happens in the chase, got separated from his companions, and while
wandering about in search of them, came suddenly upon a poor lady who
was being carried off by a cruel giant. He instantly went to her rescue,
and succeeded in freeing the lady. But he was himself in great danger
when Belphoebe, attracted by the noise of the fight, came to his aid,
and bending her bow pursued the giant to the door of his den, where she
slew him with an arrow.
Meantime Timias, always kind and gentle, was filled with pity for the
fair lady whom he had rescued. She had fainted from terror and was much
bruised by the fray and the cruel grasp of the monster. The squire knelt
by her side, examined her wounds with tender touch, wiped her dewy and
unconscious eyes, and in his pitifulness kissed them. At that moment
Belphoebe returned, and when she saw her faithful squire so tender
towards the lady, her heart swelled with proud disdain. In her sudden
passion she was ready to have killed both squire and lady with the very
bow which had already slain the monster. She however restrained herself,
and drawing near to Timias, exclaimed, "Is this the faith?" then turned
and fled.
Distressed at her rebuke Timias instantly arose and followed her, but
ever as he drew near she threatened him with her bow and would not
permit him to approach her. After a long and fruitless pursuit the
squire was forced to turn back with a sad heart. Finding a solitary part
of the forest he chose a glade made gloomy with mossy trees, and there
built a hut to live in. He broke his weapons and threw them away, vowing
never again to fight nor ever again speak to a woman, but to live alone
and deplore his grief. The better to keep his foolish vow he cut and
spoiled his clothes, let his hair grow until it fell untended over his
shoulders, ate only wild fruits and drank only running water. Thus he
weakened himself until he was unfit to carry arms, and disguised himself
until no one could recognize him.
Indeed it chanced that one day Prince Arthur came into that part of the
forest and found Timias in this wretched plight. The Prince talked to
him and tried to make out who he was, but never guessed he was all the
time addressing his lost squire. Timias would not speak, but only bowed
reverently, and the Prince was obliged to go away sad at heart. He
thought the miserable man some love-lorn swain, for he saw the name of
Belphoebe cut on many of the trees, and remarked how he brightened at
the sound of the name and even kissed the ground where it was written.
Thus Timias dwelt alone, wasting his youth in selfish solitude, until
one day, as he lay bemoaning himself, a turtle dove that had lately lost
her mate happened to come that way. Seeing one so sad, she paused in her
flight and began to mourn with Timias. She sat by his side and sang so
pitiful and so human a ditty that the squire fancied he heard in it his
own name; and as he listened, he shed many tears and beat his breast and
tore his hair in his sadness.
Day by day the bird sat by him and sang; she showed no sign of fear and
for guerdon of her song, he never failed to share with her his scanty
meal.
Timias grew to regard her as a companion, and one day when looking at
some mementoes given him by Belphoebe, he chose out a ruby, shaped
like a heart, and bound it on the dove's neck. He expected to find some
pleasure in gazing at it as he lay and listened to her song, but
suddenly the dove finding herself thus decked flew away. Timias was now
more sad than ever, for he had lost both the jewel which Belphoebe had
given him and his companion.
Meantime the bird flew right through the forest until she came where
Belphoebe rested after the chase. There she alighted and straightway
began her mournful ditty, hoping thus to attract the maiden's attention.
She succeeded, and after watching her for some time Belphoebe noticed
on the dove's neck the well-known jewel. Rising hastily she attempted to
grasp it, but the dove flew out of her reach, and when she saw that
Belphoebe followed, lingered until the maid was near, when she again
flew a little way forward, and thus flying and resting lured her far
into the forest. They at length arrived near to the abode of Timias,
when the dove flew straight into his hand. There she began a most
piteous plaint, as if to force Belphoebe to understand who this was.
The maiden, however, although sorry for this wretched-looking man, and
wishful to do him any good she could did not recognize him. But Timias
knew her: he said nothing, but fell humbly at her feet, and kissing the
ground on which she trod, washed it with his tears and looked at her
with wistful looks. She did not understand him, but wondered at his
courtly manners, and pitying his misery, asked him whether heaven or the
cruelty of man or his own wilfulness were its cause. When she ended
speaking Timias broke his long silence and with it his vow, and replying
that his suffering arose from all three, added that she herself had done
the wrong.
He went on to pray her forgiveness and the sad words touched
Belphoebe's proud heart when she found that it was Timias who thus
addressed her.
Relenting from her severity she received him into favour again. For a
long time he lived happily in the forest ever attending Belphoebe and
forgetting the Prince, his rightful lord, who still sought for his lost
squire.
By-and-bye men grew envious of the high distinction Timias received from
the great Belphoebe, and said unjust and malicious things of him, but
he behaved wisely and continued in her favour.
There were three men more anxious than any others for the overthrow of
Timias. These were Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto. They tried all sorts
of mean tricks by which to work his ruin, but in vain.
At length they resolved to send the Blattant Beast to destroy him. This
was a horrid monster, treacherous and cruel, given to turn suddenly on
its pursuer, and bite with poisonous fangs.
On a day when Timias was hunting, these bad men sent the Beast into the
forest, hoping that he would give it chase and so be led to destruction.
Just as they expected, Timias charged the monster as soon as he saw it,
and with such fury that the Beast turned and fled. As it turned it bit
him; he, however, paid no attention to the wound, but hotly pursued the
Beast, which led him into thick woods and rough places full of briers,
and thus wore out his strength until it had him in a woody glade where
his three foes lay concealed.
All three sprang out and attacked him fiercely, so that it required his
utmost skill to defend himself. They closed round him and rained blows
on every side and yet he contrived to withstand them all and even to
make them yield before him. But after a long fight his strength began to
fail before the heavy odds, and he feared he must soon yield. Just then
he heard the trampling and neighing of a horse. The sound inspired him
with fresh hope, and the next moment he saw a knight in full armour
riding hastily to his rescue. Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto saw this
also, and like the cowards that they were, fled precipitately into the
thick brushwood whither the knight did not choose to follow. He turned
instead to Timias, and in the sorely bested combatant, Prince Arthur,
for he it was, recognized his long-lost squire. Exceedingly rejoiced the
Prince took him in his arms and embraced him tenderly, and thus was
Timias restored to his rightful lord.
CALIDORE AND PASTORELLA.
Faerie Queene. Book VI. Cantos I., IX., X., XI., XII.
Of all the knights that lived at Gloriana's Faery Court, there was none
more gentle or more courteous than Sir Calidore. He was beloved by every
one, for to his natural gentleness of spirit and grace of manner was
added a manly bearing and courtesy of speech that stole men's hearts
away. He was tall and strong, and much renowned for his bravery in
battle, and he never employed his great gifts for mean purposes or
flattered any one, for he loved simple truth and steadfast honesty.
Now about this time a very hideous monster was wandering about in
Faeryland. This was the Blattant Beast, the same that attacked Timias,
and so terrible a creature was it, that even the wicked race from which
it sprang dreaded and hated it.
This monster had iron teeth, and within the iron teeth were a thousand
tongues--of dogs, cats, bears, and tigers,--but the greatest number were
human tongues, and these uttered cruel scandals, caring not when or
where. There were also serpents' tongues, with three-forked stings,
which spat out poison and said hateful things of any who interfered with
the Beast. Indeed the delight of this horrid creature was to annoy and
injure and destroy good men and women. It was the very plague and curse
of mankind, whom it bit and wounded and tormented with its venomous
teeth and wicked tongues.
Against the Blattant Beast Sir Calidore was sent, and he was commanded
to give it incessant chase until he overtook and subdued it.
It was a hard quest, for the Beast never remained in one place, and Sir
Calidore, without guide or good direction, had to go forth in untried
ways, to unknown dangers, and to laborious effort.
At length after a weary search and many adventures, after permitting
himself little rest either by night or by day, after pursuing the Beast
from the court to cities, and from cities to country places, Sir
Calidore came into open pasture land where shepherds watched their
flocks.
Here he so nearly overtook the monster that he forced it to hide itself
from him amongst empty sheds and huts. By the help of these it once more
escaped the knight, who, as he still followed in pursuit, chanced to
espy a group of shepherds singing and playing, whilst their sheep
wandered among the fresh young plants, and nipped off their tender buds.
All tired and heated, Calidore went up to the shepherds, and asked them
whether they had seen a Beast such as he described. They replied that
they had neither seen it nor anything else to excite their alarm, and
prayed God to deliver them from all such.
Then one of the shepherds seeing that Calidore perspired from the heat,
offered him a draught to quench his thirst, and food to relieve his
hunger. The knight courteously accepted their kindness, and, sitting
down at their request, partook of their homely hospitality.
As he rested after the meal, Sir Calidore noticed at a little distance a
fair damsel, dressed in home-spun, home-dyed green, with a crown of
flowers tied with ribbon on her head. She sat on a little hillock higher
than the others, and around her was a circle of fair companions, while
beyond these the shepherds lay about, piping and singing her praises,
delighting in her beauty, and shouting aloud for very wonder that so
beautiful a maiden should be found amongst them. She was as good and
modest as she was lovely, and they treated her as if she were a goddess,
singing day and night of fairest Pastorella.
Many of the shepherds loved Pastorella, but one named Coridon loved her
beyond all the others, and yet the maiden cared neither for him nor any
of them. Now, while Sir Calidore looked at the fair damsel and noted the
difference in her mien from that of her companions, his heart, all
unawares, became drawn towards her, and he stood gazing on her, quite
forgetful of his quest, and that the Beast was all this time getting
farther and farther away from him. And after the repast was quite over,
he still stayed talking to the shepherds, hoping all the time that
Pastorella would overhear the adventures he recounted.
Thus the day wore on until night advanced, and the ground grew damp, so
that the shepherds knew that it was time to take their flocks to rest.
Then there came out to them an old man with silver locks, carrying a
shepherd's crook in his hand, and he told Pastorella to arise. The old
man's name was Meliboae, and he was accounted by all, even by Pastorella
herself, as her father, but he was only her adopted father, for he had
found her as an infant in the fields and had brought her up as his own.
At his bidding she arose and gathered together her little flock of
sheep, and the shepherds who had sat round her gathered theirs also,
while they vied one with another in helping Pastorella; yet Coridon gave
her most help.
When Meliboae found Sir Calidore left alone, and night so near, he
invited him to his cottage, which, though poor, was a better
resting-place than the fields, and the knight accepted gladly. He was
kindly welcomed both by Meliboae and his wife, who invited him to lay
aside his armour and to rest until supper was ready and Pastorella had
returned from tending her sheep. When the frugal meal was ended,
Pastorella removed the table, and Sir Calidore in his most courteous
manner gave thanks to his host and hostess for their kindness, and
praised the simple life which shepherds led. Meliboae replied by dwelling
on the delights of a country life, adding that in his youth he had
sought a prince's court and had worked as a gardener at the palace; ten
years spent there, however, made him return home more contented than
before. Calidore listened much delighted, and anxious to stay on in the
shepherd's hut, replied that the world's gay shows were but vanity, and
that he wished that his lot were that of Meliboae. "But," said the old
man, "the mind is the true fortune, and happiness is in each man's
power." "Then," said Sir Calidore, "let me make my happiness by staying
here and resting awhile from the storms of fortune." And lest the
expense of his stay should prove burdensome to the old man, he drew
forth much gold with which to pay for his food. This offer Meliboae
refused but he granted Calidore permission to remain.
So he remained there, and saw Pastorella daily and offered her many
courtesies; but she, unaccustomed to courtly ways, loved the kindness of
the shepherds better than his. Calidore therefore laid aside his armour,
and dressing as a shepherd, went out into the fields and helped
Pastorella with her flocks.
At this Coridon became jealous, and whenever Sir Calidore was present,
looked cross and angry; yet Sir Calidore was ever kind to Coridon, and
when Coridon brought birds and squirrels from the wood to Pastorella,
the knight praised their beauty. But the maiden ceased to care for
Coridon's gift, for her heart was beginning to turn towards Sir
Calidore.
One day, when the shepherds were in a merry mood, they called for music
and began to dance. They invited Sir Calidore to lead the ring, for he
was held to be first in Pastorella's favour. But Coridon frowned and bit
his lips in anger, and seeing this, Sir Calidore courteously yielded to
him the place of honour, and when Pastorella placed her garland on the
knight's head, he put it instead upon Coridon.
Another day games were proposed by the shepherds, and Pastorella was
chosen judge, and held the garland which was to be the victor's reward.
Coridon, renowned for his skill in wrestling, challenged Calidore. But
the knight was much stronger than Coridon expected, and easily threw
him, whereupon the garland was awarded to Sir Calidore. In his
never-failing courtesy the knight gave it up to Coridon, declaring him
well worthy the honour.
Thus Calidore proved himself ever courteous, and won love and honour
even from his rival, and Pastorella's heart was turned more and more
towards him, but he still forgot the Blattant Beast and his vow to
follow it without rest.
One day, as Sir Calidore, Coridon, and Pastorella were gathering
strawberries in a green wood, a tiger rushed suddenly out of the forest,
and with cruel jaws and wide open mouth ran straight at Pastorella. It
happened that the others had wandered a little way from her, and the
poor damsel, left defenceless, cried out for help. Coridon came running
to her aid, but seeing the fierce beast, fled in terror, for his own
life was dearer to him than hers. But when Sir Calidore came up and saw
the tiger ready to tear Pastorella's limbs, rage, not fear, filled his
soul, and with no weapon but his shepherd's hook, he ran at the wild
beast and stunned it by his blow, and before it had time to recover he
had struck off its head, which he laid at the feet of the trembling
Pastorella. From that time she showed marked preference for Calidore,
and a little after promised to be his bride.
But one dreadful day, whilst Calidore was hunting in the woods, a party
of brigands came down upon the shepherds' dwellings, and spoiling their
homes, murdered many of the occupants and carried off the others to sell
as slaves. Amongst those taken captive were Meliboae, Pastorella, and
Coridon. They were carried off during the night, for the brigands wished
no man to know where they dwelt. Now, their home was on an island,
covered with brushwood, but there was no appearance of dwellers on the
island, for the brigands lived in underground caves, dark and dreary,
and lighted only by candles.
Here they brought their captives, meaning to sell them to the first
merchants who passed that way. But they had not been long in the island
before the captain of the brigands fell in love with Pastorella and
wished her for his wife. Now Pastorella, being betrothed to Calidore,
could not listen to his wish, and this made him angry, and yet he loved
her so much that he continued to try hard to gain her affection. All
this made her so unhappy that she became ill.
While Pastorella lay ill, a band of free-booting merchants arrived in
search of slaves. The brigands came and told the captain who was
watching near the sick maiden, and the news made him sorrowful, for he
feared that his men would insist on Pastorella's being sold with the
others. Yet he dared not refuse; so he showed the merchants old Meliboae
and Coridon and others. But one of the merchants had heard of the
shepherdess, and demanded to see her also. At this the captain grew
angry and declared that the maiden was his prize, and that, moreover,
she lay sick; and to prove his words, he took them to see her. But the
sight of her pale beauty only made the merchants still more desirous to
have her, and they declared that unless they might buy Pastorella they
would buy no one. Thereupon the brigands demanded her sale, but the
captain stoutly refused and drew his sword, and a fierce fight began, in
which blood was freely spilt.
And first of all, the captives were slain, old Meliboae, his aged wife,
and many others. But Coridon escaped in the darkness, thinking nothing
of his friends. All this time Pastorella was defended by the captain who
stood between her and the enemy. He was slain at length, and fell with
Pastorella in his arms, who fainted from fear and weakness. And as she
lay there the fight continued, and those slain fell upon her, so that
she was nearly stifled to death.
When the brigands found that their captain was gone, the fighting
ceased, and the combatants became as eager to make friends as they were
before to quarrel; so having agreed among themselves, they lighted
candles and began the melancholy search for the dead. Their captain they
found cruelly slain, and by him the dying maid. Seeing that there was
still life in Pastorella, they used every means to restore her, and at
length succeeded. But when she was able to look round, and saw her
father and her friends lying dead, wringing her hands, she wept and
wailed and wished herself of their number. However, as the brigands were
very anxious that she should get well, they took care of her in their
rude way. When they went out to plunder, they left one of
themselves--the best, although all were bad--in charge of her, but he
was of little use, scarce giving her food or rest.
Meantime Sir Calidore had returned from the chase and had found the
desolation caused by the brigands. He was almost mad with grief and
rage, and his anguish was increased by the sad fact that there was no
one to whom he could speak, nor any of whom he could ask tidings. He
sought everywhere, but in vain; the woods and the plain were alike
silent and empty. Roaming about restlessly in his despair, he at length
saw someone coming towards him. The new-comer was dressed in rags, his
hair was standing on end, and he was running as if from great danger. As
he came near, Sir Calidore saw that it was Coridon. Hastening up to him
the knight asked where Pastorella and the others had been taken.
"Ah," said Coridon, sighing deeply, "would that I had never lived to see
this day, but had died before I saw Pastorella dead."
"What," exclaimed Calidore, "Pastorella dead? How dared death touch
her?" And then he persuaded Coridon to tell his sad tale; and Coridon
told how he had seen Meliboae die, and the captain defend Pastorella, but
as he believed,--in vain.
On hearing these tidings, Sir Calidore's heart well-nigh broke; but
after a time he recovered spirit and determined to rescue Pastorella
were she still alive, or to avenge her, were she dead. He asked Coridon
to show him the way to the Island, but he had great difficulty in
inducing him to do so. At length Calidore prevailed upon him, and they
went forth dressed as shepherds, although the knight wore armour under
his peaceful garb.
As they neared the Island they came to a hill, on which they saw
shepherds with their flocks. They determined to go and learn from them
the latest tidings. Great was their surprise when Coridon recognized the
flocks as the very ones that had been stolen from them, and these
shepherds no other than the thieves. This discovery alarmed him greatly,
and his heart began to lose all courage, but Sir Calidore reassured him
as best he could and prevailed upon him to advance upon the men, who
were all asleep. Coridon would have slain them, but Sir Calidore, who
had another plan, prevented him.
Sitting down by their side, he wakened them gently, told them the time
of day, and beginning to talk, asked them questions which would, he
hoped, reveal the truth as to Pastorella. And when the brigands in turn
questioned Sir Calidore and asked who he and his comrade might be, the
knight replied that they were herdsmen who sought for hire. On hearing
this the thieves at once offered them wages to take care of their
flocks. Sir Calidore accepted the offer, and when night came, he and
Coridon returned with the outlaws as their hired servants. They quickly
learned all the secrets of the caverns, and to their great joy found
that Pastorella still lived.
After a time of patient waiting Sir Calidore's opportunity came. The
brigands had returned from a fray and slept soundly. In the dead of
night Sir Calidore arose, and armed only with an old sword which he had
found, made his way to the new captain's cavern. Coridon, too cowardly
to join boldly with him, too fearful to be left behind, followed
faltering. They found the doors fast closed, but Sir Calidore attacked
them with all his force and burst them open. The noise awoke the chief
brigand, who came rushing to the entrance, where in a few moments Sir
Calidore slew him.
Meantime the sound of the fray struck terror into the heart of
Pastorella, but when the well-known and much-loved voice of Sir Calidore
called to her, joy and comfort took the place of misery and despair, and
her spirit revived within her. His voice was to her as the sunshine to
the wintry earth, and she who had longed for death felt the spring of
life arise anew within her. Nor did Sir Calidore rejoice less: like one
distraught he rushed to her, and taking her in his strong arms kissed
her a thousand times.
But now the alarm had roused all the brigand camp, who came flocking to
their captain's cavern. Sir Calidore stood in the doorway, and as they
pressed forward, he slew them one by one until the entrance was fairly
blocked by dead bodies. Then he rested until daylight dawned; and when
there was sufficient light to see his way, he arose, chose from among
the slain a trusty sword and went out into the open day. There a great
crowd awaited ready to attack him. Then began a terrible fight. On every
side the brigands set upon him, and sorely they oppressed him, nor did
any spare him; yet so skilled and powerful was Sir Calidore that by the
aid of his trusty brand he dispersed and scattered his enemies, slaying
all that came into his way.