Issuing thence, the Count and damsel encountered a stranger-knight. It

was no other than Rinaldo, who was just on the point of setting off on a

pilgrimage in search of Angelica, to implore her pardon for his

insensibility, and urge his new found passion. Surprise and delight at

first deprived him of utterance, but soon recovering himself, he

joyfully saluted her, claiming her as his, and exhorting her to put

herself under his protection. His presumption was repelled by Angelica

with disdain, and Orlando, enraged at the invasion of his rights,

challenged him to decide their claims by arms.

Terrified at the combat which ensued, Angelica fled amain through the

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

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

troops which had advanced to oppose Marsilius. Charles having heard the

damsel’s tale, with difficulty separated the two cousins, and then

consigned Angelica, as the cause of quarrel, to the care of Namo, Duke

of Bavaria, promising that she should be his who should best deserve her

in the impending battle.

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

all points, fled from the Saracens; and Angelica, indifferent to both

her lovers, mounted a swift palfrey and plunged into the forest,

rejoicing, in spite of her terror, at having regained her liberty. She

stopped at last in a tufted grove, where a gentle zephyr blew, and whose

young trees were watered by two clear runnels, which came and mingled

their waters, making a pleasing murmur. Believing herself far from

Rinaldo, and overcome by fatigue and the summer heat, she saw with

delight a bank covered with flowers so thick that they almost hid the

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

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

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

tapestried with moss and fenced in with roses and hawthorn-flowers, she

yielded herself to grateful repose.

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

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

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

feared or not, her heart beat with anxiety. She pressed aside the leaves

to allow her to see who it was, but scarce dared to breathe for fear of

betraying herself. Soon the knight threw himself on the flowery bank,

and leaning his head on his hand fell into a profound reverie. Then

arousing himself from his silence he began to pour forth complaints,

mingled with deep sighs. Rivers of tears flowed down his cheeks, and his

breast seemed to labor with a hidden flame. “Ah, vain regrets!” he

exclaimed; “cruel fortune! others triumph, while I endure hopeless

misery! Better a thousand times to lose life, than wear a chain so

disgraceful and so oppressive!”

Angelica by this time had recognized the stranger, and perceived that it

was Sacripant, king of Circassia, one of the worthiest of her suitors.

This prince had followed Angelica from his country, at the very gates of

the day, to France, where he heard with dismay that she was under the

guardianship of the Paladin Orlando, and that the Emperor had announced

his decree to award her as the prize of valor to that one of his nephews

who should best deserve her.

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

hardness of marble to his sighs, thought with herself that nothing

forbade her employing his good offices in this unhappy crisis. Though

firmly resolved never to accept him as a spouse, she yet felt the

necessity of giving him a gleam of hope in reward for the service she

required of him. All at once, like Diana, she stepped forth from the

arbor. “May the gods preserve thee,” she said, “and put far from thee

all hard thoughts of me!” Then she told him all that had befallen her

since she parted with him at her father’s court, and how she had availed

herself of Orlando’s protection to escape from the beleaguered city. At

that moment the noise of horse and armor was heard as of one

approaching; and Sacripant, furious at the interruption, resumed his

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

advancing, with scarf and plume of snowy whiteness. Sacripant regarded

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

to the combat. The other, not moved by his angry tone to make reply, put

himself on his defence. Their horses, struck at the same moment with the

spur, rushed upon one another with the impetuosity of a tempest. Their

shields were pierced each with the other’s lance, and only the temper of

their breastplates saved their lives. Both the horses recoiled with the

violence of the shock; but the unknown knight’s recovered itself at the

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

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

cared not to renew the combat, but, thinking he had done enough for

glory, pursued his way through the forest, and was a mile off before

Sacripant had got free from his horse.

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

oxen at his plough, stands motionless, sadly contemplating his loss, so

Sacripant stood confounded and overwhelmed with mortification at having

Angelica a witness of his defeat. He groaned, he sighed, less from the

pain of his bruises than for the shame of being reduced to such a state

before her. The princess took pity on him, and consoled him as well as

she could. “Banish your regrets, my lord,” she said, “this accident has

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

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

can your adversary gain any credit by it, since he has hurried away, not

venturing a second trial.” While she thus consoled Sacripant they

perceived a person approach, who seemed a courier, with bag and horn. As

soon as he came up, he accosted Sacripant, and inquired if he had seen a

knight pass that way, bearing a white shield and with a white plume to

his helmet. “I have, indeed, seen too much of him,” said Sacripant, “it

is he who has brought me to the ground; but at least I hope to learn

from you who that knight is.” “That I can easily inform you,” said the

man; “know then that, if you have been overthrown, you owe your fate to

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

and illustrious Bradamante who has won from you the honors of victory.”

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

confounded and mortified than ever. In silence he mounted the horse of

Angelica, taking the lady behind him on the croup, and rode away in

search of a more secure asylum. Hardly had they ridden two miles when a

new sound was heard in the forest, and they perceived a gallant and

powerful horse, which, leaping the ravines and dashing aside the

branches that opposed his passage, appeared before them, accoutred with

a rich harness adorned with gold.

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

underwood,” said Angelica, “that horse that dashes so stoutly through

the bushes is Bayard, and I marvel how he seems to know the need we have

of him, mounted as we are both on one feeble animal.” Sacripant,

dismounting from the palfrey, approached the fiery courser, and

attempted to seize his bridle, but the disdainful animal, turning from

him, launched at him a volley of kicks enough to have shattered a wall

of marble. Bayard then approached Angelica with an air as gentle and

loving as a faithful dog could his master after a long separation. For

he remembered how she had caressed him, and even fed him, in Albracca.

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

his neck. The beautiful animal, gifted with wonderful intelligence,

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

him, controlled his curvetings, and Angelica, quitting the croup of the

palfrey, regained her seat.

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

Sacripant beheld Rinaldo. That hero now loves Angelica more than his

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

The fountain of which Angelica had drunk produced such an effect on the

beautiful queen that, with distressed countenance and trembling voice,

she conjured Sacripant not to wait the approach of Rinaldo, but to join

her in flight.

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

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

how, in your defence, I fought single-handed against Agrican and all his

knights?”

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

too near to be escaped. He advanced menacingly to the Circassian king,

for he recognized his horse.

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

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

also, the princess in my hands; for it would indeed be a sin to suffer

so charming a lady and so gallant a charger to remain in such keeping.”

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

liest, villain, in giving me the name of thief, which better belongs to

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

perfection of this horse are unequalled; come on, then, and let us try

which of us is most worthy to possess them.”

At these words the king of Circassia and Rinaldo attacked one another

with all their force, one fighting on foot, the other on horseback. You

need not, however, suppose that the Saracen king found any advantage in

this; for a young page, unused to horsemanship, could not have failed

more completely to manage Bayard than did this accomplished knight. The

faithful animal loved his master too well to injure him, and refused his

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

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

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

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

seeing that he could not manage him, watched his opportunity, rose on

his saddle, and leapt lightly to the earth; then, relieved from the

embarrassment of the horse, renewed the combat on more equal terms.

Their skill to thrust and parry were equal; one rises, the other stoops;

with one foot set firm they turn and wind, to lay on strokes or to dodge

them. At last Rinaldo, throwing himself on the Circassian, dealt him a

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

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

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

defence, and almost palsied with the stroke. Angelica, perceiving how

victory was likely to incline, and shuddering at the thought of becoming

the prize of Rinaldo, hesitated no longer. Turning her horse’s head, she

fled with the utmost speed; and, in spite of the round pebbles which

covered a steep descent, she plunged into a deep valley, trembling with

the fear that Rinaldo was in pursuit. At the bottom of this valley she

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

whose venerable appearance seemed to assure his piety.

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

mounted upon a wretched ass. The princess, overcome with fear, conjured

him to save her life; and to conduct her to some port of the sea, whence

she might embark and quit France, never more to hear the odious name of

Rinaldo.

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

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

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

obedient to his incantations, appeared, under the form of a laboring

man, and demanded his orders. He received them, transported himself to

the place where the knights still maintained their conflict, and boldly

stepped between the two.

“Tell me, I pray you,” he said, “what benefit will accrue to him who

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

is already disposed of; for the Paladin Orlando, without effort and

without opposition, is now carrying away the princess Angelica to Paris.

You had better pursue them promptly; for if they reach Paris you will

never see her again.”

At these words you might have seen those rival warriors confounded,

stupefied, silently agreeing that they were affording their rival a fair

opportunity to triumph over them. Rinaldo, approaching Bayard, breathes

a sigh of shame and rage, and swears a terrible oath that, if he

overtakes Orlando, he will tear his heart out. Then mounting Bayard and

pressing his flanks with his spurs, he leaves the king of Circassia on

foot in the forest.

Let it not appear strange that Rinaldo found Bayard obedient at last,

after having so long prevented any one from even touching his bridle;

for that fine animal had an intelligence almost human; he had fled from

his master only to draw him on the track of Angelica, and enable him to

recover her. He saw when the princess fled from the battle, and Rinaldo

being then engaged in a fight on foot, Bayard found himself free to

follow the traces of Angelica. Thus he had drawn his master after him,

not permitting him to approach, and had brought him to the sight of the

princess. But Bayard now, deceived like his master with the false

intelligence of the goblin, submits to be mounted and to serve his

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

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

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

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

him the great city, under the walls of which the Emperor Charles had

collected the scattered remains of his army. Foreseeing that he would

soon be attacked on all sides, the Emperor had caused the ancient

fortifications to be repaired, and new ones to be built, surrounded by

wide and deep ditches. The desire to hold the field against the enemy

made him seize every means of procuring new allies. He hoped to receive

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

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

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

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

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

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

England, ardently desiring a hasty despatch of his commission, and a

speedy return to France.

————

BRADAMANTE AND ROGERO

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

appearance and encounter with Sacripant we have already told, was in

quest of Rogero, from whom chance had separated her, almost at the

beginning of their acquaintance. After her encounter with Sacripant

Bradamante pursued her way through the forest, in hopes of rejoining

Rogero, and arrived at last on the brink of a fair fountain.

This fountain flowed through a broad meadow. Ancient trees overshadowed

it, and travellers, attracted by the sweet murmur of its waters, stopped

there to cool themselves. Bradamante, casting her eyes on all sides to

enjoy the beauties of the spot, perceived, under the shade of a tree, a

knight reclining, who seemed to be oppressed with the deepest grief.

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

distress. “Alas! my lord,” said he, “I lament a young and charming

friend, my affianced wife, who has been torn from me by a villain,—let

me rather call him a demon,—who, on a winged horse, descended from the

air, seized her, and bore her screaming to his den. I have pursued them

over rocks and through ravines till my horse is no longer able to bear

me, and I now wait only for death.” He added that already a vain attempt

on his behalf had been made by two knights, whom chance had brought to

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

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

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

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

Rogero’s name Bradamante started with delight, which was soon changed to

an opposite sentiment when she heard that her lover was a prisoner in

the toils of the enchanter. “Sir Knight,” she said, “do not surrender

yourself to despair; this day may be more happy for you than you think,

if you will only lead me to the castle which enfolds her whom you

deplore.”

The knight responded, “After having lost all that made life dear to me I

have no motive to avoid the dangers of the enterprise, and I will do as

you request; but I forewarn you of the perils you will have to

encounter. If you fall impute it not to me.”

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

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

Bradamante to summon her back to the army, where her presence was needed

to reassure her disheartened forces, and withstand the advance of the

Moors.

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

Bradamante was a scion of the house of Clermont, between which and his

own of Mayence there existed an ancient feud. From this moment the

traitor sought only how he might be rid of the company of Bradamante,

from whom he feared no good would come to him, but rather mortal injury,

if his name and lineage became known to her. For he judged her by his

own base model, and, knowing his ill deserts, he feared to receive his

due.

Bradamante, in spite of the summons to return to the army, could not

resolve to leave her lover in captivity, and determined first to finish

the adventure on which she was engaged. Pinabel leading the way, they at

length arrived at a wood, in the centre of which rose a steep, rocky

mountain. Pinabel, who now thought of nothing else but how he might

escape from Bradamante, proposed to ascend the mountain to extend his

view, in order to discover a shelter for the night, if any there might

be within sight. Under this pretence he left Bradamante, and advanced up

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

he looked, and perceived that it widened below into a spacious cavern.

Meanwhile Bradamante, fearful of losing her guide, had followed close on

his footsteps, and rejoined him at the mouth of the cavern. Then the

traitor, seeing the impossibility of escaping her, conceived another

design. He told her that before her approach he had seen in the cavern a

young and beautiful damsel, whose rich dress announced her high birth,

who with tears and lamentations implored assistance; that before he

could descend to relieve her a ruffian had seized her, and hurried her

away into the recesses of the cavern.

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

Mayencian traitor. Eager to succor the damsel, she looked round for the

means of facilitating the descent, and seeing a large elm with spreading

branches she lopped off with her sword one of the largest, and thrust it

into the opening. She told Pinabel to hold fast to the larger end,

while, grasping the branches with her hands, she let herself down into

the cavern.

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

mockery, “Are you a good leaper?” he let go the branch with perfidious

glee, and saw Bradamante precipitated to the bottom of the cave. “I wish

your whole race were there with you,” he muttered, “that you might all

perish together.”

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

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

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

adventures.

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

and perceived a door, through which she passed into a second cavern,

larger and loftier than the first. It had the appearance of a

subterranean temple. Columns of the purest alabaster adorned it, and

supported the roof; a simple altar rose in the middle; a lamp, whose

radiance was reflected by the alabaster walls, cast a mild light around.

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

and, falling on her knees, poured forth her prayers and thanks to the

Preserver of her life, invoking the protection of his power. At that

moment a small door opened, and a female issued from it with naked feet,

and flowing robe and hair, who called her by her name, and thus

addressed her: “Brave and generous Bradamante, know that it is a power

from above that has brought you hither. The spirit of Merlin, whose last

earthly abode was in this place, has warned me of your arrival, and of

the fate that awaits you. This famous grotto,” she continued, “was the

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

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

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

request, laid himself down living in his tomb, without power to resist

the spell laid upon him by that ingrate, who retained him there as long

as he lived. His spirit hovers about this spot, and will not leave it,

until the last trumpet shall summon the dead to judgment. He answers the

questions of those who approach his tomb, where perhaps you may be

privileged to hear his voice.”

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

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

she cast down her eyes, and a blush overspread her face. “Ah, what am

I,” said she, “that so great a prophet should deign to speak to me!”

Still, with a secret satisfaction, she followed the priestess, who led

her to the tomb of Merlin. This tomb was constructed of a species of

stone hard and resplendent like fire. The rays which beamed from the

stone sufficed to light up that terrible place, where the sun’s rays

never penetrated; but I know not whether that light was the effect of a

certain phosphorescence of the stone itself, or of the many talismans

and charms with which it was wrought over.

Bradamante had hardly passed the threshold of this sacred place when the

spirit of the enchanter saluted her with a voice firm and distinct: “May

thy designs be prosperous, O chaste and noble maiden, the future mother

of heroes, the glory of Italy, and destined to fill the whole world with

their fame. Great captains, renowned knights, shall be numbered among

your descendants, who shall defend the Church and restore their country

to its ancient splendor. Princes, wise as Augustus and the sage Numa,

shall bring back the age of gold.[75] To accomplish these grand

destinies it is ordained that you shall wed the illustrious Rogero. Fly

then to his deliverance, and lay prostrate in the dust the traitor who

has snatched him from you, and now holds him in chains!”

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

charge of more fully instructing the maiden in her future course.

“To-morrow,” said she, “I will conduct you to the castle on the rock

where Rogero is held captive. I will not leave you till I have guided

you through this wild wood, and I will direct you on your way so that

you shall be in no danger of mistaking it.”

The next morning Melissa conducted Bradamante between rocks and

precipices, crossing rapid torrents, and traversing intricate passes,

employing the time in imparting to her such information as was necessary

to enable her to bring her design to a successful issue.

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

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

whence flashes a light so brilliant that the eyes of all who look upon

it are blinded. Think not to avoid it by shutting your eyes, for how

then will you be able to avoid his blows, and make him feel your own?

But I will teach you the proper course to pursue.

“Agramant, the Moorish prince, possesses a ring stolen from a queen of

India, which has power to render of no avail all enchantments. Agramant,

knowing that Rogero is of more importance to him than any one of his

warriors, is desirous of rescuing him from the power of the enchanter,

and has sent for that purpose Brunello, the most crafty and sagacious of

his servants, provided with his wonderful ring, and he is even now at

hand, bent on this enterprise. But, beautiful Bradamante, as I desire

that no one but yourself shall have the glory of delivering from

thraldom your future spouse, listen while I disclose the means of

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

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

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

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

thick eyebrows joining his tufted beard. His dress, moreover, that of a

courier, will point him out to you.

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

yourself as a knight seeking combat with the enchanter, but let not the

knave suspect that you know anything about the ring. I doubt not that he

will be your guide to the castle of the enchanter. Accept his offer, but

take care to keep behind him till you come in sight of the brilliant

dome of the castle. Then hesitate not to strike him dead, for the wretch

deserves no pity, and take from him the ring. But let him not suspect

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

become invisible, and disappear from your eyes.”

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

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

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

Bradamante, intent wholly on her purpose, hastened to arrive at the

hostelry, where Brunello had preceded her a few moments only. The young

heroine knew him without difficulty. She accosted him, and put to him

some slight questions, to which he replied with adroit falsehoods.

Bradamante, on her part, concealed from him her sex, her religion, her

country, and the blood from whence she sprung. While they talk together,

sudden cries are heard from all parts of the hostelry. “O queen of

heaven!” exclaimed Bradamante, “what can be the cause of this sudden

alarm?” She soon learned the cause. Host, children, domestics, all, with

upturned eyes, as if they saw a comet or a great eclipse, were gazing on

a prodigy which seemed to pass the bounds of possibility. She beheld

distinctly a winged horse, mounted with a cavalier in rich armor,

cleaving the air with rapid flight. The wings of this strange courser

were wide extended, and covered with feathers of various colors. The

polished armor of the knight made them shine with rainbow tints. In a

short time the horse and rider disappeared behind the summits of the

mountains.

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

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

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

castle on the top of the Pyrenees. Many knights have shown their courage

by going to attack him, but none have ever returned, from which it is to

be feared they have lost either their life or their liberty.”

Bradamante, addressing the host, said, “Could you furnish me a guide to

conduct me to the castle of this enchanter?” “By my faith,” said

Brunello, interrupting, “that you shall not seek in vain; I have it all

in writing, and I will myself conduct you.” Bradamante, with thanks,

accepted him for her guide.

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

for, and the next day, at the first dawn of morning, she took her route

by a narrow valley, taking care to have the Saracen Brunello lead the

way.

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

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

by a fatiguing road into a deep valley. From the middle of this valley

an isolated mountain rose, composed of rough and perpendicular rock, on

whose summit was the castle, surrounded with a wall of brass. Brunello

said, “Yonder is the stronghold where the enchanter keeps his prisoners;

one must have wings to mount thither; it is easy to see that the aid of

a flying horse must be necessary for the master of this castle, which he

uses for his prison and for his abode.”

Bradamante, sufficiently instructed, saw that the time had now come to

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

defenceless man. She seized Brunello before he was aware, bound him to a

tree, and took from him the ring which he wore on one of his fingers.

The cries and entreaties of the perfidious Saracen moved her not. She

advanced to the foot of the rock whereon the castle stood, and, to draw

the magician to the combat, sounded her horn, adding to it cries of

defiance.

The enchanter delayed not to present himself, mounted on his winged

horse. Bradamante was struck with surprise mixed with joy when she saw

that this person, described as so formidable, bore no lance nor club,

nor any other deadly weapon. He had only on his arm a buckler, covered

with a cloth, and in his hand an open book. As to the winged horse,

there was no enchantment about him. He was a natural animal, of a

species which exists in the Riphæan mountains. Like a griffin, he had

the head of an eagle, claws armed with talons, and wings covered with

feathers, the rest of his body being that of a horse. This strange

animal is called a Hippogriff.

The heroine attacked the enchanter on his approach, striking on this

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

only the wind; and after this pretended attack had lasted some time

dismounted from her horse, as if hoping to do battle more effectually on

foot. The enchanter now prepares to employ his sole weapon, by

uncovering the magic buckler which never failed to subdue an enemy by

depriving him of his senses. Bradamante, confiding in her ring, observed

all the motions of her adversary, and, at the unveiling of the shield,

cast herself on the ground, pretending that the splendor of the shield

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

approach her.

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

he made his horse alight on the ground, and, dismounting, fixed the

shield on the pommel of his saddle, and approached in order to secure

the fallen warrior. Bradamante, who watched him intently, as soon as she

saw him near at hand, sprang up, seized him vigorously, threw him down,

and, with the same chain which the enchanter had prepared for herself,

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

The enchanter, with the accents of despair, exclaimed, “Take my life,

young man!” but Bradamante was far from complying with such a wish.

Desirous of knowing the name of the enchanter, and for what purpose he

had formed with so much art this impregnable fortress, she commanded him

to inform her.

“Alas!” replied the magician, while tears flowed down his cheeks, “it is

not to conceal booty, nor for any culpable design that I have built this

castle; it was only to guard the life of a young knight, the object of

my tenderest affection, my art having taught me that he is destined to

become a Christian, and to perish, shortly after, by the blackest of

treasons.

“This youth, named Rogero, is the most beautiful and most accomplished

of knights. It is I, the unhappy Atlantes, who have reared him from his

childhood. The call of honor and the desire of glory led him from me to

follow Agramant, his prince, in his invasion of France, and I, more

devoted to Rogero than the tenderest of parents, have sought the means

of bringing him back to this abode, in the hope of saving him from the

cruel fate that menaces him.

“For this purpose I have got him in my possession by the same means as I

attempted to employ against you; and by which I have succeeded in

collecting a great many knights and ladies in my castle. My purpose was

to render my beloved pupil’s captivity light, by affording him society

to amuse him, and keep his thoughts from running on subjects of war and

glory. Alas! my cares have been in vain! Yet, take, I beseech you,

whatever else I have, but spare me my beloved pupil. Take this shield,

take this winged courser, deliver such of your friends as you may find

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

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

life, which will cease then to be to me worth preserving.”

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

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

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

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

fate when you could not foresee your own? You desire me to take your

life. No, my arm and my soul refuse the request.” This said, she

required the magician to go before, and guide her to the castle. The

prisoners were set at liberty, though some, in their secret hearts,

regretted the voluptuous life which was thus brought to an end.

Bradamante and Rogero met one another with transports of joy.

They descended from the mountain to the spot where the encounter had

taken place. There they found the Hippogriff, with the magic buckler in

its wrapper, hanging to his saddle-bow. Bradamante advanced to seize the

bridle; the Hippogriff seemed to wait her approach, but before she

reached him he spread his wings and flew away to a neighboring hill, and

in the same manner, a second time, eluded her efforts. Rogero and the

other liberated knights dispersed over the plain and hill-tops to secure

him, and at last the animal allowed Rogero to seize his rein. The

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

distinguish what was land and what water. The Hippogriff directed his

flight to the west, and cleaved the air as swiftly as a new-rigged

vessel cuts the waves, impelled by the freshest and most favorable

gales.

————

ASTOLPHO AND THE ENCHANTRESS

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

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

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

land. When he came near enough to earth Rogero leapt lightly from his

back, and tied the animal to a myrtle-tree. Near the spot flowed the

pure waters of a fountain, surrounded by cedars and palm-trees. Rogero

laid aside his shield, and, removing his helmet, breathed with delight

the fresh air, and cooled his lips with the waters of the fountain. For

we cannot wonder that he was excessively fatigued, considering the ride

he had taken. He was preparing to taste the sweets of repose when he

perceived that the Hippogriff, which he had tied by the bridle to a

myrtle-tree, frightened at something, was making violent efforts to

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

its beautiful leaves were torn off, and strewed the ground.

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

myrtle-tree, at first faint and indistinct, but growing stronger by

degrees, and at length was audible as a voice which spoke in this

manner: “O knight, if the tenderness of your heart corresponds to the

beauty of your person, relieve me, I pray you, from this tormenting

animal. I suffer enough inwardly without having outward evils added to

my lot.”

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

the myrtle, hastened to it, and stood fixed in astonishment when he

perceived that the voice issued from the tree itself. He immediately

untied his horse, and, flushed with surprise and regret, exclaimed,

“Whoever thou art, whether mortal or the goddess of these woods, forgive

me, I beseech you, my involuntary fault. Had I imagined that this hard

bark covered a being possessed of feeling, could I have exposed such a

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

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

I promise by the sovereign lady of my heart to do everything you wish in

order to merit your forgiveness.”

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

Rogero remarked that a moisture as of tears trickled down its bark, like

that which exudes from a log placed on the fire. It then spoke:

“The kindness which inspires your words compels me to disclose to you

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

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

has filled the earth. I was myself reckoned among the bravest paladins

of France, and was by birth entitled to reign over England, after Otho,

my father. Returning from the distant East, with Rinaldo and many other

brave knights, called home to aid with our arms the great Emperor of

France, we reached a spot where the powerful enchantress Alcina

possessed a castle on the borders of the sea. She had gone to the

water-side to amuse herself with fishing, and we paused to see how, by

her art, without hook or line, she drew from the water whatever she

would.

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

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

me, and planned to get me into her power. Addressing us, she said: ‘This

is the hour when the prettiest mermaid in the sea comes regularly every

day to the shore of yonder island. She sings so sweetly that the very

waves flow smoother at the sound. If you wish to hear her come with me

to her resort.’ So saying, Alcina pointed to the fish, which we all

supposed to be an island. I, who was rash, did not hesitate to follow

her; but swam my horse over, and mounted on the back of the fish. In

vain Rinaldo and Dudon made signs to me to beware; Alcina, smiling, took

me in charge, and led the way. No sooner were we mounted upon him than

the whale moved off, spreading his great fins, and cleft rapidly the

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

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

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

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

But soon Alcina, sated with her conquest, grew indifferent, then weary

of me, and at last, to get rid of me, changed me into this form, as she

had done to many lovers before me, making some of them olives, some

palms, some cedars, changing others into fountains, rocks, or even into

wild beasts. And thou, courteous knight, whom accident has brought to

this enchanted isle, beware that she get not the power over thee, or

thou shalt haply be made like us, a tree, a fountain, or a rock.”

Rogero expressed his astonishment at this recital. Astolpho added that

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

of her sister Morgana, she had succeeded in dispossessing a third

sister, Logestilla, of nearly the whole of her patrimony, for the whole

isle was hers originally by her father’s bequest. But Logestilla was

temperate and sage, while the other sisters were false and voluptuous.

Her empire was divided from theirs by a gulf and chain of mountains,

which alone had thus far prevented her sister from usurping it.

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

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

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

and then begged to be told the way to the palace of Logestilla, and how

to avoid that of Alcina. Astolpho directed him to take the road to the

left, though rough and full of rocks. He warned him that this road would

present serious obstacles; that troops of monsters would oppose his

passage, employed by the art of Alcina to prevent her subjects from

escaping from her dominion. Rogero thanked the myrtle, and prepared to

set out on his way.

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

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

him to wish to encounter the hazard of another flight through the air,

besides that he was almost famished for the want of food. So he led the

horse after him, and took the road on foot, which for some distance led

equally to the dominions of both the sisters.

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

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

seemed to reach the skies. I know that some think that this wall was not

of real gold, but only the work of alchemy; it matters not; I prefer to

think it gold, for it certainly shone like gold.

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

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

region. Rogero took without hesitation the narrow road; but he had no

sooner entered upon it than he was assailed by a numerous troop which

opposed his passage.

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

host of hobgoblins were. Some of them bore the human form from the neck

to the feet, but had the head of a monkey or a cat; others had the legs

and the ears of a horse; old men and women, bald and hideous, ran hither

and thither as if out of their senses, half clad in the shaggy skins of

beasts; one rode full speed on a horse without a bridle, another jogged

along mounted on an ass or a cow; others, full of agility, skipped

about, and clung to the tails and manes of the animals which their

companions rode. Some blew horns, others brandished drinking-cups; some

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

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

on a tortoise, that waddled, now this way, now that, without keeping any

one direction.

One of these monsters, who had something approaching the human form,

though he had the neck, ears, and muzzle of a dog, set himself to bark

furiously at Rogero, to make him turn off to the right, and reenter upon

the road to the gay city; but the brave chevalier exclaimed, “That will

I not, so long as I can use this sword,”—and he thrust the point

directly at his face. The monster tried to strike him with a lance, but

Rogero was too quick for him, and thrust his sword through his body, so

that it appeared a hand’s breadth behind his back. The paladin, now

giving full vent to his rage, laid about him vigorously among the

rabble, cleaving one to the teeth, another to the girdle; but the troop

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

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

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

saddle-bow, he might easily have vanquished this monstrous rout; but

perhaps he did not think of it, and perhaps he preferred to seek his

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

perplexity was at its height, he saw issue from the city gate two young

beauties, whose air and dress proclaimed their rank and gentle nurture.

Each of them was mounted on a unicorn, whose whiteness surpassed that of

ermine. They advanced to the meadow where Rogero was contending so

valiantly against the hobgoblins, who all retired at their approach.

They drew near, they extended their hands to the young warrior, whose

cheeks glowed with the flush of exercise and modesty. Grateful for their

assistance, he expressed his thanks, and, having no heart to refuse

them, followed their guidance to the gate of the city.

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

columns, all of diamond. Whether they were real diamond or artificial I

cannot say. What matter is it, so long as they appeared to the eye like

diamond, and nothing could be more gay and splendid.

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

young women, who played and frolicked together. They all ran to receive

Rogero, and conducted him into the palace, which appeared like a

paradise.

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

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

and, above all, of age, never entered the minds of the inhabitants. They

experienced no sensations except those of luxury and gayety; the cup of

happiness seemed for them ever-flowing and exhaustless. The two young

damsels to whom Rogero owed his deliverance from the hobgoblins

conducted him to the apartment of their mistress. The beautiful Alcina

advanced, and greeted him with an air at once dignified and courteous.

All her court surrounded the paladin, and rendered him the most

flattering attentions. The castle was less admirable for its

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

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

charming group the brilliant Alcina shone, as the sun outshines the

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

myrtle-tree appeared to him but a vile calumny. How could he suspect

that falsehood and treason veiled themselves under smiles and the

ingenuous air of truth? He doubted not that Astolpho had deserved his

fate, and perhaps a punishment more severe; he regarded all his stories

as dictated by a disappointed spirit, and a thirst for revenge. But we

must not condemn Rogero too harshly, for he was the victim of magic

power.

They seated themselves at table, and immediately harmonious lyres and

harps waked the air with the most ravishing notes. The charms of poetry

were added in entertaining recitals; the magnificence of the feast would

have done credit to a royal board. The traitress forgot nothing which

might charm the paladin, and attach him to the spot, meaning, when she

should grow tired of him, to metamorphose him as she had done others. In

the same manner passed each succeeding day. Games of pleasant exercise,

the chase, the dance, or rural sports, made the hours pass quickly;

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

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

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

the amiable and courageous Bradamante is night and day directing her

uncertain steps to every spot where the slightest chance invites her, in

the hope of recovering Rogero.

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

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

apprehend the death of Rogero. The fall of such a hero would have

reëchoed from the Hydaspes to the farthest river of the West; but, not

knowing whether he was on the earth or in the air, she concluded, as a

last resource, to return to the cavern which contained the tomb of

Merlin, to ask of him some sure direction to the object of her search.

While this thought occupied her mind, Melissa, the sage enchantress,

suddenly appeared before her. This virtuous and beneficent magician had

discovered by her spells that Rogero was passing his time in pleasure

and idleness, forgetful of his honor and his sovereign. Not able to

endure the thought that one who was born to be a hero should waste his

years in base repose, and leave a sullied reputation in the memory of

survivors, she saw that vigorous measures must be employed to draw him

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

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

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

whose arts had guided the Hippogriff to the isle of the too charming

Alcina, where he hoped his favorite would learn to forget honor, and

lose the love of glory.

At the sight of Melissa joy lighted up the countenance of Bradamante,

and hope animated her breast. Melissa concealed nothing from her, but

told her how Rogero was in the toils of Alcina. Bradamante was plunged

in grief and terror; but the kind enchantress calmed her, dispelled her

fears, and promised that before many days she would lead back the

paladin to her feet.

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

possesses the power to overcome enchantments. By means of it I doubt not

but that I may enter the stronghold where the false Alcina holds Rogero

in durance, and may succeed in vanquishing her and liberating him.”

Bradamante unhesitatingly delivered her the ring, recommending Rogero to

her best efforts. Melissa then summoned by her art a huge palfrey, black

as jet, excepting one foot, which was bay. Mounted upon this animal, she

rode with such speed that by the next morning she had reached the abode

of Alcina.

She here transformed herself into the perfect resemblance of the old

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

her whole figure. Her chin she covered with a long beard, and seamed her

whole visage well with wrinkles. She assumed also his voice and manner,

and watched her chance to find Rogero alone. At last she found him,

dressed in a rich tunic of silk and gold, a collar of precious stones

about his neck, and his arms, once so rough with exercise, decorated

with bracelets. His air and his every motion indicated effeminacy, and

he seemed to retain nothing of Rogero but the name; such power had the

enchantress obtained over him.

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

him, wearing a stern and serious visage. “Is this, then,” she said, “the

fruit of all my labors? Is it for this that I fed you on the marrow of

bears and lions, that I taught you to subdue dragons, and, like

Hercules, strangle serpents in your youthful grasp, only to make you, by

all my cares, a feeble Adonis? My nightly watchings of the stars, of the

yet warm fibres of animals, the lots I have cast, the points of nativity

that I have calculated, have they all falsely indicated that you were

born for greatness? Who could have believed that you would become the

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

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

on your finger, return to her presence, and see for yourself what are

her real charms.”

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

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

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

thunderclap to him! Overcome by shame, he dared not to encounter the

looks of his instructor. When at last he raised his eyes he beheld not

that venerable form, but the priestess Melissa, who in virtue of the

ring now appeared in her true person. She told him of the motives which

had led her to come to his rescue, of the griefs and regrets of

Bradamante, and of her unwearied search for him. “That charming Amazon,”

she said, “sends you this ring, which is a sovereign antidote to all

enchantments. She would have sent you her heart in my hands, if it would

have had greater power to serve you.”

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

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

withdrawn, and he now hated her with an equal intensity, seeing no

longer anything in her but her vices, and feeling only resentment for

the shame that she had put upon him.

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

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

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

truly viewed, were rather deformities. She was, in fact, older than

Hecuba or the Sibyl of Cumæ; but an art, which it is to be regretted our

times have lost, enabled her to appear charming, and to clothe herself

in all the attractions of youth. Rogero now saw all this, but, governed

by the counsels of Melissa, he concealed his surprise, assumed under

some pretext his armor, long neglected, and bound to his side Belisarda,

his trusty sword, taking also the buckler of Atlantes, covered with its

veil.

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

her suspicions; but he left the Hippogriff, by the advice of Melissa,

who promised to take him in charge, and train him to a more manageable

state. The horse he took was Rabican, which belonged to Astolpho. He

restored the ring to Melissa.

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

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

mounted on a powerful horse, and came boldly up to the paladin,

demanding, in a somewhat imperious manner, whither he was going so

rapidly. Rogero disdained to stop or to reply; whereupon the huntsman,

not doubting that he was about making his escape, said, “What if I, with

my falcon, stop your ride?” So saying, he threw off the bird, which even

Rabican could not equal in speed. The huntsman then leapt from his

horse, and the animal, open-mouthed, darted after Rogero with the

swiftness of an arrow. The huntsman also ran as if the wind or fire bore

him, and the dog was equal to Rabican in swiftness. Rogero, finding

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

useless against such foes. The insolent huntsman assailed him with

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

his feet, and the horse drove at him with his hoofs. At the same time

the falcon flew over his head and over Rabican’s and attacked them with

claws and wings, so that the horse in his fright began to be

unmanageable. At that moment the sound of trumpets and cymbals was heard

in the valley, and it was evident that Alcina had ordered out all her

array to go in pursuit. Rogero felt that there was no time to be lost,

and luckily remembered the shield of Atlantes, which he bore suspended

from his neck. He unveiled it, and the charm worked wonderfully. The

huntsman, the dog, the horse, fell flat; the trembling wings of the

falcon could no longer sustain her, and she fell senseless to the

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

rode away.

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

from her palace in pursuit. Melissa, left behind, took advantage of the

opportunity to ransack all the rooms, protected by the ring. She undid

one by one all the talismans and spells which she found, broke the

seals, burned the images, and untied the hag-knots. Thence, hurrying

through the fields, she disenchanted the victims changed into trees,

fountains, stones, or brutes; all of whom recovered their liberty, and

vowed eternal gratitude to their deliverer. They made their escape, with

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

departed to their several homes.

Astolpho was the first whom Melissa liberated, for Rogero had

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

arms, and particularly that precious golden-headed lance which once was

Argalia’s. The enchantress mounted with him upon the winged horse, and

in a short time arrived through the air at the castle of Logestilla,

where Rogero joined them soon after.

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

improving intercourse with the sage Logestilla and her virtuous court;

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

Astolpho with his golden lance, and mounted on Rabican, the fleetest of

steeds. To Rogero Logestilla gave a bit and bridle suited to govern the

Hippogriff; and to Astolpho a horn of marvellous powers, to be sounded

only when all other weapons were unavailing.

————

THE ORC

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

contending lovers, Sacripant and Rinaldo, she met an aged hermit. We

have seen that her request to the hermit was to furnish her the means of

gaining the sea-coast, eager to avoid Rinaldo, whom she hated, by

leaving France and Europe itself. The pretended hermit, who was no other

than a vile magician, knowing well that it would not be agreeable to his

false gods to aid Angelica in this undertaking, feigned to comply with

her desire. He supplied her a horse, into which he had by his arts

caused a subtle devil to enter, and, having mounted Angelica on the

animal, directed her what course to take to reach the sea.

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

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

vain attempted to turn him back to the land; he continued his course

till, as night approached, he landed with his burden on a sandy

headland.

Angelica, finding herself alone, abandoned in this frightful solitude,

remained without movement, as if stupefied, with hands joined and eyes

turned towards heaven, till at last, pouring forth a torrent of tears,

she exclaimed: “Cruel fortune, have you not yet exhausted your rage

against me? To what new miseries do you doom me? Alas! then finish your

work! Deliver me a prey to some ferocious beast, or by whatever fate you

choose bring me to an end. I will be thankful to you for terminating my

life and my misery.” At last, exhausted by her sorrows, she fell asleep,

and sunk prostrate on the sand.

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

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

coast of Ireland there is an island called Ebuda, whose inhabitants,

once numerous, had been wasted by the anger of Proteus till there were

now but few left. This deity was incensed by some neglect of the usual

honors which he had in old times received from the inhabitants of the

land, and, to execute his vengeance, had sent a horrid sea-monster,

called an Orc, to devour them. Such were the terrors of his ravages that

the whole people of the isle had shut themselves up in the principal

town, and relied on their walls alone to protect them. In this distress

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

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

country could produce.

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

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

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

sailors, landing on the beach where Angelica was, beheld that beauty as

she lay asleep.

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

thou then abandon to the teeth of a horrible monster those charms which

different sovereigns took arms against one another to possess? Alas! the

lovely Angelica is destined to be the victim of those cruel islanders.

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

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

situation. The wind filled the sails and wafted the ship swiftly to the

port, where all that beheld her agreed that she was unquestionably the

victim selected by Proteus himself to be his prey. Who can tell the

screams, the mortal anguish of this unhappy maiden, the reproaches she

addressed even to the heavens themselves, when the dreadful information

of her cruel fate was made known to her? I cannot; let me rather turn to

a happier part of my story.

Rogero left the palace of Logestilla, careering on his flying courser

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

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

Melissa had given him. Anxious as he was to recover Bradamante, he could

not fail to be delighted at the view his rapid flight presented of so

many vast regions and populous countries as he passed over in his

career. At last he approached the shores of England, and perceived an

immense army in all the splendor of military pomp, as if about to go

forth flushed with hopes of victory. He caused the Hippogriff to alight

not far from the scene, and found himself immediately surrounded by

admiring spectators, knights and soldiers, who could not enough indulge

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

that the fine array of troops before him was the army destined to go to

the aid of the French Emperor, in compliance with the request presented

by the illustrious Rinaldo, as ambassador of King Charles, his uncle.

By this time the curiosity of the English chevaliers was partly

gratified in beholding the Hippogriff at rest, and Rogero, to renew

their surprise and delight, remounted the animal, and, slapping spurs to

his sides, made him launch into the air with the rapidity of a meteor,

and directed his flight still westwardly, till he came within sight of

the coasts of Ireland. Here he descried what seemed to be a fair damsel,

alone, fast chained to a rock which projected into the sea. What was his

astonishment when, drawing nigh, he beheld the beautiful princess

Angelica! That day she had been led forth and bound to the rock, there

to wait till the sea-monster should come to devour her. Rogero exclaimed

as he came near, “What cruel hands, what barbarous soul, what fatal

chance can have loaded thee with those chains?” Angelica replied by a

torrent of tears, at first her only response; then, in a trembling

voice, she disclosed to him the horrible destiny for which she was there

exposed. While she spoke, a terrible roaring was heard far off on the

sea. The huge monster soon came in sight, part of his body appearing

above the waves and part concealed. Angelica, half dead with fear,

abandoned herself to despair.

Rogero, lance in rest, spurred his Hippogriff toward the Orc, and gave

him a thrust. The horrible monster was like nothing that nature

produces. It was but one mass of tossing and twisting body, with nothing

of the animal but head, eyes, and mouth, the last furnished with tusks

like those of the wild boar. Rogero’s lance had struck him between the

eyes; but rock and iron are not more impenetrable than were his scales.

The knight, seeing the fruitlessness of the first blow, prepared to give

a second. The animal, beholding upon the water the shadow of the great

wings of the Hippogriff, abandoned his prey, and turned to seize what

seemed nearer. Rogero took the opportunity, and dealt him furious blows

on various parts of his body, taking care to keep clear of his murderous

teeth; but the scales resisted every attack. The Orc beat the water with

his tail till he raised a foam which enveloped Rogero and his steed, so

that the knight hardly knew whether he was in the water or the air. He

began to fear that the wings of the Hippogriff would be so drenched with

water that they would cease to sustain him. At that moment Rogero

bethought him of the magic shield which hung at his saddle-bow; but the

fear that Angelica would also be blinded by its glare discouraged him

from employing it. Then he remembered the ring which Melissa had given

him, the power of which he had so lately proved. He hastened to Angelica

and placed it on her finger. Then, uncovering the buckler, he turned its

bright disk full in the face of the detestable Orc. The effect was

instantaneous. The monster, deprived of sense and motion, rolled over on

the sea, and lay floating on his back. Rogero would fain have tried the

effect of his lance on the now exposed parts, but Angelica implored him

to lose no time in delivering her from her chains before the monster

should revive. Rogero, moved with her entreaties, hastened to do so,

and, having unbound her, made her mount behind him on the Hippogriff.

The animal, spurning the earth, shot up into the air, and rapidly sped

his way through it. Rogero, to give time to the princess to rest after

her cruel agitations, soon sought the earth again, alighting on the

shore of Brittany. Near the shore a thick wood presented itself, which

resounded with the songs of birds. In the midst, a fountain of

transparent water bathed the turf of a little meadow. A gentle hill rose

near by. Rogero, making the Hippogriff alight in the meadow, dismounted,

and took Angelica from the horse.

When the first tumults of emotion had subsided Angelica, casting her

eyes downward, beheld the precious ring upon her finger, whose virtues

she was well acquainted with, for it was the very ring which the Saracen

Brunello had robbed her of. She drew it from her finger and placed it in

her mouth, and, quicker than we can tell it, disappeared from the sight

of the paladin.

Rogero looked around him on all sides, like one frantic, but soon

remembered the ring which he had so lately placed on her finger. Struck

with the ingratitude which could thus recompense his services, he

exclaimed: “Thankless beauty, is this then the reward you make me? Do

you prefer to rob me of my ring rather than receive it as a gift?

Willingly would I have given it to you, had you but asked it.” Thus he

said, searching on all sides with arms extended like a blind man, hoping

to recover by the touch what was lost to sight; but he sought in vain.

The cruel beauty was already far away.

Though sensible of her obligations to her deliverer, her first necessity

was for clothing, food, and repose. She soon reached a shepherd’s hut,

where, entering unseen, she found what sufficed for her present relief.

An old herdsman inhabited the hut, whose charges consisted of a drove of

mares. When recruited by repose Angelica selected one of the mares from

the flock, and, mounting the animal, felt the desire revive in her mind

of returning to her home in the East, and for that purpose would gladly

have accepted the protection of Orlando or of Sacripant across those

wide regions which divided her from her own country. In hopes of meeting

with one or the other of them she pursued her way.

Meanwhile Rogero, despairing of seeing Angelica again, returned to the

tree where he had left his winged horse, but had the mortification to

find that the animal had broken his bridle and escaped. This loss, added

to his previous disappointment, overwhelmed him with vexation. Sadly he

gathered up his arms, threw his buckler over his shoulders, and, taking

the first path that offered, soon found himself within the verge of a

dense and widespread forest.

He had proceeded for some distance when he heard a noise on his right,

and, listening attentively, distinguished the clash of arms. He made his

way toward the place whence the sound proceeded, and found two warriors

engaged in mortal combat. One of them was a knight of a noble and manly

bearing, the other a fierce giant. The knight appeared to exert

consummate address in defending herself against the massive club of the

giant, evading his strokes, or parrying them with sword or shield.

Rogero stood spectator of the combat, for he did not allow himself to

interfere in it, though a secret sentiment inclined him strongly to take

part with the knight. At length he saw with grief the massive club fall

directly on the head of the knight, who yielded to the blow, and fell

prostrate. The giant sprang forward to despatch him, and for that

purpose unlaced his helmet, when Rogero, with dismay, recognized the

face of Bradamante. He cried aloud, “Hold, miscreant!” and sprang

forward with drawn sword. Whereupon the giant, as if he cared not to

enter upon another combat, lifted Bradamante on his shoulders, and ran

with her into the forest.

Rogero plunged after him, but the long legs of the giant carried him

forward so fast that the paladin could hardly keep him in sight. At

length they issued from the wood, and Rogero perceived before him a rich

palace, built of marble, and adorned with sculptures executed by a

master hand. Into this edifice, through a golden door, the giant passed,

and Rogero followed; but, on looking round, saw nowhere either the giant

or Bradamante. He ran from room to room, calling aloud on his cowardly

foe to turn and meet him; but got no response, nor caught another

glimpse of the giant or his prey. In his vain pursuit he met, without

knowing them, Ferrau, Florismart, King Gradasso, Orlando, and many

others, all of whom had been entrapped like himself into this enchanted

castle. It was a new stratagem of the magician Atlantes to draw Rogero

into his power, and to secure also those who might by any chance

endanger his safety. What Rogero had taken for Bradamante was a mere

phantom. That charming lady was far away, full of anxiety for her

Rogero, whose coming she had long expected.

The Emperor had committed to her charge the city and garrison of

Marseilles, and she held the post against the infidels with valor and

discretion. One day Melissa suddenly presented herself before her.

Anticipating her questions, she said, “Fear not for Rogero; he lives,

and is as ever true to you; but he has lost his liberty. The fell

enchanter has again succeeded in making him a prisoner. If you would

deliver him, mount your horse and follow me.” She told her in what

manner Atlantes had deceived Rogero, in deluding his eyes with the

phantom of herself in peril. “Such,” she continued, “will be his arts in

your own case, if you penetrate the forest and approach that castle. You

will think you behold Rogero, when, in fact, you see only the enchanter

himself. Be not deceived, plunge your sword into his body, and trust me

when I tell you that, in slaying him, you will restore not only Rogero,

but with him many of the bravest knights of France, whom the wizard’s

arts have withdrawn from the camp of their sovereign.”

Bradamante promptly armed herself, and mounted her horse. Melissa led

her by forced journeys, by field and forest, beguiling the way with

conversation on the theme which interested her hearer most. When at last

they reached the forest, she repeated once more her instructions, and

then took her leave, for fear the enchanter might espy her, and be put

on his guard.

Bradamante rode on about two miles when suddenly she beheld Rogero, as

it appeared to her, hard pressed by two fierce giants. While she

hesitated she heard his voice calling on her for help. At once the

cautions of Melissa lost their weight. A sudden doubt of the faith and

truth of her kind monitress flashed across her mind. “Shall I not

believe my own eyes and ears?” she said, and rushed forward to his

defence. Rogero fled, pursued by the giants, and Bradamante followed,

passing with them through the castle gate. When there, Bradamante was

undeceived, for neither giant nor knight was to be seen. She found

herself a prisoner, but had not the consolation of knowing that she

shared the imprisonment of her beloved. She saw various forms of men and

women, but could recognize none of them; and their lot was the same with

respect to her. Each viewed the others under some illusion of the fancy,

wearing the semblance of giants, dwarfs, or even four-footed animals, so

that there was no companionship or communication between them.

————

ASTOLPHO’S ADVENTURES CONTINUED, AND ISABELLA’S BEGUN

When Astolpho escaped from the cruel Alcina, after a short abode in the

realm of the virtuous Logestilla, he desired to return to his native

country. Logestilla lent him the best vessel of her fleet to convey him

to the mainland. She gave him at parting a wonderful book, which taught

the secret of overcoming all manners of enchantments, and begged him to

carry it always with him, out of regard for her. She also gave him

another gift, which surpassed everything of the kind that mortal

workmanship can frame; yet it was nothing in appearance but a simple

horn.

Astolpho, protected by these gifts, thanked the good fairy, took leave

of her, and set out on his return to France. His voyage was prosperous,

and on reaching the desired port he took leave of the faithful mariners,

and continued his journey by land. As he proceeded over mountains and

through valleys he often met with bands of robbers, wild beasts, and

venomous serpents, but he had only to sound his horn to put them all to

flight.

Having landed in France, and traversed many provinces on his way to the

army, he one day, in crossing a forest, arrived beside a fountain, and

alighted to drink. While he stooped at the fountain a young rustic

sprang from the copse, mounted Rabican, and rode away. It was a new

trick of the enchanter Atlantes. Astolpho, hearing the noise, turned his

head just in time to see his loss; and, starting up, pursued the thief,

who, on his part, did not press the horse to his full speed, but just

kept in sight of his pursuer till they both issued from the forest; and

then Rabican and his rider took shelter in a castle which stood near.

Astolpho followed, and penetrated without difficulty within the

courtyard of the castle, where he looked around for the rider and his

horse, but could see no trace of either, nor any person of whom he could

make inquiry. Suspecting that enchantment was employed to embarrass him,

he bethought him of his book, and on consulting it discovered that his

suspicions were well founded. He also learned what course to pursue. He

was directed to raise the stone which served as a threshold, under which

a spirit lay pent, who would willingly escape, and leave the castle free

of access. Astolpho applied his strength to lift aside the stone.

Thereupon the magician put his arts in force. The castle was full of

prisoners, and the magician caused that to all of them Astolpho should

appear in some false guise—to some a wild beast, to others a giant, to

others a bird of prey. Thus all assailed him, and would quickly have

made an end of him, if he had not bethought him of his horn. No sooner

had he blown a blast than, at the horrid larum, fled the cavaliers and

the necromancer with them, like a flock of pigeons at the sound of the

fowler’s gun. Astolpho then renewed his efforts on the stone, and turned

it over. The under face was all inscribed with magical characters, which

the knight defaced, as directed by his book; and no sooner had he done

so, than the castle, with its walls and turrets, vanished into smoke.

The knights and ladies set at liberty were, besides Rogero and

Bradamante, Orlando, Gradasso, Florismart, and many more. At the sound

of the horn they fled, one and all, men and steeds, except Rabican,

which Astolpho secured, in spite of his terror. As soon as the sound had

ceased Rogero recognized Bradamante, whom he had daily met during their

imprisonment, but had been prevented from knowing by the enchanter’s

arts. No words can tell the delight with which they recognized each

other, and recounted mutually all that had happened to each since they

were parted. Rogero took advantage of the opportunity to press his suit,

and found Bradamante as propitious as he could wish, were it not for a

single obstacle, the difference of their faiths. “If he would obtain her

in marriage,” she said, “he must in due form demand her of her father,

Duke Aymon, and must abandon his false prophet, and become a Christian.”

The latter step was one which Rogero had for some time intended taking,

for reasons of his own. He therefore gladly accepted the terms, and

proposed that they should at once repair to the abbey of Vallombrosa,

whose towers were visible at no great distance. Thither they turned

their horses’ heads, and we will leave them to find their way without

our company.

I know not if my readers recollect that at the moment when Rogero had

just delivered Angelica from the voracious Orc that scornful beauty

placed her ring in her mouth, and vanished out of sight. At the same

time the Hippogriff shook off his bridle, soared away, and flew to

rejoin his former master, very naturally returning to his accustomed

stable. Here Astolpho found him, to his very great delight. He knew the

animal’s powers, having seen Rogero ride him, and he longed to fly

abroad over all the earth, and see various nations and peoples from his

airy course. He had heard Logestilla’s directions how to guide the

animal, and saw her fit a bridle to his head. He therefore was able, out

of all the bridles he found in the stable, to select one suitable, and,

placing Rabican’s saddle on the Hippogriff’s back, nothing seemed to

prevent his immediate departure. Yet before he went he bethought him of

placing Rabican in hands where he would be safe, and whence he might

recover him in time of need. While he stood deliberating where he should

find a messenger, he saw Bradamante approach. That fair warrior had been

parted from Rogero on their way to the abbey of Vallombrosa, by an

inopportune adventure which had called the knight away. She was now

returning to Montalban, having arranged with Rogero to join her there.

To Bradamante, therefore, his fair cousin, Astolpho committed Rabican,

and also the lance of gold, which would only be an incumbrance in his

aerial excursion. Bradamante took charge of both; and Astolpho, bidding

her farewell, soared in air.

Among those delivered by Astolpho from the magician’s castle was

Orlando. Following the guide of chance, the paladin found himself at the

close of day in a forest, and stopped at the foot of a mountain.

Surprised to discern a light which came from a cleft in the rock, he

approached, guided by the ray, and discovered a narrow passage in the

mountain-side, which led into a deep grotto.

Orlando fastened his horse, and then, putting aside the bushes that

resisted his passage, stepped down from rock to rock till he reached a

sort of cavern. Entering it, he perceived a lady, young and handsome, as

well as he could discover through the signs of distress which agitated

her countenance. Her only companion was an old woman, who seemed to be

regarded by her young partner with terror and indignation. The courteous

paladin saluted the women respectfully, and begged to know by whose

barbarity they had been subjected to such imprisonment.

The younger lady replied, in a voice often broken with sobs:

“Though I know well that my recital will subject me to worse treatment

by the barbarous man who keeps me here, to whom this woman will not fail

to report it, yet I will not hide from you the facts. Ah! why should I

fear his rage? If he should take my life, I know not what better boon

than death I can ask.

“My name is Isabella. I am the daughter of the king of Galicia, or

rather I should say misfortune and grief are my parents. Young, rich,

modest, and of tranquil temper, all things appeared to combine to render

my lot happy. Alas! I see myself to-day poor, humbled, miserable, and

destined perhaps to yet further afflictions. It is a year since, my

father having given notice that he would open the lists for a tournament

at Bayonne, a great number of chevaliers from all quarters came together

at our court. Among these Zerbino, son of the king of Scotland,

victorious in all combats, eclipsed by his beauty and his valor all the

rest. Before departing from the court of Galicia he testified the wish

to espouse me, and I consented that he should demand my hand of the

king, my father. But I was a Mahometan, and Zerbino a Christian, and my

father refused his consent. The prince, called home by his father to

take command of the forces destined to the assistance of the French

Emperor, prevailed on me to be married to him secretly, and to follow

him to Scotland. He caused a galley to be prepared to receive me, and

placed in command of it the chevalier Oderic, a Biscayan, famous for his

exploits both by land and sea. On the day appointed, Oderic brought his

vessel to a seaside resort of my father’s, where I embarked. Some of my

domestics accompanied me, and thus I departed from my native land.

“Sailing with a fair wind, after some hours we were assailed by a

violent tempest. It was to no purpose that we took in all sail; we were

driven before the wind directly upon the rocky shore. Seeing no other

hopes of safety, Oderic placed me in a boat, followed himself with a few

of his men, and made for land. We reached it through infinite peril, and

I no sooner felt the firm land beneath my feet, than I knelt down and

poured out heartfelt thanks to the Providence that had preserved me.

“The shore where we landed appeared to be uninhabited. We saw no

dwelling to shelter us, no road to lead us to a more hospitable spot. A

high mountain rose before us, whose base stretched into the sea. It was

here the infamous Oderic, in spite of my tears and entreaties, sold me

to a band of pirates, who fancied I might be an acceptable present to

their prince, the Sultan of Morocco. This cavern is their den, and here

they keep me under the guard of this woman, until it shall suit their

convenience to carry me away.”

Isabella had hardly finished her recital when a troop of armed men began

to enter the cavern. Seeing the prince Orlando, one said to the rest,

“What bird is this we have caught, without even setting a snare for

him?” Then addressing Orlando, “It was truly civil in you, friend, to

come hither with that handsome coat of armor and vest, the very things I

want.” “You shall pay for them, then,” said Orlando; and seizing a

half-burnt brand from the fire, he hurled it at him, striking his head,

and stretching him lifeless on the floor.

There was a massy table in the middle of the cavern, used for the

pirates’ repasts. Orlando lifted it and hurled it at the robbers as they

stood clustered in a group toward the entrance. Half the gang were laid

prostrate, with broken heads and limbs; the rest got away as nimbly as

they could.

Leaving the den and its inmates to their fate, Orlando, taking Isabella

under his protection, pursued his way for some days, without meeting

with any adventure.

One day they saw a band of men advancing, who seemed to be guarding a

prisoner, bound hand and foot, as if being carried to execution. The

prisoner was a youthful cavalier, of a noble and ingenuous appearance.

The band bore the ensigns of Count Anselm, head of the treacherous house

of Maganza. Orlando desired Isabella to wait, while he rode forward to

inquire the meaning of this array. Approaching, he demanded of the

leader who his prisoner was, and of what crime he had been guilty. The

man replied that the prisoner was a murderer, by whose hand Pinabel, the

son of Count Anselm, had been treacherously slain. At these words the

prisoner exclaimed, “I am no murderer, nor have I been in any way the

cause of the young man’s death.” Orlando, knowing the cruel and

ferocious character of the chiefs of the house of Maganza, needed no

more to satisfy him that the youth was the victim of injustice. He

commanded the leader of the troop to release his victim, and, receiving

an insolent reply, dashed him to the earth with a stroke of his lance;

then by a few vigorous blows dispersed the band, leaving deadly marks on

those who were slowest to quit the field.

Orlando then hastened to unbind the prisoner, and to assist him to

reclothe himself in his armor, which the false Magencian had dared to

assume. He then led him to Isabella, who now approached the scene of

action. How can we picture the joy, the astonishment, with which

Isabella recognized in him Zerbino, her husband, and the prince

discovered her whom he had believed overwhelmed in the waves! They

embraced one another, and wept for joy. Orlando, sharing in their

happiness, congratulated himself in having been the instrument of it.

The princess recounted to Zerbino what the illustrious paladin had done

for her, and the prince threw himself at Orlando’s feet, and thanked him

as having twice preserved his life.

While these exchanges of congratulation and thankfulness were going on,

a sound in the underwood attracted their attention, and caused the two

knights to brace their helmets and stand on their guard. What the cause

of the interruption was we shall record in another chapter.

————

MEDORO

France was at this time the theatre of dreadful events. The Saracens and

the Christians, in numerous encounters, slew one another. On one

occasion Rinaldo led an attack on the infidel columns, broke and

scattered them, till he found himself opposite to a knight whose armor

(whether by accident or by choice, it matters not) bore the blazon of

Orlando. It was Dardinel, the young and brave prince of Zumara, and

Rinaldo remarked him by the slaughter he spread all around. “Ah,” said

he to himself, “let us pluck up this dangerous plant before it has grown

to its full height.”

As Rinaldo advanced, the crowd opened before him, the Christians to let

his sword have free course, the Pagans to escape its sweep. Dardinel and

he stood face to face. Rinaldo exclaimed, fiercely, “Young man, whoever

gave you that noble buckler to bear made you a dangerous gift; I should

like to see how you are able to defend those quarterings, red and white.

If you cannot defend them against me, how pray will you do so when

Orlando challenges them?” Dardinel replied: “Thou shalt learn that I can

defend the arms I bear, and shed new glory upon them. No one shall rend

them from me but with life.” Saying these words, Dardinel rushed upon

Rinaldo with sword uplifted.

The chill of mortal terror filled the souls of the Saracens when they

beheld Rinaldo advance to attack the prince, like a lion against a young

bull. The first blow came from the hand of Dardinel, and the weapon

rebounded from Mambrino’s helmet without effect. Rinaldo smiled, and

said, “I will now show you if my strokes are more effectual.” At these

words he thrust the unfortunate Dardinel in the middle of his breast.

The blow was so violent that the cruel weapon pierced the body, and came

out a palm-breadth behind his back. Through this wound the life of

Dardinel issued with his blood, and his body fell helpless to the

ground.

As a flower which the passing plough has uprooted languishes, and droops

its head, so Dardinel, his visage covered with the paleness of death,

expires, and the hopes of an illustrious race perish with him.

Like waters kept back by a dike, which, when the dike is broken, spread

abroad through all the country, so the Moors, no longer kept in column

by the example of Dardinel, fled in all directions. Rinaldo despised too

much such easy victories to pursue them; he wished for no combats but

with brave men. At the same time, the other paladins made terrible

slaughter of the Moors. Charles himself, Oliver, Guido, and Ogier the

Dane, carried death into their ranks on all sides.

The infidels seemed doomed to perish to a man on that dreadful day; but

the wise king, Marsilius, at last put some slight degree of method into

the general rout. He collected the remnant of the troops, formed them

into a battalion, and retreated in tolerable order to his camp. That

camp was well fortified by intrenchments and a broad ditch. Thither the

fugitives hastened, and by degrees all that remained of the Moorish army

was brought together there.

The Emperor might perhaps that night have crushed his enemy entirely;

but not thinking it prudent to expose his troops, fatigued as they were,

to an attack upon a camp so well fortified, he contented himself with

encompassing the enemy with his troops, prepared to make a regular

siege. During the night the Moors had time to see the extent of their

loss. Their tents resounded with lamentations. This warrior had to mourn

a brother, that a friend; many suffered with grievous wounds, all

trembled at the fate in store for them.

There were two young Moors, both of humble rank, who gave proof at that

time of attachment and fidelity rare in the history of man. Cloridan and

Medoro had followed their prince, Dardinel, to the wars of France.

Cloridan, a bold huntsman, combined strength with activity. Medoro was a

mere youth, his cheeks yet fair and blooming. Of all the Saracens, no

one united so much grace and beauty. His light hair was set off by his

black and sparkling eyes. The two friends were together on guard at the

rampart. About midnight they gazed on the scene in deep dejection.

Medoro, with tears in his eyes, spoke of the good prince Dardinel, and

could not endure the thought that his body should be cast out on the

plain, deprived of funeral honors. “O my friend,” said he, “must then

the body of our prince be the prey of wolves and ravens? Alas! when I

remember how he loved me, I feel that if I should sacrifice my life to

do him honor, I should not do more than my duty. I wish, dear friend, to

seek out his body on the battlefield, and give it burial, and I hope to

be able to pass through King Charles’s camp without discovery, as they

are probably all asleep. You, Cloridan, will be able to say for me, if I

should die in the adventure, that gratitude and fidelity to my prince

were my inducements.”

Cloridan was both surprised and touched with this proof of the young

man’s devotion. He loved him tenderly, and tried for a long time every

effort to dissuade him from his design; but he found Medoro determined

to accomplish his object or die in the endeavor.

Cloridan, unable to change his purpose, said, “I will go with you,

Medoro, and help you in this generous enterprise. I value not life

compared with honor, and if I did, do you suppose, dear friend, that I

could live without you? I would rather fall by the arms of our enemies

than die of grief for the loss of you.”

When the two friends were relieved from their guard duty they went

without any followers into the camp of the Christians. All there was

still; the fires were dying out; there was no fear of any attempt on the

part of the Saracens, and the soldiers, overcome by fatigue or wine,

slept secure, lying upon the ground in the midst of their arms and

equipage. Cloridan stopped, and said, “Medoro, I am not going to quit

this camp without taking vengeance for the death of our prince. Keep

watch, be on your guard that no one shall surprise us; I mean to mark a

road with my sword through the ranks of our enemies.” So saying, he

entered the tent where Alpheus slept, who a year before had joined the

camp of Charles, and pretended to be a great physician and astrologer.

But his science had deceived him, if it gave him hope of dying

peacefully in his bed at a good old age; his lot was to die with little

warning. Cloridan ran his sword through his heart. A Greek and a German

followed, who had been playing late at dice: fortunate if they had

continued their game a little longer; but they never reckoned a throw

like this among their chances. Cloridan next came to the unlucky

Grillon, whose head lay softly on his pillow. He dreamed probably of the

feast from which he had but just retired; for when Cloridan cut off his

head wine flowed forth with the blood.

The two young Moors might have penetrated even to the tent of

Charlemagne; but knowing that the paladins encamped around him kept

watch by turns, and judging that it was impossible they should all be

asleep, they were afraid to go too near. They might also have obtained

rich booty; but, intent only on their object, they crossed the camp, and

arrived at length at the bloody field, where bucklers, lances, and

swords lay scattered in the midst of corpses of poor and rich, common

soldier and prince, horses and pools of blood. This terrible scene of

carnage would have destroyed all hope of finding what they were in

search of until dawn of day, were it not that the moon lent the aid of

her uncertain rays.

Medoro raised his eyes to the planet, and exclaimed, “O holy goddess,

whom our fathers have adored under three different forms,—thou who

displayest thy power in heaven, on earth, and in the underworld,—thou

who art seen foremost among the nymphs chasing the beasts of the

forest,—cause me to see, I implore thee, the spot where my dear master

lies, and make me all my life long follow the example which thou dost

exhibit of works of charity and love.”

Either by accident, or that the moon was sensible of the prayer of

Medoro, the cloud broke away, and the moonlight burst forth as bright as

day. The rays seemed especially to gild the spot where lay the body of

Prince Dardinel; and Medoro, bathed in tears and with bleeding heart,

recognized him by the quarterings of red and white on his shield.

With groans stifled by his tears, and lamentations in accents

suppressed, not from any fear for himself, for he cared not for life,

but lest any one should be roused to interrupt their pious duty while

yet incomplete, he proposed to his companion that they should together

bear Dardinel on their shoulders, sharing the burden of the beloved

remains.

Marching with rapid strides under their precious load, they perceived

that the stars began to grow pale, and that the shades of night would

soon be dispersed by the dawn. Just then Zerbino, whose extreme valor

had urged him far from the camp in pursuit of the fugitives, returning,

entered the wood in which they were. Some knights in his train perceived

at a distance the two brothers-in-arms. Cloridan saw the troop, and,

observing that they dispersed themselves over the plain as if in search

of booty, told Medoro to lay down the body, and let each save himself by

flight. He dropped his part, thinking that Medoro would do the same; but

the good youth loved his prince too well to abandon him, and continued

to carry his load singly as well as he might, while Cloridan made his

escape. Near by there was a part of the wood tufted as if nothing but

wild animals had ever penetrated it. The unfortunate youth, loaded with

the weight of his dead master, plunged into its recesses.

Cloridan, when he perceived that he had evaded his foes, discovered that

Medoro was not with him. “Ah!” exclaimed he, “how could I, dear Medoro,

so forget myself as to consult my own safety without heeding yours?” So

saying, he retraced the tangled passes of the wood toward the place from

whence he had fled. As he approached he heard the noise of horses, and

the menacing voices of armed men. Soon he perceived Medoro, on foot,

with the cavaliers surrounding him. Zerbino, their commander, bade them

seize him. The unhappy Medoro turned now this way, now that, trying to

conceal himself behind an oak or a rock, still bearing the body, which

he would by no means leave. Cloridan not knowing how to help him, but

resolved to perish with him, if he must perish, takes an arrow, fits it

to his bow, discharges it, and pierces the breast of a Christian knight,

who falls helpless from his horse. The others look this way and that, to

discover whence the fatal bolt was sped. One, while demanding of his

comrades in what direction the arrow came, received a second in his

throat, which stopped his words, and soon closed his eyes to the scene.

Zerbino, furious at the death of his two comrades, ran upon Medoro,

seized his golden hair, and dragged him forward to slay him. But the

sight of so much youth and beauty commanded pity. He stayed his arm. The

young man spoke in suppliant tones. “Ah! signor,” said he, “I conjure

you by the God whom you serve, deprive me not of life until I shall have

buried the body of the prince, my master. Fear not that I will ask you

any other favor; life is not dear to me; I desire death as soon as I

shall have performed this sacred duty. Do with me then as you please.

Give my limbs a prey to the birds and beasts; only let me first bury my

prince.” Medoro pronounced these words with an air so sweet and tender

that a heart of stone would have been moved by them. Zerbino was so to

the bottom of his soul. He was on the point of uttering words of mercy,

when a cruel subaltern, forgetting all respect to his commander, plunged

his lance into the breast of the young Moor. Zerbino, enraged at his

brutality, turned upon the wretch to take vengeance, but he saved

himself by a precipitate flight.

Cloridan, who saw Medoro fall, could contain himself no longer. He

rushed from his concealment, threw down his bow, and, sword in hand,

seemed only desirous of vengeance for Medoro, and to die with him. In a

moment, pierced through and through with many wounds, he exerts the last

remnant of his strength in dragging himself to Medoro, to die embracing

him. The cavaliers left them thus to rejoin Zerbino, whose rage against

the murderer of Medoro had drawn him away from the spot.

Cloridan died; and Medoro, bleeding copiously, was drawing near his end

when help arrived.

A young maiden approached the fallen knights at this critical moment.

Her dress was that of a peasant-girl, but her air was noble, and her

beauty celestial; sweetness and goodness reigned in her lovely

countenance. It was no other than Angelica, the Princess of Cathay.

When she had recovered that precious ring, as we have before related,

Angelica, knowing its value, felt proud in the power it conferred,

travelled alone without fear, not without a secret shame that she had

ever been obliged to seek protection in her wanderings of the Count

Orlando and of Sacripant. She reproached herself too as with a weakness

that she had ever thought of marrying Rinaldo; in fine, her pride grew

so high as to persuade her that no man living was worthy to aspire to

her hand.

Moved with pity at the sight of the young man wounded, and melted to

tears at hearing the cause, she quickly recalled to remembrance the

knowledge she had acquired in India, where the virtues of plants and the

art of healing formed part of the education even of princesses. The

beautiful queen ran into the adjoining meadow to gather plants of virtue

to staunch the flow of blood. Meeting on her way a countryman on

horseback seeking a strayed heifer, she begged him to come to her

assistance, and endeavor to remove the wounded man to a more secure

asylum.

Angelica, having prepared the plants by bruising them between two

stones, laid them with her fair hand on Medoro’s wound. The remedy soon

restored in some degree the strength of the wounded man, who, before he

would quit the spot, made them cover with earth and turf the bodies of

his friend and of the prince. Then surrendering himself to the pity of

his deliverers, he allowed them to place him on the horse of the

shepherd, and conduct him to his cottage. It was a pleasant farmhouse on

the borders of the wood, bearing marks of comfort and competency. There

the shepherd lived with his wife and children. There Angelica tended

Medoro, and there, by the devoted care of the beautiful queen, his sad

wound closed over, and he recovered his perfect health.

O Count Rinaldo, O King Sacripant! what availed it you to possess so

many virtues and such fame? What advantage have you derived from all

your high deserts? O hapless king, great Agrican! if you could return to

life, how would you endure to see yourself rejected by one who will bow

to the yoke of Hymen in favor of a young soldier of humble birth? And

thou, Ferrau, and ye numerous others who a hundred times have put your

lives at hazard for this cruel beauty, how bitter will it be to you to

see her sacrifice you all to the claims of the humble Medoro!

There, under the low roof of a shepherd, the flame of Hymen was lighted

for this haughty queen. She takes the shepherd’s wife to serve in place

of mother, the shepherd and his children for witnesses, and marries the

happy Medoro.

Angelica, after her marriage, wishing to endow Medoro with the

sovereignty of the countries which yet remained to her, took with him

the road to the East. She had preserved through all her adventures a

bracelet of gold enriched with precious stones, the present of the Count

Orlando. Having nothing else wherewith to reward the good shepherd and

his wife, who had served her with so much care and fidelity, she took

the bracelet from her arm and gave it to them, and then the

newly-married couple directed their steps toward those mountains which

separate France and Spain, intending to wait at Barcelona a vessel which

should take them on their way to the East.

————

ORLANDO MAD

Orlando, on the loss of Angelica, laid aside his crest and arms, and

arrayed himself in a suit of black armor expressive of his despair. In

this guise he carried such slaughter among the ranks of the infidels

that both armies were astonished at the achievements of the stranger

knight. Mandricardo, who had been absent from the battle, heard the

report of these achievements, and determined to test for himself the

valor of the knight so extolled. He it was who broke in upon the

conference of Zerbino and Isabella, and their benefactor Orlando, as

they stood occupied in mutual felicitations, after the happy reunion of

the lovers by the prowess of the paladin.

Mandricardo, after contemplating the group for a moment, addressed

himself to Orlando in these words: “Thou must be the man I seek. For ten

days and more I have been on thy track. The fame of thy exploits has

brought me hither, that I may measure my strength with thine. Thy crest

and shield prove thee the same who spread such slaughter among our

troops. But these marks are superfluous, and if I saw thee among a

hundred I should know thee by thy martial bearing to be the man I seek.”

“I respect thy courage,” said Orlando; “such a design could not have

sprung up in any but a brave and generous soul. If the desire to see me

has brought thee hither, I would, if it were possible, show thee my

inmost soul. I will remove my visor, that you may satisfy your

curiosity; but when you have done so I hope that you will also try and

see if my valor corresponds to my appearance.”

“Come on,” said the Saracen, “my first wish was to see and know thee; I

will not gratify my second.”

Orlando, observing Mandricardo, was surprised to see no sword at his

side, nor mace at his saddle-bow. “And what weapon hast thou,” said he,

“if thy lance fail thee?”

“Do not concern yourself about that,” said Mandricardo; “I have made

many good knights give ground with no other weapon than you see. Know

that I have sworn an oath never to bear a sword until I win back that

famous Durindana that Orlando, the paladin, carries. That sword belongs

to the suit of armor which I wear; that only is wanting. Without doubt

it was stolen, but how it got into the hands of Orlando I know not. But

I will make him pay dearly for it when I find him. I seek him the more

anxiously that I may avenge with his blood the death of King Agrican, my

father, whom he treacherously slew. I am sure he must have done it by

treachery, for it was not in his power to subdue in fair fight such a

warrior as my father.”

“Thou liest,” cried Orlando; “and all who say so lie. I am Orlando, whom

you seek; yes, I am he who slew your father honorably. Hold, here is the

sword: you shall have it if your courage avails to merit it. Though it

belongs to me by right, I will not use it in this dispute. See, I hang

it on this tree; you shall be master of it, if you bereave me of life;

not else.”

At these words Orlando drew Durindana, and hung it on one of the

branches of a tree near by.

Both knights, boiling with equal ardor, rode off in a semicircle; then

rushed together with reins thrown loose, and struck one another with

their lances. Both kept their seats, immovable. The splinters of their

lances flew into the air, and no weapon remained for either but the

fragment which he held in his hand. Then those two knights, covered with

iron mail, were reduced to the necessity of fighting with staves, in the

manner of two rustics, who dispute the boundary of a meadow, or the

possession of a spring.

These clubs could not long keep whole in the hands of such sturdy

smiters, who were soon reduced to fight with naked fists. Such warfare

was more painful to him that gave than to him that received the blows.

They next clasped, and strained each his adversary, as Hercules did

Antæus. Mandricardo, more enraged than Orlando, made violent efforts to

unseat the paladin, and dropped the rein of his horse. Orlando, more

calm, perceived it. With one hand he resisted Mandricardo, with the

other he twitched the horse’s bridle over the ears of the animal. The

Saracen dragged Orlando with all his might, but Orlando’s thighs held

the saddle like a vise. At last the efforts of the Saracen broke the

girths of Orlando’s horse; the saddle slipped; the knight, firm in his

stirrups, slipped with it, and came to the ground hardly conscious of

his fall. The noise of his armor in falling startled Mandricardo’s

horse, now without a bridle. He started off in full career, heeding

neither trees nor rocks nor broken ground. Urged by fright, he ran with

furious speed, carrying his master, who, almost distracted with rage,

shouted and beat the animal with his fists, and thereby impelled his

flight. After running thus three miles or more, a deep ditch opposed

their progress. The horse and rider fell headlong into it, and did not

find the bottom covered with feather-beds or roses. They got sadly

bruised; but were lucky enough to escape without any broken limbs.

Mandricardo, as soon as he gained his feet, seized the horse by his mane

with fury; but, having no bridle, could not hold him. He looked round in

hopes of finding something that would do for a rein. Just then fortune,

who seemed willing to help him at last, brought that way a peasant with

a bridle in his hand, who was in search of his farm horse that had

strayed away.

Orlando, having speedily repaired his horse’s girths, remounted, and

waited a good hour for the Saracen to return. Not seeing him, he

concluded to go in search of him. He took an affectionate leave of

Zerbino and Isabella, who would willingly have followed him; but this

the brave paladin would by no means permit. He held it unknightly to go

in search of an enemy accompanied by a friend, who might act as a

defender. Therefore, desiring them to say to Mandricardo, if they should

meet him, that his purpose was to tarry in the neighborhood three days,

and then repair to the camp of Charlemagne, he took down Durindana from

the tree, and proceeded in the direction which the Saracen’s horse had

taken. But the animal, having no guide but its terror, had so doubled

and confused its traces that Orlando, after two days spent in the

search, gave up the attempt.

It was about the middle of the third day when the paladin arrived on the

pleasant bank of a stream which wound through a meadow enamelled with

flowers. High trees, whose tops met and formed an arbor, overshadowed

the fountain; and the breeze which blew through their foliage tempered

the heat. Hither the shepherds used to resort to quench their thirst,

and to enjoy the shelter from the midday sun. The air, perfumed with the

flowers, seemed to breathe fresh strength into their veins. Orlando felt

the influence, though covered with his armor. He stopped in this

delicious arbor, where everything seemed to invite to repose. But he

could not have chosen a more fatal asylum. He there spent the most

miserable moments of his life.

He looked around, and noted with pleasure all the charms of the spot. He

saw that some of the trees were carved with inscriptions—he drew near,

and read them, and what was his surprise to find that they composed the

name of Angelica! Farther on he found the name of Medoro mixed with

hers. The paladin thought he dreamed. He stood like one amazed—like a

bird that, rising to fly, finds its feet caught in a net.

Orlando followed the course of the stream, and came to one of its turns

where the rocks of the mountain bent in such a way as to form a sort of

grotto. The twisted stems of ivy and the wild vine draped the entrance

of this recess, scooped by the hand of nature.

The unhappy paladin, on entering the grotto, saw letters which appeared

to have been lately carved. They were verses which Medoro had written in

honor of his happy nuptials with the beautiful queen. Orlando tried to

persuade himself it must be some other Angelica whom those verses

celebrated, and as for Medoro, he had never heard his name. The sun was

now declining, and Orlando remounted his horse, and went on his way. He

soon saw the roof of a cottage whence the smoke ascended; he heard the

barking of dogs and the lowing of cattle, and arrived at a humble

dwelling which seemed to offer an asylum for the night. The inmates, as

soon as they saw him, hastened to render him service. One took his

horse, another his shield and cuirass, another his golden spurs. This

cottage was the very same where Medoro had been carried, deeply

wounded,—where Angelica had tended him, and afterwards married him. The

shepherd who lived in it loved to tell everybody the story of this

marriage, and soon related it, with all its details, to the miserable

Orlando.

Having finished it, he went away, and returned with the precious

bracelet which Angelica, grateful for his services, had given him as a

memorial. It was the one which Orlando had himself given her.

This last touch was the finishing stroke to the excited paladin.

Frantic, exasperated, he exclaimed, against the ungrateful and cruel

princess who had disdained him, the most renowned, the most indomitable

of all the paladins of France,—him, who had rescued her from the most

alarming perils,—him, who had fought the most terrible battles for her

sake,—she to prefer to him a young Saracen! The pride of the noble

Count was deeply wounded. Indignant, frantic, a victim to ungovernable

rage, he rushed into the forest, uttering the most frightful shrieks.

“No, no!” cried he, “I am not the man they take me for! Orlando is dead!

I am only the wandering ghost of that unhappy Count, who is now

suffering the torments of hell!”

Orlando wandered all night, as chance directed, through the wood, and at

sunrise his destiny led him to the fountain where Medoro had engraved

the fatal inscription. The frantic paladin saw it a second time with

fury, drew his sword, and hacked it from the rock.

Unlucky grotto! you shall no more attract by your shade and coolness,

you shall no more shelter with your arch either shepherd or flock. And

you, fresh and pure fountain, you may not escape the rage of the furious

Orlando! He cast into the fountain branches, trunks of trees which he

tore up, pieces of rocks which he broke off, plants uprooted, with the

earth adhering, and turf and brushes, so as to choke the fountain, and

destroy the purity of its waters. At length, exhausted by his violent

exertions, bathed in sweat, breathless, Orlando sunk panting upon the

earth, and lay there insensible three days and three nights.

The fourth day he started up and seized his arms. His helmet, his

buckler, he cast far from him; his hauberk and his clothes he rent

asunder; the fragments were scattered through the wood. In fine, he

became a furious madman. His insanity was such that he cared not to

retain even his sword. But he had no need of Durindana, nor of other

arms, to do wonderful things. His prodigious strength sufficed. At the

first wrench of his mighty arm he tore up a pine-tree by the roots.

Oaks, beeches, maples, whatever he met in his path, yielded in like

manner. The ancient forest soon became as bare as the borders of a

morass, where the fowler has cleared away the bushes to spread his nets.

The shepherds, hearing the horrible crashing in the forest, abandoned

their flocks to run and see the cause of this unwonted uproar. By their

evil star, or for their sins, they were led thither. When they saw the

furious state the Count was in, and his incredible force, they would

fain have fled out of his reach, but in their fears lost their presence

of mind. The madman pursued them, seized one and rent him limb from

limb, as easily as one would pull ripe apples from a tree. He took

another by the feet, and used him as a club to knock down a third. The

shepherds fled; but it would have been hard for any to escape, if he had

not at that moment left them to throw himself with the same fury upon

their flocks. The peasants, abandoning their ploughs and harrows,

mounted on the roofs of buildings and pinnacles of the rocks, afraid to

trust themselves even to the oaks and pines. From such heights they

looked on, trembling at the raging fury of the unhappy Orlando. His

fists, his teeth, his nails, his feet, seize, break, and tear cattle,

sheep, and swine; the most swift in flight alone being able to escape

him.

When at last terror had scattered everything before him, he entered a

cottage which was abandoned by its inhabitants, and there found that

which served for food. His long fast had caused him to feel the most

ravenous hunger. Seizing whatever he found that was eatable, whether

roots, acorns, or bread, raw meat or cooked, he gorged it

indiscriminately.

Issuing thence again, the frantic Orlando gave chase to whatever living

thing he saw, whether men or animals. Sometimes he pursued the deer and

hind, sometimes he attacked bears and wolves, and with his naked hands

killed and tore them, and devoured their flesh.

Thus he wandered, from place to place, through France, imperilling his

life a thousand ways, yet always preserved by some mysterious providence

from a fatal result. But here we leave Orlando for a time, that we may

record what befell Zerbino and Isabella after their parting with him.

The prince and his fair bride waited, by Orlando’s request, near the

scene of the battle for three days, that, if Mandricardo should return,

they might inform him where Orlando would give him another meeting. At

the end of that time their anxiety to know the issue led them to follow

Orlando’s traces, which led them at last to the wood where the trees

were inscribed with the names of Angelica and Medoro. They remarked how

all these inscriptions were defaced, and how the grotto was disordered,

and the fountain clogged with rubbish. But that which surprised them and

distressed them most of all was to find on the grass the cuirass of

Orlando, and not far from it his helmet, the same which the renowned

Almontes once wore.

Hearing a horse neigh in the forest, Zerbino turned his eyes in that

direction, and saw Brigliadoro, with the bridle yet hanging at the

saddle-bow. He looked round for Durindana, and found that famous sword,

without the scabbard, lying on the grass. He saw also the fragments of

Orlando’s other arms and clothing scattered on all sides over the plain.

Zerbino and Isabella stood in astonishment and grief, not knowing what

to think, but little imagining the true cause. If they had found any

marks of blood on the arms or on the fragments of the clothing, they

would have supposed him slain, but there were none. While they were in

this painful uncertainty they saw a young peasant approach. He, not yet

recovered from the terror of the scene, which he had witnessed from the

top of a rock, told them the whole of the sad events.

Zerbino, with his eyes full of tears, carefully collected all the

scattered arms. Isabella also dismounted to aid him in the sad duty.

When they had collected all the pieces of that rich armor they hung them

like a trophy on a pine; and to prevent their being violated by any

passers-by, Zerbino inscribed on the bark this caution: “These are the

arms of the Paladin Orlando.”

Having finished this pious work, he remounted his horse, and just then a

knight rode up, and requested Zerbino to tell him the meaning of the

trophy. The prince related the facts as they had happened; and

Mandricardo, for it was that Saracen knight, full of joy, rushed

forward, and seized the sword, saying, “No one can censure me for what I

do; this sword is mine; I can take my own wherever I find it. It is

plain that Orlando, not daring to defend it against me, has

counterfeited madness to excuse him in surrendering it.”

Zerbino vehemently exclaimed, “Touch not that sword. Think not to

possess it without a contest. If it be true that the arms you wear are

those of Hector, you must have got them by theft, and not by prowess.”

Immediately they attacked one another with the utmost fury. The air

resounded with thick-falling blows. Zerbino, skilful and alert, evaded

for a time with good success the strokes of Durindana; but at length a

terrible blow struck him on the neck. He fell from his horse, and the

Tartar king, possessed of the spoils of his victory, rode away.

————

ZERBINO AND ISABELLA

Zerbino’s pain at seeing the Tartar prince go off with the sword

surpassed the anguish of his wound; but now the loss of blood so reduced

his strength that he could not move from where he fell. Isabella, not

knowing whither to resort for help, could only bemoan him, and chide her

cruel fate. Zerbino said, “If I could but leave thee, my best beloved,

in some secure abode, it would not distress me to die; but to abandon

thee so, without protection, is sad indeed.” She replied, “Think not to

leave me, dearest; our souls shall not be parted; this sword will give

me the means to follow thee.” Zerbino’s last words implored her to

banish such a thought, but live, and be true to his memory. Isabella

promised, with many tears, to be faithful to him so long as life should

last.

When he ceased to breathe, Isabella’s cries resounded through the

forest, and reached the ears of a reverend hermit, who hastened to the

spot. He soothed and calmed her, urging those consolations which the

word of God supplies; and at last brought her to wish for nothing else

but to devote herself for the rest of life wholly to religion.

As she could not bear the thoughts of leaving her dead lord abandoned,

the body was, by the good hermit’s aid, placed upon the horse, and taken

to the nearest inhabited place, where a chest was made for it, suitable

to be carried with them on their way. The hermit’s plan was to escort

his charge to a monastery, not many days’ journey distant, where

Isabella resolved to spend the remainder of her days. Thus they

travelled day after day, choosing the most retired ways, for the country

was full of armed men. One day a cavalier met them, and barred their

way. It was no other than Rodomont, king of Algiers, who had just left

the camp of Agramant, full of indignation at the treatment he had

received from Doralice. At sight of the lovely lady and her reverend

attendant, with their horse laden with a burden draped with black, he

asked the meaning of their journey. Isabella told him her affliction,

and her resolution to renounce the world and devote herself to religion,

and to the memory of the friend she had lost. Rodomont laughed

scornfully at this, and told her that her project was absurd; that

charms like hers were meant to be enjoyed, not buried, and that he

himself would more than make amends for her dead lover. The monk, who

promptly interposed to rebuke this impious talk, was commanded to hold

his peace; and still persisting was seized by the knight and hurled over

the edge of the cliff, where he fell into the sea, and was drowned.

Rodomont, when he had got rid of the hermit, again applied to the sad

lady, heartless with affright, and, in the language used by lovers,

said, “she was his very heart, his life, his light.” Having laid aside

all violence, he humbly sued that she would accompany him to his

retreat, near by. It was a ruined chapel from which the monks had been

driven by the disorders of the time, and which Rodomont had taken

possession of. Isabella, who had no choice but to obey, followed him,

meditating as she went what resource she could find to escape out of his

power, and keep her vow to her dead husband, to be faithful to his

memory as long as life should last. At length she said, “If, my lord,

you will let me go and fulfil my vow, and my intention, as I have

already declared it, I will bestow upon you what will be to you of more

value than a hundred women’s hearts. I know an herb, and I have seen it

on our way, which, rightly prepared, affords a juice of such power, that

the flesh, if laved with it, becomes impenetrable to sword or fire. This

liquor I can make, and will, to-day, if you will accept my offer; and

when you have seen its virtue you will value it more than if all Europe

were made your own.”

Rodomont, at hearing this, readily promised all that was asked, so eager

was he to learn a secret that would make him as Achilles was of yore.

Isabella, having collected such herbs as she thought proper, and boiled

them, with certain mysterious signs and words, at length declared her

labor done, and, as a test, offered to try its virtue on herself. She

bathed her neck and bosom with the liquor, and then called on Rodomont

to smite with all his force, and see whether his sword had power to

harm. The pagan, who during the preparations had taken frequent draughts

of wine, and scarce knew what he did, drew his sword at the word, and

struck across her neck with all his might, and the fair head leapt

sundered from the snowy neck and breast.

Rude and unfeeling as he was, the pagan knight lamented bitterly this

sad result. To honor her memory he resolved to do a work as unparalleled

as her devotion. From all parts round he caused laborers to be brought,

and had a tower built to enclose the chapel, within which the remains of

Zerbino and Isabella were entombed. Across the stream which flowed near

by he built a bridge, scarce two yards wide, and added neither parapet

nor rail. On the top of the tower a sentry was placed, who, when any

traveller approached the bridge, gave notice to his master. Rodomont

thereupon sallied out, and defied the approaching knight to fight him

upon the bridge, where any chance step a little aside would plunge the

rider headlong in the stream. This bridge he vowed to keep until a

thousand suits of armor should be won from conquered knights, wherewith

to build a trophy to his victim and her lord.

Within ten days the bridge was built, and the tower was in progress. In

a short time many knights, either seeking the shortest route, or tempted

by a desire of adventure, had made the attempt to pass the bridge. All,

without exception, had lost either arms or life, or both; some falling

before Rodomont’s lance, others precipitated into the river. One day, as

Rodomont stood urging his workmen, it chanced that Orlando in his

furious mood came thither, and approached the bridge. Rodomont halloed

to him, “Halt, churl; presume not to set foot upon that bridge; it was

not made for such as you!” Orlando took no notice, but pressed on. Just

then a gentle damsel rode up. It was Flordelis, who was seeking her

Florismart. She saw Orlando, and, in spite of his strange appearance,

recognized him. Rodomont, not used to have his commands disobeyed, laid

hands on the madman, and would have thrown him into the river, but to

his astonishment found himself in the grip of one not so easily disposed

of. “How can a fool have such strength?” he growled between his teeth.

Flordelis stopped to see the issue, where each of these two puissant

warriors strove to throw the other from the bridge. Orlando at last had

strength enough to lift his foe with all his armor, and fling him over

the side, but had not wit to clear himself from him, so both fell

together. High flashed the wave as they together smote its surface. Here

Orlando had the advantage; he was naked, and could swim like a fish. He

soon reached the bank, and, careless of praise or blame, stopped not to

see what came of the adventure. Rodomont, entangled with his armor,

escaped with difficulty to the bank. Meantime, Flordelis passed the

bridge unchallenged.

After long wandering without success she returned to Paris, and there

found the object of her search; for Florismart, after the fall of

Albracca, had repaired thither. The joy of meeting was clouded to

Florismart by the news which Flordelis brought of Orlando’s wretched

plight. The last she had seen of him was when he fell with Rodomont into

the stream. Florismart, who loved Orlando like a brother, resolved to

set out immediately, under the guidance of the lady, to find him, and

bring him where he might receive the treatment suited to his case. A few

days brought them to the place where they found the Tartar king still

guarding the bridge. The usual challenge and defiance was made, and the

knights rode to encounter one another on the bridge. At the first

encounter both horses were overthrown; and, having no space to regain

their footing, fell with their riders into the water. Rodomont, who knew

the soundings of the stream, soon recovered the land; but Florismart was

carried downward by the current, and landed at last on a bank of mud

where his horse could hardly find footing. Flordelis, who watched the

battle from the bridge, seeing her lover in this piteous case, exclaimed

aloud, “Ah! Rodomont, for love of her whom dead you honor, have pity on

me, who love this knight, and slay him not. Let it suffice he yields his

armor to the pile, and none more glorious will it bear than his.” Her

prayer, so well directed, touched the pagan’s heart, though hard to

move, and he lent his aid to help the knight to land. He kept him a

prisoner, however, and added his armor to the pile. Flordelis, with a

heavy heart, went her way.

We must now return to Rogero, who, when we parted with him, was engaged

in an adventure which arrested his progress to the monastery whither he

was bound with the intention of receiving baptism, and thus qualifying

himself to demand Bradamante as his bride. On his way he met with

Mandricardo, and the quarrel was revived respecting the right to wear

the badge of Hector. After a warm discussion both parties agreed to

submit the question to King Agramant, and for that purpose took their

way to the Saracen camp. Here they met Gradasso, who had his controversy

also with Mandricardo. This warrior claimed the sword of Orlando,

denying the right of Mandricardo to possess it in virtue of his having

found it abandoned by its owner. King Agramant strove in vain to

reconcile these quarrels, and was forced at last to consent that the

points in dispute should be settled by one combat, in which Mandricardo

should meet one of the other champions, to whom should be committed the

cause of both. Rogero was chosen by lot to maintain Gradasso’s cause and

his own. Great preparations were made for this signal contest. On the

appointed day it was fought in the presence of Agramant, and of the

whole army. Rogero won it; and Mandricardo, the conqueror of Hector’s

arms, the challenger of Orlando, and the slayer of Zerbino, lost his

life. Gradasso received Durindana as his prize, which lost half its

value in his eyes, since it was won by another’s prowess, not his own.

Rogero, though victorious, was severely wounded, and lay helpless many

weeks in the camp of Agramant, while Bradamante, ignorant of the cause

of his delay, expected him at Montalban. Thither he had promised to

repair in fifteen days, or twenty at furthest, hoping to have obtained

by that time an honorable discharge from his obligations to the Saracen

commander. The twenty days were passed, and a month more, and still

Rogero came not, nor did any tidings reach Bradamante accounting for his

absence. At the end of that time, a wandering knight brought news of the

famous combat, and of Rogero’s wound. He added, what alarmed Bradamante

still more, that Marphisa, a female warrior, young and fair, was in

attendance on the wounded knight. He added that the whole army expected

that, as soon as Rogero’s wounds were healed, the pair would be united

in marriage.

Bradamante, distressed by this news, though she believed it but in part,

resolved to go immediately and see for herself. She mounted Rabican, the

horse of Astolpho, which he had committed to her care, and took with her

the lance of gold, though unaware of its wonderful powers. Thus

accoutred, she left the castle, and took the road toward Paris and the

camp of the Saracens.

Marphisa, whose devotion to Rogero in his illness had so excited the

jealousy of Bradamante, was the twin sister of Rogero. She, with him,

had been taken in charge when an infant by Atlantes, the magician, but

while yet a child she had been stolen away by an Arab tribe. Adopted by

their chief, she had early learned horsemanship and skill in arms, and

at this time had come to the camp of Agramant with no other view than to

see and test for herself the prowess of the warriors of either camp,

whose fame rang through the world. Arriving at the very moment of the

late encounter, the name of Rogero, and some few facts of his story

which she learned, were enough to suggest the idea that it was her

brother whom she saw victorious in the single combat. Inquiry satisfied

the two of their near kindred, and from that moment Marphisa devoted

herself to the care of her new-found and much-loved brother.