Empire) proceeds to exalt certain rulers, especially those glorified
spirits which form the pupil of his eye (David), and his eyelids
(Trajan, Hezekiah, Constantine). As he mentions their names they glow
like priceless rubies, and he explains that, although some of them
lived before Christ was made flesh, all have been redeemed because
Faith, Hope, and Charity are their sponsors.
"The three nymphs,
Whom at the right wheel thou beheld'st advancing,
Were sponsors for him, more than thousand years
Before baptizing. O how far removed,
Predestination! is thy root from such
As see not the First Cause entire: and ye,
O mortal men! be wary how ye judge:
For we, who see our Maker, know not yet
The number of the chosen; and esteem
Such scantiness of knowledge our delight:
For all our good is, in that primal good,
Concentrate; and God's will and ours are one."
_Canto XXI._ Meantime Beatrice, who has grown more and more beautiful
as they rise, explains, when Dante again gazes upon her, that she no
longer dares smile, lest he be consumed like Semele when she beheld
Jove. The magnetic power of her glance suffices again, however, to
transfer him to the seventh heaven, that of Saturn (revolved by
Thrones). This sphere is the abiding place of contemplative and
abstinent hermits and monks. There our poet beholds a ladder, up whose
steps silently ascend those whose lives were spent in retirement and
holy contemplation. Amazed by all he sees, and conscious he no longer
hears the music of the spheres, Dante wonders until informed by one of
the spirits, coming down the steps to meet him, that at this stage the
heavenly music is too loud and intense for human ears. Seeing his
interlocutor suddenly become a whirling wheel of light, Dante inquires
what this may mean, only to be told spirits obscured on earth by
fleshly garments shine brightly in heaven. The spirit then gives his
name (St. Peter Damian), vividly describes the place where he built
his hermitage, and declares many modern prelates have sinned so
grievously through lechery or avarice that they are now detained in
Inferno or Purgatory. As he speaks, spirit after spirit flits down the
stairs, each bound on some errand of charity to the spheres below.
_Canto XXII._ Startled by a loud cry, Dante is reassured by St.
Damian's statement that no harm can befall him in heaven. Next
Beatrice directs his attention to some descending spirits, the most
radiant of which is St. Benedict, who explains how blissful spirits
often leave the heavenly abode "to execute the counsel of the
Highest." He adds that Dante has been selected to warn mortals, none
of whom will ever be allowed to venture hither again. Then St.
Benedict describes his life on earth and inveighs against the
corruption of the monks of Dante's time.
His speech ended, St. Benedict vanishes, and Beatrice wafts Dante up
the mystic stairs, through the constellation of the Gemini, to the
eighth heaven, that of the Fixed Stars (revolved by the Cherubim).
Declaring he is so near "the last salvation" that his eyes should be
unclouded, Beatrice removes the last veil from his sight, and bids him
gaze down at the spheres through which they have passed, and "see how
vast a world thou hast already put beneath thy feet." Smiling at the
smallness of the earth left behind him, Dante, undazzled by the mild
light of the moon or the glow of the sun, gazes at the seven revolving
spheres until all the scheme of creation is "made apparent to him."
_Canto XXIII._ Beatrice, who is still standing beside him, finally
tears him away from his contemplation of what is beneath him, and
directs his glance aloft, where he catches his first glimpse of
Christ, escorted by his Mother and by the Church triumphant. Too
dazzled and awed at first to grasp what he sees, Dante feels heart and
mind expand, as he listens enraptured to sweeter music than was ever
made by the nine muses. Meantime the spirits escorting Christ crown
the Virgin with lilies, and all sing the praises of the Queen of
Heaven.[19]
_Canto XXIV._ Beatrice and Dante are now joined by the spirit of St.
Peter, who examines Dante on faith, receiving the famous reply: "Faith
is the substance of the thing we hope for, and evidence of those that
are not seen." Not only does St. Peter approve Dante's definition, but
he discusses theological questions with him, leading him meanwhile
further into this sphere.
_Canto XXV._ Presently a spirit approaches them which is designated by
Beatrice as St. James. After greeting St. Peter and smiling upon
Beatrice, St. James reveals he has been sent hither by Christ to
examine Dante upon hope, whereupon our poet, lifting his eyes "to the
hills," gains courage enough to answer thus: "Hope is the certain
expectation of future glory, which is the effect of grace divine and
merit precedent." St. James is so pleased with this answer that he
glows even more brightly, as St. John, "who lay upon the breast of
him, our Pelican," appeared, shining so brightly that Dante, turning
to ask Beatrice who he is, discovers he can no longer see her
although she is close beside him.
"I turn'd, but ah! how trembled in my thought,
When, looking at my side again to see
Beatrice, I descried her not; although,
Not distant, on the happy coast she stood."
_Canto XXVI._ Dante now ascertains he has merely been temporarily
blinded by the excess of light which emanates from St. John, who
proceeds to examine him in regard to Charity. His answers are greeted
by the heavenly chorus with the chant "Holy, holy, holy," in which
Beatrice joins, ere she clears the last mote away from Dante's eyes
and thus enables him to see more plainly than ever. Our poet now
perceives a fourth spirit, in whom he recognizes Adam, father of
mankind, who retells the story of Eden, adding that, 4232 years after
creation, Christ delivered him from hell, and enabled him to view the
changes which had taken place in the fortunes of his descendants
during that long space of time.
_Canto XXVII._ After listening enraptured to the melody of the
heavenly choir chanting "Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to
the Holy Ghost," Dante gazes upon the four worthies near him, who glow
and shine like torches, while "silence reigns in heaven." Then St.
Peter, changing color, holds forth against covetousness, and expounds
the doctrine of apostolic succession. Because the early popes died as
martyrs, he considers it a disgrace that their successors should be
guilty of misgovernment. He adds that the keys bestowed upon him
should never figure on banners used in waging unrighteous wars, and
that his effigy on the papal seal should never appear on worldly
documents.
Then Beatrice affords Dante a glimpse of the earth from the Straits of
Gibraltar to the Bosphorus, and, when this vision ends, wafts him up
into the ninth heaven, the Primum Mobile, or spot whence all motion
starts, although itself remains immovable.
Here is the goal, whence motion on his race
Starts: motionless the centre, and the rest
All moved around.
_Canto XXVIII._ From this point Dante watches the universe spin around
him, until "she who doth emparadise my soul" draws aside the veil of
mortality, and allows him to perceive nine concentric spheres of
multitudinous angels constantly revolving around a dazzling point
while singing "Hosanna!" These are the heavenly host, the hierarchy of
angels, Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominations, Virtues, Powers,
Princedoms, Archangels, and Angels, in charge of the various circles
which compose Dante's Paradise.
_Canto XXIX._ Able to read Dante's thoughts, Beatrice explains some of
the things he would fain know, and disperses his doubts, cautioning
him, if he would be blessed, to rid himself of every atom of pride,
since that caused even angels to fall!
_Canto XXX._ Once more Dante's eyes are fixed upon Beatrice, whose
beauty far transcends his powers of description, and is by her
conveyed into the next circle, the Empyrean, or heaven of pure light,
into which he is told to plunge as into a river. Eagerly quaffing its
ethereal waters to satisfy his ardent thirst for knowledge, Dante
beholds the court of Heaven, and descries its myriads of thrones, all
occupied by redeemed spirits. These thrones are grouped around a
brilliant centre (God) so as to form a dazzling jewelled rose.
_Canto XXXI._ Robed in snowy white, the redeemed--who form the petals
of the Eternal Rose--are visited from time to time by ruby sparks,
which are the angels hovering above them, who plunge like bees into
the heart of this flower, their glowing faces, golden wings, and white
robes adding charms to the scene. After gazing for some time at this
sight in speechless wonder, Dante, turning to question Beatrice,
discovers she is no longer beside him! At the same time a being robed
in glory near him bids him look up at the third row of thrones from
the centre, and there behold her in her appointed seat. Eagerly
glancing in the direction indicated, Dante perceives Beatrice, who,
when he invokes her, smiles radiantly down upon him, ere she again
turns her face to the eternal fountain of light.
"So I my suit preferr'd:
And she, so distant, as appear'd, look'd down,
And smiled; then towards the eternal fountain turn'd."
Meanwhile the spirit informs Dante he has been sent by Beatrice to
help him end his journey safely, for he is St. Bernard, who so longed
to behold the Virgin's countenance that that boon was vouchsafed him.
Knowing Dante would fain see her too, he bids him find, among the most
brilliant lights in the Mystic Rose, the Virgin Mary, Queen of Heaven.
_Canto XXXII._ Because the dazzled Dante cannot immediately locate
her, St. Bernard points her out, with Eve, Rachel, Beatrice, Sarah,
Judith, Rebecca, and Ruth sitting at her feet, and John the Baptist,
St. Augustine, St. Francis, and St. Benedict standing close behind
her. He also explains that those who believed in "Christ who was to
come" are in one part of the rose, while those who "looked to Christ
already come" are in another, but that all here are spirits duly
assoiled, and adds that, although occupying different ranks, these
spirits are perfectly satisfied with the places awarded to them. Told
now to look up at the face most closely resembling Christ's Dante
discovers it is that of St. Gabriel, angel of the annunciation, and he
descries further on St. Peter, Moses, and St. Anna, as well as Santa
Lucia who induced Beatrice to send for him.
_Canto XXXIII._ This done, St. Bernard fervently prays the Virgin, who
not only "gives succor to him who asketh it, but oftentimes
forerunneth of its own accord the asking," to allow Dante one glimpse
of Divine Majesty. Seeing this prayer is graciously received, St.
Bernard bids Dante look up. Thanks to his recently purified vision,
our poet has a glimpse of the Triune Divinity,--compounded of
love,--which so transcends all human expression that he declares
"what he saw was not for words to speak."
He concludes his grand poem, however, by assuring us that, although
dazed by what he had seen, his
"will roll'd onward, like a wheel
In even motion, by the love impell'd,
That moves the sun in heaven and all the stars."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 16: All the quotations in Divine Comedy are taken from
Cary's translation.]
[Footnote 17: See the author's "Story of the Greeks."]
[Footnote 18: See the author's "Story of the Chosen People," and
"Story of the Romans."]
[Footnote 19: See the author's "Legends of the Virgin and Christ."]
THE ORLANDOS
Roland, nephew of Charlemagne, hero of the Song of Roland and of an
endless succession of metrical romances, was as popular a character in
Italian literature as in the French. The Italians felt a proprietary
interest in Charlemagne because he had been crowned emperor of the
West in Rome in the year 800, and also because he had taken the part
of the pope against the Lombards. Even the names of his twelve great
peers were household words in Italy, so tales about Roland--who is
known there as Orlando--were sure to find ready hearers.
The adventures of Roland, therefore, naturally became the theme of
Italian epics, some of which are of considerable length and of great
importance, owing principally to their exquisite versification and
diction. Pulci and Boiardo both undertook to depict Roland as a prey
to the tender passion in epics entitled Orlando Innamorato, while
Ariosto, the most accomplished and musical poet of the three, spent
more than ten years of his life composing Orlando Furioso (1516),
wherein he depicts this famous hero driven insane by his passion for
an Oriental princess.
Assuming that his auditors are familiar with the characters of
Boiardo's unfinished epic, Ariosto, picking up the thread of the
narrative at the point where his predecessor dropped it, continues the
story in the same vein. It therefore becomes imperative to know the
main trend of Boiardo's epic.
It opens with a lengthy description of a tournament at the court of
Charlemagne, whither knights from all parts of the globe hasten to
distinguish themselves in the lists. Chief among these foreign guests
are Argalio and Angelica, son and daughter of the king of Cathay, with
their escort of four huge giants. The prince is, moreover, fortunate
possessor of a magic lance, one touch of which suffices to unhorse any
opponent, while the princess, by means of an enchanted ring, can
detect and frustrate any spell, or become invisible by putting it in
her mouth. On arriving at Charlemagne's court, Argalio stipulates that
all the knights he defeats shall belong to his sister, whom in return
he offers as prize to any knight able to unhorse him.
Such is the transcendent beauty of Angelica that Argalio is instantly
challenged by Astolfo, who is defeated, and then by Ferrau, who,
although defeated in the first onset, proves victor in the second,
simply because he accidentally seizes the magic lance and directs it
against its owner! Since the laws of the tournament award him the
prize, Angelica, seeing she cannot otherwise escape, rides hastily
away and conceals herself in the forest of Arden. She is, however,
pursued thither by many knights who have been captivated by her
beauty, among whom are Rinaldo (Renaud de Montauban) and Orlando, who
were proposing to challenge her brother next. In the precincts of the
forest where Angelica takes refuge are two magic fountains, one whose
waters instantly transform love into hate, while the other induces any
partaker to love the next person seen.
Prowling around this forest, Rinaldo unsuspectingly quaffs the water
which turns love to hate, so he immediately ceases his quest and falls
asleep. Meantime Angelica, drinking from the other fountain and coming
upon the sleeper, falls madly in love with him and watches for his
awakening. But, still under the influence of the magic waters he has
imbibed, Rinaldo rides away without heeding her timid wooing, and
leaves her to mourn until she too falls asleep.
Orlando, coming up by chance, is gazing in admiration upon this
sleeping princess, when Ferrau rides up to claim her as his prize.
These knights are fighting for her possession when the clash of their
weapons awakens Angelica. Terrified she retreats into the thicket,
and, thrusting her ring into her mouth, becomes invisible! Meantime
the knights continue their duel until a messenger summons Ferrau to
hasten to Spain, where war has broken out.
Angelica, unable to forget Rinaldo since she has partaken of the
waters of love, now induces the magician Malgigi to entice her beloved
to an island over which she reigns, where she vainly tries to win his
affections and to detain him by her side. Still under the influence of
the waters of hate, Rinaldo escapes, only to land in a gloomy country,
where he is plunged into a loathsome den. There a monster is about to
devour him, when Angelica comes to his rescue. But, even though she
saves his life, he ungratefully refuses to return her affection, and
abruptly leaves her to encounter other untoward adventures. Meantime
Orlando, still searching for Angelica, encounters a sorceress who
gives him a magic draught which causes him to forget the past, and
detains him a captive in the island of Dragontine.
Meanwhile the many knights enamoured with Angelica have gone to
besiege her father's capital, but while they are thus employed she
escapes from the city--thanks to her magic ring--and goes to deliver
Orlando. In return, he pledges himself to drive the besiegers away and
save her father's capital, and on the way thither encounters Rinaldo,
with whom, not knowing who he is, he fights two days, so equally are
they matched in strength and skill. The moment comes, however, when
Orlando is on the point of slaying Rinaldo, and refrains only because
Angelica opportunely reveals his opponent's name.
Still urged by Angelica, Orlando next hastens off to destroy the magic
island and free its captives, who hurry back to France while their
rescuer journeys to Cathay. There Angelica pretends she has fallen in
love with him, and accompanies him when he returns to France under
pretext of becoming a Christian. Their way again lies through the
forest of Arden, where this time Angelica drinks from the fountain of
hatred. All her former love for Rinaldo therefore vanishes, and, as
the latter has at the same time partaken of the water of love, their
parts are reversed, for it is he who now pursues Angelica whom he
previously loathed. His attentions so incense Orlando that he begins a
fight, which Charlemagne checks, declaring that Angelica--who is
placed in charge of Duke Namus--shall be awarded to the warrior who
distinguishes himself most in the coming war.
In the course of this campaign these two knights meet with many
adventures, and are accompanied by Bradamant--Rinaldo's sister--who
manfully fights by their side. Among their opponents the most
formidable are Rogero and the pagan Rodomont, whose boastful language
has given rise to the term rodomontade. During one of their
encounters, Rogero discovers that his antagonist is Bradamant--a
woman--and falls desperately in love with her.
It is at this point that Boiardo's poem ends; and Ariosto, adopting
his characters, immediately begins weaving three principal strands of
narrative,--one relating to the wars of Charlemagne, another to
Orlando's madness, and the third to the love of Rogero and
Bradamant,--Rogero, an ancestor of the Ferrara family (Ariosto's
patrons), being the real hero of his poem.
Not satisfied at being placed under the care of Duke Namus of Bavaria,
Angelica escapes from his guardianship, only to be pursued by the
unwelcome attentions of Rinaldo and Ferrau. While these two fight for
her possession, the lady, who spends her time fleeing from unwelcome
suitors, escapes, only to fall into the hands of Sacripant, King of
Circassia, another admirer, who bears her off in triumph. They meet a
knight in white armor (Bradamant in quest of Rogero), ere they are
overtaken by Rinaldo. A new duel now ensues, this time between Rinaldo
and Sacripant, during which Angelica runs away and seeks refuge with a
hermit-magician, who then informs the combatants Angelica has been
carried off to Paris by Orlando. Hearing this, the rivals cease
fighting and join forces to rescue the lady, but, when they arrive in
Paris, Charlemagne despatches Rinaldo to England and Scotland, where,
among other marvellous adventures, is told the lengthy and fantastic
yet beautiful story of Ginevra.
It seems that, although loved by the Duke of Albany, this lady prefers
the knight Ariolant. She thereby so enrages her noble suitor that he
finally bribes her maid to personate her and admit him by night to her
chamber by means of a rope ladder. With fiendish cunning he has
advised Ariolant to watch Ginevra, so this true lover, witnessing what
he considers irrefutable proof of his lady-love's unchastity, departs
in despair to commit suicide. His brother, deeming him already dead,
denounces Ginevra, who, brought before the judges, is sentenced to die
unless some champion will vindicate her honor. Having meantime
discovered the truth, Rinaldo clears the lady by winning a brilliant
victory, and leaves only after she is safely married to the man she
loves, who after all has not taken his life.
The poet now picks up another thread and shows us Bradamant seeking
Rogero, and discovering, by means of Angelica's magic ring, that he is
captive of a magician. After a narrow escape, and a vision of the
feats her descendants will perform, Bradamant helps Rogero to escape.
Soon after, this reckless man vaults upon a hippogriff which lands him
on an island, where an enchantress changes her visitors into beasts,
stones, trees, etc. Instead of becoming one of her permanent victims,
Rogero, warned by the myrtle to which he ties his steed, prevails upon
her to release her captives, and after many adventures is borne by the
same hippogriff to the island of Ebuda, where a maiden is daily
sacrificed to a cannibal Orc. When Rogero discovers that the present
victim is Angelica, he promptly delivers her and conveys her to
Brittany.
Meantime Orlando, mad with love, is vainly seeking Angelica. He too
visits Ebuda--but too late to meet her there--and delivers another
maiden. Then he returns to France to find Charlemagne so sorely
pressed by foes, that he has implored St. Michael to interfere in his
behalf. This archangel, cleverly enlisting the services of Silence and
Discord, brings back Rinaldo and other knights, who drive away the
disintegrating pagan force after sundry bloody encounters. After one
of these, Angelica finds a wounded man, whom she nurses back to
health, and marries after a romantic courtship in the course of which
they carve their names on many a tree.
Still seeking Angelica, Orlando in due time discovers these names, and
on learning Angelica is married becomes violently insane. Discarding
his armor,--which another knight piously collects and hangs on a tree
with an inscription warning no one to venture to touch it,--Orlando
roams hither and thither, performing countless feats of valor, and
even swimming across the Strait of Gibraltar to seek adventures in
Africa since he cannot get enough in Europe. In the course of his
wanderings, Orlando (as well as sundry other characters in the poem)
is favored by an apparition of Fata Morgana, the water-fairy, who
vainly tries to lure him away from his allegiance to his lady-love by
offering him untold treasures.
Every once in a while the poem harks back to Rogero, who, having again
fallen into a magician's hands, prowls through the labyrinthine rooms
of his castle, seeking Bradamant, whom he imagines calling to him for
help. Meantime the lady whom he is thus seeking is safe at Marseilles,
but, hearing at last of her lover's plight, she too visits the magic
castle, and would have been decoyed into its dungeons had not Astolfo
appeared with a magic horn, whose first blast makes the castle vanish
into thin air! Thus freed, the magician's prisoners gaze around them
in wonder, and Rogero and Bradamant embrace with rapture, planning to
marry as soon as Rogero has been baptized.
But, on their way to Vallombroso where this sacrament is to take
place, the lovers meet with other adventures and are again separated.
Under escort of Astolfo, Bradamant sadly returns home, where her
mother decrees she shall remain until Rogero can come and get her.
Meantime Rogero has again joined the Saracens, just as Discord has
succeeded in kindling a quarrel between Rodomont and Mandricar, who
both admire the same lady. They are about to fight for her favor, when
the umpire of the lists pertinently suggests the lady be allowed to
express her preference! She frankly does so, and Rodomont, rejected,
departs in high dudgeon. In this unhappy frame of mind he attacks
everybody he meets, and after many victories is defeated in a battle
with the Christians. During this last encounter Rogero is too
grievously wounded to be able to join Bradamant, who, hearing a fair
lady is nursing her lover, is consumed by jealousy. She
therefore--notwithstanding her mother's decree--sets out in the garb
of a knight to challenge her recreant lover and defeat him by means of
her magic lance.
After unhorsing on the way all those who venture to tilt with her,
Bradamant meets Rogero, who, recognizing her in the midst of their
duel, flatly refuses to continue the fight, and implores her to
accompany him into a neighboring forest, where he promises to explain
all to her satisfaction. They are, however, followed thither by the
maiden who has nursed Rogero, who, jealous in her turn, now attacks
Bradamant. Rogero, infuriated by Bradamant's imminent peril, is about
to slay his nurse remorselessly, when an enchanter's voice proclaims
she is his sister, stolen in infancy! All excuse for mutual jealousy
being thus removed, the two women agree to join forces and fight in
behalf of Charlemagne until Rogero can discharge his obligations to
the Saracens, receive baptism, and join the Christian ranks.
Meantime Astolfo has ridden off on the hippogriff to the earthly
paradise, where he has interviews with sundry saints and apostles, and
whence St. John conveys him up to the moon. In that appropriate region
the apostle explains that Orlando's insanity is due to the fact he
loves an infidel! He further points out where the hero's stray wits
are stored, and directs Astolfo how to catch them in a vial and
restore them to their rightful owner. Then, before conveying Astolfo
back to earth, St. John vouchsafes him a glimpse of the Fates, wearing
the web of Destiny, which they cast into the stream of Oblivion,
whence only a few shreds are rescued by poets!
On returning from this eventful trip to the moon, Astolfo joins the
Saracens. When they finally capture the mad Orlando, he produces his
vial, and, making his friend inhale its contents, restores him to his
senses. His mad passion for Angelica being now a thing of the past,
Orlando concentrates all his efforts to conquer the Saracens and
triumphs in many a fight.
Meantime Rogero, on his way to join Bradamant, has been shipwrecked on
an island, where a hermit converts him to the Christian faith. While
he is here, Orlando and Rinaldo arrive with their sorely wounded
friend, Oliver, whom they entrust to the hermit's care. Not only is
Orlando sane once more, but Rinaldo, having drunk the waters of the
contrary fountain, no longer loves Angelica, and willingly promises
the hand of his sister Bradamant to the new convert. But, when brother
and prospective bridegroom reach court, they learn Charlemagne has
promised Bradamant to a Greek prince, to whom the lady has signified
that ere he wins her he must fight a duel with her. On hearing that
the Greek prince is at present besieging Belgrade, Rogero hastens
thither, and performs wonders before he falls into the enemy's hands.
But the Greek prince has been so impressed by Rogero's prowess that he
promises him freedom if he will only personate him in the dreaded duel
with Bradamant. Rogero immediately consents to fight in the prince's
armor, and defeats Bradamant, whom Charlemagne thereupon awards to the
Greek prince.
In despair at having forfeited his beloved, Rogero rides off to die of
grief, but the Greek prince, riding after him to thank him, not only
discovers the cause of Rogero's sorrow, but generously relinquishes
all claim to Bradamant and volunteers to witness her marriage to
Rogero. The courage shown by the bridegroom while at Belgrade has
meantime so impressed the Bulgarians, that an embassy arrives to beg
him to mount their throne. But before Rogero can assume the Bulgarian
crown he is forced to conquer and slay the boastful Rodomont, who
envies his exalted position.
Many other characters appear in this poem, complicating the plot until
it seems hopelessly involved to most modern readers, but, owing to the
many romantic situations, to the picturesque verse, and to the
unflagging liveliness of style, this epic is still popular in Italy.
It has besides given rise to endless imitations, not only in Italian
but in many other languages. It forms part of the great Charlemagne
Cycle, of which the last epic is Ricciardetto, by Fortiguerra, a
priest who wagered he too could compose a string of adventures like
those invented by Ariosto. He won his wager by adopting the characters
already made famous by Boiardo and Ariosto, and selected as his hero a
younger brother of Rinaldo mentioned by his predecessors.
GERUSALEMME LIBERATA, OR JERUSALEM DELIVERED
Torquato Tasso, one of the three great Italian poets, was born at
Sorrento in 1544, and, after receiving his education in various
Italian cities, conceived, while at the University of Padua, the idea
of writing an epic poem, using an episode in the First Crusade as his
theme. In 1572 Tasso became attached to the court of Ferrara, where
the duke and his two sisters delighted in his verses, admired his
pastoral Aminta, and urged him to finish his projected epic.
During his sojourn at this court Tasso fell in love with Eleonora,
sister of the duke, to whom he read the various parts of his epic as
he completed them, and for whose sake he lingered at Ferrara, refusing
offers of preferment at Paris and at Florence. Although he completed
his epic in 1575, he did not immediately publish it, but sent copies
to Rome and Padua for criticism. The learned men to whom he submitted
his poem criticised it so freely that the poet's sensitive nature was
greatly injured thereby. Almost at the same time the duke discovered
the poet's passion for his sister. Furious to think Tasso should have
raised his eyes to a princess, yet afraid he should carry his talents
elsewhere, the duke, pretending to deem him insane, placed him under
close surveillance. While Tasso was thus a prisoner, sundry false
accusations were brought against him and his poem was published
without his consent.
Although Tasso contrived several times to escape from Ferrara, he
invariably came back there, hoping to be reconciled to the duke. It
was only in 1586 that he left this place for good and betook himself
to Rome and Naples, where he was forced to live on charity. Just as he
was about to be publicly crowned in Rome for his epic, he died there,
at the age of fifty-two (1595).
The epic "Jerusalem Delivered" contains an account of the Crusade of
1099 and extends over a period of forty days. It is divided into
twenty cantos, written in ottava rima, or eight-rhymed stanzas, and,
owing to its rhythmic perfection, is still sung by Italian bards to
popular audiences.
_Canto I._ After stating exactly what task he proposes to perform in
his poem, the poet describes how the Eternal Father, sitting on His
heavenly throne, gazes down upon the plain of Tortosa, where the
Crusaders are assembled. Six years have elapsed since they set out
from Europe, during which time they have succeeded in taking Nicaea
and Antioch, cities now left in charge of influential Crusaders. But
Godfrey of Bouillon is pushing on with the bulk of the army, because
he is anxious to wrest Jerusalem from the hands of the infidels and
restore it to the worship of the true God. While he is camping on this
plain, God sends Gabriel to visit him in sleep and inspire him with a
desire to assemble a council, where, by a ringing speech, he will
rouse the Christians to immediate action.
On awakening from this vision, Godfrey loses no time in convening such
an assembly, and there eloquently urges the Christians to fight,
declaring their efforts have failed hitherto mainly because they have
lacked purpose and unity. Hearing this, Peter the Hermit suggests the
Crusaders should select one chief, whose orders they will obey, and
thereupon the warriors present unanimously elect Godfrey of Bouillon
as leader. Having secured this exalted post, Godfrey reviews his
force, thus giving the poet an occasion to enumerate the leaders of
the different corps, or armies, and explain from what countries they
come. Amongst other resounding names, the poet specially mentions
Edward and his fair bride Gildippe, who, unwilling to be parted from
her spouse, has donned a man's armor and followed him to the Crusade.
Among the bravest fighters there, he also quotes Tancred, who,
however, seems listless, and has accomplished no deed of valor since
he beheld near a fountain and fell in love with Clorinda, a fair
Amazon.
To the same warbling of fresh waters drew,
Arm'd, but unmhelm'd and unforeseen, a maid;
She was a pagan, and came thither too
To quench her thirst beneath the pleasant shade;
Her beautiful fair aspect, thus display'd,
He sees; admires; and, touch'd to transport, glows
With passion rushing to its fountain head,
The heart; 'tis strange how quick the feeling grows;
Scarce born, its power in him no cool calm medium knows.
Another hero is Rinaldo (the same as the French Renaud de Montauban),
who, although but a boy, escaped from his foster mother, Queen
Mathilda, to go and fight for the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre.
His review completed, Godfrey of Bouillon orders his force to march on
toward Jerusalem, whence he wishes to oust the Sultan Aladine
(Saladin), who at present is sorely taxing the Christians to obtain
funds enough to make war against the advancing Crusaders.
_Canto II._ Advised by the sorcerer Ismeno, Aladine steals the image
of the Virgin from the Christian temple, and sets it up in his mosque,
where he resorts to all manner of spells and incantations to destroy
her power. During the night, however, the Virgin's image disappears
from the mosque and cannot be found, although Aladine offers great
rewards for its restoration. Finally, he decrees that, unless the
perpetrator of the theft denounces himself, he will slay all the
Christians in the town. He is about to execute this cruel threat when
Sophronia, a Christian maid, suddenly decides to sacrifice herself to
save her co-religionists. She therefore appears before Aladine,
declaring she stole the image from the temple, whereupon the sultan in
anger orders her bound to the stake and burned alive.
Doom'd in tormenting fire to die, they lay
Hands on the maid; her arms with rough cords twining,
Rudely her mantle chaste they tear away,
And the white veil that o'er her droop'd declining:
This she endured in silence unrepining,
Yet her firm breast some virgin tremors shook;
And her warm cheek, Aurora's late outshining,
Waned into whiteness, and a color took,
Like that of the pale rose or lily of the brook.
Scarcely has Sophronia been fastened there, and while she is praying
for God's aid to endure martyrdom without flinching, Olindo, a young
Christian, deeming it impossible to allow a girl to sacrifice her
life, rushes forward, declaring he alone committed the crime, but that
the maiden, out of love for him, has assumed his guilt to save his
life. Only then does he discover that the maiden tied to the stake is
the very one he loves, but who hitherto has received his advances
coldly! On hearing the youth accuse himself of having stolen the
image, Aladine questions the maiden, who denies it, insisting she
alone is to blame. Thereupon the sultan decrees both shall perish in
the flames, and orders them tied to the stake back to back. It is in
this position, and while in imminent peril of death, that the young
man deplores the fact he is to die beside the one he hoped to marry
and with whom he expected to spend a long and happy life. The
executioners are about to set fire to the pyre where these generous
young lovers are to end their days, when a young knight steps forward
loudly proclaiming none of the Christians are to blame for the
disappearance of the image, since Allah himself removed it from the
temple because he considered it desecration to have such an image
within its walls. This young knight turns out to be the warrior maid
Clorinda, who not only convinces Aladine that the young people are
guiltless, but bribes him to release them, in exchange for her
services in the coming war. Touched by each other's devotion, the
young couple marry as soon as released, and, instead of dying, live
together as husband and wife.
Restored to life and liberty, how blest,
How truly blest was young Olindo's fate!
For sweet Sophronia's blushes might attest,
That Love at length has touch'd her delicate
And generous bosom; from the stake in state
They to the altar pass; severely tried,
In doom and love already made his mate,
She now objects not to become his bride,
And grateful live with him who would for her have died.
Meanwhile two ambassadors have come from Egypt to visit Godfrey in his
camp, and try first by persuasions and then by threats to dissuade him
from his projected attack upon Jerusalem. In spite of all Alethes and
Argantes can say, Godfrey insists upon carrying out his purpose, and,
after dismissing these ambassadors with a haughty speech, marches on
with his host.
"Know, then, that we have borne all this distress
By land and sea,--war, want, reverses--all!
To the sole end that we might gain access
To sacred Salem's venerable wall;
That we might free the Faithful from their thrall,
And win from God His blessing and reward:
From this no threats our spirit can appal,
For this no terms will be esteem'd too hard--
Life, honors, kingdoms lost, or dignity debarr'd."
_Canto III._ When they come within sight of Jerusalem, the Crusaders,
overjoyed, hail the Holy City with cries of rapture, and, falling on
their knees, swear to deliver it from the hands of the infidels.
Seeing them advance, the pagans make hasty preparations to oppose
them, and Clorinda, at the head of a small force, volunteers to make a
sortie and boldly attacks the vanguard of the Crusaders.
From the topmost tier of Jerusalem's ramparts, the Sultan Aladine
watches their sortie, having beside him Erminia, daughter of the late
king of Antioch, whom the Crusaders have sent on to Jerusalem, because
they do not care to detain her a prisoner. During her sojourn in her
father's town, Erminia has learned to know by sight all the Crusaders,
and during her brief captivity she has fallen in love with Tancred,
who was detailed to guard her. She can therefore give the Sultan
Aladine all the information he wishes, and acts as cicerone while the
battle is going on. From this point of vantage the sultan and princess
watch Clorinda and Tancred meet, and behold how, after a lively
encounter, Tancred strikes off the helmet of his opponent, whose sex
is revealed by the streaming of her long golden hair. At sight of the
wonderful maiden with whom he has fallen in love, Tancred refuses to
continue the fight, although Clorinda urges him to strike. Undaunted
by the fact that she is his foe, Tancred not only refuses to strike,
but immediately begins to sue the beautiful maiden, who refuses to
listen to him, and is soon swept away by Saracen forces, which
intervene between her and Tancred.
A battle now rages, in the course of which various knights perform
great deeds, but, although Godfrey proves victor on this occasion, he
loses Dudon, chief of his Adventurous Band and one of the bravest
warriors in his army. While giving her explanations to Aladine in
regard to the fight waged beneath their eyes, Erminia carefully
explains she feels deadly hatred for Tancred, although the truth is
she loves him dearly and is greatly relieved to see him escape from
the fray uninjured.
Many people having died in the course of this action, a truce is
agreed upon so that both sides may bury their dead, and so, many
funerals are celebrated with all due pomp and ceremony. Next the
crusading force decides that siege-engines and towers will be
necessary to enable them to scale the high walls of Jerusalem. They
therefore send out a force of woodsmen to hew the trees which are to
serve for the construction of the required towers.
The duke, when thus his piety had paid
The fun'ral rites, and shed his duteous tears,
Sent all his skill'd mechanics to invade
The forest, guarded by a thousand spears;
Veil'd by low hills it stood, the growth of years,--
A Syrian shepherd pointed out the vale,
And thither brought the camp-artificers
To fabricate the engines doom'd to scale
The City's sacred towers and turn her people pale.
_Canto IV._ The scene now changes to the infernal regions, where Satan
deems it time to frustrate the Christians' aims, because it would
ill-suit diabolical ends to have them recover possession of Jerusalem.
Not only does Satan stimulate his hosts by reminding them of their
forfeited bliss, but he encourages them to thwart the Christians by
reminding them of the great deeds they have already done. His
eloquence is not expended in vain, for the fiends all approve of his
suggestions, and, when the council is over, flit forth, intent upon
fomenting dissension among the leaders of the Crusade, and hindering
their attempts in every other way possible.
One demon in particular is to determine a wizard to send his niece
Armida to ensnare the Christians. This enchantress, decked out with
all the charms beauty and toilet can bestow, soon appears in the
Christian camp, where, falling at Godfrey's feet, she proceeds to
relate a tale of fictitious wrongs, claiming to be heiress of the city
of Damascus, whence she has been ejected, and vowing if she could only
secure the aid of a few knights she would soon recover her realm. In
return for such aid as she implores from the Christians, she promises
to do homage to them for her realm, and even pledges herself to
receive baptism. Her artful speeches, the flattery which she lavishes
upon Godfrey, and her languishing glances are all calculated to
persuade him to grant her request; but the Crusader is so bent upon
the capture of Jerusalem that nothing can turn him aside from his
purpose.
But, although Godfrey himself is proof against all Armida's
blandishments, his knights are not, and among those who succumb to
the lady's charms is his own brother Eustace, who begs his permission
to take ten knights and accompany the damsel to Damascus. Although
Armida professes great gratitude for this help, she entices many other
Crusaders to desert the camp, by casting languishing glances at them
and making each man whom she looks upon believe she loves him only.
All arts th' enchantress practised to beguile
Some new admirer in her well-spread snare;
Nor used with all, nor always the same wile,
But shaped to every taste her grace and air:
Here cloister'd is her eye's dark pupil, there
In full voluptuous languishment is roll'd;
Now these her kindness, those her anger bear,
Spurr'd on or check'd by bearing frank or cold,
As she perceived her slave was scrupulous or bold.
_Canto V._ Not content with beguiling many knights, Armida further
foments a quarrel between Rinaldo and Gernando, Prince of Norway, in
regard to the command of the Adventurous Band, which is now without a
leader. In the course of this quarrel, Rinaldo is so sorely taunted by
his opponent that, although the Crusaders are pledged not to fight
each other, he challenges and slays Gernando. Then, afraid to be
called to trial and sentenced to death for breaking the rules of the
camp, Rinaldo flees to Egypt.
On perceiving how greatly his army is weakened by the desertion of so
many brave men, Godfrey is dismayed--all the more so because he hears
the Egyptian army is coming to attack him, and because the supplies
which he expected have been cut off.
_Canto VI._ The Egyptian army boasts of no braver warrior than
Argantes, who sallies forth to challenge the Christians, bidding
Clorinda follow him at a short distance, and come to his rescue should
it be necessary. Although Argantes has summoned Godfrey to come forth
and fight him, it is Tancred who is chosen as champion for the
Christians, but as he draws near his opponent a glimpse of the fair
Clorinda's face makes him forget everything but her.
He noted not where the Circassian rear'd
His frightful face to the affronted skies,
But to the hill-top where his Love appear'd,
Turn'd, slack'ning his quick pace, his am'rous eyes,
Till he stood steadfast as a rock, all ice
Without, all glowing heat within;--the sight
To him was as the gates of Paradise;
And from his mind the mem'ry of the fight
Pass'd like a summer cloud, or dream at morning light.
One of the knights in his train, seeing he is not going to fight,
spurs forward and meets Argantes, by whom he is defeated. On seeing
this knight fall, Tancred, suddenly brought to his senses, starts
forward to avenge him, and combats with such fury that Argantes' armor
fairly rings with the blows which rain down upon him. Argantes,
however, is nearly as brave as Tancred, so the battle rages until
nightfall, when the heroes are separated by the heralds, although both
vow they will renew the struggle on the morrow. But, when they have
ceased fighting and both discover they have serious wounds, their
respective armies decree a six-days' truce and pledge themselves to
await the result of the duel.
The wounded Argantes has returned to Jerusalem, where Erminia uses her
magic balsams to heal his wounds, secretly wishing meanwhile that she
might lavish her care upon Tancred, whom she still loves. So ardent is
her desire to behold him, that she finally appropriates Clorinda's
armor and rides off to the Christian camp, sending a messenger ahead
to announce a lady is coming to heal Tancred if he will give her a
safe-conduct to his tent. Tancred immediately sends word the lady will
be welcome, but meanwhile the Christians, catching a glimpse of the
waiting Erminia, and mistaking her for Clorinda owing to her armor,
endeavor to capture her.
_Canto VII._ To escape from her pursuers, Erminia flees into a
trackless forest, where, after wandering some time, she meets a
shepherd, who gives her an asylum in his hut. There she turns
shepherdess, but does not forget Tancred, whose name she carves in
many a tree. Meantime the news spreads through the camp that Clorinda
has been seen and is even now closely pursued by a troop of
Christians. Hearing this Tancred, disregarding his wounds, sets out to
find her. While wandering thus in the forest, weakened by loss of
blood, he is captured by Armida, the enchantress, who detains him in a
dungeon, where he eats his heart out for shame because he will not be
able to respond when the trumpets sound for the renewal of his duel
with Argantes.
The moment having come for this battle and the Crusaders' champion
being absent, old Count Raymond volunteers to meet Argantes, and is
about to get the better of him, when an archer from the wall suddenly
discharges a shaft at him. Such treachery exasperates the Christians,
who, exclaiming the truce has been broken, precipitate themselves upon
their foes, and in the general battle which ensues many deeds of valor
are performed.
_Canto VIII._ During this battle a great storm arises, and the
Christians, who, notwithstanding their courage, have been worsted,
beat a retreat, finding on their return to camp that one of their
companions, defeated and mortally wounded, has despatched a messenger
to carry his sword to Rinaldo. The Italian force thereupon accuses
Godfrey of having done away with Rinaldo, but he not only succeeds in
refuting such an accusation, but sentences his chief detractor to
death.
_Canto IX._ Sultan Solyman of Nicae, who has joined Sultan Aladine of
Jerusalem, now comes to attack the Christians by night, assisted by
many fiends, but the archangel Michael warns the crusaders of what is
coming and enables them to get the better of their foes by bringing
back the troops which followed Armida to Damascus. In this encounter a
Christian knight slays a page of the sultan, who, seeing this child
dead, experiences such grief that, after avenging his death, he wishes
to withdraw temporarily from the battle.
"Let Godfrey view once more, and smile to view
My second exile;--soon shall he again
See me in arms return'd, to vex anew
His haunted peace and never stable reign:
Yield I do not; eternal my disdain
Shall be as are my wrongs; though fires consume
My dust, immortal shall my hate remain;
And aye my naked ghost fresh wrath assume,
Through life a foe most fierce, but fiercer from the tomb!"
_Canto X._ The sultan, after journeying part way back to Egypt, pauses
to rest, and is visited by a wizard, who spirits him over the
battle-field and back to Jerusalem in a magic chariot. This pauses at
a hidden cave, the entrance to an underground passage, by which they
secretly enter the sultan's council chamber.
Ismeno shot the lock; and to the right
They climb'd a staircase, long untrod, to which
A feeble, glimm'ring, and malignant light
Stream'd from the ceiling through a window'd niche;
At length by corridors of loftier pitch
They sallied into day, and access had
To an illumined hall, large, round, and rich;
Where, sceptred, crown'd, and in dark purple clad,
Sad sat the pensive king amid his nobles sad.
Solyman, overhearing as he enters some of the nobles propose a
disgraceful peace and the surrender of Jerusalem, hotly opposes such a
measure, and thus infuses new courage into their breasts.
_Canto XI._ Meantime Godfrey of Bouillon, having buried his dead,
questions the knights who were lured away by Armida, and they relate
that, on arriving near the Dead Sea, they were entertained at a
sumptuous banquet, where they were given a magic draught, which
transformed them for a time into sportive fishes. Armida, having thus
demonstrated her power over them, threatened to use it to keep them
prisoners forever unless they would promise to abjure their faith. One
alone yielded, but the rest, delivered as prisoners to an emissary
from Egypt, were met and freed from their bonds by the brave Rinaldo,
who, instead of accompanying them back to camp, rode off toward
Antioch.
The Christians now prepare for their final assault, and, advised by
Peter the Hermit, walk in solemn procession to the Mount of Olives,
where, after singing hymns, all devoutly receive Communion. Thus
prepared for anything that may betide, they set out on the morrow to
scale the city walls, rolling ahead of them their mighty engines of
war, by means of which they hope to seize the city.
Most of the Crusaders have laid aside their heavy armor and assumed
the light gear of foot-soldiers the better to scale the walls, upon
which Clorinda is posted, and whence she shoots arrow after arrow at
the assailants. Wounded by one of the missiles flung from the wall,
Godfrey seeks his tent, where, the physician failing to extract the
barb, an angel brings a remedy from heaven which instantly cures the
wound.
Canto XII. After awhile, seeing she does not do as much execution as
she would like, Clorinda proposes to Argantes that they steal out of
the city by night, and by chemical means set fire to the engines with
which the Christians are threatening to capture the city. Willingly
Argantes promises to accompany her in this perilous venture, but her
slave, hoping to dissuade her, now reveals to her for the first time,
the story of her birth, and informs her she is the daughter of a
Christian. He adds her dying mother besought him to have her child
baptized, a duty he had failed to perform, although repeatedly warned
by visions to repair his neglect. But, although similar visions have
frequently haunted the dreams of Clorinda herself, she persists in her
undertaking to set fire to the war machines.
She has no sooner done so, however, than the Christians, aroused, set
out in pursuit of her and of her companions. Bravely covering their
retreat so they can re-enter the city safely, Clorinda delays her own
until the gates closed. But with great presence of mind, the
warrior-maid, who is wearing black armor, mingles in the darkness with
the Crusaders. None of these suspects she does not belong to their
ranks, save Tancred, who follows her to a remote place beneath the
walls, where he challenges her to a deadly fight, little divining who
she is. The battle proves fierce, and both combatants strike until
Tancred runs his sword through his opponent. Dying, Clorinda reveals
her name and faintly begs Tancred to baptize her before life leaves
her body.
"Friend! thou hast won; I pardon thee, and O
Forgive thou me! I fear not for this clay,
But my dark soul--pray for it, and bestow
The sacred rite that laves all stains away:"
Like dying hymns heard far at close of day,
Sounding I know not what in the sooth'd ear
Of sweetest sadness, the faint words make way
To his fierce heart, and, touch'd with grief sincere,
Streams from his pitying eye th' involuntary tear.
Such a request cannot be disregarded, so, although Tancred is frantic
with grief at the thought of having slain his beloved, he hurries to a
neighboring stream, draws water in his helmet, and, after baptizing
his dying sweetheart, swoons over her body. His companions, finding
him there, convey him and Clorinda's body to his tent, where they
vainly try to rouse him, but he is so overcome with melancholy that he
thinks of nothing but joining Clorinda in her tomb.
_Canto XIII._ Meantime the foe, having heard of Clorinda's death, vow
to avenge her, while the Crusaders seek materials to reconstruct their
towers. Hastening to a forest near by, they discover a wizard has cast
such a spell upon it that all who try to enter are frightened away.
Finally Tancred enters this place, and, although he is met by
earthquakes and other portents, he disregards them all, and starts to
cut down a tree. But, when blood gushes from its stem, and when
Clorinda's voice informs him he has wounded her again, he flees
without having accomplished his purpose. Heat and drought now cause
further desertions and discourage the Crusaders, until Godfrey, full
of faith in the justice of their cause, prays so fervently that rain
is vouchsafed them.
_Canto XIV._ In a dream Godfrey is now admonished to proceed, and
told, if he can only persuade Rinaldo to return, Jerusalem will soon
fall into the hands of the Christians. Because no one knows where
Rinaldo has gone, Godfrey despatches two knights in quest of him.
After some difficulty they interview a wizard, who, after exhibiting
to them his magic palace, tells them Armida, to punish Rinaldo for
rescuing his companions from her clutches, has captured him by magic
means and borne him off to her wonderful garden in the Fortunate
Isles. The hermit then bestows upon them a golden wand which will
defeat all enchantments, and bids them hasten to the Fortunate Isles.
_Canto XV._ Hastening off to the sea-shore armed with this golden
wand, these two knights find a magic vessel, wherein they sail with
fabulous speed over the sea, and through the Strait of Gibraltar, out
into the western ocean, the nymph at the helm meanwhile informing them
that this is the road Columbus is destined to travel. Sailing thus
they reach the Fortunate Isles, where, notwithstanding many
enchantments and temptations brought to bear to check their advance,
they, thanks to the golden wand, force their way into Armida's
wonderful garden.
_Canto XVI._
These windings pass'd, the garden-gates unfold,
And the fair Eden meets their glad survey,--
Still waters, moving crystals, sands of gold,
Herbs, thousand flowers, rare shrubs, and mosses gray;
Sunshiny hillocks, shady vales; woods gay,
And grottoes gloomy, in one view combined,
Presented were; and what increased their play
Of pleasure at the prospect, was, to find
Nowhere the happy Art that had the whole design'd.
So natural seem'd each ornament and site,
So well was neatness mingled with neglect,
As though boon Nature for her own delight
Her mocker mock'd, till fancy's self was check'd;
The air, if nothing else there, is th' effect
Of magic, to the sound of whose soft flute
The blooms are born with which the trees are deck'd;
By flowers eternal lives th' eternal fruit,
This running richly ripe, while those but greenly shoot.
Then, peeping cautiously through the trees, they behold Rinaldo
reclining amid the flowers, his head resting in the enchantress' lap.
Biding their time they watch Armida leave the enamoured knight, then
step forward and bid him gaze into the magic mirror they have brought.
On beholding in its surface a reflection of himself as he really is,
Rinaldo, horrified, is brought to such a sense of his depraved
idleness, that he springs to his feet and proposes to leave
immediately with his companions. They are about to depart without
bidding farewell to the fair enchantress, when she pursues them, and,
after vainly pleading with Rinaldo to stay with her, proposes to join
him in any quality. When he abruptly rejects her advances and sails
away, Armida, disappointed and infuriated because she has been
scorned, hastens off to the Egyptian camp.
_Canto XVII._ There she joins the Christians' enemies, declaring she
dreams of naught save slaying Rinaldo, and takes an important part in
the review which the poet describes minutely. To compass her ends the
artful Armida, whose charms have so lavishly been displayed that they
have fired every breast, promises to belong to the warrior who will
bring her Rinaldo's head. Meanwhile this hero has returned to
Palestine, and is met by the wizard, who, after reproving him for his
dalliance, gives him wonderful armor, and exhibits on the shield the
great deeds of ancestors of the Duke of Ferrara.
_Canto XVIII._ Newly armed, Rinaldo now returns to the crusaders'
camp, apologizes to Godfrey for breaking the rules of the crusade,
relates his adventures, and, after humbly confessing his sins, starts
forth to brave the spells of the magic forest. Not only does he
penetrate within its precincts, but, undeterred by all Armida's
enchantments, cuts down a tree, although, in hopes of staying his
hand, her voice accuses him of cruelly wounding her! No sooner has
this tree fallen than the spell is broken; so other trees are cut down
without difficulty, engines built, and all is prepared for a new
assault on Jerusalem.
Godfrey is particularly eager to make this new attempt immediately,
because a carrier-pigeon has been caught bearing a message from the
Egyptians to the Sultan of Jerusalem, apprising him that within five
days they will come to his aid. During this assault of Jerusalem, a
sorcerer on the walls, working against the Christians, is slain by a
rock.
Soon after, thanks to the efforts of the Crusaders, the banner with
the Cross floats over the walls of Jerusalem!
Then raised the Christians all their long loud shout
Of Victory, joyful, resonant, and high;
Their words the towers and temples lengthen out;
To the glad sound the mountains make reply:
* * * * *
Then the whole host pours in, not o'er the walls
Alone, but through the gates, which soon unclose,
Batter'd or burnt; and in wide ruin falls
Each strong defence that might their march oppose.
Rages the sword; and Death, the slaught'rer, goes
'Twixt Wo and Horror with gigantic tread,
From street to street; the blood in torrents flows,
And settles in lagoons, on all sides fed,
And swell'd with heaps on heaps of dying and of dead.
_Canto XIX._ Tancred, scaling a fortress, meets and slays Argantes,
receiving at the same time so grievous a wound that he swoons on the
battle-field. Meantime Godfrey has sent a spy to the Egyptian camp to
find out whether the army is really coming on to Jerusalem. This spy,
meeting Erminia there, induces her not only to reveal all the
Egyptians' plans (including a plot to slay Godfrey), but to go back
with him. While they journey along together to rejoin the Christian
forces, Erminia relates her adventures, saying that while she was
playing shepherdess, some freebooters seized her and carried her to
the Egyptian camp, where she was placed under Armida's protection. Her
story is just finished when they perceive what appears to be a
lifeless warrior. By the red cross on his armor the spy recognizes a
Christian, and further investigation enables him to identify Tancred.
Erminia--who has owned she loves him--now takes possession of him,
binds up his wounds with her hair (!), and vows she will nurse him
back to health.
_Canto XX._ Warned by his spy that the Egyptians mean to send sundry
of their number to mix, during the battle, with his body-guard and
kill him, Godfrey changes the ensigns of his men, and thus discovers
the conspirators, who are promptly put to death. Seeing the Egyptian
army advance, Godfrey, in a stirring speech, urges his men to do their
best for the Holy Sepulchre, and thereby stimulates them to fight so
bravely that many of them lose their lives. Among the slain are
Gildippe and her husband, who, having fought together side by side
throughout the campaign, die together and are buried in the same tomb.
The other party, however, is far more unfortunate, for the Saracens
lose the sultans Aladine and Solyman, the former slain by Godfrey and
the latter by Rinaldo.
Meantime Armida, wavering between love and hate, tries to shoot
Rinaldo, then flees, but, a little later, seeing him slay Solyman, she
tries to kill herself. It is at this moment that Rinaldo approaches
her, and offers to marry her provided she will be converted. Not only
does she now promise conversion and marriage, but accompanies Rinaldo
back to the camp.
The Crusaders having completely defeated their foes and secured
possession of Jerusalem, march, with solemn hymns of praise to the
Holy Sepulchre, where all kneel, thanking God for permitting them to
deliver it from the hands of the heathen. It is with these thanks that
the poem ends.
Thus conquer'd Godfrey; and as yet there glow'd
A flush of glory in the fulgent West,
To the freed City, the once loved abode
Of Christ, the pious chief and armies press'd:
Arm'd as he was, and in his sanguine vest,
With all his knights in solemn cavalcade,
He reach'd the Temple; there, supremely bless'd,
Hung up his arms, his banner'd spoils display'd,
And at the sacred Tomb his vow'd devotions paid.
EPICS OF THE BRITISH ISLES
Although the name Celt was given by the early Greeks to all the people
living West of their country, the Romans included under that name only
the tribes occupying the countries now known as France, Western
Switzerland, Germany west of the Rhine, Belgium, and the British
Isles. Blocked together under a generic name, the Celtic nation was,
however, composed of many tribes, with separate dialects and customs.
It has been surmised that two of these tribes, the British and Irish,
early took possession of England and Ireland, where they flourished
and subdivided until disturbed by invasions of various kinds.
The Celts all practised what is termed the Druidic cult, their priests
being poets, bards, or gleemen, who could compose or recite in verse,
ritual, laws, and heroic ballads. During the four hundred years of
Roman occupation, the Celts in England became somewhat Romanized, but
the Irish, and their near relatives the Scots, were less influenced by
Latin civilization. It is therefore in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales
that the oldest traces of Celtic literature are found, for the bards
there retained their authority and acted as judges after Christianity
had been introduced, and as late as the sixth century. Although St.
Patrick is reported to have forbidden these Irish bards to continue
their pagan incantations, they continued to exert some authority, and
it is said Irish priests adopted the tonsure which was their
distinctive badge. The bards, who could recite and compose poems and
stories, accompanying themselves on a rudimentary harp, were
considered of much higher rank than those who merely recited
incantations. They transmitted poems, incantations, and laws, orally
only, and no proof exists that the pagan Irish, for instance,
committed any works to writing previous to the introduction of
Christianity in their midst.
The heroic tales of Ireland from a large and well-marked epic cycle,
the central tale of the series being the anonymous "Cattle of Cooly,"
wherein is related the war waged by the Irish Queen Mab against her
husband for the possession of a mystic brown bull. In the course of
this war the chief hero, Cuchulaind, makes himself famous by defending
the country of Ulster single-handed! The still extant tales of this
epic cycle number about thirty, and give in detail the lives of hero
and heroine from birth to death, besides introducing many legends from
Celtic mythology. The oldest MS. version of these tales, in mingled
prose and verse, dates back to the twelfth century, and is hence about
as venerable as the Edda.
The Fennian or Oisianic poems and tales form another famous Irish
cycle, Finn, or Fingal, their hero, having acted as commander for a
body of mercenaries in the third century. His poet son, Oisin (the
Ossian of later Romance), is said to have composed at least one of the
poems in the famous Book of Leinster. Between the twelfth century and
the middle of the fifteenth, this Fennian epos took on new life, and
it continued to grow until the eighteenth century, when a new tale was
added to the cycle.
The names of a few of the early Irish poets have been preserved in
Irish annals, where we note, for instance, Bishop Fiance, author of a
still extant metrical life of St. Patrick, and Dallan Frogaell, one of
whose poems is in the "Book of the Dun Cow," compiled before 1106. Up
to the thirteenth century most of the poets and harpers used to
include Scotland in their circuit, and one of them, Muiredhach, is
said to have received the surname of "the Scotchman," because he
tarried so long in that country.
When, after the fifteenth century, Irish literature began to decline,
Irish poems were recast in the native Scotch dialect, thus giving rise
to what is known as Gaelic literature, which continued to flourish
until the Reformation. Samples of this old Gaelic or Erse poetry were
discovered by James Macpherson in the Highlands, taken down from
recitation, and used for the English compilation known as the Poems of
Ossian. Lacking sufficient talent and learning to remodel these
fragments so as to produce a real masterpiece, Macpherson--who
erroneously termed his work a translation--not only incurred the
sharpest criticism, but was branded as a plagiarist.
The Welsh, a poetic race too, boast of four great poets,--Taliessin,
Aneurin, Llywarch Hen, and Myrden (Merlin). These composed poems
possessing epic qualities, wherein mention is made of some of the
characters of the Arthurian Cycle. One of the five Welsh MSS., which
seem of sufficient antiquity and importance to deserve attention, is
the Book of Taliessin, written probably during the fourteenth century.
The Welsh also possess tales in verse, either historical or romantic,
which probably antedated the extant prose versions of the same tales.
Eleven of these were translated by Lady Charlotte Guest, and entitled
Mabinogion (Tales for Children), although only four out of the eleven
deserve that name. But some of these tales are connected with the
great Arthurian cycle, as Arthur is the hero _par excellence_ of
Southern Wales, where many places are identified with him or his
court.
Although almost as little is known of the historical Arthur as of the
historical Roland, both are heroes of important epic cycles. Leader
probably of a small band of warriors, Arthur gradually became, in the
epics, first general-in-chief, then king, and finally emperor of all
Britain. It is conjectured that the Arthurian legends must have passed
from South Wales into Cornwall, and thence into Armorica, "where it is
probable the Round Table was invented." Enriched by new accretions
from time to time, the Arthurian cycle finally included the legend of
the Holy Grail, which must have originated in Provence and have been
carried into Brittany by jongleurs or travelling minstrels.
It has been ascertained that the legend of Arthur was familiar among
the Normans before Geoffrey of Monmouth wrote his books, and it
certainly had an incalculable formative influence on European
literature, much of which can be "traced back directly or indirectly
to these legends." It was also a vehicle for that element which we
call chivalry, which the church infused into it to fashion and mould
the rude soldiers of feudal times into Christian knights, and, as it
"expanded the imagination and incited the minds of men to inquiry
beyond the conventional notions of things," it materially assisted in
creating modern society.
After thus tracing the Celtic germs and influence in English
literature, it becomes necessary to hark back to the time of the
Teutonic invasions, since English thought and speech, manners and
customs are all of Teutonic origin. The invaders brought with them an
already formed language and literature, both of which were imposed
upon the people. The only complete extant northern epic of
Danish-English origin is Beowulf, of which a synopsis follows, and
which was evidently sung by gleemen in the homes of the great chiefs.
Apart from Beowulf, some remains of national epic poetry have come
down to us in the fine fragments of Finnsburgh and Waldhere, another
version of Walter of Aquitaine.
There are also the Legends of Havelock the Dane, of King Horn, of
Beves of Hamdoun, and of Guy of Warwick, all four of which were later
turned into popular prose romances. Intense patriotic feeling also
gave birth to the Battle of Maldon, or Bryhtnoth's Death, an ancient
poem, fortunately printed before it was destroyed by fire. This epic
relates how the Viking Anlaf came to England with 93 ships, and, after
harrying the coast, was defeated and slain in battle.
The earliest Christian poet in England, Caedmon, instead of singing of
love or fighting, paraphrased the Scriptures, and depicted the
creation in such eloquent lines that he is said to have inspired some
of the passages in Milton's Paradise Lost. Chief among the religious
poems ascribed to Caedmon, are Genesis, Exodus, and Daniel, but,
although in general he strictly conforms with the Bible narrative, he
prefixed to Genesis an account of the fall of the angels, and thus
supplied Milton with the most picturesque feature of his theme.
Next come the epic poems of Cynewulf, Crist, Juliana, Elene, and
Andreas, also written in alliterative verse. In Elene the poet gives
us the legend of finding of the cross[20] by the empress Helena,
dividing his poem into fourteen cantos or fitts.
It is in Gildas and Nennius' Historia Britonum that we find the first
mention of the legendary colonization of Britain and Ireland by
refugees from Troy, and of the exploits of Arthur and the prophesies
of Merlin. This work, therefore, contains some of the "germs of fables
which expanded into Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of Britain, which
was written in Latin some time before 1147," although this historian
claims to derive his information from an ancient British book of which
no trace can be found.
There is, besides, a very curious yet important legend cycle, in
regard to a letter sent from Heaven to teach the proper observation of
Sunday. The text of this letter can be found in old English in
Wulfstan's homilies. Besides sacred legends, others exist of a worldly
nature, such as the supposed letter from Alexander to Aristotle, the
Wonders of the East, and the Story of Apollonius of Tyre. The first
two, of course, formed part of the great Alexander cycle, while the
latter supplied the theme for Pericles of Tyre.
With the Norman Conquest, French became the literary language of
England, and modern romance was born. Romance cycles on "the matter of
France" or Legends of Charlemagne, and on "the matter of Britain" or
Legends of Arthur, became popular, and Geoffrey of Monmouth freely
made use of his imagination to fill up the early history of Britain,
for his so-called history is in reality a prose romance, whence later
writers drew themes for many a tale.
Walter Map, born on the border of Wales in 1137, is credited with the
no longer extant Latin prose romance of Lancelot du Lac, which
included the Quest of the Holy Grail and the Death of Arthur. Besides
Wace's Brut, we have that of Layamon, and both poets not only explain
how Britain's name is derived from Brut,--a member of Priam's family
and refugee from Troy,--but go on to give the history of other early
kings of Britain, including Arthur. They often touch the true epic
note,--as in the wrestling match between Corineus and the giant,--use
similes drawn from every-day life, and supply us with legends of King
Lear and of Cymbeline.
It was toward the end of the twelfth century that Arthur reached the
height of his renown as romantic hero, the "matter of Britain" having
become international property, and having been greatly enriched by
poets of many climes. By this time Arthur had ceased to be a king of
Britain, to become king of a fairy-land and chief exponent of
chivalric ideals and aims.
To name all the poets who had a share in developing the Arthurian
Legend would prove an impossible task, but Nennius, Gildas, Geoffrey
of Monmouth, Wace, Layamon, Benoit de St. Maur, Chrestien de Troyes,
Marie de France, Hartmann von der Aue, and Wolfram von Eschenbach
have, in English, French, and German, helped to develop the "matter of
Britain," and have managed to connect it with "the matter of France."
During the age of metrical romances (1200 to 1500), all the already
extant cycles were remodelled and extended. Besides, not only were
Greek and Latin epics translated so as to be within reach of all, but
one country freely borrowed from another. Thus, the French romances of
Huon de Bordeaux and of the Four Sons of Aymon found many admirers in
England, where the former later supplied Shakespeare with some of the
characters for a Midsummer Night's Dream. It was to offset the very
popular romance of Alexander, that some patriotic poet evolved the
romance of Richard Coeur de Lion, explaining how this king earned his
well-known nickname by wrenching the heart out of a lion!
Some of these romances, such as Flores and Blancheflour, have "the
voluptuous qualities of the East," make great use of magic of all
kinds, and show the idyllic side of love. The tragedy of love is
depicted in the romance of Tristram and Iseult, where a love-potion
plays a prominent part. But, although knightly love and valor are the
stock topics, we occasionally come across a theme of Christian
humility, like Sir Isumbras, or of democracy, as in the Squire of Low
Degree and in the Ballads of Robin Hood.
With the advent of Chaucer a new poet, a new language, and new themes
appear. Many of his Canterbury tales are miniature epics, borrowed in
general from other writers, but retold with a charm all his own. The
Knight's Tale, or story of the rivalry in love of Palamon and Arcite,
the tale of Gamelyn, and that of Troilus and Cressida, all contain
admirable epic passages.
Spenser, our next epic poet, left us the unfinished Faerie Queene, an
allegorical epic which shows the influence of Ariosto and other
Italian poets, and contains exquisitely beautiful passages descriptive
of nature, etc. His allegorical plot affords every facility for the
display of his graceful verse, and is outlined in another chapter.
There are two curious but little-known English epics, William Warner's
chronicle epic entitled "Albion's England" (1586), and Samuel Daniel's
"Civil Wars." The first, beginning with the flood, carries the reader
through Greek mythology to the Trojan War, and hence by means of Brut
to the beginnings of English history, which is then continued to the
execution of Mary Stuart. The second (1595) is an epic, in eight
books, on the Wars of the Roses. Drayton also wrote, on the theme of
the Civil Wars, an epic entitled "The Barons' Wars," and undertook a
descriptive and patriotic epic in "Polyolbion," wherein he makes a
tour of England relating innumerable local legends.
Abraham Cowley composed an epic entitled "Davideis," or the troubles
of David. He begins this work in four books with a description of two
councils held in Heaven and hell in regard to the life of this worthy.
Dryden was not only a translator of the classic epics, but projected
an epic of his own about Arthur. Almost at the same time Pope was
planning to write one on Brut, but he too failed to carry out his
intentions, and is best known as the translator of the Iliad, although
some authorities claim the "Rape of the Lock" is a unique sample of
the _épopée galante._
The poet Keats, whose life was so short, left us a complete
mythological epic in "Endymion," a fragment of one in "Hyperion," and
a reproduction of one of the old romances in "Isabella, or a Pot of
Basil."
Shelley, Keats' contemporary, wrote poems abounding in epic
passages,--"Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude," "The Revolt of
Islam," "Adonais," and "Prometheus Unbound"; while Byron's epical
poems are "Manfred," "The Corsair," and "Don Juan"; and Scott's, "The
Lay of the Last Minstrel," "Marmion," "The Lady of the Lake," and "The
Bridal of Triermain."
The greatest of Coleridge's poems, "The Ancient Mariner," is sometimes
called a visionary epic, while his "Christabel" conforms more closely
to the old _roman d'adventure._
As the translator of the epical romances of "Amadis de Gaule" and
"Palmerin," Southey won considerable renown; he also wrote the
oriental epics "Thalaba" and "The Curse of Kehama," as well as epical
poems on "Madoc," "Joan of Arc," and "Roderick, the Last of the
Goths."
Moore, although preeminently a lyric poet, has left us the eastern
epic "Lalla Rookh," and Lockhart some "Spanish Ballads" which
paraphrase the Cid.
Among Macaulay's writings the "Lays of Ancient Rome" have epic
qualities, which are also found in Leigh Hunt's "Story of Rimini."
The plot of Tristram has been utilized both by Matthew Arnold and by
Swinburne, while William and Lewis Morris have rewritten some of the
old classic stories in "The Earthly Paradise," the "Life and Death of
Jason," the "Defense of Guinevere," and the "Epic of Hades."
It was, however, the Victorian poet-laureate Tennyson who gave the
Arthurian Legend its latest and most artistic touches in "Idylls of
the King." Some critics also claim as an example of the domestic epic
his "Enoch Arden."
Among recent writers, sundry novelists have been hailed as authors of
prose epics. Thomas Westwood has composed in excellent verse the
"Quest of the Sangreall," Mrs. Trask "Under King Constantine," a
notable addition to the Arthurian cycle, and Stephen Philips has sung
of Ulysses and of King Alfred.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 20: See the author's "Legends of the Virgin and Christ."]
BEOWULF[21]
_Introduction._ The only Anglo-Saxon epic which has been preserved
entire was probably composed in Sweden before the eighth century, and
taken thence to England, where this pagan poem was worked over and
Christianized by some Northumbrian bard. Although some authorities
declare it dates back as far as the fifth century, most affirm it must
have been composed in the seventh. The present manuscript, now
preserved in the British Museum, dates back to the tenth century. It
contains some 3182 lines, and is written in alliterative verse (that
is to say, that all the lines are written in pairs and that each
perfect pair contains two similar sounds in the first line and one in
the second). Although the author of Beowulf is unknown, the poem
affords priceless hints in regard to the armor, ships, and mode of
life of our early Saxon fore-fathers. Many translations of the poem
have been made, some in prose and others in verse, and the epic as it
stands, consisting of an introduction and forty-two "Fits," is the
main text for the study of the Anglo-Saxon language.
_The Epic._ Hrothgar, King of Denmark, traces his origin to Skiold,
son of Odin, who as an infant drifted to Denmark's shores. This child
lay on a sheaf of ripe wheat, surrounded by priceless weapons, jewels,
and a wonderful suit of armor, which proved he must be the scion of
some princely race. The childless King and Queen of Denmark therefore
gladly adopted him, and in due time he succeeded them and ruled over
the whole country. When he died, his subjects, placing his body in the
vessel in which he had come, set him adrift.
Men are not able
Soothly to tell us, they in halls who reside,
Heroes under heaven, to what haven he hied.[22]
Hrothgar, his descendant, constructed a magnificent hall, called
Heorot, wherein to feast his retainers and entertain them with the
songs of the northern skalds.
It burned in his spirit
To urge his folk to found a great building,
A mead-hall grander than men of the era
Ever had heard of, and in it to share
With young and old all of the blessings
The Lord had allowed him, save life and retainers.
The night of the inauguration of this building, the royal body-guard
lay down in the hall to sleep; and, when the servants entered the
place on the morrow, they were horrified to find floor and walls
spattered with blood, but no other trace of the thirty knights who had
rested there the night before. Their cry of horror aroused Hrothgar,
who, on investigating, discovered gigantic footsteps leading straight
from the hall to the sluggish waters of a mountain tarn, above which a
phosphorescent light always hovered. These footsteps were those of
Grendel, a descendant of Cain, who dwelt in the marsh, and who had
evidently slain and devoured all the king's men.
Too old to wield a sword in person, Hrothgar offered a princely reward
to whoever would rid his country of this terrible scourge. But,
although many warriors gladly undertook the task, the monster proved
too strong for all, and none save a minstrel--who hid in one corner of
the hall--ever succeeded in escaping from his clutches. This minstrel,
after seeing Grendel feed upon his companions, was so impressed by
the sight, that he composed a song about it, which he sang wherever he
went, and once repeated for the entertainment of King Higelac and his
nephew Beowulf. In answer to their eager questions, the bard averred
the monster still existed and invariably invaded the hall when a feast
was held there. This was enough to arouse in Beowulf a burning desire
to visit Denmark and rid the world of this scourge. Knowing his nephew
was very brave and having had proof of his endurance (for the young
man had once in the course of a swimming match, stayed in the water
five whole days and nights, killing many sea monsters who came to
attack him), Higelac gladly allowed him to depart with fourteen chosen
companions. Thus Beowulf set out "over the Swan-Road" for Denmark, to
offer his services to the king.
The foamy-necked floater fanned by the breeze,
Likest a bird, glided the waters,
Till twenty and four hours thereafter
The twist-stemmed vessel had travelled such distance
That the sailing-men saw the sloping embankments,
The sea-cliffs gleaming, precipitous mountains,
Nesses enormous: they were nearing the limits
At the end of the ocean.
On seeing a vessel with armed men approach their shores, the Danish
coast guards challenged the new-comers, who rejoined their intentions
were purely friendly, and begged to be led to the king. There Beowulf
and his attendants--after paying their respects to Hrothgar--offered
their services to rid him of the terrible scourge which had preyed so
long upon his people. On hearing this, the king immediately ordered a
feast prepared, and at its close allowed Beowulf, at his request, to
remain alone in the hall with his men. Aware that no weapon could
pierce the armed hide of the uncanny monster, Beowulf--who had the
strength of thirty men--laid aside his armor and prepared to grapple
with Grendel by main strength when he appeared.
Then the brave-mooded hero bent to his slumber,
The pillow received the cheek of the noble;
And many a martial mere-thane attending
Sank to his slumber.
Just as the chill of morning invades the hall, Beowulf hears stealthy
steps approaching and the great door bursts open, admitting a monster,
all enveloped in clammy mist, which--pouncing upon one of the
men--crunches his bones and greedily drinks his blood. Beowulf,
intently watching the fiend, seeing him stretch out a horny hand for
another victim, suddenly grasps it with such force and determination
that the monster, notwithstanding frantic efforts, cannot free
himself. A terrible struggle now takes place, in the course of which
Beowulf and Grendel, wrestling madly, overturn tables and couches,
shaking the hall to its very foundations. Nevertheless, Beowulf clings
so fast to the hand and arm he had grasped, that the monster, trying
to free himself by a mighty jerk, tears his arm out of its socket and
disappears, uttering a blood-curdling cry, and leaving this trophy in
his foe's grasp. Mortally wounded, Grendel hastens back to his marsh,
leaving a trail of blood behind him, while Beowulf, exhausted but
triumphant, proudly exhibits the huge hand and limb which he has
wrenched from the monster, declaring it will henceforth serve to adorn
Heorot.
When Hrothgar beholds it on the morrow and hears an account of the
night's adventures, he warmly congratulates Beowulf, upon whom he
bestows rich gifts, and in whose honor he decrees a grand feast shall
be held in this hall. While they are drinking there and listening to
the music of the skalds (who sing of Sigmund the dragon-slayer and of
a fight at Finnsburgh), Wealtheow, Queen of Denmark, appears in their
midst, and bestows upon Beowulf a wonderful necklace and a ring of the
finest gold, bidding him wear them in memory of his triumph.
The feast over, Hrothgar escorts his guest to the palace, where he is
to rest that night, leaving his own men to guard Heorot, for all feel
confident Grendel has been too sorely wounded ever to appear again.
But, while the warriors sleep peacefully, the giant's mother--an
equally hideous monster--comes into the hall, secures her son's gory
arm which hangs there as a trophy, and bears away Aeschere, one of the
king's friends.
On learning of this loss on the morrow, Hrothgar is overcome with
grief, and Beowulf, hearing his lamentations, suddenly appears to
inquire what has occurred. On learning the ghastly news, he volunteers
to complete his work and avenge Aeschere by attacking Grendel's mother
in her own retreat. But, knowing the perils he is facing, he makes his
arrangements in case he should never return, before following the
bloody traces left by the monsters. Then he hastens to the pool, where
he finds Aeschere's head set aloft as a trophy! Gazing down into the
depths, Beowulf now perceives the waters are darkly tinged with the
monster's blood, but nevertheless plunges boldly into their depths,
where he swims about a whole day seeking Grendel's retreat. Guided at
last by a phosphorescent gleam, our hero finally reaches a cave, after
slaying on the way a number of monsters sent to check his advance. On
nearing the giants' den, a strong eddy suddenly sweeps him within
reach of Grendel's mother, who, clutching him fast, flings him on the
floor, and is trying to find a joint in his armor, so as to kill him
with her knife, when Beowulf, snatching a sword hanging from a rocky
projection, deals her so fierce a blow that he severs her head from
its trunk.
Then he saw amid the war-gems a weapon of victory,
An ancient giant-sword, of edges a-doughty,
Glory of warriors: of weapons 'twas choicest,
Only 'twas larger than any man else was
Able to bear in the battle-encounter,
The good and splendid work of the giants.
He grasped then the sword-hilt, knight of Seyldings,
Bold and battle-grim, brandished his ring-sword,
Hopeless of living hotly he smote her,
That the fiend-woman's neck firmly it grappled,
Broke through her bone-joints, the bill fully pierced her
Fate-cursèd body, she fell to the ground then:
The hand sword was bloody, the hero exulted.
The brand was brilliant, brightly it glimmered,
Just as from heaven gem-like shineth
The torch of the firmament.
The blood from this monster, pouring out of the cave, mingles with the
waters without, which begin to seethe and bubble in so ominous a way
that Hrothgar and his men, exclaiming Beowulf is dead, sadly depart.
The hero's attendants, however, mindful of orders received, linger at
the side of the mere, although they cherish small hope of ever
beholding their master again.
Having disposed of Grendel's mother, Beowulf rushes to the rear of the
cave, where, finding Grendel dead, he cuts off his head, and with this
trophy makes his way up through the tainted waters, which melt his
sword, so that he has nothing but the hilt left on reaching the shore.
The sword-blade began then,
The blood having touched it, contracting and shrivelling
With battle-icicles; 'twas a wonderful marvel
That it melted entirely, likest to ice when
The Father unbindeth the bond of the frost and
Unwindeth the wave-bands, He who wieldeth dominion
Of times and of tides: a truth-firm Creator.
It is just as his followers are about to depart that Beowulf emerges
from the waters, and, when they behold his trophy and hear his tale,
they escort him back in triumph to Heorot, where the grateful Danes
again load him with presents.
His task accomplished, Beowulf returns home, where he bestows the
necklace he has won upon the Queen of the Geats, and continues
faithfully to serve the royal couple, even placing their infant son
upon the throne after their death, and defending his rights as long as
he lives. Then the people elect Beowulf king, and during a reign of
fifty years he rules them wisely and well. Old age has robbed Beowulf
of part of his fabulous strength, when his subjects are suddenly
dismayed by the ravages of a fire-breathing dragon, which has taken up
its abode in some neighboring mountains, where he gloats over a hoard
of glittering gold. A fugitive slave having made his way into the
monster's den during one of its absences and abstracted a small
portion of its treasure, the incensed firedrake, in revenge, flies all
over the land, vomiting fire and smoke in every direction, and filling
all hearts with such terror that the people implore Beowulf to deliver
them from this monster too.
Although Beowulf realizes he no longer enjoys youthful vigor, he,
nevertheless, sets out bravely with eleven men to attack the monster.
On reaching the mountain gorge, he bids his small troop stand still,
and, advancing alone, challenges the dragon to come forth. A moment
later the mountain shakes as a fire-breathing dragon rushes out to
attack Beowulf, who feels his fiery breath even through shield and
armor. With deadly fury the dragon attacks the warrior, coiling his
scaly folds around and around Beowulf, who vainly slashes at him with
his sword, for scales made him invulnerable.
Seeing his master about to be crushed to death, Wiglaf--one of
Beowulf's followers--now springs forward to aid him, thus causing
sufficient diversion to enable Beowulf to creep beneath the dragon,
and drive his sword deep into its undefended breast! Although the
monster's coils now drop limply away from his body, poor Beowulf has
been so sorely burned by its breath that he feels his end is near.
Turning to his faithful follower, he thanks, him for his aid, bidding
him hasten into the cave and bring forth the treasure he has won for
his people, so he can feast his eyes upon it before he dies.
"Fare thou with haste now
To behold the hoard 'neath the hoar-grayish stone,
Well-lovèd Wiglaf, now the worm is a-lying,
Sore-wounded sleepeth, disseized of his treasure
Go thou in haste that treasures of old I
Gold-wealth may gaze on, together see lying
The ether-bright jewels, be easier able,
Having the heap of hoard-gems, to yield my
Life and the land-folk whom long I have governed."
Sure that the monster can no longer molest them, the rest of the
warriors press forward in their turn, and receive the farewells of
their dying chief, who, after rehearsing the great deeds he has done,
declares he is about to close honorably an eventful career. When he
has breathed his last, his followers push the corpse of the dragon off
a cliff into the sea, and erect on the headland a funeral barrow for
Beowulf's ashes, placing within it part of the treasure he won, and
erecting above it a memorial, or bauta stone, on which they carve the
name and deeds of the great hero who saved them from Grendel and from
the fiery dragon.
So lamented mourning the men of the Geats,
Fond-loving vassals the fall of their lord,
Said he was kindest of kings under heaven,
Gentlest of men, most winning of manner,
Friendliest to folk-troops and fondest of honor.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 21: See also the author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]
[Footnote 22: All the quotations in this chapter are taken from Hall's
translation of "Beowulf."]
THE ARTHURIAN CYCLE
The Arthurian cycle consists in a number of epics or romances about
King Arthur, the knights of his Round Table, or the ladies of his
court. The Anglo-Norman trouvères arranged these tales in graduated
circles around their nucleus, the legend of the Holy Grail. Next in
importance to this sacred theme, and forming the first circle, were
the stories of Galahad and Percival who achieved the Holy Grail, of
Launcelot and Elaine who were favored with partial glimpses of it, and
of Bors who accompanied Galahad and Percival in their journey to
Sarras. The second circle included the stories of Arthur and
Guinevere, of Geraint and Enid, of Tristan and Isolde, of Pelleas and
Ettarre, of Gareth and Lynette, of Gawain, and of Bedevere. The third
and last circle dealt with the epics of Merlin and Vivien, Uther and
Igerne, Gorlois, and Vortigern.
To give a complete outline of the adventures which befell all these
knights and ladies in the course of seventeen epics and romances,--of
which many versions exist, and to which each new poet added some
episode,--would require far more space than any one volume would
afford. A general outline will therefore be given of the two principal
themes, the Quest of the Holy Grail and King Arthur and his Round
Table, mentioning only the main features of the other epics as they
impinge upon these two great centres.
Some of the greatest writers of the Arthurian cycle have been Gildas,
Nennius, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Wace, Robert de Borron, Marie de
France, Layamon, Chrestien de Troyes, Benoit de St. Maur, Gaucher,
Manessier, Gerbert, Knot de Provence, Wolfram von Eschenbach,
Gottfried von Strassburg, Hartmann von der Aue, Malory, Tennyson,
Swinburne, Howard Pyle, Matthew Arnold, and Wagner. Still, almost
every writer of note has had something to say on the subject, and thus
the Arthuriana has become almost as voluminous as the Shakespeariana.
The legend of Arthur, almost unknown before the twelfth century, so
rapidly became popular all over Europe, that it was translated into
every language and recited with endless variations at countless
firesides.
Robert de Borron is said to be mainly responsible for the tale of
Merlin, the real poet of that name having been a bard at the court,
first of Ambrosius Aurelianus and then of King Arthur. The Merlin of
the romances is reported to have owed his birth to the commerce of a
fiend with an unconscious nun. A priest, convinced of the woman's
purity of intention, baptized her child as soon as born, thus
defeating the plots of Satan, who had hoped the son of a fiend would
be able to outwit the plans of the Son of Man for human redemption. In
early infancy, already, this Merlin showed his miraculous powers, for
he testified in his mother's behalf when she was accused of
incontinency.
Meantime Constance, King of England, had left three sons, the eldest
of whom, Constantine, had entered a monastery, while the two others
were too young to reign. Drawn from his retirement to wear a crown,
Constantine proved incapable to maintain order, so his general,
Vortigern, with the aid of the Saxon leaders Hengist and Horsa,
usurped his throne. Some time after, wishing to construct an
impregnable fortress on Salisbury Plain, Vortigern sent for a host of
masons, who were dismayed to see the work they had done during the day
destroyed every night.
On consulting an astrologer, Vortigern was directed to anoint the
stones with the blood of a boy of five who had no human father. The
only child corresponding to this description was Merlin, who saved
himself from untimely death by telling the king that, if he dug down
and drained the lake he would find, he would discover broad stones
beneath which slept two dragons by day, although they fought so
fiercely at night that they caused the tremendous earthquakes which
shattered his walls. These directions were followed, the dragons were
roused, and fought until the red one was slain and the two-headed
white one disappeared. Asked to explain the meaning of these two
dragons, Merlin--the uncanny child--declared the white dragon with two
heads represented the two younger sons of King Constance, who were
destined to drive Vortigern away. Having said this, Merlin
disappeared, thus escaping the wrath of Vortigern, who wished to slay
him.
Soon after, the young princes surprised and burned Vortigern in his
palace, and thus recovered possession of their father's throne. Then,
one of them dying, the other, assuming both their names, became Uther
Pendragon, king of Britain. Such was his bravery that during his reign
of seven years he became overlord of all the petty kings who had
meantime taken possession of various parts of England. He was aided in
this work by his prime-minister, Merlin, whose skill as a clairvoyant,
magician, inventor, and artificer of all kinds of things--such as
armor which nothing could damage, a magic mirror, round table, ring,
and wonderful buildings--was of infinite service to his master and
fired the imagination of all the poets.
There are various accounts of Arthur's birth; according to one, Uther
fell in love with Gorlois' wife Igerne, who was already mother of
three daughters. Thanks to Merlin's magic arts, Uther was able to
visit Igerne in the guise of her husband, and thus begot a son, who
was entrusted to Merlin's care as soon as born. Another legend
declares that, after Gorlois' death, Uther Pendragon married Igerne,
and that Arthur was their lawful child. Feeling he was about to die,
and fearing lest his infant son should be made away with by the lords
he had compelled to obedience, Uther Pendragon bade Merlin hide Arthur
until he was old enough to reign over Britain. Merlin therefore
secretly bore the babe, as soon as born, to Sir Ector, who brought
Arthur up in the belief he was the younger brother of his only son,
Sir Kay.
Arthur had just reached eighteen when the Archbishop of Canterbury
besought Merlin to select an overlord who would reduce the other kings
to obedience, and thus restore peace, law, and order in Britain.
Thereupon Merlin promised him a king would soon appear whose rights
none would be able to dispute. Shortly after, on coming out of the
cathedral one feast-day, the archbishop saw a huge block of stone, in
which was imbedded an anvil, through which was thrust a beautiful
sword. This weapon, moreover, bore an inscription, stating that he who
pulled it out and thrust it back would be the rightful heir to the
throne.
Meantime a tournament had been proclaimed, and Sir Kay, having broken
his sword while fighting, bade his brother Arthur get him another
immediately. Unable to find any weapon in their tent, Arthur ran to
the anvil, pulled out the sword, and gave it to Sir Kay. Seeing it in
his son's hand, Sir Ector inquired how it had been obtained, and
insisted upon Arthur's thrusting it back and taking it out repeatedly,
before he would recognize him as his king. As none of the other lords
could move the sword, and as Arthur repeatedly proved his claim to it
on the great feast-days, he became overlord of all the petty kings. At
Sir Ector's request he appointed Sir Kay as steward of his palace,
and, thanks to the help of Merlin and of his brave knights, soon
subdued the rebels, and became not only master of all England, but, if
we are to believe the later romances, a sort of English Alexander,
who, after crossing the Alps, became Emperor of the World!
During his reign Arthur fought twelve memorable battles, and, not
content with this activity, often rode out like other knights-errant
in quest of adventure, challenging any one who wanted to fight,
rescuing captives, and aiding damsels in distress. In these encounters
Arthur wore the peerless armor made by Merlin, and sometimes carried a
shield so brilliant that it blinded all who gazed upon it. It was,
therefore, generally covered with a close-fitting case, which, like
Arthur's helmet, bore as emblem a two-headed dragon. Having lost his
divine sword in one encounter, Arthur was advised by Merlin to apply
for another to Nimue, or Nymue, the Lady of the Lake. She immediately
pointed out an arm, rising from the middle of the lake, brandishing a
magnificent sword. Springing into a skiff near by, Arthur was
miraculously ferried to the centre of the lake, where, as soon as he
touched the sword, the mystic arm disappeared. Merlin now informed
Arthur that, fighting with Excalibure, his wonderful sword, he could
never be conquered, and that as long as its scabbard hung by his side
he could not be wounded. Later on in the story, Arthur, having
incurred the anger of one of his step-sisters, Morgana the Fay, she
borrowed Excalibure under pretext of admiring it, and had so exact a
copy of it made that no one suspected she had kept the magic sword
until Arthur was wounded and defeated. He, however, recovered
possession of Excalibure--if not of the scabbard--before he fought his
last battle.
Arthur was not only brave, but very romantic, for, Guinevere having
bent over him once when he lay half unconscious from a wound, he fell
so deeply in love with her that he entered her father's service as
garden boy. There Guinevere discovered his identity, and, guessing why
he had come, teased him unmercifully. Shortly after, a neighboring,
very ill-favored king declared Guinevere's old father would be
deprived of his kingdom unless she would consent to marry him, and
defied in single combat any one who ventured to object to this
arrangement.
Arthur, having secretly provided himself with a white horse and armor,
defeated this insolent suitor, and, after a few more thrilling
adventures, arranged for his marriage to Guinevere in the fall. By
Merlin's advice he also begged his future father-in-law to give him,
as wedding present, the Round Table Merlin had made for Uther
Pendragon. This was a magic board around which none but virtuous
knights could sit. When led to a seat, any worthy candidate beheld his
name suddenly appear on its back, in golden letters, which vanished
only at his death, or when he became unworthy to occupy a seat at the
Round Table. Besides, on one side of Arthur's throne was the Siege
Perilous, which none could occupy, under penalty of destruction, save
the knight destined to achieve the Holy Grail.
We are informed that Arthur sent his best friend and most accomplished
knight, Launcelot, to escort Guinevere to Caerleon on Usk, where the
wedding and first session of the Round Table were to take place on the
self-same day. It seems that, when this Launcelot was a babe, his
parents had to flee from a burning home. Overcome by sorrow and
wounds, the poor father soon sank dying beside the road, and, while
the mother was closing his eyes, the Lady of the Lake suddenly rose
from her watery home, seized the babe, and plunged back with him into
its depths. The widowed and bereft woman therefore entered a convent,
where she was known as the Lady of Sorrows, for little did she suspect
her son was being trained by Pellias--husband of the Lady of the
Lake--to become the most famous knight of the Round Table. At eighteen
the Lady of the Lake decided it was time Launcelot should be knighted.
So, on St. John's eve--when mortals can see fairies--King Arthur and
Sir Ector were led, by a mysterious damsel and dwarf, to a place where
Pellias and the Lady of the Lake begged them to knight their protégé
and pupil, who was henceforth to be known as Launcelot of the Lake.
Not only did Arthur gladly bestow the accolade upon the young man,
but he took him with him to Camelot.
It was as supreme honor and mark of confidence that Arthur sent
Launcelot to get Guinevere. Some legends claim these two already loved
each other dearly, others that they fell in love during the journey,
others still that their guilty passion was due to a love potion, and a
few that Guinevere, incensed by the behavior of Arthur,--whom some of
the epics do not depict as Tennyson's "blameless king,"--proved
faithless in revenge later on. All the versions, however, agree that
Launcelot cherished an incurable, guilty passion for Guinevere, and
that she proved untrue to her marriage vows. Time and again we hear of
stolen meetings, and of Launcelot's deep sorrow at deceiving the noble
friend whom he continues to love and admire. This is the only blemish
in his character, while Guinevere is coquettish, passionate,
unfeeling, and exacting, and has little to recommend her aside from
grace, beauty, and personal magnetism. At court she plays her part of
queen and lady of the revels with consummate skill, and we have many
descriptions of festivities of all kinds. During a maying party the
queen was once kidnapped by a bold admirer and kept for a time in
durance vile. Launcelot, posting after her, ruthlessly cut down all
who attempted to check him, and, his horse falling at last beneath
him, continued his pursuit in a wood-chopper's cart, although none but
criminals were seen in such a vehicle in the Middle Ages. The Knight
of the Cart was, however, only intent upon rescuing the queen, who
showed herself very ungrateful, for she often thereafter taunted him
with this ride and laughed at the gibes the others lavished upon him.
Twice Guinevere drove Launcelot mad with these taunts, and frequently
she heartlessly sent him off on dangerous errands.
Launcelot, however, so surpassed all the knights in courage and daring
that he won all the prizes in the tournaments. A brilliant series of
these entertainments was given by the king, who, having found twelve
large diamonds in the crown of a dead king, offered one of them as
prize on each occasion. Launcelot, having secured all but the last,
decided to attend the last tournament in disguise, after carefully
informing king and queen he would not take part in the game.
Pausing at the Castle of Astolat, he borrowed a blank shield, and left
his own in the care of Elaine, daughter of his host, who, although he
had not shown her any attention, had fallen deeply in love with him.
As further disguise, Launcelot also wore the favor Elaine timidly
offered, and visited the tournament escorted by her brother. Once more
Launcelot bore down all rivals, but he was so sorely wounded in the
last encounter that he rode off without taking the prize. Elaine's
brother, following him, conveyed him to a hermit's, where some poets
claim Elaine nursed him back to health. Although there are two Elaines
in Launcelot's life, i.e., the daughter of Pelles (whom he is tricked
into marrying and who bears him Galahad) and the "lily maid of
Astolat,"--some of the later writers fancied there was only the
latter. According to some accounts Launcelot lived happily with the
first Elaine in the castle he had conquered,--Joyous Garde,--until
Queen Guinevere, consumed by jealousy, summoned them both to court.
There she kept them apart, and so persecuted poor Elaine that she
crept off to a convent, where she died, after bringing Galahad into
the world and after predicting he would achieve the Holy Grail.
The other Elaine,--as Tennyson so beautifully relates, a dying of
unrequited love, bade her father and brothers send her corpse down the
river in charge of a dumb boatman. Everybody knows of the arrival of
the funeral barge at court, of the reading of the letter in Elaine's
dead hand, and of Launcelot's sorrow over the suffering he had
unwittingly caused.
Launcelot and Guinevere are not the only examples in the Arthurian
Cycle of the love of a queen for her husband's friend, and of his
overwhelming passion for the wife of his master. Another famous
couple, Tristram and Iseult, [23] also claims our attention.
The legend of Tristram was already known in the sixth century, and
from that time until now has been periodically rewritten and
embellished. Like most mediaeval legends, it begins with the hero's
birth, gives in detail the whole story of his life, and ends only when
he is safely dead and buried!
The bare outline of the main events in Tristram's very adventurous
career are the elopement of his mother, a sister of King Mark of
Cornwall. Then, while mourning for her beloved, this lady dies in
giving birth to her son, whom she names Tristram, or the sad one.
Brought up by a faithful servant,--Gouvernail or Kurvenal,--Tristram
learns to become a peerless hunter and musician. After describing
sundry childish and youthful adventures in different lands, the
various legends agree in bringing him to his uncle's court, just as a
giant champion arrives from Ireland, claiming tribute in money and men
unless some one can defeat him in battle. As neither Mark nor any of
his subjects dare venture to face the challenger, Morolt, Tristram
volunteers his services. The battle takes place on an island, and,
after many blows have been given and received and the end has seemed
doubtful, Tristram (who has been wounded by his opponent's poisoned
lance) kills him by a blow of his sword, a splinter of which remains
embedded in the dead giant's skull. His corpse is then brought back to
Ireland to receive sepulchre at the hands of Queen Iseult, who, in
preparing the body for the grave finds the fragment of steel, which
she treasures, thinking it may some day help her to find her
champion's slayer and enable her to avenge his death.
Meanwhile Tristram's wound does not heal, and, realizing Queen Iseult
alone will be able to cure him, he sails for Ireland, where he
presents himself as the minstrel Tramtris, and rewards the care of
the queen and her daughter--both bearing the name of Iseult--by his
fine music.
On his return to Cornwall, Tristram, who has evidently been impressed
by Princess Iseult's beauty, sings her praises so enthusiastically
that King Mark decides to propose for her hand, and--advised by the
jealous courtiers, who deem the expedition perilous in the
extreme--selects Tristram as his ambassador.
On landing in Ireland, Tristram notices ill-concealed excitement, and
discovers that a dragon is causing such damage in the neighborhood
that the king has promised his daughter's hand to the warrior who
would slay the monster.
Nothing daunted, Tristram sets out alone, and beards the dragon in his
den to such good purpose that he kills him and carries off his tongue
as a trophy. But, wounded in his encounter, Tristram soon sinks by the
roadside unconscious. The king's butler, who has been spying upon him
and who deems him dead, now cuts off the dragon's head and lays it at
the king's feet, claiming the promised reward.
Princess Iseult and her mother refuse, however, to believe that this
man--a notorious coward--has performed any such feat, and hasten out
to the battle-field. There they find not only the headless dragon, but
the unconscious Tristram, and the tongue which proves him the real
victor. To nurse him back to health is no great task for these ladies,
who, like many of the heroines of the mediaeval epics and romances, are
skilled leeches and surgeons.
One day, while guarding their patient's slumbers, the ladies idly
examine his weapons, and make the momentous discovery that the bit of
steel found in Morolt's head exactly fits a nick in Tristram's sword.
Although both had sworn vengeance, they decide the service Tristram
has just rendered them and their country more than counterbalances the
rest, and therefore let him go unscathed.
Fully restored to health, Tristram proves the butler had no right to
Iseult's hand, and, instead of enforcing his own claim, makes King
Mark's proposals known. Either because such an alliance flatters their
pride or because they dare not refuse, Iseult's parents accept in
their daughter's name and prepare everything for her speedy
departure. The queen, wishing to save her daughter from the curse of a
loveless marriage, next brews a love-potion which she bids
Brengwain--her daughter's maid and companion--administer to King Mark
and Iseult on their wedding night.
During the trip across the Irish Channel, Tristram entertains Princess
Iseult with songs and tales, until he becomes so thirsty that he begs
for a drink. By mistake the love-potion is brought, and, as Iseult
graciously dips her lips in the cup before handing it to her
entertainer, it comes to pass both partake of the magic draught, and
thus become victims of a passion which naught can cure. Still, as
their intentions remain perfectly honorable, they continue the journey
to Cornwall, and, in spite of all he suffers, Tristram delivers the
reluctant bride into his uncle's hands.
Some legends claim that Iseult made her maid Brengwain take her place
by the king's side on their wedding night, and that, although the
Irish princess dwelt in the palace at Cornwall, she never proved
untrue to her lover Tristram. The romances now give us stolen
interviews, temporary elopements, and hair-breadth escapes from all
manner of dangers. Once, for instance, Iseult is summoned by her
husband to appear before the judges and clear herself from all
suspicion of infidelity by taking a public oath in their presence. By
Iseult's directions, Tristram, disguised as a mendicant, carries her
ashore from the boat, begging for a kiss as reward. This enables the
queen to swear truthfully that she has never been embraced by any man
save King Mark and the mendicant who carried her ashore!
Tristram--like Launcelot--deeply feels the baseness of his conduct
toward his uncle and often tries to tear himself away, but the spell
of the magic potion is too powerful to break. Once remorse and shame
actually drive him mad, and he roams around the country performing all
manner of crazy deeds.
He too, when restored to his senses, visits Arthur's court, is
admitted to the Round Table, and joins in the Quest for the Holy
Grail, which, of course, he cannot achieve. Then he does marvels in
the matter of hunting and fighting, and, having received another
dangerous wound, wonders who besides Iseult of Cornwall can cure it?
It is then he hears for the first time of Iseult of Brittany (or of
the White Hands), whose skill in such matters is proverbial, and,
seeking her aid, is soon made whole. But meantime the physician has
fallen in love with her patient, and fancies her love is returned
because every lay he sings is in praise of Iseult!
Her brother, discovering her innocent passion, reveals it to Tristram,
who, through gratitude or to drive the remembrance of his guilty
passion out of his mind, finally marries her. But even marriage cannot
make him forget Iseult of Cornwall. The time comes when, wounded
beyond the power of his wife's skill to cure, Tristram sends for
Iseult of Cornwall, who, either owing to treachery or to accident,
arrives too late, and dies of grief on her lover's corpse.