AMONG the earliest heirlooms of the Anglo-Saxon tongue are the songs and

legends of Robin Hood and his merry outlaws, which have charmed readers

young and old for more than six hundred years. These entertaining

stories date back to the time when Chaucer wrote his “Canterbury Tales,”

when the minstrel and scribe stood in the place of the more prim and

precise modern printed book.

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

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

William Tell and others whom everyone would much rather accept on faith.

It cannot be answered by a brief “yes” or “no,” even though learned men

have pored over ancient records and have written books on the subject.

According to the general belief Robin was an outlaw in the reign of

Richard I, when in the depths of Sherwood Forest he entertained one

hundred tall men, all good archers, with the spoil he took; but “he

suffered no woman to be oppressed or otherwise molested; poore men’s

goods he spared, abundantlie relieving them with that which by theft he

got from abbeys and houses of rich earles.” Consequently Robin was an

immense favorite with the common people.

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

band. “God save Robin Hood and all his good yeomanry” is the ending of

many old ballads. The clever archer who could outshoot his fellows, the

brave yeoman inured to blows, and the man who could be true to his

friends through thick and thin were favorites for all time; and they

have been idealized in the persons of Robin Hood and his merry outlaws.

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

English times is that given by Sir Walter Scott in “Ivanhoe,” concerning

the archery contest during the rule or misrule of Prince John, in the

absence of Richard from the kingdom. Robin Hood, under the assumed name

of Locksley, boldly presents himself at a royal tournament at Ashby, as

competitor for the prize in shooting with the long-bow. From the eight

or ten archers who enter the contest, the number finally narrows down to

two,—Hubert, a forester in the service of one of the king’s nobles, and

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

of skill, and lands his arrow within the inner ring of the target, but

not exactly in the centre.

“‘You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,’ said Locksley, ‘or that

had been a better shot.’

“So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause upon his aim,

Locksley stepped to the appointed station, and shot his arrow as

carelessly in appearance as if he had not even looked at the mark. He

was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft left the bow-string,

yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer to the white spot which

marked the centre than that of Hubert.

“‘By the light of Heaven!’ said Prince John to Hubert, ‘an thou suffer

that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows!’

“Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. ‘An your highness were

to hang me,’ he said, ‘a man can but do his best. Nevertheless, my

grandsire drew a good bow——’

“‘The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!’ interrupted

John; ‘shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall be worse for thee!’

“Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the caution

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

allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just risen, and shot

so successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre of the

target.

“‘A Hubert! a Hubert!’ shouted the populace, more interested in a known

person than in a stranger. ‘In the clout!—in the clout!—a Hubert

forever!’

“‘Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,’ said the Prince, with an

insulting smile.

“‘I will notch his shaft for him, however,’ replied Locksley.

“And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than before, it

lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it split to shivers.

The people who stood around were so astonished at his wonderful

dexterity, that they could not even give vent to their surprise in their

usual clamor. ‘This must be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood,’

whispered the yeomen to each other; ‘such archery was never seen since a

bow was first bent in Britain.’

“‘And now,’ said Locksley, ‘I will crave your Grace’s permission to

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

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

lass he loves best.’”

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

a man’s thumb. Hubert is forced to decline the honor of taking part in

such a trial of archery skill, but his rival easily splits the wand at a

distance of three hundred feet and carries off the prize.

“Even Prince John, in admiration of Locksley’s skill, lost for an

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

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

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

yeoman of our bodyguard, and be near to our person. For never did so

strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye direct a shaft.’”[71]

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

Prince’s service, generously shares his prize with the worthy Hubert,

and retires once more to his beloved haunts among the lights and shadows

of the good greenwood.

[Illustration: CHARLEMAGNE.

From painting by Dürer in the Museum at Nuremburg.]

[Illustration: CHARLEMAGNE RECEIVING HIS GUESTS.

Original drawing by Byam Shaw.]

LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE

INTRODUCTION

Those who have investigated the origin of the romantic fables relating

to Charlemagne and his peers are of opinion that the deeds of Charles

Martel, and perhaps of other Charleses, have been blended in popular

tradition with those properly belonging to Charlemagne. It was indeed a

most momentous era; and if our readers will have patience, before

entering on the perusal of the fabulous annals which we are about to lay

before them, to take a rapid survey of the real history of the times,

they will find it hardly less romantic than the tales of the poets.

In the century beginning from the year 600, the countries bordering upon

the native land of our Saviour, to the east and south, had not yet

received his religion. Arabia was the seat of an idolatrous religion

resembling that of the ancient Persians, who worshipped the sun, moon,

and stars. In Mecca, in the year 571, Mahomet was born, and here, at the

age of forty, he proclaimed himself the prophet of God, in dignity as

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

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

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

weakness of the neighboring nations, enabled him and his successors to

spread the sway of Arabia and the religion of Mahomet over the countries

to the east as far as the Indus, northward over Persia and Asia Minor,

westward over Egypt and the southern shores of the Mediterranean, and

thence over the principal portion of Spain. All this was done within one

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

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

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

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

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

would have been followed very probably by that of all the rest of

Europe, and would have resulted in the banishment of Christianity from

the earth. For Christianity was not at that day universally professed,

even by those nations which we now regard as foremost in civilization.

Great parts of Germany, Britain, Denmark, and Russia were still pagan or

barbarous.

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

the first of those illustrious Charleses of whom we have spoken, Charles

Martel, the grandfather of Charlemagne. The Saracens of Spain had made

incursions into France in 712 and 718, and had retired, carrying with

them a vast booty. In 725, Anbessa, who was then the Saracen governor of

Spain, crossed the Pyrenees with a numerous army, and took by storm the

strong town of Carcassone. So great was the terror excited by this

invasion, that the country for a wide extent submitted to the conqueror,

and a Mahometan governor for the province was appointed and installed at

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

engagements, and the Saracens, being thus checked from further advance,

retired to Narbonne.

In 732 the Saracens again invaded France under Abdalrahman, advanced

rapidly to the banks of the Garonne, and laid siege to Bordeaux. The

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

still pressed forward, and spread over the territories of Orleans,

Auxerre and Sens. Their advanced parties were suddenly called in by

their chief, who had received information of the rich abbey of St.

Martin of Tours, and resolved to plunder and destroy it.

Charles during all this time had done nothing to oppose the Saracens,

for the reason that the portion of France over which their incursions

had been made was not at that time under his dominion, but constituted

an independent kingdom, under the name of Aquitaine, of which Eude was

king. But now Charles became convinced of the danger, and prepared to

encounter it. Abdalrahman was advancing toward Tours, when intelligence

of the approach of Charles, at the head of an army of Franks, compelled

him to fall back upon Poitiers, in order to seize an advantageous field

of battle.

Charles Martel had called together his warriors from every part of his

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

in France, crossed the Loire, probably at Orleans, and, being joined by

the remains of the army of Aquitaine, came in sight of the Arabs in the

month of October, 732. The Saracens seem to have been aware of the

terrible enemy they were now to encounter, and for the first time these

formidable conquerors hesitated. The two armies remained in presence

during seven days before either ventured to begin the attack; but at

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

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

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

during nearly the whole day, expended their strength in vain attempts to

make any impression upon them. At length, about four o’clock in the

afternoon, when Abdalrahman was preparing for a new and desperate

attempt to break the line of the Franks, a terrible clamor was heard in

the rear of the Saracens. It was King Eude, who, with his Aquitanians,

had attacked their camp, and a great part of the Saracen army rushed

tumultuously from the field to protect their plunder. In this moment of

confusion the line of the Franks advanced, and, sweeping the field

before it, carried fearful slaughter amongst the enemy. Abdalrahman made

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

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

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

immense camp, from which Eude and his Aquitanians had been repulsed. It

was now late, and Charles, unwilling to risk an attack on the camp in

the dark, withdrew his army, and passed the night in the plain,

expecting to renew the battle in the morning.

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

but no enemy appeared; and when at last they ventured to approach the

Saracen camp they found it empty. The invaders had taken advantage of

the night to begin their retreat, and were already on their way back to

Spain, leaving their immense plunder behind to fall into the hands of

the Franks.

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

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

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

victory.

The Saracens, notwithstanding this severe blow, continued to hold their

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

succeeded to his father’s power, and assumed the title of king,

successively took from them the strong places they held; and in 759, by

the capture of Narbonne, their capital, extinguished the remains of

their power in France.

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

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

romantic legends, appears greater in history than in fiction. Whether we

regard him as a warrior or as a legislator, as a patron of learning or

as the civilizer of a barbarous nation, he is entitled to our warmest

admiration. Such he is in history; but the romancers represent him as

often weak and passionate, the victim of treacherous counsellors, and at

the mercy of turbulent barons, on whose prowess he depends for the

maintenance of his throne. The historical representation is doubtless

the true one, for it is handed down in trustworthy records, and is

confirmed by the events of the age. At the height of his power, the

French empire extended over what we now call France, Germany,

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

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

numerous army to protect the Pope, was crowned by the Pontiff Emperor of

the West. On Christmas day Charles entered the Church of St. Peter, as

if merely to take his part in the celebration of the mass with the rest

of the congregation. When he approached the altar and stooped in the act

of prayer the Pope stepped forward and placed a crown of gold upon his

head; and immediately the Roman people shouted, “Life and victory to

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

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

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

ancient Emperors, and concluded the ceremony by anointing him with

consecrated oil.

Charlemagne’s wars were chiefly against the pagan and barbarous people,

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

Hanover and Holland. He also led expeditions against the Saracens of

Spain; but his wars with the Saracens were not carried on, as the

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

by the Eastern Pyrenees, and made an easy conquest of Barcelona and

Pampeluna. But Saragossa refused to open her gates to him, and Charles

ended by negotiating and accepting a vast sum of gold as the price of

his return over the Pyrenees.

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

the mountains by way of the valleys of Engui, Eno, and Roncesvalles. The

chief of this region had waited upon Charlemagne, on his advance, as a

faithful vassal of the monarchy; but now, on the return of the Franks,

he had called together all the wild mountaineers who acknowledged him as

their chief, and they occupied the heights of the mountains under which

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

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

which was considerably behind, and encumbered with its plunder, was

overwhelmed by the mountaineers in the pass of Roncesvalles, and slain

to a man. Some of the bravest of the Frankish chiefs perished on this

occasion, among whom is mentioned Roland or Orlando, governor of the

marches or frontier of Brittany. His name became famous in after times,

and the disaster of Roncesvalles and death of Roland became eventually

the most celebrated episode in the vast cycle of romance.

Though after this there were hostile encounters between the armies of

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

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

the romancers is but scanty, unless we suppose the events of an earlier

and of a later age to be incorporated with those of Charlemagne’s own

time.

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

admitted as authentic, and attributed to Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, a

real personage of the time of Charlemagne. Its title is “History of

Charles the Great and Orlando.” It is now unhesitatingly considered as a

collection of popular traditions, produced by some credulous and

unscrupulous monk, who thought to give dignity to his romance by

ascribing its authorship to a well-known and eminent individual. It

introduces its pretended author, Bishop Turpin, in this manner:

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

Great, excellently skilled in sacred and profane literature, of a genius

equally adapted to prose and verse, the advocate of the poor, beloved of

God in his life and conversation, who often fought the Saracens, hand to

hand, by the Emperor’s side, he relates the acts of Charles the Great in

one book, and flourished under Charles and his son Louis, to the year of

our Lord eight hundred and thirty.”

The titles of some of Archbishop Turpin’s chapters will show the nature

of his history. They are these: “Of the Walls of Pampeluna, that fell of

themselves.” “Of the War of the holy Facundus, where the Spears grew.”

(Certain of the Christians fixed their spears in the evening, erect in

the ground, before the castle; and found them, in the morning, covered

with bark and branches.) “How the Sun stood still for Three Days, and of

the Slaughter of Four Thousand Saracens.”

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

adventures which succeeding poets and romancers have accumulated around

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

other Italian poets have drawn from different sources, and doubtless

often from their own invention, numberless other stories which they

attribute to the same heroes, not hesitating to quote as their authority

“the good Turpin,” though his history contains no trace of them; and the

more outrageous the improbability, or rather the impossibility, of their

narrations, the more attentive are they to cite “the Archbishop,”

generally adding their testimonial to his unquestionable veracity.

The principal Italian poets who have sung the adventures of the peers of

Charlemagne are Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto. The characters of Orlando,

Rinaldo, Astolpho, Gano, and others, are the same in all, though the

adventures attributed to them are different. Boiardo tells us of the

loves of Orlando, Ariosto of his disappointment and consequent madness,

Pulci of his death.

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

representing him as a powerful lord who, originally from Denmark and a

Pagan, embraced Christianity, and took service under Charlemagne. He

revolted from the Emperor, and was driven into exile. He afterwards led

one of those bands of piratical Northmen which ravaged France under the

reigns of Charlemagne’s degenerate successors. The description which an

ancient chronicler gives of Charlemagne, as described by Ogier, is so

picturesque, that we are tempted to transcribe it. Charlemagne was

advancing to the siege of Pavia. Didier, King of the Lombards, was in

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

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

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

of war, fit for the armies of Darius or Julius Cæsar. ‘There is

Charlemagne,’ said Didier. ‘No,’ said Ogier. The Lombard next saw a vast

body of soldiers, who filled all the plain. ‘Certainly Charles advanced

with that host,’ said the king. ‘Not yet,’ replied Ogier. ‘What hope for

us,’ resumed the king, ‘if he brings with him a greater host than that?’

At last Charles appeared, his head covered with an iron helmet, his

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

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

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

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

fields and the roads; iron points reflected the rays of the sun. This

iron, so hard, was borne by a people whose hearts were harder still. The

blaze of the weapons flashed terror into the streets of the city.”

This picture of Charlemagne in his military aspect would be incomplete

without a corresponding one of his “mood of peace.” One of the greatest

of modern historians, M. Guizot, has compared the glory of Charlemagne

to a brilliant meteor, rising suddenly out of the darkness of barbarism

to disappear no less suddenly in the darkness of feudalism. But the

light of this meteor was not extinguished, and reviving civilization

owed much that was permanently beneficial to the great Emperor of the

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

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

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

the encroaching and turbulent barons; he was an affectionate father, and

watched carefully over the education of his children, both sons and

daughters. Of his encouragement of learning we will give some

particulars.

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

countries to revive the public schools of France, which had been

prostrated by the disorders of preceding times. He recompensed these

learned men liberally, and kept some of them near himself, honoring them

with his friendship. Of these the most celebrated is Alcuin, an

Englishman, whose writings still remain, and prove him to have been both

a learned and a wise man. With the assistance of Alcuin, and others like

him, he founded an academy or royal school, which should have the

direction of the studies of all the schools of the kingdom. Charlemagne

himself was a member of this academy on equal terms with the rest. He

attended its meetings, and fulfilled all the duties of an academician.

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

himself Horace, another took the name of Augustin, a third of Pindar.

Charlemagne, who knew the Psalms by heart, and who had an ambition to

be, according to his conception, _a king after God’s own heart_,

received from his brother academicians the name of David.

Of the respect entertained for him by foreign nations an interesting

proof is afforded in the embassy sent to him by the Caliph of the

Arabians, the celebrated Haroun al Raschid, a prince in character and

conduct not unlike to Charlemagne. The ambassadors brought with them,

besides other rich presents, a clock, the first that was seen in Europe,

which excited universal admiration. It had the form of a twelve-sided

edifice with twelve doors. These doors formed niches, in each of which

was a little statue representing one of the hours. At the striking of

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

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

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

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

to the number of the hours, which fell upon a cymbal of the same metal,

the number falling being determined by the discharge of the water,

which, as it sunk in the vessel, allowed their escape.

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

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

to crumble. Louis was followed successively by two Charleses, incapable

princes, whose weak and often tyrannical conduct is no doubt the source

of incidents of that character ascribed in the romances to Charlemagne.

The lawless and disobedient deportment of Charles’s paladins, instances

of which are so frequent in the romantic legends, was also a trait of

the declining empire, but not of that of Charlemagne.

————

THE PEERS, OR PALADINS

The twelve most illustrious knights of Charlemagne were called Peers,

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

also conferred on them, implies that they were inmates of the palace and

companions of the king. Their names are always given alike by the

romancers, yet we may enumerate the most distinguished of them as

follows: Orlando or Roland (the former the Italian, the latter the

French form of the name), favorite nephew of Charlemagne; Rinaldo of

Montalban, cousin of Orlando; Namo, Duke of Bavaria; Salomon, king of

Brittany; Turpin, the Archbishop; Astolpho, of England; Ogier, the Dane;

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

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

be strictly limited to twelve. Charlemagne himself must be counted one,

and Ganelon, or Gano, of Mayence, the treacherous enemy of all the rest,

was rated high on the list by his deluded sovereign, who was completely

the victim of his arts.

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

principal peers, leaving the others to make their own introduction as

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

ORLANDO

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

Charlemagne, having secretly married Bertha, the Emperor’s sister, was

banished from France, and excommunicated by the Pope. After a long and

miserable wandering on foot as mendicants Milon and his wife arrived at

Sutri, in Italy, where they took refuge in a cave, and in that cave

Orlando was born. There his mother continued, deriving a scanty support

from the compassion of the neighboring peasants; while Milon, in quest

of honor and fortune, went into foreign lands. Orlando grew up among the

children of the peasantry, surpassing them all in strength and manly

graces. Among his companions in age, though in station far more

elevated, was Oliver, son of the governor of the town. Between the two

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

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

two, which lasted through life.

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

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

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

Orlando took his coat-of-arms, or _quarterings_.

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

dined in public in Sutri. Orlando and his mother that day had nothing to

eat, and Orlando coming suddenly upon the royal party, and seeing

abundance of provisions, seized from the attendants as much as he could

carry off, and made good his retreat in spite of their resistance. The

Emperor, being told of this incident, was reminded of an intimation he

had received in a dream, and ordered the boy to be followed. This was

done by three of the knights, whom Orlando would have encountered with a

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

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

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

effected. Orlando was received into favor by the Emperor, returned with

him to France, and so distinguished himself that he became the most

powerful support of the throne and of Christianity.[72]

ROLAND AND FERRAGUS

Orlando, or Roland, particularly distinguished himself by his combat

with Ferragus. Ferragus was a giant, and moreover his skin was of such

impenetrable stuff that no sword could make any impression upon it. The

giant’s mode of fighting was to seize his adversary in his arms and

carry him off, in spite of all the struggles he could make. Roland’s

utmost skill only availed to keep him out of the giant’s clutches, but

all his efforts to wound him with the sword were useless. After long

fighting Ferragus was so weary that he proposed a truce, and when it was

agreed upon he lay down and immediately fell asleep. He slept in perfect

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

of an adversary under such circumstances. But Ferragus lay so

uncomfortably for the want of a pillow that Orlando took pity upon him,

and brought a smooth stone and placed it under his head. When the giant

woke up, after a refreshing nap, and perceived what Orlando had done, he

seemed quite grateful, became sociable, and talked freely in the usual

boastful style of such characters. Among other things he told Orlando

that he need not attempt to kill him with a sword, for that every part

of his body was invulnerable, except this; and as he spoke, he put his

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

information Orlando succeeded, when the fight was renewed, in piercing

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

death-wound. Great was the rejoicing in the Christian camp, and many the

praises showered upon the victorious paladin by the Emperor and all his

host.

On another occasion Orlando encountered a puissant Saracen warrior, and

took from him, as the prize of victory, the sword Durindana. This famous

weapon had once belonged to the illustrious prince Hector of Troy. It

was of the finest workmanship, and of such strength and temper that no

armor in the world could stand against it.

A ROLAND FOR AN OLIVER

Guerin de Montglave held the lordship of Vienne, subject to Charlemagne.

He had quarrelled with his sovereign, and Charles laid siege to his

city, having ravaged the neighboring country. Guerin was an aged

warrior, but relied for his defence upon his four sons and two

grandsons, who were among the bravest knights of the age. After the

siege had continued two months Charlemagne received tidings that

Marsilius, king of Spain, had invaded France, and, finding himself

unopposed, was advancing rapidly in the Southern provinces. At this

intelligence Charles listened to the counsel of his peers, and consented

to put the quarrel with Guerin to the decision of Heaven, by single

combat between two knights, one of each party, selected by lot. The

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

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

grandsons, who claimed their lot, being put into a helmet, Oliver’s was

drawn forth, and to him, the youngest of the grandsons, was assigned the

honor and the peril of the combat. He accepted the award with delight,

exulting in being thought worthy to maintain the cause of his family. On

Charlemagne’s side Roland was the designated champion, and neither he

nor Oliver knew who his antagonist was to be.

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

ranged on either shore, spectators of the battle. At the first encounter

both lances were shivered, but both riders kept their seats, immovable.

They dismounted, and drew their swords. Then ensued a combat which

seemed so equal, that the spectators could not form an opinion as to the

probable issue. Two hours and more the knights continued to strike and

parry, to thrust and ward, neither showing any sign of weariness, nor

ever being taken at unawares. At length Orlando struck furiously upon

Oliver’s shield, burying Durindana in its edge so deeply that he could

not draw it back, and Oliver, almost at the same moment, thrust so

vigorously upon Orlando’s breastplate that his sword snapped off at the

handle. Thus were the two warriors left weaponless. Scarcely pausing a

moment, they rushed upon one another, each striving to throw his

adversary to the ground, and failing in that, each snatched at the

other’s helmet to tear it away. Both succeeded, and at the same moment

they stood bareheaded face to face, and Roland recognized Oliver, and

Oliver Roland. For a moment they stood still; and the next, with open

arms, rushed into one another’s embrace. “I am conquered,” said Orlando.

“I yield me,” said Oliver.

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

they saw the two late antagonists standing hand in hand, and it was

evident the battle was at an end. The knights crowded round them, and

with one voice hailed them as equals in glory. If there were any who

felt disposed to murmur that the battle was left undecided they were

silenced by the voice of Ogier the Dane, who proclaimed aloud that all

had been done that honor required, and declared that he would maintain

that award against all gainsayers.

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

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

one side, and of Oliver on the other, a reconciliation was effected.

Charlemagne, accompanied by Guerin and his valiant family, marched to

meet Marsilius, who hastened to retreat across the frontier.

RINALDO

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

of Charlemagne. Thus Rinaldo was nephew to Charlemagne and cousin of

Orlando.

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

himself an illustrious name by his exploits against the Saracens, whom

Charlemagne and his brave knights had driven out of France. Orlando’s

fame excited a noble emulation in Rinaldo. Eager to go in pursuit of

glory, he wandered in the country near Paris, and one day saw at the

foot of a tree a superb horse, fully equipped and loaded with a complete

suit of armor. Rinaldo clothed himself in the armor and mounted the

horse, but took not the sword. On the day when, with his brothers, he

had received the honor of knighthood from the Emperor he had sworn never

to bind a sword to his side till he had wrested one from some famous

knight.

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

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

under the weight of years, and learned from him that the forest was

infested with a wild horse, untamable, that broke and overturned

everything that opposed his career. To attack him, he said, or even to

meet him, was certain death. Rinaldo, far from being alarmed, showed the

most eager desire to combat the animal. This was the horse Bayard,

afterward so famous. He had formerly belonged to Amadis of Gaul. After

the death of that hero he had been held under enchantment by the power

of a magician, who predicted that, when the time came to break the

spell, he should be subdued by a knight of the lineage of Amadis, and

not less brave than he.

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

skill; for from the moment when he should be thrown down he would become

docile and manageable. His habitual resort was a cave on the borders of

the forest; but woe be to any one who should approach him, unless gifted

with strength and courage more than mortal. Having told this, the old

man departed. He was not, in fact, an old man, but Malagigi, the

enchanter, cousin of Rinaldo, who, to favor the enterprises of the young

knight, had procured for him the horse and armor which he so opportunely

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

world.

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

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

with whom he made acquaintance, as often happened to knights, by first

meeting him in combat. This knight, whose name was Isolier, was also in

quest of Bayard. Rinaldo succeeded in the encounter, and so severe was

the shock that Isolier was a long time insensible. When he revived, and

was about to resume the contest, a peasant who passed by (it was

Malagigi) interrupted them with the news that the terrible horse was

near at hand, advising them to unite their powers to subdue him, for it

would require all their ability.

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

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

by the wood, admiring his strength and beauty.

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

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

delicate, his ample chest filled out with swelling muscles, his

shoulders broad and full, his legs straight and sinewy, his thick mane

falling over his arching neck,—he came rushing through the forest,

regardless of rocks, bushes, or trees, rending everything that opposed

his way, and neighing defiance.

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

with lance in rest, but the fierce animal broke the spear, and his

course was not delayed by it for an instant. The Spaniard adroitly

stepped aside, and gave way to the rushing tempest. Bayard checked his

career, and turned again upon the knight, who had already drawn his

sword. He drew his sword, for he had no hope of taming the horse; that,

he was satisfied, was impossible.

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

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

forehead, but struck in vain, and felt ashamed, thinking that he had

struck feebly, for he did not know that the skin of that horse was so

tough that the keenest sword could make no impression upon it.

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

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

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

stunned and lifeless to the earth.

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

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

jaws that the blood tinged his mouth with vermilion. Quicker than an

arrow leaves the bow the horse turned upon him, and tried to seize his

arm with his teeth.

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

forehead. Bayard turned, and kicked with both his feet with a force that

would have shattered a mountain. Rinaldo was on his guard, and evaded

his attacks, whether made with head or heels. He kept at his side

avoiding both; but, making a false step, he at last received a terrible

blow from the horse’s foot, and at the shock almost fainted away. A

second such blow would have killed him, but the horse kicked at random,

and a second blow did not reach Rinaldo, who in a moment recovered

himself. Thus the contest continued until by chance Bayard’s foot got

caught between the branches of an oak. Rinaldo seized it and putting

forth all his strength and address, threw him on the ground.

No sooner had Bayard touched the ground than all his rage subsided. No

longer an object of terror, he became gentle and quiet, yet with dignity

in his mildness.

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

while the animal neighed and showed delight to be caressed by his

master. Rinaldo, seeing him now completely subdued, took the saddle and

trappings from the other horse, and adorned Bayard with the spoils.

Rinaldo became one of the most illustrious knights of Charlemagne’s

court,—indeed, the most illustrious, if we except Orlando. Yet he was

not always so obedient to the Emperor’s commands as he should have been,

and every fault he committed was sure to be aggravated by the malice of

Gan, Duke of Maganza, the treacherous enemy of Rinaldo and all his

house.

At one time Rinaldo had incurred the severe displeasure of Charlemagne,

and been banished from court. Seeing no chance of being ever restored to

favor, he went to Spain, and entered into the service of the Saracen

king, Ivo. His brothers, Alardo, Ricardo, and Ricciardetto, accompanied

him, and all four served the king so faithfully that they rose to high

favor with him. The king gave them land in the mountains on the

frontiers of France and Spain, and subjected all the country round to

Rinaldo’s authority. There was plenty of marble in the mountains, the

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

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

and placed on the brow of a marble promontory, the castle shone like a

star, and Rinaldo gave it the name of Montalban. Here he assembled his

friends, many of whom were banished men like himself, and the country

people furnished them with provisions in return for the protection the

castle afforded. Yet some of Rinaldo’s men were lawless, and sometimes

the supplies were not furnished in sufficient abundance, so that Rinaldo

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

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

freebooters, and its defenders called a beggarly garrison.

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

history commences, Rinaldo and his brothers were completely restored to

the favor of the Emperor, and none of his cavaliers served him with

greater zeal and fidelity than they, throughout all his wars with the

Saracens and Pagans.

————

THE TOURNAMENT

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

ordered magnificent festivities, and summoned to them, besides his

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

then sojourning at Paris. Among the guests were King Grandonio, from

Spain; and Ferrau, the Saracen, with eyes like an eagle; Orlando and

Rinaldo, the Emperor’s nephews; Duke Namo; Astolpho, of England, the

handsomest man living; Malagigi, the Enchanter; and Gano, of Maganza,

that wily traitor, who had the art to make the Emperor think he loved

him, while he plotted against him.

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

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

sitting and hearing music, and feasting, when suddenly there came into

the hall four enormous giants, having between them a lady of

incomparable beauty, attended by a single knight. There were many ladies

present who had seemed beautiful till she made her appearance, but after

that they all seemed nothing. Every Christian knight turned his eyes to

her, and every Pagan crowded round her, while she, with a sweetness that

might have touched a heart of stone, thus addressed the Emperor:

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

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

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

you, will not have encountered their fatigue in vain. And, before I show

the motive which has brought us hither, learn that this knight is my

brother Uberto, and that I am his sister Angelica. Fame has told us of

the jousting this day appointed, and so the prince my brother has come

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

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

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

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

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

but if my brother be overthrown he shall depart out of the country,

leaving me as the prize of the conqueror.”

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

himself Uberto, but whose real name was Argalia, were the children of

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

Christian host; for Argalia was armed with an enchanted lance, which

unfailingly overthrew everything it touched, and he was mounted on a

horse, a creature of magic, whose swiftness outstripped the wind.

Angelica possessed also a ring which was a defence against all

enchantments, and when put into the mouth rendered the bearer invisible.

Thus Argalia was expected to subdue and take prisoners whatever knights

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

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

afford her easy means of escape.

When Angelica ceased speaking she knelt before the king and awaited his

answer, and everybody gazed on her with admiration. Orlando especially

felt irresistibly drawn towards her, so that he trembled and changed

countenance. Every knight in the hall was infected with the same

feeling, not excepting old white-headed Duke Namo and Charlemagne

himself.

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

The fiery youth Ferrau could hardly restrain himself from seizing her

from the giants and carrying her away; Rinaldo turned as red as fire,

while Malagigi, who had discovered by his art that the stranger was not

speaking truth, muttered softly, as he looked at her, “Exquisite false

creature! I will play thee such a trick for this, as will leave thee no

cause to boast of thy visit.”

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

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

answered discreetly, and then the challenge was accepted.

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

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

so he determined to seek the damsel and frustrate her designs. He

hastened to the appointed spot, and there found the prince and his

sister in a beautiful pavilion, where they lay asleep, while the four

giants kept watch. Malagigi took his book and cast a spell out of it,

and immediately the four giants fell into a deep sleep. Drawing his

sword (for he was a belted knight), he softly approached the young lady,

intending to despatch her at once; but, seeing her look so lovely, he

paused for a moment, thinking there was no need of hurry, as he believed

his spell was upon her, and she could not wake. But the ring which she

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

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

great cry, and flew to her brother, and waked him. By the help of her

knowledge of enchantment, they took and bound fast the magician, and,

seizing his book, turned his arts against himself. Then they summoned a

crowd of demons, and bade them seize their prisoner and bear him to King

Galafron, at his great city of Albracca, which they did, and, on his

arrival, he was locked up in a rock under the sea.

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

insisted upon being the first to try the adventure at the stair of

Merlin. This was resented by the other pretenders to Angelica, and all

contested his right to the precedence. The tumult was stilled by the

usual expedient of drawing lots, and the first prize was drawn by

Astolpho. Ferrau, the Saracen, had the second, and Grandonio the third.

Next came Berlinghieri, and Otho; then Charles himself, and, as his

ill-fortune would have it, after thirty more, the indignant Orlando.

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

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

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

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

generally with no better success.

Astolpho went forth upon his adventure with great gayety of dress and

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

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

painful feelings were somewhat relieved by the kindness of Angelica,

who, touched by his youth and good looks, granted him the liberty of the

pavilion, and caused him to be treated with all kindness and respect.

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

no less speedily than Astolpho; but he did not so easily put up with his

mischance. Crying out, “What are the emperor’s engagements to me?” he

rushed with his sword against Argalia, who, being forced to defend

himself, dismounted and drew his sword, but got so much the worse of the

fight that he made a signal of surrender, and, after some words,

listened to a proposal of marriage from Ferrau to his sister. The

beauty, however, feeling no inclination to match with such a rough and

savage-looking person, was so dismayed at the offer, that, hastily

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

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

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

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

possession of the enchanted lance in place of his own, which was broken,

not knowing the treasure he possessed in it, and returned to the

tournament. Charlemagne, finding the lady and her brother gone, ordered

the jousting to proceed as at first intended, in which Astolpho, by aid

of the enchanted lance, unhorsed all comers against him, equally to

their astonishment and his own.

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

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

impatience. Orlando, perceiving his disappearance, pushed forth in like

manner; and, at length, all three are in the forest of Arden, hunting

about for her who is invisible.

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

sage Merlin, who designed it for Tristram and the fair Isoude;[73] for

such was the virtue of this fountain, that a draught of its waters

produced an oblivion of the love which the drinker might feel, and even

produced aversion for the object formerly beloved. The other fountain

was endowed with exactly opposite qualities, and a draught of it

inspired love for the first living object that was seen after tasting

it. Rinaldo happened to come to the first mentioned fountain, and, being

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

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

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

was upon, and, feeling fatigued with his ride, finding a sheltered and

flowery nook, laid himself down and fell asleep.

Shortly after came Angelica, but, approaching in a different direction,

she espied the other fountain, and there quenched her thirst. Then

resuming her way, she came upon the sleeping Rinaldo. Love instantly

seized her, and she stood rooted to the spot.

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

Angelica, not knowing what to do, at length plucked a handful of these,

and dropped them, one by one, on the face of the sleeper. He woke up,

and, seeing who it was, received her salutations with averted

countenance, remounted his horse, and galloped away. In vain the

beautiful creature followed and called after him, in vain asked him what

she had done to be so despised. Rinaldo disappeared, leaving her in

despair, and she returned in tears to the spot where she had found him

sleeping. There, in her turn, she herself lay down, pressing the spot of

earth on which he had lain, and, out of fatigue and sorrow, fell asleep.

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

attitude in which she was sleeping was so lovely that it is not to be

conceived, much less expressed. Orlando stood gazing like a man who had

been transported to another sphere. “Am I on earth,” he exclaimed, “or

am I in Paradise? Surely it is I that sleep, and this is my dream.”

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

Ferrau, who had slain Argalia, came up, raging with jealousy, and a

combat ensued which awoke the sleeper.

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

fighters were occupied with one another, fled away through the forest.

The champions continued their fight till they were interrupted by a

messenger, who brought word to Ferrau that king Marsilius, his

sovereign, was in pressing need of his assistance, and conjured him to

return to Spain. Ferrau, upon this, proposed to suspend the combat, to

which Orlando, eager to pursue Angelica, agreed. Ferrau, on the other

hand, departed with the messenger to Spain.

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

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

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

determined to set Malagigi at liberty, and to employ him to win Rinaldo,

if possible, to make her a return of affection. She accordingly freed

him from his dungeon, unlocking his fetters with her own hands, and

restored him his book, promising him ample honors and rewards on

condition of his bringing Rinaldo to her feet.

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

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

Rinaldo into an enchanted bark, which conveyed him, without any visible

pilot, to an island where stood an edifice called Joyous Castle. The

whole island was a garden. On the western side, close to the sea, was

the palace, built of marble, so clear and polished that it reflected the

landscape about it. Rinaldo leapt ashore, and soon met a lady, who

invited him to enter. The house was as beautiful within as without, full

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

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

the garden, through pillars of crystal, with golden capitals. Here he

found a bevy of ladies, three of whom were singing in concert, while

another played on an instrument of exquisite accord, and the rest danced

round about them. When the ladies beheld him coming they turned the

dance into a circuit round him, and then one of them, in the sweetest

manner, said, “Sir knight, the tables are set, and the hour for the

banquet is come;” and, with these words, still dancing, they drew him

across the lawn in front of the apartment, to a table that was spread

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

side of a fountain.

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

their head, in a chair set with pearls. And truly indeed was he

astonished. A repast ensued, consisting of viands the most delicate, and

wines as fragrant as they were fine, drunk out of jewelled cups; and,

when it drew towards its conclusion, harps and lutes were heard in the

distance, and one of the ladies said in the knight’s ear: “This house

and all that you see in it are yours; for you alone was it built, and

the builder is a queen. Happy indeed must you think yourself, for she

loves you, and she is the greatest beauty in the world! Her name is

Angelica.”

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

changed countenance, and, in spite of all that the lady could say, broke

off across the garden, and never ceased hastening till he reached the

place where he landed. The bark was still on the shore. He sprang into

it, and pushed off, though he saw nobody in it but himself. It was in

vain for him to try to control its movements, for it dashed on as if in

fury, till it reached a distant shore covered with a gloomy forest. Here

Rinaldo, surrounded by enchantments of a very different sort from those

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

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

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

with amazement a hideous old woman made her appearance at the edge of

the pit, and told him that he was destined to be thrown to a monster,

who was only kept from devastating the whole country by being supplied

with living human flesh. Rinaldo said, “Be it so; let me but remain

armed as I am, and I fear nothing.” The old woman laughed in derision.

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

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

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

ensued. Rinaldo was unable to make any impression on the scales of the

monster, while he, on the contrary, with his dreadful claws, tore away

plate and mail from the paladin. Rinaldo began to think his last hour

was come, and cast his eyes around and above to see if there was any

means of escape. He perceived a beam projecting from the wall at the

height of some ten feet, and, taking a leap almost miraculous, he

succeeded in reaching it, and in flinging himself up across it. Here he

sat for hours, the hideous brute continually trying to reach him. All at

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

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

something in her hand towards him, and spoke to him in a loving voice.

But the moment Rinaldo saw her he commanded her to go away, refused all

her offers of assistance, and at length declared that, if she did not

leave him, he would cast himself down to the monster, and meet his fate.

Angelica, saying she would lose her life rather than displease him,

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

prepared, and spread around him a rope knotted with nooses. The beast

took the bait, and, finding his teeth glued together by the wax, vented

his fury in bounds and leaps, and, soon getting entangled in the nooses,

drew them tight by his struggles, so that he could scarcely move a limb.

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

the neck, and throttled him, not relaxing his grip till the beast fell

dead.

Another difficulty remained to be overcome. The walls were of immense

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

strength that he could not break the bars. In his distress Rinaldo found

a file, which Angelica had left on the ground, and, with the help of

this, effected his deliverance.

What further adventures he met with will be told in another chapter.

————

THE SIEGE OF ALBRACCA

At the very time when Charlemagne was holding his plenary court and his

great tournament his kingdom was invaded by a mighty monarch, who was

moreover so valiant and strong in battle that no one could stand against

him. He was named Gradasso, and his kingdom was called Sericane. Now, as

it often happens to the greatest and the richest to long for what they

cannot have, and thus to lose what they already possess, this king could

not rest content without Durindana, the sword of Orlando, and Bayard,

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

and for this purpose put in array a mighty army.

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

of that country, in several battles, was rapidly advancing on France.

Charlemagne, though Marsilius was a Saracen, and had been his enemy, yet

felt it needful to succor him in this extremity from a consideration of

common danger, and, with the consent of his peers, despatched Rinaldo

with a strong body of soldiers against Gradasso.

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

steadily advancing into France. But, impatient to achieve his objects,

he challenged Rinaldo to single combat, to be fought on foot, and upon

these conditions: If Rinaldo conquered, Gradasso agreed to give up all

his prisoners and return to his own country; but if Gradasso won the

day, he was to have Bayard.

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

for the arts of Malagigi, who just then returned from Angelica’s kingdom

with set purpose to win Rinaldo to look with favor upon the fair

princess who was dying for love of him. Malagigi drew Rinaldo away from

the army by putting on the semblance of Gradasso, and, after a short

contest, pretending to fly before him, by which means Rinaldo was

induced to follow him into a boat, in which he was borne away, and

entangled in various adventures, as we have already related.

The army, left under the command of Ricciardetto, Rinaldo’s brother, was

soon joined by Charlemagne and all his peerage, but experienced a

disastrous rout, and the Emperor and many of his paladins were taken

prisoners. Gradasso, however, did not abuse his victory; he took Charles

by the hand, seated him by his side, and told him he warred only for

honor. He renounced all conquests, on condition that the Emperor should

deliver to him Bayard and Durindana, both of them the property of his

vassals, the former of which, as he maintained, was already forfeited to

him by Rinaldo’s failure to meet him as agreed. To these terms

Charlemagne readily acceded.

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

Ricciardetto, and sent back to Paris, where Astolpho was in command, in

the absence of Charlemagne. Astolpho received with great indignation the

message despatched for Bayard, and replied by a herald that “he would

not surrender the horse of his kinsman Rinaldo without a contest. If

Gradasso wanted the steed he might come and take him, and that he,

Astolpho, was ready to meet him in the field.”

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

successful warrior was not high, and Gradasso willingly renewed with him

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

battle was fought. The enchanted lance, in the hands of Astolpho,

performed a new wonder; and Gradasso, the terrible Gradasso, was

unhorsed.

He kept his word, set free his prisoners, and put his army on the march

to return to his own country, renewing his oath, however, not to rest

till he had taken from Rinaldo his horse, and from Orlando his sword, or

lost his life in the attempt.

Charlemagne, full of gratitude to Astolpho, would have kept him near his

person and loaded him with honors, but Astolpho preferred to seek

Rinaldo, with the view of restoring to him his horse, and departed from

Paris with that design.

————

Our story now returns to Orlando, whom we left fascinated with the sight

of the sleeping beauty, who, however, escaped him while engaged in the

combat with Ferrau. Having long sought her in vain through the recesses

of the wood, he resolved to follow her to her father’s court. Leaving,

therefore, the camp of Charlemagne, he travelled long in the direction

of the East, making inquiry everywhere, if, perchance, he might get

tidings of the fugitive. After many adventures, he arrived one day at a

place where many roads crossed, and meeting there a courier, he asked

him for news. The courier replied that he had been despatched by

Angelica to solicit the aid of Sacripant, king of Circassia, in favor of

her father Galafron, who was besieged in his city, Albracca, by Agrican,

king of Tartary. This Agrican had been an unsuccessful suitor to the

damsel, whom he now pursued with arms. Orlando thus learned that he was

within a day’s journey of Albracca; and, feeling now secure of Angelica,

he proceeded with all speed to her city.

Thus journeying he arrived at a bridge, under which flowed a foaming

river. Here a damsel met him with a goblet, and informed him that it was

the usage of this bridge to present the traveller with a cup. Orlando

accepted the offered cup and drank its contents. He had no sooner done

so than his brain reeled, and he became unconscious of the object of his

journey, and of everything else. Under the influence of this fascination

he followed the damsel into a magnificent and marvellous palace. Here he

found himself in company with many knights, unknown to him and to each

other, though if it had not been for the Cup of Oblivion of which they

all had partaken they would have found themselves brothers in arms.

————

Astolpho, proceeding on his way to seek Rinaldo, splendidly dressed and

equipped, as was his wont, arrived in Circassia, and found there a great

army encamped under the command of Sacripant, the king of that country,

who was leading it to the defence of Galafron, the father of Angelica.

Sacripant, much struck by the appearance of Astolpho and his horse,

accosted him courteously, and tried to enlist him in his service; but

Astolpho, proud of his late victories, scornfully declined his offers,

and pursued his way. King Sacripant was too much attracted by his

appearance to part with him so easily, and having laid aside his kingly

ornaments, set out in pursuit of him.

Astolpho next day encountered on his way a stranger knight, named Sir

Florismart, Lord of the Sylvan Tower, one of the bravest and best of

knights, having as his guide a damsel, young, fair, and virtuous, to

whom he was tenderly attached, whose name was Flordelis. Astolpho, as he

approached, defied the knight, bidding him yield the lady, or prepare to

maintain his right by arms. Florismart accepted the contest, and the

knights encountered. Florismart was unhorsed and his steed fell dead,

while Bayard sustained no injury by the shock.

Florismart was so overwhelmed with despair at his own disgrace and the

sight of the damsel’s distress, that he drew his sword, and was about to

plunge it into his own bosom. But Astolpho held his hand, told him that

he contended only for glory, and was contented to leave him the lady.

While Florismart and Flordelis were vowing eternal gratitude King

Sacripant arrived, and coveting the damsel of the one champion as much

as the horse and arms of the other, defied them to the joust. Astolpho

met the challenger, whom he instantly overthrew, and presented his

courser to Florismart, leaving the king to return to his army on foot.

The friends pursued their route, and ere long Flordelis discovered, by

signs which were known to her, that they were approaching the waters of

Oblivion, and advised them to turn back, or to change their course. This

the knights would not hear of, and, continuing their march, they soon

arrived at the bridge where Orlando had been taken prisoner.

The damsel of the bridge appeared as before with the enchanted cup, but

Astolpho, forewarned, rejected it with scorn. She dashed it to the

ground, and a fire blazed up which rendered the bridge unapproachable.

At the same moment the two knights were assailed by sundry warriors,

known and unknown, who, having no recollection of anything, joined

blindly in defence of their prison-house. Among these was Orlando, at

sight of whom Astolpho, with all his confidence not daring to encounter

him, turned and fled, owing his escape to the strength and fleetness of

Bayard.

Florismart, meanwhile, overlaid by fearful odds, was compelled to yield

to necessity, and comply with the usage of the fairy. He drank of the

cup and remained prisoner with the rest. Flordelis, deprived of her two

friends, retired from the scene, and devoted herself to untiring efforts

to effect her lover’s deliverance. Astolpho pursued his way to Albracca,

which Agrican was about to besiege. He was kindly welcomed by Angelica,

and enrolled among her defenders. Impatient to distinguish himself, he

one night sallied forth alone, arrived in Agrican’s camp, and unhorsed

his warriors right and left by means of the enchanted lance. But he was

soon surrounded and overmatched, and made prisoner to Agrican.

Relief was, however, at hand; for as the citizens and soldiers were one

day leaning over their walls they descried a cloud of dust, from which

horsemen were seen to prick forth, as it rolled on towards the camp of

the besiegers. This turned out to be the army of Sacripant, which

immediately attacked that of Agrican, with the view of cutting a passage

through his camp to the besieged city. But Agrican, mounted upon Bayard,

taken from Astolpho, but not armed with the lance of gold, the virtues

of which were unknown to him, performed wonders, and rallied his

scattered troops, which had given way to the sudden and unexpected

assault. Sacripant, on the other hand, encouraged his men by the most

desperate acts of valor, having as an additional incentive to his

courage the sight of Angelica, who showed herself upon the city walls.

There she witnessed a single combat between the two leaders, Agrican and

Sacripant. In this, at length, her defender appeared to be overmatched,

when the Circassians broke the ring, and separated the combatants, who

were borne asunder in the rush. Sacripant, severely wounded, profited by

the confusion, and escaped into Albracca, where he was kindly received

and carefully tended by Angelica.

The battle continuing, the Circassians were at last put to flight, and,

being intercepted between the enemy’s lines and the town, sought for

refuge under the walls. Angelica ordered the drawbridge to be let down,

and the gates thrown open to the fugitives. With these Agrican, not

distinguished in the crowd, entered the place, driving both Circassians

and Cathayans before him, and the portcullis being dropped, he was shut

in.

For a time the terror which he inspired put to flight all opposers, but

when at last it came to be known that few or none of his followers had

effected an entrance with him, the fugitives rallied and surrounded him

on all sides. While he was thus apparently reduced to the last

extremities, he was saved by the very circumstance which threatened him

with destruction. The soldiers of Angelica, closing upon him from all

sides, deserted their defences; and his own besieging army entered the

city in a part where the wall was broken down.

In this way was Agrican rescued, the city taken, and the inhabitants put

to the sword. Angelica, however, with some of the knights who were her

defenders, among whom was Sacripant, saved herself in the citadel, which

was planted upon a rock.

The fortress was impregnable, but it was scantily victualled, and ill

provided with other necessaries. Under these circumstances Angelica

announced to those blockaded with her in the citadel her intention to go

in quest of assistance, and, having plighted her promise of a speedy

return, she set out, with the enchanted ring upon her finger. Mounted

upon her palfrey, the damsel passed through the enemy’s lines, and by

sunrise was many miles clear of their encampment.

It so happened that her road led her near the fatal bridge of Oblivion,

and as she approached it she met a damsel weeping bitterly. It was

Flordelis, whose lover, Florismart, as we have related, had met the fate

of Orlando and many more, and fallen a victim to the enchantress of the

cup. She related her adventures to Angelica, and conjured her to lend

what aid she might to rescue her lord and his companions. Angelica,

accordingly, watching her opportunity and aided by her ring, slipped

into the castle unseen, when the door was opened to admit a new victim.

Here she speedily disenchanted Orlando and the rest by a touch of her

talisman. But Florismart was not there. He had been given up to

Falerina, a more powerful enchantress, and was still in durance.

Angelica conjured the rescued captives to assist her in the recovery of

her kingdom, and all departed together for Albracca.

The arrival of Orlando, with his companions, nine in all, and among the

bravest knights of France, changed at once the fortunes of the war.

Wherever the great paladin came, pennon and standard fell before him.

Agrican in vain attempted to rally his troops. Orlando kept constantly

in his front, forcing him to attend to nobody else. The Tartar king at

length bethought him of a stratagem. He turned his horse, and made a

show of flying in despair. Orlando dashed after him as he desired, and

Agrican fled till he reached a green place in a wood, where there was a

fountain.

The place was beautiful, and the Tartar dismounted to refresh himself at

the fountain, but without taking off his helmet, or laying aside any of

his armor. Orlando was quickly at his back, crying out, “So bold, and

yet a fugitive! How could you fly from a single arm and think to

escape?”

The Tartar king had leaped on his saddle the moment he saw his enemy,

and when the paladin had done speaking, he said in a mild voice,

“Without doubt you are the best knight I ever encountered, and fain

would I leave you untouched for your own sake, if you would cease to

hinder me from rallying my people. I pretended to fly, in order to bring

you out of the field. If you insist upon fighting I must needs fight and

slay you, but I call the sun in the heavens to witness I would rather

not. I should be very sorry for your death.”

The Count Orlando felt pity for so much gallantry, and he said, “The

nobler you show yourself the more it grieves me to think that in dying

without a knowledge of the true faith you will be lost in the other

world. Let me advise you to save body and soul at once. Receive baptism,

and go your way in peace.”

Agrican replied: “I suspect you to be the paladin Orlando. If you are I

would not lose this opportunity of fighting with you to be king of

Paradise. Talk to me no more about your things of another world, for you

will preach in vain. Each of us for himself, and let the sword be

umpire.”

The Saracen drew his sword, boldly advancing upon Orlando, and a combat

began, so obstinate and so long, each warrior being a miracle of

prowess, that the story says it lasted from noon till night. Orlando

then seeing the stars come out was the first to propose a respite.

“What are we to do,” said he, “now that daylight has left us?”

Agrican answered readily enough, “Let us repose in this meadow, and

renew the combat at dawn.”

The repose was taken accordingly. Each tied up his horse, and reclined

himself on the grass, not far from the other, just as if they had been

friends, Orlando by the fountain, Agrican beneath a pine. It was a

beautiful clear night, and, as they talked together before addressing

themselves to sleep, the champion of Christendom, looking up at the

firmament, said, “That is a fine piece of workmanship, that starry

spectacle; God made it all, that moon of silver, and those stars of

gold, and the light of day, and the sun,—all for the sake of human

kind.”

“You wish, I see, to talk of matters of faith,” said the Tartar. “Now I

may as well tell you at once that I have no sort of skill in such

matters, nor learning of any kind. I never could learn anything when I

was a boy. I hated it so that I broke the man’s head who was

commissioned to teach me; and it produced such an effect on others that

nobody ever afterwards dared so much as show me a book. My boyhood was

therefore passed, as it should be, in horsemanship and hunting, and

learning to fight. What is the good of a gentleman’s poring all day over

a book? Prowess to the knight, and preaching to the clergyman, that is

my motto.”

“I acknowledge,” returned Orlando, “that arms are the first

consideration of a gentleman; but not at all that he does himself

dishonor by knowledge. On the contrary, knowledge is as great an

embellishment of the rest of his attainments, as the flowers are to the

meadow before us; and as to the knowledge of his Maker, the man that is

without it is no better than a stock or a stone or a brute beast.

Neither without study can he reach anything of a due sense of the depth

and divineness of the contemplation.”

“Learned or not learned,” said Agrican, “you might show yourself better

bred than by endeavoring to make me talk on a subject on which you have

me at a disadvantage. If you choose to sleep I wish you good night; but

if you prefer talking I recommend you to talk of fighting or of fair

ladies. And, by the way, pray tell me, are you not that Orlando who

makes such a noise in the world? And what is it, pray, that brings you

into these parts? Were you ever in love? I suppose you must have been;

for to be a knight, and never to have been in love, would be like being

a man without a heart in his breast.”

The count replied: “Orlando I am, and in love I am. Love has made me

abandon everything, and brought me into these distant regions, and, to

tell you all in one word, my heart is in the hands of the daughter of

King Galafron. You have come against him with fire and sword, to get

possession of his castles and his dominions; and I have come to help

him, for no object in the world but to please his daughter and win her

beautiful hand. I care for nothing else in existence.”

Now when the Tartar king, Agrican, heard his antagonist speak in this

manner, and knew him to be indeed Orlando, and to be in love with

Angelica, his face changed color for grief and jealousy, though it could

not be seen for the darkness. His heart began beating with such violence

that he felt as if he should have died. “Well,” said he to Orlando, “we

are to fight when it is daylight, and one or other is to be left here,

dead on the ground. I have a proposal to make to you—nay, an entreaty.

My love is so excessive for the same lady that I beg you to leave her to

me. I will owe you my thanks, and give up the siege and put an end to

the war. I cannot bear that any one should love her, and that I should

live to see it. Why, therefore, should either of us perish? Give her up.

Not a soul shall know it.”

“I never yet,” answered Orlando, “made a promise which I did not keep,

and nevertheless I own to you that, were I to make a promise like that,

and even swear to keep it, I should not. You might as well ask me to

tear away the limbs from my body, and the eyes out of my head. I could

as well live without breath itself as cease loving Angelica.”

Agrican had hardly patience to let him finish speaking, ere he leapt

furiously on horseback, though it was midnight. “Quit her,” said he, “or

die!”

Orlando seeing the infidel getting up, and not being sure that he would

not add treachery to fierceness, had been hardly less quick in mounting

for the combat. “Never,” exclaimed he; “I never could have quitted her

if I would, and now I would not if I could. You must seek her by other

means than these.”

Fiercely dashed their horses together, in the nighttime, on the green

mead. Despiteful and terrible were the blows they gave and took by the

moonlight. Agrican fought in a rage, Orlando was cooler. And now the

struggle had lasted more than five hours, and day began to dawn, when

the Tartar king, furious to find so much trouble given him, dealt his

enemy a blow sharp and violent beyond conception. It cut the shield in

two as if it had been made of wood, and, though blood could not be drawn

from Orlando, because he was fated, it shook and bruised him as if it

had started every joint in his body.

His _body_ only, however, not a particle of his soul. So dreadful was

the blow which the paladin gave in return, that not only shield, but

every bit of mail on the body of Agrican was broken in pieces, and three

of his ribs cut asunder.

The Tartar, roaring like a lion, raised his sword with still greater

vehemence than before, and dealt a blow on the paladin’s helmet, such as

he had never yet received from mortal man. For a moment it took away his

senses. His sight failed, his ears tingled, his frightened horse turned

about to fly; and he was falling from the saddle, when the very action

of falling threw his head upwards, and thus recalled his recollection.

“What a shame is this!” thought he; “how shall I ever again dare to face

Angelica! I have been fighting hour after hour with this man, and he is

but one, and I call myself Orlando! If the combat last any longer I will

bury myself in a monastery, and never look on sword again.”

Orlando muttered with his lips closed and his teeth ground together; and

you might have thought that fire instead of breath came out of his nose

and mouth. He raised his sword Durindana with both his hands, and sent

it down so tremendously on Agrican’s shoulder that it cut through

breastplate down to the very haunch, nay, crushed the saddle-bow, though

it was made of bone and iron, and felled man and horse to the earth.

Agrican turned as white as ashes, and felt death upon him. He called

Orlando to come close to him, with a gentle voice, and said, as well as

he could: “I believe on Him who died on the cross. Baptize me, I pray

thee, with the fountain, before my senses are gone. I have lived an evil

life, but need not be rebellious to God in death also. May He who came

to save all the rest of the world save me!” And he shed tears, that

great king, though he had been so lofty and fierce.

Orlando dismounted quickly, with his own face in tears. He gathered the

king tenderly in his arms, and took and laid him by the fountain, on a

marble rim that it had, and then he wept in concert with him heartily,

and asked his pardon, and so baptized him in the water of the fountain,

and knelt and prayed to God for him with joined hands.

He then paused and looked at him; and when he perceived his countenance

changed, and that his whole person was cold, he left him there on the

marble rim of the fountain, all armed as he was, with the sword by his

side, and the crown upon his head.

————

ADVENTURES OF RINALDO AND ORLANDO

WE left Rinaldo when, having overcome the monster, he quitted the castle

of Altaripa, and pursued his way on foot. He soon met with a weeping

damsel, who, being questioned as to the cause of her sorrow, told him

she was in search of one to do battle to rescue her lover, who had been

made prisoner by a vile enchantress, together with Orlando and many

more. The damsel was Flordelis, the lady-love of Florismart, and Rinaldo

promised his assistance, trusting to accomplish the adventure either by

valor or skill. Flordelis insisted upon Rinaldo’s taking her horse,

which he consented to do, on condition of her mounting behind him.

As they rode on through a wood, they heard strange noises, and Rinaldo,

reassuring the damsel, pressed forward towards the quarter from which

they proceeded. He soon perceived a giant standing under a vaulted

cavern, with a huge club in his hand, and of an appearance to strike the

boldest spirit with dread. By the side of the cavern was chained a

griffin, which, together with the giant, was stationed there to guard a

wonderful horse, the same which was once Argalia’s. This horse was a

creature of enchantment, matchless in vigor, speed, and form, which

disdained to share the diet of his fellow-steeds,—corn or grass,—and

fed only on air. His name was Rabican.

This marvellous horse, after his master Argalia had been slain by

Ferrau, finding himself at liberty, returned to his native cavern, and

was here stabled under the protection of the giant and the griffin. As

Rinaldo approached, the giant assailed him with his club. Rinaldo

defended himself from the giant’s blows, and gave him one in return,

which, if his skin had not been of the toughest, would have finished the

combat. But the giant, though wounded, escaped, and let loose the

griffin. This monstrous bird towered in air, and thence pounced down

upon Rinaldo, who, watching his opportunity, dealt her a desperate

wound. She had, however, strength for another flight, and kept repeating

her attacks, which Rinaldo parried as he could, while the damsel stood

trembling by, witnessing the contest.

The battle continued, rendered more terrible by the approach of night,

when Rinaldo determined upon a desperate expedient to bring it to a

conclusion. He fell, as if fainting from his wounds, and, on the close

approach of the griffin, dealt her a blow which sheared away one of her

wings. The beast, though sinking, gripped him fast with her talons,

digging through plate and mail; but Rinaldo plied his sword in utter

desperation, and at last accomplished her destruction.

Rinaldo then entered the cavern, and found there the wonderful horse,

all caparisoned. He was coal-black, except for a star of white on his

forehead, and one white foot behind. For speed he was unrivalled, though

in strength he yielded to Bayard. Rinaldo mounted upon Rabican, and

issued from the cavern.

As he pursued his way he met a fugitive from Agrican’s army, who gave

such an account of the prowess of a champion who fought on the side of

Angelica, that Rinaldo was persuaded this must be Orlando, though at a

loss to imagine how he could have been freed from captivity. He

determined to repair to the scene of the contest to satisfy his

curiosity, and Flordelis, hoping to find Florismart with Orlando,

consented to accompany him.

While these things were doing, all was rout and dismay in the Tartarian

army, from the death of Agrican. King Galafron, arriving at this

juncture with an army for the relief of his capital, Albracca, assaulted

the enemy’s camp, and carried all before him. Rinaldo had now reached

the scene of action, and was looking on as an unconcerned spectator,

when he was espied by Galafron. The king instantly recognized the horse

Rabican, which he had given to Argalia when he sent him forth on his

ill-omened mission to Paris. Possessed with the idea that the rider of

the horse was the murderer of Argalia, Galafron rode at Rinaldo, and

smote him with all his force. Rinaldo was not slow to avenge the blow,

and it would have gone hard with the king had not his followers

instantly closed round him and separated the combatants.

Rinaldo thus found himself, almost without his own choice, enlisted on

the side of the enemies of Angelica, which gave him no concern, so

completely had his draught from the fountain of hate steeled his mind

against her.

For several successive days the struggle continued, without any

important results, Rinaldo meeting the bravest knights of Angelica’s

party, and defeating them one after the other. At length he encountered

Orlando, and the two knights bitterly reproached one another for the

cause they had each adopted, and engaged in a furious combat. Orlando

was mounted upon Bayard, Rinaldo’s horse, which Agrican had by chance

become possessed of, and Orlando had taken from him as the prize of

victory. Bayard would not fight against his master, and Orlando was

getting the worse of the encounter, when suddenly Rinaldo, seeing

Astolpho, who for love of him had arrayed himself on his side, hard

beset by numbers, left Orlando to rush to the defence of his friend.

Night prevented the combat from being renewed; but a challenge was given

and accepted for their next meeting.

But Angelica, sighing in her heart for Rinaldo, was not willing that he

should be again exposed to so terrible a venture. She begged a boon of

Orlando, promising she would be his if he would do her bidding. On

receiving his promise, she enjoined him to set out without delay to

destroy the garden of the enchantress Falerina, in which many valiant

knights had been entrapped, and were imprisoned.

Orlando departed on his horse Brigliadoro, leaving Bayard in disgrace

for his bad deportment the day before. Angelica, to conciliate Rinaldo,

sent Bayard to him; but Rinaldo remained unmoved by this as by all her

former acts of kindness.

When Rinaldo learned Orlando’s departure, he yielded to the entreaties

of the lady of Florismart, and prepared to fulfil his promise, and

rescue her lover from the power of the enchantress. Thus both Rinaldo

and Orlando were bound upon the same adventure, but unknown to one

another.

The castle of Falerina was protected by a river, which was crossed by a

bridge, kept by a ruffian, who challenged all comers to the combat; and

such was his strength that he had thus far prevailed in every encounter,

as appeared by the arms of various knights which he had taken from them,

and piled up as a trophy on the shore. Rinaldo attacked him, but with as

bad success as the rest, for the bridge-ward struck him so violent a

blow with an iron mace that he fell to the ground. But when the villain

approached to strip him of his armor, Rinaldo seized him, and the

bridge-ward, being unable to free himself, leapt with Rinaldo into the

lake, where they both disappeared.

Orlando, meanwhile, in discharge of his promise to Angelica, pursued his

way in quest of the same adventure. In passing through a wood he saw a

cavalier armed at all points, and mounted, keeping guard over a lady who

was bound to a tree, weeping bitterly. Orlando hastened to her relief,

but was exhorted by the knight not to interfere, for she had deserved

her fate by her wickedness. In proof of which he made certain charges

against her. The lady denied them all, and Orlando believed her, defied

the knight, overthrew him, and, releasing the lady, departed with her

seated on his horse’s croup.

While they rode another damsel approached on a white palfrey, who warned

Orlando of impending danger, and informed him that he was near the

garden of the enchantress. Orlando was delighted with the intelligence,

and entreated her to inform him how he was to gain admittance. She

replied that the garden could only be entered at sunrise and gave him

such instructions as would enable him to gain admittance. She gave him

also a book in which was painted the garden and all that it contained,

together with the palace of the false enchantress, where she had

secluded herself for the purpose of executing a magic work in which she

was engaged. This was the manufacture of a sword capable of cutting even

through enchanted substances. The object of this labor, the damsel told

him, was the destruction of a knight of the west, by name Orlando, who

she had read in the book of Fate was coming to demolish her garden.

Having thus instructed him, the damsel departed.

Orlando, finding he must delay his enterprise till the next morning, now

lay down and was soon asleep. Seeing this, the base woman whom he had

rescued, and who was intent on making her escape to rejoin her paramour,

mounted Brigliadoro, and rode off, carrying away Durindana.

When Orlando awoke, his indignation, as may be supposed, was great on

the discovery of the theft; but, like a good knight and true, he was not

to be diverted from his enterprise. He tore off a huge branch of an elm

to supply the place of his sword; and, as the sun rose, took his way

towards the gate of the garden, where a dragon was on his watch. This he

slew by repeated blows, and entered the garden, the gate of which closed

behind him, barring retreat. Looking round him, he saw a fair fountain,

which overflowed into a river, and in the centre of the fountain a

figure, on whose forehead was written:

“The stream which waters violet and rose,

From hence to the enchanted palace goes.”

Following the banks of this flowing stream, and rapt in the delights of

the charming garden, Orlando arrived at the palace, and entering it,

found the mistress, clad in white, with a crown of gold upon her head,

in the act of viewing herself in the surface of the magic sword. Orlando

surprised her before she could escape, deprived her of the weapon, and

holding her fast by her long hair, which floated behind, threatened her

with immediate death if she did not yield up her prisoners, and afford

him the means of egress. She, however, was firm of purpose, making no

reply, and Orlando, unable to move her either by threats or entreaties,

was under the necessity of binding her to a beech, and pursuing his

quest as he best might.

He then bethought him of his book, and, consulting it, found that there

was an outlet to the south, but that to reach it a lake was to be

passed, inhabited by a siren, whose song was so entrancing as to be

quite irresistible to whoever heard it; but his book instructed him how

to protect himself against this danger. According to its directions,

while pursuing his path, he gathered abundance of flowers, which sprung

all around, and filled his helmet and his ears with them; then listened

if he heard the birds sing. Finding that, though he saw the gaping beak,

the swelling throat, and ruffled plumes, he could not catch a note, he

felt satisfied with his defence, and advanced toward the lake. It was

small but deep, and so clear and tranquil that the eye could penetrate

to the bottom.

He had no sooner arrived upon the banks than the waters were seen to

gurgle, and the siren, rising midway out of the pool, sung so sweetly

that birds and beasts came trooping to the water-side to listen. Of this

Orlando heard nothing, but, feigning to yield to the charm, sank down

upon the bank. The siren issued from the water with the intent to

accomplish his destruction. Orlando seized her by the hair, and while

she sang yet louder (song being her only defence) cut off her head.

Then, following the directions of the book, he stained himself all over

with her blood.

Guarded by this talisman, he met successively all the monsters set for

defence of the enchantress and her garden, and at length found himself

again at the spot where he had made captive the enchantress, who still

continued fastened to the beech. But the scene was changed. The garden

had disappeared, and Falerina, before so haughty, now begged for mercy,

assuring him that many lives depended upon the preservation of hers.

Orlando promised her life upon her pledging herself for the deliverance

of her captives.

This, however, was no easy task. They were not in her possession, but in

that of a much more powerful enchantress, Morgana, the Lady of the Lake,

the very idea of opposing whom made Falerina turn pale with fear.

Representing to him the hazards of the enterprise, she led him towards

the dwelling of Morgana. To approach it he had to encounter the same

uncourteous bridge-ward who had already defeated and made captive so

many knights, and last of all, Rinaldo. He was a churl of the most

ferocious character, named Arridano. Morgana had provided him with

impenetrable armor, and endowed him in such a manner that his strength

always increased in proportion to that of the adversary with whom he was

matched. No one had ever yet escaped from the contest, since, such was

his power of endurance, he could breathe freely under water. Hence,

having grappled with a knight, and sunk with him to the bottom of the

lake, he returned, bearing his enemy’s arms in triumph to the surface.

While Falerina was repeating her cautions and her counsels Orlando saw

Rinaldo’s arms erected in form of a trophy, among other spoils made by

the villain, and, forgetting their late quarrel, determined upon

revenging his friend. Arriving at the pass, the churl presuming to bar

the way, a desperate contest ensued, during which Falerina escaped. The

churl finding himself over-matched at a contest of arms, resorted to his

peculiar art, grappled his antagonist, and plunged with him into the

lake. When he reached the bottom Orlando found himself in another world,

upon a dry meadow, with the lake overhead, through which shone the beams

of our sun, while the water stood on all sides like a crystal wall. Here

the battle was renewed, and Orlando had in his magic sword an advantage

which none had hitherto possessed. It had been tempered by Falerina so

that no spells could avail against it. Thus armed, and countervailing

the strength of his adversary by his superior skill and activity, it was

not long before he laid him dead upon the field.

Orlando then made all haste to return to the upper air, and, passing

through the water, which opened a way before him (such was the power of

the magic sword), he soon regained the shore, and found himself in a

field as thickly covered with precious stones as the sky is with stars.

Orlando crossed the field, nor tempted to delay his enterprise by

gathering any of the brilliant gems spread all around him. He next

passed into a flowery meadow planted with trees, covered with fruit and

flowers, and full of all imaginable delights.

In the middle of this meadow was a fountain, and fast by it lay Morgana

asleep; a lady of a lovely aspect, dressed in white and vermilion

garments, her forehead well furnished with hair, while she had scarcely

any behind.

While Orlando stood in silence contemplating her beauty he heard a voice

exclaim: “Seize the fairy by the forelock, if thou hopest fair success.”

But his attention was arrested by another object, and he heeded not the

warning. He saw on a sudden an array of towers, pinnacles and columns,

palaces with balconies and windows, extended alleys with trees, in short

a scene of architectural magnificence surpassing all he had ever beheld.

While he stood gazing in silent astonishment the scene slowly melted

away and disappeared.[74]

When he had recovered from his amazement he looked again toward the

fountain. The fairy had awaked and risen, and was dancing round its

border with the lightness of a leaf, timing her footsteps to this song:

“Who in this world would wealth and treasure share,

Honor, delight, and state, and what is best,

Quick let him catch me by the lock of hair

Which flutters from my forehead; and be blest.

“But let him not the proffered good forbear,

Nor till he seize the fleeting blessing rest;

For present loss is sought in vain to-morrow,

And the deluded wretch is left in sorrow.”

The fairy, having sung thus, bounded off, and fled from the flowery

meadow over a high and inaccessible mountain. Orlando pursued her

through thorns and rocks, while the sky gradually became overcast, and

at last he was assailed by tempest, lightning, and hail.

While he thus pursued, a pale and meagre woman issued from a cave, armed

with a whip, and, treading close upon his steps, scourged him with

vigorous strokes. Her name was Repentance, and she told him it was her

office to punish those who neglected to obey the voice of Prudence, and

seize the fairy Fortune when he might.

Orlando, furious at this chastisement, turned upon his tormentor, but

might as well have stricken the wind. Finding it useless to resist, he

resumed his chase of the fairy, gained upon her, and made frequent

snatches at her white and vermilion garments, which still eluded his

grasp. At last, on her turning her head for an instant, he profited by

the chance, and seized her by the forelock. In an instant the tempest

ceased, the sky became serene, and Repentance retreated to her cave.

Orlando now demanded of Morgana the keys of her prison, and the fairy,

feigning a complacent aspect, delivered up a key of silver, bidding him

to be cautious in the use of it, since to break the lock would be to

involve himself and all in inevitable destruction; a caution which gave

the Count room for long meditation, and led him to consider

How few amid the suitors who importune

The dame, know how to turn the keys of Fortune.

Keeping the fairy still fast by the forelock, Orlando proceeded toward

the prison, turned the key, without occasioning the mischiefs

apprehended, and delivered the prisoners.

Among these were Florismart, Rinaldo, and many others of the bravest

knights of France. Morgana had disappeared, and the knights, under the

guidance of Orlando, retraced the path by which he had come. They soon

reached the field of treasure. Rinaldo, finding himself amidst this mass

of wealth, remembered his needy garrison of Montalban, and could not

resist the temptation of seizing part of the booty. In particular a

golden chain, studded with diamonds, was too much for his self-denial,

and he took it and was bearing it off, notwithstanding the remonstrances

of Orlando, when a violent wind caught him and whirled him back, as he

approached the gate. This happened a second and a third time, and

Rinaldo at length yielded to necessity, rather than to the entreaties of

his friends, and cast away his prize.

They soon reached the bridge and passed over without hindrance to the

other side, where they found the trophy decorated with their arms. Here

each knight resumed his own, and all, except the paladins and their

friends, separated as their inclinations or duty prompted. Dudon, the

Dane, one of the rescued knights, informed the cousins that he had been

made prisoner by Morgana while in the discharge of an embassy to them

from Charlemagne, who called upon them to return to the defence of

Christendom. Orlando was too much fascinated by Angelica to obey this

summons, and, followed by the faithful Florismart, who would not leave

him, returned towards Albracca. Rinaldo, Dudon, Iroldo, Prasildo, and

the others took their way toward the west.

————

THE INVASION OF FRANCE

Agramant, King of Africa, convoked the kings, his vassals, to deliberate

in council. He reminded them of the injuries he had sustained from

France, that his father had fallen in battle with Charlemagne, and that

his early years had hitherto not allowed him to wipe out the stain of

former defeats. He now proposed to them to carry war into France.

Sobrino, his wisest councillor, opposed the project, representing the

rashness of it; but Rodomont, the young and fiery king of Algiers,

denounced Sobrino’s counsel as base and cowardly, declaring himself

impatient for the enterprise. The king of the Garamantes, venerable for

his age and renowned for his prophetic lore, interposed, and assured the

King that such an attempt would be sure to fail, unless he could first

get on his side a youth marked out by destiny as the fitting compeer of

the most puissant knights of France, the young Rogero, descended in

direct line from Hector of Troy. This prince was now a dweller upon the

mountain Carena, where Atlantes, his foster-father, a powerful magician,

kept him in retirement, having discovered by his art that his pupil

would be lost to him if allowed to mingle with the world. To break the

spells of Atlantes, and draw Rogero from his retirement, one only means

was to be found. It was a ring possessed by Angelica, Princess of

Cathay, which was a talisman against all enchantments. If this ring

could be procured all would go well; without it the enterprise was

desperate.

Rodomont treated this declaration of the old prophet with scorn, and it

would probably have been held of little weight by the council, had not

the aged king, oppressed by the weight of years, expired in the very act

of reaffirming his prediction. This made so deep an impression on the

council that it was unanimously resolved to postpone the war until an

effort should be made to win Rogero to the camp.

King Agramant thereupon proclaimed that the sovereignty of a kingdom

should be the reward of whoever should succeed in obtaining the ring of

Angelica. Brunello, the dwarf, the subtlest thief in all Africa,

undertook to procure it.

In prosecution of this design, he made the best of his way to Angelica’s

kingdom, and arrived beneath the walls of Albracca while the besieging

army was encamped before the fortress. While the attention of the

garrison was absorbed by the battle that raged below he scaled the

walls, approached the Princess unnoticed, slipped the ring from her

finger, and escaped unobserved. He hastened to the seaside, and, finding

a vessel ready to sail, embarked, and arrived at Biserta, in Africa.

Here he found Agramant impatient for the talisman which was to foil the

enchantments of Atlantes and to put Rogero into his hands. The dwarf,

kneeling before the king, presented him with the ring, and Agramant,

delighted at the success of his mission, crowned him in recompense King

of Tingitana.

All were now anxious to go in quest of Rogero. The cavalcade accordingly

departed, and in due time arrived at the mountain of Carena.

At the bottom of this was a fruitful and well-wooded plain, watered by a

large river, and from this plain was descried a beautiful garden on the

mountain-top, which contained the mansion of Atlantes; but the ring,

which discovered what was before invisible, could not, though it

revealed this paradise, enable Agramant or his followers to enter it. So

steep and smooth was the rock by nature, that even Brunello failed in

every attempt to scale it. He did not, for this, despair of

accomplishing the object; but, having obtained Agramant’s consent,

caused the assembled courtiers and knights to celebrate a tournament

upon the plain below. This was done with the view of seducing Rogero

from his fastness, and the stratagem was attended with success.

Rogero joined the tourney, and was presented by Agramant with a splendid

horse, Frontino, and a magnificent sword. Having learned from Agramant

his intended invasion of France, he gladly consented to join the

expedition.

Rodomont, meanwhile, was too impatient to wait for Agramant’s

arrangements, and embarked with all the forces he could raise, made good

his landing on the coast of France, and routed the Christians in several

encounters. Previously to this, however, Gano, or Ganelon (as he is

sometimes called), the traitor, enemy of Orlando and the other nephews

of Charlemagne, had entered into a traitorous correspondence with

Marsilius, the Saracen king of Spain, whom he invited into France.

Marsilius, thus encouraged, led an army across the frontiers, and joined

Rodomont. This was the situation of things when Rinaldo and the other

knights who had obeyed the summons of Dudon set forward on their return

to France.

When they arrived at Buda in Hungary they found the king of that country

about despatching his son, Ottachiero, with an army to the succor of

Charlemagne. Delighted with the arrival of Rinaldo, he placed his son

and troops under his command. In due time the army arrived on the

frontiers of France, and, united with the troops of Desiderius, king of

Lombardy, poured down into Provence. The confederate armies had not

marched many days through this gay tract before they heard a crash of

drums and trumpets behind the hills, which spoke the conflict between

the paynims, led by Rodomont, and the Christian forces. Rinaldo,

witnessing from a mountain the prowess of Rodomont, left his troops in

charge of his friends, and galloped towards him with his lance in rest.

The impulse was irresistible, and Rodomont was unhorsed. But Rinaldo,

unwilling to avail himself of his advantage, galloped back to the hill,

and having secured Bayard among the baggage, returned to finish the

combat on foot.

During this interval the battle had become general, the Hungarians were

routed, and Rinaldo, on his return, had the mortification to find that

Ottachiero was wounded, and Dudon taken prisoner. While he sought

Rodomont in order to renew the combat a new sound of drums and trumpets

was heard, and Charlemagne, with the main body of his army, was descried

advancing in battle array.

Rodomont, seeing this, mounted the horse of Dudon, left Rinaldo, who was

on foot, and galloped off to encounter this new enemy.

Agramant, accompanied by Rogero, had by this time made good his landing,

and joined Rodomont with all his forces. Rogero eagerly embraced this

first opportunity of distinguishing himself, and spread terror wherever

he went, encountering in turn and overthrowing many of the bravest

knights of France. At length he found himself opposite to Rinaldo, who,

being interrupted, as we have said, in his combat with Rodomont, and

unable to follow him, being on foot, was shouting to his late foe to

return and finish their combat. Rogero also was on foot, and seeing the

Christian knight so eager for a contest, proffered himself to supply the

place of his late antagonist. Rinaldo saw at a glance that the Moorish

prince was a champion worthy of his arm, and gladly accepted the

defiance. The combat was stoutly maintained for a time; but now fortune

declared decisively in favor of the infidel army, and Charlemagne’s

forces gave way at all points in irreparable confusion. The two

combatants were separated by the crowd of fugitives and pursuers, and

Rinaldo hastened to recover possession of his horse. But Bayard, in the

confusion, had got loose, and Rinaldo followed him into a thick wood,

thus becoming effectually separated from Rogero.

Rogero, also seeking his horse in the medley, came where two warriors

were engaged in mortal combat. Though he knew not who they were, he

could distinguish that one was a paynim and the other a Christian; and

moved by the spirit of courtesy he approached them and exclaimed, “Let

him of the two who worships Christ pause, and hear what I have to say.

The army of Charles is routed and in flight, so that if he wishes to

follow his leader he has no time for delay.” The Christian knight, who

was none other than Bradamante, a female warrior, in prowess equal to

the best of knights, was thunderstruck with the tidings, and would

gladly leave the contest undecided, and retire from the field; but

Rodomont, her antagonist, would by no means consent. Rogero, indignant

at his discourtesy, insisted upon her departure, while he took up her

quarrel with Rodomont.

The combat, obstinately maintained on both sides, was interrupted by the

return of Bradamante. Finding herself unable to overtake the fugitives,

and reluctant to leave to another the burden and risk of a contest which

belonged to herself, she had returned to reclaim the combat. She

arrived, however, when her champion had dealt his enemy such a blow as

obliged him to drop both his sword and bridle. Rogero, disdaining to

profit by his adversary’s defenceless situation, sat apart upon his

horse, while that of Rodomont bore his rider, stunned and stupefied,

about the field.

Bradamante approached Rogero, conceiving a yet higher opinion of his

valor on beholding such an instance of forbearance. She addressed him,

excusing herself for leaving him exposed to an enemy from his

interference in her cause; pleading her duty to her sovereign as the

motive. While she spoke Rodomont, recovered from his confusion, rode up

to them. His bearing was, however, changed; and he disclaimed all

thoughts of further contest with one who, he said, “had already

conquered him by his courtesy.” So saying, he quitted his antagonist,

picked up his sword, and spurred out of sight.

Bradamante was now again desirous of retiring from the field, and Rogero

insisted on accompanying her, though yet unaware of her sex.

As they pursued their way, she inquired the name and quality of her new

associate; and Rogero informed her of his nation and family. He told her

that Astyanax, the son of Hector of Troy, established the kingdom of

Messina in Sicily. From him were derived two branches, which gave origin

to two families of renown. From one sprang the royal race of Pepin and

Charlemagne, and from the other, that of Reggio, in Italy. “From that of

Reggio am I derived,” he continued. “My mother, driven from her home by

the chance of war, died in giving me life, and I was taken in charge by

a sage enchanter, who trained me to feats of arms amidst the dangers of

the desert and the chase.”

Having thus ended his tale, Rogero entreated a similar return of

courtesy from his companion, who replied, without disguise, that she was

of the race of Clermont, and sister to Rinaldo, whose fame was perhaps

known to him. Rogero, much moved by this intelligence, entreated her to

take off her helmet, and at the discovery of her face remained

transported with delight.

While absorbed in this contemplation, an unexpected danger assailed

them. A party which was placed in a wood, in order to intercept the

retreating Christians, broke from its ambush upon the pair, and

Bradamante, who was uncasqued, was wounded in the head. Rogero was in a

fury at this attack; and Bradamante, replacing her helmet, joined him in

taking speedy vengeance on their enemies. They cleared the field of

them, but became separated in the pursuit, and Rogero, quitting the

chase, wandered by hill and vale in search of her whom he had no sooner

found than lost.

While pursuing this quest he fell in with two knights, whom he joined,

and engaged them to assist him in the search of his companion,

describing her arms, but concealing, from a certain feeling of jealousy,

her quality and sex.

It was evening when they joined company, and having ridden together

through the night the morning was beginning to break, when one of the

strangers, fixing his eyes upon Rogero’s shield, demanded of him by what

right he bore the Trojan arms. Rogero declared his origin and race, and

then, in his turn, interrogated the inquirer as to his pretensions to

the cognizance of Hector, which he bore. The stranger replied, “My name

is Mandricardo, son of Agrican, the Tartar king, whom Orlando

treacherously slew. I say _treacherously_, for in fair fight he could

not have done it. It is in search of him that I have come to France, to

take vengeance for my father, and to wrest from him Durindana, that

famous sword, which belongs to me, and not to him.” When the knights

demanded to know by what right he claimed Durindana, Mandricardo thus

related his history:

“I had been, before the death of my father, a wild and reckless youth.

That event awakened my energies, and drove me forth to seek for

vengeance. Determined to owe success to nothing but my own exertions, I

departed without attendants or horse or arms. Travelling thus alone, and

on foot, I espied one day a pavilion, pitched near a fountain, and

entered it, intent on adventure. I found therein a damsel of gracious

aspect, who replied to my inquiries that the fountain was the work of a

fairy, whose castle stood beyond a neighboring hill, where she kept

watch over a treasure which many knights had tried to win, but

fruitlessly, having lost their life or liberty in the attempt. This

treasure was the armor of Hector, prince of Troy, whom Achilles

treacherously slew. Nothing was wanting but his sword, Durindana, and

this had fallen into the possession of a queen named Penthesilea, from

whom it passed through her descendants to Almontes, whom Orlando slew,

and thus became possessed of the sword. The rest of Hector’s arms were

saved and carried off by Æneas, from whom this fairy received them in

recompense of service rendered. ‘If you have the courage to attempt

their acquisition,’ said the damsel, ‘I will be your guide.’”

Mandricardo went on to say that he eagerly embraced the proposal, and

being provided with horse and armor by the damsel, set forth on his

enterprise, the lady accompanying him.

As they rode she explained the dangers of the quest. The armor was

defended by a champion, one of the numerous unsuccessful adventurers for

the prize, all of whom had been made prisoners by the fairy, and

compelled to take their turn, day by day, in defending the arms against

all comers. Thus speaking they arrived at the castle, which was of

alabaster, overlaid with gold. Before it, on a lawn, sat an armed knight

on horseback, who was none other than Gradasso, king of Sericane, who,

in his return home from his unsuccessful inroad into France, had fallen

into the power of the fairy, and was held to do her bidding.

Mandricardo, upon seeing him, dropt his visor, and laid his lance in

rest. The champion of the castle was equally ready, and each spurred

towards his opponent. They met one another with equal force, splintered

their spears, and, returning to the charge, encountered with their

swords. The contest was long and doubtful, when Mandricardo, determined

to bring it to an end, threw his arms about Gradasso, grappled with him,

and both fell to the ground. Mandricardo, however, fell uppermost, and,

preserving his advantage, compelled Gradasso to yield himself conquered.

The damsel now interfered, congratulating the victor, and consoling the

vanquished as well as she might.

Mandricardo and the damsel proceeded to the gate of the castle, which

they found undefended. As they entered they beheld a shield suspended

from a pilaster of gold. The device was a white eagle on an azure field,

in memory of the bird of Jove, which bore away Ganymede, the flower of

the Phrygian race. Beneath was engraved the following couplet:

“Let none with hand profane my buckler wrong

Unless he be himself as Hector strong.”

The damsel, alighting from her palfrey, made obeisance to the arms,

bending herself to the ground. The Tartar king bowed his head with equal

reverence; then advancing towards the shield, touched it with his sword.

Thereupon an earthquake shook the ground, and the way by which he had

entered closed. Another and an opposite gate opened, and displayed a

field bristling with stalks and grain of gold. The damsel, upon this,

told him that he had no means of retreat but by cutting down the harvest

which was before him, and by uprooting a tree which grew in the middle

of the field. Mandricardo, without replying, began to mow the harvest

with his sword, but had scarce smitten thrice when he perceived that

every stalk that fell was instantly transformed into some poisonous or

ravenous animal, which prepared to assail him. Instructed by the damsel,

he snatched up a stone and cast it among the pack. A strange wonder

followed; for no sooner had the stone fallen among the beasts, than they

turned their rage against one another, and rent each other to pieces.

Mandricardo did not stop to marvel at the miracle, but proceeded to

fulfil his task, and uproot the tree. He clasped it round the trunk, and

made vigorous efforts to tear it up by the roots. At each effort fell a

shower of leaves, that were instantly changed into birds of prey, which

attacked the knight, flapping their wings in his face, with horrid

screeching. But undismayed by this new annoyance, he continued to tug at

the trunk till it yielded to his efforts. A burst of wind and thunder

followed, and the hawks and vultures flew screaming away.

But these only gave place to a new foe; for from the hole made by

tearing up the tree issued a furious serpent, and, darting at

Mandricardo, wound herself about his limbs with a strain that almost

crushed him. Fortune, however, again stood his friend, for, writhing

under the folds of the monster, he fell backwards into the hole, and his

enemy was crushed beneath his weight.

Mandricardo, when he was somewhat recovered, and assured himself of the

destruction of the serpent, began to contemplate the place into which he

had fallen, and saw that he was in a vault, incrusted with costly

metals, and illuminated by a live coal. In the middle was a sort of

ivory bier, and upon this was extended what appeared to be a knight in

armor, but was in truth an empty trophy, composed of the rich and

precious arms once Hector’s, to which nothing was wanting but the sword.

While Mandricardo stood contemplating the prize a door opened behind

him, and a bevy of fair damsels entered, dancing, who, taking up the

armor piece by piece, led him away to the place where the shield was

suspended; where he found the fairy of the castle seated in state. By

her he was invested with the arms he had won, first pledging his solemn

oath to wear no other blade but Durindana, which he was to wrest from

Orlando, and thus complete the conquest of Hector’s arms.

————

THE INVASION OF FRANCE (_Continued_)

Mandricardo, having completed his story, now turned to Rogero, and

proposed that arms should decide which of the two was most worthy to

bear the symbol of the Trojan knight.

Rogero felt no other objection to this proposal than the scruple which

arose on observing that his antagonist was without a sword. Mandricardo

insisted that this need be no impediment, since his oath prevented him

from using a sword until he should have achieved the conquest of

Durindana.

This was no sooner said than a new antagonist started up in Gradasso,

who now accompanied Mandricardo. Gradasso vindicated his prior right to

Durindana, to obtain which he had embarked (as was related in the

beginning) in that bold inroad upon France. A quarrel was thus kindled

between the kings of Tartary and Sericane. While the dispute was raging

a knight arrived upon the ground, accompanied by a damsel, to whom

Rogero related the cause of the strife. The knight was Florismart, and

his companion Flordelis. Florismart succeeded in bringing the two

champions to accord, by informing them that he could bring them to the

presence of Orlando, the master of Durindana.

Gradasso and Mandricardo readily made truce, in order to accompany

Florismart, nor would Rogero be left behind.

As they proceeded on their quest they were met by a dwarf, who entreated

their assistance in behalf of his lady, who had been carried off by an

enchanter, mounted on a winged horse. However unwilling to leave the

question of the sword undecided, it was not possible for the knights to

resist this appeal. Two of their number, Gradasso and Rogero, therefore

accompanied the dwarf. Mandricardo persisted in his search for Orlando,

and Florismart, with Flordelis, pursued their way to the camp of

Charlemagne.

Atlantes, the enchanter, who had brought up Rogero, and cherished for

him the warmest affection, knew by his art that his pupil was destined

to be severed from him, and converted to the Christian faith through the

influence of Bradamante, that royal maiden with whom chance had brought

him acquainted. Thinking to thwart the will of Heaven in this respect,

he now put forth all his arts to entrap Rogero into his power. By the

aid of his subservient demons he reared a castle on an inaccessible

height, in the Pyrenean mountains, and to make it a pleasant abode to

his pupil, contrived to entrap and convey thither knights and damsels

many a one, whom chance had brought into the vicinity of his castle.

Here, in a sort of sensual paradise, they were but too willing to forget

glory and duty, and to pass their time in indolent enjoyment.

It was by the enchanter that the dwarf had now been sent to tempt the

knights into his power.

But we must now return to Rinaldo, whom we left interrupted in his

combat with Rodomont. In search of his late antagonist and intent on

bringing their combat to a decision he entered the forest of Arden,

whither he suspected Rodomont had gone. While engaged on this quest he

was surprised by the vision of a beautiful child dancing naked, with

three damsels as beautiful as himself. While he was lost in admiration

at the sight the child approached him, and, throwing at him handfuls of

roses and lilies, struck him from his horse. He was no sooner down than

he was seized by the dancers, by whom he was dragged about and scourged

with flowers till he fell into a swoon. When he began to revive one of

the group approached him, and told him that his punishment was the

consequence of his rebellion against that power before whom all things

bend; that there was but one remedy to heal the wounds that had been

inflicted, and that was to drink of the waters of Love. Then they left

him.

Rinaldo, sore and faint, dragged himself toward a fountain which flowed

near by, and, being parched with thirst, drank greedily and almost

unconsciously of the water, which was sweet to the taste, but bitter to

the heart. After repeated draughts he recovered his strength and

recollection, and found himself in the same place where Angelica had

formerly awakened him with a rain of flowers, and whence he had fled in

contempt of her courtesy.

This remembrance of the scene was followed by the recognition of his

crime; and, repenting bitterly his ingratitude, he leaped upon Bayard,

with the intention of hastening to Angelica’s country, and soliciting

his pardon at her feet.

Let us now retrace our steps, and revert to the time when the paladins

having learned from Dudon the summons of Charlemagne to return to France

to repel the invaders, had all obeyed the command with the exception of

Orlando, whose passion for Angelica still held him in attendance on her.

Orlando, arriving before Albracca, found it closely beleaguered. He,

however, made his way into the citadel, and related his adventures to

Angelica, from the time of his departure up to his separation from

Rinaldo and the rest, when they departed to the assistance of

Charlemagne. Angelica, in return, described the distresses of the

garrison, and the force of the besiegers; and in conclusion prayed

Orlando to favor her escape from the pressing danger, and escort her

into France. Orlando, who did not suspect that love for Rinaldo was her

secret motive, joyfully agreed to the proposal, and the sally was

resolved upon.

Leaving lights burning in the fortress, they departed at nightfall, and

passed in safety through the enemy’s camp. After encountering numerous

adventures they reached the sea-side, and embarked on board a pinnace

for France. The vessel arrived safely, and the travellers, disembarking

in Provence, pursued their way by land. One day, heated and weary, they

sought shelter from the sun in the forest of Arden, and chance directed

Angelica to the fountain of Disdain, of whose waters she eagerly drank.