the steed led by the dwarf, went forth with Una to vanquish her
foe. Henceforth the youth is called the Red-cross knight, for on his
silver shield, and on the breast-plate of his armour, was a blood-red
cross, the symbol of the Christian faith. And the knight proved right
worthy of his cross: he was true and faithful both in word and deed, and
his countenance was grave and sober, befitting one who dreaded no
danger, but was himself held in dread; so Una loved him well.
Now, it happened that, shortly after Una and her knight had left the
court of Gloriana, they met a grave old man dressed in long black weeds;
he had bare feet, and a hoary head, and a book hung from his side; and
as he walked, he prayed and smote upon his breast in the manner of a
hermit. But he was, instead, a wicked enchanter named Archimago, who, by
means of the most cunning tricks, deceived the Red-cross knight, made
him think Una an impostor, and beguiled him and also the dwarf away from
her. This made the lady very sad, for not only was she lonely and
helpless in the strange land through which she was passing, but, unless
she could find the knight, she must give up the hope of seeing the cruel
dragon subdued and her dear parents set free. So Una, brave as she was
good, put away her fears, and travelled on through vast forests and
desolate moors, seeking for her knight.
One day, when almost wearied out, Una alighted from her slow-footed
steed, and, taking off her robe and unbinding the band which confined
her hair, lay down to rest; and so fair and lovely was she that her
sweet countenance made sunshine in the shady place in which she lay.
Now, while she rested, there suddenly burst out from the forest a lion,
hungry and greedy, who, seeing the maiden, ran towards her with jaws
wide-open, ready to devour his prey. But, as the lion drew nearer to the
maiden, his rage changed into pity, and, amazed at the fair sight before
him, he forgot his savage fury and licked her lily hands and kissed her
weary feet. And Una, unable at first to cease from the fear of death,
watched him, hardly believing her eyes, and then her heart began to melt
in gratitude and her tears to flow, as she thought how this fierce lord
of beasts pitied her, while her own lord, whom she loved as her very
life, had forsaken her.
At length Una checked her tears, and, trying to put away her grief,
arose, and, remounting her humble steed, set out again to seek her
knight. But she was no longer a defenceless maiden, for with her went
the lion--a strong guardian and faithful comrade--who, while she slept,
kept both watch and ward, and, while she waked, waited on her will,
taking direction from his lady's eye.
One day, as the damsel and the lion travelled thus through untrodden
deserts, they unexpectedly came upon a beaten path. Following this path,
which led under the brow of a steep mountain, Una observed a young girl
walking slowly before them, bearing on her shoulder a water-pot. To her
Una called, and asked if there were any dwelling-place near at hand. But
the girl was rude, and did not reply; indeed, she seemed neither to hear
nor understand, and when she saw the lion fear seized upon her, and,
throwing down her pitcher, she fled. She dared not once look back, but
ran as if her life depended on her speed, until she reached her home,
where sat her mother old and blind. This was Corceca, a wicked woman and
a hypocrite, who was wont daily to fast and pray and do painful penance.
With trembling hands, the girl caught hold of the old woman, and
exhibited such signs of terror that her mother rose in great alarm and
hastened to close the door just as Una and her strange page arrived. Una
prayed hard for admittance, but in vain; and at this the lion lifted his
great paws, and, tearing down the wicket door, let his lady in. She
found the two women almost dead with fright, crouching in the darkest
corner of the hovel. Una tried to calm their fears by gentle words and
looks, and after a time succeeded so far as to receive permission to
rest there for the night. She was very weary and laid herself down on
the floor--the lion at her feet--but she was too sad for the loss of the
Red-cross knight to sleep, and so spent the long hours in sighs and
groans and bitter tears.
At length morning approached, and with it came some one knocking at the
door. He knocked loud and repeatedly, and was heard to curse and swear
because the door was not more readily opened to him. Now, he who knocked
was a wicked thief, who robbed churches and stole money from the poor
men's box. At this very moment he had on his back a heavy load of stolen
goods, for all that he got, whether by lawful means or unlawful, he
brought to this old woman's house and bestowed upon her daughter Abessa,
who was as wicked as herself. There he stood knocking at the door, but
neither Abessa nor Corceca dared pass by the lion to open. At length,
Kirk-rapine, for such was his name, became quite furious and would wait
no longer, but burst open the door. Alas! for Kirk-rapine; the moment he
entered, the lion rose from Una's feet, and, outstretching his lordly
paws, laid the robber low. The wretched man was powerless to resist, nor
did Abessa or Corceca dare to go to his assistance, and very soon
Kirk-rapine lay quite dead--his body torn in pieces, and his blood
flowing into the earth.
Now, when the broad daylight returned, Una arose, and with her the lion,
and once more set out together to seek the knight. As soon as she was
gone, the women came out from their dark corner, to see whether or not
their worst fears were realized. When they saw that Kirk-rapine was
indeed slain, they tore their hair, and beat their breasts, and, half
mad with malice and revenge, rushed forth in pursuit of Una. As soon as
they got near her, they began to shout and cry after her, calling her
all sorts of bad names and praying that every kind of evil might befall
her. At length, tired out with their own curses, they turned back, and
on the way met one clad in armour as became a knight.
This was, however, no knight, but Archimago, the wicked enchanter, who,
not content with having separated Una from her champion, sought to lead
her into further distress. He stopped the old woman, and, describing
Una, asked if she had seen any such lady. Thereupon Corceca's passion
became renewed, and, crying and cursing, she declared she knew her but
too well, and told him which way to take.
Before long, Archimago came where "Una travelled slow," her fierce
guardian treading by her side. The sight of the lion alarmed the
enchanter, and he turned aside, not daring to approach too near. Now
Archimago had taken care to disguise himself as Una's own Red-cross
knight. When, therefore, she recognized the well-known shield, she
turned and rode towards him, and, as she approached more near, became
assured in her own mind that this was indeed her lost lord. Hastening
on, in much humility and with tears in her eyes, she exclaimed: "Ah! my
long-lost lord, where have you been so long hidden from my sight?" The
pretended knight replied "that his absence had been enforced in that a
certain Archimago had sent him on an adventure, from which he had now
returned successful, and ready henceforth to abide by her and defend her
by land and sea." His words made Una very happy. In her new-found joy,
she forgot the pains and toils she had encountered and journeyed on,
discoursing happily of all that had befallen her.
They had not, however, travelled far when they saw an armed horseman
riding towards them at full speed. Although his horse was covered with
foam, the warrior kept spurring it from time to time, and looked as if
he were breathing forth dread threats of vengeance on some unknown
victim. On his shield his name Sansloy was written in red letters. Now,
this Sansloy was a Saracen knight, and was brother of another knight
named Sansfoy, but this brother had encountered the Red-cross knight
shortly after he and Una left the Faerie Court, and had been slain by
him. The moment, therefore, that Sansloy had seen the cross on
Archimago's armour, he had determined to avenge his brother's death, and
bore down thus fiercely on the enchanter and the lady. But Archimago had
no mind to fight; he grew faint and fearful when he saw the warrior, and
it was only when Una cheered him on that he ventured to couch his spear
or put spurs to his horse. Sansloy showed no mercy, but came on with
such force and fierceness that his spear went right through Archimago's
shield and hurled his antagonist from his charger, so that he fell
heavily to the ground, while the blood gushed from his wound.
Immediately Sansloy leapt from his steed and hastened toward his
prostrate foe exclaiming, "Lo! there the worthy meed of him who slew
Sansfoy with bloody knife," and thereupon began to unlace Archimago's
helmet, thinking to sever his head at one stroke. But Una saw his
purport, and cried out, beseeching him to hold "that heavy hand," urging
that surely Sansloy's revenge was enough when he saw his foe lie
vanquished at his feet. To her piteous words the cruel Saracen paid no
attention, but tore off the other's helmet, and would have given the
fatal blow had he not perceived before him, instead of the Red-cross
knight, the hoary head of Archimago the enchanter. He stayed his hand,
and gazed on the old man in amazement, for he knew him well, and knew
that, skilful as Archimago was in charms and magic, he was but little
used to war.
"Why, Archimago," he exclaimed, "what do I see? What hard mishap is
this?"
The enchanter answered him never a word, but lay in a trance, apparently
dying, and Sansloy, who had no compassion in his soul, made no attempt
to render him assistance.
He turned instead to Una, who, poor damsel, was in sore amazement to see
that he whom she had believed her own true knight was the cruel
enchanter who had caused all her distress. Her wonder soon changed into
terror, for Sansloy proceeded to seize hold of her white veil and pluck
her rudely from her steed and gaze boldly in her face. But now arose the
lion, her fierce servant, and, full of kingly rage at seeing his lady
thus maltreated, sprang upon the Saracen, and with sharp-rending claws
strove to tear away his shield. But Sansloy was very strong and wary,
and, redeeming the shield from the lion's paws, he drew his sword. Alas!
the power of the wild beast was all too weak to withstand a foe armed at
every point and so mighty in strength and in skill as Sansloy. Very soon
the deadly steel pierced the lion's heart, and he roared aloud, and life
forsook him. Una was left alone in the hands of a cruel warrior, bereft
of hope, for her faithful guardian was slain. She knew not where to look
for help, and indeed help seemed very far away.
The Saracen would listen to no entreaty, but lifted her on to his own
steed and bore her off, while the lowly ass, who would not forsake his
lady, followed as best he could. With piteous words, she wept and begged
for freedom, but all in vain; her words only increased the hardness of
her captor's heart.
After a time, Una found herself borne into a wild forest. Here the
damsel's terror became extreme, and she cried aloud in her distress. She
had no hope of succour, but succour came.
"Eternal providence, exceeding thought,
Where none appears, can make herself a way."
And a wondrous way in this case it proved.
Far off in the wood, a troop of Fauns and Satyrs, wild, untamed
inhabitants of deepest forests, were dancing, whilst old Sylvanus, their
god, lay sleeping. These, hearing Una's cry, left their sport, and,
running towards the spot from which the cry had come, appeared suddenly
on the scene.
They were a rude, misshapen, even frightful-looking crowd, and Sansloy,
like the wicked knight that he was, seized with superstitious fears,
took fright and fled. But, when the Satyrs beheld Una all alone, sad and
desolate, her fair face stained with tears, they stood still before her,
astonished at her beauty, and pitiful of her distress. And she, more
amazed than they, began to fear and tremble afresh, for wild stories
were told of the Satyrs and of their lawless deeds. And it seemed to her
that a worse lot than ever before had now befallen her. So fearful was
she that she dared neither speak nor move.
The wild people read Una's sorrow in her sad countenance, and, laying
aside the rough, frowning looks they usually wore, began to grin and
smile and bend their knees before her, trying thus to comfort her.
Uncertain whether or not she dare trust herself to them, Una stood
irresolute. They, as they watched her, were overcome by pity of her
tender youth and wonder at her sovereign beauty, and prostrating
themselves on the ground, kissed her feet and fawned upon her with their
most kindly looks.
Then Una, guessing their hearts aright, gave herself up to their care,
and, rising, went fearlessly among them. Glad as birds in the joyous
spring-time, they led her forth dancing, shouting, singing, and strewing
green branches before her. All the way they played on their merry pipes,
until the woods rang with their echo; and, worshipping the lady as a
queen, they crowned her with an olive garland and led her to Sylvanus,
their god.
He had wondered at the sounds of rejoicing which had roused him from his
sleep, but when, leaning on his cypress staff, he came forth from his
bower and saw Una, he stood amazed and wondered not when his wood-born
subjects fell prostrate before her.
And then came tree-nymphs and light-footed Naiads, flocking to see the
new-comer. But when they saw how fair and good she was, sharp envy
seized upon them, and they fled away lest the Satyrs, in their new-born
reverence for Una, should scorn their ancient playmates.
So Una, thankful for the favour she found and the respect shown to her,
remained a long time among this forest people, and rested from her
weariness. In return for their hospitality, she tried to teach them
something of truth, and to prevent their worship of herself, but it was
in vain, for when they found they might not worship the lady, they
turned to the milk-white ass, her lowly steed, and worshipped it in her
stead.
One day there came to the forest a certain Sir Satyrane, a noble knight
who had been born in these woods, and who was in the habit of revisiting
them from time to time. Now, when he came unexpectedly on this fair lady
sitting among the Satyrs and endeavouring to teach them true sacred
lore, he wondered at her heavenly wisdom, the like of which he had never
before seen in woman. And when he watched her courteous deeds and heard
the story of her sad misfortunes, his wonder changed into admiration,
and he became her scholar and learned of her "the discipline of truth
and faith."
Thus Una and Sir Satyrane grew close friends, and at length she told him
her most secret grief, how deeply she longed to find the Red-cross
knight, and how all her secret thoughts were spent in contriving an
escape from her kind but rude guardians. So Sir Satyrane began to devise
how he might help her, and one day while the Satyrs had all gone to pay
homage to Sylvanus, the strong knight led away the gentle virgin, and
after further adventures, of which you shall hear in the next tale, Una
did at last rejoin her long-lost knight to the great comfort of them
both.
PRINCE ARTHUR HELPS UNA TO FIND THE RED-CROSS KNIGHT.
Faerie Queene. Book I. Cantos VIII., X.
Una and the good Sir Satyrane travelled together for some time, seeking
her knight. In the course of their search Sir Satyrane became separated
from Una, who must have gone on alone had not her long-lost dwarf
unexpectedly appeared.
This was a most welcome sight, and yet Una's heart sank within her as
she looked at the dwarf, for he travelled alone and carried with him the
silver shield, the mighty spear and ancient armour of the Red-cross
Knight. Seeing these, she fell helpless to the ground, for she knew some
terrible misfortune must have happened to her lord.
The dwarf, as he drew near and beheld his lady in such distress, became
as sorrowful as she; for he bore heavy tidings and feared greatly to
impart them. His heart sank within him, but he made a show of
hopefulness and set about to rub and chafe the poor damsel's temples
until she began to give signs of life, and to moan and groan aloud. She
was very weary, and she thought her effort to save her parents was all
in vain. Loathing the very sunshine she cried out for death, and,
believing her prayers about to be answered, once more sank upon the
ground.
Three times she sank and three times the dwarf raised and revived her
with busy care and pains. When at length life fairly won the victory,
with trembling limbs and failing tongue Una prayed him to tell her what
woful tragedy had befallen her knight. "Thou canst not," she said, "tell
a more heavy tale than that I already know to be true."
Then the dwarf began to relate all the adventures which had happened to
him and the knight from the time that Archimago, the wicked enchanter,
had parted them from Una until now. These were many, but at present I
can only tell you of that in which the Red-cross Knight lost his armour.
First, you must know that the knight ought never to have left Una. In
leaving her he followed a false imagination put into his mind by
Archimago, instead of remaining strictly true to the charge given him by
Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, and this one false step led him into much
misfortune.
It was thus he came to trust in Duessa, a wicked witch, who one day led
him to rest by a stream whose waters had the fatal effect of rendering
every one who drank of them weak and powerless against all attacks of
evil. The knight, then, resting by the stream, drank of its waters, and
immediately his strength gave way, his blood ran slow, and a chill
struck at the very root of his courage.
While lying in this feeble condition, a dreadful sound was heard, that
seemed to shake the earth and cause the trees to tremble. Starting up,
the knight began to collect his weapons and to don his armour in great
haste. But before he could do so, before he had even got his shield in
his hand, a hideous giant, more than three times the height of any
mortal man, and so huge that the earth groaned under his weight, came
stalking into sight. In his hand the giant Orgoglio bore a gnarled oak
torn up from the forest, which he used both as staff and weapon, and
when he saw the knight he raised this formidable cudgel and bore down
upon him in a fury.
Alas! the Red-cross Knight was little able to sustain the combat.
Unarmed, disgraced and inwardly dismayed by the power of the fatal
waters, he could hardly wield his single blade.
The giant struck with a force that might overthrow a tower of stone,
much more a defenceless man: but the knight watched carefully where the
blows fell, and skilfully leapt out of their way, and thus for a time
evaded them. But not for long: so furious were the blows that the wind
they raised presently overthrew him and flung him stunned upon the
ground.
The giant was not slow to see his advantage. He uplifted his powerful
arm, and with one stroke would have made an end of his opponent had not
Duessa interfered. She besought Orgoglio to spare the life of the
Red-cross Knight and take only his liberty: and to this the giant
consented on condition that Duessa would become his lady-love. He then
raised the knight in his cruel arms and carried him in haste to his
strong castle, where he threw him into its darkest dungeon.
Such was the tale the dwarf had to tell.
Una heard him patiently to the end, and strove to master her sorrow, but
it only grew stronger the more she contended against it. At length, when
the first passion of grief had worn itself out, she rose, and, attended
by the dwarf, resolved to find her knight, alive or dead. But ever as
she wandered through low dales, and over high hills and among thick
woods, her grief broke forth from time to time as if from a wound that
had not healed.
After a time Una and her dwarf chanced to meet a very noble-looking
knight attended by a single follower.
These were none other than the great and good Prince Arthur and Timias
his much loved squire. The armour of the Prince glittered from afar, and
on his breast he wore a bauldric beset with precious stones, in the
midst of which shone one shaped like a lady's head, which was of
wondrous worth and was possessed of magic powers. By the bauldric hung
the Prince's sword: its sheath was of ivory curiously wrought. The hilt
and the buckle were of burnished gold and the handle was of
mother-of-pearl. His helmet was also of gold and had a dragon for its
crest: the wings of the dragon spread wide apart, while its head couched
close upon the Prince's beaver, and its tail stretched low upon his
back, and on the top of all was a tuft of divers coloured hair sprinkled
with gold and pearls, and quivering in the sunlight. His shield was
closely covered and might not be seen of mortal eyes, for it was made of
pure and perfect diamond:--one massive piece cut solid from the rock,
and no spear could pierce it nor any sword divide its substance.
And never did Prince Arthur reveal its brightness to any single foe, but
if he wished to dismay huge monsters or daunt whole armies, then would
he discover its exceeding brightness, and so discomfit them. No magic
art or enchanter's word had power over it, and all things that were not
what they seemed, faded away before its brightness. By it the Prince
could blind the proud, turn men into stones, stones to dust, and dust to
nought.
This wondrous shield, with the rich sword and armour, had been made for
Prince Arthur by Merlin, the great and good magician.
Timias, the Prince's squire, was a gentle youth. He bore a spear of
ebony, with a square pike head, which had been three times heated in the
furnace; and he rode a proud and stubborn steed that chafed under its
rider, but was kept well in hand.
As Prince Arthur approached the lady, he spoke courteously to her, and
when he perceived that his words drew forth slow and unwilling answers,
he guessed that a secret sorrow rent her heart. He then tried to draw
from her the cause of her distress, until, moved by his kind words, Una
spoke.
"What happiness," she asked, "could reach a heart plunged in a sea of
sorrow, and heaped with huge misfortunes?" As soon as she thought of her
distress a cold chill crept over her, and she felt as if stung by an
iron arrow. Griefs which could not be cured were best not spoken
of,--she could only weep and wail.
Then said the Prince--"Ah! dear lady, well do I believe that your grief
is a heavy one, for only to hear you speak fills my soul with sadness;
but let me entreat of you to unfold it, for counsel eases the worst
sorrow."
"But great grief," said Una, "will not bear to be spoken of; it is easy
to think about, but hard to utter."
"True," replied the Prince, "but he that wills not, can do nothing."
"Ah!" pleaded Una, "but grief that is spoken, and finds no relief, grows
still heavier, and leads to despair."
"Not so," said the Prince, "when there is trust and faith."
And thus was Una at length persuaded to disclose her secret sorrow.
She told the Prince the story you already know: how her dear parents
were imprisoned by a huge dragon, and how the Red-cross Knight, who was
to have rescued them, had been betrayed into the hands of a cruel giant,
in whose dungeons he lay, disarmed and helpless.
Before she had quite ended her tale, the poor damsel grew faint from
grief and dread, but the Prince comforted her with cheering words.
"Truly," he said, "you have great cause of sorrow; but take comfort and
courage, for until I have rescued your captive knight be assured that I
will not leave you."
So the whole party went on together, until they reached a great castle.
Here, said the dwarf, lay his luckless lord, and here the Prince must
try his prowess. Whereupon the Prince alighted from his steed, and
bidding Una remain where she was and watch the issue of the fight, took
Timias, his squire, and strode up to the castle wall. He found the gates
fast closed, and no one to keep guard or answer to his call. At this,
the squire blew a small bugle, which hung by his side, adorned with
twisted gold and gay tassels, and writ all over with the wonders of its
virtue.
None ever heard its shrill call who did not tremble before it. There was
no gate however strong, or lock however firm, that did not burst open at
its summons. And now, as the squire blew the magic horn, the grim castle
quaked, every door flew open, and the giant himself rushed forth with an
angry stare on his cruel countenance, eager to learn who or what this
might be that had dared his dreaded power. After him appeared Duessa,
riding a many-headed monster, with a fiery, flaming tongue in every one
of its many heads.
At once the Prince began a furious attack on the monster. Thereupon the
giant buckled to the fight, and lifting up his dreadful club, all armed
with ragged knobs and gnarled knots, thought to have slain the Prince at
a single blow. But he, wise and wary, leapt swiftly aside, and the great
weapon fell so heavily, that it sank three yards deep into the ground,
making the earth tremble. Now, Orgoglio could not easily uplift his
club, and as he strove to drag it from the deep cleft, the Prince smote
off his left arm, which fell to the ground, a senseless block, while
streams of blood gushed from the wound. Dismayed by the pain, Orgoglio
roared aloud, and Duessa hastened to draw up her many-headed charger to
his aid. But the squire soon forced the horrid beast to retreat, and at
this Duessa in her pride rebelled and urged the monster afresh; but in
vain, for Timias dealt mighty strokes, and stood firmly to his post.
Then Duessa resorted to her witch ways, and taking out a golden cup,
murmured enchantments over it, and sprinkled some of its contents upon
Timias. His courage immediately faded away, and his senses became dull
and numb, and he fell helpless before the monster.
The dreadful beast laid its claws upon Timias' neck, and kept him pinned
to the ground, until his life was nearly crushed out: then it left him
with neither power nor will to rise.
But when Prince Arthur beheld the sad plight into which his well-loved
squire had fallen, he left off fighting with Orgoglio, and turned upon
the beast, and struck off one of its monster heads.
Thereupon Orgoglio went to Duessa's aid, and putting all his force into
his remaining arm, he let drive his oaken club with such terrible fury,
that falling on the Prince's shield, it bore him to the ground.
But as Prince Arthur fell, his shield became uncovered, and suddenly
there blazed forth a light of such dazzling brightness, that no eye
could bear it. The giant let his arm drop to his side, and the
many-headed beast turned blind and staggered so that Duessa cried out
wildly, "O! help, Orgoglio, help, or we perish all!"
The giant was moved by her piteous cry, and strove to wield his weapon
in her aid, but all in vain, for the bright shield had sapped his
powers.
And now Prince Arthur struck at him, smiting off his right leg, and
while he lay prostrate and helpless, leapt lightly upon him, and smote
off his head. Lo! Orgoglio's body shrank away, and nothing was left but
an empty dried-up skin--such is the end of pride.
When Duessa saw the grievous fate of Orgoglio, she cast away her golden
cup, and fled fleetly from the bloody scene; but the squire, light of
foot as she, speedily brought her back captive.
And now Una, who had watched the fight from afar, came forward with
sober and modest gladness, hardly able to find words with which to greet
and thank the victor, declaring that heaven, not she, must requite him
the service he had done. She then went on to pray that since heaven and
his prowess had made him master of the field, he would end that he had
so fair begun, and would rescue her Red-cross Knight from the deep
dungeon in which he lay.
Thereupon the Prince gave Duessa into the charge of Timias, while he
himself proceeded to make forcible entrance into the castle. No living
creature did he see, and when he called aloud, no man answered to his
cry; but a solemn silence reigned in hall and bower.
At length there came forth an old, old man, with a beard as white as
snow, who walked along with a creeping, crooked pace, and leant his
feeble steps on a staff, groping his way, for his eyesight had failed
him long ago. On his arm hung a bunch of keys, overgrown with rust:
these were the keys of the inner doors, but he could not use them, and
only kept them by him from ancient custom. It was a strange sight to
watch his feeble pace, for as he moved slowly forward his face was seen
to be turned backward. He was the ancient keeper of the place,
foster-father to the slain Orgoglio, and his name, Ignaro, betrayed his
true nature.
But the Prince honoured his grave and reverend appearance, and asked him
gently where were all the dwellers in the castle, to which he replied in
a quiet voice that he could not tell. Again the Prince asked where the
knight whom Orgoglio had vanquished lay captive, and Ignaro replied he
could not tell. Then the Prince inquired by which way he might pass into
the castle, and still the old man said he could not tell; whereupon the
Prince, courteous as he ever was, grew displeased, and thinking that
Ignaro mocked at his questions, upbraided him, and demanded an answer
befitting the gravity of the old man's years, but the reply was ever the
same, he could not tell.
At this the Prince looked attentively at the aged sire, and, guessing
that he was indeed ignorant, stayed his wrath in pity for his
imbecility, and, stepping up to him, took the bunch of keys from his
unresisting hand, and made free entrance for himself. He opened all the
doors, and neither bar nor foeman presented any hindrance. He found all
within furnished with great richness and splendour, but everywhere he
beheld traces of the giant's cruelty. He sought through every room and
every bower, but nowhere could he find the Red-cross Knight.
At length, Prince Arthur came upon an iron door, which was fast locked.
He searched among the keys, but in all the bunch there was not one to
open it. Presently he espied a small grating in the door, and through
this he called with all his strength that he might discover whether any
living wight were imprisoned there.
By-and-bye he heard a hollow, dreary, murmuring voice. It asked who this
might be that brought tidings so welcome as the news of death to one who
had lain dying for three weary months, but yet lived on.
When the Prince heard this sad plaint, his heart thrilled with pity and
indignation, and he rent open the iron door in fierce fury; but when the
iron door was open, there was nothing before him but a deep descent,
dank, dark, and foul. However, neither the darkness nor the foulness
could stay the strong purpose of the Prince, and after long labour and
great perseverance, he succeeded in finding means whereby to rescue the
prisoner from the dismal hole.
But alas! when the knight was lifted out, he presented a sad spectacle
of ghastly suffering. His feeble limbs could scarce support his body,
his eyes were dull and sunken, and could ill bear the light, his cheeks
were thin and hollow, his once powerful arms wasted away, and his whole
appearance was withered and shrivelled.
When Una saw him she ran towards him, tears in her eyes, and joy and
sadness mingled in her feelings, and as soon as she could speak for her
tears, she exclaimed, "Ah, dearest Lord, what evil power hath thus
robbed you of yourself, and marred your manly countenance? But welcome
now, whether in weal or in woe."
The knight was too feeble to answer, and the Prince replied for him,
saying that nothing was gained in recounting woes, since the only good
to be had from past peril is to be wise and ware of like again.
He then asked Una what he should do with Duessa, the false witch. Una
declared that to have her die would be too spiteful an act, and,
therefore, having despoiled her of the scarlet and purple robes, and
rich ornaments, with which she imposed upon men, they let her go, and
Una and the knights remained in the castle to rest a while.
But this rest was not sufficient to fit the Red-cross Knight for his
approaching conflict with the dragon, and so Una, seeing that his limbs
were weak, and his spirit damped by the long and miserable imprisonment,
conducted him to an ancient house, called the House of Holiness, in
which she knew they would have a kind welcome and good food.
In this house they remained for some time, and here the knight met an
aged sire, who told him many curious things concerning his origin. The
knight rejoiced greatly as he heard that he was descended from ancient
Saxon kings, and was destined to do great deeds for his native land.
Inspired with fresh courage he returned to Una, who had been resting
with the good lady Charity, and her women, in their side of the great
House of Holiness. After many thanks rendered and many blessings
bestowed, they once more set out to find the Dragon.
HOW THE RED-CROSS KNIGHT SLEW THE DRAGON.
Faerie Queene. Book I. Cantos XI., XII.
As Una and the Red-cross Knight rode on their way they came near her
father's wasted lands and the brazen tower in which her parents were
imprisoned.
"Dear Knight," said Una, "we are now come where our peril must begin,"
and warning him that they might encounter the dragon at any moment she
prayed him to be constantly on his guard.
As she spoke, the maiden pointed out the tower, and at the same time a
hideous roar filled the air with horror. They looked up and beheld the
dragon stretched out on the sunny side of a hill. The moment that the
monster saw the knight's shining armour, he raised his great frame and
hastened towards them as if delighting at the prospect of fresh prey.
Then the knight bade Una leave him and withdraw to a hill at a little
distance, where she could watch the fight and yet be secure from danger.
The dreadful beast came on steadily, half walking, half flying in his
haste. He covered the ground quickly, and as he went, cast a huge shadow
over the wasted land.
As the dragon approached the knight, he reared his monstrous body on
high, which looked the more horrible that it was swollen with wrath and
venom. It was covered with brazen scales, so closely placed, that
nothing could pierce them, and the dragon shook the scales until they
sounded like the clashing of armour. He had wings which he spread out
like great sails, and when these smote the air, the clouds fled in
terror before them, and the heavens stood still in astonishment. His
tail was twisted in a hundred folds, and lay over his scaly back, and
when he unfolded its coils and displayed its full length, it swept the
land behind him for three furlongs. At its extremity were inserted two
deadly stings, sharper than the sharpest steel. And still sharper and
more cruel were his claws; so cruel and ravenous, that all they touched,
and all they drew within their reach, suffered certain destruction.
But most fearful of all was the dragon's head. It had deep-set eyes,
that burned with rage, and shone forth like shining shields; and gaping
jaws, in which were set three rows of iron teeth. From these trickled
the blood of the creatures he had lately devoured, while from between
his jaws issued clouds of smoke that filled the air with sulphurous
stench.
Such was the foe the Red-cross Knight must face and conquer.
On came the dragon, raising his haughty crest, shaking his scales, and
hastening so joyously to the combat, that the knight inwardly quaked for
fear.
And now began the first of three days' mortal strife.
The Red-cross Knight couched his spear, and ran fiercely at his foe. The
spear did not wound, but it annoyed the dragon: he turned aside, and as
he turned, swept both the horse and its rider to the ground. In a moment
the knight had risen, and renewed the attack. Never before, although
many a knight had fought with him, had the dragon felt such force in the
arm of a foe, and yet the deadly thrusts glanced back from his
well-armed breast, leaving him unhurt.
But the knight's persistent attacks roused the monster's rage. He spread
his great wings, and lifting himself into the air, swooped down upon his
foe, and seized both horse and man in his cruel claws. He carried them
an arrow's shot, when their fierce struggles obliged him to let them
fall; and the knight, putting the force of three men into a single blow,
once more aimed his spear at the impenetrable scales. Again the blow
glanced aside, but this time it glided close under the dragon's upraised
wing, and there inflicted so sore a wound, that the monster,
unaccustomed to pain, roared aloud with a noise like that of the ocean
in a wintry storm.
The weapon stuck in the dragon's flesh, until he contrived to tear it
out with his claws, whereupon black blood streamed forth from his wound,
and flames of fire from his nostrils. In his rage, he flung his great
tail about: it twisted round the horse's legs, and the steed in its
effort to get free, only became the more entangled, and at length was
forced to throw the knight. Quickly he arose, and laying hold of his
powerful sword, struck the dragon a stroke that seemed as if it must
prove fatal. But the hardened iron took little effect upon the still
more hardened crest, although it fell with a force that made the dragon
careful to avoid its blows.
The knight grew angry when he saw his strokes of no avail, and struck
again with greater might, but the steel recoiled, leaving no mark where
it had fallen.
Now the dragon was suffering from the wound under his wing, and
impatient of the pain, tried again to rise into the air. But the injured
wing impeded his effort, and full of rage and disappointment, he uttered
a roar such as had never before been heard, and once more sent out
flames of fire. These came right into the face of the knight, and making
their way through his armour, burned him so sorely that he could hardly
endure its weight. Faint and weary, burned, and sore with his wounds,
worn out with heat and toil, and the very arms he bore, death seemed to
him much easier than life. "But death will never come when needs
require," and his despair well nigh cost him dear.
The dragon, seeing his discomfiture, turned upon him, and smiting him
with his tail, felled him to the ground. Very near, then, was the knight
to the death he coveted.
However, it so happened that, unknown to him, a well of rare virtue lay
close by. Its waters could cure sicknesses, make the aged young, wash
sinful crimes away, and even restore the dead to life. In the happy days
before the accursed dragon had brought ruin to the land, it had been
called the Well of Life; and though he had denied its sacred waters with
innocent blood, it still retained many of its ancient virtues. Into this
spring the knight fell.
And now the sun began to set, and Una, watching from her hill, saw her
champion fall, and saw, too, that the monster swelled out his proud
breast, and clapped his great wings as if in victory. Little knowing the
boon that had befallen her knight, the maiden grew very sad at heart,
thinking all was lost. No sleep was possible to her. With folded hands,
on lowly knees, she spent the long anxious hours in earnest prayer.
When morning came, Una arose and looked anxiously around to see if,
haply, she might discover the warrior still alive, for with the morning
new hopes frequently arise. By-and-bye, to her great joy, she saw him
start up, all fresh and invigorated by the powers of the wondrous well.
The dragon was confounded at the sight, and knew not whether this was
his foe of yesterday, or another come to take his place, when the knight
uplifted his bright blade, and struck the monster a blow upon the skull,
which wounded him in right earnest.
Whether the sword had received some secret virtue from the waters of the
well, or whether they had only increased the strength of the knight's
right arm, none can tell, but never before had a blow taken such effect
on the cruel monster. He yelled aloud as if he were a hundred lions all
in one; he tossed his great tail aloft, and scourged the air into a
tempest, and flung about its mighty length, so that it overthrew high
trees, and tore rocks into pieces. Then advancing his tail high above
his head, the dragon struck the knight and smote him to the ground. The
cruel sting pierced through his shield and fixed itself in his shoulder.
There it remained, causing him very severe pain.
The knight was nearly overcome, but more mindful of the issues involved
in the combat than of his own suffering, he rose and tried to free
himself. Unable to loose the sting, and inflamed with wrath and anguish,
he struck the dragon on the tail, and at one blow cut off five of the
mighty joints. Deeply enraged, the creature thought to avenge himself
once for all, and gathering himself up, fell fiercely on the knight's
shield, and kept fast hold of it.
And now was the Red-cross Knight terribly encumbered. Three times he
strove to release his shield from the dragon's clutch, and three times
failed. In despair he summoned his trusty sword to his aid, and laid
about with it so ruthlessly that at length the creature was forced to
withdraw one foot in order to defend himself. Then the knight directed
all his blows against the other foot, still fast fixed on the shield,
until, by happy fortune, the sword fell upon the ankle-joint, and
severed it.
Upon this there burst forth from the beast such smoke and flames and
brimstone as to dim the light of heaven itself and force the warrior to
retreat, lest he should be scorched alive. As he did so, his weary feet
slipped, and he fell down, sore terrified with the dread of shame.
Now it chanced that close by where he fell, there grew a goodly tree,
laden with apples. Great virtue had belonged to this tree, and even now
there trickled forth from it a stream of balm that fell on the ground
and watered it as if with dew. This little stream imparted life and long
health to all whom it benefited, and into its soothing power the knight
fell, on this, the close of the second day's fight.
Once more his life was saved, for the dragon, who was of death and
darkness, dared not approach aught life-giving. And now the daylight
began to fade, and Una, seeing her lord again fall and lie motionless,
knowing not that he lay in the healing balm, was once more stricken with
sore affright, and watched and prayed for him all through the weary
darkness.
When morning again dawned Una saw her knight arise, healed and
refreshed, ready for renewed combat. And the dragon, who had lain
waiting for the day that he might destroy him, grew afraid when he
beheld his foe as fresh as if he had not fought at all. Nevertheless, he
advanced, full of his wonted pride and rage, with jaws wide open,
thinking to devour his foe at the first encounter.
But the knight was prepared to meet him; thrusting his keen weapon
between the monster's open jaws, he ran it through his mouth, and
wounded him with a mortal wound. Then the dragon fell, and as he fell
the earth groaned as if unable to support his weight. And the valiant
knight himself trembled, so huge and hideous did the slain dragon look.
Una, who had seen all from her hill, dared not at first approach; but at
length finding that the huge mass made no movement, she shook off her
terror, and, drawing near, saw that the terrible monster was indeed
dead. Then praising God, she thanked her brave champion for the great
deliverance.
The sun had scarcely risen above the eastern horizon, when the watchman
who stood on the battlements of the brazen tower, saw the last breath of
the monster fade away, and knowing then that the dragon was dead,
shouted out the glad tidings.
The king heard the shout, and rose in joyful haste, although for his
feebleness he could not make much speed, and looked forth to see if the
tidings were indeed true. When he found that they were, he commanded the
brazen gate, long closed, to be thrown open, and peace and joy to be
proclaimed throughout the land--for the dragon was slain! Then the
trumpets sounded the happy victory, and the people, with one accord,
assembled as in solemn festival, to rejoice over the fall of the great
and terrible beast.
From the tower came forth the king and queen, clad in worn and sober
garments. Grave nobles attended them, and a band of young men, bearing
laurel boughs, followed in glad procession. Headed by the king these
made their way to the Red-cross Knight, and, prostrating themselves
before him, loudly proclaimed him their lord and patron, casting the
laurels at his feet.
As they did so, there issued from the brazen gate maidens adorned with
garlands, bearing sweet-sounding timbrels, and dancing as they went;
while with them were children who sang to the maidens' music.