Some legends vary greatly in the manner of Tristram's death, for he is

sometimes slain by King Stark, who is justly angry to find him in his

wife's company. Most of the versions, however, declare that the lovers

were buried side by side, and that creepers growing out of their

respective graves twined lovingly around each other.

Other beautiful episodes which are taken from old Welsh versions of

the Arthurian legends are the stories of Geraint and Enid, of Pelleas

and Ettarre, of Gareth and Lynette, which have received their latest

and most beautiful setting at the hands of the poet-laureate Tennyson,

and the very tragic and pathetic tale of the twin brothers Balin and

Balan, who, after baleful happenings galore, failing to recognize each

other, fight until one deals the "dolorous stroke" which kills his

brother.

Were any one patient enough to count the characters, duels, and

hair-breadth escapes in Malory's Morte d'Arthur, the sum might well

appall a modern reader. Magic, too, plays a prominent part in the

Arthurian cycle, where Merlin, by means of a magic ring given by the

Lady of the Lake to her sister Vivien, becomes so infatuated with the

latter lady, that she is able to coax from him all his secrets, and

even to learn the spell whereby a mortal can be kept alive although

hidden from all eyes. Having obtained the magic formula by bringing

all her coquettish wiles to bear upon besotted old Merlin, Vivien is

said to have decoyed the wizard either to an enchanted castle, where

she enclosed him in a stone sepulchre, or into the forest of

Broceliande, in Brittany, where she left him, spellbound in a

flowering thorn-bush. Another legend, however, claims that, having

grown old and forgetful, Merlin absent-mindedly attempted to sit down

in the Siege Perilous, only to be swallowed up by the yawning chasm

which opened beneath his feet.

It was at the height of Arthur's prosperity and fame that the knights

of the Round Table solemnly pledged themselves to undertake the Quest

of the Holy Grail, as is described in the chapter on that subject.

Their absence, the adultery of the queen, and the king's consciousness

of past sins cast such a gloom over the once brilliant reunions of

Camelot and Caerleon, as well as over the whole land, that Arthur's

foes became bolder, and troubles thickened in an ominous way. Finally,

most of the knights returned from the Quest sadder and wiser men,

Launcelot was banished by the king to Joyous Garde, and was therefore

not at hand when the last great fight occurred. Mordred, the Judas of

the Arthurian cycle--whom some poets represent as the illegitimate and

incestuous son of Arthur, while others merely make him a nephew of the

king--rebels against Arthur, who engages in his last battle, near the

Castle of Tintagel, where he was born.

In this encounter all are slain on both sides, and Arthur, having

finally killed the traitor Mordred, after receiving from him a

grievous wound, finds no one near to help or sustain him save Sir

Bedevere. Knowing his wonderful blade Excalibure must return to its

donor ere he departs, Arthur thrice orders his henchman to cast it

into the mere. Twice Sir Bedevere hides the sword instead of obeying,

but the third time, having exactly carried out the royal orders, he

reports having seen a hand rise out of the Lake, catch and brandish

Excalibure, and vanish beneath the waters with it! Arthur is next

carried by Sir Bedevere down to the water's edge, where a mysterious

barge receives the almost dying king. In this barge are three

black-veiled queens,--the king's step-sisters,--and, when Arthur's

head has been tenderly laid in the lap of Morgana the Fay, he

announces he is about to sail off to the Isle of Avalon "to be healed

of his wound." Although the Isle of Avalon was evidently a poetical

mediaeval version of the "bourne whence no man returns," people long

watched for Arthur's home-coming, for he was a very real personage to

readers of epics and romances in the Middle Ages.

Guinevere--her sin having been discovered by her hitherto fabulously

blind husband--took refuge in a nunnery at Almesbury, where she

received a farewell visit from Arthur and an assurance of his

forgiveness, before he rode into his last fight.

As for Launcelot, he, too, devoted his last days to penance and prayer

in a monastery. There he remained until warned in a vision that

Guinevere was dead. Leaving his cell, Launcelot hastened to Almesbury,

where, finding Guinevere had ceased to breathe, he bore her corpse to

Glastonbury--where according to some versions Arthur had been conveyed

by the barge and buried--and there laid her to rest at her husband's

feet.

Then Launcelot again withdrew to his cell, where he died after six

months' abstinence and prayer. It was his heir, Sir Ector, who

feelingly pronounced the eulogy of the knight _par excellence_ of the

mediaeval legends in the following terms: "'Ah, Sir Lancelot,' he said,

'thou were head of all Christian knights; and now I dare say,' said

Sir Ector, 'that, Sir Lancelot, there thou liest, thou were never

matched of none earthly knight's hands; and thou were the courtliest

knight that ever bare shield; and thou were the truest friend to thy

lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou were the truest lover of a

sinful man that ever loved woman; and thou were the kindest man that

ever struck with sword; and thou were the goodliest person that ever

came among press of knights; and thou were the meekest man, and the

gentlest, that ever ate in hall among ladies; and thou were the

sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in rest.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 23: See, the author's "Stories of the Wagner Operas."]

ROBIN HOOD

Among the most popular of the prose epics is the story of Robin Hood,

compiled from some twoscore old English ballads, some of which date

back at least to 1400. This material has recently been charmingly

reworked by Howard Pyle, who has happily illustrated his own book. The

bare outline of the tale is as follows:

In the days of Henry II lived in Sherwood Forest the famous outlaw

Robin Hood, with his band of sevenscore men. At eighteen years of age

Robin left Locksley to attend a shooting-match in a neighboring town.

While crossing the forest one of the royal game-keepers tauntingly

challenged him to prove his skill as a marksman by killing a deer just

darting past them. But, when the unsuspecting youth brought down this

quarry, the forester proposed to arrest him for violating the law.

Robin, however, deftly escaped, and, when the keeper sent an arrow

after him, retaliated by another, which, better aimed, killed one of

the king's men!

Although unwittingly guilty of murder, Robin, knowing his life was

forfeit, took to the forest, where he became an outlaw. In vain the

Sheriff of Nottingham tried to secure him: Robin always evaded capture

at his hands. Still he did not remain in hiding, but frequently

appeared among his fellow-men, none of whom would betray him, although

the sheriff promised a reward of two hundred pounds for his capture.

Once, while in quest of adventures, Robin met on a narrow bridge a

stranger who refused to make way for him. Irritated by what he

considered the man's insolence, Robin seized his quarter-staff, only

to find that his antagonist more than matched him in the skilful use

of this weapon. Then a misstep suddenly toppled Robin over into the

stream, where he might have perished had not some of his men leaped

out of the thicket to his rescue. Vexed at being beaten at

quarter-staff, Robin now proposed a shooting-match, and, his good

humor entirely restored by winning a victory in this contest, he

promptly enrolled the stranger in his band. His merry companions, on

learning the huge new-comer was John Little, ironically termed him

Little John, by which name he became very famous.

Baffled in his attempts to secure Robin and unable to find any one

near there to serve a warrant upon him, the sheriff hired a Lincoln

tinker, who, entering an inn, loudly boasted how cleverly he was going

to accomplish his task. Among his listeners was the outlaw, who

enticed the tinker to drink, and made him so drunk that he had no

difficulty in stealing his warrant.

The tinker, on awaking, was furious, and, coming face to face with

Robin soon after, attacked him fiercely. Seeing his opponent was

getting the better of him, Robin blew his horn, whereupon six of his

men appeared to aid him. Awed by the sudden appearance of these

men,--who were all clad in Lincoln green,--the tinker laid down his

cudgel and humbly begged permission to join the band.

The baffled sheriff now rode off to London to complain, but, when

Henry heard one of his officers could not capture an outlaw, he

indignantly bade him leave the court and not appear there again until

he had secured Robin. Dismayed at having incurred royal displeasure,

the sheriff concluded to accomplish by stratagem what he had failed to

compass by force. He therefore proclaimed a shooting-match, and,

feeling sure Robin would be among the competitors for the prize,

posted a number of men to watch for and arrest him. These sleuths

recognized all the contestants present, except a dark man, with a

patch over one eye, who did not in the least resemble the fair-haired,

handsome Robin. Although one-eyed, the stranger easily bore away the

prize, and, when the sheriff offered to take him into his service,

curtly rejoined no man should ever be his master. But that evening, in

a secret glade in Sherwood Forest, Robin gleefully exhibited to his

followers the golden arrow he had won, and, doffing his patch,

remarked that the walnut stain, which had transformed a fair man into

a dark one, would soon wear off.

Still, not satisfied with outwitting the sheriff, Robin, anxious to

apprise him of the fact, wrote a message on an arrow, which he boldly

shot into the hall where his enemy was seated at a banquet. Enraged by

this impudence, the sheriff sent out three hundred men to scour the

forest, and Robin and his men were forced to hide.

Weary of inaction, Robin finally bade Will Stutely reconnoiter, report

what the sheriff was doing, and see whether it would be safe for him

and his men to venture out. Garbed as a monk, Will Stutely sought the

nearest inn, where he was quietly seated when some of the sheriff's

men came in. The outlaw was listening intently to their plans when a

cat, rubbing against him, pushed aside his frock, and thus allowed the

constable a glimpse of Lincoln green beneath its folds. To arrest the

outlaw was but the matter of a moment, and Will Stutely was led off to

prison and execution, while a friendly bar-maid hastened off secretly

to the forest to warn Robin of his friend's peril.

Determined to save Will from the gallows at any risk, Robin

immediately set out with four of his best men and let them mingle

among the people assembled near the gallows. Although disguised, the

outlaws were immediately recognized by Will when he arrived with the

sheriff. Pressing forward as if to obtain a better view of the

execution, the outlaws contrived to annoy their neighbors so sorely

that a fight ensued, and, in the midst of the confusion, Little John,

slipping close up to the prisoner, cut his bonds, knocked down the

sheriff, and escaped with all the band!

Life in the forest sometimes proved too monotonous to suit Robin, who

once purchased from a butcher his horse, cart, and meat, and drove off

boldly to Nottingham Fair. There he lustily cried his wares,

announcing churchmen would have to pay double, aldermen cost price,

housewives less, and pretty girls nothing save a kiss! The merry

vender's methods of trading soon attracted so many female customers

that the other butchers became angry, but, deeming Robin a mere

simpleton, invited him to a banquet, where they determined to take

advantage of him.

The sheriff--who was present--blandly inquired of the butcher whether

he had any cattle for sale, and arranged to meet him in the forest and

pay 300 crowns in cash for 500 horned heads. But, when the gullible

sheriff reached the trysting-spot, he was borne captive to Robin's

camp, where the chief, mockingly pointing out the king's deer, bade

him take possession of five hundred horned heads! Then he invited the

sheriff to witness games exhibiting the outlaws' strength and skill,

and, after relieving him of his money, allowed him to depart unharmed.

More determined than ever to obtain revenge, the sheriff again

proclaimed an archery contest, which Robin shunned. Little John,

however, put in an appearance, won all the prizes, and even accepted

the sheriff's offer to serve him. But, living on the fat of the land

in the sheriff's household, Little John grew fat and lazy, quarrelled

with the other servants, and finally departed with his master's cook

and his silver!

Robin, although delighted to acquire a new follower, hotly reviled his

companion for stealing the silver, whereupon Little John declared the

sheriff had given it to him and volunteered to produce him to confirm

his words. He therefore set out, and waylaid his late employer, who,

thinking himself under the protection of one of his own men,

innocently followed him to the outlaws' camp. When brought thus

suddenly face to face with Robin, the sheriff expected to be robbed or

killed, but, after ascertaining the silver was not a free gift, Robin

gave it back to him and let him go.

Angry because Robin often twitted him with his stoutness, Little John

once wandered off by himself in the forest, and meeting Arthur a

Bland challenged him to fight, little suspecting Robin was watching

them from a neighboring thicket. From this hiding-place the chief of

the outlaws witnessed Little John's defeat, and, popping out as soon

as the fight was over, invited Arthur a Bland to join his band. The

three men next continued their walk, until they met a "rose-leaf,

whipped-cream youth," of whose modish attire and effeminate manners

they made unmerciful fun. Boastfully informing his two companions he

was going to show them how a quarter-staff should be handled, Robin

challenged the stranger, who, suddenly dropping his affected manners,

snatched a stake from the hedge and proceeded to outfence Robin. In

his turn Little John had a chance to laugh at his leader's

discomfiture, and Robin, on learning his antagonist was his nephew

(who had taken refuge in the forest because he had accidentally killed

a man), invited him to join his merry men.

Soon after Little John was despatched for food, and the outlaws were

enjoying a jolly meal "under the greenwood tree," when a miller came

trudging along with a heavy bag of flour. Crowding around him the

outlaws demanded his money, and, when he exhibited an empty purse,

Robin suggested his money was probably hidden in the meal and sternly

ordered him to produce it without delay. Grumbling about his loss, the

miller opened his sack, began to fumble in the meal, and, when all the

outlaws were bending anxiously over it, flung a double handful of

flour right into their eyes, thus blinding them temporarily. Had not

other outlaws now rushed out of the thicket, the miller would

doubtless have effected his escape, but the new arrivals held him fast

until Robin, charmed with his ready wit, invited him to become an

outlaw too.

Some time after this, Robin, Will Scarlet, and Little John discovered

the minstrel Allan a Dale weeping in the forest because his

sweetheart, fair Ellen, was compelled by her father to marry a rich

old squire. Hearing this tale and sympathizing with the lovers, Robin

engaged to unite them, provided he could secure a priest to tie the

knot. When told Friar Tuck would surely oblige him, Robin started out

in quest of him, and, finding him under a tree, feasting alone and

toasting himself, he joined in his merry meal. Then, under the pretext

of saving his fine clothes from a wetting, Robin persuaded the friar

to carry him pick-a-back across a stream. While doing so, the friar

stole Robin's sword, and refused to give it back unless the outlaw

carried him back. Following Friar Tuck's example, Robin slyly

purloined something from him, and exacted a new ride across the river,

during which Friar Tuck tumbled him over into the water. Robin, who

had hitherto taken his companion's pleasantries good-naturedly, got

angry and began a fight, but soon, feeling he was about to be worsted,

he loudly summoned his men. Friar Tuck in return whistled for his

dogs, which proved quite formidable enough opponents to induce the

outlaws to beg for a truce.

Robin now secured Friar Tuck to celebrate Allan's marriage and laid

clever plans to rescue Ellen from an unwelcome bridegroom. So all

proceeded secretly or openly to the church where the marriage was to

take place. Pretending to be versed in magic, Robin swore to the

ecclesiastics present that, if they would only give him the jewels

they wore, he would guarantee the bride should love the bridegroom.

Just as the reluctant Ellen was about to be united to the rich old

squire by these churchmen, Robin interfered, and (the angry bridegroom

having flounced out of church), bribed the father to allow Friar Tuck

to unite Ellen and Allan a Dale. Because the bride undoubtedly loved

her spouse, Robin claimed the jewels promised him, and bestowed them

upon the happy couple, who adopted Sherwood Forest for their home.

Weary of the same company, Robin once despatched his men into the

forest with orders to arrest any one they met and bring him to their

nightly banquet. Robin himself sallied out too, and soon met a

dejected knight, who declared he felt too sad to contribute to the

outlaw's amusement. When Robin questioned him in regard to his

dejection, Sir Richard of the Lee explained that his son, having

accidentally wounded his opponent in a tournament, had been obliged to

pay a fine of £600 in gold and make a pilgrimage to Palestine. To

raise the money for the fine, the father had mortgaged his estates,

and was now about to be despoiled of them by the avaricious prior of

Emmet, who demanded an immediate payment of £400 or the estate.

Robin, ever ready to help the poor and sorrowful, bade the knight

cheer up and promised to discover some way to raise the £400. Meantime

Little John and Friar Tuck--who had joined Robin's band--caught the

Bishop of Hereford, travelling through the forest with a train of pack

horses, one of which was laden with an iron-bound chest. After

entertaining these forced guests at dinner, Robin had them witness his

archers' skill and listen to Allan a Dale's music, ere he set forth

the knight's predicament and appealed to the bishop to lend him the

necessary money. When the bishop loudly protested he would do so

gladly had he funds, Robin ordered his baggage examined and divided

into three equal shares, one for the owner, one for his men, and one

for the poor.

Such was the value of the third set aside for the poor that Robin

could lend Sir Richard £500. Armed with this money--which he promised

to repay within a year--Sir Richard presented himself before the prior

of Emmet, who had hired the sheriff and a lawyer to help him despoil

the knight with some show of law and justice. It was therefore before

an august board of three villains that Sir Richard knelt begging for

time wherein to pay his debt. Virtuously protesting he would gladly

remit a hundred pounds for prompt payment--so great was his need of

money--the prior refused to wait, and his claim was duly upheld by

lawyer and sheriff. Relinquishing his humble position, Sir Richard

then defiantly produced 300 pounds, which he forced the prior to

accept in full payment! Soon after, the happy knight was able to repay

Robin's loan, and gratefully bestowed fine bows and arrows on all the

outlaws. Little John, garbed as a friar, once set out for a

neighboring fair, and, meeting three pretty girls with baskets of

eggs, gallantly offered to carry their loads. When merrily challenged

to carry all three, Little John cleverly slung one basket around his

neck by means of his rosary, and marched merrily along carrying the

two others and singing at the top of his lungs, while one of the girls

beat time with his staff.

On approaching town, Little John restored the baskets to their owners,

and, assuming a sanctimonious bearing, joined two brothers of

Fountains Abbey, whom he implored to give him a little money. Because

they turned a deaf ear to his request, Little John went with them,

acting so strangely that he annoyed them sorely. Seeing this, he

declared he would leave them if they would only give him two pennies,

whereupon they rejoined they had no more than that for their own

needs. Crying he would perform a miracle, Little John plumped down

upon his big knees in the middle of the road and loudly intreated St.

Dunstan to put money in their purses. Then jumping up, he seized their

bags, vowing that anything above a penny was clearly his, since it was

obtained through his prayers!

Robin, longing for a little variety, once met a beggar with whom he

exchanged garments. Soon after, meeting four other mendicants, Robin

joined them, and having gotten into a quarrel with them had the

satisfaction of routing all four. A little later he met an usurer,

whom he gradually induced to reveal the fact that he had never lost

his money because he always carried his fortune in the thick soles of

his shoes. Of course Robin immediately compelled the usurer to remove

his foot-gear, and sent him home barefoot, while he rejoined his men

and amused them with a detailed account of the day's adventures.

Queen Eleanor, having heard endless merry tales about Robin Hood,

became very anxious to meet him, and finally sent one of her pages to

Sherwood Forest to inform Robin the king had wagered his archers would

win all the prizes in the royal shooting-match. Because she had

wagered the contrary, she promised Robin a safe-conduct for himself

and his men if he would only come to court and display his skill.

Choosing Will Scarlet, Little John, and Allan a Dale as his

companions, Robin attended the tournament and won all the prizes, to

the great disgust of the king, the sheriff, and the Bishop of

Hereford, which latter recognized the hated outlaw. On discovering the

king would not respect the safe-conduct she had given Robin, Eleanor

sent him word: "The lion growls; beware of thy head." This hint was

sufficient to make Robin leave immediately, bidding his companions

re-enter the forest by different roads and reserving the most

difficult for himself.

Although Robin's men reached the forest safely, he himself was hotly

pursued by the sheriff's and bishop's troops. Once, when they were so

close on his heels that it seemed impossible for him to escape, Robin

exchanged garments with a cobbler, who was promptly arrested in his

stead and borne off to prison. Such was Robin's exhaustion by this

time that he entered an inn, and, creeping into bed, slept so soundly

that only on awaking on the morrow did he discover he had shared his

bed with a monk. Slyly substituting the cobbler's garments for those

of the sleeping monk, Robin peacefully departed, while the sheriff's

men, having discovered their mistake, proceeded to arrest the false

cobbler! Meantime the Queen succeeded in softening the king's

resentment, so Robin was allowed to rejoin his companions, and his

sweetheart, Maid Marian, who could shoot nearly as well as he.

Many years now elapsed, during which King Henry died and King Richard

came to the throne. Robin, still pursued by the sheriff, once

discovered in the forest a man clad in horse-skin, who, having been an

outlaw too, had been promised his pardon if he would slay Robin.

Hearing him boast about what he would do, Robin challenged him first

to a trial of marksmanship, and then to a bout of sword play, during

which the strange outlaw was slain. Then, donning the fallen man's

strange apparel, Robin went off to Nottingham in quest of more

adventures.

Meantime, Little John had entered a poor hut, where he found a woman

weeping because her sons had been seized as poachers and sentenced to

be hanged. Touched by her grief, Little John promised to rescue them

if she would only supply him with a disguise. Dressed in a suit which

had belonged to the woman's husband, he entered Nottingham just as the

sheriff was escorting his captives to the gallows. No hangman being

available, the sheriff gladly hired the stranger to perform that

office. While ostensibly fastening nooses around the three lads'

necks, Little John cleverly whispered directions whereby to escape.

This part of his duty done, Little John strung his bow, arguing it

would be a humane act to shorten their agony by a well-directed shaft.

But, as soon as his bow was properly strung, Little John gave the

agreed signal, and the three youths scampered off, he covering their

retreat by threatening to kill any one who attempted to pursue them.

The angry sheriff, on perceiving Robin, who just then appeared,

deeming him the man he sent into the forest, demanded some token that

he had done his duty. In reply Robin silently exhibited his own sword,

bugle, and bow, and pointed to his blood-stained clothes. The officers

having meantime captured Little John, the sheriff allowed Robin--as a

reward--to hang his companion. By means of the same stratagem as

Little John employed for the rescue of the youths, Robin saved his

beloved mate, and, when the sheriff started to pursue them, blew such

a blast on his horn that the terrified official galloped away, one of

Robin's arrows sticking in his back.

Two months after, there was great excitement in Nottingham, because

King Richard was to ride through the town. The gay procession of

knights, pages, and soldiers was viewed with delight by all the

people, among whom Robin's outlaws were thickly dotted. Riding beside

the king, the Sheriff of Nottingham paled on recognizing in the crowd

Robin himself, a change of color which did not escape Richard's eagle

eye. When the conversation turned upon the famous outlaw at the

banquet that evening, and sheriff and bishop bitterly declared Robin

could not be captured, Richard exclaimed he would gladly give a

hundred pounds for a glimpse of so extraordinary a man! Thereupon one

of the guests rejoined he could easily obtain it by entering the

forest in a monk's garb, a suggestion which so charmed the

Lion-hearted monarch that he started out on the morrow with seven

cowled men. They had not ridden far into the forest before they were

arrested by a man in Lincoln green--Robin himself--who conducted them

to the outlaw's lair.

As usual, the chance guests were entertained with a feast of venison

and athletic games, in the course of which Robin declared he would

test the skill of his men, and that all who missed the bull's-eye

should be punished by a buffet from Little John's mighty fist. Strange

to relate, every man failed and was floored by Little John's blow, the

rest roaring merrily over his discomfiture. All his men having tried

and failed, Robin was asked to display his own skill for the

stranger's benefit, and, when he too shot at random, all loudly

clamored he must be punished too. Hoping to escape so severe a blow as

Little John dealt, Robin declared it was not fitting a chief should be

struck by his men, and offered to take his punishment at his guest's

hands. Richard, not sorry to take his revenge, now bared a muscular

arm, and hit poor Robin so heartily that the outlaw measured his full

length on the ground and lay there some time wondering what had

occurred.

Just then Sir Richard's son rushed into the outlaw's camp,

breathlessly crying the king had left Nottingham and was scouring the

forest to arrest them. Throwing back his cowl Richard sternly demanded

how one of his nobles dared reveal his plans to his foes, whereupon

the young knight, kneeling before his monarch, explained how Robin had

saved his father from ruin.

Richard, whose anger was a mere pretence, now informed Robin he should

no longer be persecuted, and proposed that he, Little John, Will

Scarlet, and Allan a Dale should enter his service. The rest of the

outlaws were appointed game-keepers in the royal forests, a life which

suited them admirably.

After spending the night in the camp of the outlaws, Richard rode away

with his new followers, and we are told Robin Hood served him to such

good purpose that he soon earned the title of Earl of Huntington.

Shortly after Richard's death, Robin, seized with a longing for the

wild free life of his youth, revisited Sherwood Forest, where the

first blast of his hunting-horn gathered a score of his old followers

about him. Falling at his feet and kissing his hands, they so

fervently besought him never to leave them again that Robin promised

to remain in the forest, and did so, although King John sent for him

sundry times and finally ordered the sheriff to arrest him.

By this time Robin was no longer a young man, so life in the open no

longer proved as delightful as of yore. Seized with a fever which he

could not shake off, Robin finally dragged himself to the priory of

Kirk Lee, where he besought the prioress to bleed him. Either because

she was afraid to defy the king or because she owed Robin a personal

grudge, this lady opened an artery instead of a vein, and, locking the

door of his room, left him there to bleed to death. The unsuspecting

Robin patiently awaited her return, and, when he finally realized his

plight and tried to summon aid, he was able to blow only the faintest

call upon his horn. This proved enough, however, to summon Little

John, who was lurking in the forest near by, for he dashed toward the

priory, broke open the door, and forced his way into the

turret-chamber, where he found poor Robin nearly gone.

At his cries, the prioress hastened to check the bleeding of Robin's

wound, but too late! Faintly whispering he would never hunt in the

forest again, Robin begged Little John string his bow, and raise him

up so he could shoot a last arrow out of the narrow window, adding

that he wished to be buried where that arrow fell. Placing the bow in

Robin's hand, Little John supported his dying master while he sent his

last arrow to the foot of a mighty oak, and "something sped from that

body as the winged arrow sped from the bow," for it was only a corpse

Little John laid down on the bed!

At dawn on the morrow six outlaws bore their dead leader to a grave

they had dug beneath the oak, above which was a stone which bore this

inscription:

Here underneath this little stone

Lies Robin, Earl of Huntington,

None there was as he so good,

And people called him Robin Hood.

Such outlaws as he and his men

Will England never see again.

Died December 24th, 1247.

THE FAERIE QUEENE

Edmund Spenser, who was born in London in 1552 and lived at Dublin as

clerk to the court of Chancery, there wrote the Faerie Queene, of

which the first part was published in 1589 and dedicated to Elizabeth.

In this poem he purposed to depict the twelve moral virtues in twelve

successive books, each containing twelve cantos, written in stanzas of

eight short lines and one long one. But he completed only six books of

his poem in the course of six years.

The Faerie Queene is not only an epic but a double allegory, for many

of the characters represent both abstract virtues and the noted people

of Spenser's time. For instance, the poem opens with a description of

the court of Gloriana,--who impersonates Elizabeth and is the champion

of Protestantism. As queen of the fairy realm she holds annual

festivals, in one of which the young peasant Georgos enters her hall.

He kneels before her so humbly yet so courteously that,

notwithstanding his rustic garb, she perceives he must be of noble

birth. When he, therefore, craves as a boon the next adventure,

Gloriana grants his request, on condition that he will serve her

afterward for six years. Shortly after, a beautiful lady, garbed in

white but enveloped in a black mantle, rides up to court on a

snow-white ass, leading a woolly lamb. She is followed by a dwarf, who

conducts a war-steed, on which are piled all the arms of a knight. On

approaching Gloriana, Una--the personification of Truth--explains that

her royal parents are besieged in their capital by a dragon, which has

slain all the warriors who have ventured to attack him.

On hearing Una beg for aid, Georgos eagerly steps forward to claim the

task. Ill pleased to be given a peasant instead of the knight she was

seeking, Una coldly bids Georgos--the personification of Holiness--try

on the armor she has brought, adding that, unless it fits him exactly,

he need not expect to triumph. But no sooner has the youth donned the

armor which the dwarf produces than all recognize with wonder it must

have been made for him, and Gloriana publicly dubs him "Knight of the

Red Cross," because the armor Una brought bears that device.

Vaulting on his war-steed, Georgos now rides off with Una and the

dwarf, and after crossing a wilderness enters a forest, where before

long he descries the mouth of a cave, into which he feels impelled to

enter. No sooner has he done so than he encounters a dragon,--the

personification of Heresy and Error,--which attacks him with fury. A

frightful battle ensues, in the course of which the Red Cross Knight

is about to be worsted, when Una's encouragements so stimulate him

that he slays the monster.

On seeing the exhaustion of her companion, Una realizes he will

require rest before undertaking further adventures, and therefore

eagerly accepts an invitation tendered by a venerable old hermit who

meets them. He leads them to his cell, where, after entertaining them

all evening by pious conversation, he dismisses them to seek rest. His

guests have no sooner vanished than the hermit, Archimago,--a

personification of Hypocrisy,--casts aside his disguise, and summons

two demons, one of whom he despatches to Hades to fetch a dream from

the cave of Morpheus. This dream is to whisper to the sleeping Red

Cross Knight that Una is not as innocent as she seems, while the

other demon, transformed into her very semblance, is to delude the

knight on awakening into believing his companion beneath contempt.

This plot is duly carried out, and the Red Cross Knight shocked by the

behavior of the sham Una departs immediately, bidding the dwarf follow

him. Riding along in a state of extreme disgust and irritation, the

Red Gross Knight soon encounters Sansfoi,--Faithlessness,--accompanied

by a lady clad in red, who is Duessa,--a personification of Mary Queen

of Scots, and also of falsehood and popery. The two knights

immediately run against each other, and, when Georgos has slain his

opponent, the lady beseeches him to spare her life, exclaiming her

name is Fidessa and that she is only too glad to be saved from the

cruel Sansfoi. Deluded by her words and looks, the Red Cross Knight

invites her to accompany him, promising to defend her from her foes.

They are riding along together amicably, when the knight plucks a

blossoming twig to weave a garland for his companion, and is dismayed

to see blood trickle from the broken stem. Questioning the tree from

whence the branch was taken, Georgos learns that a knight and his wife

have been transformed into plants by Duessa, who does not wish them to

escape from her thraldom. During this explanation, Georgos fails to

notice that the lady in red trembles for fear her victims may

recognize her, nor does he mark her relief when she perceives her

present disguise is so effective that no one suspects she worked this

baleful transformation.

Riding on once more, the Red Cross Knight and his companion next draw

near to a glittering castle, whose stones seem covered with gold.

Fidessa, who is familiar with this place, invites the knight to enter

there with her; and Georgos, unaware of the fact that this is the

stronghold of Pride, not only consents, but pays respectful homage to

the mistress of the castle, Queen Lucifera, whose attendants are

Idleness, Gluttony, Lechery, Envy, Avarice, and Wrath. It is while

sojourning in this castle that the Red Cross Knight one day sees

Sansjoi (Joyless) snatch from his dwarf the shield won from Sansfoi.

Angered by this deed of violence, Georgos draws his sword, and he

would have decided the question of ownership then and there had not

Lucifera decreed he and his opponent should settle their quarrel in

the lists on the morrow. During the ensuing night, Duessa secretly

informs Sansjoi that the Red Cross Knight is his brother's slayer and

promises that, should he defeat his opponent, she will belong to him

forever. On the morrow, in the midst of much feudal pomp, the

chivalrous duel takes place, and--although Duessa, fancying Sansjoi is

about to win, loudly cheers him--the Red Cross Knight finally

triumphs. Planting his foot upon his foe, Georgos would have ended

Sansjoi's life had not Duessa enveloped her protégé in a cloud dense

enough to hide him from his conqueror. After vainly seeking some trace

of his vanished opponent, the Red Cross Knight is proclaimed victor,

and goes back to the castle to nurse the wounds he has received.

Meanwhile Duessa steals into the deserted lists, removes the pall of

cloud which envelops Sansjoi, and tenderly confides him to the Queen

of Night, who bears him down to Hades, where Aesculapius heals his

wounds. His victor, the Red Cross Knight, has not entirely recovered

from this duel, when the dwarf rushes into his presence to report that

while prowling around the castle he discovered a frightful dungeon,

where men and women are imprisoned. When he declares they are

sojourning in a wicked place, the Red Cross Knight springs out of bed

and, helped by his attendant, hastens away from a spot which now

inspires him with unspeakable horror.

They have barely issued from the castle walls before Georgos realizes

he has been the victim of some baleful spell, for he now perceives

that the building rests on a sand foundation and is tottering to its

fall, while the pomp which so dazzled him at first is merely outside

show and delusion. He is not aware, however, that Fidessa has beguiled

him, since he openly regrets she is not present to escape with him,

and he again bewails the fact that Una was not as pure as his fancy

painted!

Meanwhile, returning to the castle to rejoin her victim, Duessa finds

the Red Cross Knight gone, spurs after him, and on overtaking him

gently reproaches him for abandoning her in such a place! Then she

entices him to rest by a fountain, whose bewitched waters deprive the

drinker of all strength. She herself offers Georgos a draught from

this fountain, and, after he has drunk thereof, the giant Orgolio

spurs out of the forest and, attacking him with a mighty club, lays

him low and bears him off to his dungeon, to torture him the rest of

his life. Meantime Duessa humbly follows the giant, promising him her

love, while the dwarf, who has watched the encounter from afar,

sorrowfully collects his master's armor and, piling it hastily on his

steed, rides off in quest of help.

Meanwhile the real Una, on awakening in the hermitage to learn that

the Red Cross Knight and the dwarf have gone, rides after them as fast

as her little white ass can trot. Of course her attempt to overtake

her companions is vain, and after travelling a long distance she

dismounts in a forest to rest. Suddenly she is almost paralyzed with

fear, for a roaring lion bursts through the thicket to devour her.

Still, in fairy-land wild beasts cannot harm kings' daughters,

provided they are pure, so the lion--the personification of

Courage--not only spares Una, but humbly licks her feet, and

accompanies her as watch-dog when she resumes her journey. They two

soon reach the house of Superstition, an old woman, whose daughter,

Stupidity, loves a robber of churches. When this lover attempts to

visit her secretly by night, he is slain by the lion; whereupon the

two women angrily banish Una. She is therefore again wandering

aimlessly in the forest when Archimago meets her in the guise of the

Red Cross Knight, for he wishes her to believe he is her missing

champion. On perceiving the lion, however, the magician approaches Una

cautiously, but the fair maiden, suspecting no fraud, joyfully runs

to meet him, declaring she has missed him terribly.

They two have not proceeded far before they encounter

Sansloi,--Lawlessness,--brother of the two knights with whom Georgos

recently fought. Anxious to avenge their death, this new-comer boldly

charges at the wearer of the Red Cross. Although terrified at the mere

thought of an encounter, Archimago is forced to lower his lance in

self-defence, but, as he is no expert, he is overthrown at the first

blow. Springing down from his steed, Sansloi sets his foot upon his

fallen foe and tries to remove his helmet so as to deal him a deadly

blow. But no sooner does he behold the crafty lineaments of Archimago

in place of those of the Red Cross Knight, than he contemptuously

abandons his opponent to recover his senses at leisure, and starts off

in pursuit of Una, whose beauty has charmed his lustful eye.

In a vain endeavor to protect his mistress, the lion next loses his

life, and Sansloi, plucking the shrieking Una from her ass, flings her

across his palfrey and rides off into the forest, followed by the

little steed, which is too faithful to forsake its mistress. On

arriving in the depths of the forest, Sansloi dismounts, but Una's

cries attract a company of fauns and satyrs, whose uncanny faces

inspire Sansloi with such terror that he flees, leaving his captive in

their power. Notwithstanding their strange appearance, these wild men

are essentially chivalrous, for they speedily assure Una no harm shall

befall her in their company. In return she instructs them in regard to

virtue and truth, until Sir Satyrane appears, who generously

volunteers to go with her in search of the Red Cross Knight.

Those two have not ridden far together before they encounter a

pilgrim, who reports the Red Cross Knight has just been slain in a

combat by a knight who is now quenching his thirst at a neighboring

fountain. Following this pilgrim's directions, Sir Satyrane soon

overtakes the reported slayer of Georgos, and while they two struggle

together, the terrified Una flees into the forest, closely pursued by

the pilgrim, Archimago in a new disguise. Meantime the fight continues

until Sansloi, severely wounded, beats a retreat, leaving Sir Satyrane

too injured to follow Una. She, however, has meantime overtaken her

dwarf, and learned from him that the Red Cross Knight is a prisoner of

Orgolio. Thereupon she vows' not to rest until she has rescued her

companion. She and her dwarf are hastening in the direction in which

the giant vanished with his victim, when they meet Prince Arthur,--a

personification of Leicester and of Chivalry,--who, although he has

never yet seen the Fairy Queen, is so deeply in love with her that he

does battle in her name whenever he can. This prince is incased in a

magic armor, made by Merlin, and bears a shield fashioned from a

single diamond, whose brightness is so dazzling that it has to be kept

covered, so as not to blind all beholders.

After courteously greeting Una, the prince, hearing her tale of woe,

volunteers to accompany her and free the Red Cross Knight. When they

reach the castle of Orgolio,--Spiritual Pride,--Arthur and his squire

boldly summon the owner to come out and fight. No answer is at first

vouchsafed them, but after a blast from Arthur's magic bugle the gates

burst open, and out of the stronghold rushes a seven-headed dragon,

bearing on its back the witch Duessa. This monster is closely followed

by the giant Orgolio, who engages in fight with Prince Arthur, while

the squire, Timias, directs his efforts against the seven-headed

beast. Although the prince and his attendant finally overcome these

terrible foes, their triumph is due to the fact that in the midst of

the fray Prince Arthur's shield is accidentally uncovered and its

brightness quells both giant and beast. But no sooner are the fallen

pierced with the victors' swords than they shrink to nothing, for they

are mere wind-bags, or delusions of Archimago's devising.

On seeing the triumph won by her champions, Una congratulates them,

and bids the squire pursue Duessa, who is now trying to escape. Thus

enjoined, Timias seizes the witch, and, in obedience to Una's orders,

strips her of her fine clothes and sends her forth in her original

loathsome shape. Meantime Una and the prince boldly penetrate into the

castle, and, passing hurriedly through rooms overflowing with

treasures, reach a squalid dungeon, where they discover the Red Cross

Knight almost starved to death. Full of compassion they bear him to

comfortable quarters, where they proceed to nurse him back to health;

and, when he is once more able to ride, he and Una resume their

journey. As they proceed, however, Una becoming aware that her

champion is not yet strong enough to do battle, conducts him to a

house, where the wise old matron Religion, Doctor Patience, and three

hand-maidens, Faith, Hope, and Charity, nurse him to such good purpose

that Georgos is soon stronger than ever. During his convalescence in

this hospitable abode, the Red Cross Knight once wanders to the top of

the hill of Contemplation, whence he is vouchsafed a vision of the New

Jerusalem, and where he encounters an old man who prophesies that

after fulfilling his present quest he will be known as "Saint George

of Merry England." Modestly deeming himself unworthy of such

distinction, the Red Cross Knight objects that a ploughman's son

should not receive such honor, until the aged man informs him he is in

reality the son of the British king, stolen from his cradle by a

wicked fairy, who, finding him too heavy to carry, dropped him in a

field where a farmer discovered and adopted him. Notwithstanding this

rustic breeding it was Georgos' noble blood that urged him to seek

adventures, and sent him to Gloriana's court, whence he sallied forth

on his present quest.

After another brief sojourn in the house of Religion, the Red Cross

Knight and Una again set forth, and passing through another wilderness

reach a land ravaged and befouled by the dragon which holds Una's

parents in durance vile. The lady is just pointing out her distant

home to the Red Cross Knight, when she hears the dragon coming, and,

bidding her champion fight him bravely, takes refuge in a cave near

by. Spurring forward to encounter his opponent, the Red Cross Knight

comes face to face with a hideous monster, sheathed in brazen scales

and lashing a tail that sweeps over acres at a time. This monster is

further provided with redoubtable iron teeth and brazen claws, and

breathes forth sulphur and other deadly fumes.

Notwithstanding his opponent's advantages, Georgos boldly attacks him,

only to find no weapon can pierce the metal scales. At the end of the

first day's fight, the dragon withdraws, confident he will get the

better of his foe on the morrow. At the close of the second day, the

monster's tail whisks Georgos into a pool, whose waters fortunately

prove so healing that this bath washes away every trace of weakness

and restores him to health and strength. On the third day's encounter,

the Red Cross Knight manages to run his sword into the dragon's mouth,

and thus inflicts a deadly wound. Seeing her foe writhing at last in

the agonies of death, Una joyfully emerges from her hiding-place,

while the watchman on the castle tower loudly proclaims that they are

free at last!

The poet vividly describes the relief of Una's parents on being able

to emerge from their castle once more, and their joy on embracing the

daughter who has effected their rescue. The castle inmates not only

load Una with praise, but escort her and her champion back to their

abode, where their marriage takes place amid general rejoicings. But,

although the Red Cross Knight would fain linger by Una, he remembers

his promise to serve Gloriana for six years, and sets out immediately

to redress other wrongs.

BOOK II. THE LEGEND OF SIR GUYON, OR OF TEMPERANCE

The next adventure in the Faerie Queene is that of Sir

Guyon,--personifying Temperance,--who is escorted everywhere by a

black-garbed palmer,--Prudence or Abstinence,--at whose dictation he

performs all manner of heroic deeds. Journeying together they soon

meet a squire, who reports a lady has just been captured by a wicked

knight, who is bearing her away. On hearing of this damsel's peril,

Sir Guyon bids her squire lead them in the direction where she

vanished, declaring he will save her if possible. He soon encounters

a maiden with dishevelled locks and torn garments, who delays him by

informing him that she has been illtreated by a knight bearing the

device of a red cross. Although loath to believe Georgos can be guilty

of an unchivalric deed, Sir Guyon and the palmer promise to call him

to account as soon as they overtake him. They no sooner do so,

however, than he assures them Archimago in his guise has been ranging

through the forest, and that they must have met Duessa. Turning to

punish the lying squire who led them astray, Sir Guyon now perceives

he has vanished, and humbly begs pardon of the Red Cross Knight.

Shortly after, Sir Guyon is startled by loud shrieks, and, hastening

in the direction whence they proceed, discovers a wounded lady and a

dead knight. Close beside the lady is a young babe, whose innocent

hands are dabbling in his parent's blood. On questioning the woman,

Sir Guyon learns that her husband has been bewitched by Acrasia,--or

Pleasure,--who bore him off to the Bower of Bliss, a place where she

detains her captives, feeding them on sweets until their manly courage

is gone. On learning her husband had fallen into the power of this

enchantress, the lady had sought the Bower of Bliss and by dint of

wifely devotion had rescued her spouse. But, even as they left, the

witch bestowed upon them a magic cup, in which little suspecting its

evil powers, the wife offered water to her husband. No sooner had he

drunk than blood gushed from his mouth and he died, whereupon, frantic

at having unwittingly slain the man she loved, the lady had dealt

herself a mortal wound with his sword.

Scarcely had the sufferer finished this account when she sank back

lifeless, so Sir Guyon and the palmer, after burying the parents,

vainly tried to remove the blood stains from the infant's hands. Then,

unable to care properly for him themselves, they entrusted it to some

ladies in a castle near by, bidding them call the babe Ruddy Main, or

the Red Handed, and send him to court when he had grown up.

Having thus provided for the orphan, Sir Guyon, whose horse and spear

meanwhile have been purloined by Braggadocchio, decides to recover

possession of them, and to seek the Bower of Bliss to slay the witch

Acrasia, who has caused such grievous harm. On this quest Sir Guyon

and the palmer encounter the madman Furor, and then reach a stream

which is too deep to ford. While they are seeking some conveyance to

bear them across, they perceive a skiff rowed by a fair lady,

Phaedria,--or Mirth. At their call she pushes her boat close to them,

but no sooner has Sir Guyon sprung aboard than she pushes off, leaving

the palmer behind in spite of all entreaties. Although impelled

neither by oars nor sails, Phaedria's boat drifts rapidly over the

Idle Sea, and Sir Guyon, on questioning its owner, learns they are

bound for her magic realm.

They have scarcely touched the sedgy shores of a charming island, when

a ruffian, Cymochles,--or Deceit,--bursts out of the thicket to claim

the lady. Undaunted by the size of his challenger, Sir Guyon attacks

him, and the duel might have proved fatal had not Phaedria cast

herself between the champions, begging them not to quarrel in the land

of love and delight. Thereupon Sir Guyon hotly informs her he has no

desire to slay Deceit or to claim her, and, seeing she cannot make any

impression upon him, Phaedria angrily bids him re-enter the boat,

which soon bears him to the place which he wished to reach.

Although still mourning the loss of his companion, the palmer, Sir

Guyon decides to continue his quest for the Bower of Bliss. While

passing through a dense thicket, his attention is attracted by a clank

of metal, and peering through the branches he descries an old,

dirt-encrusted man, surrounded by mounds of precious stones and coins,

which keep dropping through his fingers. This creature is Mammon,--God

of Wealth,--who is so busy counting his treasures that at first he

pays no heed to Sir Guyon. When questioned, however, he boasts he is

more powerful than any potentate in the world, and tries to entice Sir

Guyon to enter into his service by promising him much gold. For a

moment Sir Guyon wavers, but finally decides not to accept the offer

until he has ascertained whether Mammon's riches have been honestly

gained. To show whence he draws them, the money-god now conveys Sir

Guyon to the bowels of the earth, and there lets him view his minions

mining gold, silver, and precious stones, and thus constantly

increasing his hoard. But, although sorely tempted, Sir Guyon

perceives that Mammon's workmen are oppressed by Care and driven by

Force and Fraud, who keep them constantly at work and never allow

Sleep to approach them. This discovery makes him decide to have

nothing to do with Mammon's treasures, although he is led into a hall

where hosts of people are paying homage to the money king's daughter,

who, he is told, will be his bride if he will only accept her father's

offers. Coldly rejoining that his troth is already plighted, Sir Guyon

refuses, only to emerge from this hall into a garden, through whose

branches he catches fleeting glimpses of the underworld. In one of its

rivers he even beholds Tantalus, undergoing torments from hunger and

thirst, in punishment for sins committed while on earth.

After being subjected for three days to all the temptations of the

underworld, Sir Guyon is led back to the light of day, where

Mammon--who bitterly terms him a fool--abandons him.

The story now returns to the palmer, who, after watching Sir Guyon out

of sight, wanders along the stream in quest of a vessel to follow his

master. Several days later he manages to cross, only to hear a silvery

voice calling for aid. Bursting through the thicket, he discovers Sir

Guyon, lying on the ground, watched over by a spirit of such

transcendent beauty that the palmer realizes it must be an angel even

before he notes its diaphanous wings. This ministering spirit assures

the palmer that Sir Guyon will soon recover, adding that although

unseen he will continue to watch over him, and will help him to escape

from all the dangers along his path. Then the heavenly spirit

vanishes, and, while the palmer is bending over the fainting Sir

Guyon, he sees two knights draw near, preceded by a page and followed

by an old man. These knights are Deceit and his brother, who have

been brought hither by the old man Archimago, to slay Sir Guyon whom

they hate.

Drawing near, these ruffians thrust the palmer aside, but, while they

are stripping the unconscious man of his armor, another knight

suddenly draws near and attacks them. One giant, being without a

sword, seizes that of Sir Guyon, although Archimago warns him that as

it once belonged to his antagonist, it will never harm him.

Prince Arthur, for it is he, now overcomes the ruffians, to whom he

generously offers life, provided they will obey him hereafter. But,

when they refuse these terms, he ruthlessly slays them, and their

spirits flee shrieking "to the land of eternal night."

At this moment Sir Guyon recovers his senses, and is overjoyed to find

the palmer beside him and to learn that Prince Arthur, who rescued him

from the ruffians, is not far away.

After a brief rest, Prince Arthur and Sir Guyon depart together, the

former explaining how anxious he is to do anything in his power for

Queen Gloriana, whom he devotedly loves although he has never yet seen

her. Conversing together, the two ride on to a castle, where no heed

is paid to their request for a night's lodging. They are marvelling at

such a discourtesy, when a head is thrust over the battlement and a

hoarse voice bids them flee, explaining that the castle has been

besieged for seven years past by barbarians lurking in the forest,

against whom no knight has ever been able to prevail.

It is while the watchman is thus accounting for his inhospitality,

that a rout of hungry barbarians bursts out of the forest and attacks

Sir Guyon and Prince Arthur, both of whom fight to such good purpose

that they utterly annihilate their assailants. Happy to be delivered

from these foes, the inhabitants of the castle then open wide their

gates. Our knights spend several days there resting from their labors,

and perusing sundry books where they learn the history of all the

British kings. Meantime the palmer, who has followed them thither,

forges chains and a steel net, with which to capture and hold the

witch Acrasia when the right time comes. When he has finished

manufacturing these objects, he persuades Sir Guyon to start out once

more. Reaching the water again, they board a vessel, which bears them

safely past the Magnetic Rock, over the Sea of Gluttony, etc., to an

island, whose beauty human imagination cannot conceive.

On landing, the travellers are surprised to encounter strange

monsters, and to be enveloped in dense mists, through which they hear

the flapping of bat-like wings and catch glimpses of harpy-like

creatures. Knowing monsters and mists are mere delusions, Sir Guyon

pays little heed to them, and the palmer soon disperses them by a

touch from his magic staff. Still bearing the steel net and iron

chains, this faithful henchman follows Sir Guyon into the enchanted

bower of Acrasia, where he explains to his master that the animals he

sees owe their present forms to the enchantress' power, for she always

transforms her visitors into beasts!

Through an ivory gate,--on which is carved the story of "The Golden

Fleece,"--the adventurers enter a hall, where a porter offers them

wine. But Sir Guyon, knowing a drop of it would have a baleful effect

upon the drinker, boldly dashes it out of his hand. Then, threading

his way through the Bower of Bliss, he reaches its innermost grove,

although Phaedria tries to detain him by offering him sundry

pleasures. Pressing onward, Sir Guyon finally catches a glimpse of

Acrasia herself, reposing upon a bed of flowers, and holding on her

lap the head of an innocent youth, who is helpless owing to her spell.

Silently signalling to the palmer, Sir Guyon spreads out the steel

net, which they fling so deftly over witch and victim that neither can

escape. Then Sir Guyon binds Acrasia fast, threatening to kill her

unless she removes the spell which she has laid upon her captives. All

the beasts on the island are therefore soon restored to their natural

forms, and all profess gratitude, save one, whom the palmer grimly

bids continue to be a pig, since such is his choice! Having thus

happily achieved this quest, Sir Guyon and the palmer leave the island

with Acrasia, who is sent under strong guard to the court of the Fairy

Queen, where Gloriana is to dispose of her according to her good

pleasure.

BOOK III. THE STORY OF BRITOMART,--CHASTITY

Britomart, only child of King Ryenee, had from earliest childhood so

longed to be a boy that, instead of devoting her time to womanly

occupations, she practised manly sports until she became as expert a

warrior as any squire in her father's realm.

One day, while wandering in the palace, she discovered in the

treasure-room a magic mirror, fashioned by Merlin for her father,

wherein one could behold the secrets of the future. Gazing into its

crystal depths while wondering whom she should ultimately marry,

Britomart suddenly saw a handsome knight, who bore a motto proclaiming

that he was Sir Artegall, the Champion of Justice and proud possessor

of Achilles' armor. Scarcely had Britomart perceived this much than

the vision faded. But the princess left the room, feeling that

henceforth she would know no rest until she had met her destined mate.

When she confided this vision to her nurse Glauce, the worthy woman

suggested that they go and consult Merlin, wearing the garb of men.

Early the next day, therefore, the two visited the magician, who,

piercing their disguise, declared he knew who they were, and bade them

ride forth as knight and squire to meet the person they sought. Thus

encouraged, Britomart, wearing an Amazon's armor and bearing a magic

spear, set out on her quest, and met Prince Arthur and Sir Guyon, just

after Acrasia had been dispatched to Gloriana's court and while they

were in quest of new adventures.

Seeing a warrior approach, Sir Guyon immediately lowered his lance,

but to his surprise was unhorsed by Britomart's invincible spear. She

was about to dismount to despatch her fallen foe with her sword, when

the palmer loudly bade his master crave mercy, seeing it was useless

to contend against magic weapons. Hearing this, Sir Guyon surrendered,

and he and Prince Arthur humbly offered to escort Britomart, whom they

naturally took for a powerful knight.

They had not gone very far when they beheld at a distance a damsel

dashing madly through the bushes, casting fearful glances behind her,

for she was closely pursued by a grizzly forester. All their chivalric

instincts aroused, Prince Arthur and his companions spurred hotly

after the distressed damsel, while Britomart and her nurse calmly rode

on, until they came to a castle, at whose gates one knight was

desperately fighting against six. Seeing this, Britomart boldly rode

to the rescue of the oppressed knight, and fought beside him to such

good purpose that they defeated their assailants. Then, entering the

castle, Britomart and her nurse proceeded to care for their companion,

the Red Cross Knight, who had received serious wounds.

Although he had noticed in the midst of the conflict that a golden

curl had escaped from Britomart's helmet and fallen over her breast,

and had thus discovered her sex, he courteously ignored it until they

were about to ride away together, when he respectfully offered to

serve as the lady's protector and escort. Thereupon Britomart

explained who she was, adding that she was in quest of Sir Artegall,

of whom she spoke rather slightingly, because she did not wish her

companion to know how deeply she had fallen in love with a stranger.

Judging from her tone that she did not approve of Sir Artegall, the

Red Cross Knight hotly protested he was the noblest and most courteous

knight that had ever lived, which, of course, pleased Britomart.

Meantime, Prince Arthur and Sir Guyon, with their respective

attendants, pursued the distressed damsel, riding through thick and

thin until they came to cross-roads. Not knowing which path the

fugitive had chosen, our heroes decided to part and ride along

separate ways. Thus, it was Prince Arthur who first caught a glimpse

of the fugitive, who still kept glancing backward as if afraid; but,

although he spurred on as fast as possible, he was not able to

overtake her, and had to pause at nightfall to rest. On resuming his

quest on the morrow, he soon encountered a dwarf, who reported he was

the servant of Lady Florimell, who had fled from court five days ago

on hearing a rumor that her lover, Marinell, was slain. The poor

damsel, while in quest of her lover, had been seen and pursued by an

ill-favored forester, and the dwarf feared some harm might have

befallen her. To comfort this faithful henchman, Prince Arthur

promised to go with him and rescue the unhappy damsel.

Meantime, undaunted by darkness, Florimell had ridden on until her

weary steed paused before a hut deep in the woods. There she

dismounted and humbly begged the old witch who lived there to give her

some food. Moved by the distress of the stranger, the sorceress bade

her dry her garments at her fire, and while the lady was sitting there

the witch's son, a lazy worthless fellow, suddenly entered. To see

Florimell was to love her, so the uncouth rustic immediately began to

court her with fruits and flowers which he sought in the forest.

Fearing lest he should molest her finally, Florimell escaped from the

hut on her palfrey, which she found in the witch's stable.

On awakening on the morrow to find their fair visitor gone, the witch

and her son were in such despair that they let loose a wild beast,

which they owned, bidding him track the missing girl. Before long,

therefore, poor Florimell heard this monster crashing through the

forest. Terrified at the thought of falling into its power, she urged

her steed toward the sea-shore, in hopes of finding a boat and getting

away. On reaching the water, she sprang off her steed, and, seeing a

little skiff near by, stepped into it and pushed off, without securing

the permission of the fisherman, who was sleeping at the bottom of the

boat while his nets were drying on the sand.

Barely were they out of reach when the beast rushed down to the

shore, pounced upon Florimell's horse and devoured it. The monster was

still occupied thus when Sir Satyrane came riding along. He rashly

concluded the beast had devoured the rider too, a fear confirmed by

the sight of Florimell's girdle on the sand. Attacking the monster,

Sir Satyrane overcame and bound him fast with the girdle, but he

hadn't gone far, leading this reluctant captive, when he spied a

giantess bearing off an armed squire. In his haste to overtake her and

rescue a fellow-man, Sir Satyrane spurred forward so hastily that the

girdle slipped off the neck of the beast, which, finding itself free,

plunged back into the forest. To attack the giantess, free her

captive, and restore him to his senses proved short work for Sir

Satyrane, who learned that the youth he had delivered was known as the

Squire of Dames, because he constantly rode through the forest freeing

damsels in distress.

Together with this companion, Sir Satyrane journeyed on until they

encountered Sir Paridell, who told them he was in quest of Florimell,

who was wandering alone in the forest. Thereupon Sir Satyrane informed

Sir Paridell that the maiden must be dead, exhibiting as proof her

girdle and relating under what circumstances it had been found. Then

all present took a solemn oath not to rest until they had avenged the

lady's death. Riding together these three knights, overtaken by a

storm, sought shelter in a neighboring castle, only to be refused

admittance. To escape from the downpour, they therefore took refuge

with their steeds in a neighboring shed, and were scarcely ensconced

there when another stranger rode up seeking shelter too. As there was

no room left, the first-comers forbade the stranger to enter,

whereupon he challenged them to come forth and fight. Hearing this,

Sir Paridell sallied out and began a duel, which was closely watched

by his two companions. They, however, decided that the combatants were

so exactly matched that it was useless to continue the fight, and

suggested that they four join forces to make their way into the

castle.

Before the determined attack of these knights and of their followers,

Malbecco, owner of the castle, opened his gates, and the strangers

proceeded to remove their armor and make themselves at home. While

doing so all present were startled to see that one of their number was

a woman, for the last-comer, Britomart, had no sooner removed her

helmet than her curls fell down over her shoulders!

The next day all left the castle save Sir Paridell, who had been so

sorely wounded by Britomart that he was forced to remain there for a

while. Before long Britomart and her squire parted from Sir Satyrane

and the Squire of Dames, and rode along until they beheld a shield

hanging from a branch in the forest. Surprised by such a sight, they

investigated, only to find its owner, Sir Scudamore, weeping beside a

stream, because his bride, Amoret, had been stolen from him on his

wedding day by the magician Busirane, who was trying to force her to

marry him. Having heard this tale of woe, Britomart informed Sir

Scudamore that instead of shedding vain tears they ought to devise

means to rescue the captive lady. Encouraged by these words, Sir

Scudamore donned his discarded armor and volunteered to guide

Britomart to the magician's castle, explaining on the way that it was

surrounded by a wall of fire through which none had been able to pass.

Undaunted by this information, Britomart pressed onward, and on

reaching the castle declared her intention to charge through the

flames. Although Sir Scudamore bravely tried to accompany her, he was

driven back by the fierce heat, but Britomart passed through

scatheless, and, entering the castle, found herself in a large room,

whence led a door with the inscription "Be bold." After studying these

words for a few moments, Britomart opened this door and passed through

it into a second chamber, whose walls were lined with silver and gold,

where she saw another door above which the same words were written

twice. Opening this door also, Britomart entered into a third

apartment, sparkling with precious stones, in the centre of which she

saw an altar surmounted by a statue of Love. Further investigation

revealed also the fact that it boasted another door above which was

the inscription "Be bold, but not too bold."

Pondering on the meaning of this warning, Britomart decided not to

open it, but to take up her vigil fully armed beside the altar. As the

clock struck midnight, the mysterious door flew open, and through its

portals came a strange procession of beasts and queer mortals, leading

the doleful Amoret, who had a dagger thrust into her heart and

stumbled along in mortal pain. Although Britomart would fain have gone

to Amoret's rescue, she was rooted to the soil by a spell too powerful

to break, and, therefore, remained inactive while the procession

circled around the altar, and again vanished behind the door, which

closed with an ominous clang. Then only the spell lost its power, and

Britomart, springing toward the door, vainly tried to open it. Not

being able to do so, she decided to continue mounting guard on this

spot in hopes of catching another glimpse of the suffering lady. But

only twenty-four hours later the door reopened and the same procession

appeared; it was about to vanish a second time when Britomart, by a

violent effort, broke the spell and dashed into the next apartment

before the door closed.

There, finding the magician Brusirane on the point of binding Amoret

fast to a post, she struck him so powerful a blow that he was obliged

to recognize he was in her power. Britomart was about to slay him when

Amoret reminded her he alone could heal her wound and free the other

inmates of the castle from magic thraldom. At the point of her sword,

therefore, Britomart compelled the magician to undo his spells, and,

when he had pronounced the necessary words, Amoret stood before her as

whole and as well as on her wedding-morn when snatched away from her

bridegroom. Seeing this, Britomart bade Amoret follow her out of the

castle, assuring her that her husband was waiting without and would be

overjoyed to see her once more. But, although the rescued lady now

gladly followed her deliverer, she was sorely dismayed on reaching the

forest to find that Sir Scudamore and Britomart's nurse and squire

had gone away, evidently deeming them both lost. To comfort poor

Amoret, Britomart suggested that they ride after their companions, a

proposal which Amoret gladly accepted.

BOOK IV. LEGEND OF COMBEL AND TRIAMOND, OR OF FRIENDSHIP

As Britomart conjectured, Sir Scudamore, deeming it impossible she

should survive the heat of the flames which had so sorely scorched

him, persuaded the nurse to ride on with him, in hopes of encountering

knights who would help him rescue his bride.

They two soon met a couple of warriors, who, on hearing their tale,

laughingly assured them they need make no further efforts to rescue

Amoret, as she had meantime been saved by a handsome young knight,

with whom she was gayly riding through the forest. Incensed by this

statement, Sir Scudamore offered to fight both informers, who,

laughing at him for being jilted, rode contemptuously away. These two

mockers hadn't gone very far, however, before they encountered a

beautiful damsel, whom they mistook for the long-lost Florimell, but

who was merely an image of her conjured up by the witch to comfort her

son when he blubbered over the loss of his fair lady. As many knights

were in quest of Florimell, some of them soon encountered the

scoffers, who declared they were leading the lady back to court. But a

little while later the Squire of Dames found them contending for the

possession of the false Florimell, and suggested that they settle

their difference at the court of Sir Satyrane, where a tournament had

been proclaimed and where Florimell's girdle was to be bestowed by the

victor upon the fairest lady present. Hearing this, both knights,

anxious to win the girdle, set out for the tournament, where many

others had assembled to take part in the knightly games.

Here any number of feats of valor were performed before, on the third

day, Sir Artegall entered the lists. To his surprise, however, he was

unhorsed by a stranger knight, Britomart, who, little suspecting her

opponent was the lover she sought, bore off in triumph the girdle her

prowess had won. Then, summoning all the maidens present, she picked

out the false Florimell as the greatest beauty and handed her the

girdle. But, to the surprise of all present, the lady could not keep

the girdle clasped about her waist, and, incensed at the mocking

remarks of the bystanders, finally challenged the other ladies present

to try it on. Thus it was ascertained that none could wear it save

Amoret, evidently the only perfectly faithful lady present.

Having thus disposed of her prize, Britomart rode off with her

companion, little suspecting she was turning her back on the very man

she was seeking. Meantime Sir Scudamore, encountering Sir Artegall and

hearing he had been defeated by the knight who had carried off Amoret,

invited him to accompany him and seek revenge. They two soon met

Britomart, now riding alone through the forest, for, while she was

asleep one day, Amoret had strayed away and gotten lost. Spurring

forward to attack the stranger, Sir Scudamore was unhorsed at the

first touch of her spear, and, when Sir Artegall rushed forward to

rescue him, he too was disarmed. But, in the midst of the fight,

Britomart's helmet fell off, so both knights perceived they had been

defeated by a woman. Humbly kneeling before her, they begged her

pardon, Sir Scudamore realizing with joy that, as his wife had been

travelling with a woman, his mad jealousy was without cause!

To justify her mistress, the nurse-squire now explained to both men

how Britomart had seen Sir Artegall in the magic mirror, and was in

quest of him because fate destined him to be her spouse. Happy at

securing such a mate, Sir Artegall expressed deep joy, while Sir

Scudamore clamored to know what had become of his wife, and grieved to

learn she was lost. To comfort him, however, Britomart promised to

help him recover his beloved, before she would consent to marry. Then

all four proceeded to a neighboring castle, where Sir Artegall was

solemnly betrothed to Britomart, and where they agreed their marriage

would take place as soon as Amoret was found.

Meantime Timias, squire of Prince Arthur, seeking to trace the flying

damsel, overtook the grim forester, with whom he had a terrible

encounter. Sorely wounded in this fight, the poor squire lay in the

forest until found by the nymph Belphebe, a twin sister of Amoret,

who, in pity for his sufferings, bathed his wounds, laid healing herbs

upon them, and did all she could to save his life. To her

satisfaction, the wounded squire soon recovered consciousness, so she

conveyed him to her bower, where she and her nymphs attended him until

his wounds were entirely healed. During this illness Timias fell

deeply in love with Belphebe; but, deeming himself of too lowly

condition to declare his passion for a lady of high degree, he sorely

pined. Thereupon Belphebe renewed her efforts to cure him, until he

was strong enough to accompany her into the forest. They were hunting

there one day when Timias beheld a damsel fleeing from a misshapen

monster, whom he attacked, but against whom he could not prevail,

because the monster opposed the lady as a shield to every blow which

Timias tried to deal him. It was only by a feint, therefore, that

Timias made the monster drop the lady, and he would surely have been

slain by his opponent, had not his companion rescued him by a timely

arrow. A moment later Belphebe was horrified to see Timias madly

kissing the lady the monster had dropped. Without waiting to ascertain

why he was doing so, the angry nymph fled, but, had she lingered, she

would have discovered that Timias was kissing her own counterpart, for

he had rescued her twin sister Amoret, who, after wandering away from

the sleeping Britomart, had been seized by the monster from whose cave

she had just managed to escape.

Bewildered to see Belphebe--whom he thought he was embracing--rush

away, Timias now dropped Amoret to follow his charmer, but, owing to

his lack of familiarity with the forest pathways, he soon lost his

way. In his grief he built himself a hut and dwelt in the forest,

vowing not to go back in quest of Amoret, lest he thereby arouse the

jealousy of his beloved. But to beguile his sorrow he carved

Belphebe's name on every tree, and was kissing these marks when Prince

Arthur, seeing him thus occupied, fancied he had gone mad!

Meantime Timias had also found a dove which had lost its mate, and,

realizing that they were both suffering from similar complaints, bound

around the bird's neck a ruby heart Belphebe had given him. The dove,

flying back to its mistress, enticed her, by fluttering a few paces

ahead of her, to the place where Timias was kissing her name carved

upon a tree. Convinced of his fidelity by such a proof of devotion,

Belphebe reinstated Timias in her favor, and once more ranged the

forest with him, hunting all kinds of game, until poor Timias was

wounded by the Blatant Beast,--Slander,--a monster from whose jaws he

was fortunately rescued by Prince Arthur.

After a partial recovery, Timias rode off with his master, to whom he

confided how he had abandoned Amoret in the forest, and from whom he

inquired whether any further news had been heard about her. To Timias'

satisfaction Arthur assured him she had safely rejoined her husband,

who, finding her wounded in the forest, had carried her off to a

castle and tenderly nursed her back to health. It was only after

witnessing the joyful celebration of the long-postponed wedding

festivities of this reunited couple, that Sir Arthur had started off

on his recent quest for his squire.

Meantime the real Florimell, cast into the sea by the angry fisherman

whose vessel she had entered without permission, was conveyed by

sea-nymphs to Proteus' hall, where, after witnessing the nuptials of

the Thames and Medway, she learned that her lover, Marinell, was

recovering from his wound, thanks to the ministrations of his goddess

mother. He had, however, been pining for her, and recovered perfect

health and happiness only when they were joined in wedlock.

BOOK V. THE LEGEND OF SIR ARTEGALL,--JUSTICE

Sir Artegall, the noble champion of justice, or lord deputy of

Ireland, sets forth at Gloriana's behest to defend Irena, or Ireland.

He is attended by Talus, an iron man, whose flail is supposed to

thresh out falsehood. They two have not proceeded very far before they

come across a knight bending over a headless lady. On inquiring of

him, they learn that a passing ruffian not only carried off the

knight's mate, but left in her stead a dame, whom he beheaded, because

she pursued him.

Provided with a description of the armor and accoutrements of the

ruffian, the iron page sets out in pursuit of him, and stuns him.

Then, having bound him fast, he leads him and his captive back to his

master and to the mourning knight. There the ruffian, Sir Sanglier,

coldly asserts he has nothing to do with the headless lady, but that

the living one belongs to him. Finding it impossible to decide which

tells the truth, Sir Artegall decrees that the second lady shall be

beheaded also, but, while Sanglier readily agrees to this Solomon-like

judgment, the true lover vehemently pleads for the lady's life,

declaring he would rather know her safe than be proved right. Fully

satisfied now that Sir Sanglier is at fault, Sir Artegall metes out

justice and continues his quest.

Before very long he encounters a dwarf who announces that Florimell's

wedding will take place three days hence, and suggests that, before

appearing there, Sir Artegall defeat a Saracen who mounts guard over a

neighboring bridge, despoiling all those who pass, for the benefit of

his daughter. Such an undertaking suits Sir Artegall, who not only

slays both the giant and his daughter, but razes their castle to the

ground. Shortly after, on approaching the sea-shore, Sir Artegall

perceives a charlatan provided with scales in which he pretends to

weigh all things anew. Thereupon Sir Artegall, by weighing such

intangible things as truth and falsehood, right and wrong,

demonstrates that the charlatan's scales are false, and, after

convicting him of trickery, drowns him in the sea.

The poet now ably describes the wedding of Florimell and Marinell and

the tournament celebrated in their honor, which Sir Artegall attends,

wearing Braggadocchio's armor as disguise. He helps Marinell win the

prize which is to be bestowed upon Florimell, but, when the moment

comes to award it, Braggadocchio boldly produces a false Florimell, so

exactly like the true one that they cannot be told apart. Sir

Artegall, however, ruthlessly exposes the trick, whereupon the false

Florimell vanishes, leaving nothing behind her save the wrongfully

appropriated girdle, which reverts at last to its legitimate owner.

Seeing this, Braggadocchio is about to sneak away, when Sir Guyon

suddenly steps forward demanding the return of his stolen steed.

Although Braggadocchio boldly asserts the steed he rides is his own,

Sir Artegall inquires of each what secret tokens the animal bears, and

thus enables Sir Guyon to prove ownership.

Sir Artegall, not long after leaving the marriage hall, journeys to

the sea-shore, where he discovers twin brothers quarrelling for the

possession of two girls, one of whom is perched upon a huge coffer.

Not only does Artegall check this fight, but, on inquiring into its

cause, learns how the twin brothers were awarded neighboring islands,

and how the storms and the sea have carried off half the land of the

one only to add it to the possessions of the other. Thus, one twin has

become richer than the other, and the heiress, who had promised to

marry the poorer brother, has transferred her affections and

possessions to the richer twin. On her way to join him, however, she

suffers shipwreck and arrives at his island penniless. But the chest

containing her treasures is in due time washed back to the smaller

island, where, meantime, the discarded fiancée of the richer brother

has taken refuge. As the wealthy twin declared, when the land was

mentioned, that "what the sea brought he had a right to keep," Sir

Artegall decides he shall now abide by his own words, and that, since

the sea conveyed the treasure-chest to his brother, he has no further

claim upon it. Having thus settled this dispute, Artegall rides on

until he meets a troop of Amazons about to hang an unfortunate man. At

his bidding, Talus delivers this victim,--Sir Turpine,--a knight who

came hither intending to fight the Amazons. Because the queen of these

warrior-women has slain many men, Artegall challenges her to issue

from her stronghold and fight with him.

We now have a brilliant description of Radigonde's appearance and of

the duel, in which, blinding him by her beauty, she manages to get the

better of Artegall. Having done this, she triumphantly bears him off

to her castle, after ordering the execution of Sir Turpine and Talus,

who contrive to escape. But Sir Artegall, being a prisoner, is reduced

to slavery, forced to assume a woman's garb and to spin beside his

fellow-captives, for the Amazon queen wishes to starve and humiliate

her captives into submission to her will.

Having contrived to escape, Talus informs Britomart that her lover is

a prisoner, whereupon she sets out to rescue him, meeting with sundry

extraordinary adventures by the way, in which she triumphs, thanks to

her magic spear.

While spending a peaceful night in the Temple of Isis, Britomart is

finally favored with a vision, inspired by which she challenges

Radigonde, who in the midst of the encounter turns to flee. But

Britomart pursues her into her stronghold, whence she manages to

rescue Artegall and, after setting him free, bids him continue his

adventurous quest.

Sir Artegall and his faithful squire soon after see a maiden flee

before two knights, but, before they can overtake her, they notice how

a new-comer slays one pursuer while the other turns back. Urged by the

maiden, Artegall kills the second persecutor, and only then discovers

that the knight who first came to her rescue is Arthur. They two, by

questioning the maid, learn she is a servant of Mercilla (another

personification of Elizabeth), and that her mistress is sorely beset

by the Soldan, to whom she has recently gone to carry a message. On

her return, the poor maid was pursued by two Saracen knights, who

were determined to secure her as a prize. Hearing this, Artegall

proposes to assume the armor of one of the dead knights, and thus

disguised to convey the maiden back to the Soldan's court. Arthur is

to follow under pretence of ransoming the captive, knowing that his

offer will be refused so insolently that he will have an excuse to

challenge the Soldan. All this comes true, and thanks to his magic

shield Arthur triumphs. The Soldan's wife, learning that her husband

has succumbed, now proposes to take her revenge by slaying the captive

maid, but Artegall defends her and drives the Soldan's wife into the

forest, where she is transformed into a tiger!

Arthur and Sir Artegall now gallantly offer to escort the maid home,

although she warns them that Guyle lies in wait by the roadside, armed

with hooks and a net to catch all travellers who pass his cave. But,

thanks to the bravery, strength, and agility of Arthur, Artegall, and

Talus, Guyle's might is broken, and the maid triumphantly leads the

three victorious champions to Mercilla's castle. After passing through

its magnificent halls, they are ushered by Awe and Order into the

presence of the queen, whose transcendent beauty and surroundings are

described at length. While the queen is seated on her throne, with the

English lion at her feet, Duessa (Mary Queen of Scots) is brought

before her and is proved guilty of countless crimes; but, although she

evidently deserves death, Mercilla, too merciful to condemn her, sets

her free.

It is while sojourning at Mercilla's elegant court that Artegall and

Arthur see two youths appear to inform the queen that their mother

Belge, or Belgium, a widow with seventeen sons, has been deprived of

twelve of her offspring by a three-headed monster, Gereones (the

personification of Philip the Second of Spain, the ruler of three

realms). This monster invariably delivers his captives into the hands

of the Inquisition, by which they are sorely persecuted. Hearing this

report, Arthur steps forward, offering to defend the widow and her

children. Mercilla granting his request without demur, Arthur hurries

away, only to find that Beige has been driven out of her last

stronghold by a faithless steward (Alba). But, thanks to Arthur's

efforts, this steward is summoned forth, defeated in battle, and the

lady reinstated in her domain.

Gereones now dauntlessly attacks Arthur, whom the giant Beige secretly

instructs to overthrow ah idol in the neighboring church, as that will

enable him to triumph without difficulty. While Arthur is thus

rescuing Beige, Artegall and Talus have again departed to free Irena

from her oppressor Grantorto. On their way to Ireland, they meet a

knight, who informs them Irena is doomed to perish unless a champion

defeats Grantorto in duel. Thereupon Artegall swears to champion

Irena's cause, but, on the way to keep his promise, pauses to rescue a

distressed knight (Henry IV. of France), to whom he restores his lady

Flourdelis, whom Grantorto is also trying to secure.

Artegall, the champion, reaching the sea-shore, at last finds a ship

ready to sail for Ireland, where he lands, although Grantorto has

stationed troops along the shore to prevent his doing so. These

soldiers are soon scattered by Talus' flail, and Artegall, landing,

forces Grantorto to bite the dust. Having thus freed Irena, he

replaces her on her throne and restores order in her dominions, before

Gloriana summons him back to court.

On the way thither Sir Artegall is beset by the hags Envy and

Detraction, who are so angry with him for freeing Irena that they not

only attack him themselves, but turn loose upon him the Blatant Beast

(Slander). Although Talus begs to annihilate this infamous trio with

his dreaded flail, Artegall decrees they shall live, and, heedless of

their threats hurries on to report success to his beloved mistress.

BOOK VI. LEGEND OF SIR CALIDORE, OR OF COURTESY

Sir Calidore, who, in the poem, impersonates Courtesy (or Sir Philip

Sidney), now meets Artegall, declaring the queen has despatched him to

track and slay the Blatant Beast,--an offspring of Cerberus and

Chimera,--whose bite inflicts a deadly wound. When Artegall reports

having recently met that thousand-tongued monster, Calidore spurs off,

and soon sees a squire bound to a tree. Pausing to free this captive,

he learns that this unfortunate has been illtreated by a neighboring

villain, who exacts the hair of every woman and beard of every man

passing his castle, because his lady-love wishes a cloak woven of

female hair and adorned with a fringe of beards. It was because the

captive had vainly tried to rescue a poor lady from this tribute that

he had been bound to this tree. On hearing this report, Sir Calidore

decides to end such doings forever, and riding up to the castle pounds

on its gates until a servant opens them wide. Forcing his way into the

castle, Sir Calidore slays all who oppose him, and thus reaches the

villain, with whom he fights until he compels him to surrender and

promise never to exact such tribute again.

Having settled this affair entirely to his satisfaction, Sir Calidore

rides on until he meets a youth on foot, bravely fighting a knight on

horseback, while a lady anxiously watches the outcome of the fray.

Just as Calidore rides up, the youth strikes down his opponent, a deed

of violence justified by the maiden, who explains how the man on

horseback was ill treating her when the youth came to her rescue.

Charmed by the courage displayed by an unarmed man, Sir Calidore

proposes to take the youth as his squire, and learns he is Tristram of

Lyonnesse, son of a king, and in quest of adventures.

Accompanied by this squire, who now wears the armor of the slain

knight, Sir Calidore journeys on, until he sees a knight sorely

wounded by the very man his new squire slew. They two convey this

wounded man to a neighboring castle, thereby earning the gratitude of

his companion, a lady mourning over his unconscious form.

The castle-owner, father of the distinguished wounded man, is so

grateful to his rescuers that he receives them with kindness. But he

cannot account for the presence of the lady who explains his son

loved her and often met her in the forest. After nursing her lover

until he is out of danger, Priscilla expresses a desire to return

home, but is at a loss how to account to her parents for her prolonged

absence. Sir Calidore, who volunteers to escort her, then suggests

that he bear to her father the head of the knight whom Tristram slew,

stating this villain was carrying her off when he rescued her. This

tale so completely blinds Priscilla's father that he joyfully welcomes

his daughter home, expressing great gratitude to her deliverers ere

they pass on.

Calidore and his squire have not journeyed far before they perceive a

knight and his lady sporting in the shade. So joyful and innocent do

they seem that the travellers gladly join them, and, while the men

converse together, Lady Serena strays out into a neighboring field to

gather flowers. While she is thus occupied the Blatant Beast pounces

upon her, and is about to bear her away when her cries startle her

companions. They immediately dart to her rescue. Calidore, arriving

first, forces the animal to drop poor Serena, then, knowing her

husband will attend to her, continues to pursue the fleeing monster.

On reaching his beloved Serena, Sir Calespine finds her so sorely

wounded that she requires immediate care. Tenderly placing her on his

horse, he supports her fainting form through the forest. During one of

their brief halts, he suddenly sees a bear carrying an infant, so

rushes after the animal to rescue the child. Only after a prolonged

pursuit does he achieve his purpose, and, not knowing how else to

dispose of the babe, carries it to a neighboring castle, where the

lady gladly adopts it, because she and her husband have vainly awaited

an heir. Sir Calespine now discovers he is unable to retrace his steps

to his wounded companion, who soon after is found by a gentle savage.

This man is trying to take her to some place of safety when overtaken

by Arthur and Timias, who, seeing Serena in his company, fancy she is

his captive. She, however, hastens to assure them the wild man is more

than kind and relates what has occurred. As Serena and Timias have

both been poisoned by the bites of the Blatant Beast, Arthur takes

them to a hermit, who undertakes to cure them, but finds it a hopeless

task.

The learned hermit's healing arts having all proved vain, he finally

resorts to prayer to cure his guests, who, when healed, decide to set

out together in quest of Sir Calespine and Arthur. The latter has

meantime departed with the wild man, hoping to overtake Sir Turpine,

who escaped from Radigonde. They track the villain to his castle and,

forcing an entrance, fight with him, sparing his life only because the

lady of the castle pleads in his behalf.

Sir Turpine now succeeds in persuading two knights to pursue and

attack Sir Arthur, but this hero proves too strong to be overcome,

and, after disarming both assailants, demands why they have attacked

him. When they reveal Turpine's treachery, Arthur regrets having

spared his opponent, and decides that having overcome him once by

force he will now resort to strategy. He, therefore, lies down,

pretending to be asleep, while one of the knights rides back to report

his death to Turpine. This plan is duly carried out, and Sir Turpine,

coming to gloat upon his fallen foe, is seized by Arthur, who hangs

him to a neighboring tree.

Meantime Serena and Timias jog along until they meet a lady and a fool

(Disdain and Scorn), who are compelled by Cupid to wander through the

world, rescuing as many people as they have made victims. When the

fool attempts to seize Timias, Serena, terrified, flees shrieking into

the forest.

Before long Sir Artegall manages to overtake his squire, driven by

Scorn and Disdain, and immediately frees him. Then, hearing what

penalty Cupid has imposed upon the couple, he decides they are

sufficiently punished for the wrong they have done and lets them go.

Meanwhile Serena has wandered, until, utterly exhausted, she lies down

to rest. While sleeping she is surrounded by savages, who propose to

sacrifice her to their god. They are on the point of slaying Serena

when Sir Calespine comes to her rescue, unaware at the moment that the

lady he is rescuing from their cruel hands is his beloved wife.

Still pursuing the elusive Blatant Beast, Sir Calidore comes to a

place where shepherds are holding a feast in honor of Pastorella, the

adopted daughter of the farmer Melibee, and beloved of young Coridon,

a neighboring shepherd. Coridon fears Sir Calidore will prove a rival

for the affections of Pastorella, but Calidore disarms his jealousy by

his perfect courtesy, which in time wins Pastorella's love.

One day the lonely Sir Calidore, seeking Pastorella, catches a glimpse

of the Graces dancing in the forest to the piping of Colin Clout (a

personification of Spenser). Shortly after, Calidore has the good

fortune to rescue Pastorella from a tiger, just after Coridon has

deserted her through fear.

To reward the bravery of Calidore, who has saved her from death,

Pastorella lavishes her smiles upon him, until a brigand raid brings

ruin and sorrow into the shepherd village, for the marauders not only

carry off the flocks, but drag Pastorella, Coridon, and Melibee off to

their underground retreat.

In that hopeless and dark abode the captain of the brigands is

beginning to cast lustful glances upon Pastorella, when merchants

arrive to purchase their captives as slaves. The captain refuses to

part with Pastorella although he is anxious to sell Coridon and

Melibee, but the merchants insist upon having the maid, and seeing

they cannot obtain her by fair means resolve to employ force. The

result is a battle, in the midst of which Coridon escapes, Melibee and

the brigand captain are slain, and Pastorella faints and is deemed

dead.

Sir Calidore, who has been absent for a while, comes back to find the

shepherd village destroyed and Coridon wandering disconsolate among

its ruins. From him he learns all that has happened, and, going in

quest of Pastorella's remains, discovers she is alive. Then he

manages by stratagem not only to rescue her, but to slay merchants and

robbers and recover the stolen flocks and also much booty. All the

wealth thus obtained is bestowed upon Coridon to indemnify him for the

loss of Pastorella, who accompanies her true love Calidore during the

rest of his journeys.

Being still in quest of the ever fleeing Blatant Beast, Calidore

conducts Pastorella to the castle of Belgard, whose master and

mistress are passing sad because they lost their only child in

infancy. Wondering how such a loss could have befallen them, Calidore

learns that knight and lady, being secretly married, entrusted their

child to a handmaiden, ordering her to provide for its safety in some

way, as it was impossible they should acknowledge its existence then.

The maid, having ascertained that the babe bore on her breast a

certain birth-mark, basely abandoned her in the forest, where she was

found and adopted by Melibee.

It is during Pastorella's sojourn in this castle that the lady

discovers on her breast the birth-mark, which proves she is her

long-lost daughter. While Pastorella is thus happy in the company of

her parents, Calidore overtakes the Blatant Beast, and leads it safely

muzzled through admiring throngs to Gloriana's feet. But, strange to

relate, this able queen does not keep the monster securely chained,

for it soon breaks bonds, and the poet closes with the statement that

it is again ranging through the country, this time tearing poems to

pieces!

PARADISE LOST

Book I. After intimating he intends "no middle flight," but proposes

to "justify the ways of God to man," Milton states the fall was due to

the serpent, who, in revenge for being cast out of heaven with his

hosts, induced the mother of mankind to sin. He adds how, hurled from

the ethereal sky to the bottomless pit, Satan lands in a burning lake

of asphalt. There, oppressed by the sense of lost happiness and

lasting pain, he casts his eyes about him, and, flames making the

darkness visible, beholds those enveloped in his doom suffering the

same dire pangs. Full of immortal hate, unconquerable will, and a

determination never to submit or yield, Satan, confident his

companions will not fail him, and enriched by past experiences,

determines to continue disputing the mastery of heaven from the

Almighty.

Beside Satan, on the burning marl, lies Beelzebub, his bold compeer,

who dreads lest the Almighty comes after them and further punish them.

But Satan, rejoining that "to be weak is miserable, doing or

suffering," urges that they try and pervert God's aims. Then, gazing

upward, he perceives God has recalled his avenging hosts, that the

rain of sulphur has ceased, and that lightning no longer furrows the

sky. He, therefore, deems this a fitting opportunity to rise from the

burning lake, reconnoitre their new place of abode, and take measures

to redeem their losses.

"Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,

The seat of desolation, void of light,

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames

Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend

From off the tossing of these fiery waves,

There rest, if any rest can harbor there,

And, reassembling our afflicted powers,

Consult how we may henceforth most offend

Our enemy; our own loss how repair;

How overcome this dire calamity;

What reinforcement we may gain from hope;

If not, what resolution from despair."

Striding through parting flames to a neighboring hill, Satan gazes

around him, contrasting the mournful gloom of this abode with the

refulgent light to which he has been accustomed, and, notwithstanding

the bitter contrast, concluding, "it is better to reign in hell than

serve in heaven," ere he bids Beelzebub call the fallen angels.

His moon-like shield behind him, Beelzebub summons the legions lying

on the asphalt lake, "thick as autumn leaves that strew the brooks of

Vallombroso." Like guilty sentinels caught sleeping, they hastily

arise, and, numerous as the locusts which ravaged Egypt, flutter

around the cope of hell before alighting at their master's feet.

Among them Milton descries various idols, later to be worshipped in

Palestine, Egypt, and Greece. Then, contrasting the downcast

appearance of this host with its brilliancy in heaven, he goes on to

describe how they saluted Satan's banner with "a shout that tore

hell's conclave and beyond frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night."

Next, their standards fluttering in the breeze, they perform their

wonted evolutions, and Satan, seeing so mighty a host still at his

disposal, feels his heart distend with pride.

Although he realizes these spirits have forfeited heaven to follow

him, he experiences merely a passing remorse ere he declares the

strife they waged was not inglorious, and that although once defeated

they may yet repossess their native seat. He suggests that, as they

now know the exact force of their opponent and are satisfied they

cannot overcome him by force, they damage the new world which the

Almighty has recently created, for submission is unthinkable weakness.

To make their new quarters habitable, the fallen angels, under

Mammon's direction, mine gold from the neighboring hills and mould, it

into bricks, wherewith they erect Pandemonium, "the high capitol of

Satan and his peers." This hall, constructed with speed and ease, is

brightly illuminated by means of naphtha, and, after Satan and his

staff have entered, the other fallen angels crowd beneath its roof in

the shape of pygmies, and "the great consult" begins.

_Book II._ On a throne of dazzling splendor sits Satan, surrounded by

his peers. Addressing his followers, he declares that, having

forfeited the highest position, he has lost more than they, and that,

since he suffers the greatest pain, none will envy him his

preeminence. When he bids them suggest what they shall do, Moloch

votes in favor of war, stirring up his companions with a belligerent

speech. Belial, who is versed in making "the worse appear the better

reason," urges guile instead of warfare, for they have tested the

power of the Almighty and know he can easily outwit their plans. In

his turn, Mammon favors neither force nor guile, but suggests that,

since riches abound in this region, they content themselves with

piling up treasures.

All having been heard, the fallen angels decide, since it is

impossible again to face Michael's dreaded sword, they will adopt

Beelzebub's suggestion and try and find out whether they cannot settle

more comfortably in the recently created world. This decided, Satan

inquires who will undertake to reconnoitre, and, as no one volunteers,

declares that the mission of greatest difficulty and danger rightly

belongs to him, bidding the fallen angels meanwhile keep watch lest

further ill befall them. This decision is so enthusiastically

applauded that ever since an overwhelming tumult has been termed

"Pandemonium," like Satan's hall.

The "consult" ended, the angels resume their wonted size and scatter

through hell, some exploring its recesses, where they discover huge

rivers, regions of fire and ice, and hideous monsters, while others

beguile their time by arguing of "foreknowledge, will, fate," and

discussing questions of philosophy, or join in antiphonal songs.

Meanwhile Satan has set out on his dreadful journey, wending his way

straight to the gates of Hades, before which stand two formidable

shapes, one woman down to the waist and thence scaly dragon, while the

other, a grim, skeleton-like shape, wears a royal crown and brandishes

a spear. Seeing Satan approach, this monster threatens him, whereupon

a dire fight would have ensued, had not the female stepped between

them, declaring she is Sin, Satan's daughter, and that in an

incestuous union they two produced Death, whom even they cannot

subdue. She adds that she dares not unlock the gates, but, when Satan

urges that if she will only let him pass, she and Death will be

supplied with congenial occupations in the new world, she produces a

key, and, "rolling toward the gates on scaly folds," flings wide the

massive doors which no infernal power can ever close again. Through

these gaping portals one now descries Chaos, where hot and cold, moist

and dry contend for mastery, and where Satan will have to make his

way through the elements in confusion to reach the place whither he is

bound.

The poet now graphically describes how, by means of his wings or on

foot, Satan scrambles up high battlements and plunges down deep

abysses, thus gradually working his way to the place where Chaos and

Night sit enthroned, contemplating the world "which hangs from heaven

by a golden chain." Addressing these deities, Satan commiserates them

for having lost Tartarus, now the abode of the fallen angels, as well

as the region of light occupied by the new world. When he proposes to

restore to them that part of their realm by frustrating God's plans,

they gladly speed him toward earth, whither "full fraught with

mischievous revenge accursed in an accursed hour he hies."

_Book III._ After a pathetic invocation to light, the offspring of

heaven, whose rays will never shine through his darkness, Milton

expresses a hope that like other blind poets and seers he may describe

all the more clearly what is ever before his intellectual sight. Then

he relates how the Eternal Father, gazing downward, contemplates hell,

the newly-created world, and the wide cleft between, where he descries

Satan "hovering in the dun air sublime." Summoning his hosts, the

Almighty addresses his Only Begotten Son,--whose arrival in heaven has

caused Satan's rebellion,--and, pointing out the Adversary, declares

he is bent on revenge which will redound on his own head. Then God

adds that, although the angels fell by their own suggestion, and are

hence excluded from all hope of redemption, man will fall deceived by

Satan, so that, although he will thus incur death, he will not forever

be unforgiven if some one will pay the penalty of his sin. Because

none of the angels feel holy enough to make so great a sacrifice,

there is "silence in heaven," until the Son of God, "in whom all

fulness dwells of love divine," seeing man will be lost unless he

interferes, declares his willingness to surrender to death all of

himself that can die. He entreats, however, that the Father will not

leave him in the loathsome grave, but will permit his soul to rise

victorious, leading to heaven those ransomed from sin, death, and hell

through his devotion. The angels, hearing this proposal, are seized

with admiration, and the Father, bending a loving glance upon the Son,

accepts his sacrifice, proclaiming he shall in due time appear on

earth in the flesh to take the place of our first father, and that,

just "as in Adam all were lost, so in him all shall be saved." Then,

further to recompense his Son for his devotion, God promises he shall

reign his equal for ever and judge mankind, ere he bids the heavenly

host worship their new master. Removing their crowns of amaranth and

gold, the angels kneel before Christ in adoration, and, tuning their

harps, sing the praises of Father and Son, proclaiming the latter

"Saviour of man."

While the angels are thus occupied, Satan, speeding through Chaos,

passes through a place peopled by the idolatries, superstitions, and

vanities of the world, all of which are to be punished here later on.

Then, past the stairway leading up to heaven, he hurries to a passage

leading down to earth, toward which he whirls through space like a

tumbler pigeon, landing at last upon the sun. There, in the guise of a

stripling cherub, Satan tells the archangel Uriel that, having been

absent at the time of creation, he longs to behold the earth so as to

glorify God. Thereupon Uriel proudly rejoins he witnessed the

performance, and describes how at God's voice darkness fled and solids

converged into spheres, which began to roll around their appointed

orbits. Then he points out to Satan the newly-created earth, whither

the Evil Spirit eagerly speeds.

Thus said, he turned; and Satan, bowing low,

As to superior spirits is wont in heaven,

Where honor due and reverence none neglects,

Took leave, and toward the coast of earth beneath,

Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success,

Throws his steep flight in many an airy wheel,

Nor stayed, till on Niphates' top he lights.

_Book IV._ Wishing his voice were loud enough to warn our first

parents of coming woe and thus forestall the misfortunes ready to

pounce upon them, the poet describes how Satan, "with hell raging in

his heart," gazes from the hill, upon which he has alighted, into

Paradise. The fact that he is outcast both from heaven and earth fills

Satan with alternate sorrow and fierce wrath, under impulse of which

emotions his face becomes fearfully distorted. This change and his

fierce gestures are seen by Uriel, who curiously follows his flight,

and who now for the first time suspects he may have escaped from hell.

After describing the wonders of Eden--which far surpass all fairy

tales,--Milton relates how Satan, springing lightly over the dividing

wall, lands within its precincts, and in the guise of a cormorant

perches upon a tree, whence he beholds two God-like shapes "in naked

majesty clad." One of these is Adam, formed for contemplation and

valor, the other Eve, formed for softness and grace. They two sit

beneath a tree, the beasts of the earth playing peacefully around

them, and Satan, watching them, wonders whether they are destined to

occupy his former place in heaven, and vows he will ruin their present

happiness and deliver them up to woe! After arguing he must do so to

secure a better abode for himself and his followers, the fiend

transforms himself first into one beast and then into another, and,

having approached the pair unnoticed, listens to their conversation.

In this way he learns Eve's wonder on first opening her eyes and

gazing around her on the flowers and trees, her amazement at her own

reflection in the water, and her following a voice which promised to

lead her to her counterpart, who would make her mother of the human

race. But, the figure she thus found proving less attractive than the

one she had just seen in the waters, she was about to retreat, when

Adam claimed her as the other half of his being. Since then, they two

have dwelt in bliss in this garden, where everything is at their

disposal save the fruit of one tree. Thus Satan discovers the

prohibition laid upon our first parents. He immediately Dedie's to

bring about their ruin by inciting them to scorn divine commands,

assuring them that the knowledge of good and evil will make them equal

to God, and having discovered this method of compassing his purpose,

steals away to devise means to reach his ends.

Meantime, near the eastern gate of Paradise, Gabriel, chief of the

angelic host, watches the joyful evolutions of the guards who at

nightfall are to patrol the boundaries of Paradise. While thus

engaged, Uriel comes glancing down through the evening air on a

sunbeam, to warn him that one of the banished crew has escaped, and

was seen at noon near these gates. In return Gabriel assures Uriel no

creature of any kind passed through them, and that if an evil spirit

overleapt the earthly bounds he will be discovered before morning, no

matter what shape he has assumed. While Uriel returns to his post in

the sun, gray twilight steals over the earth, and Michael, having

appointed bands of angels to circle Paradise in opposite directions,

despatches two of his lieutenants to search for the hidden foe.

Our first parents, after uniting in prayer, are about to retire, when

Eve, who derives all her information from Adam, asks why the stars

shine at night, when they are asleep and cannot enjoy them? In reply

Adam states that the stars gem the sky to prevent darkness from

resuming its sway, and assures his wife that while they sleep angels

mount guard, for he has often heard their voices at midnight. Then the

pair enter the bower selected for their abode by the sovereign

planter, where the loveliest flowers bloom in profusion, and where no

bird, beast, insect, or worm dares venture.

In the course of their search, the angels Ithuriel and Zephon reach

this place in time to behold a toad crouching by the ear of Eve,

trying by devilish arts to reach the organs of her fancy. Touched by

Ithuriel's spear,--which has the power of compelling all substances to

assume their real form,--this vile creature instantly assumes a demon

shape. On recognizing a fiend, Ithuriel demands how he escaped and why

he is here. Whereupon Satan haughtily rejoins that the time was when

none would have dared treat him so unceremoniously, nor have needed to

ask his name, seeing all would instantly have known him. It is only

then that Zephon recognizes their former superior, Lucifer, and

contemptuously informs him his glory is so dimmed by sin, it is no

wonder they could not place him. Both angels now escort their captive

to Gabriel, who, recognizing the prisoner from afar, also comments on

his faded splendor. Then, addressing Satan, Gabriel demands why he

broke his prescribed bonds? Satan defiantly retorts that prisoners

invariably try to escape, that no one courts torture, and that, if God

meant to keep the fiends forever in durance vile, he should have

barred the gates more securely. But, even by escaping from Tartarus,

Satan cannot evade his punishment, and Gabriel warns him he has

probably increased his penalty sevenfold by his disobedience. Then he

tauntingly inquires whether pain is less intolerable to the

archfiend's subordinates than to himself, and whether he has already

deserted his followers. Wrathfully Satan boasts that, fiercest in

battle, he alone had courage enough to undertake this journey to

ascertain whether it were possible to secure a pleasanter place of

abode. Because in the course of his reply he contradicts himself, the

angel terms him a liar and hypocrite, and bids him depart, vowing,

should he ever be found lurking near Paradise again, he will be

dragged back to the infernal pit and chained fast so he cannot escape!

This threat arouses Satan's scorn and makes him so insolent, that the

angels, turning fiery red, close around him, threatening him with

their spears! Glancing upward and perceiving by the position of the

heavenly scales that the issue of a combat would not be in his favor,

Satan wrathfully flees with the vanishing shades of night.

_Book V._ Morning having dawned, Adam awakens refreshed, only to

notice the flushed cheeks and discomposed tresses of his companion,

from whom, when he awakens her, he learns of a dream wherein a voice

urged her to go forth and walk in the garden. Eve goes on to describe

how, gliding beneath the trees, she came to the one bearing the

forbidden fruit, and descried among its branches a winged shape, which

bade her taste of the apples and not despise the boon of knowledge.

Although chilled with horror at the mere suggestion, Eve admits that

she yielded, because the voice assured her one taste would enable her

to flutter through the air like the angels and perchance visit God!

Her desire to enjoy such a privilege became so intense that when the

fruit was pressed to her lips she tasted it, and had no sooner done so

than she soared upward, only to sink down and awaken at Adam's touch!

Comforting his distressed consort, Adam leads her into the garden to

prune over-luxuriant branches and to train vines from tree to tree.

While they are thus occupied, the Almighty summons Raphael, and, after

informing him Satan has escaped from hell and has found his way to

Paradise to disturb the felicity of man, bids the archangel hasten

down to earth, and, conversing "as friend with friend" with Adam, warn

him that he had the power to retain or forfeit his happy state, and

caution him against the wiles of the fiend, lest, after wilfully

transgressing, man should claim he had not been forewarned.

Past choirs of angels, through the golden gate, and down the mighty

stairs, Raphael flits, reaching earth in the shape of a six-winged

cherub, whose iridescent plumes seem to have been dipped in heaven's

own dyes. On beholding this visitor, Adam bids Eve collect her

choicest fruit, and, while she hastens away on "hospitable thoughts

intent," advances to meet Raphael, knowing he brings some divine

message. After hailing Eve with the salutation later used for Mary,

the angel proceeds to Adam's lodge and shares his meal, admitting that

the angels in heaven partake of spiritual food only, although they are

endowed with senses like man.

On discovering he may question Raphael,--save in regard to matters

which are to be withheld for a while longer,--Adam queries about

things which have troubled him. Inferring from the angel's words that

their bliss is not secure, he learns that as long as he proves

obedient his happiness will continue, but that, having been created as

free as the angels, he can choose his lot. When Adam asks in regard to

heavenly things, Raphael wonders how he can relate, in terms

intelligible to finite mind, things which, even angels fail to

conceive in their entirety and which it may not be lawful to reveal.

Still, knowing he can vouchsafe a brief outline of all that has

hitherto occurred, Raphael describes how the Almighty, after creating

the Son, bade the angels bow down and worship him. He states that,

during the night following this event, Lucifer, angry because he was

no longer second in heaven, withdrew to that quarter of the sky

entrusted to his keeping, and there suggested to Beelzebub rebellion

against God, who required them to pay servile tribute to his Son!

Arguing that they will be gradually reduced to slavery, Satan induces

one-third of the heavenly hosts to rebel, for only one of his

followers, Abdiel, refuses to believe his specious words. In his

indignation, Abdiel bursts forth into flame, denounces Lucifer, and

departs to report to the Almighty what he has heard. He alone proves

faithful among the faithless, so, as he passes out from among them,

the rebel angels, resenting his attitude, overwhelm him with their

scorn.

From amidst them forth he passed,

Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustained

Superior, nor of violence feared aught;

And with retorted scorn his back he turned

On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed.

The Almighty, however, does not require Abdiel's warning, for the

all-seeing eye has already descried what, has occurred, and has

pointed out to the Son how Lucifer, devoured by pride, is about to

rise up against them.

_Book VI._ In spite of the speed with which he travels, Abdiel

requires all night to cross the distance which separates the apostate

angels from the heavenly throne. The news he bears being already known

in heaven, the angels welcome him and conduct him to the throne,

whence, from a golden cloud, issues a voice proclaiming "well done."

Next God bids Michael lead forth a host equal in number to the godless

crew arraying itself in battle order to dispute from the Almighty the

sovereignty of heaven. The divine orders are to oppose Lucifer and

hurl him into the gulf of Tartarus, whose fiery mouth will open wide

to receive him. A moment later trumpets sound in heaven, and the

angelic legions sally forth to battle for God and for his Messiah,

hymning the Eternal Father. The evil angels, whose glory has not yet

been dimmed, meet this host in squadrons, at the head of which rides

Lucifer (or Satan as he is generally called after he becomes an

apostate), in his sun-bright chariot. On beholding him, Abdiel marvels

because he still retains a God-like semblance, and warns him he will

soon pay the penalty of his folly. In return Satan terms Abdiel a

common deserter, and overwhelms him with scorn, to which this angel

pays little heed, realizing that by serving a divine master he is

freer than independent Satan.

After exchanging Homeric taunts, these two begin fighting, and

Abdiel's first dart causes the archenemy to recoil and almost sink to

the ground. But, when the divine host clamor that Satan is overcome,

he promptly recovers his footing, and, retreating into the ranks of

his army, directs their resistance to the foe. The battle now rages

with such fury that the heavens resound. Many deeds of eternal fame

are wrought, for Satan proves almost equal to Michael, who with his

two-handed sword strikes down whole squadrons at one blow. But wounds

inflicted on angels, even when fallen, are no sooner made than healed,

so those who sink down disabled are soon back in the thick of the

night as strong as ever. The moment comes, however, when Michael's

sword inflicts so deep a wound in Satan's side that, for the first

time, he experiences pain. Seeing him fall, his adherents bear him

away from the field of battle, where he is immediately healed, "for

spirits, that live throughout vital in every part,... cannot but by

annihilation die." Thus temporarily deprived of his greatest

opponent, Michael attacks Moloch, while Uriel, Raphael and Abdiel

vanquish other potent angels who have dared to rebel against God.

After describing the battle-field, strewn with shattered armor and

broken chariots, the poet pictures the dismay in the ranks of the

rebel angels, and describes how Satan drew away his troops so they

might rest and be ready to renew the fray on the morrow. In the

silence of that night, he also consults with his adherents how to

fight to better advantage on the morrow, insisting that they now know

they can never be permanently wounded. The demons feel confident that,

granted better arms, they could secure the advantage, so, when one of

their number suggests the manufacture of cannon, all gladly welcome

the idea. Under Satan's direction some of the evil angels draw from

the ground metal, which, molten and poured into moulds, furnishes the

engines of destruction they are seeking. Meanwhile others collect

ingredients for ammunition, and, when morning dawns, they have a

number of weapons ready for use, which they cunningly conceal in the

centre of their fourfold phalanx as they advance.