prisoner, bound hand and foot, as if being carried to execution. The
prisoner was a youthful cavalier, of a noble and ingenuous appearance.
The band bore the ensigns of Count Anselm, head of the treacherous
house of Maganza. Orlando desired Isabella to wait, while he rode
forward to inquire the meaning of this array. Approaching, he demanded
of the leader who his prisoner was, and of what crime he had been
guilty. The man replied that the prisoner was a murderer, by whose hand
Pinabel, the son of Count Anselm, had been treacherously slain. At
these words the prisoner exclaimed, "I am no murderer, nor have I been
in any way the cause of the young man's death." Orlando, knowing the
cruel and ferocious character of the chiefs of the house of Maganza,
needed no more to satisfy him that the youth was the victim of
injustice. He commanded the leader of the troop to release his victim,
and, receiving an insolent reply, dashed him to the earth with a stroke
of his lance; then by a few vigorous blows dispersed the band, leaving
deadly marks on those who were slowest to quit the field.
Orlando then hastened to unbind the prisoner, and to assist him to
reclothe himself in his armor, which the false Magencian had dared to
assume. He then led him to Isabella, who now approached the scene of
action. How can we picture the joy, the astonishment, with which
Isabella recognized in him Zerbino, her husband, and the prince
discovered her whom he had believed overwhelmed in the waves! They
embraced one another, and wept for joy. Orlando, sharing in their
happiness, congratulated himself in having been the instrument of it.
The princess recounted to Zerbino what the illustrious paladin had done
for her, and the prince threw himself at Orlando's feet, and thanked
him as having twice preserved his life.
While these exchanges of congratulation and thankfulness were going on,
a sound in the underwood attracted their attention, and caused the two
knights to brace their helmets and stand on their guard. What the cause
of the interruption was we shall record in another chapter.
MEDORO
France was at this time the theatre of dreadful events. The Saracens
and the Christians, in numerous encounters, slew one another. On one
occasion Rinaldo led an attack on the infidel columns, broke and
scattered them, till he found himself opposite to a knight whose armor
(whether by accident or by choice, it matters not) bore the blazon of
Orlando. It was Dardinel, the young and brave prince of Zumara, and
Rinaldo remarked him by the slaughter he spread all around. "Ah," said
he to himself, "let us pluck up this dangerous plant before it has
grown to its full height."
As Rinaldo advanced, the crowd opened before him, the Christians to let
his sword have free course, the Pagans to escape its sweep. Dardinel
and he stood face to face. Rinaldo exclaimed, fiercely, "Young man,
whoever gave you that noble buckler to bear made you a dangerous gift;
I should like to see how you are able to defend those quarterings, red
and white. If you cannot defend them against me, how pray will you do
so when Orlando challenges them?" Dardinel replied: "Thou shalt learn
that I can defend the arms I bear, and shed new glory upon them. No one
shall rend them from me but with life." Saying these words, Dardinel
rushed upon Rinaldo with sword uplifted. The chill of mortal terror
filled the souls of the Saracens when they beheld Rinaldo advance to
attack the prince, like a lion against a young bull. The first blow
came from the hand of Dardinel, and the weapon rebounded from
Mambrino's helmet without effect. Rinaldo smiled, and said, "I will now
show you if my strokes are more effectual." At these words he thrust
the unfortunate Dardinel in the middle of his breast. The blow was so
violent that the cruel weapon pierced the body, and came out a
palm-breadth behind his back. Through this wound the life of Dardinel
issued with his blood, and his body fell helpless to the ground.
As a flower which the passing plough has uprooted languishes, and
droops its head, so Dardinel, his visage covered with the paleness of
death, expires, and the hopes of an illustrious race perish with him.
Like waters kept back by a dike, which, when the dike is broken, spread
abroad through all the country, so the Moors, no longer kept in column
by the example of Dardinel, fled in all directions. Rinaldo despised
too much such easy victories to pursue them; he wished for no combats
but with brave men. At the same time, the other paladins made terrible
slaughter of the Moors. Charles himself, Oliver, Guido, and Ogier the
Dane, carried death into their ranks on all sides.
The infidels seemed doomed to perish to a man on that dreadful day; but
the wise king, Marsilius, at last put some slight degree of method into
the general rout. He collected the remnant of the troops, formed them
into a battalion, and retreated in tolerable order to his camp. That
camp was well fortified by intrenchments and a broad ditch. Thither the
fugitives hastened, and by degrees all that remained of the Moorish
army was brought together there.
The Emperor might perhaps that night have crushed his enemy entirely;
but not thinking it prudent to expose his troops, fatigued as they
were, to an attack upon a camp so well fortified, he contented himself
with encompassing the enemy with his troops, prepared to make a regular
siege. During the night the Moors had time to see the extent of their
loss. Their tents resounded with lamentations. This warrior had to
mourn a brother, that a friend; many suffered with grievous wounds, all
trembled at the fate in store for them.
There were two young Moors, both of humble rank, who gave proof at that
time of attachment and fidelity rare in the history of man. Cloridan
and Medoro had followed their prince, Dardinel, to the wars of France.
Cloridan, a bold huntsman, combined strength with activity. Medoro was
a mere youth, his cheeks yet fair and blooming. Of all the Saracens, no
one united so much grace and beauty. His light hair was set off by his
black and sparkling eyes. The two friends were together on guard at the
rampart. About midnight they gazed on the scene in deep dejection.
Medoro, with tears in his eyes, spoke of the good prince Dardinel, and
could not endure the thought that his body should be cast out on the
plain, deprived of funeral honors. "O my friend," said he, "must then
the body of our prince be the prey of wolves and ravens? Alas! when I
remember how he loved me, I feel that if I should sacrifice my life to
do him honor, I should not do more than my duty. I wish, dear friend,
to seek out his body on the battlefield, and give it burial, and I hope
to be able to pass through King Charles's camp without discovery, as
they are probably all asleep. You, Cloridan, will be able to say for
me, if I should die in the adventure, that gratitude and fidelity to my
prince were my inducements."
Cloridan was both surprised and touched with this proof of the young
man's devotion. He loved him tenderly, and tried for a long time every
effort to dissuade him from his design; but he found Medoro determined
to accomplish his object or die in the endeavor.
Cloridan, unable to change his purpose, said, "I will go with you,
Medoro, and help you in this generous enterprise. I value not life
compared with honor, and if I did, do you suppose, dear friend, that I
could live without you? I would rather fall by the arms of our enemies
than die of grief for the loss of you."
When the two friends were relieved from their guard duty they went
without any followers into the camp of the Christians. All there was
still; the fires were dying out; there was no fear of any attempt on
the part of the Saracens, and the soldiers, overcome by fatigue or
wine, slept secure, lying upon the ground in the midst of their arms
and equipage. Cloridan stopped, and said, "Medoro, I am not going to
quit this camp without taking vengeance for the death of our prince.
Keep watch, be on your guard that no one shall surprise us; I mean to
mark a road with my sword through the ranks of our enemies." So saying,
he entered the tent where Alpheus slept, who a year before had joined
the camp of Charles, and pretended to be a great physician and
astrologer. But his science had deceived him, if it gave him hope of
dying peacefully in his bed at a good old age; his lot was to die with
little warning. Cloridan ran his sword through his heart. A Greek and a
German followed, who had been playing late at dice: fortunate if they
had continued their game a little longer; but they never reckoned a
throw like this among their chances. Cloridan next came to the unlucky
Grillon, whose head lay softly on his pillow. He dreamed probably of
the feast from which he had but just retired; for when Cloridan cut off
his head wine flowed forth with the blood.
The two young Moors might have penetrated even to the tent of
Charlemagne; but knowing that the paladins encamped around him kept
watch by turns, and judging that it was impossible they should all be
asleep, they were afraid to go too near. They might also have obtained
rich booty; but, intent only on their object, they crossed the camp,
and arrived at length at the bloody field, where bucklers, lances, and
swords lay scattered in the midst of corpses of poor and rich, common
soldier and prince, horses and pools of blood. This terrible scene of
carnage would have destroyed all hope of finding what they were in
search of until dawn of day, were it not that the moon lent the aid of
her uncertain rays.
Medoro raised his eyes to the planet, and exclaimed, "O holy goddess,
whom our fathers have adored under three different forms,--thou who
displayest thy power in heaven, on earth, and in the underworld,--thou
who art seen foremost among the nymphs chasing the beasts of the
forest,--cause me to see, I implore thee, the spot where my dear master
lies, and make me all my life long follow the example which thou dost
exhibit of works of charity and love."
Either by accident, or that the moon was sensible of the prayer of
Medoro, the cloud broke away, and the moonlight burst forth as bright
as day. The rays seemed especially to gild the spot where lay the body
of Prince Dardinel; and Medoro, bathed in tears and with bleeding
heart, recognized him by the quarterings of red and white on his shield.
With groans stifled by his tears, and lamentations in accents
suppressed, not from any fear for himself, for he cared not for life,
but lest any one should be roused to interrupt their pious duty while
yet incomplete, he proposed to his companion that they should together
bear Dardinel on their shoulders, sharing the burden of the beloved
remains.
Marching with rapid strides under their precious load, they perceived
that the stars began to grow pale, and that the shades of night would
soon be dispersed by the dawn. Just then Zerbino, whose extreme valor
had urged him far from the camp in pursuit of the fugitives, returning,
entered the wood in which they were. Some knights in his train
perceived at a distance the two brothers-in-arms. Cloridan saw the
troop, and, observing that they dispersed themselves over the plain as
if in search of booty, told Medoro to lay down the body, and let each
save himself by flight. He dropped his part, thinking that Medoro would
do the same; but the good youth loved his prince too well to abandon
him, and continued to carry his load singly as well as he might, while
Cloridan made his escape. Near by there was a part of the wood tufted
as if nothing but wild animals had ever penetrated it. The unfortunate
youth, loaded with the weight of his dead master, plunged into its
recesses.
Cloridan, when he perceived that he had evaded his foes, discovered
that Medoro was not with him. "Ah!" exclaimed he, "how could I, dear
Medoro, so forget myself as to consult my own safety without heeding
yours?" So saying, he retraced the tangled passes of the wood toward
the place from whence he had fled. As he approached he heard the noise
of horses, and the menacing voices of armed men. Soon he perceived
Medoro, on foot, with the cavaliers surrounding him. Zerbino, their
commander, bade them seize him. The unhappy Medoro turned now this way,
now that, trying to conceal himself behind an oak or a rock, still
bearing the body, which he would by no means leave. Cloridan not
knowing how to help him, but resolved to perish with him, if he must
perish, takes an arrow, fits it to his bow, discharges it, and pierces
the breast of a Christian knight, who falls helpless from his horse.
The others look this way and that, to discover whence the fatal bolt
was sped. One, while demanding of his comrades in what direction the
arrow came, received a second in his throat, which stopped his words,
and soon closed his eyes to the scene.
Zerbino, furious at the death of his two comrades, ran upon Medoro,
seized his golden hair, and dragged him forward to slay him. But the
sight of so much youth and beauty commanded pity. He stayed his arm.
The young man spoke in suppliant tones. "Ah! signor," said he, "I
conjure you by the God whom you serve, deprive me not of life until I
shall have buried the body of the prince, my master. Fear not that I
will ask you any other favor; life is not dear to me; I desire death as
soon as I shall have performed this sacred duty. Do with me then as you
please. Give my limbs a prey to the birds and beasts; only let me first
bury my prince." Medoro pronounced these words with an air so sweet and
tender that a heart of stone would have been moved by them. Zerbino was
so to the bottom of his soul. He was on the point of uttering words of
mercy, when a cruel subaltern, forgetting all respect to his commander,
plunged his lance into the breast of the young Moor. Zerbino, enraged
at his brutality, turned upon the wretch to take vengeance, but he
saved himself by a precipitate flight.
Cloridan, who saw Medoro fall, could contain himself no longer. He
rushed from his concealment, threw down his bow, and, sword in hand,
seemed only desirous of vengeance for Medoro, and to die with him. In a
moment, pierced through and through with many wounds, he exerts the
last remnant of his strength in dragging himself to Medoro, to die
embracing him. The cavaliers left them thus to rejoin Zerbino, whose
rage against the murderer of Medoro had drawn him away from the spot.
Cloridan died; and Medoro, bleeding copiously, was drawing near his end
when help arrived.
A young maiden approached the fallen knights at this critical moment.
Her dress was that of a peasant-girl, but her air was noble, and her
beauty celestial; sweetness and goodness reigned in her lovely
countenance. It was no other than Angelica, the Princess of Cathay.
When she had recovered that precious ring, as we have before related,
Angelica, knowing its value, felt proud in the power it conferred,
travelled alone without fear, not without a secret shame that she had
ever been obliged to seek protection in her wanderings of the Count
Orlando and of Sacripant. She reproached herself too as with a weakness
that she had ever thought of marrying Rinaldo; in fine, her pride grew
so high as to persuade her that no man living was worthy to aspire to
her hand.
Moved with pity at the sight of the young man wounded, and melted to
tears at hearing the cause, she quickly recalled to remembrance the
knowledge she had acquired in India, where the virtues of plants and
the art of healing formed part of the education even of princesses. The
beautiful queen ran into the adjoining meadow to gather plants of
virtue to staunch the flow of blood. Meeting on her way a countryman on
horseback seeking a strayed heifer, she begged him to come to her
assistance, and endeavor to remove the wounded man to a more secure
asylum.
Angelica, having prepared the plants by bruising them between two
stones, laid them with her fair hand on Medoro's wound. The remedy soon
restored in some degree the strength of the wounded man, who, before he
would quit the spot, made them cover with earth and turf the bodies of
his friend and of the prince. Then surrendering himself to the pity of
his deliverers, he allowed them to place him on the horse of the
shepherd, and conduct him to his cottage. It was a pleasant farmhouse
on the borders of the wood, bearing marks of comfort and competency.
There the shepherd lived with his wife and children. There Angelica
tended Medoro, and there, by the devoted care of the beautiful queen,
his sad wound closed over, and he recovered his perfect health.
O Count Rinaldo, O King Sacripant! what availed it you to possess so
many virtues and such fame? What advantage have you derived from all
your high deserts? O hapless king, great Agrican! if you could return
to life, how would you endure to see yourself rejected by one who will
bow to the yoke of Hymen in favor of a young soldier of humble birth?
And thou, Ferrau, and ye numerous others who a hundred times have put
your lives at hazard for this cruel beauty, how bitter will it be to
you to see her sacrifice you all to the claims of the humble Medoro!
There, under the low roof of a shepherd, the flame of Hymen was lighted
for this haughty queen. She takes the shepherd's wife to serve in place
of mother, the shepherd and his children for witnesses, and marries the
happy Medoro.
Angelica, after her marriage, wishing to endow Medoro with the
sovereignty of the countries which yet remained to her, took with him
the road to the East. She had preserved through all her adventures a
bracelet of gold enriched with precious stones, the present of the
Count Orlando. Having nothing else wherewith to reward the good
shepherd and his wife, who had served her with so much care and
fidelity, she took the bracelet from her arm and gave it to them, and
then the newly-married couple directed their steps toward those
mountains which separate France and Spain, intending to wait at
Barcelona a vessel which should take them on their way to the East.
ORLANDO MAD
Orlando, on the loss of Angelica, laid aside his crest and arms, and
arrayed himself in a suit of black armor expressive of his despair. In
this guise he carried such slaughter among the ranks of the infidels
that both armies were astonished at the achievements of the stranger
knight. Mandricardo, who had been absent from the battle, heard the
report of these achievements and determined to test for himself the
valor of the knight so extolled. He it was who broke in upon the
conference of Zerbino and Isabella, and their benefactor Orlando, as
they stood occupied in mutual felicitations, after the happy reunion of
the lovers by the prowess of the paladin.
Mandricardo, after contemplating the group for a moment, addressed
himself to Orlando in these words: "Thou must be the man I seek. For
ten days and more I have been on thy track. The fame of thy exploits
has brought me hither, that I may measure my strength with thine. Thy
crest and shield prove thee the same who spread such slaughter among
our troops. But these marks are superfluous, and if I saw thee among a
hundred I should know thee by thy martial bearing to be the man I seek."
"I respect thy courage," said Orlando; "such a design could not have
sprung up in any but a brave and generous soul. If the desire to see me
has brought thee hither, I would, if it were possible, show thee my
inmost soul. I will remove my visor, that you may satisfy your
curiosity; but when you have done so I hope that you will also try and
see if my valor corresponds to my appearance." "Come on," said the
Saracen, "my first wish was to see and know thee; I will not gratify my
second."
Orlando, observing Mandricardo was surprised to see no sword at his
side, nor mace at his saddle-bow. "And what weapon hast thou," said he,
"if thy lance fail thee?"
"Do not concern yourself about that," said Mandricardo; "I have made
many good knights give ground with no other weapon than you see. Know
that I have sworn an oath never to bear a sword until I win back that
famous Durindana that Orlando, the paladin, carries. That sword belongs
to the suit of armor which I wear; that only is wanting. Without doubt
it was stolen, but how it got into the hands of Orlando I know not. But
I will make him pay dearly for it when I find him I seek him the more
anxiously that I may avenge with his blood the death of King Agrican,
my father, whom he treacherously slew. I am sure he must have done it
by treachery, for it was not in his power to subdue in fair fight such
a warrior as my father."
"Thou liest," cried Orlando; "and all who say so lie. I am Orlando,
whom you seek; yes, I am he who slew your father honorably. Hold, here
is the sword: you shall have it if your courage avails to merit it.
Though it belongs to me by right, I will not use it in this dispute.
See, I hang it on this tree; you shall be master of it, if you bereave
me of life; not else."
At these words Orlando drew Durindana, and hung it on one of the
branches of a tree near by.
Both knights, boiling with equal ardor, rode off in a semicircle; then
rushed together with reins thrown loose, and struck one another with
their lances. Both kept their seats, immovable. The splinters of their
lances flew into the air, and no weapon remained for either but the
fragment which he held in his hand. Then those two knights, covered
with iron mail, were reduced to the necessity of fighting with staves,
in the manner of two rustics, who dispute the boundary of a meadow, or
the possession of a spring.
These clubs could not long keep whole in the hands of such sturdy
smiters, who were soon reduced to fight with naked fists. Such warfare
was more painful to him that gave than to him that received the blows.
They next clasped, and strained each his adversary, as Hercules did
Antaeus. Mandricardo, more enraged than Orlando, made violent efforts
to unseat the paladin, and dropped the rein of his horse. Orlando, more
calm, perceived it. With one hand he resisted Mandricardo, with the
other he twitched the horse's bridle over the ears of the animal. The
Saracen dragged Orlando with all his might, but Orlando's thighs held
the saddle like a vise. At last the efforts of the Saracen broke the
girths of Orlando's horse; the saddle slipped; the knight, firm in his
stirrups, slipped with it, and came to the ground hardly conscious of
his fall. The noise of his armor in falling startled Mandricardo's
horse, now without a bridle. He started off in full career, heeding
neither trees nor rocks nor broken ground. Urged by fright, he ran with
furious speed, carrying his master, who, almost distracted with rage,
shouted and beat the animal with his fists, and thereby impelled his
flight. After running thus three miles or more, a deep ditch opposed
their progress. The horse and rider fell headlong into it, and did not
find the bottom covered with feather-beds or roses. They got sadly
bruised; but were lucky enough to escape without any broken limbs.
Mandricardo, as soon as he gained his feet, seized the horse by his
mane with fury; but, having no bridle, could not hold him. He looked
round in hopes of finding something that would do for a rein. Just then
fortune, who seemed willing to help him at last, brought that way a
peasant with a bridle in his hand, who was in search of his farm horse
that had strayed away.
Orlando, having speedily repaired his horse's girths, remounted, and
waited a good hour for the Saracen to return. Not seeing him, he
concluded to go in search of him. He took an affectionate leave of
Zerbino and Isabella, who would willingly have followed him; but this
the brave paladin would by no means permit. He held it unknightly to go
in search of an enemy accompanied by a friend, who might act as a
defender. Therefore, desiring them to say to Mandricardo, if they
should meet him, that his purpose was to tarry in the neighborhood
three days, and then repair to the camp of Charlemagne, he took down
Durindana from the tree, and proceeded in the direction which the
Saracen's horse had taken. But the animal, having no guide but its
terror, had so doubled and confused its traces that Orlando, after two
days spent in the search, gave up the attempt.
It was about the middle of the third day when the paladin arrived on
the pleasant bank of a stream which wound through a meadow enamelled
with flowers. High trees, whose tops met and formed an arbor,
over-shadowed the fountain; and the breeze which blew through their
foliage tempered the heat. Hither the shepherds used to resort to
quench their thirst, and to enjoy the shelter from the midday sun. The
air, perfumed with the flowers, seemed to breathe fresh strength into
their veins. Orlando felt the influence, though covered with his armor.
He stopped in this delicious arbor, where everything seemed to invite
to repose. But he could not have chosen a more fatal asylum. He there
spent the most miserable moments of his life.
He looked around, and noted with pleasure all the charms of the spot.
He saw that some of the trees were carved with inscriptions--he drew
near, and read them, and what was his surprise to find that they
composed the name of Angelica! Farther on he found the name of Medoro
mixed with hers. The paladin thought he dreamed. He stood like one
amazed--like a bird that, rising to fly, finds its feet caught in a net.