There stands a castle on a magic height
Whose spell-besetten pathways ye may climb
If that ye love fair chivalry sublime.
Come, its enchanted turrets yield the sight,
As long ago to demoiselle and knight,
Of many a satrapy of ancient rhyme,
And in its carven corridors shall Time
Display us trophies of a dead delight:
The damascene of armour in the dusk,
Shadows of banners torn from infidels,
The fragments of an unremembered glory,
Fragrant with faint, imperishable musk
Of Moorish fantasy. Dissolve, ye spells!
Open, ye portals of Castilian story!
L. S.
Many a casement in the grey castle of Spanish Romance opens upon
vistas of fantastic loveliness or gloomy grandeur, but none commands a
prospect so brilliant, so infinitely varied, or so rich in the colours
of fantasy as that aery embrasure overlooking the region of marvel
and high chivalry where is enacted the gallant and glorious history
of Amadis de Gaul. The window of which I speak is perched high in a
turret of the venerable fortalice, and displays such a landscape as
was dear to the weavers of ancient tapestries or the legend-loving
painters of old Florence. Beneath is spread a princely domain of noble
meadow-land, crossed and interlaced by the serpent-silver of narrow
rivers and rising northward to dim, castellated hills. Far beyond
these, remote and seeming more of sky than of earth, soar the blue
and jagged peaks of dragon-haunted mountains. This scene of almost
supernatural beauty presents, at the first glance, an unbroken richness
of colour and radiance. The meadow-land is populous with pavilions
and the air is painted with pennons and gilded with the blazonry of
banners. The glitter of armour thrills the blood like the challenge
of martial music. Strange palaces of marble, white as sculptured ice,
rise at the verges of magic forests, or glitter on the edges of the
promontories, their gardens and terraces sloping to silent and forlorn
beaches. The scene is indeed "Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise."
Such seems the book of Amadis when first we glance through its
rainbow-coloured pages. But when we gain a nearer view by the aid of
the romancer's magical glass we find that the radiant scene is deeply
shadowed in places. Ravines profound as night lie near the castled
hills, in which all manner of noxious things swarm and multiply. The
princely fortresses, the gay palaces, are often the haunts of desperate
outlaws or malignant sorcerers. Hideous giants dwell in the mountains,
or in the shadowy islands which rise from the pale sea, and dragons
have their lairs in fell and forest. But whether it breed light or
gloom, the atmosphere of Amadis is suffused with such a glamour that
we come to love the darker places; we feel that the horror they hold
is but the stronger wine of romance, a vintage which intoxicates.
And if we remain at our point of vantage until nightfall and watch the
illumination of this wondrous region by the necromancy of moonshine
we shall be granted an even more inspiring draught from the strange
chalice of romance. In the mystery of moonlight armour is silvered
to an unearthly whiteness, blood-red lights gleam from the turrets
of the magicians, and the sylph-like shapes of sorceresses flit from
sea to forest like living moonbeams. From the deserts between the
hills and the distant mountains come the cries of ravening monsters,
and all the fantastic world of Faëry is vivid with life.
What marvel then that when this surpassing picture was unveiled to
the eyes of a nation of knights it aroused such a fervour of applause
and appreciation as has been granted to few works in the history of
literary effort? The author of Amadis displayed to the chivalry of
Spain such a world as it had dreamed of. Every knight felt himself
a possible Amadis and every damsel deemed herself an Oriana. The
philosophy and atmosphere of the book took complete possession of the
soul of Spain, banishing grosser ideals and introducing a new code of
manners and sentiment. The main plot and the manifold incidents which
arise from it were coherently and skilfully arranged, and were not
made up of isolated and disconnected accounts of combats, or tedious
descriptions of apparel, appointments, or architecture, interspersed
with the boastful bellowings of rude paladins or vociferous kings,
as the 'plots' of the cantares de gesta had been. Moreover, the
whole was powerfully infused with the love-philosophy of chivalry,
in which woman, instead of being the chattel and plaything of man,
found herself exalted to heights of worship, and even of omnipotence,
undreamed of by the ruder singers of the cantares.
Origin of the "Amadis" Romances
The first Peninsular version of Amadis appeared in a Portuguese dress,
and was the work of a Lusitanian knight, Joham de Lobeira (1261-1325),
who was born at Porto, fought at Aljubarrota, where he was knighted
upon the field by King Joham of happy memory, and died at Elvas. But
Southey's protestations notwithstanding, everything points to France as
being the original home of the romance, and there is even a reference
in Portuguese literature to the circumstance that a certain Pedro de
Lobeira translated Amadis from the French by order of the Infante Dom
Pedro, son of Joham I. The original French tale has vanished without
leaving a trace that it ever existed, save in the Peninsular versions
to which it gave birth, and we are no more fortunate as regards the
Portuguese rendering. A manuscript copy of Lobeira's romance was
known to exist at the close of the sixteenth century in the archives
of the Dukes of Arveiro at Lisbon, and appears to have been extant
as late as 1750. After that period, however, it disappears from the
sight of the bibliophile, and all the evidence points to its having
been destroyed at the earthquake at Lisbon in 1755, along with the
ducal palace in which it was housed.
Its fame, as well as its matter, was, however, kept alive by the
Spanish version, and if we must regard Portugal as the original
home of Amadis in the Peninsula, it is to the genius of Castile that
we owe not only its preservation, but its possible improvement. At
some time between 1492 and 1508 Garcia Ordoñez de Montalvo, governor
of the city of Medina del Campo, addressed himself to the task of
its translation and adaptation. At what precise date it was first
printed is obscure. Early copies are lacking, but we learn that
the Spanish conquerors of Mexico remarked upon the resemblance of
that city to the places of enchantment spoken of in Amadis. This
occurred in 1519, not 1549, as stated by Southey. They may, perhaps,
have referred to the Portuguese version, but in any case an edition
of Amadis is known to have been published in that year, and another
at Seville in 1547. Reference has already been made to the numerous
translations of the romance in all languages, and to the equally
manifold continuations of it by several hands, but it is necessary
to remark that only the first four books of Amadis--that is, those
which constitute the Amadis proper--were written by Montalvo, the
remainder being the independent and original work of imitators. [35]
Elisena and Perion
The action of the romance begins at an obscure and indefinite period,
described as following almost immediately upon the death of our
Redeemer, at which time, we are told, there flourished in Brittany
a Christian king named Garinter, who was blessed with two lovely
daughters. The elder, known as 'the Lady of the Garland,' because of
her fondness for wearing a coronel of flowers, had some years before
the period of the story's commencement been wed to King Languines
(Angus) of Scotland, and had two beautiful children, Agrayes and
Mabilia. Elisena, the younger daughter, was famed for her beauty
throughout the lands of Christendom, but though many powerful monarchs
and princes had asked her hand in marriage, she would wed with none,
but gave herself up to a life of holiness and good works. In the
opinion of all the knights and ladies of her father's realm, one so
fair grievously transgressed the laws of love by remaining single,
and it came to pass that the beautiful and saintly Elisena earned from
the more worldly of her gay critics the name of 'the Lost Devotee.'
If Elisena was devoted to a life of austerity her royal father was
equally partial to the pleasures of the chase, and spent much of
his time in the green forest-land which occupied the greater part
of Lesser Britain in those remote days. On one of those occasions,
as he rode unattended in the greenwood, as was his wont, he chanced
to hear the clash of arms, and, riding to a clearing whence came the
sounds of combat, he saw two knights of Brittany attacking an armed
stranger, whom he guessed by his armour and bearing to be a person
of rank and distinction, and who bore himself with such courage and
address that he succeeded in slaying both his opponents.
As the stranger was in the act of sheathing his weapon he observed
Garinter, and rode forward to meet him, saluting him with a courteous
mien. He complained that in a Christian country an errant knight did
not expect such treatment from its inhabitants as had been meted out
to him, to which the King sagely replied that in all countries evilly
disposed people were to be found as well as good folk, and that the
slain knights had been traitors to their liege lord and well deserved
their fate.
The stranger then proffered the information that he sought the King
of Brittany with tidings of a friend, and on learning this Garinter
revealed his identity. The knight then informed him that he was
King Perion of Gaul, who had long desired his friendship. Garinter
insisted that his brother monarch should accompany him to his palace,
and Perion consenting, they turned their horses' heads toward the city.
Arrived at the palace, they sat down to a rich banquet, which was
graced by the Queen and the Princess Elisena. No sooner did Elisena
and Perion behold one another than they knew that a great and deathless
love had sprung up between them. When the Queen and Princess had risen
from the banquet Elisena divulged her love for Perion to her damsel
and confidante, Darioleta, and asked her to discover whether the
King of Gaul had pledged his troth to any other lady. Darioleta, who
was not easily abashed, went straight to Perion, who avowed his love
for Elisena in passionate terms and promised to take her to wife. He
begged the damsel to bring him to where Elisena was, that he might
have the happiness of expressing his love in person, and she returned
to the Princess with his message. So impatient was Elisena to hear
from Perion's own lips that he loved her, that, recking not of time
or tide, she sought the apartment in which he was lodged, where she
remained until dawn, detained by his protestations of affection and
her own devotion to the noble and knightly monarch who had so suddenly
made her regard her former mode of life as savourless and melancholy.
Ten days did Perion sojourn at the Court of Garinter. At the end of
that time it became necessary that he should depart, but before he
took his leave he plighted his troth to Elisena, and left her one of
two duplicate rings he wore, as a pledge of his faith. Search as he
might, however, he failed to find his good sword, a tried and trusty
weapon, and at last was forced to abandon the search for it.
The Birth and Casting Away of Amadis
When her lover had gone Elisena was plunged in the deepest grief,
and all the comfort which Darioleta could bestow upon her failed to
rouse her from the lethargy of sorrow into which she had fallen. In
her father's kingdom, as in modern Scotland, an old law existed which
provided that if two persons solemnly took each other in marriage by
oath no further ceremony was necessary to render the union legal,
although it was usual to have it ratified later by both Church and
law. Perion and Elisena had taken these vows upon themselves, but
the Princess dreaded the wrath of her father, whom the lovers had
not consulted, and when a little son was born to her she was in great
fear of the consequences, for she knew her father to be both proud and
hasty and prone to act before he learned the truth of a matter. The
worldly and quick-witted Darioleta had, however, no scruples regarding
the manner in which she resolved to save her mistress and herself
from the King's wrath, and despite the protestations of Elisena,
who in her weakness was unable to restrain her, she built a little
ark of wood, made it water-tight with pitch, and, regardless of the
tears and lamentations of her mistress, placed the new-born baby
boy therein with Perion's sword, which she had abstracted from his
sleeping-chamber. Then she wrote upon a piece of parchment, "This is
Amadis, son of a king," covered the writing with wax so that it might
be preserved from obliteration, and, securing it to the betrothal ring
which Perion had given to Elisena, fastened it by a silken cord round
the infant's neck. Then with the utmost caution, lest any one should
observe her action, she carried the tiny vessel to the river which
ran at the foot of the palace garden and launched it upon the swift,
deep waters.
The little ark was rapidly carried out to sea, which was not more than
half a league distant, and it had scarcely emerged upon the tossing
billows when it was sighted by the mariners of a Scottish vessel which
bore a Caledonian knight, Gandales, back from Gaul to his home in the
North. At his orders the sailors launched a boat, and having secured
the tiny vessel, brought it to the ship, when the wife of Gandales,
delighted with the beauty of the infant it held, decided to adopt him
as her own. In a few days the vessel put into the Scottish port of
Antalia, [36] and Gandales carried the little Amadis to his castle,
where he brought him up with his own son, Gandalin.
Some years afterward, when Amadis was about five years old, Languines,
the King of Scotland, and his Queen, 'the Lady of the Garland,' and
sister to Elisena, paid a visit to the castle of Gandales, and were so
greatly attracted by the child's grace and beauty that they expressed
a desire to adopt him as their own. Gandales acquainted them with what
he knew of Amadis's history, and the royal pair promised to regard him
as their own son. Amadis, because of the circumstances of his strange
discovery, was known to every one as 'the Child of the Sea,' and indeed
this mysterious and poetic name cleaved to him until his identity had
been proven beyond cavil. He showed no reluctance to accompany his new
guardians, although he was grieved at having to part with his first
foster-parents, but the little Gandalin would in no wise be separated
from him, and begged so hard to be permitted to share his fortunes
that at last King Languines took both the boys under his protection.
Perion's Dream
Let us return to King Perion. Occupied once more with the affairs
of his kingdom, he still knew great heaviness of spirit because of
a dream that he had had while at the Court of Garinter. It seemed to
him in his dream that some one entered his sleeping-apartment, thrust
a hand through his side, and, taking out his heart, cast it into the
river that flowed through King Garinter's garden. Crying out in his
anguish, he was answered by a voice that another heart was still left
to him. Troubled by memory of the dream, which he could not unriddle,
he called together all the wise men of his realm and requested them
to attempt its solution. Only one of them could unravel the mystery,
and the sage who did so assured him that the heart which had been
abstracted represented a son which a noble lady had borne him, while
the remaining heart symbolized another son who would in some manner
be taken away against the will of her who had cast away the first.
As the King left the wise man's presence he encountered a mysterious
damsel, who saluted him and said: "Know, King Perion, that when thou
recoverest thy loss the kingdom of Ireland shall lose its flower";
and ere the King could detain or question her she had gone.
In course of time King Garinter died, and Perion and Elisena were
formally wedded. But when Perion asked his wife if she had borne him
a son, so bitterly ashamed was she of the part she had been forced
to play in the matter of the child's disappearance that she denied
everything. Later, two beautiful children were born to them, a son
and a daughter, called Galaor and Melicia. When Galaor was but two
and a half years old, the King and Queen, at that time sojourning at
a town called Banzil, near the sea, were walking in the gardens of
the palace there, when suddenly a monstrous giant rose out of the
waves and, catching up the little Galaor, made off with him before
anyone could prevent him.
The monster, dashing into the water, clambered on board a ship and
put out to sea, crying out joyfully, as he did so: "The damsel told
me true!" The parents were deeply afflicted at the loss of their son,
and in her grief Elisena admitted the casting away of Amadis. Then
Perion knew that what the wise man had told him regarding the loss
of the two hearts was the truth indeed.
Now the giant who had stolen the little Galaor was not of the race
of evil monsters, but was generous in disposition and gentle in
demeanour. Indeed, he took as much care of the child as if he had
been one of his own gigantic brood. He was a native of Lyonesse, was
known as Gandalue, and was the master of two castles in an island of
the sea. He had peopled this island with Christian folk, and gave the
little Galaor into the keeping of a holy hermit, with strict orders
to educate him as a brave and loyal knight. He told the hermit that a
damsel--the same who had addressed King Perion so strangely, and who
was a powerful sorceress--had assured him that only a son of Perion
could conquer his lifelong and ruthless enemy, the giant Albadan,
[37] who had slain his father, and had taken from him the rock
Galtares. And so Galaor was left in the care of the hermit.
Oriana
About this time King Lisuarte of Britain chanced to put into a port
of Scotland, where he was honourably received by King Languines. With
Lisuarte was his wife Brisena, and his beautiful little daughter
Oriana, the fairest creature in the world. And because she suffered so
much at sea, her parents decided to leave her for a space at the Court
of Scotland. Amadis was now twelve years old, but seemed fifteen, so
tall and hardy was he, and the Queen bestowed him upon Oriana for her
service. Oriana said that 'it pleased her,' and Amadis cherished those
words in his heart, so that they never faded from his memory. But he
knew not that Oriana loved him, and was greatly in awe of the lovely
and serious little maiden of ten, for whom he conceived a high and
noble affection. Very beautiful was the silent love of these children
for one another. But silent it remained, for Amadis was fearful of
presumption and Oriana the most modest of little damsels.
High thoughts of chivalry now began to stir in the heart of Amadis,
so that at last he requested King Languines to grant him the boon of
knighthood. Languines was greatly surprised that a mere boy should
crave such a heavy burden of honour, but approved his desire, and
gave orders that arms should be made for him. He sent to Gandales,
the knight who had found Amadis in the sea, acquainting him with the
lad's purpose, and Gandales dispatched a messenger to Court with the
sword, ring, and parchment which he had found in the ark along with
the sea-borne baby. [38]
These things were delivered to Amadis as belonging to him, and when
he showed them to Oriana she begged for the wax that contained the
parchment, not knowing it held anything of moment, and accordingly
he gave it to her. Shortly after this King Perion arrived on a
visit to Languines, to ask his help against King Abies of Ireland,
who had invaded Gaul with all the force of his kingdom. Amadis,
knowing Perion's great reputation as a warrior, much desired to be
knighted by his hand, and asked the Queen to crave the boon on his
behalf. But she seemed sad and distraught, and heeded him not. He
inquired of Oriana the cause of the Queen's sadness, and she replied:
"Child of the Sea, this is the first thing ye ever asked of me."
"Ah, lady," replied Amadis, "I am not worthy to ask anything from
such as you."
"What?" she exclaimed. "Is then your heart so feeble?"
"Aye, lady," he replied, "in all things toward you, save that it
would serve you like one who is not his own, but yours."
"Mine!" said Oriana, mystified; "since when?"
"Since 'it pleased you,'" replied Amadis, with a smile. "Do you not
remember your words when the Queen offered me for your service?"
"I am well pleased that it should be so," said Oriana shyly, and
beholding Amadis much overcome at her gracious answer, she slipped
away to ask the Queen the cause of her sorrow.
The Queen told her that she was deeply distressed because of her
sister Elisena, whose kingdom had been invaded, and, returning to
Amadis, Oriana explained to him why his royal mistress had left his
appeals unanswered. Amadis at once expressed a desire to proceed to
Gaul to fight against the Irish invaders, and Oriana applauded his
intention. "You shall go to the wars as my knight," she said, simply
but graciously. Amadis kissed her hand, and requested her to ask the
Princess Mabilia, Perion's daughter (and Amadis's sister) to bring
it about that her father should confer the honour of knighthood upon
him. The little damsel readily consented to do so, and King Perion
joyfully acquiesced in the young man's eager desire to embrace the
profession of arms. So, asking him to kneel, he bestowed upon him the
accolade, fastened the knightly spurs upon his heels, and girded the
sword to his side.
Amadis Goes on Adventure
Now Amadis resolved to set out for Gaul at once, so, taking a tender
leave of Oriana and accompanied by Gandalin, his foster-brother, he
rode off from the palace at nightfall. They had not gone far when they
encountered the mysterious sorceress who, as we have seen, took such
an interest in the fate of our hero, and whose name was Urganda. [39]
The fay greeted Amadis in a most gracious manner, and presented
him with a lance, which she told him would, within three days,
"preserve the house from which he was descended from death." With
her was another damsel, and when Urganda had departed her companion
remained and announced to Amadis that she would journey with him for
three days, and that she was not a familiar of the sorceress, but had
encountered her by chance. They had not ridden far when they came to
a castle, where they heard a squire lamenting loudly that his master
was beset therein by its inmates. Amadis spurred his horse into the
courtyard, and beheld King Perion fiercely attacked by two knights
and a number of men-at-arms. With a cry of defiance he fell upon the
attackers, striking left and right and dealing such terrific blows
that the caitiff knights who had assailed the King were slain and
their retainers put to flight.
Perion at once recognized Amadis as the youth he had knighted not long
since. Leaving the castle, they came to a fork in the road, where
they parted, with mutual promises to meet in Gaul. The damsel who
had so far accompanied him now told Amadis that she was in reality a
messenger from Oriana, whereat Amadis trembled so with joy at hearing
his lady's name that had not Gandalin supported him he had fallen
from the saddle. The damsel then took her leave, saying that she
would acquaint her mistress of his welfare.
After several other adventures which it would be tedious to recount,
Amadis arrived with Gandalin at the Court of King Perion, in Gaul. They
had scarcely rested themselves when they heard the clarions of King
Abies of Ireland sound for an attack upon the city, and, mounting
their destriers, sallied forth, with Agrayes and other knights, to
give the men of Ireland battle. A stubborn contest ensued, in which
Amadis performed prodigies of valour. Perion came up with his men, but
they found themselves greatly outnumbered by the host of King Abies,
and were forced to give ground. However, the day was retrieved by
Amadis, who charged with such fury that neither horse nor man might
withstand him, and in the press he slew, among others, Daugavel,
a favourite of Abies. Hearing this, Abies grieved full sorely, and,
encountering Amadis, challenged him to a mortal combat on the following
day. They met, and after a fierce duel, which lasted several hours,
Abies was slain, and the war was thus ended at a blow.
Now Melicia, Perion's daughter, lost a ring which had been given her by
her father, the same indeed as that which the King had worn when first
he met Elisena, and the exact counterpart of the ring he had bestowed
upon her, and which she had tied to the neck of Amadis when he was cast
adrift. Rather than that her father should know of this loss, Amadis
gave Melicia his own ring. But the King himself recovered the lost
jewel, and made inquiries regarding the resemblance between the rings,
asking his daughter where she had procured its counterpart. Through her
explanation, and his recognition of the sword which Amadis wore, Perion
felt certain that Amadis could be no other than his long-lost son,
and when the young knight recounted the circumstances of his history,
how that he had been found in the sea, the last doubts of his parents
regarding his identity were quite dissipated, and they were overjoyed
at recovering him, publicly acknowledging him as prince of the realm.
We must now follow the fortunes of Galaor, brother of Amadis, who
had been so suddenly snatched away in his infancy by the giant. In
due time he grew to be a youth of courage and address, and as he had
heard that at no Court did chivalry flourish so gallantly as at that
of King Lisuarte of Britain, he resolved to journey thither in the
hope of receiving the honour of knighthood. His giant foster-father
accompanied him, and they had travelled but two days when they came
to the castle of a felon knight, whom, with his retainers, they
saw attacking a single champion. Galaor spurred to the rescue, and
by his aid the caitiff crew were slain or routed. Galaor conceived
such an affection for the stranger that he requested knighthood at
his hands. This was cheerfully granted, and after Amadis--for the
stranger knight was none other--had taken his departure, Galaor,
beholding a damsel close at hand, asked her if she was aware of
the name of the knight he had assisted. The damsel, who was the
sorceress Urganda, replied that his name was Amadis, and that he
was own brother to Galaor. On hearing this Galaor was overjoyed,
but his satisfaction was mingled with a deep regret that he had not
discovered their relationship ere they had taken leave of one another.
Not content with having enlightened Galaor, Urganda hastened
after Amadis, who was on his way to the Court of King Lisuarte at
Windsor. She told him that his rescuer was his brother Galaor, who
had been stolen in youth, whereat he was both overjoyed and sorrowful.
Greatly heartened by the strange encounter, Galaor still pressed on
to the goal of his adventure, the rock Galtares, which he hoped to
free for ever from the tyrannous rule of the monster who usurped
it. A few days' journey brought him to the fortalice, and at his
defiance the giant issued from his castle, armed at all points,
mounted upon a gigantic charger, and mouthing the most terrible
threats imaginable. He rode fiercely at the young knight, hoping to
end the combat at a blow. But, striking out wildly with his club, he
smote down his own horse, came thundering to the ground, and Galaor
spurred his courser over his prostrate body. In doing so, however,
he fell from his charger, and received a terrible buffet from the
giant. Recovering himself, he drew his sword and severed the monster's
arm at the shoulder. This blow practically ended the combat, for Galaor
with another sweep of his good blade beheaded his gigantic adversary.
Amadis, arriving at the Court of King Lisuarte, mingled with its
chivalry, and partook of its adventures with such zest that he came to
be known as one of the most illustrious knights in Christendom. His
adventures at the Court of Lisuarte would fill a goodly volume, and
included a war of extermination against the giants, the defeat of
the usurper Barsinan and the enchanter Archelaus, as well as a score
of other exploits, even a meagre account of which would overflow the
pages set apart for the description of this romance. His adventures are
intertwined with those of his brother Galaor, whom he even once meets
in fierce combat, neither recognizing the other because of his armour.
Lisuarte's Vow
Now, while Lisuarte held court in London an aged knight entered
and displayed such a marvellously wrought crown and mantle that
the King eagerly offered him any price he might ask for them. The
knight declared that he would return on a certain day and claim his
reward, and the King agreed to keep the crown and mantle with all
care, upon pain of losing that which he loved best. The knight was
an emissary of the false enchanter Archelaus, and the gauds he had
shown Lisuarte were made by magic art, so that when the King desired
to wear them and unlocked the coffer in which they were kept he
found they had vanished. The aged knight returned, and demanded his
recompense. Lisuarte was forced to admit the loss of the crown and
mantle, and the creature of the cunning magician demanded the Princess
Oriana in pledge of the King's vow. In true romantic compliance
with his promise, Lisuarte weakly acquiesced, and the knight rode
off with Oriana, whom he at once placed in the power of Archelaus,
and Lisuarte himself fell into a trap set by the artful enchanter.
Learning of this treason while at some distance from the Court,
Amadis and Galaor hurried to Windsor, resolved to frustrate the
necromancer's wicked intention, which was to wed Oriana to the
pretender to the British throne, the false Barsinan, whom Amadis had
already worsted. Galaor speedily delivered Lisuarte from his enemies,
and Amadis, searching high and low for his lady, at last encountered
her in a forest, through which she was being carried by Archelaus. On
beholding the doughty champion, whose reputation was only too well
known to him, the enchanter hastily made off, leaving Oriana with
her lover, who conducted her back to Court.
The Firm Island
With the commencement of the Second Book we enter a strange and mystic
atmosphere. Indeed the book may be called the cor cordium of romance,
its mirror, its quintessence. It introduces us to Apolidon, son of a
King of Greece, who is described as a valiant knight and powerful
necromancer. Abandoning his inheritance to a younger brother,
he sailed from Greece into the Great Sea, where he discovered an
island inhabited by peasants only, and ruled by a frightful giant,
which was known as the Firm Island, fated to be celebrated in the
pages of romance along with many another insular paradise.
Slaying the monstrous tyrant, Apolidon dwelt in the isle until,
on the death of his brother, he returned to sit upon the Grecian
throne. But ere he left the place he laid a potent enchantment upon
it to the purpose that no knight or lady might dwell there save such
as were equal in valour to himself or in beauty to his lady Grymenysa.
The wonders of this magical island well merit description, and as
much of the action of our romance centres there let us embark upon
the fairy galley which lies ever ready in the harbours of legend,
sail thither, and set foot upon its enchanted beaches. Perhaps it is
only through the rainbow lenses of poesy that we can view this wondrous
region aright, so I have essayed a description of the isle in verse.
THE FIRM ISLAND
Prince Apolidon the Mage
Raised a mystic hermitage
On an island in a shipless sea
By necromantic potency,
Carving the granite gateways of its cliffs
With interdicting seals and hieroglyphs,
That his unequals might not habit there,
Nor drink that island's consecrated air.
White terraces o'erhung the black abyss,
Fair as the gardens Queen Semiramis
Piled above Babylon: the glittering height
Seemed as the day empillared on the night.
And from the ocean-green of myrtle's shadow
Rose a pavilion, which from afar
Seemed to the eyes of shipmen as a star
Shattered on a distant meadow.
Betwixt this palace and the shipless sea
The wizard set an arch of glamourie,
Byzantine, builded as from golden air.
Its fretted alcove held an image rare,
In whose uplifted hand there burned and shone
The brazen brightness of a clarion.
And should a lady or a knight,
Lesser in beauty or in might
Than wise Apolidon the wight
Or Grymenysa fair
Seek to traverse the magic vault,
Or make the palace by assault,
The brazen trump would blare,
And vomit such a horrid blast
That, fainting from the garden cast,
The wretch would perish there.
But, should a knight of equal fame
Or lady of unblemished name
Seek entrance by the port,
The trumpet, with a high fanfare
Of praise, would waken all the air
Of that celestial court.
Two crystal pillars marked the magic line;
A tablature of jasper, serpentine,
Surround by arabesques like carven flame,
On which would flash the lineage and name
Of that illustrious paladin or dame,
Gleamed in the Grecian pavement; who did pass
Those pillars frozen in Phoenician glass
Would see, 'mid splendour like reflecting ice,
The lord and lady of that paradise
Moulded in immortality of brass.
Still deeper in those labyrinths of pleasure
A siege right perilous the Mage did make
For Grymenysa's fair, mysterious sake,
For glory of a love withouten measure,
Setting nine seals of Babylonian doom
Upon the entrance to her ivory room,
That but the highest hearts the world had seen
Might know the rapture of its air serene.
And that no sordidness might pass therein
He sentinelled the door with savage jinn,
Invisible and with the flaming powers
Of Sheol in their guarding scimitars.
And all the webs of his weird soul were woven,
In mazy mystery of charm and spell,
Around the shadows of that citadel,
Where oft his wizard prowess had been proven.
So did he leave the place of his delight
To sinful spirits in a magic night,
Calling on Siduri and Sabitu,
And Baphomet, in syllables of might.
And when the moon was in her thinnest phase
He left that island in the shipless sea,
No man knew how, nor evermore did he
Return unto its labyrinthine ways.
Still in the dawn's white fire the shepherd sees
Shapes whiter than the dawn, and whisperings
Sigh through the shadows of the myrtle-trees,
Like to the mutterings of invisible kings
Who speak of blessed, heart-remembered things.
Before he had quitted this marvellous island Prince Apolidon had
placed a governor over it, and had commanded that any who failed to
pass the Arch of Honour and still survived the dread blast of the
trumpet should without ceremony be cast out of the island, but that
such as sustained the ordeal were to be entertained and served with
all honour. And he willed that when the island should have another
lord the enchantment should cease.
Now the spell had been laid upon the island for about a hundred
years when Amadis, who had taken a fond farewell of Oriana, and was
on adventure bound, encountered a damsel who told him of the wonders
of the Firm Island, which, she said, was scarcely two days' sail from
where he then sojourned. Amadis replied that he could desire nothing
better than to essay such an adventure, and the damsel's father,
a knight of large estate, agreed to guide him there so that he might
essay the perilous adventure. When at last they came to the Firm Island
they beheld the pavilion, the walls of which were hung with the shields
of those who had tried the adventure but failed, for though several had
passed the arch none had penetrated to the pavilion. And when Amadis
saw that so many good knights had been undone his heart misgave him.
Amadis Passes the Archway
Amadis was accompanied by Agrayes, son of King Languines of Scotland,
who decided to attempt the passage of the arch at once. As he passed
through it the trumpet held by the image emitted sweet music, and
he entered the pavilion. Then Amadis approached the archway, and
the trumpet blew louder and more melodiously than it had ever done
before. Both knights approached the forbidden chamber. They saw the
jasper slab, on which they read: "This is Amadis of Gaul, the true
lover, son of King Perion." As they looked upon it Amadis's dwarf,
Ardian, ran to his master and told him that Galaor and Florestan, his
brothers, who had also accompanied him on the adventure, had attempted
the passage of the arch, but had been attacked on all sides by unseen
hands, and left for dead. Amadis and Agrayes at once retraced their
steps, and found the young knights lying as in a deep swoon. While
Amadis was giving his brothers such assistance as he could, Agrayes
tried to enter the forbidden chamber, but he too was struck senseless.
When Galaor and Florestan had somewhat recovered from the effects
of the blows they had received from invisible assailants, Amadis
felt that for the honour of his lady, Oriana, he must attempt the
great adventure of entering the forbidden chamber, into which no
knight had yet penetrated. Summoning all his courage to his aid, he
crossed the line of the spell between the pillars, and immediately
felt himself assaulted by the unseen warriors who had defeated his
comrades. A terrific uproar of voices arose, as if all the knights
in the world were assailing him, and the blows were doubled in force
and violence. But, nothing daunted, and strong in memory of his lady,
he fought on. Sometimes he was beaten to his knees, and once his sword
fell from his hand, yet he struggled on until he reached the door of
the chamber, which opened as if to admit him. A hand came forth and,
seizing his, drew him in, and a voice exclaimed: "Welcome is the
knight who shall be lord here, because he surpasses in prowess him
who made the enchantment and who had no peer in his time." The hand
that led him was large and hard, like that of an old man, and the
arm was sleeved with green satin. As soon as he was in the chamber
it vanished, and Amadis felt his strength return to him.
When Florestan and Galaor and the people of the island heard that
the adventure had at last been achieved, they crowded into the now
disenchanted palace and gazed upon its wonders. It was full of the
most marvellous treasures and works of art, but nothing more excellent
was there than the statues of Apolidon and Grymenysa.
Oriana's Cruelty
At the time Amadis had left Britain and had said farewell to Oriana
he dispatched his dwarf, Ardian, back to the palace for the pieces of
a sword which a lady had given him in all good faith, asking him to
avenge her father's death on a cowardly murderer. Amadis, like a good
knight, had promised to keep the broken blade until he had avenged
the dead man. Oriana, seeing the dwarf return, asked him the reason,
and Ardian told her that Amadis had promised a lady ever to keep a
certain sword, for which he had been sent back. Then he fetched the
blade and galloped off. Oriana, putting a wrong construction upon the
dwarf's words, and suspecting Amadis of unfaithfulness to her, wrote
him a cruel letter, which she entrusted to a page with instructions
to find him at all costs. After much journeying he traced Amadis to
the Firm Island, and delivered the letter into his hands.
When Amadis had perused the cold and bitter words of his lady he
seemed to the messenger as a man distraught. The page told him that
he was forbidden to carry any reply to Oriana. Amadis in terrible
grief called for Ysanjo, the governor of the island, and requested
him as a loyal knight to keep secret all that he might see till after
his brothers had heard Mass on the morrow. Then he commanded Ysanjo
to open the gate of the palace privily so that he might withdraw his
horse and arms therefrom without being observed by anyone. Accompanied
by the honest Ysanjo, for whom he had formed a high esteem, he betook
himself to a chapel of the Virgin hard by. He prayed fervently that she
would intercede with her Divine Son to have mercy upon him, as he felt
that his days would be few. Then he rose and, taking an affectionate
leave of the Governor, mounted his horse and, without shield, spear,
or helmet, rode off.
Now Gandalin, squire to Amadis, and son of the Scottish knight
Gandales, who throughout all these adventures had never left his
master, took counsel with Durin, the messenger who had brought
Oriana's cruel letter to the Firm Island, and resolved to follow the
distraught knight, lest he should come to harm. They soon found him
sleeping beside a fountain, worn out with the violence of his sorrow,
and mercifully allowed him to slumber on. But when night had fallen
Amadis awoke and, remembering his wretchedness, broke into pitiful
lamentations for his evil fate. The youths concealed themselves, for
they did not wish him to know of their presence. But Amadis, catching
sight of Gandalin, was angry with him for having followed him. To
arouse him from his lethargy Gandalin told him that a knight, like
himself abandoned by his lady, was in the neighbourhood, threatening
vengeance upon any whom he might encounter. Amadis, minded to throw
away his life, leapt on his horse at hearing this, and accompanied
Gandalin in search of the crazy challenger. They soon came up with
the unknown, and Amadis hurled a fierce defiance at him. A stubborn
combat ensued, and Amadis, by a desperate blow, struck his opponent
senseless. Leaving the wounded knight with Durin, Amadis rode on,
still followed by the faithful Gandalin.
Galaor, Florestan, and Agrayes, hearing of Amadis's plight and his
hurried departure, resolved to follow him. Meanwhile the object of
their search rode onward, allowing his horse to choose its own path,
and given over to weeping and lamentation. While the anxious Gandalin
slept, the crazed lover eluded him, and traversed the wildest parts
of the savage country which they had penetrated. Ere long he came to
a plain at the foot of a mountain, where he encountered a hermit,
and begged the holy man for leave to remain with him. The hermit
greeted him kindly, and Amadis confided his history to the good old
man, who told him that he dwelt on a high rock full seven leagues
out at sea. And the hermit gave him the name Beltenebros, or 'the
Fair Forlorn,' as he was at once so comely and so sore distracted.
The Poor Rock
In due time they reached the sea-shore, and, giving his horse to
the mariners, Amadis accompanied the hermit on board a vessel and
sailed to the Poor Rock, as the holy man had named his place of
hermitage. And here Amadis partook of the austerities of the hermit,
"not for devotion but for despair, forgetting his great renown in
arms and hoping and expecting death--all for the anger of a woman!"
Durin, Oriana's messenger, journeyed back to the British Court
and told his mistress how Amadis had received her letter, and of
the manner in which her knight had achieved the adventure of the
Firm Island. Then Oriana knew that Amadis must have remained true
to her. When she learned that he had gone into the desert to die,
her shame and anguish knew no bounds, and she wrote a letter of deep
contrition to her lover, and dispatched it to him by one of her women
called 'the Damsel of Denmark,' a sister of Durin.
After they had set out, the knight whom Amadis had vanquished on the
evening of the day on which he learned of Oriana's cruelty arrived
at the British Court, bringing with him the armour of Amadis, which
he had found, some time after his encounter with him, at the edge
of a deep fountain. And when she heard his story Oriana believed her
lover to be dead, and in great grief shut herself in her apartments,
refusing all comfort.
Meanwhile, calling to mind the great misery he had endured, Amadis
made this song in his passion:
Farewell to victory,
To warlike glory and to knightly play.
Ah, wherefore should I live to weep and sigh?
Far greater honour would it be to die!
With kindly death my wretchedness shall cease,
And from my torments shall I find release.
Love will be unremembered in the shade,
The deep unkindness of a cruel maid,
Who in her pride hath slain not me alone,
But all the deeds for glory I have done! [40]
At this time the lady Corisanda, who loved Florestan, chanced to visit
the Poor Rock, and her damsels heard the story of Amadis, who told
them that his name was Beltenebros, but that the song had been made
by one Amadis, whom he had known. On her return to the British Court,
Corisanda's maidens sang the song to Oriana as the composition of
Amadis. And she knew that Amadis and Beltenebros were one and the same.
Now the Damsel of Denmark, who had been sent to search for Amadis,
was driven by tempest to the foot of the Poor Rock. [41] Landing with
Durin and an attendant, Enil, she found Amadis praying in the chapel,
and when he beheld the Damsel's face he fainted away.
This extreme sensitiveness to love is characteristic of the late
Middle Ages, however absurd and overdrawn it may appear to us. That
Amadis fainted at the mere sight of one who had served his lady seems
to us ridiculous, and that he should imprison himself upon a barren
rock for the remainder of his life because she had been unkind to
him is to the modern reader more than a little grotesque.
Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair?
But we must deal gently with the ideas of the past, as with one
of those faded samplers of our great-grandmothers, which, if we
handle it carelessly, is apt to fall to pieces. When we think of
the manner in which Dante and Petrarch had established the worship
of woman, and how the Courts of Love had completed the work they
had begun, can we wonder that men bred in this creed, and regarding
the worship of womankind as second to that of God alone, were apt to
become disconsolate and despairing if the object of their devotion
condemned or deserted them? Again, exalted and sensitive minds in
all ages have been peculiarly amenable to feminine criticism, as we
can see in perusing the biographies of such men as Goethe. Genius,
too, which itself nearly always abundantly partakes of the nature
of the feminine, is prone to adopt this ultra-reverent attitude,
as the sonnets of Shakespeare and the poems of Lovelace and many
another singer show. The rough, manly common sense of the average
male is too often denied it, and, man and woman in itself, it must
suffer the emotions of both sexes.
But, if maintained within rational bounds, this reverence for women
in general and for the best type of woman in particular must be
regarded as one of the great binding forces of humanity, a thing
which has accomplished perhaps more than aught else for the world's
refinement and advance. And here, even in a work of romance, which
perhaps, after all, is the fitting place for such an exhortation,
I would appeal to the younger generation of to-day to look backward
with eyes of kindness upon the tender beauty and infinite charm of a
creed which, if it is not entirely dead, is in a manner moribund. I
do not ask our youths and maidens to imitate its fantastic features
or its extravagances. But I do entreat them to regard its fine spirit,
its considerate chivalry, and, above all, the modest reserve and lofty
intention which were its chief characteristics. It is a good sign of
the times that the sexes are growing to know each other better. But we
must be wary of the familiarity that breeds contempt. Let us retain a
little more of the serious beauty of the old intercourse between man
and woman, and learn to beware of a flippancy of attitude and laxity
of demeanour which in later years we shall certainly look back upon
with a good deal of vexation and self-reproach.
When he had regained consciousness, the Damsel of Denmark gave Amadis
Oriana's letter, beseeching him to return to her and receive her
atonement for the wrong she had done him. He took leave of the good
hermit, and, embarking upon the ship in which the Damsel had arrived,
set sail for the Firm Island, where he rested, as he was yet too weak
to make the long journey to England. But at the end of ten days he
took Enil for his squire and, accompanied by Durin and the Damsel,
set out for the English Court.
Oriana Repentant
Meanwhile Galaor, Florestan, and Agrayes, having searched in vain
for Amadis, arrived at London in a most disconsolate frame of
mind. Oriana, hearing of their want of success, betook her to the
castle of Miraflores, some leagues from the city. In its ancient
garden she came to feel that Amadis was still alive, and, full of
remorse for the manner in which she had dealt with him, she resolved
that no further shadow should fall upon their love. The description
of Miraflores in the romance is very beautiful, and the impression
we receive of Oriana walking in its quiet and umbrageous alleys may
perhaps best be rendered in verse.
Miraflores, fountain-girded,
Where the trees are many-birded,
And the orchard and the garden
Of the forest seem a part;
In the stillness of thy meadows,
In the solace of thy shadows,
I await the blessed pardon
That will ease a breaking heart.
Miraflores, name of beauty!
May I learn a lover's duty,
In the evening and the morning,
In this fair and fragrant place;
May I know the bliss of pardon
In thy battlemented garden;
Come to hate the hate of scorning,
And to love the love of grace!
Now a herald came to King Lisuarte at Windsor giving him defiance in
the name of Famongomadan, the giant, Cartadaque, his nephew, giant of
the Defended Mountain, and Madanfaboul, giant of the Vermilion Tower;
from Quadragante, brother of King Abies of Ireland, and Archelaus
the Enchanter, all of whom were to join against Britain on behalf of
King Cildadan [42] of Ireland, who had quarrelled with Lisuarte. The
knight, however, made one condition which he said would ensure peace,
and that degrading enough. For he announced that, should Lisuarte give
his daughter Oriana as damsel and servant to Madasima, the daughter of
Famongomadan, or in marriage to Basagante, his son, the allied giants
and kings would not advance against him, but would remain in their
own lands. Lisuarte rejected the proffered terms with quiet dignity.
Now Amadis had slain King Abies long before, and it was revenge against
him the ill-assorted allies desired, and Florestan, who was present,
hearing this, challenged the ambassador to battle. This the knight,
whose name was Landin, promised him on the completion of the war,
and they exchanged gages of battle.
When the knight had departed, Lisuarte called for his little daughter
Leonora to come with her damsels and dance before him, a thing he
had not done since the news that Amadis was lost. And he asked her
to sing a song which Amadis, in sport, had made for her. So the child
and her companions made music and chanted this little lay:
White rosebud, Leonore,
Unblemished flower,
Pure as a morning in the fields of May,
Thy perfume haunts my heart,
Why dost thou bloom apart,
Hid in the shadows of thy modesty?
Or, if thou mayst not be,
Blossom of purity,
Mine own to wear and cherish, as the leaves
Embrace thee and enfold,
Be not so white, so cold:
Bloom also for the lonely heart that grieves! [43]
Gandalin journeyed to Miraflores to acquaint Oriana with the
news that Corisanda had arrived at Court and had been reunited to
Florestan. Delighted as she was at this intelligence, she could
not help comparing the happy condition of the lovers with her own,
and burst into tears. But even as she wept the Damsel of Denmark
was announced. Oriana listened to her tidings with a beating heart,
and when the Damsel gave her a letter from Amadis, in which she found
his ring enclosed, she all but swooned with excess of joy.
Amadis lay in a distant nunnery, recovering from the wasting sorrow
from which he had suffered so long. When he felt stronger, he
donned green armour, so that he might not be known, and travelled
toward London. On the eighth day of his journey he encountered
the giant knight Quadragante, he who among others had defied King
Lisuarte. Amadis unhorsed the gigantic warrior, who yielded himself
vanquished and promised to deliver himself up to Lisuarte.
Amadis Slays Famongomadan
Proceeding on his way, Amadis passed some tents pitched in a meadow
which were occupied by a party of knights and damsels in the service of
the Princess Leonora. The knights insisted upon his breaking a lance
with them. He unhorsed them all and rode on. While he was in the act
of drinking from a well not many miles farther on, he espied a wagon
full of captive knights and damsels in chains. Before it, on a huge
black horse, rode a giant so immense that he was terrible to behold,
and Amadis knew him for Famongomadan, who had sent his challenge
to Lisuarte. Amadis, who was much wearied by his recent encounter
with the knights, did not then desire to meet him, but when he saw
that Leonora was in the wagon along with the other damsels he leapt
on his destrier and, looking toward Miraflores, where Oriana was,
awaited the giant's onset.
Seeing him, Famongomadan thundered down upon him like a human
avalanche. His great boar-spear transfixed Amadis's horse, but the
lance of the paladin ran its way clean through the monster's carcass
and broke off short in his body. At this his son Basagante ran to the
rescue, but Amadis, disengaging himself from his fallen steed, drew
his sword and severed one of Basagante's legs from the trunk. But his
falchion snapped in twain with the violence of the blow, and a fierce
struggle for Basagante's axe ended in Amadis wrenching it from his
opponent's grasp and smiting off his head. Then he slew Famongomadan
with his own spear, and, releasing the knights in the wagon, requested
them to carry the bodies of the dead giants to King Lisuarte and say
that they were sent by a strange knight, Beltenebros. And mounting
the great black horse of Famongomadan, he galloped off.
At long last Amadis came to Miraflores and met with Oriana, and great
was the love between them. Eight days he sojourned in the castle with
his lady; then he rode away to assist Lisuarte in his war against
Cildadan of Ireland, who, as we have seen, had challenged the King's
supremacy in Britain. Cildadan and his giant allies were vanquished
and the Irish king sorely wounded by Amadis.
Now Briolania, the lady from whom Amadis had received the broken sword,
visited Oriana, and told her in confidence that she was enamoured of
Amadis, who on his part had told her that he loved her not, whereat
Oriana was both relieved and not a little amused. And now the whole
Court knew that Beltenebros and Amadis were one and the same, and
great was the wonder at the puissance of his single arm.
But Amadis, who knew that adventure was the duty and lot of a knight,
desired once more to go in quest of it, and with him went ten knights,
his friends and kinsmen, greatly to the discontent of Lisuarte,
whom mischief-makers tried to incense against Amadis, for removing
the best and bravest of his Court.
Meanwhile Briolania had betaken herself to the Firm Island, where she
was much disturbed by signs and portents of a very terrible nature. She
passed between the Arch of True Lovers. But when she attempted to
penetrate to the Forbidden Chamber she was violently cast out. So,
sad at heart, she returned to her own country. Shortly after this
Amadis arrived at the island, greatly to the joy of all therein.
Here we learn something further regarding the topography and natural
history of the Firm Island, which was nine leagues long and seven
wide, full of villages and rich dwelling-houses. Apolidon had built
himself four wonderful palaces in the isle. One was that of the Serpent
and the Lions, another that of the Hart and the Dogs. The third was
called the Whirling Palace, for three times a day, and as often in
the night, it whirled round, so that they who were in it thought it
would be dashed to pieces. The fourth was that of the Bull, because
every day a wild bull issued out of an old covered way and ran among
the people as though he would destroy them. Then he entered a tower,
from which he emerged ridden by an aged ape, which flogged him back
to the place whence he had come. [44]
News reached the island that Gromadaza of the Boiling Lake, the wife
of Famongomadan, had sent her defiance to Lisuarte, who in consequence
had resolved to behead her daughter Madasima and other damsels of the
race of giants unless she gave up her castles and yielded her kingdom
to him. Amadis and his knights thought it ill in Lisuarte to take such
measures against women, and dispatched twelve of their number to act
as champions to the distressed giantesses. This action naturally gave
colour to the stories of the mischief-makers at Lisuarte's Court,
who desired to put Amadis to shame. But Lisuarte was of too noble a
mind to listen to them, and on the arrival of the knights he set the
damsels free.
Amadis Quarrels with Lisuarte
But Fate and the counsels of wicked men are often stronger than the
nobility of kings. His advisers urged Lisuarte to attempt the siege of
the Island of Mongaza, the last stronghold of the giants, and held only
by their womenkind. Amadis and his company conceived this proposal as
unchivalrous, and when Lisuarte heard of their opinion he grew wroth
and sent his defiance to Amadis in the Firm Island. Amadis replied
that Madasima, the daughter of Famongomadan, having wed with Galvanes,
a friend of both Lisuarte and himself, the island could not be held
as sheltering the enemies of Lisuarte any longer, and that he would
defend it with his whole force. And he set sail for the island with
a large and well-equipped army. There they found a garrison which had
taken possession in the name of Lisuarte, and which they dispossessed.
Leaving a suitable force in the island, Amadis, who was becoming
anxious regarding Oriana, set sail for his own land of Gaul, and,
putting in at an island for supplies, chanced then to rescue his
brother Galaor and King Cildadan from the clutches of a tyrannous
giant, who had entrapped them. Arrived in Gaul, Amadis greeted his
parents, whom he had not seen for some years. In the meantime Lisuarte
had himself landed in the Isle of Mongaza, and had defeated the troops
of Galvanes, its rightful lord, but he dealt reasonably and kindly
with his vanquished foes and contented himself with making Galvanes,
and Madasima, his wife, do homage to him.
For some time Amadis led a life of ease, hunting and feasting, and
contenting himself with such news of his lady as he could obtain. We
are told that by these means his great renown became obscured, although
the unbiased reader might think that he had already achieved sufficient
fame to last a lifetime. "Damsels who went to him to seek revenge for
their wrongs cursed him for forsaking arms in the best of his life."
But Amadis had strong reasons for acting as he did, for a letter
from Oriana had informed him that she had borne him a little son,
and she beseeched him not to leave Gaul until such time as he heard
further from her. She did not acquaint him with the circumstance that
the infant had been lost, but of this we shall hear more anon. Later
Oriana wrote desiring Amadis not to take arms against her father, and
not to quit Gaul, unless it were to take his part. So Amadis resolved
to assist Lisuarte against the Kings of the Isles, with whom he was
about to do battle, and who had invaded his kingdom.
Now the Damsel of Denmark had taken the little son of Amadis and Oriana
and had carried him by night through a gloomy forest, in order that her
mistress might not be disgraced. Left alone for a moment, the child
had been carried off by a lioness, from which it had been rescued by
a hermit, Nasciano, who had called him Esplandian, and educated him
along with his own nephew. The good man brought the lads up as hunters,
and not the least strange thing about this remarkable child was the
circumstance that a lioness had affectionately attached herself to him,
refusing to leave him, either when at home or in the chase.
Meanwhile Amadis, calling himself 'Knight of the Green Sword,'
had resolved to do away with the ill reports of his unchivalrous
sloth. Taking only Ardian the dwarf with him, he entered Germany,
where he passed four years in adventure without word or message from
Oriana. Passing into Bohemia, he remained at its Court for a space.
One day Lisuarte, going to the chase with the Queen and his daughters,
came to the mountain where the hermit Nasciano dwelt, and encountering
Esplandian, resolved to adopt him, and the hermit showed him a letter,
written by Urganda, which had been tied to Esplandian's neck when
Nasciano found him. The letter was addressed to King Lisuarte himself,
and advised him to cherish the boy, who one day would deliver him
from the greatest danger. So Lisuarte resolved to attach Esplandian,
and Sargil, his foster-brother, to his service. And when the hermit
told how he had rescued Esplandian from the lioness Oriana knew him
to be none other than her own son, for she had heard that the infant
left on the threshold of the nunnery had been seized by a wild beast
and carried off.
In the course of his adventures, which were numerous and stirring,
Amadis was sorely wounded by a monster which he had slain, and was
cured of his hurt by a certain lady called Grasinda, to whom he was
grateful for her kindness and assistance, and he promised to do her
will in any adventure she might choose for him.
About the same time El Patin, Emperor of Rome, resolved to ask King
Lisuarte for the hand of Oriana. Hearing this, Queen Sardamira
of Sardinia, who loved El Patin, came to Britain along with the
ambassadors of the Roman Emperor, and, meeting Oriana, gave her some
account of Amadis, telling her how on one occasion he had conquered
El Patin in battle and how that emperor owed him a mortal grudge.
Galaor, who suspected the love of Amadis and Oriana, went to Lisuarte,
strongly advising him not to give Oriana in marriage to the Emperor,
and set out for Gaul, hoping to receive some news of Amadis. At the
same time Florestan betook himself to the Firm Island, to acquaint
Agrayes of the troubles besetting Oriana, and to carry him news of
his lady Mabilia, who longed to see him once more.
'The Greek Knight'
But, as fortune would have it, Amadis, now calling himself 'the Greek
Knight,' accompanied by the lady Grasinda, arrived in Britain. Amadis,
desiring to remain incognito, gave explicit orders to all in his
train not to divulge his name. He learned that Oriana was about
to be given to the Emperor, and resolved to take his measures
accordingly. Grasinda, however, mindful of his vow to her to embark in
any adventure she might choose for him, sent a letter to King Lisuarte
stating that she held herself fairer than any lady at his Court, and
that did any knight deny this he must do battle with her champion,
the Greek Knight. The Roman ambassadors requested of Lisuarte that they
might be permitted to take up the challenge, and to this he acceded.
The combat duly took place between Amadis and the knights of Rome,
to the entire discomfiture of the latter. But the day came on which
Lisuarte had promised the Emperor to send Oriana to him, and although
she swooned at the thought of being taken to Rome, her stubborn father
had her carried on board ship, said farewell to her, not unkindly,
and watched the Roman galley as it bore his daughter from the white
shores of Britain.
Amadis, hearing of the King's intention, went on board his own ship,
and lay in wait for the Roman vessel which was carrying off his
adored lady. Attacking the Italian craft with impetuosity, he quickly
overcame those on board, rescued Oriana, and at once set sail with
her for the golden shores of the Firm Island.
After a voyage of seven days the vessel of Amadis anchored in the
haven of the Firm Island. The lady Grasinda had by this time arrived
there, and now came out to welcome Oriana, whom of all ladies in the
world she most desired to see, because of her great renown, which
was everywhere spread abroad. And when she beheld Oriana "she could
not believe that such beauty was possible in any mortal creature."
Oriana and the other ladies were lodged in a tower of the palace
wrought by the magic skill of Apolidon, and by her request no
knight was permitted to enter this tower till some terms might
be made with the King, her father. Amadis was well aware that the
defiance he had thrown in the teeth of Lisuarte and the Emperor of
Rome by his abduction of Oriana must lead to serious consequences,
so he dispatched messengers to his many friends throughout the world
asking that they would send succour to him in his necessity.
The enmity which had arisen betwixt his two ancient enemies, Amadis
and King Lisuarte, presented an opportunity to the wily enchanter
Archelaus which he had no intention of letting slip. He therefore
approached several other spirits of discord and proposed to them that
if strife commenced between Amadis and the British King they with
their forces should conceal themselves in the neighbourhood of the
engagement, and when one side or the other had achieved victory,
they should fall upon the remnants of both armies and overwhelm
them in a common ruin. This dastardly plan commended itself to the
malcontent lords and petty kings to whom the wizard proposed it,
and they resolved to carry it into effect.
War with Lisuarte
Meanwhile Amadis had dispatched an embassy to the Court of Lisuarte,
requesting the hand of Oriana, but the stubborn old monarch gave a
stern refusal and sent him his defiance. El Patin, Emperor of Rome,
had by this time arrived in Britain, and was busy concerting measures
against Amadis. Soon a mighty host was gathered together, and marched
to seek the army of Amadis, who, taking time by the forelock, had
invaded Britain, and now advanced to meet the forces of Lisuarte and
the Emperor.
The friends of Amadis had not failed him. In the first place
his father, King Perion, was behind him with the whole force of
Gaul. Ireland had sent a large contingent, and his old friends,
the King of Bohemia and the Emperor of Constantinople, had furnished
him with well-equipped legions, all of which were under the skilled
leadership of King Perion. Moreover, the army was accompanied by
Oriana, Grasinda, and the other dames and princesses who had come to
the Firm Island, and their presence heartened the champions to deeds
of high emprise. Meanwhile Archelaus the enchanter and his allies
dogged the progress of Lisuarte's forces in the hope of taking them
at a disadvantage.
Presently the armies came within sight of one another. Their
meeting-place was a great plain, and for miles nothing was to be seen
but the blaze of armour and gay surcoats, the waving of plumes and
banners, and all the proud circumstance of chivalry. For two days the
armies lay in sight of one another. Then they advanced to the charge
with such a tumult of drums and cymbals, trumpets and clarions that it
could be heard many a league away. They met with a crash like thunder,
and the noise which arose from the clash of swords upon armour was
like that of a thousand hammers upon as many anvils.
Amadis led the van. Challenged by Gasquilan, the haughty King of
Sweden, he charged him, and dashed him from the saddle with such
force that he lay as dead. But in the encounter Amadis fell from his
horse. Quadragante, who was close to him, unhorsed a Roman knight, and
gave his destrier to the steedless hero, who, followed by Gandalin
and other paladins, attacked the flank of the Romans with great
fierceness. Meanwhile Quadragante did fearful execution on their front,
few of the enemy being able to withstand his giant might for long.
The Roman army now showed signs of falling into confusion, but at that
moment the Emperor came up with a reinforcement of five thousand
men. He headed the charge in person, crying, "Rome! Rome!" and
brandishing a great sword in his hand. Encountering Quadragante, he
received such a buffet from the giant knight as made him give back
and seek shelter among his own men.
Now Amadis, surrounded by his bravest paladins, performed deeds of
valour which were a wonder in the eyes of both friends and enemies. The
Romans began to give ground before the terrific blows he dealt on all
sides, and at last broke and fled. So greatly had his forces suffered,
however, that he refrained from pursuing his beaten enemies, and as
yet the army of Lisuarte had taken no part in the fighting, so that
he thought it better to spare his own men, who must meet Lisuarte's
force anon.
On the following day King Lisuarte marshalled his army, and now King
Perion came up with his forces, which had been held in reserve. The
battle had not been long in progress, however, when Amadis encountered
the Roman Emperor, and with such a blow as even he had seldom delivered
ended his career. When the Romans and Britons saw that their leader
was slain they began to give way, and Lisuarte, observing this,
sought to withdraw his men in good order. Seeing that he retreated,
and fearing for Lisuarte's personal safety, Amadis took advantage of
the darkness which was now falling to withdraw his troops rather than
pursue, so that the King was able to effect an orderly retiral.
When the holy hermit Nasciano heard of the great discord between the
kings he resolved to make an endeavour to prevent further slaughter,
and although he was old and infirm he succeeded in making his way
to the camp of King Lisuarte. He did not arrive, however, until the
two battles which have just been described had been fought. Making
himself known to the King, he revealed to him that Oriana had promised
marriage to Amadis and that Esplandian was their son. On hearing
this the King was greatly troubled, and blamed the lovers for their
secrecy, remarking, with justice, that many valuable lives would have
been spared had they seen fit to trust him. He requested the hermit
to approach Amadis with a view to the conclusion of peace between
them, and this the good man was only too pleased to do. Accompanied
by Esplandian, he betook himself to the camp of Amadis, where he was
courteously received. The hermit first revealed Esplandian's identity
to the boy's father, and Amadis cordially embraced his son. But he
did not forget his pacific mission. Before he left Amadis he had
smoothed over all the differences between him and the proud old King
Lisuarte, and it was arranged that their ambassadors should meet,
with the object of cementing a generous and lasting peace.
The Treachery of Archelaus
Meanwhile the vindictive enchanter Archelaus, with his malcontent
associates, had been anxiously watching the trend of affairs,
and when their spies informed them that hostilities were at an end
between Lisuarte and Amadis they resolved to attack the old King's
forces without delay. But the sight of their army on the march was
witnessed by Esplandian as he was returning to Lisuarte's headquarters,
and he hastily retraced his steps to the camp of Amadis to warn him
that treachery was on foot. On learning his tidings Amadis and King
Perion at once set out to rescue Lisuarte's exhausted forces from
the danger which menaced them. But before Amadis and his knights
could come up with the army of Archelaus, Lisuarte and his remaining
squadrons had been attacked by the troops of the wizard and his allies,
who had inflicted upon them a crushing defeat. The aged monarch was
compelled to escape as best he could from the stricken field, and,
seeking refuge in a neighbouring town, prepared for a last desperate
defence against his implacable enemies. The place was fiercely attacked
by Archelaus, and as fiercely defended by Lisuarte and such knights
as remained to him. But as the sorcerer was on the point of taking
the town by storm Amadis and his paladins appeared, and routed him
after a sanguinary struggle. Archelaus and his associates were bound
in chains, and were rather foolishly released upon giving security
for their future good behaviour.
The meeting of Lisuarte and Amadis was cordial in the extreme,
and it was apparent that their old friendship would speedily be
renewed. Lisuarte summoned his barons and nobles together, and when
they had all assembled publicly announced the espousal of Amadis
and Oriana.
Now the whole company, including Lisuarte, Perion, and their queens,
Florestan, Galaor, Agrayes, and many others, journeyed to the Firm
Island, where it was unanimously considered that the nuptials of Amadis
and Oriana might most appropriately take place. On their arrival at
that enchanted spot princely preparations were made to mark the event
in a manner befitting such an occasion, for not only were Amadis and
Oriana at last to be united, but numbers of their friends were to take
upon them the vows of marriage at the same time. In the midst of the
preparations the beneficent sorceress Urganda made her appearance,
riding upon a great dragon, and was affectionately welcomed by those
over whose fortunes she had so diligently presided.
The Wedding of Amadis and Oriana
When all was ready and the day of the wedding had at last arrived, a
brilliant assembly mounted their palfreys and proceeded to the church,
where the hermit Nasciano [45] celebrated Mass. When the ceremony
had duly been performed, Amadis asked of Lisuarte that ere the revels
began Oriana might be permitted to make test of the adventure of the
Arch of True Lovers, as the enchantment still held good so far as
ladies were concerned. To this the King gave his consent. As Oriana
approached the image raised its trumpet and blew such a strain of
sweetness as had never yet been heard in the island, and from the
mouth of the trumpet fell flowers and roses in such abundance that
they covered the ground. Without any hesitation Oriana passed on to
the adventure of the Forbidden Chamber. As she passed between the
pillars she felt hands invisible violently pushing her backward, and
three times did they thrust her past the pillars. But by reason of
her surpassing faithfulness and beauty she won, despite opposition,
to the enchanted portal, where the hand which had admitted Amadis was
thrust out, and she entered the chamber, while the voices of viewless
singers softly chanted the praises of her beauty and constancy.
Now all the assembled company who had beheld this last marvel entered
the chamber, and the marriage feast was spread therein. The long
endurance of Amadis and Oriana was over, and at length united to each
other and to their son Esplandian they looked forward to an existence
of such happiness as is only vouchsafed to mortals in the unclouded
pages of old romance.
So ends this brave old tale, in which we read of manners and modes
of thought so widely removed from those of our own time as almost
to appear like those of the people of another planet. The conduct of
knight and damsel is, perhaps, a little strained. No matter how absurd
a promise or fantastic the circumstances in which it was extracted,
it is still regarded as binding, and if we admire the romantic nature
of such a code we are tempted to smile at the seriousness with which
bearded knights and all-powerful monarchs give way before the quibble
of magicians whose lures and devices would be laughed at by a modern
schoolboy. Nevertheless, in perusing the story we experience a strong
conviction of its author's purity of soul and integrity of purpose.
From the reader who has followed me through the mazes of this
enchanting romance I must ask pardon for having omitted in my rendering
of it many passages of rare beauty and touching humanity. My business
in this volume, however, is to present the thread of the story, to
describe its main incidents, and, keeping as closely as possible to
the adventures and doings of its principal characters, to supply an
outline of the whole. I might readily have enhanced the brilliancy
and readableness of my account if I had chosen to narrate isolated
adventures and the incidents of more surpassing excellence with which
it teems. But my purpose, as I have said, is to provide readers who
have little time to peruse an original text with the story in brief. At
the same time I have attempted to conserve the true spirit of the
romance, and if I have failed to do so that must in some measure
be attributed to the difficult task of compression with which I was
confronted. In the words of one who 'set' Amadis to verse, I may say,
with justice:
To tell as meet the costly feast's array,
My tedious tale would hold a summer's day.
I let [46] to sing who mid the courtly throng
Did most excel in dance or sprightly song,
Who first, who last, were seated on the dais,
Who carped of love and arms in courtliest phrase. [47]