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 tender 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 gripe 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.
In those moments of seclusion Rogero informed his sister of what he had
learned of their parentage from old Atlantes. Rogero, their father, a
Christian knight, had won the heart of Galaciella, daughter of the
Sultan of Africa, and sister of King Agramant, converted her to the
Christian faith, and secretly married her. The Sultan, enraged at his
daughter's marriage, drove her husband into exile, and caused her with
her infant children, Rogero and Marphisa, to be placed in a boat and
committed to the winds and waves, to perish; from which fate they were
saved by Atlantes. On hearing this, Marphisa exclaimed, "How can you,
brother, leave our parents unavenged so long, and even submit to serve
the son of the tyrant who so wronged them?" Rogero replied that it was
but lately he had learned the full truth; that when he learned it he
was already embarked with Agramant, from whom he had received
knighthood, and that he only waited for a suitable opportunity when he
might with honor desert his standard, and at the same time return to
the faith of his fathers. Marphisa hailed this resolution with joy, and
declared her intention to join with him in embracing the Christian
faith.
We left Bradamante when, mounted on Rabican and armed with Astolpho's
lance, she rode forth, determined to learn the cause of Rogero's long
absence. One day, as she rode, she met a damsel, of visage and of
manners fair, but overcome with grief. It was Flordelis, who was
seeking far and near a champion capable of liberating and avenging her
lord. Flordelis marked the approaching warrior, and, judging from
appearances, thought she had found the champion she sought. "Are you,
Sir Knight," she said, "so daring and so kind as to take up my cause
against a fierce and cruel warrior who has made prisoner of my lord,
and forced me thus to be a wanderer and a suppliant?" Then she related
the events which had happened at the bridge. Bradamante, to whom noble
enterprises were always welcome, readily embraced this, and the rather
as in her gloomy forebodings she felt as if Rogero was forever lost to
her.