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Legends of Charlemagne

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Title: Legends of Charlemagne

Author: Thomas Bulfinch


        
Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #4927]
                Most recently updated: December 28, 2020

Language: English

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BULFINCH'S MYTHOLOGY


  THE AGE OF FABLE
  THE AGE OF CHIVALRY
  LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE


BY THOMAS BULFINCH

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME


[Editor's Note: The etext contains only LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE]




PUBLISHERS' PREFACE


No new edition of Bulfinch's classic work can be considered complete
without some notice of the American scholar to whose wide erudition and
painstaking care it stands as a perpetual monument. "The Age of Fable"
has come to be ranked with older books like "Pilgrim's Progress,"
"Gulliver's Travels," "The Arabian Nights," "Robinson Crusoe," and five
or six other productions of world-wide renown as a work with which
every one must claim some acquaintance before his education can be
called really complete. Many readers of the present edition will
probably recall coming in contact with the work as children, and, it
may be added, will no doubt discover from a fresh perusal the source of
numerous bits of knowledge that have remained stored in their minds
since those early years. Yet to the majority of this great circle of
readers and students the name Bulfinch in itself has no significance.

Thomas Bulfinch was a native of Boston, Mass., where he was born in
1796. His boyhood was spent in that city, and he prepared for college
in the Boston schools. He finished his scholastic training at Harvard
College, and after taking his degree was for a period a teacher in his
home city. For a long time later in life he was employed as an
accountant in the Boston Merchants' Bank. His leisure time he used for
further pursuit of the classical studies which he had begun at Harvard,
and his chief pleasure in life lay in writing out the results of his
reading, in simple, condensed form for young or busy readers. The plan
he followed in this work, to give it the greatest possible usefulness,
is set forth in the Author's Preface.

"Age of Fable," First Edition, 1855; "The Age of Chivalry," 1858; "The
Boy Inventor," 1860; "Legends of Charlemagne, or Romance of the Middle
Ages," 1863; "Poetry of the Age of Fable," 1863; "Oregon and Eldorado,
or Romance of the Rivers," 1860.

In this complete edition of his mythological and legendary lore "The
Age of Fable," "The Age of Chivalry," and "Legends of Charlemagne" are
included. Scrupulous care has been taken to follow the original text of
Bulfinch, but attention should be called to some additional sections
which have been inserted to add to the rounded completeness of the
work, and which the publishers believe would meet with the sanction of
the author himself, as in no way intruding upon his original plan but
simply carrying it out in more complete detail. The section on Northern
Mythology has been enlarged by a retelling of the epic of the
"Nibelungen Lied," together with a summary of Wagner's version of the
legend in his series of music-dramas. Under the head of "Hero Myths of
the British Race" have been included outlines of the stories of
Beowulf, Cuchulain, Hereward the Wake, and Robin Hood. Of the verse
extracts which occur throughout the text, thirty or more have been
added from literature which has appeared since Bulfinch's time,
extracts that he would have been likely to quote had he personally
supervised the new edition.

Finally, the index has been thoroughly overhauled and, indeed, remade.
All the proper names in the work have been entered, with references to
the pages where they occur, and a concise explanation or definition of
each has been given. Thus what was a mere list of names in the original
has been enlarged into a small classical and mythological dictionary,
which it is hoped will prove valuable for reference purposes not
necessarily connected with "The Age of Fable."

Acknowledgments are due the writings of Dr. Oliver Huckel for
information on the point of Wagner's rendering of the Nibelungen
legend, and M. I. Ebbutt's authoritative volume on "Hero Myths and
Legends of the British Race," from which much of the information
concerning the British heroes has been obtained.




AUTHOR'S PREFACE


If no other knowledge deserves to be called useful but that which helps
to enlarge our possessions or to raise our station in society, then
Mythology has no claim to the appellation. But if that which tends to
make us happier and better can be called useful, then we claim that
epithet for our subject. For Mythology is the handmaid of literature;
and literature is one of the best allies of virtue and promoters of
happiness.

Without a knowledge of mythology much of the elegant literature of our
own language cannot be understood and appreciated. When Byron calls
Rome "the Niobe of nations," or says of Venice, "She looks a Sea-Cybele
fresh from ocean," he calls up to the mind of one familiar with our
subject, illustrations more vivid and striking than the pencil could
furnish, but which are lost to the reader ignorant of mythology. Milton
abounds in similar allusions. The short poem "Comus" contains more than
thirty such, and the ode "On the Morning of the Nativity" half as many.
Through "Paradise Lost" they are scattered profusely. This is one
reason why we often hear persons by no means illiterate say that they
cannot enjoy Milton. But were these persons to add to their more solid
acquirements the easy learning of this little volume, much of the
poetry of Milton which has appeared to them "harsh and crabbed" would
be found "musical as is Apollo's lute." Our citations, taken from more
than twenty-five poets, from Spenser to Longfellow, will show how
general has been the practice of borrowing illustrations from mythology.

The prose writers also avail themselves of the same source of elegant
and suggestive illustration. One can hardly take up a number of the
"Edinburgh" or "Quarterly Review" without meeting with instances. In
Macaulay's article on Milton there are twenty such.

But how is mythology to be taught to one who does not learn it through
the medium of the languages of Greece and Rome? To devote study to a
species of learning which relates wholly to false marvels and obsolete
faiths is not to be expected of the general reader in a practical age
like this. The time even of the young is claimed by so many sciences of
facts and things that little can be spared for set treatises on a
science of mere fancy.

But may not the requisite knowledge of the subject be acquired by
reading the ancient poets in translations? We reply, the field is too
extensive for a preparatory course; and these very translations require
some previous knowledge of the subject to make them intelligible. Let
any one who doubts it read the first page of the "Aeneid," and see what
he can make of "the hatred of Juno," the "decree of the Parcae," the
"judgment of Paris," and the "honors of Ganymede," without this
knowledge.

Shall we be told that answers to such queries may be found in notes, or
by a reference to the Classical Dictionary? We reply, the interruption
of one's reading by either process is so annoying that most readers
prefer to let an allusion pass unapprehended rather than submit to it.
Moreover, such sources give us only the dry facts without any of the
charm of the original narrative; and what is a poetical myth when
stripped of its poetry? The story of Ceyx and Halcyone, which fills a
chapter in our book, occupies but eight lines in the best (Smith's)
Classical Dictionary; and so of others.

Our work is an attempt to solve this problem, by telling the stories of
mythology in such a manner as to make them a source of amusement. We
have endeavored to tell them correctly, according to the ancient
authorities, so that when the reader finds them referred to he may not
be at a loss to recognize the reference. Thus we hope to teach
mythology not as a study, but as a relaxation from study; to give our
work the charm of a story-book, yet by means of it to impart a
knowledge of an important branch of education. The index at the end
will adapt it to the purposes of reference, and make it a Classical
Dictionary for the parlor.

Most of the classical legends in "Stories of Gods and Heroes" are
derived from Ovid and Virgil. They are not literally translated, for,
in the author's opinion, poetry translated into literal prose is very
unattractive reading. Neither are they in verse, as well for other
reasons as from a conviction that to translate faithfully under all the
embarrassments of rhyme and measure is impossible. The attempt has been
made to tell the stories in prose, preserving so much of the poetry as
resides in the thoughts and is separable from the language itself, and
omitting those amplifications which are not suited to the altered form.

The Northern mythological stories are copied with some abridgment from
Mallet's "Northern Antiquities." These chapters, with those on Oriental
and Egyptian mythology, seemed necessary to complete the subject,
though it is believed these topics have not usually been presented in
the same volume with the classical fables.

The poetical citations so freely introduced are expected to answer
several valuable purposes. They will tend to fix in memory the leading
fact of each story, they will help to the attainment of a correct
pronunciation of the proper names, and they will enrich the memory with
many gems of poetry, some of them such as are most frequently quoted or
alluded to in reading and conversation.

Having chosen mythology as connected with literature for our province,
we have endeavored to omit nothing which the reader of elegant
literature is likely to find occasion for. Such stories and parts of
stories as are offensive to pure taste and good morals are not given.
But such stories are not often referred to, and if they occasionally
should be, the English reader need feel no mortification in confessing
his ignorance of them.

Our work is not for the learned, nor for the theologian, nor for the
philosopher, but for the reader of English literature, of either sex,
who wishes to comprehend the allusions so frequently made by public
speakers, lecturers, essayists, and poets, and those which occur in
polite conversation.

In the "Stories of Gods and Heroes" the compiler has endeavored to
impart the pleasures of classical learning to the English reader, by
presenting the stories of Pagan mythology in a form adapted to modern
taste. In "King Arthur and His Knights" and "The Mabinogeon" the
attempt has been made to treat in the same way the stories of the
second "age of fable," the age which witnessed the dawn of the several
states of Modern Europe.

It is believed that this presentation of a literature which held
unrivalled sway over the imaginations of our ancestors, for many
centuries, will not be without benefit to the reader, in addition to
the amusement it may afford. The tales, though not to be trusted for
their facts, are worthy of all credit as pictures of manners; and it is
beginning to be held that the manners and modes of thinking of an age
are a more important part of its history than the conflicts of its
peoples, generally leading to no result. Besides this, the literature
of romance is a treasure-house of poetical material, to which modern
poets frequently resort. The Italian poets, Dante and Ariosto, the
English, Spenser, Scott, and Tennyson, and our own Longfellow and
Lowell, are examples of this.

These legends are so connected with each other, so consistently adapted
to a group of characters strongly individualized in Arthur, Launcelot,
and their compeers, and so lighted up by the fires of imagination and
invention, that they seem as well adapted to the poet's purpose as the
legends of the Greek and Roman mythology. And if every well-educated
young person is expected to know the story of the Golden Fleece, why is
the quest of the Sangreal less worthy of his acquaintance? Or if an
allusion to the shield of Achilles ought not to pass unapprehended, why
should one to Excalibar, the famous sword of Arthur?--

    "Of Arthur, who, to upper light restored,
     With that terrific sword,
     Which yet he brandishes for future war,
     Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star."

[Footnote: Wordsworth]

It is an additional recommendation of our subject, that it tends to
cherish in our minds the idea of the source from which we sprung. We
are entitled to our full share in the glories and recollections of the
land of our forefathers, down to the time of colonization thence. The
associations which spring from this source must be fruitful of good
influences; among which not the least valuable is the increased
enjoyment which such associations afford to the American traveller when
he visits England, and sets his foot upon any of her renowned
localities.

The legends of Charlemagne and his peers are necessary to complete the
subject.

In an age when intellectual darkness enveloped Western Europe, a
constellation of brilliant writers arose in Italy. Of these, Pulci
(born in 1432), Boiardo (1434), and Ariosto (1474) took for their
subjects the romantic fables which had for many ages been transmitted
in the lays of bards and the legends of monkish chroniclers. These
fables they arranged in order, adorned with the embellishments of
fancy, amplified from their own invention, and stamped with
immortality. It may safely be asserted that as long as civilization
shall endure these productions will retain their place among the most
cherished creations of human genius.

In "Stories of Gods and Heroes," "King Arthur and His Knights" and "The
Mabinogeon" the aim has been to supply to the modern reader such
knowledge of the fables of classical and mediaeval literature as is
needed to render intelligible the allusions which occur in reading and
conversation. The "Legends of Charlemagne" is intended to carry out the
same design. Like the earlier portions of the work, it aspires to a
higher character than that of a piece of mere amusement. It claims to
be useful, in acquainting its readers with the subjects of the
productions of the great poets of Italy. Some knowledge of these is
expected of every well-educated young person.

In reading these romances, we cannot fail to observe how the primitive
inventions have been used, again and again, by successive generations
of fabulists. The Siren of Ulysses is the prototype of the Siren of
Orlando, and the character of Circe reappears in Alcina. The fountains
of Love and Hatred may be traced to the story of Cupid and Psyche; and
similar effects produced by a magic draught appear in the tale of
Tristram and Isoude, and, substituting a flower for the draught, in
Shakspeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream." There are many other instances
of the same kind which the reader will recognize without our assistance.

The sources whence we derive these stories are, first, the Italian
poets named above; next, the "Romans de Chevalerie" of the Comte de
Tressan; lastly, certain German collections of popular tales. Some
chapters have been borrowed from Leigh Hunt's Translations from the
Italian Poets. It seemed unnecessary to do over again what he had
already done so well; yet, on the other hand, those stories could not
be omitted from the series without leaving it incomplete.

THOMAS BULFINCH.




CONTENTS


LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE


  Introduction
  The Peers, or Paladins
  The Tournament
  The Siege of Albracca
  Adventures of Rinaldo and Orlando
  The Invasion of France
  The Invasion of France (Continued)

  Bradamante and Rogero
  Astolpho and the Enchantress
  The Orc
  Astolpho's Adventures continued, and Isabella's begun.
  Medoro
  Orlando Mad
  Zerbino and Isabella
  Astolpho in Abyssinia
  The War in Africa
  Rogero and Bradamante
  The Battle of Roncesvalles
  Rinaldo and Bayard
  Death of Rinaldo
  Huon of Bordeaux
  Huon of Bordeaux (Continued)
  Huon of Bordeaux (Continued)
  Ogier, the Dane
  Ogier, the Dane (Continued)
  Ogier, the Dane (Continued)

GLOSSARY





LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE




INTRODUCTION


Those who have investigated the origin of the romantic fables relating
to Charlemagne and his peers are of opinion that the deeds of Charles
Martel, and perhaps of other Charleses, have been blended in popular
tradition with those properly belonging to Charlemagne. It was indeed a
most momentous era; and if our readers will have patience, before
entering on the perusal of the fabulous annals which we are about to
lay before them, to take a rapid survey of the real history of the
times, they will find it hardly less romantic than the tales of the
poets.

In the century beginning from the year 600, the countries bordering
upon the native land of our Saviour, to the east and south, had not yet
received his religion. Arabia was the seat of an idolatrous religion
resembling that of the ancient Persians, who worshipped the sun, moon,
and stars. In Mecca, in the year 571, Mahomet was born, and here, at
the age of forty, he proclaimed himself the prophet of God, in dignity
as superior to Christ as Christ had been to Moses. Having obtained by
slow degrees a considerable number of disciples, he resorted to arms to
diffuse his religion. The energy and zeal of his followers, aided by
the weakness of the neighboring nations, enabled him and his successors
to spread the sway of Arabia and the religion of Mahomet over the
countries to the east as far as the Indus, northward over Persia and
Asia Minor, westward over Egypt and the southern shores of the
Mediterranean, and thence over the principal portion of Spain. All this
was done within one hundred years from the Hegira, or flight of Mahomet
from Mecca to Medina, which happened in the year 622, and is the era
from which Mahometans reckon time, as we do from the birth of Christ.

From Spain the way was open for the Saracens (so the followers of
Mahomet were called) into France, the conquest of which, if achieved,
would have been followed very probably by that of all the rest of
Europe, and would have resulted in the banishment of Christianity from
the earth. For Christianity was not at that day universally professed,
even by those nations which we now regard as foremost in civilization.
Great part of Germany, Britain, Denmark, and Russia were still pagan or
barbarous.

At that time there ruled in France, though without the title of king,
the first of those illustrious Charleses of whom we have spoken,
Charles Martel, the grandfather of Charlemagne. The Saracens of Spain
had made incursions into France in 712 and 718, and had retired,
carrying with them a vast booty. In 725, Anbessa, who was then the
Saracen governor of Spain, crossed the Pyrenees with a numerous army,
and took by storm the strong town of Carcassone. So great was the
terror excited by this invasion, that the country for a wide extent
submitted to the conqueror, and a Mahometan governor for the province
was appointed and installed at Narbonne. Anbessa, however, received a
fatal wound in one of his engagements, and the Saracens, being thus
checked from further advance, retired to Narbonne.

In 732 the Saracens again invaded France under Abdalrahman, advanced
rapidly to the banks of the Garonne, and laid siege to Bordeaux. The
city was taken by assault and delivered up to the soldiery. The
invaders still pressed forward, and spread over the territories of
Orleans, Auxerre and Sens. Their advanced parties were suddenly called
in by their chief, who had received information of the rich abbey of
St. Martin of Tours, and resolved to plunder and destroy it.

Charles during all this time had done nothing to oppose the Saracens,
for the reason that the portion of France over which their incursions
had been made was not at that time under his dominion, but constituted
an independent kingdom, under the name of Aquitaine, of which Eude was
king. But now Charles became convinced of the danger, and prepared to
encounter it. Abdalrahman was advancing toward Tours, when intelligence
of the approach of Charles, at the head of an army of Franks, compelled
him to fall back upon Poitiers, in order to seize an advantageous field
of battle.

Charles Martel had called together his warriors from every part of his
dominions, and, at the head of such an army as had hardly ever been
seen in France, crossed the Loire, probably at Orleans, and, being
joined by the remains of the army of Aquitaine, came in sight of the
Arabs in the month of October, 732. The Saracens seem to have been
aware of the terrible enemy they were now to encounter, and for the
first time these formidable conquerors hesitated. The two armies
remained in presence during seven days before either ventured to begin
the attack; but at length the signal for battle was given by
Abdalrahman, and the immense mass of the Saracen army rushed with fury
on the Franks. But the heavy line of the Northern warriors remained
like a rock, and the Saracens, during nearly the whole day, expended
their strength in vain attempts to make any impression upon them. At
length, about four o'clock in the afternoon, when Abdalrahman was
preparing for a new and desperate attempt to break the line of the
Franks, a terrible clamor was heard in the rear of the Saracens. It was
King Eude, who, with his Aquitanians, had attacked their camp, and a
great part of the Saracen army rushed tumultuously from the field to
protect their plunder. In this moment of confusion the line of the
Franks advanced, and, sweeping the field before it, carried fearful
slaughter amongst the enemy. Abdalrahman made desperate efforts to
rally his troops, but when he himself, with the bravest of his
officers, fell beneath the swords of the Christians, all order
disappeared, and the remains of his army sought refuge in their immense
camp, from which Eude and his Aquitanians had been repulsed. It was now
late, and Charles, unwilling to risk an attack on the camp in the dark,
withdrew his army, and passed the night in the plain, expecting to
renew the battle in the morning.

Accordingly, when daylight came, the Franks drew up in order of battle,
but no enemy appeared; and when at last they ventured to approach the
Saracen camp they found it empty. The invaders had taken advantage of
the night to begin their retreat, and were already on their way back to
Spain, leaving their immense plunder behind to fall into the hands of
the Franks.

This was the celebrated battle of Tours, in which vast numbers of the
Saracens were slain, and only fifteen hundred of the Franks. Charles
received the surname of Martel (the Hammer) in consequence of this
victory.

The Saracens, notwithstanding this severe blow, continued to hold their
ground in the south of France; but Pepin, the son of Charles Martel,
who succeeded to his father's power, and assumed the title of king,
successively took from them the strong places they held; and in 759, by
the capture of Narbonne, their capital, extinguished the remains of
their power in France.

Charlemagne, or Charles the Great, succeeded his father, Pepin, on the
throne in the year 768. This prince, though the hero of numerous
romantic legends, appears greater in history than in fiction. Whether
we regard him as a warrior or as a legislator, as a patron of learning
or as the civilizer of a barbarous nation, he is entitled to our
warmest admiration. Such he is in history; but the romancers represent
him as often weak and passionate, the victim of treacherous
counsellors, and at the mercy of turbulent barons, on whose prowess he
depends for the maintenance of his throne. The historical
representation is doubtless the true one, for it is handed down in
trustworthy records, and is confirmed by the events of the age. At the
height of his power, the French empire extended over what we now call
France, Germany, Switzerland, Holland, Belgium, and great part of Italy.

In the year 800 Charlemagne, being in Rome, whither he had gone with a
numerous army to protect the Pope, was crowned by the Pontiff Emperor
of the West. On Christmas day Charles entered the Church of St. Peter,
as if merely to take his part in the celebration of the mass with the
rest of the congregation. When he approached the altar and stooped in
the act of prayer the Pope stepped forward and placed a crown of gold
upon his head; and immediately the Roman people shouted, "Life and
victory to Charles the August, crowned by God the great and pacific
Emperor of the Romans." The Pope then prostrated himself before him,
and paid him reverence, according to the custom established in the
times of the ancient Emperors, and concluded the ceremony by anointing
him with consecrated oil.

Charlemagne's wars were chiefly against the pagan and barbarous people,
who, under the name of Saxons, inhabited the countries now called
Hanover and Holland. He also led expeditions against the Saracens of
Spain; but his wars with the Saracens were not carried on, as the
romances assert, in France, but on the soil of Spain. He entered Spain
by the Eastern Pyrenees, and made an easy conquest of Barcelona and
Pampeluna. But Saragossa refused to open her gates to him, and Charles
ended by negotiating and accepting a vast sum of gold as the price of
his return over the Pyrenees.

On his way back, he marched with his whole army through the gorges of
the mountains by way of the valleys of Engui, Eno, and Roncesvalles.
The chief of this region had waited upon Charlemagne, on his advance,
as a faithful vassal of the monarchy; but now, on the return of the
Franks, he had called together all the wild mountaineers who
acknowledged him as their chief, and they occupied the heights of the
mountains under which the army had to pass. The main body of the troops
met with no obstruction, and received no intimation of danger; but the
rear-guard, which was considerably behind, and encumbered with its
plunder, was overwhelmed by the mountaineers in the pass of
Roncesvalles, and slain to a man. Some of the bravest of the Frankish
chiefs perished on this occasion, among whom is mentioned Roland or
Orlando, governor of the marches or frontier of Brittany. His name
became famous in after times, and the disaster of Roncesvalles and
death of Roland became eventually the most celebrated episode in the
vast cycle of romance.

Though after this there were hostile encounters between the armies of
Charlemagne and the Saracens, they were of small account, and generally
on the soil of Spain. Thus the historical foundation for the stories of
the romancers is but scanty, unless we suppose the events of an earlier
and of a later age to be incorporated with those of Charlemagne's own
time.

There is, however, a pretended history, which for a long time was
admitted as authentic, and attributed to Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims,
a real personage of the time of Charlemagne. Its title is "History of
Charles the Great and Orlando." It is now unhesitatingly considered as
a collection of popular traditions, produced by some credulous and
unscrupulous monk, who thought to give dignity to his romance by
ascribing its authorship to a well-known and eminent individual. It
introduces its pretended author, Bishop Turpin, in this manner:

"Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, the friend and secretary of Charles the
Great, excellently skilled in sacred and profane literature, of a
genius equally adapted to prose and verse, the advocate of the poor,
beloved of God in his life and conversation, who often fought the
Saracens, hand to hand, by the Emperor's side, he relates the acts of
Charles the Great in one book, and flourished under Charles and his son
Louis, to the year of our Lord eight hundred and thirty."

The titles of some of Archbishop Turpin's chapters will show the nature
of his history. They are these: "Of the Walls of Pampeluna, that fell
of themselves." "Of the War of the holy Facundus, where the Spears
grew." (Certain of the Christians fixed their spears in the evening,
erect in the ground, before the castle; and found them, in the morning,
covered with bark and branches.) "How the Sun stood still for Three
Days, and of the Slaughter of Four Thousand Saracens."

Turpin's history has perhaps been the source of the marvellous
adventures which succeeding poets and romancers have accumulated around
the names of Charlemagne and his Paladins, or Peers. But Ariosto and
the other Italian poets have drawn from different sources, and
doubtless often from their own invention, numberless other stories
which they attribute to the same heroes, not hesitating to quote as
their authority "the good Turpin," though his history contains no trace
of them; and the more outrageous the improbability, or rather the
impossibility, of their narrations, the more attentive are they to cite
"the Archbishop," generally adding their testimonial to his
unquestionable veracity.

The principal Italian poets who have sung the adventures of the peers
of Charlemagne are Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto. The characters of
Orlando, Rinaldo, Astolpho, Gano, and others, are the same in all,
though the adventures attributed to them are different. Boiardo tells
us of the loves of Orlando, Ariosto of his disappointment and
consequent madness, Pulci of his death.

Ogier, the Dane, is a real personage. History agrees with romance in
representing him as a powerful lord who, originally from Denmark and a
Pagan, embraced Christianity, and took service under Charlemagne. He
revolted from the Emperor, and was driven into exile. He afterwards led
one of those bands of piratical Northmen which ravaged France under the
reigns of Charlemagne's degenerate successors. The description which an
ancient chronicler gives of Charlemagne, as described by Ogier, is so
picturesque, that we are tempted to transcribe it. Charlemagne was
advancing to the siege of Pavia. Didier, King of the Lombards, was in
the city with Ogier, to whom he had given refuge. When they learned
that the king was approaching they mounted a high tower, whence they
could see far and wide over the country. "They first saw advancing the
engines of war, fit for the armies of Darius or Julius Caesar. 'There
is Charlemagne,' said Didier. 'No,' said Ogier. The Lombard next saw a
vast body of soldiers, who filled all the plain. 'Certainly Charles
advanced with that host,' said the king. 'Not yet,' replied Ogier.
'What hope for us,' resumed the king, 'if he brings with him a greater
host than that?' At last Charles appeared, his head covered with an
iron helmet, his hands with iron gloves, his breast and shoulders with
a cuirass of iron, his left hand holding an iron lance, while his right
hand grasped his sword. Those who went before the monarch, those who
marched at his side, and those who followed him, all had similar arms.
Iron covered the fields and the roads; iron points reflected the rays
of the sun. This iron, so hard, was borne by a people whose hearts were
harder still. The blaze of the weapons flashed terror into the streets
of the city."

This picture of Charlemagne in his military aspect would be incomplete
without a corresponding one of his "mood of peace." One of the greatest
of modern historians, M. Guizot, has compared the glory of Charlemagne
to a brilliant meteor, rising suddenly out of the darkness of barbarism
to disappear no less suddenly in the darkness of feudalism. But the
light of this meteor was not extinguished, and reviving civilization
owed much that was permanently beneficial to the great Emperor of the
Franks. His ruling hand is seen in the legislation of his time, as well
as in the administration of the laws. He encouraged learning; he upheld
the clergy, who were the only peaceful and intellectual class, against
the encroaching and turbulent barons; he was an affectionate father,
and watched carefully over the education of his children, both sons and
daughters. Of his encouragement of learning we will give some
particulars.

He caused learned men to be brought from Italy and from other foreign
countries to revive the public schools of France, which had been
prostrated by the disorders of preceding times. He recompensed these
learned men liberally, and kept some of them near himself, honoring
them with his friendship. Of these the most celebrated is Alcuin, an
Englishman, whose writings still remain, and prove him to have been
both a learned and a wise man. With the assistance of Alcuin, and
others like him, he founded an academy or royal school, which should
have the direction of the studies of all the schools of the kingdom.
Charlemagne himself was a member of this academy on equal terms with
the rest. He attended its meetings, and fulfilled all the duties of an
academician. Each member took the name of some famous man of antiquity.
Alcuin called himself Horace, another took the name of Augustin, a
third of Pindar. Charlemagne, who knew the Psalms by heart, and who had
an ambition to be, according to his conception, A KING AFTER GOD'S OWN
HEART, received from his brother academicians the name of David.

Of the respect entertained for him by foreign nations an interesting
proof is afforded in the embassy sent to him by the Caliph of the
Arabians, the celebrated Haroun al Raschid, a prince in character and
conduct not unlike to Charlemagne. The ambassadors brought with them,
besides other rich presents, a clock, the first that was seen in
Europe, which excited universal admiration. It had the form of a
twelve-sided edifice with twelve doors. These doors formed niches, in
each of which was a little statue representing one of the hours. At the
striking of the hour the doors, one for each stroke, was seen to open,
and from the doors to issue as many of the little statues, which,
following one another, marched gravely round the tower. The motion of
the clock was caused by water, and the striking was effected by balls
of brass equal to the number of the hours, which fell upon a cymbal of
the same metal, the number falling being determined by the discharge of
the water, which, as it sunk in the vessel, allowed their escape.

Charlemagne was succeeded by his son Louis, a well-intentioned but
feeble prince, in whose reign the fabric reared by Charles began
rapidly to crumble. Louis was followed successively by two Charleses,
incapable princes, whose weak and often tyrannical conduct is no doubt
the source of incidents of that character ascribed in the romances to
Charlemagne.

The lawless and disobedient deportment of Charles's paladins, instances
of which are so frequent in the romantic legends, was also a trait of
the declining empire, but not of that of Charlemagne.



THE PEERS, OR PALADINS

The twelve most illustrious knights of Charlemagne were called Peers,
for the equality that reigned among them; while the name of Paladins,
also conferred on them, implies that they were inmates of the palace
and companions of the king. Their names are always given alike by the
romancers, yet we may enumerate the most distinguished of them as
follows: Orlando or Roland (the former the Italian, the latter the
French form of the name), favorite nephew of Charlemagne; Rinaldo of
Montalban, cousin of Orlando; Namo, Duke of Bavaria; Salomon, king of
Brittany; Turpin, the Archbishop; Astolpho, of England; Ogier, the
Dane; Malagigi, the Enchanter; and Florismart, the friend of Orlando.
There were others who are sometimes named as paladins, and the number
cannot be strictly limited to twelve. Charlemagne himself must be
counted one, and Ganelon, or Gano, of Mayence, the treacherous enemy of
all the rest, was rated high on the list by his deluded sovereign, who
was completely the victim of his arts.

We shall introduce more particularly to our readers a few of the
principal peers, leaving the others to make their own introduction as
they appear in the course of our narrative. We begin with Orlando.



ORLANDO

Milon, or Milone, a knight of great family, and distantly related to
Charlemagne, having secretly married Bertha, the Emperor's sister, was
banished from France, and excommunicated by the Pope. After a long and
miserable wandering on foot as mendicants Milon and his wife arrived at
Sutri, in Italy, where they took refuge in a cave, and in that cave
Orlando was born. There his mother continued, deriving a scanty support
from the compassion of the neighboring peasants; while Milon, in quest
of honor and fortune, went into foreign lands. Orlando grew up among
the children of the peasantry, surpassing them all in strength and
manly graces. Among his companions in age, though in station far more
elevated, was Oliver, son of the governor of the town. Between the two
boys a feud arose that led to a fight, in which Orlando thrashed his
rival; but this did not prevent a friendship springing up between the
two, which lasted through life.

Orlando was so poor that he was sometimes half naked. As he was a
favorite of the boys, one day four of them brought some cloth to make
him clothes. Two brought white and two red; and from this circumstance
Orlando took his coat-of-arms, or quarterings.

When Charlemagne was on his way to Rome to receive the imperial crown
he dined in public in Sutri. Orlando and his mother that day had
nothing to eat, and Orlando coming suddenly upon the royal party, and
seeing abundance of provisions, seized from the attendants as much as
he could carry off, and made good his retreat in spite of their
resistance. The Emperor, being told of this incident, was reminded of
an intimation he had received in a dream, and ordered the boy to be
followed. This was done by three of the knights, whom Orlando would
have encountered with a cudgel on their entering the grotto, had not
his mother restrained him. When they heard from her who she was they
threw themselves at her feet, and promised to obtain her pardon from
the Emperor. This was easily effected. Orlando was received into favor
by the Emperor, returned with him to France, and so distinguished
himself that he became the most powerful support of the throne and of
Christianity. [Footnote: It is plain that Shakspeare borrowed from this
source the similar incident in his "As you Like it." The names of
characters in the play, Orlando, Oliver, Rowland indicate the same
thing.]



ROLAND AND FERRAGUS

Orlando, or Roland, particularly distinguished himself by his combat
with Ferragus. Ferragus was a giant, and moreover his skin was of such
impenetrable stuff that no sword could make any impression upon it. The
giant's mode of fighting was to seize his adversary in his arms and
carry him off, in spite of all the struggles he could make. Roland's
utmost skill only availed to keep him out of the giant's clutches, but
all his efforts to wound him with the sword were useless. After long
fighting Ferragus was so weary that he proposed a truce, and when it
was agreed upon he lay down and immediately fell asleep. He slept in
perfect security, for it was against all the laws of chivalry to take
advantage of an adversary under such circumstances. But Ferragus lay so
uncomfortably for the want of a pillow that Orlando took pity upon him,
and brought a smooth stone and placed it under his head. When the giant
woke up, after a refreshing nap, and perceived what Orlando had done,
he seemed quite grateful, became sociable, and talked freely in the
usual boastful style of such characters. Among other things he told
Orlando that he need not attempt to kill him with a sword, for that
every part of his body was invulnerable, except this; and as he spoke,
he put his hand to the vital part, just in the middle of his breast.
Aided by this information Orlando succeeded, when the fight was
renewed, in piercing the giant in the very spot he had pointed out, and
giving him a death-wound. Great was the rejoicing in the Christian
camp, and many the praises showered upon the victorious paladin by the
Emperor and all his host.

On another occasion Orlando encountered a puissant Saracen warrior, and
took from him, as the prize of victory, the sword Durindana. This
famous weapon had once belonged to the illustrious prince Hector of
Troy. It was of the finest workmanship, and of such strength and temper
that no armor in the world could stand against it.



A ROLAND FOR AN OLIVER

Guerin de Montglave held the lordship of Vienne, subject to
Charlemagne. He had quarrelled with his sovereign, and Charles laid
siege to his city, having ravaged the neighboring country. Guerin was
an aged warrior, but relied for his defence upon his four sons and two
grandsons, who were among the bravest knights of the age. After the
siege had continued two months Charlemagne received tidings that
Marsilius, king of Spain, had invaded France, and, finding himself
unopposed, was advancing rapidly in the Southern provinces. At this
intelligence Charles listened to the counsel of his peers, and
consented to put the quarrel with Guerin to the decision of Heaven, by
single combat between two knights, one of each party, selected by lot.
The proposal was acceptable to Guerin and his sons. The names of the
four, together with Guerin's own, who would not be excused, and of the
two grandsons, who claimed their lot, being put into a helmet, Oliver's
was drawn forth, and to him, the youngest of the grandsons, was
assigned the honor and the peril of the combat. He accepted the award
with delight, exulting in being thought worthy to maintain the cause of
his family. On Charlemagne's side Roland was the designated champion,
and neither he nor Oliver knew who his antagonist was to be.

They met on an island in the Rhone, and the warriors of both camps were
ranged on either shore, spectators of the battle. At the first
encounter both lances were shivered, but both riders kept their seats,
immovable. They dismounted, and drew their swords. Then ensued a combat
which seemed so equal, that the spectators could not form an opinion as
to the probable issue. Two hours and more the knights continued to
strike and parry, to thrust and ward, neither showing any sign of
weariness, nor ever being taken at unawares. At length Orlando struck
furiously upon Oliver's shield, burying Durindana in its edge so deeply
that he could not draw it back, and Oliver, almost at the same moment,
thrust so vigorously upon Orlando's breastplate that his sword snapped
off at the handle. Thus were the two warriors left weaponless. Scarcely
pausing a moment, they rushed upon one another, each striving to throw
his adversary to the ground, and failing in that, each snatched at the
other's helmet to tear it away. Both succeeded, and at the same moment
they stood bare-headed face to face, and Roland recognized Oliver, and
Oliver Roland. For a moment they stood still; and the next, with open
arms, rushed into one another's embrace. "I am conquered," said
Orlando. "I yield me." said Oliver.

The people on the shore knew not what to make of all this. Presently
they saw the two late antagonists standing hand in hand, and it was
evident the battle was at an end. The knights crowded round them, and
with one voice hailed them as equals in glory. If there were any who
felt disposed to murmur that the battle was left undecided they were
silenced by the voice of Ogier the Dane, who proclaimed aloud that all
had been done that honor required, and declared that he would maintain
that award against all gainsayers.

The quarrel with Guerin and his sons being left undecided, a truce was
made for four days, and in that time, by the efforts of Duke Namo on
the one side, and of Oliver on the other, a reconciliation was
effected. Charlemagne, accompanied by Guerin and his valiant family,
marched to meet Marsilius, who hastened to retreat across the frontier.



RINALDO

Rinaldo was one of the four sons of Aymon, who married Aya, the sister
of Charlemagne. Thus Rinaldo was nephew to Charlemagne and cousin of
Orlando.

When Rinaldo had grown old enough to assume arms Orlando had won for
himself an illustrious name by his exploits against the Saracens, whom
Charlemagne and his brave knights had driven out of France. Orlando's
fame excited a noble emulation in Rinaldo. Eager to go in pursuit of
glory, he wandered in the country near Paris, and one day saw at the
foot of a tree a superb horse, fully equipped and loaded with a
complete suit of armor. Rinaldo clothed himself in the armor and
mounted the horse, but took not the sword. On the day when, with his
brothers, he had received the honor of knighthood from the Emperor he
had sworn never to bind a sword to his side till he had wrested one
from some famous knight.

Rinaldo took his way to the forest of Arden, celebrated for so many
adventures. Hardly had he entered it when he met an old man, bending
under the weight of years, and learned from him that the forest was
infested with a wild horse, untamable, that broke and overturned
everything that opposed his career. To attack him, he said, or even to
meet him, was certain death. Rinaldo, far from being alarmed, showed
the most eager desire to combat the animal. This was the horse Bayard,
afterward so famous. He had formerly belonged to Amadis of Gaul. After
the death of that hero he had been held under enchantment by the power
of a magician, who predicted that, when the time came to break the
spell, he should be subdued by a knight of the lineage of Amadis, and
not less brave than he.

To win this wonderful horse it was necessary to conquer him by force or
skill; for from the moment when he should be thrown down he would
become docile and manageable. His habitual resort was a cave on the
borders of the forest; but woe be to any one who should approach him,
unless gifted with strength and courage more than mortal. Having told
this, the old man departed. He was not, in fact, an old man, but
Malagigi, the enchanter, cousin of Rinaldo, who, to favor the
enterprises of the young knight, had procured for him the horse and
armor which he so opportunely found, and now put him in the way to
acquire a horse unequalled in the world.

Rinaldo plunged into the forest, and spent many days in seeking Bayard,
but found no traces of him. One day he encountered a Saracen knight,
with whom he made acquaintance, as often happened to knights, by first
meeting him in combat. This knight, whose name was Isolier, was also in
quest of Bayard. Rinaldo succeeded in the encounter, and so severe was
the shock that Isolier was a long time insensible. When he revived, and
was about to resume the contest, a peasant who passed by (it was
Malagigi) interrupted them with the news that the terrible horse was
near at hand, advising them to unite their powers to subdue him, for it
would require all their ability.

Rinaldo and Isolier, now become friends, proceeded together to the
attack of the horse. They found Bayard, and stood a long time,
concealed by the wood, admiring his strength and beauty.

A bright bay in color (whence he was called Bayard), with a silver star
in his forehead, and his hind feet white, his body slender, his head
delicate, his ample chest filled out with swelling muscles, his
shoulders broad and full, his legs straight and sinewy, his thick mane
falling over his arching neck,--he came rushing through the forest,
regardless of rocks, bushes, or trees, rending everything that opposed
his way, and neighing defiance.

He first descried Isolier, and rushed upon him. The knight received him
with lance in rest, but the fierce animal broke the spear, and his
course was not delayed by it for an instant. The Spaniard adroitly
stepped aside, and gave way to the rushing tempest. Bayard checked his
career, and turned again upon the knight, who had already drawn his
sword. He drew his sword, for he had no hope of taming the horse; that,
he was satisfied, was impossible.

Bayard rushed upon him; fiercely rearing, now on this side, now on
that. The knight struck him with his sword, where the white star
adorned his forehead, but struck in vain, and felt ashamed, thinking
that he had struck feebly, for he did not know that the skin of that
horse was so tough that the keenest sword could make no impression upon
it.

Whistling fell the sword once more, and struck with greater force, and
the fierce horse felt it, and drooped his head under the blow, but the
next moment turned upon his foe with such a buffet that the Pagan fell
stunned and lifeless to the earth.

Rinaldo, who saw Isolier fall, and thought that his life was reft,
darted towards the horse, and, with his fist gave him such a blow on
the jaws that the blood tinged his mouth with vermilion. Quicker than
an arrow leaves the bow the horse turned upon him, and tried to seize
his arm with his teeth.

The knight stepped back, and then, repeating his blow, struck him on
the forehead. Bayard turned, and kicked with both his feet with a force
that would have shattered a mountain. Rinaldo was on his guard, and
evaded his attacks, whether made with head or heels. He kept at his
side avoiding both; but, making a false step, he at last received a
terrible blow from the horse's foot, and at the shock almost fainted
away. A second such blow would have killed him, but the horse kicked at
random, and a second blow did not reach Rinaldo, who in a moment
recovered himself. Thus the contest continued until by chance Bayard's
foot got caught between the branches of an oak. Rinaldo seized it and
putting forth all his strength and address, threw him on the ground.

No sooner had Bayard touched the ground than all his rage subsided. No
longer an object of terror, he became gentle and quiet, yet with
dignity in his mildness.

The paladin patted his neck, stroked his breast, and smoothed his mane,
while the animal neighed and showed delight to be caressed by his
master. Rinaldo, seeing him now completely subdued, took the saddle and
trappings from the other horse, and adorned Bayard with the spoils.

Rinaldo became one of the most illustrious knights of Charlemagne's
court,--indeed, the most illustrious, if we except Orlando. Yet he was
not always so obedient to the Emperor's commands as he should have
been, and every fault he committed was sure to be aggravated by the
malice of Gan, Duke of Maganza, the treacherous enemy of Rinaldo and
all his house.

At one time Rinaldo had incurred the severe displeasure of Charlemagne,
and been banished from court. Seeing no chance of being ever restored
to favor, he went to Spain, and entered into the service of the Saracen
king, Ivo. His brothers, Alardo, Ricardo, and Ricciardetto, accompanied
him, and all four served the king so faithfully that they rose to high
favor with him. The king gave them land in the mountains on the
frontiers of France and Spain, and subjected all the country round to
Rinaldo's authority. There was plenty of marble in the mountains, the
king furnished workmen, and they built a castle for Rinaldo, surrounded
with high walls, so as to be almost impregnable. Built of white stone,
and placed on the brow of a marble promontory, the castle shone like a
star, and Rinaldo gave it the name of Montalban. Here he assembled his
friends, many of whom were banished men like himself, and the country
people furnished them with provisions in return for the protection the
castle afforded. Yet some of Rinaldo's men were lawless, and sometimes
the supplies were not furnished in sufficient abundance, so that
Rinaldo and his garrison got a bad name for taking by force what they
could not obtain by gift; and we sometimes find Montalban spoken of as
a nest of freebooters, and its defenders called a beggarly garrison.

Charlemagne's displeasure did not last long, and, at the time our
history commences, Rinaldo and his brothers were completely restored to
the favor of the Emperor, and none of his cavaliers served him with
greater zeal and fidelity than they, throughout all his wars with the
Saracens and Pagans.



THE TOURNAMENT

It was the month of May, and the feast of Pentecost. Charlemagne had
ordered magnificent festivities, and summoned to them, besides his
paladins and vassals of the crown, all strangers, Christian or Saracen,
then sojourning at Paris. Among the guests were King Grandonio, from
Spain; and Ferrau, the Saracen, with eyes like an eagle; Orlando and
Rinaldo, the Emperor's nephews; Duke Namo; Astolpho, of England, the
handsomest man living; Malagigi, the Enchanter; and Gano, of Maganza,
that wily traitor, who had the art to make the Emperor think he loved
him, while he plotted against him.

High sat Charlemagne at the head of his vassals and his paladins,
rejoicing in the thought of their number and their might, while all
were sitting and hearing music, and feasting, when suddenly there came
into the hall four enormous giants, having between them a lady of
incomparable beauty, attended by a single knight. There were many
ladies present who had seemed beautiful till she made her appearance,
but after that they all seemed nothing. Every Christian knight turned
his eyes to her, and every Pagan crowded round her, while she, with a
sweetness that might have touched a heart of stone, thus addressed the
Emperor:

"High-minded lord, the renown of your worthiness, and of the valor of
these your knights, which echoes from sea to sea, encourages me to hope
that two pilgrims, who have come from the ends of the world to behold
you, will not have encountered their fatigue in vain. And, before I
show the motive which has brought us hither, learn that this knight is
my brother Uberto, and that I am his sister Angelica. Fame has told us
of the jousting this day appointed, and so the prince my brother has
come to prove his valor, and to say that, if any of the knights here
assembled choose to meet him in the joust, he will encounter them, one
by one, at the stair of Merlin, by the Fountain of the Pine. And his
conditions are these: No knight who chances to be thrown shall be
allowed to renew the combat, but shall remain prisoner to my brother;
but if my brother be overthrown he shall depart out of the country,
leaving me as the prize of the conqueror."

Now it must be stated that this Angelica and her brother, who called
himself Uberto, but whose real name was Argalia, were the children of
Galafron, king of Cathay, who had sent them to be the destruction of
the Christian host; for Argalia was armed with an enchanted lance,
which unfailingly overthrew everything it touched, and he was mounted
on a horse, a creature of magic, whose swiftness outstripped the wind.
Angelica possessed also a ring which was a defence against all
enchantments, and when put into the mouth rendered the bearer
invisible. Thus Argalia was expected to subdue and take prisoners
whatever knights should dare to encounter him; and the charms of
Angelica were relied on to entice the paladins to make the fatal
venture, while her ring would afford her easy means of escape.

When Angelica ceased sneaking she knelt before the king and awaited his
answer, and everybody gazed on her with admiration. Orlando especially
felt irresistibly drawn towards her, so that he trembled and changed
countenance. Every knight in the hall was infected with the same
feeling, not excepting old white-headed Duke Namo and Charlemagne
himself.

All stood for a while in silence, lost in the delight of looking at
her. The fiery youth Ferrau could hardly restrain himself from seizing
her from the giants and carrying her away; Rinaldo turned as red as
fire, while Malagigi, who had discovered by his art that the stranger
was not speaking truth, muttered softly, as he looked at her,
"Exquisite false creature! I will play thee such a trick for this, as
will leave thee no cause to boast of thy visit."

Charlemagne, to detain her as long as possible before him, delayed his
assent till he had asked her a number of questions, all which she
answered discreetly, and then the challenge was accepted.

As soon as she was gone Malagigi consulted his book, and found out the
whole plot of the vile, infidel king, Galafron, as we have explained
it, so he determined to seek the damsel and frustrate her designs. He
hastened to the appointed spot, and there found the prince and his
sister in a beautiful pavilion, where they lay asleep, while the four
giants kept watch. Malagigi took his book and cast a spell out of it,
and immediately the four giants fell into a deep sleep. Drawing his
sword (for he was a belted knight), he softly approached the young
lady, intending to despatch her at once; but, seeing her look so
lovely, he paused for a moment, thinking there was no need of hurry, as
he believed his spell was upon her, and she could not wake. But the
ring which she wore secured her from the effect of the spell, and some
slight noise, or whatever else it was, caused her at that moment to
awake. She uttered a great cry, and flew to her brother, and waked him.
By the help of her knowledge of enchantment, they took and bound fast
the magician, and, seizing his book, turned his arts against himself.
Then they summoned a crowd of demons, and bade them seize their
prisoner and bear him to King Galafron, at his great city of Albracca,
which they did, and, on his arrival, he was locked up in a rock under
the sea.

While these things were going on all was uproar at Paris, since Orlando
insisted upon being the first to try the adventure at the stair of
Merlin. This was resented by the other pretenders to Angelica, and all
contested his right to the precedence. The tumult was stilled by the
usual expedient of drawing lots, and the first prize was drawn by
Astolpho. Ferrau, the Saracen, had the second, and Grandonio the third.
Next came Berlinghieri, and Otho; then Charles himself, and, as his
ill-fortune would have it, after thirty more, the indignant Orlando.

Astolpho, who drew the first lot, was handsome, brave, and rich. But,
whether from heedlessness or want of skill, he was an unlucky jouster,
and very apt to be thrown, an accident which he bore with perfect
good-humor, always ready to mount again and try to mend his fortune,
generally with no better success.

Astolpho went forth upon his adventure with great gayety of dress and
manner, encountered Argalia, and was immediately tilted out of the
saddle. He railed at fortune, to whom he laid all the fault; but his
painful feelings were somewhat relieved by the kindness of Angelica,
who, touched by his youth and good looks, granted him the liberty of
the pavilion, and caused him to be treated with all kindness and
respect.

The violent Ferrau had the next chance in the encounter, and was thrown
no less speedily than Astolpho; but he did not so easily put up with
his mischance. Crying out, "What are the emperor's engagements to me?"
he rushed with his sword against Argalia, who, being forced to defend
himself, dismounted and drew his sword, but got so much the worse of
the fight that he made a signal of surrender, and, after some words,
listened to a proposal of marriage from Ferrau to his sister. The
beauty, however, feeling no inclination to match with such a rough and
savage-looking person, was so dismayed at the offer, that, hastily
bidding her brother to meet her in the forest of Arden, she vanished
from the sight of both by means of the enchanted ring. Argalia, seeing
this, took to his horse of swiftness, and dashed away in the same
direction. Ferrau pursued him, and Astolpho, thus left to himself, took
possession of the enchanted lance in place of his own, which was
broken, not knowing the treasure he possessed in it, and returned to
the tournament. Charlemagne, finding the lady and her brother gone,
ordered the jousting to proceed as at first intended, in which
Astolpho, by aid of the enchanted lance, unhorsed all comers against
him, equally to their astonishment and his own.

The paladin Rinaldo, on learning the issue of the combat of Ferrau and
the stranger, galloped after the fair fugitive in an agony of love and
impatience. Orlando, perceiving his disappearance, pushed forth in like
manner; and, at length, all three are in the forest of Arden, hunting
about for her who is invisible.

Now in this forest there were two fountains, the one constructed by the
sage Merlin, who designed it for Tristram and the fair Isoude;
[Footnote: See their story in "King Arthur and His Knights."] for such
was the virtue of this fountain, that a draught of its waters produced
on oblivion of the love which the drinker might feel, and even produced
aversion for the object formerly beloved. The other fountain was
endowed with exactly opposite qualities, and a draught of it inspired
love for the first living object that was seen after tasting it.
Rinaldo happened to come to the first mentioned fountain, and, being
flushed with heat, dismounted, and quenched in one draught both his
thirst and his passion. So far from loving Angelica as before he hated
her from the bottom of his heart, became disgusted with the search he
was upon, and, feeling fatigued with his ride, finding a sheltered and
flowery nook, laid himself down and fell asleep.

Shortly after came Angelica, but, approaching in a different direction,
she espied the other fountain, and there quenched her thirst. Then
resuming her way, she came upon the sleeping Rinaldo. Love instantly
seized her, and she stood rooted to the spot.

The meadow round was all full of lilies of the valley and wild roses.
Angelica, not knowing what to do, at length plucked a handful of these,
and dropped them, one by one, on the face of the sleeper. He woke up,
and, seeing who it was, received her salutations with averted
countenance, remounted his horse, and galloped away. In vain the
beautiful creature followed and called after him, in vain asked him
what she had done to be so despised. Rinaldo disappeared, leaving her
in despair, and she returned in tears to the spot where she had found
him sleeping. There, in her turn, she herself lay down, pressing the
spot of earth on which he had lain, and, out of fatigue and sorrow,
fell asleep.

As Angelica thus lay, fortune conducted Orlando to the same place. The
attitude in which she was sleeping was so lovely that it is not to be
conceived, much less expressed. Orlando stood gazing like a man who had
been transported to another sphere. "Am I on earth," he exclaimed, "or
am I in Paradise? Surely it is I that sleep, and this is my dream."

But his dream was proved to be none in a manner which he little
desired. Ferrau, who had slain Argalia, came up, raging with jealousy,
and a combat ensued which awoke the sleeper.

Terrified at what she beheld, she rushed to her palfrey, and, while the
fighters were occupied with one another, fled away through the forest.
The champions continued their fight till they were interrupted by a
messenger, who brought word to Ferrau that king Marsilius, his
sovereign, was in pressing need of his assistance, and conjured him to
return to Spain. Ferrau, upon this, proposed to suspend the combat, to
which Orlando, eager to pursue Angelica, agreed. Ferrau, on the other
hand, departed with the messenger to Spain.

Orlando's quest for the fair fugitive was all in vain. Aided by the
powers of magic, she made a speedy return to her own country.

But the thought of Rinaldo could not be banished from her mind, and she
determined to set Malagigi at liberty, and to employ him to win
Rinaldo, if possible, to make her a return of affection. She
accordingly freed him from his dungeon, unlocking his fetters with her
own hands, and restored him his book, promising him ample honors and
rewards on condition of his bringing Rinaldo to her feet.

Malagigi accordingly, with the aid of his book, called up a demon,
mounted him, and departed. Arrived at his destination, he inveigled
Rinaldo into an enchanted bark, which conveyed him, without any visible
pilot, to an island where stood an edifice called Joyous Castle. The
whole island was a garden. On the western side, close to the sea, was
the palace, built of marble, so clear and polished that it reflected
the landscape about it. Rinaldo leapt ashore, and soon met a lady, who
invited him to enter. The house was as beautiful within as without,
full of rooms adorned with azure and gold, and with noble paintings.
The lady led the knight into an apartment painted with stories, and
opening to the garden, through pillars of crystal, with golden
capitals. Here he found a bevy of ladies, three of whom were singing in
concert, while another played on an instrument of exquisite accord, and
the rest danced round about them. When the ladies beheld him coming
they turned the dance into a circuit round him, and then one of them,
in the sweetest manner, said, "Sir knight, the tables are set, and the
hour for the banquet is come;" and, with these words, still dancing,
they drew him across the lawn in front of the apartment, to a table
that was spread with cloth of gold and fine linen, under a bower of
damask roses by the side of a fountain.

Four ladies were already seated there, who rose, and placed Rinaldo at
their head, in a chair set with pearls. And truly indeed was he
astonished. A repast ensued, consisting of viands the most delicate,
and wines as fragrant as they were fine, drunk out of jewelled cups;
and, when it drew towards its conclusion, harps and lutes were heard in
the distance, and one of the ladies said in the knight's ear: "This
house and all that you see in it are yours; for you alone was it built,
and the builder is a queen. Happy indeed must you think yourself, for
she loves you, and she is the greatest beauty in the world! Her name is
Angelica."

The moment Rinaldo heard the name he so detested he started up, with a
changed countenance, and, in spite of all that the lady could say,
broke off across the garden, and never ceased hastening till he reached
the place where he landed. The bark was still on the shore. He sprang
into it, and pushed off, though he saw nobody in it but himself. It was
in vain for him to try to control its movements, for it dashed on as if
in fury, till it reached a distant shore covered with a gloomy forest.
Here Rinaldo, surrounded by enchantments of a very different sort from
those which he had lately resisted, was entrapped into a pit.

The pit belonged to a castle called Altaripa, which was hung with human
heads, and painted red with blood. As the paladin was viewing the scene
with amazement a hideous old woman made her appearance at the edge of
the pit, and told him that he was destined to be thrown to a monster,
who was only kept from devastating the whole country by being supplied
with living human flesh. Rinaldo said, "Be it so; let me but remain
armed as I am, and I fear nothing." The old woman laughed in derision.
Rinaldo remained in the pit all night, and the next morning was taken
to the place where the monster had his den. It was a court surrounded
by a high wall. Rinaldo was shut in with the beast, and a terrible
combat ensued. Rinaldo was unable to make any impression on the scales
of the monster, while he, on the contrary, with his dreadful claws,
tore away plate and mail from the paladin. Rinaldo began to think his
last hour was come, and cast his eyes around and above to see if there
was any means of escape. He perceived a beam projecting from the wall
at the height of some ten feet, and, taking a leap almost miraculous,
he succeeded in reaching it, and in flinging himself up across it. Here
he sat for hours, the hideous brute continually trying to reach him.
All at once he heard the sound of something coming through the air like
a bird, and suddenly Angelica herself alighted on the end of the beam.
She held something in her hand towards him, and spoke to him in a
loving voice. But the moment Rinaldo saw her he commanded her to go
away, refused all her offers of assistance, and at length declared
that, if she did not leave him, he would cast himself down to the
monster, and meet his fate.

Angelica, saying she would lose her life rather than displease him,
departed; but first she threw to the monster a cake of wax she had
prepared, and spread around him a rope knotted with nooses. The beast
took the bait, and, finding his teeth glued together by the wax, vented
his fury in bounds and leaps, and, soon getting entangled in the
nooses, drew them tight by his struggles, so that he could scarcely
move a limb.

Rinaldo, watching his chance, leapt down upon his back, seized him
round the neck, and throttled him, not relaxing his gripe till the
beast fell dead.

Another difficulty remained to be overcome. The walls were of immense
height, and the only opening in them was a grated window of such
strength that he could not break the bars. In his distress Rinaldo
found a file, which Angelica had left on the ground, and, with the help
of this, effected his deliverance.

What further adventures he met with will be told in another chapter.



THE SIEGE OF ALBRACCA

At the very time when Charlemagne was holding his plenary court and his
great tournament his kingdom was invaded by a mighty monarch, who was
moreover so valiant and strong in battle that no one could stand
against him. He was named Gradasso, and his kingdom was called
Sericane. Now, as it often happens to the greatest and the richest to
long for what they cannot have, and thus to lose what they already
possess, this king could not rest content without Durindana, the sword
of Orlando, and Bayard, the horse of Rinaldo. To obtain these he
determined to war upon France, and for this purpose put in array a
mighty army.

He took his way through Spain, and, after defeating Marsilius, the king
of that country, in several battles, was rapidly advancing on France.
Charlemagne, though Marsilius was a Saracen, and had been his enemy,
yet felt it needful to succor him in this extremity from a
consideration of common danger, and, with the consent of his peers,
despatched Rinaldo with a strong body of soldiers against Gradasso.

There was much fighting, with doubtful results, and Gradasso was
steadily advancing into France. But, impatient to achieve his objects,
he challenged Rinaldo to single combat, to be fought on foot, and upon
these conditions: If Rinaldo conquered, Gradasso agreed to give up all
his prisoners and return to his own country; but if Gradasso won the
day, he was to have Bayard.

The challenge was accepted, and would have been fought had it not been
for the arts of Malagigi, who just then returned from Angelica's
kingdom with set purpose to win Rinaldo to look with favor upon the
fair princess who was dying for love of him. Malagigi drew Rinaldo away
from the army by putting on the semblance of Gradasso, and, after a
short contest, pretending to fly before him, by which means Rinaldo was
induced to follow him into a boat, in which he was borne away, and
entangled in various adventures, as we have already related.

The army, left under the command of Ricciardetto, Rinaldo's brother,
was soon joined by Charlemagne and all his peerage, but experienced a
disastrous rout, and the Emperor and many of his paladins were taken
prisoners. Gradasso, however, did not abuse his victory; he took
Charles by the hand, seated him by his side, and told him he warred
only for honor. He renounced all conquests, on condition that the
Emperor should deliver to him Bayard and Durindana, both of them the
property of his vassals, the former of which, as he maintained, was
already forfeited to him by Rinaldo's failure to meet him as agreed. To
these terms Charlemagne readily acceded.

Bayard, after the departure of his master, had been taken in charge by
Ricciardetto, and sent back to Paris, where Astolpho was in command, in
the absence of Charlemagne. Astolpho received with great indignation
the message despatched for Bayard, and replied by a herald that "he
would not surrender the horse of his kinsman Rinaldo without a contest.
If Gradasso wanted the steed he might come and take him, and that he,
Astolpho, was ready to meet him in the field."

Gradasso was only amused at this answer, for Astolpho's fame as a
successful warrior was not high, and Gradasso willingly renewed with
him the bargain which he had made with Rinaldo. On these conditions the
battle was fought. The enchanted lance, in the hands of Astolpho,
performed a new wonder; and Gradasso, the terrible Gradasso, was
unhorsed.

He kept his word, set free his prisoners, and put his army on the march
to return to his own country, renewing his oath, however, not to rest
till he had taken from Rinaldo his horse, and from Orlando his sword,
or lost his life in the attempt.

Charlemagne, full of gratitude to Astolpho, would have kept him near
his person and loaded him with honors, but Astolpho preferred to seek
Rinaldo, with the view of restoring to him his horse, and departed from
Paris with that design.

Our story now returns to Orlando, whom we left fascinated with the
sight of the sleeping beauty, who, however, escaped him while engaged
in the combat with Ferrau. Having long sought her in vain through the
recesses of the wood, he resolved to follow her to her father's court.
Leaving, therefore, the camp of Charlemagne, he travelled long in the
direction of the East, making inquiry everywhere, if, perchance, he
might get tidings of the fugitive. After many adventures, he arrived
one day at a place where many roads crossed, and meeting there a
courier, he asked him for news. The courier replied that he had been
despatched by Angelica to solicit the aid of Sacripant, king of
Circassia, in favor of her father Galafron, who was besieged in his
city, Albracca, by Agrican, king of Tartary. This Agrican had been an
unsuccessful suitor to the damsel, whom he now pursued with arms.
Orlando thus learned that he was within a day's journey of Albracca;
and, feeling now secure of Angelica, he proceeded with all speed to her
city.

Thus journeying he arrived at a bridge, under which flowed a foaming
river. Here a damsel met him with a goblet, and informed him that it
was the usage of this bridge to present the traveller with a cup.
Orlando accepted the offered cup and drank its contents. He had no
sooner done so than his brain reeled, and he became unconscious of the
object of his journey, and of everything else. Under the influence of
this fascination he followed the damsel into a magnificent and
marvellous palace. Here he found himself in company with many knights,
unknown to him and to each other, though if it had not been for the Cup
of Oblivion of which they all had partaken they would have found
themselves brothers in arms.

Astolpho, proceeding on his way to seek Rinaldo, splendidly dressed and
equipped, as was his wont, arrived in Circassia, and found there a
great army encamped under the command of Sacripant, the king of that
country, who was leading it to the defence of Galafron, the father of
Angelica. Sacripant, much struck by the appearance of Astolpho and his
horse, accosted him courteously, and tried to enlist him in his
service; but Astolpho, proud of his late victories, scornfully declined
his offers, and pursued his way. King Sacripant was too much attracted
by his appearance to part with him so easily, and having laid aside his
kingly ornaments, set out in pursuit of him.

Astolpho next day encountered on his way a stranger knight, named Sir
Florismart, Lord of the Sylvan Tower, one of the bravest and best of
knights, having as his guide a damsel, young, fair, and virtuous, to
whom he was tenderly attached, whose name was Flordelis. Astolpho, as
he approached, defied the knight, bidding him yield the lady, or
prepare to maintain his right by arms. Florismart accepted the contest,
and the knights encountered. Florismart was unhorsed and his steed fell
dead, while Bayard sustained no injury by the shock.

Florismart was so overwhelmed with despair at his own disgrace and the
sight of the damsel's distress, that he drew his sword, and was about
to plunge it into his own bosom. But Astolpho held his hand, told him
that he contended only for glory, and was contented to leave him the
lady.

While Florismart and Flordelis were vowing eternal gratitude King
Sacripant arrived, and coveting the damsel of the one champion as much
as the horse and arms of the other, defied them to the joust. Astolpho
met the challenger, whom he instantly overthrew, and presented his
courser to Florismart, leaving the king to return to his army on foot.

The friends pursued their route, and ere long Flordelis discovered, by
signs which were known to her, that they were approaching the waters of
Oblivion, and advised them to turn back, or to change their course.
This the knights would not hear of, and, continuing their march, they
soon arrived at the bridge where Orlando had been taken prisoner.

The damsel of the bridge appeared as before with the enchanted cup, but
Astolpho, forewarned, rejected it with scorn. She dashed it to the
ground, and a fire blazed up which rendered the bridge unapproachable.
At the same moment the two knights were assailed by sundry warriors,
known and unknown, who, having no recollection of anything, joined
blindly in defence of their prison-house. Among these was Orlando, at
sight of whom Astolpho, with all his confidence not daring to encounter
him, turned and fled, owing his escape to the strength and fleetness of
Bayard.

Florismart, meanwhile, overlaid by fearful odds, was compelled to yield
to necessity, and comply with the usage of the fairy. He drank of the
cup and remained prisoner with the rest. Flordelis, deprived of her two
friends, retired from the scene, and devoted herself to untiring
efforts to effect her lover's deliverance. Astolpho pursued his way to
Albracca, which Agrican was about to besiege. He was kindly welcomed by
Angelica, and enrolled among her defenders. Impatient to distinguish
himself, he one night sallied forth alone, arrived in Agrican's camp,
and unhorsed his warriors right and left by means of the enchanted
lance. But he was soon surrounded and overmatched, and made prisoner to
Agrican.

Relief was, however, at hand; for as the citizens and soldiers were one
day leaning over their walls they descried a cloud of dust, from which
horsemen were seen to prick forth, as it rolled on towards the camp of
the besiegers. This turned out to be the army of Sacripant, which
immediately attacked that of Agrican, with the view of cutting a
passage through his camp to the besieged city. But Agrican, mounted
upon Bayard, taken from Astolpho, but not armed with the lance of gold,
the virtues of which were unknown to him, performed wonders, and
rallied his scattered troops, which had given way to the sudden and
unexpected assault. Sacripant, on the other hand, encouraged his men by
the most desperate acts of valor, having as an additional incentive to
his courage the sight of Angelica, who showed herself upon the city
walls.

There she witnessed a single combat between the two leaders, Agrican
and Sacripant. In this, at length, her defender appeared to be
overmatched, when the Circassians broke the ring, and separated the
combatants, who were borne asunder in the rush. Sacripant, severely
wounded, profited by the confusion, and escaped into Albracca, where he
was kindly received and carefully tended by Angelica.

The battle continuing, the Circassians were at last put to flight, and,
being intercepted between the enemy's lines and the town, sought for
refuge under the walls. Angelica ordered the drawbridge to be let down,
and the gates thrown open to the fugitives. With these Agrican, not
distinguished in the crowd, entered the place, driving both Circassians
and Cathayans before him, and the portcullis being dropped, he was shut
in.

For a time the terror which he inspired put to flight all opposers, but
when at last it came to be known that few or none of his followers had
effected an entrance with him, the fugitives rallied and surrounded him
on all sides. While he was thus apparently reduced to the last
extremities, he was saved by the very circumstance which threatened him
with destruction. The soldiers of Angelica, closing upon him from all
sides, deserted their defences; and his own besieging army entered the
city in a part where the wall was broken down.

In this way was Agrican rescued, the city taken, and the inhabitants
put to the sword. Angelica, however, with some of the knights who were
her defenders, among whom was Sacripant, saved herself in the citadel,
which was planted upon a rock.

The fortress was impregnable, but it was scantily victualled, and ill
provided with other necessaries. Under these circumstances Angelica
announced to those blockaded with her in the citadel her intention to
go in quest of assistance, and, having plighted her promise of a speedy
return, she set out, with the enchanted ring upon her finger. Mounted
upon her palfrey, the damsel passed through the enemy's lines, and by
sunrise was many miles clear of their encampment.

It so happened that her road led her near the fatal bridge of Oblivion,
and as she approached it she met a damsel weeping bitterly. It was
Flordelis, whose lover, Florismart, as we have related, had met the
fate of Orlando and many more, and fallen a victim to the enchantress
of the cup. She related her adventures to Angelica, and conjured her to
lend what aid she might to rescue her lord and his companions.
Angelica, accordingly, watching her opportunity and aided by her ring,
slipped into the castle unseen, when the door was opened to admit a new
victim. Here she speedily disenchanted Orlando and the rest by a touch
of her talisman. But Florismart was not there. He had been given up to
Falerina, a more powerful enchantress, and was still in durance.
Angelica conjured the rescued captives to assist her in the recovery of
her kingdom, and all departed together for Albracca.

The arrival of Orlando, with his companions, nine in all, and among the
bravest knights of France, changed at once the fortunes of the war.
Wherever the great paladin came, pennon and standard fell before him.
Agrican in vain attempted to rally his troops. Orlando kept constantly
in his front, forcing him to attend to nobody else. The Tartar king at
length bethought him of a stratagem. He turned his horse, and made a
show of flying in despair. Orlando dashed after him as he desired, and
Agrican fled till he reached a green place in a wood, where there was a
fountain.

The place was beautiful, and the Tartar dismounted to refresh himself
at the fountain, but without taking off his helmet, or laying aside any
of his armor. Orlando was quickly at his back, crying out, "So bold,
and yet a fugitive! How could you fly from a single arm and think to
escape?"

The Tartar king had leaped on his saddle the moment he saw his enemy,
and when the paladin had done speaking, he said in a mild voice,
"Without doubt you are the best knight I ever encountered, and fain
would I leave you untouched for your own sake, if you would cease to
hinder me from rallying my people. I pretended to fly, in order to
bring you out of the field. If you insist upon fighting I must needs
fight and slay you, but I call the sun in the heavens to witness I
would rather not. I should be very sorry for your death."

The Count Orlando felt pity for so much gallantry, and he said, "The
nobler you show yourself the more it grieves me to think that in dying
without a knowledge of the true faith you will be lost in the other
world. Let me advise you to save body and soul at once. Receive
baptism, and go your way in peace."

Agrican replied: "I suspect you to be the paladin Orlando. If you are I
would not lose this opportunity of fighting with you to be king of
Paradise. Talk to me no more about your things of another world, for
you will preach in vain. Each of us for himself, and let the sword be
umpire."

The Saracen drew his sword, boldly advancing upon Orlando, and a combat
began, so obstinate and so long, each warrior being a miracle of
prowess, that the story says it lasted from noon till night. Orlando
then seeing the stars come out was the first to propose a respite.

"What are we to do," said he, "now that daylight has left us?"

Agrican answered readily enough, "Let us repose in this meadow, and
renew the combat at dawn."

The repose was taken accordingly. Each tied up his horse, and reclined
himself on the grass, not far from the other, just as if they had been
friends, Orlando by the fountain, Agrican beneath a pine. It was a
beautiful clear night, and, as they talked together before addressing
themselves to sleep, the champion of Christendom, looking up at the
firmament, said, "That is a fine piece of workmanship, that starry
spectacle; God made it all, that moon of silver, and those stars of
gold, and the light of day, and the sun,--all for the sake of human
kind."

"You wish, I see, to talk of matters of faith," said the Tartar. "Now I
may as well tell you at once that I have no sort of skill in such
matters, nor learning of any kind. I never could learn anything when I
was a boy. I hated it so that I broke the man's head who was
commissioned to teach me; and it produced such an effect on others that
nobody ever afterwards dared so much as show me a book. My boyhood was
therefore passed, as it should be, in horsemanship and hunting, and
learning to fight. What is the good of a gentleman's poring all day
over a book? Prowess to the knight, and preaching to the clergyman,
that is my motto."

"I acknowledge," returned Orlando, "that arms are the first
consideration of a gentleman; but not at all that he does himself
dishonor by knowledge. On the contrary, knowledge is as great an
embellishment of the rest of his attainments, as the flowers are to the
meadow before us; and as to the knowledge of his Maker, the man that is
without it is no better than a stock or a stone or a brute beast.
Neither without study can he reach anything of a due sense of the depth
and divineness of the contemplation."

"Learned or not learned," said Agrican, "you might show yourself better
bred than by endeavoring to make me talk on a subject on which you have
me at a disadvantage. If you choose to sleep I wish you good night; but
if you prefer talking I recommend you to talk of fighting or of fair
ladies. And, by the way, pray tell me, are you not that Orlando who
makes such a noise in the world? And what is it, pray, that brings you
into these parts? Were you ever in love? I suppose you must have been;
for to be a knight, and never to have been in love, would be like being
a man without a heart in his breast."

The count replied: "Orlando I am, and in love I am. Love has made me
abandon everything, and brought me into these distant regions, and, to
tell you all in one word, my heart is in the hands of the daughter of
King Galafron. You have come against him with fire and sword, to get
possession of his castles and his dominions; and I have come to help
him, for no object in the world but to please his daughter and win her
beautiful hand. I care for nothing else in existence."

Now when the Tartar king, Agrican, heard his antagonist speak in this
manner, and knew him to be indeed Orlando, and to be in love with
Angelica, his face changed color for grief and jealousy, though it
could not be seen for the darkness. His heart began beating with such
violence that he felt as if he should have died. "Well," said he to
Orlando, "we are to fight when it is daylight, and one or other is to
be left here, dead on the ground. I have a proposal to make to
you--nay, an entreaty. My love is so excessive for the same lady that I
beg you to leave her to me. I will owe you my thanks, and give up the
siege and put an end to the war. I cannot bear that any one should love
her, and that I should live to see it. Why, therefore, should either of
us perish? Give her up. Not a soul shall know it."

"I never yet," answered Orlando, "made a promise which I did not keep,
and nevertheless I own to you that, were I to make a promise like that,
and even swear to keep it, I should not. You might as well ask me to
tear away the limbs from my body, and the eyes out of my head. I could
as well live without breath itself as cease loving Angelica."

Agrican had hardly patience to let him finish speaking, ere he leapt
furiously on horseback, though it was midnight. "Quit her," said he,
"or die!"

Orlando seeing the infidel getting up, and not being sure that he would
not add treachery to fierceness, had been hardly less quick in mounting
for the combat. "Never," exclaimed he; "I never could have quitted her
if I would, and now I would not if I could. You must seek her by other
means than these."

Fiercely dashed their horses together, in the nighttime, on the green
mead. Despiteful and terrible were the blows they gave and took by the
moonlight. Agrican fought in a rage, Orlando was cooler. And now the
struggle had lasted more than five hours, and day began to dawn, when
the Tartar king, furious to find so much trouble given him, dealt his
enemy a blow sharp and violent beyond conception. It cut the shield in
two as if it had been made of wood, and, though blood could not be
drawn from Orlando, because he was fated, it shook and bruised him as
if it had started every joint in his body.

His body only, however, not a particle of his soul. So dreadful was the
blow which the paladin gave in return, that not only shield, but every
bit of mail on the body of Agrican was broken in pieces, and three of
his ribs cut asunder.

The Tartar, roaring like a lion, raised his sword with still greater
vehemence than before, and dealt a blow on the paladin's helmet, such
as he had never yet received from mortal man. For a moment it took away
his senses. His sight failed, his ears tingled, his frightened horse
turned about to fly; and he was falling from the saddle, when the very
action of falling threw his head upwards, and thus recalled his
recollection.

"What a shame is this!" thought he; "how shall I ever again dare to
face Angelica! I have been fighting hour after hour with this man, and
he is but one, and I call myself Orlando! If the combat last any longer
I will bury myself in a monastery, and never look on sword again."

Orlando muttered with his lips closed and his teeth ground together;
and you might have thought that fire instead of breath came out of his
nose and mouth. He raised his sword Durindana with both his hands, and
sent it down so tremendously on Agrican's shoulder that it cut through
breastplate down to the very haunch, nay, crushed the saddle-bow,
though it was made of bone and iron, and felled man and horse to the
earth. Agrican turned as white as ashes, and felt death upon him. He
called Orlando to come close to him, with a gentle voice, and said, as
well as he could: "I believe on Him who died on the cross. Baptize me,
I pray thee, with the fountain, before my senses are gone. I have lived
an evil life, but need not be rebellious to God in death also. May He
who came to save all the rest of the world save me!" And he shed tears,
that great king, though he had been so lofty and fierce.

Orlando dismounted quickly, with his own face in tears. He gathered the
king tenderly in his arms, and took and laid him by the fountain, on a
marble rim that it had, and then he wept in concert with him heartily,
and asked his pardon, and so baptized him in the water of the fountain,
and knelt and prayed to God for him with joined hands.

He then paused and looked at him; and when he perceived his countenance
changed, and that his whole person was cold, he left him there on the
marble rim of the fountain, all armed as he was, with the sword by his
side, and the crown upon his head.



ADVENTURES OF RINALDO AND ORLANDO

We left Rinaldo when, having overcome the monster, he quitted the
castle of Altaripa, and pursued his way on foot. He soon met with a
weeping damsel, who, being questioned as to the cause of her sorrow,
told him she was in search of one to do battle to rescue her lover, who
had been made prisoner by a vile enchantress, together with Orlando and
many more. The damsel was Flordelis, the lady-love of Florismart, and
Rinaldo promised his assistance, trusting to accomplish the adventure
either by valor or skill. Flordelis insisted upon Rinaldo's taking her
horse, which he consented to do, on condition of her mounting behind
him.

As they rode on through a wood, they heard strange noises, and Rinaldo,
reassuring the damsel, pressed forward towards the quarter from which
they proceeded. He soon perceived a giant standing under a vaulted
cavern, with a huge club in his hand, and of an appearance to strike
the boldest spirit with dread. By the side of the cavern was chained a
griffin, which, together with the giant, was stationed there to guard a
wonderful horse, the same which was once Argalia's. This horse was a
creature of enchantment, matchless in vigor, speed, and form, which
disdained to share the diet of his fellow-steeds,--corn or grass,--and
fed only on air. His name was Rabican.

This marvellous horse, after his master Argalia had been slain by
Ferrau, finding himself at liberty, returned to his native cavern, and
was here stabled under the protection of the giant and the griffin. As
Rinaldo approached, the giant assailed him with his club. Rinaldo
defended himself from the giant's blows, and gave him one in return,
which, if his skin had not been of the toughest, would have finished
the combat. But the giant, though wounded, escaped, and let loose the
griffin. This monstrous bird towered in air, and thence pounced down
upon Rinaldo, who, watching his opportunity, dealt her a desperate
wound. She had, however, strength for another flight, and kept
repeating her attacks, which Rinaldo parried as he could, while the
damsel stood trembling by, witnessing the contest.

The battle continued, rendered more terrible by the approach of night,
when Rinaldo determined upon a desperate expedient to bring it to a
conclusion. He fell, as if fainting from his wounds, and, on the close
approach of the griffin, dealt her a blow which sheared away one of her
wings. The beast, though sinking, griped him fast with her talons,
digging through plate and mail; but Rinaldo plied his sword in utter
desperation, and at last accomplished her destruction.

Rinaldo then entered the cavern, and found there the wonderful horse,
all caparisoned. He was coal-black, except for a star of white on his
forehead, and one white foot behind. For speed he was unrivalled,
though in strength he yielded to Bayard. Rinaldo mounted upon Rabican,
and issued from the cavern.

As he pursued his way he met a fugitive from Agrican's army, who gave
such an account of the prowess of a champion who fought on the side of
Angelica, that Rinaldo was persuaded this must be Orlando, though at a
loss to imagine how he could have been freed from captivity. He
determined to repair to the scene of the contest to satisfy his
curiosity, and Flordelis, hoping to find Florismart with Orlando,
consented to accompany him.

While these things were doing, all was rout and dismay in the Tartarian
army, from the death of Agrican. King Galafron, arriving at this
juncture with an army for the relief of his capital, Albracca,
assaulted the enemy's camp, and carried all before him. Rinaldo had now
reached the scene of action, and was looking on as an unconcerned
spectator, when he was espied by Galafron. The king instantly
recognized the horse Rabican, which he had given to Argalia when he
sent him forth on his ill-omened mission to Paris. Possessed with the
idea that the rider of the horse was the murderer of Argalia, Galafron
rode at Rinaldo, and smote him with all his force. Rinaldo was not slow
to avenge the blow, and it would have gone hard with the king had not
his followers instantly closed round him and separated the combatants.

Rinaldo thus found himself, almost without his own choice, enlisted on
the side of the enemies of Angelica, which gave him no concern, so
completely had his draught from the fountain of hate steeled his mind
against her.

For several successive days the struggle continued, without any
important results, Rinaldo meeting the bravest knights of Angelica's
party, and defeating them one after the other. At length he encountered
Orlando, and the two knights bitterly reproached one another for the
cause they had each adopted, and engaged in a furious combat. Orlando
was mounted upon Bayard, Rinaldo's horse, which Agrican had by chance
become possessed of, and Orlando had taken from him as the prize of
victory. Bayard would not fight against his master, and Orlando was
getting the worse of the encounter, when suddenly Rinaldo, seeing
Astolpho, who for love of him had arrayed himself on his side, hard
beset by numbers, left Orlando to rush to the defence of his friend.
Night prevented the combat from being renewed; but a challenge was
given and accepted for their next meeting.

But Angelica, sighing in her heart for Rinaldo, was not willing that he
should be again exposed to so terrible a venture. She begged a boon of
Orlando, promising she would be his if he would do her bidding. On
receiving his promise, she enjoined him to set out without delay to
destroy the garden of the enchantress Falerina, in which many valiant
knights had been entrapped, and were imprisoned.

Orlando departed on his horse Brigliadoro, leaving Bayard in disgrace
for his bad deportment the day before. Angelica, to conciliate Rinaldo,
sent Bayard to him; but Rinaldo remained unmoved by this as by all her
former acts of kindness.

When Rinaldo learned Orlando's departure, he yielded to the entreaties
of the lady of Florismart, and prepared to fulfil his promise, and
rescue her lover from the power of the enchantress. Thus both Rinaldo
and Orlando were bound upon the same adventure, but unknown to one
another.

The castle of Falerina was protected by a river, which was crossed by a
bridge, kept by a ruffian, who challenged all comers to the combat; and
such was his strength that he had thus far prevailed in every
encounter, as appeared by the arms of various knights which he had
taken from them, and piled up as a trophy on the shore. Rinaldo
attacked him, but with as bad success as the rest, for the bridge-ward
struck him so violent a blow with an iron mace that he fell to the
ground. But when the villain approached to strip him of his armor,
Rinaldo seized him, and the bridge-ward, being unable to free himself,
leapt with Rinaldo into the lake, where they both disappeared.

Orlando, meanwhile, in discharge of his promise to Angelica, pursued
his way in quest of the same adventure. In passing through a wood he
saw a cavalier armed at all points, and mounted, keeping guard over a
lady who was bound to a tree, weeping bitterly. Orlando hastened to her
relief, but was exhorted by the knight not to interfere, for she had
deserved her fate by her wickedness. In proof of which he made certain
charges against her. The lady denied them all, and Orlando believed
her, defied the knight, overthrew him, and, releasing the lady,
departed with her seated on his horse's croup.

While they rode another damsel approached on a white palfrey, who
warned Orlando of impending danger, and informed him that he was near
the garden of the enchantress. Orlando was delighted with the
intelligence, and entreated her to inform him how he was to gain
admittance. She replied that the garden could only be entered at
sunrise and gave him such instructions as would enable him to gain
admittance. She gave him also a book in which was painted the garden
and all that it contained, together with the palace of the false
enchantress, where she had secluded herself for the purpose of
executing a magic work in which she was engaged. This was the
manufacture of a sword capable of cutting even through enchanted
substances. The object of this labor, the damsel told him, was the
destruction of a knight of the west, by name Orlando, who she had read
in the book of Fate was coming to demolish her garden. Having thus
instructed him, the damsel departed.

Orlando, finding he must delay his enterprise till the next morning,
now lay down and was soon asleep. Seeing this, the base woman whom he
had rescued, and who was intent on making her escape to rejoin her
paramour, mounted Brigliadoro, and rode off, carrying away Durindana.

When Orlando awoke, his indignation, as may be supposed, was great on
the discovery of the theft; but, like a good knight and true, he was
not to be diverted from his enterprise. He tore off a huge branch of an
elm to supply the place of his sword; and, as the sun rose, took his
way towards the gate of the garden, where a dragon was on his watch.
This he slew by repeated blows, and entered the garden, the gate of
which closed behind him, barring retreat. Looking round him, he saw a
fair fountain, which overflowed into a river, and in the centre of the
fountain a figure, on whose forehead was written:

    "The stream which waters violet and rose,
     From hence to the enchanted palace goes."

Following the banks of this flowing stream, and rapt in the delights of
the charming garden, Orlando arrived at the palace, and entering it,
found the mistress, clad in white, with a crown of gold upon her head,
in the act of viewing herself in the surface of the magic sword.
Orlando surprised her before she could escape, deprived her of the
weapon, and holding her fast by her long hair, which floated behind,
threatened her with immediate death if she did not yield up her
prisoners, and afford him the means of egress. She, however, was firm
of purpose, making no reply, and Orlando, unable to move her either by
threats or entreaties, was under the necessity of binding her to a
beech, and pursuing his quest as he best might.

He then bethought him of his book, and, consulting it, found that there
was an outlet to the south, but that to reach it a lake was to be
passed, inhabited by a siren, whose song was so entrancing as to be
quite irresistible to whoever heard it; but his book instructed him how
to protect himself against this danger. According to its directions,
while pursuing his path, he gathered abundance of flowers, which sprung
all around, and filled his helmet and his ears with them; then listened
if he heard the birds sing. Finding that, though he saw the gaping
beak, the swelling throat, and ruffled plumes, he could not catch a
note, he felt satisfied with his defence, and advanced toward the lake.
It was small but deep, and so clear and tranquil that the eye could
penetrate to the bottom.

He had no, sooner arrived upon the banks than the waters were seen to
gurgle, and the siren, rising midway out of the pool, sung so sweetly
that birds and beasts came trooping to the water-side to listen. Of
this Orlando heard nothing, but, feigning to yield to the charm, sank
down upon the bank. The siren issued from the water with the intent to
accomplish his destruction. Orlando seized her by the hair, and while
she sang yet louder (song being her only defence) cut off her head.
Then, following the directions of the book, he stained himself all over
with her blood.

Guarded by this talisman, he met successively all the monsters set for
defence of the enchantress and her garden, and at length found himself
again at the spot where he had made captive the enchantress, who still
continued fastened to the beech. But the scene was changed. The garden
had disappeared, and Falerina, before so haughty, now begged for mercy,
assuring him that many lives depended upon the preservation of hers.
Orlando promised her life upon her pledging herself for the deliverance
of her captives.

This, however, was no easy task. They were not in her possession, but
in that of a much more powerful enchantress, Morgana, the Lady of the
Lake, the very idea of opposing whom made Falerina turn pale with fear.
Representing to him the hazards of the enterprise, she led him towards
the dwelling of Morgana. To approach it he had to encounter the same
uncourteous bridge-ward who had already defeated and made captive so
many knights, and last of all, Rinaldo. He was a churl of the most
ferocious character, named Arridano. Morgana had provided him with
impenetrable armor, and endowed him in such a manner that his strength
always increased in proportion to that of the adversary with whom he
was matched. No one had ever yet escaped from the contest, since, such
was his power of endurance, he could breathe freely under water. Hence,
having grappled with a knight, and sunk with him to the bottom of the
lake, he returned, bearing his enemy's arms in triumph to the surface.

While Falerina was repeating her cautions and her counsels Orlando saw
Rinaldo's arms erected in form of a trophy, among other spoils made by
the villain, and, forgetting their late quarrel, determined upon
revenging his friend. Arriving at the pass, the churl presuming to bar
the way, a desperate contest ensued, during which Falerina escaped. The
churl finding himself overmatched at a contest of arms, resorted to his
peculiar art, grappled his antagonist, and plunged with him into the
lake. When he reached the bottom Orlando found himself in another
world, upon a dry meadow, with the lake overhead, through which shone
the beams of our sun, while the water stood on all sides like a crystal
wall. Here the battle was renewed, and Orlando had in his magic sword
an advantage which none had hitherto possessed. It had been tempered by
Falerina so that no spells could avail against it. Thus armed, and
countervailing the strength of his adversary by his superior skill and
activity, it was not long before he laid him dead upon the field.

Orlando then made all haste to return to the upper air, and, passing
through the water, which opened a way before him (such was the power of
the magic sword), he soon regained the shore, and found himself in a
field as thickly covered with precious stones as the sky is with stars.

Orlando crossed the field, not tempted to delay his enterprise by
gathering any of the brilliant gems spread all around him. He next
passed into a flowery meadow planted with trees, covered with fruit and
flowers, and full of all imaginable delights.

In the middle of this meadow was a fountain, and fast by it lay Morgana
asleep; a lady of a lovely aspect, dressed in white and vermilion
garments, her forehead well furnished with hair, while she had scarcely
any behind.

While Orlando stood in silence contemplating her beauty he heard a
voice exclaim: "Seize the fairy by the forelock, if thou hopest fair
success." But his attention was arrested by another object, and he
heeded not the warning. He saw on a sudden an array of towers,
pinnacles and columns, palaces with balconies and windows, extended
alleys with trees, in short a scene of architectural magnificence
surpassing all he had ever beheld. While he stood gazing in silent
astonishment the scene slowly melted away and disappeared. [Footnote:
This is a poetical description of a phenomenon which is said to be
really exhibited in the strait of Messina, between Sicily and Calabria.
It is called Fata Morgana, or Mirage.]

When he had recovered from his amazement he looked again toward the
fountain. The fairy had awaked and risen, and was dancing round its
border with the lightness of a leaf, timing her footsteps to this song:

    "Who in this world would wealth and treasure share,
     Honor, delight, and state, and what is best,
     Quick let him catch me by the lock of hair
     Which flutters from my forehead; and be blest.

    "But let him not the proffered good forbear,
     Nor till he seize the fleeting blessing rest;
     For present loss is sought in vain to-morrow,
     And the deluded wretch is left in sorrow."

The fairy, having sung thus, bounded off, and fled from the flowery
meadow over a high and inaccessible mountain. Orlando pursued her
through thorns and rocks, while the sky gradually became overcast, and
at last he was assailed by tempest, lightning, and hail.

While he thus pursued, a pale and meagre woman issued from a cave,
armed with a whip, and, treading close upon his steps, scourged him
with vigorous strokes. Her name was Repentance, and she told him it was
her office to punish those who neglected to obey the voice of Prudence,
and seize the fairy Fortune when he might.

Orlando, furious at this chastisement, turned upon his tormentor, but
might as well have stricken the wind. Finding it useless to resist, he
resumed his chase of the fairy, gained upon her, and made frequent
snatches at her white and vermilion garments, which still eluded his
grasp. At last, on her turning her head for an instant, he profited by
the chance, and seized her by the forelock. In an instant the tempest
ceased, the sky became serene, and Repentance retreated to her cave.

Orlando now demanded of Morgana the keys of her prison, and the fairy,
feigning a complacent aspect, delivered up a key of silver, bidding him
to be cautious in the use of it, since to break the lock would be to
involve himself and all in inevitable destruction; a caution which gave
the Count room for long meditation, and led him to consider

    How few amid the suitors who importune
    The dame, know how to turn the keys of Fortune.

Keeping the fairy still fast by the forelock, Orlando proceeded toward
the prison, turned the key, without occasioning the mischiefs
apprehended, and delivered the prisoners.

Among these were Florismart, Rinaldo, and many others of the bravest
knights of France. Morgana had disappeared, and the knights, under the
guidance of Orlando, retraced the path by which he had come. They soon
reached the field of treasure. Rinaldo, finding himself amidst this
mass of wealth, remembered his needy garrison of Montalban, and could
not resist the temptation of seizing part of the booty. In particular a
golden chain, studded with diamonds, was too much for his self-denial,
and he took it and was bearing it off, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of Orlando, when a violent wind caught him and whirled
him back, as he approached the gate. This happened a second and a third
time, and Rinaldo at length yielded to necessity, rather than to the
entreaties of his friends, and cast away his prize.

They soon reached the bridge and passed over without hindrance to the
other side, where they found the trophy decorated with their arms. Here
each knight resumed his own, and all, except the paladins and their
friends, separated as their inclinations or duty prompted. Dudon, the
Dane, one of the rescued knights, informed the cousins that he had been
made prisoner by Morgana while in the discharge of an embassy to them
from Charlemagne, who called upon them to return to the defence of
Christendom. Orlando was too much fascinated by Angelica to obey this
summons, and, followed by the faithful Florismart, who would not leave
him, returned towards Albracca. Rinaldo, Dudon, Iroldo, Prasildo, and
the others took their way toward the west.



THE INVASION OF FRANCE

Agramant, King of Africa, convoked the kings, his vassals, to
deliberate in council. He reminded them of the injuries he had
sustained from France, that his father had fallen in battle with
Charlemagne, and that his early years had hitherto not allowed him to
wipe out the stain of former defeats. He now proposed to them to carry
war into France.

Sobrino, his wisest councillor, opposed the project, representing the
rashness of it; but Rodomont, the young and fiery king of Algiers,
denounced Sobrino's counsel as base and cowardly, declaring himself
impatient for the enterprise. The king of the Garamantes, venerable for
his age and renowned for his prophetic lore, interposed, and assured
the King that such an attempt would be sure to fail, unless he could
first get on his side a youth marked out by destiny as the fitting
compeer of the most puissant knights of France, the young Rogero,
descended in direct line from Hector of Troy. This prince was now a
dweller upon the mountain Carena, where Atlantes, his foster-father, a
powerful magician, kept him in retirement, having discovered by his art
that his pupil would be lost to him if allowed to mingle with the
world. To break the spells of Atlantes, and draw Rogero from his
retirement, one only means was to be found. It was a ring possessed by
Angelica, Princess of Cathay, which was a talisman against all
enchantments. If this ring could be procured all would go well; without
it the enterprise was desperate.

Rodomont treated this declaration of the old prophet with scorn, and it
would probably have been held of little weight by the council, had not
the aged king, oppressed by the weight of years, expired in the very
act of reaffirming his prediction. This made so deep an impression on
the council that it was unanimously resolved to postpone the war until
an effort should be made to win Rogero to the camp.

King Agramant thereupon proclaimed that the sovereignty of a kingdom
should be the reward of whoever should succeed in obtaining the ring of
Angelica. Brunello the dwarf, the subtlest thief in all Africa,
undertook to procure it.

In prosecution of this design, he made the best of his way to
Angelica's kingdom, and arrived beneath the walls of Albracca while the
besieging army was encamped before the fortress. While the attention of
the garrison was absorbed by the battle that raged below he scaled the
walls, approached the Princess unnoticed, slipped the ring from her
finger, and escaped unobserved. He hastened to the seaside, and,
finding a vessel ready to sail, embarked, and arrived at Biserta, in
Africa. Here he found Agramant impatient for the talisman which was to
foil the enchantments of Atlantes and to put Rogero into his hands. The
dwarf, kneeling before the king, presented him with the ring, and
Agramant, delighted at the success of his mission, crowned him in
recompense King of Tingitana.

All were now anxious to go in quest of Rogero. The cavalcade
accordingly departed, and in due time arrived at the mountain of Carena.

At the bottom of this was a fruitful and well-wooded plain, watered by
a large river, and from this plain was descried a beautiful garden on
the mountain-top, which contained the mansion of Atlantes; but the
ring, which discovered what was before invisible, could not, though it
revealed this paradise, enable Agramant or his followers to enter it.
So steep and smooth was the rock by nature, that even Brunello failed
in every attempt to scale it. He did not, for this, despair of
accomplishing the object; but, having obtained Agramant's consent,
caused the assembled courtiers and knights to celebrate a tournament
upon the plain below. This was done with the view of seducing Rogero
from his fastness, and the stratagem was attended with success.

Rogero joined the tourney, and was presented by Agramant with a
splendid horse, Frontino, and a magnificent sword. Having learned from
Agramant his intended invasion of France, he gladly consented to join
the expedition.

Rodomont, meanwhile, was too impatient to wait for Agramant's
arrangements, and embarked with all the forces he could raise, made
good his landing on the coast of France, and routed the Christians in
several encounters. Previously to this, however, Gano, or Ganelon (as
he is sometimes called), the traitor, enemy of Orlando and the other
nephews of Charlemagne, had entered into a traitorous correspondence
with Marsilius, the Saracen king of Spain, whom he invited into France.
Marsilius, thus encouraged, led an army across the frontiers, and
joined Rodomont. This was the situation of things when Rinaldo and the
other knights who had obeyed the summons of Dudon set forward on their
return to France.

When they arrived at Buda in Hungary they found the king of that
country about despatching his son, Ottachiero, with an army to the
succor of Charlemagne. Delighted with the arrival of Rinaldo, he placed
his son and troops under his command. In due time the army arrived on
the frontiers of France, and, united with the troops of Desiderius,
king of Lombardy, poured down into Provence. The confederate armies had
not marched many days through this gay tract before they heard a crash
of drums and trumpets behind the hills, which spoke the conflict
between the paynims, led by Rodomont, and the Christian forces.
Rinaldo, witnessing from a mountain the prowess of Rodomont, left his
troops in charge of his friends, and galloped towards him with his
lance in rest. The impulse was irresistible, and Rodomont was unhorsed.
But Rinaldo, unwilling to avail himself of his advantage, galloped back
to the hill, and having secured Bayard among the baggage, returned to
finish the combat on foot.

During this interval the battle had become general, the Hungarians were
routed, and Rinaldo, on his return, had the mortification to find that
Ottachiero was wounded, and Dudon taken prisoner. While he sought
Rodomont in order to renew the combat a new sound of drums and trumpets
was heard, and Charlemagne, with the main body of his army, was
descried advancing in battle array.

Rodomont, seeing this, mounted the horse of Dudon, left Rinaldo, who
was on foot, and galloped off to encounter this new enemy.

Agramant, accompanied by Rogero, had by this time made good his
landing, and joined Rodomont with all his forces. Rogero eagerly
embraced this first opportunity of distinguishing himself, and spread
terror wherever he went, encountering in turn and overthrowing many of
the bravest knights of France. At length he found himself opposite to
Rinaldo, who, being interrupted, as we have said, in his combat with
Rodomont, and unable to follow him, being on foot, was shouting to his
late foe to return and finish their combat. Rogero also was on foot,
and seeing the Christian knight so eager for a contest, proffered
himself to supply the place of his late antagonist. Rinaldo saw at a
glance that the Moorish prince was a champion worthy of his arm, and
gladly accepted the defiance. The combat was stoutly maintained for a
time; but now fortune declared decisively in favor of the infidel army,
and Charlemagne's forces gave way at all points in irreparable
confusion. The two combatants were separated by the crowd of fugitives
and pursuers, and Rinaldo hastened to recover possession of his horse.
But Bayard, in the confusion, had got loose, and Rinaldo followed him
into a thick wood, thus becoming effectually separated from Rogero.

Rogero, also seeking his horse in the medley, came where two warriors
were engaged in mortal combat. Though he knew not who they were, he
could distinguish that one was a paynim and the other a Christian; and
moved by the spirit of courtesy he approached them and exclaimed, "Let
him of the two who worships Christ pause, and hear what I have to say.
The army of Charles is routed and in flight, so that if he wishes to
follow his leader he has no time for delay." The Christian knight, who
was none other than Bradamante, a female warrior, in prowess equal to
the best of knights, was thunderstruck with the tidings, and would
gladly leave the contest undecided, and retire from the field; but
Rodomont, her antagonist, would by no means consent. Rogero, indignant
at his discourtesy, insisted upon her departure, while he took up her
quarrel with Rodomont.

The combat, obstinately maintained on both sides, was interrupted by
the return of Bradamante. Finding herself unable to overtake the
fugitives, and reluctant to leave to another the burden and risk of a
contest which belonged to herself, she had returned to reclaim the
combat. She arrived, however, when her champion had dealt his enemy
such a blow as obliged him to drop both his sword and bridle. Rogero,
disdaining to profit by his adversary's defenceless situation, sat
apart upon his horse, while that of Rodomont bore his rider, stunned
and stupefied, about the field.

Bradamante approached Rogero, conceiving a yet higher opinion of his
valor on beholding such an instance of forbearance. She addressed him,
excusing herself for leaving him exposed to an enemy from his
interference in her cause; pleading her duty to her sovereign as the
motive. While she spoke Rodomont, recovered from his confusion, rode up
to them. His bearing was, however, changed; and he disclaimed all
thoughts of further contest with one who, he said, "had already
conquered him by his courtesy." So saying, he quitted his antagonist,
picked up his sword, and spurred out of sight.

Bradamante was now again desirous of retiring from the field, and
Rogero insisted on accompanying her, though yet unaware of her sex.

As they pursued their way, she inquired the name and quality of her new
associate; and Rogero informed her of his nation and family. He told
her that Astyanax, the son of Hector of Troy, established the kingdom
of Messina in Sicily. From him were derived two branches, which gave
origin to two families of renown. From one sprang the royal race of
Pepin and Charlemagne, and from the other, that of Reggio, in Italy.
"From that of Reggio am I derived," he continued. "My mother, driven
from her home by the chance of war, died in giving me life, and I was
taken in charge by a sage enchanter, who trained me to feats of arms
amidst the dangers of the desert and the chase."

Having thus ended his tale, Rogero entreated a similar return of
courtesy from his companion, who replied, without disguise, that she
was of the race of Clermont, and sister to Rinaldo, whose fame was
perhaps known to him. Rogero, much moved by this intelligence,
entreated her to take off her helmet, and at the discovery of her face
remained transported with delight.

While absorbed in this contemplation, an unexpected danger assailed
them. A party which was placed in a wood, in order to intercept the
retreating Christians, broke from its ambush upon the pair, and
Bradamante, who was uncasqued, was wounded in the head. Rogero was in a
fury at this attack; and Bradamante, replacing her helmet, joined him
in taking speedy vengeance on their enemies. They cleared the field of
them, but became separated in the pursuit, and Rogero, quitting the
chase, wandered by hill and vale in search of her whom he had no sooner
found than lost.

While pursuing this quest he fell in with two knights, whom he joined,
and engaged them to assist him in the search of his companion,
describing her arms, but concealing, from a certain feeling of
jealousy, her quality and sex.

It was evening when they joined company, and having ridden together
through the night the morning was beginning to break, when one of the
strangers, fixing his eyes upon Rogero's shield, demanded of him by
what right he bore the Trojan arms. Rogero declared his origin and
race, and then, in his turn, interrogated the inquirer as to his
pretensions to the cognizance of Hector, which he bore. The stranger
replied, "My name is Mandricardo, son of Agrican, the Tartar king, whom
Orlando treacherously slew. I say treacherously, for in fair fight he
could not have done it. It is in search of him that I have come to
France, to take vengeance for my father, and to wrest from him
Durindana, that famous sword, which belongs to me, and not to him."
When the knights demanded to know by what right he claimed Durindana,
Mandricardo thus related his history:

"I had been, before the death of my father, a wild and reckless youth.
That event awakened my energies, and drove me forth to seek for
vengeance. Determined to owe success to nothing but my own exertions, I
departed without attendants or horse or arms. Travelling thus alone,
and on foot, I espied one day a pavilion, pitched near a fountain, and
entered it, intent on adventure. I found therein a damsel of gracious
aspect, who replied to my inquiries that the fountain was the work of a
fairy, whose castle stood beyond a neighboring hill, where she kept
watch over a treasure which many knights had tried to win, but
fruitlessly, having lost their life or liberty in the attempt. This
treasure was the armor of Hector, prince of Troy, whom Achilles
treacherously slew. Nothing was wanting but his sword, Durindana, and
this had fallen into the possession of a queen named Penthesilea, from
whom it passed through her descendants to Almontes, whom Orlando slew,
and thus became possessed of the sword. The rest of Hector's arms were
saved and carried off by Aeneas, from whom this fairy received them in
recompense of service rendered. 'If you have the courage to attempt
their acquisition,' said the damsel, 'I will be your guide.'"

Mandricardo went on to say that he eagerly embraced the proposal, and
being provided with horse and armor by the damsel, set forth on his
enterprise, the lady accompanying him.

As they rode she explained the dangers of the quest. The armor was
defended by a champion, one of the numerous unsuccessful adventurers
for the prize, all of whom had been made prisoners by the fairy, and
compelled to take their turn, day by day, in defending the arms against
all comers. Thus speaking they arrived at the castle, which was of
alabaster, overlaid with gold. Before it, on a lawn, sat an armed
knight on horseback, who was none other than Gradasso, king of
Sericane, who, in his return home from his unsuccessful inroad into
France, had fallen into the power of the fairy, and was held to do her
bidding. Mandricardo, upon seeing him, dropt his visor, and laid his
lance in rest. The champion of the castle was equally ready, and each
spurred towards his opponent. They met one another with equal force,
splintered their spears, and, returning to the charge, encountered with
their swords. The contest was long and doubtful, when Mandricardo,
determined to bring it to an end, threw his arms about Gradasso,
grappled with him, and both fell to the ground. Mandricardo, however,
fell uppermost, and, preserving his advantage, compelled Gradasso to
yield himself conquered. The damsel now interfered, congratulating the
victor, and consoling the vanquished as well as she might.

Mandricardo and the damsel proceeded to the gate of the castle, which
they found undefended. As they entered they beheld a shield suspended
from a pilaster of gold. The device was a white eagle on an azure
field, in memory of the bird of Jove, which bore away Ganymede, the
flower of the Phrygian race. Beneath was engraved the following couplet:

    "Let none with hand profane my buckler wrong
     Unless he be himself as Hector strong."

The damsel, alighting from her palfrey, made obeisance to the arms,
bending herself to the ground. The Tartar king bowed his head with
equal reverence; then advancing towards the shield, touched it with his
sword. Thereupon an earthquake shook the ground, and the way by which
he had entered closed. Another and an opposite gate opened, and
displayed a field bristling with stalks and grain of gold. The damsel,
upon this, told him that he had no means of retreat but by cutting down
the harvest which was before him, and by uprooting a tree which grew in
the middle of the field. Mandricardo, without replying, began to mow
the harvest with his sword, but had scarce smitten thrice when he
perceived that every stalk that fell was instantly transformed into
some poisonous or ravenous animal, which prepared to assail him.
Instructed by the damsel, he snatched up a stone and cast it among the
pack. A strange wonder followed; for no sooner had the stone fallen
among the beasts, than they turned their rage against one another, and
rent each other to pieces. Mandricardo did not stop to marvel at the
miracle, but proceeded to fulfil his task, and uproot the tree. He
clasped it round the trunk, and made vigorous efforts to tear it up by
the roots. At each effort fell a shower of leaves, that were instantly
changed into birds of prey, which attacked the knight, flapping their
wings in his face, with horrid screeching. But undismayed by this new
annoyance, he continued to tug at the trunk till it yielded to his
efforts. A burst of wind and thunder followed, and the hawks and
vultures flew screaming away.

But these only gave place to a new foe; for from the hole made by
tearing up the tree issued a furious serpent, and, darting at
Mandricardo, wound herself about his limbs with a strain that almost
crushed him. Fortune, however, again stood his friend, for, writhing
under the folds of the monster, he fell backwards into the hole, and
his enemy was crushed beneath his weight.

Mandricardo, when he was somewhat recovered, and assured himself of the
destruction of the serpent, began to contemplate the place into which
he had fallen, and saw that he was in a vault, incrusted with costly
metals, and illuminated by a live coal. In the middle was a sort of
ivory bier, and upon this was extended what appeared to be a knight in
armor, but was in truth an empty trophy, composed of the rich and
precious arms once Hector's, to which nothing was wanting but the
sword. While Mandricardo stood contemplating the prize a door opened
behind him, and a bevy of fair damsels entered, dancing, who, taking up
the armor piece by piece, led him away to the place where the shield
was suspended; where he found the fairy of the castle seated in state.
By her he was invested with the arms he had won, first pledging his
solemn oath to wear no other blade but Durindana, which he was to wrest
from Orlando, and thus complete the conquest of Hector's arms.



THE INVASION OF FRANCE (Continued)

Mandricardo, having completed his story, now turned to Rogero, and
proposed that arms should decide which of the two was most worthy to
bear the symbol of the Trojan knight.

Rogero felt no other objection to this proposal than the scruple which
arose on observing that his antagonist was without a sword. Mandricardo
insisted that this need be no impediment, since his oath prevented him
from using a sword until he should have achieved the conquest of
Durindana.

This was no sooner said than a new antagonist started up in Gradasso,
who now accompanied Mandricardo. Gradasso vindicated his prior right to
Durindana, to obtain which he had embarked (as was related in the
beginning) in that bold inroad upon France. A quarrel was thus kindled
between the kings of Tartary and Sericane. While the dispute was raging
a knight arrived upon the ground, accompanied by a damsel, to whom
Rogero related the cause of the strife. The knight was Florismart, and
his companion Flordelis. Florismart succeeded in bringing the two
champions to accord, by informing them that he could bring them to the
presence of Orlando, the master of Durindana.

Gradasso and Mandricardo readily made truce, in order to accompany
Florismart, nor would Rogero be left behind.

As they proceeded on their quest they were met by a dwarf, who
entreated their assistance in behalf of his lady, who had been carried
off by an enchanter, mounted on a winged horse. However unwilling to
leave the question of the sword undecided, it was not possible for the
knights to resist this appeal. Two of their number, Gradasso and
Rogero, therefore accompanied the dwarf. Mandricardo persisted in his
search for Orlando, and Florismart, with Flordelis, pursued their way
to the camp of Charlemagne.

Atlantes, the enchanter, who had brought up Rogero, and cherished for
him the warmest affection, knew by his art that his pupil was destined
to be severed from him, and converted to the Christian faith through
the influence of Bradamante, that royal maiden with whom chance had
brought him acquainted. Thinking to thwart the will of Heaven in this
respect, he now put forth all his arts to entrap Rogero into his power.
By the aid of his subservient demons he reared a castle on an
inaccessible height, in the Pyrenean mountains, and to make it a
pleasant abode to his pupil, contrived to entrap and convey thither
knights and damsels many a one, whom chance had brought into the
vicinity of his castle. Here, in a sort of sensual paradise, they were
but too willing to forget glory and duty, and to pass their time in
indolent enjoyment.

It was by the enchanter that the dwarf had now been sent to tempt the
knights into his power.

But we must now return to Rinaldo, whom we left interrupted in his
combat with Rodomont. In search of his late antagonist and intent on
bringing their combat to a decision he entered the forest of Arden,
whither he suspected Rodomont had gone. While engaged on this quest he
was surprised by the vision of a beautiful child dancing naked, with
three damsels as beautiful as himself. While he was lost in admiration
at the sight the child approached him, and, throwing at him handfuls of
roses and lilies, struck him from his horse. He was no sooner down than
he was seized by the dancers, by whom he was dragged about and scourged
with flowers till he fell into a swoon. When he began to revive one of
the group approached him, and told him that his punishment was the
consequence of his rebellion against that power before whom all things
bend; that there was but one remedy to heal the wounds that had been
inflicted, and that was to drink of the waters of Love. Then they left
him.

Rinaldo, sore and faint, dragged himself toward a fountain which flowed
near by, and, being parched with thirst, drank greedily and almost
unconsciously of the water, which was sweet to the taste, but bitter to
the heart. After repeated draughts he recovered his strength and
recollection, and found himself in the same place where Angelica had
formerly awakened him with a rain of flowers, and whence he had fled in
contempt of her courtesy.

This remembrance of the scene was followed by the recognition of his
crime; and, repenting bitterly his ingratitude, he leaped upon Bayard,
with the intention of hastening to Angelica's country, and soliciting
his pardon at her feet.

Let us now retrace our steps, and revert to the time when the paladins
having learned from Dudon the summons of Charlemagne to return to
France to repel the invaders, had all obeyed the command with the
exception of Orlando, whose passion for Angelica still held him in
attendance on her. Orlando, arriving before Albracca, found it closely
beleaguered. He, however, made his way into the citadel, and related
his adventures to Angelica, from the time of his departure up to his
separation from Rinaldo and the rest, when they departed to the
assistance of Charlemagne. Angelica, in return, described the
distresses of the garrison, and the force of the besiegers; and in
conclusion prayed Orlando to favor her escape from the pressing danger,
and escort her into France. Orlando, who did not suspect that love for
Rinaldo was her secret motive, joyfully agreed to the proposal, and the
sally was resolved upon.

Leaving lights burning in the fortress, they departed at nightfall, and
passed in safety through the enemy's camp. After encountering numerous
adventures they reached the sea-side, and embarked on board a pinnace
for France. The vessel arrived safely, and the travellers, disembarking
in Provence, pursued their way by land. One day, heated and weary, they
sought shelter from the sun in the forest of Arden, and chance directed
Angelica to the fountain of Disdain, of whose waters she eagerly drank.

Issuing thence, the Count and damsel encountered a stranger-knight. It
was no other than Rinaldo, who was just on the point of setting off on
a pilgrimage in search of Angelica, to implore her pardon for his
insensibility, and urge his new found passion. Surprise and delight at
first deprived him of utterance, but soon recovering himself, he
joyfully saluted her, claiming her as his, and exhorting her to put
herself under his protection. His presumption was repelled by Angelica
with disdain, and Orlando, enraged at the invasion of his rights,
challenged him to decide their claims by arms.

Terrified at the combat which ensued, Angelica fled amain through the
forest, and came out upon a plain covered with tents. This was the camp
of Charlemagne, who led the army of reserve destined to support the
troops which had advanced to oppose Marsilius. Charles having heard the
damsel's tale, with difficulty separated the two cousins, and then
consigned Angelica, as the cause of quarrel, to the care of Namo, Duke
of Bavaria, promising that she should be his who should best deserve
her in the impending battle.

But these plans and hopes were frustrated. The Christian army, beaten
at all points, fled from the Saracens; and Angelica, indifferent to
both her lovers, mounted a swift palfrey and plunged into the forest,
rejoicing, in spite of her terror, at having regained her liberty. She
stopped at last in a tufted grove, where a gentle zephyr blew, and
whose young trees were watered by two clear runnels, which came and
mingled their waters, making a pleasing murmur. Believing herself far
from Rinaldo, and overcome by fatigue and the summer heat, she saw with
delight a bank covered with flowers so thick that they almost hid the
green turf, inviting her to alight and rest. She dismounted from her
palfrey, and turned him loose to recruit his strength with the tender
grass which bordered the streamlets. Then, in a sheltered nook
tapestried with moss and fenced in with roses and hawthorn-flowers, she
yielded herself to grateful repose.

She had not slept long when she was awakened by the noise made by the
approach of a horse. Starting up, she saw an armed knight who had
arrived at the bank of the stream. Not knowing whether he was to be
feared or not, her heart beat with anxiety. She pressed aside the
leaves to allow her to see who it was, but scarce dared to breathe for
fear of betraying herself. Soon the knight threw himself on the flowery
bank, and leaning his head on his hand fell into a profound reverie.
Then arousing himself from his silence he began to pour forth
complaints, mingled with deep sighs. Rivers of tears flowed down his
cheeks, and his breast seemed to labor with a hidden flame. "Ah, vain
regrets!" he exclaimed; "cruel fortune! others triumph, while I endure
hopeless misery! Better a thousand times to lose life, than wear a
chain so disgraceful and so oppressive!"

Angelica by this time had recognized the stranger, and perceived that
it was Sacripant, king of Circassia, one of the worthiest of her
suitors. This prince had followed Angelica from his country, at the
very gates of the day, to France, where he heard with dismay that she
was under the guardianship of the Paladin Orlando, and that the Emperor
had announced his decree to award her as the prize of valor to that one
of his nephews who should best deserve her.

As Sacripant continued to lament, Angelica, who had always opposed the
hardness of marble to his sighs, thought with herself that nothing
forbade her employing his good offices in this unhappy crisis. Though
firmly resolved never to accept him as a spouse, she yet felt the
necessity of giving him a gleam of hope in reward for the service she
required of him. All at once, like Diana, she stepped forth from the
arbor. "May the gods preserve thee," she said, "and put far from thee
all hard thoughts of me!" Then she told him all that had befallen her
since she parted with him at her father's court, and how she had
availed herself of Orlando's protection to escape from the beleaguered
city. At that moment the noise of horse and armor was heard as of one
approaching; and Sacripant, furious at the interruption, resumed his
helmet, mounted his horse, and placed his lance in rest. He saw a
knight advancing, with scarf and plume of snowy whiteness. Sacripant
regarded him with angry eyes, and, while he was yet some distance off,
defied him to the combat. The other, not moved by his angry tone to
make reply, put himself on his defence. Their horses, struck at the
same moment with the spur, rushed upon one another with the impetuosity
of a tempest. Their shields were pierced each with the other's lance,
and only the temper of their breastplates saved their lives. Both the
horses recoiled with the violence of the shock; but the unknown
knight's recovered itself at the touch of the spur; the Saracen king's
fell dead, and bore down his master with him. The white knight, seeing
his enemy in this condition, cared not to renew the combat, but,
thinking he had done enough for glory, pursued his way through the
forest, and was a mile off before Sacripant had got free from his horse.

As a ploughman, stunned by a thunder-clap which has stricken dead the
oxen at his plough, stands motionless, sadly contemplating his loss, so
Sacripant stood confounded and overwhelmed with mortification at having
Angelica a witness of his defeat. He groaned, he sighed, less from the
pain of his bruises than for the shame of being reduced to such a state
before her. The princess took pity on him, and consoled him as well as
she could. "Banish your regrets, my lord," she said, "this accident has
happened solely in consequence of the feebleness of your horse, which
had more need of rest and food than of such an encounter as this. Nor
can your adversary gain any credit by it, since he has hurried away,
not venturing a second trial." While she thus consoled Sacripant they
perceived a person approach, who seemed a courier, with bag and horn.
As soon as he came up, he accosted Sacripant, and inquired if he had
seen a knight pass that way, bearing a white shield and with a white
plume to his helmet. "I have, indeed, seen too much of him," said
Sacripant, "it is he who has brought me to the ground; but at least I
hope to learn from you who that knight is." "That I can easily inform
you," said the man; "know then that, if you have been overthrown, you
owe your fate to the high prowess of a lady as beautiful as she is
brave. It is the fair and illustrious Bradamante who has won from you
the honors of victory."

At these words the courier rode on his way, leaving Sacripant more
confounded and mortified than ever. In silence he mounted the horse of
Angelica, taking the lady behind him on the croup, and rode away in
search of a more secure asylum. Hardly had they ridden two miles when a
new sound was heard in the forest, and they perceived a gallant and
powerful horse, which, leaping the ravines and dashing aside the
branches that opposed his passage, appeared before them, accoutred with
a rich harness adorned with gold.

"If I may believe my eyes, which penetrate with difficulty the
underwood," said Angelica, "that horse that dashes so stoutly through
the bushes is Bayard, and I marvel how he seems to know the need we
have of him, mounted as we are both on one feeble animal." Sacripant,
dismounting from the palfrey, approached the fiery courser, and
attempted to seize his bridle, but the disdainful animal, turning from
him, launched at him a volley of kicks enough to have shattered a wall
of marble. Bayard then approached Angelica with an air as gentle and
loving as a faithful dog could his master after a long separation. For
he remembered how she had caressed him, and even fed him, in Albracca.
She took his bridle in her left hand, while with her right she patted
his neck. The beautiful animal, gifted with wonderful intelligence,
seemed to submit entirely. Sacripant, seizing the moment to vault upon
him, controlled his curvetings, and Angelica, quitting the croup of the
palfrey, regained her seat.

But, turning his eyes toward a place where was heard a noise of arms,
Sacripant beheld Rinaldo. That hero now loves Angelica more than his
life, and she flies him as the timid crane the falcon.

The fountain of which Angelica had drunk produced such an effect on the
beautiful queen that, with distressed countenance and trembling voice,
she conjured Sacripant not to wait the approach of Rinaldo, but to join
her in flight.

"Am I, then," said Sacripant, "of so little esteem with you that you
doubt my power to defend you? Do you forget the battle of Albracca, and
how, in your defence, I fought single-handed against Agrican and all
his knights?"

Angelica made no reply, uncertain what to do; but already Rinaldo was
too near to be escaped. He advanced menacingly to the Circassian king,
for he recognized his horse.

"Vile thief," he cried, "dismount from that horse, and prevent the
punishment that is your due for daring to rob me of my property. Leave,
also, the princess in my hands; for it would indeed be a sin to suffer
so charming a lady and so gallant a charger to remain in such keeping."

The king of Circassia, furious at being thus insulted, cried out, "Thou
liest, villain, in giving me the name of thief, which better belongs to
thyself than to me. It is true, the beauty of this lady and the
perfection of this horse are unequalled; come on, then, and let us try
which of us is most worthy to possess them."

At these words the king of Circassia and Rinaldo attacked one another
with all their force, one fighting on foot, the other on horseback. You
need not, however, suppose that the Saracen king found any advantage in
this; for a young page, unused to horsemanship, could not have failed
more completely to manage Bayard than did this accomplished knight. The
faithful animal loved his master too well to injure him, and refused
his aid as well as his obedience to the hand of Sacripant, who could
strike but ineffectual blows, the horse backing when he wished him to
go forward, and dropping his head and arching his back, throwing out
with his legs, so as almost to shake the knight out of the saddle.
Sacripant, seeing that he could not manage him, watched his
opportunity, rose on his saddle, and leapt lightly to the earth; then,
relieved from the embarrassment of the horse, renewed the combat on
more equal terms. Their skill to thrust and parry were equal; one
rises, the other stoops; with one foot set firm they turn and wind, to
lay on strokes or to dodge them. At last Rinaldo, throwing himself on
the Circassian, dealt him a blow so terrible that Fusberta, his good
sword, cut in two the buckler of Sacripant, although it was made of
bone, and covered with a thick plate of steel well tempered. The arm of
the Saracen was deprived of its defence, and almost palsied with the
stroke. Angelica, perceiving how victory was likely to incline, and
shuddering at the thought of becoming the prize of Rinaldo, hesitated
no longer. Turning her horse's head, she fled with the utmost speed;
and, in spite of the round pebbles which covered a steep descent, she
plunged into a deep valley, trembling with the fear that Rinaldo was in
pursuit. At the bottom of this valley she encountered an aged hermit,
whose white beard flowed to his middle, and whose venerable appearance
seemed to assure his piety.

This hermit, who appeared shrunk by age and fasting, travelled slowly,
mounted upon a wretched ass. The princess, overcome with fear, conjured
him to save her life; and to conduct her to some port of the sea,
whence she might embark and quit France, never more to hear the odious
name of Rinaldo.

The old hermit was something of a wizard. He comforted Angelica, and
promised to protect her from all peril. Then he opened his scrip, and
took from thence a book, and had read but a single page when a goblin,
obedient to his incantations, appeared, under the form of a laboring
man, and demanded his orders. He received them, transported himself to
the place where the knights still maintained their conflict, and boldly
stepped between the two.

"Tell me, I pray you," he said, "what benefit will accrue to him who
shall get the better in this contest? The object you are contending for
is already disposed of; for the Paladin Orlando, without effort and
without opposition, is now carrying away the princess Angelica to
Paris. You had better pursue them promptly; for if they reach Paris you
will never see her again."

At these words you might have seen those rival warriors confounded,
stupefied, silently agreeing that they were affording their rival a
fair opportunity to triumph over them. Rinaldo, approaching Bayard,
breathes a sigh of shame and rage, and swears a terrible oath that, if
he overtakes Orlando, he will tear his heart out. Then mounting Bayard
and pressing his flanks with his spurs, he leaves the king of Circassia
on foot in the forest.

Let it not appear strange that Rinaldo found Bayard obedient at last,
after having so long prevented any one from even touching his bridle;
for that fine animal had an intelligence almost human; he had fled from
his master only to draw him on the track of Angelica, and enable him to
recover her. He saw when the princess fled from the battle, and Rinaldo
being then engaged in a fight on foot, Bayard found himself free to
follow the traces of Angelica. Thus he had drawn his master after him,
not permitting him to approach, and had brought him to the sight of the
princess. But Bayard now, deceived like his master with the false
intelligence of the goblin, submits to be mounted and to serve his
master as usual, and Rinaldo, animated with rage, makes him fly toward
Paris, more slowly than his wishes, though the speed of Bayard
outstripped the winds. Full of impatience to encounter Orlando, he gave
but a few hours that night to sleep. Early the next day he saw before
him the great city, under the walls of which the Emperor Charles had
collected the scattered remains of his army. Foreseeing that he would
soon be attacked on all sides, the Emperor had caused the ancient
fortifications to be repaired, and new ones to be built, surrounded by
wide and deep ditches. The desire to hold the field against the enemy
made him seize every means of procuring new allies. He hoped to receive
from England aid sufficient to enable him to form a new camp, and as
soon as Rinaldo rejoined him he selected him to go as his ambassador
into England, to plead for auxiliaries. Rinaldo was far from pleased
with his commission, but he obeyed the Emperor's commands, without
giving himself time to devote a single day to the object nearest his
heart. He hastened to Calais, and lost not a moment in embarking for
England, ardently desiring a hasty despatch of his commission, and a
speedy return to France.



BRADAMANTE AND ROGERO

Bradamante, the knight of the white plume and shield, whose sudden
appearance and encounter with Sacripant we have already told, was in
quest of Rogero, from whom chance had separated her, almost at the
beginning of their acquaintance. After her encounter with Sacripant
Bradamante pursued her way through the forest, in hopes of rejoining
Rogero, and arrived at last on the brink of a fair fountain.

This fountain flowed through a broad meadow. Ancient trees overshadowed
it, and travellers, attracted by the sweet murmur of its waters,
stopped there to cool themselves. Bradamante, casting her eyes on all
sides to enjoy the beauties of the spot, perceived, under the shade of
a tree, a knight reclining, who seemed to be oppressed with the deepest
grief.

Bradamante accosted him, and asked to be informed of the cause of his
distress. "Alas! my lord," said he, "I lament a young and charming
friend, my affianced wife, who has been torn from me by a villain,--let
me rather call him a demon,--who, on a winged horse, descended from the
air, seized her, and bore her screaming to his den. I have pursued them
over rocks and through ravines till my horse is no longer able to bear
me, and I now wait only for death." He added that already a vain
attempt on his behalf had been made by two knights, whom chance had
brought to the spot. Their names were Gradasso, king of Sericane, and
Rogero, the Moor. Both had been overcome by the wiles of the enchanter,
and were added to the number of the captives, whom he held in an
impregnable castle, situated on the height of the mountain. At the
mention of Rogero's name Bradamante started with delight, which was
soon changed to an opposite sentiment when she heard that her lover was
a prisoner in the toils of the enchanter. "Sir Knight," she said, "do
not surrender yourself to despair; this day may be more happy for you
than you think, if you will only lead me to the castle which enfolds
her whom you deplore."

The knight responded, "After having lost all that made life dear to me
I have no motive to avoid the dangers of the enterprise, and I will do
as you request; but I forewarn you of the perils you will have to
encounter. If you fall impute it not to me."

Having thus spoken, they took their way to the castle, but were
overtaken by a messenger from the camp, who had been sent in quest of
Bradamante to summon her back to the army, where her presence was
needed to reassure her disheartened forces, and withstand the advance
of the Moors.

The mournful knight, whose name was Pinabel, thus became aware that
Bradamante was a scion of the house of Clermont, between which and his
own of Mayence there existed an ancient feud. From this moment the
traitor sought only how he might be rid of the company of Bradamante,
from whom he feared no good would come to him, but rather mortal
injury, if his name and lineage became known to her. For he judged her
by his own base model, and, knowing his ill deserts, he feared to
receive his due.

Bradamante, in spite of the summons to return to the army, could not
resolve to leave her lover in captivity, and determined first to finish
the adventure on which she was engaged. Pinabel leading the way, they
at length arrived at a wood, in the centre of which rose a steep, rocky
mountain. Pinabel, who now thought of nothing else but how he might
escape from Bradamante, proposed to ascend the mountain to extend his
view, in order to discover a shelter for the night, if any there might
be within sight. Under this pretence he left Bradamante, and advanced
up the side of the mountain till he came to a cleft in the rock, down
which he looked, and perceived that it widened below into a spacious
cavern. Meanwhile Bradamante, fearful of losing her guide, had followed
close on his footsteps, and rejoined him at the mouth of the cavern.
Then the traitor, seeing the impossibility of escaping her, conceived
another design. He told her that before her approach he had seen in the
cavern a young and beautiful damsel, whose rich dress announced her
high birth, who with tears and lamentations implored assistance; that
before he could descend to relieve her a ruffian had seized her, and
hurried her away into the recesses of the cavern.

Bradamante, full of truth and courage, readily believed this lie of the
Mayencian traitor. Eager to succor the damsel, she looked round for the
means of facilitating the descent, and seeing a large elm with
spreading branches she lopped off with her sword one of the largest,
and thrust it into the opening. She told Pinabel to hold fast to the
larger end, while, grasping the branches with her hands, she let
herself down into the cavern.

The traitor smiled at seeing her thus suspended, and, asking her in
mockery, "Are you a good leaper?" he let go the branch with perfidious
glee, and saw Bradamante precipitated to the bottom of the cave. "I
wish your whole race were there with you," he muttered, "that you might
all perish together."

But Pinabel's atrocious design was not accomplished. The twigs and
foliage of the branch broke its descent, and Bradamante, not seriously
injured, though stunned with her fall, was reserved for other
adventures.

As soon as she recovered from the shock Bradamante cast her eyes around
and perceived a door, through which she passed into a second cavern,
larger and loftier than the first. It had the appearance of a
subterranean temple. Columns of the purest alabaster adorned it, and
supported the roof; a simple altar rose in the middle; a lamp, whose
radiance was reflected by the alabaster walls, cast a mild light around.

Bradamante, inspired by a sense of religious awe, approached the altar,
and, falling on her knees, poured forth her prayers and thanks to the
Preserver of her life, invoking the protection of his power. At that
moment a small door opened, and a female issued from it with naked
feet, and flowing robe and hair, who called her by her name, and thus
addressed her: "Brave and generous Bradamante, know that it is a power
from above that has brought you hither. The spirit of Merlin, whose
last earthly abode was in this place, has warned me of your arrival,
and of the fate that awaits you. This famous grotto," she continued,
"was the work of the enchanter Merlin; here his ashes repose. You have
no doubt heard how this sage and virtuous enchanter ceased to be.
Victim of the artful fairy of the lake, Merlin, by a fatal compliance
with her request, laid himself down living in his tomb, without power
to resist the spell laid upon him by that ingrate, who retained him
there as long as he lived. His spirit hovers about this spot, and will
not leave it, until the last trumpet shall summon the dead to judgment.
He answers the questions of those who approach his tomb, where perhaps
you may be privileged to hear his voice."

Bradamante, astonished at these words, and the objects which met her
view, knew not whether she was awake or asleep. Confused, but modest,
she cast down her eyes, and a blush overspread her face. "Ah, what am
I," said she, "that so great a prophet should deign to speak to me!"
Still, with a secret satisfaction, she followed the priestess, who led
her to the tomb of Merlin. This tomb was constructed of a species of
stone hard and resplendent like fire. The rays which beamed from the
stone sufficed to light up that terrible place, where the sun's rays
never penetrated; but I know not whether that light was the effect of a
certain phosphorescence of the stone itself, or of the many talismans
and charms with which it was wrought over.

Bradamante had hardly passed the threshold of this sacred place when
the spirit of the enchanter saluted her with a voice firm and distinct:
"May thy designs be prosperous, O chaste and noble maiden, the future
mother of heroes, the glory of Italy, and destined to fill the whole
world with their fame. Great captains, renowned knights, shall be
numbered among your descendants, who shall defend the Church and
restore their country to its ancient splendor. Princes, wise as
Augustus and the sage Numa, shall bring back the age of gold.
[Footnote: This prophecy is introduced by Ariosto in this place to
compliment the noble house of Este, the princes of his native state,
the dukedom of Ferrara.] To accomplish these grand destinies it is
ordained that you shall wed the illustrious Rogero. Fly then to his
deliverance, and lay prostrate in the dust the traitor who has snatched
him from you, and now holds him in chains!"

Merlin ceased with these words, and left to Melissa, the priestess, the
charge of more fully instructing the maiden in her future course.
"To-morrow," said she, "I will conduct you to the castle on the rock
where Rogero is held captive. I will not leave you till I have guided
you through this wild wood, and I will direct you on your way so that
you shall be in no danger of mistaking it."

The next morning Melissa conducted Bradamante between rocks and
precipices, crossing rapid torrents, and traversing intricate passes,
employing the time in imparting to her such information as was
necessary to enable her to bring her design to a successful issue.

"Not only would the castle, impenetrable by force, and that winged
horse of his baffle your efforts, but know that he possesses also a
buckler whence flashes a light so brilliant that the eyes of all who
look upon it are blinded. Think not to avoid it by shutting your eyes,
for how then will you be able to avoid his blows, and make him feel
your own? But I will teach you the proper course to pursue.

"Agramant, the Moorish prince, possesses a ring stolen from a queen of
India, which has power to render of no avail all enchantments.
Agramant, knowing that Rogero is of more importance to him than any one
of his warriors, is desirous of rescuing him from the power of the
enchanter, and has sent for that purpose Brunello, the most crafty and
sagacious of his servants, provided with his wonderful ring, and he is
even now at hand, bent on this enterprise. But, beautiful Bradamante,
as I desire that no one but yourself shall have the glory of delivering
from thraldom your future spouse, listen while I disclose the means of
success. Following this path which leads by the seashore, you will come
ere long to a hostelry, where the Saracen Brunello will arrive shortly
before you. You will readily know him by his stature, under four feet,
his great disproportioned head, his squint eyes, his livid hue, his
thick eyebrows joining his tufted beard. His dress, moreover, that of a
courier, will point him out to you.

"It will be easy for you to enter into conversation with him,
announcing yourself as a knight seeking combat with the enchanter, but
let not the knave suspect that you know anything about the ring. I
doubt not that he will be your guide to the castle of the enchanter.
Accept his offer, but take care to keep behind him till you come in
sight of the brilliant dome of the castle. Then hesitate not to strike
him dead, for the wretch deserves no pity, and take from him the ring.
But let him not suspect your intention, for by putting the ring into
his mouth he will instantly become invisible, and disappear from your
eyes."

Saying thus, the sage Melissa and the fair Bradamante arrived near the
city of Bordeaux, where the rich and wide river Garonne pours the
tribute of its waves into the sea. They parted with tender embraces.
Bradamante, intent wholly on her purpose, hastened to arrive at the
hostelry, where Brunello had preceded her a few moments only. The young
heroine knew him without difficulty. She accosted him, and put to him
some slight questions, to which he replied with adroit falsehoods.
Bradamante, on her part, concealed from him her sex, her religion, her
country, and the blood from whence she sprung. While they talk
together, sudden cries are heard from all parts of the hostelry. "O
queen of heaven!" exclaimed Bradamante, "what can be the cause of this
sudden alarm?" She soon learned the cause. Host, children, domestics,
all, with upturned eyes, as if they saw a comet or a great eclipse,
were gazing on a prodigy which seemed to pass the bounds of
possibility. She beheld distinctly a winged horse, mounted with a
cavalier in rich armor, cleaving the air with rapid flight. The wings
of this strange courser were wide extended, and covered with feathers
of various colors. The polished armor of the knight made them shine
with rainbow tints. In a short time the horse and rider disappeared
behind the summits of the mountains.

"It is an enchanter," said the host, "a magician who often is seen
traversing the air in that way. Sometimes he flies aloft as if among
the stars, and at others skims along the land. He possesses a wonderful
castle on the top of the Pyrenees. Many knights have shown their
courage by going to attack him, but none have ever returned, from which
it is to be feared they have lost either their life or their liberty."

Bradamante, addressing the host, said, "Could you furnish me a guide to
conduct me to the castle of this enchanter?" "By my faith," said
Brunello, interrupting, "that you shall not seek in vain; I have it all
in writing, and I will myself conduct you." Bradamante, with thanks,
accepted him for her guide.

The host had a tolerable horse to dispose of, which Bradamante
bargained for, and the next day, at the first dawn of morning, she took
her route by a narrow valley, taking care to have the Saracen Brunello
lead the way.

They reached the summit of the Pyrenees, whence one may look down on
France, Spain, and the two seas. From this height they descended again
by a fatiguing road into a deep valley. From the middle of this valley
an isolated mountain rose, composed of rough and perpendicular rock, on
whose summit was the castle, surrounded with a wall of brass. Brunello
said, "Yonder is the stronghold where the enchanter keeps his
prisoners; one must have wings to mount thither; it is easy to see that
the aid of a flying horse must be necessary for the master of this
castle, which he uses for his prison and for his abode."

Bradamante, sufficiently instructed, saw that the time had now come to
possess herself of the ring; but she could not resolve to slay a
defenceless man. She seized Brunello before he was aware, bound him to
a tree, and took from him the ring which he wore on one of his fingers.
The cries and entreaties of the perfidious Saracen moved her not. She
advanced to the foot of the rock whereon the castle stood, and, to draw
the magician to the combat, sounded her horn, adding to it cries of
defiance.

The enchanter delayed not to present himself, mounted on his winged
horse. Bradamante was struck with surprise mixed with joy when she saw
that this person, described as so formidable, bore no lance nor club,
nor any other deadly weapon. He had only on his arm a buckler, covered
with a cloth, and in his hand an open book. As to the winged horse,
there was no enchantment about him. He was a natural animal, of a
species which exists in the Riphaean mountains. Like a griffin, he had
the head of an eagle, claws armed with talons, and wings covered with
feathers, the rest of his body being that of a horse. This strange
animal is called a Hippogriff.

The heroine attacked the enchanter on his approach, striking on this
side and on that, with all the energy of a violent combat, but wounding
only the wind; and after this pretended attack had lasted some time
dismounted from her horse, as if hoping to do battle more effectually
on foot. The enchanter now prepares to employ his sole weapon, by
uncovering the magic buckler which never failed to subdue an enemy by
depriving him of his senses. Bradamante, confiding in her ring,
observed all the motions of her adversary, and, at the unveiling of the
shield, cast herself on the ground, pretending that the splendor of the
shield had overcome her, but in reality to induce the enchanter to
dismount and approach her.

It happened according to her wish. When the enchanter saw her prostrate
he made his horse alight on the ground, and, dismounting, fixed the
shield on the pommel of his saddle, and approached in order to secure
the fallen warrior. Bradamante, who watched him intently, as soon as
she saw him near at hand, sprang up, seized him vigorously, threw him
down, and, with the same chain which the enchanter had prepared for
herself, bound him fast, without his being able to make any effectual
resistance.

The enchanter, with the accents of despair, exclaimed, "Take my life,
young man!" but Bradamante was far from complying with such a wish.
Desirous of knowing the name of the enchanter, and for what purpose he
had formed with so much art this impregnable fortress, she commanded
him to inform her.

"Alas!" replied the magician, while tears flowed down his cheeks, "it
is not to conceal booty, nor for any culpable design that I have built
this castle; it was only to guard the life of a young knight, the
object of my tenderest affection, my art having taught me that he is
destined to become a Christian, and to perish, shortly after, by the
blackest of treasons.

"This youth, named Rogero, is the most beautiful and most accomplished
of knights. It is I, the unhappy Atlantes, who have reared him from his
childhood. The call of honor and the desire of glory led him from me to
follow Agramant, his prince, in his invasion of France, and I, more
devoted to Rogero than the tenderest of parents, have sought the means
of bringing him back to this abode, in the hope of saving him from the
cruel fate that menaces him.

"For this purpose I have got him in my possession by the same means as
I attempted to employ against you; and by which I have succeeded in
collecting a great many knights and ladies in my castle. My purpose was
to render my beloved pupil's captivity light, by affording him society
to amuse him, and keep his thoughts from running on subjects of war and
glory. Alas! my cares have been in vain! Yet, take, I beseech you,
whatever else I have, but spare me my beloved pupil. Take this shield,
take this winged courser, deliver such of your friends as you may find
among my prisoners, deliver them all if you will, but leave me my
beloved Rogero; or if you will snatch him too from me, take also my
life, which will cease then to be to me worth preserving."

Bradamante replied: "Old man, hope not to move me by your vain
entreaties. It is precisely the liberty of Rogero that I require. You
would keep him here in bondage and in slothful pleasure, to save him
from a fate which you foresee. Vain old man! how can you foresee his
fate when you could not foresee your own? You desire me to take your
life. No, my aim and my soul refuse the request." This said, she
required the magician to go before, and guide her to the castle. The
prisoners were set at liberty, though some, in their secret hearts,
regretted the voluptuous life which was thus brought to an end.
Bradamante and Rogero met one another with transports of joy.

They descended from the mountain to the spot where the encounter had
taken place. There they found the Hippogriff, with the magic buckler in
its wrapper, hanging to his saddle-bow. Bradamante advanced to seize
the bridle; the Hippogriff seemed to wait her approach, but before she
reached him he spread his wings and flew away to a neighboring hill,
and in the same manner, a second time, eluded her efforts. Rogero and
the other liberated knights dispersed over the plain and hilltops to
secure him, and at last the animal allowed Rogero to seize his rein.
The fearless Rogero hesitated not to vault upon his back, and let him
feel his spurs, which so roused his mettle that, after galloping a
short distance, he suddenly spread his wings, and soared into the air.
Bradamante had the grief to see her lover snatched away from her at the
very moment of reunion. Rogero, who knew not the art of directing the
horse, was unable to control his flight. He found himself carried over
the tops of the mountains, so far above them that he could hardly
distinguish what was land and what water. The Hippogriff directed his
flight to the west, and cleaved the air as swiftly as a new-rigged
vessel cuts the waves, impelled by the freshest and most favorable
gales.



ASTOLPHO AND THE ENCHANTRESS

In the long flight which Rogero took on the back of the Hippogriff he
was carried over land and sea, unknowing whither. As soon as he had
gained some control over the animal he made him alight on the nearest
land. When he came near enough to earth Rogero leapt lightly from his
back, and tied the animal to a myrtle-tree. Near the spot flowed the
pure waters of a fountain, surrounded by cedars and palm-trees. Rogero
laid aside his shield, and, removing his helmet, breathed with delight
the fresh air, and cooled his lips with the waters of the fountain. For
we cannot wonder that he was excessively fatigued, considering the ride
he had taken. He was preparing to taste the sweets of repose when he
perceived that the Hippogriff, which he had tied by the bridle to a
myrtle-tree, frightened at something, was making violent efforts to
disengage himself. His struggle shook the myrtle-tree so that many of
its beautiful leaves were torn off, and strewed the ground.

A sound like that which issues from burning wood seemed to come from
the myrtle-tree, at first faint and indistinct, but growing stronger by
degrees, and at length was audible as a voice which spoke in this
manner: "O knight, if the tenderness of your heart corresponds to the
beauty of your person, relieve me, I pray you, from this tormenting
animal. I suffer enough inwardly without having outward evils added to
my lot."

Rogero, at the first accents of this voice, turned his eyes promptly on
the myrtle, hastened to it, and stood fixed in astonishment when he
perceived that the voice issued from the tree itself. He immediately
untied his horse, and, flushed with surprise and regret, exclaimed,
"Whoever thou art, whether mortal or the goddess of these woods,
forgive me, I beseech you, my involuntary fault. Had I imagined that
this hard bark covered a being possessed of feeling, could I have
exposed such a beautiful myrtle to the insults of this steed? May the
sweet influences of the sky and air speedily repair the injury I have
done! For my part, I promise by the sovereign lady of my heart to do
everything you wish in order to merit your forgiveness."

At these words the myrtle seemed to tremble from root to stem, and
Rogero remarked that a moisture as of tears trickled down its bark,
like that which exudes from a log placed on the fire. It then spoke:

"The kindness which inspires your words compels me to disclose to you
who I once was, and by what fatality I have been changed into this
shape. My name was Astolpho, cousin of Orlando and Rinaldo, whose fame
has filled the earth. I was myself reckoned among the bravest paladins
of France, and was by birth entitled to reign over England, after Otho,
my father. Returning from the distant East, with Rinaldo and many other
brave knights, called home to aid with our arms the great Emperor of
France, we reached a spot where the powerful enchantress Alcina
possessed a castle on the borders of the sea. She had gone to the
water-side to amuse herself with fishing, and we paused to see how, by
her art, without hook or line, she drew from the water whatever she
would.

"Not far from the shore an enormous whale showed a back so broad and
motionless that it looked like an island. Alcina had fixed her eyes on
me, and planned to get me into her power. Addressing us, she said:
'This is the hour when the prettiest mermaid in the sea comes regularly
every day to the shore of yonder island. She sings so sweetly that the
very waves flow smoother at the sound. If you wish to hear her come
with me to her resort.' So saying, Alcina pointed to the fish, which we
all supposed to be an island. I, who was rash, did not hesitate to
follow her; but swam my horse over, and mounted on the back of the
fish. In vain Rinaldo and Dudon made signs to me to beware; Alcina,
smiling, took me in charge, and led the way. No sooner were we mounted
upon him than the whale moved off, spreading his great fins, and cleft
rapidly the waters. I then saw my folly, but it was too late to repent.
Alcina soothed my anger, and professed that what she had done was for
love of me. Ere long we arrived at this island, where at first
everything was done to reconcile me to my lot, and to make my days pass
happily away. But soon Alcina, sated with her conquest, grew
indifferent, then weary of me, and at last, to get rid of me, changed
me into this form, as she had done to many lovers before me, making
some of them olives, some palms, some cedars, changing others into
fountains, rocks, or even into wild beasts. And thou, courteous knight,
whom accident has brought to this enchanted isle, beware that she get
not the power over thee, or thou shalt haply be made like us, a tree, a
fountain, or a rock."

Rogero expressed his astonishment at this recital. Astolpho added that
the island was in great part subject to the sway of Alcina. By the aid
of her sister Morgana, she had succeeded in dispossessing a third
sister, Logestilla, of nearly the whole of her patrimony, for the whole
isle was hers originally by her father's bequest. But Logestilla was
temperate and sage, while the other sisters were false and voluptuous.
Her empire was divided from theirs by a gulf and chain of mountains,
which alone had thus far prevented her sister from usurping it.

Astolpho here ended his tale, and Rogero, who knew that he was the
cousin of Bradamante, would gladly have devised some way for his
relief; but, as that was out of his power, he consoled him as well as
he could, and then begged to be told the way to the palace of
Logestilla, and how to avoid that of Alcina. Astolpho directed him to
take the road to the left, though rough and full of rocks. He warned
him that this road would present serious obstacles; that troops of
monsters would oppose his passage, employed by the art of Alcina to
prevent her subjects from escaping from her dominion. Rogero thanked
the myrtle, and prepared to set out on his way.

He at first thought he would mount the winged horse, and scale the
mountain on his back; but he was too uncertain of his power to control
him to wish to encounter the hazard of another flight through the air,
besides that he was almost famished for the want of food. So he led the
horse after him, and took the road on foot, which for some distance led
equally to the dominions of both the sisters.

He had not advanced more than two miles when he saw before him the
superb city of Alcina. It was surrounded with a wall of gold, which
seemed to reach the skies. I know that some think that this wall was
not of real gold, but only the work of alchemy; it matters not; I
prefer to think it gold, for it certainly shone like gold.

A broad and level road led to the gates of the city, and from this
another branched off, narrow and rough, which led to the mountain
region. Rogero took without hesitation the narrow road; but he had no
sooner entered upon it than he was assailed by a numerous troop which
opposed his passage.

You never have seen anything so ridiculous, so extraordinary, as this
host of hobgoblins were. Some of them bore the human form from the neck
to the feet, but had the head of a monkey or a cat; others had the legs
and the ears of a horse; old men and women, bald and hideous, ran
hither and thither as if out of their senses, half clad in the shaggy
skins of beasts; one rode full speed on a horse without a bridle,
another jogged along mounted on an ass or a cow; others, full of
agility, skipped about, and clung to the tails and manes of the animals
which their companions rode. Some blew horns, others brandished
drinking-cups; some were armed with spits, and some with pitchforks.
One, who appeared to be the captain, had an enormous belly and a gross
fat head; he was mounted on a tortoise, that waddled, now this way, now
that, without keeping any one direction.

One of these monsters, who had something approaching the human form,
though he had the neck, ears, and muzzle of a dog, set himself to bark
furiously at Rogero, to make him turn off to the right, and reenter
upon the road to the gay city; but the brave chevalier exclaimed, "That
will I not, so long as I can use this sword,"--and he thrust the point
directly at his face. The monster tried to strike him with a lance, but
Rogero was too quick for him, and thrust his sword through his body, so
that it appeared a hand's breadth behind his back. The paladin, now
giving full vent to his rage, laid about him vigorously among the
rabble, cleaving one to the teeth, another to the girdle; but the troop
were so numerous, and in spite of his blows pressed around him so
close, that, to clear his way, he must have had as many arms as
Briareus.

If Rogero had uncovered the shield of the enchanter, which hung at his
saddle-bow, he might easily have vanquished this monstrous rout; but
perhaps he did not think of it, and perhaps he preferred to seek his
defence nowhere but in his good sword. At that moment, when his
perplexity was at its height, he saw issue from the city gate two young
beauties, whose air and dress proclaimed their rank and gentle nurture.
Each of them was mounted on a unicorn, whose whiteness surpassed that
of ermine. They advanced to the meadow where Rogero was contending so
valiantly against the hobgoblins, who all retired at their approach.
They drew near, they extended their hands to the young warrior, whose
cheeks glowed with the flush of exercise and modesty. Grateful for
their assistance, he expressed his thanks, and, having no heart to
refuse them, followed their guidance to the gate of the city.

This grand and beautiful entrance was adorned by a portico of four vast
columns, all of diamond. Whether they were real diamond or artificial I
cannot say. What matter is it, so long as they appeared to the eye like
diamond, and nothing could be more gay and splendid.

On the threshold, and between the columns, was seen a bevy of charming
young women, who played and frolicked together. They all ran to receive
Rogero, and conducted him into the palace, which appeared like a
paradise.

We might well call by that name this abode, where the hours flew by,
without account, in ever-new delights. The bare idea of satiety, want,
and, above all, of age, never entered the minds of the inhabitants.
They experienced no sensations except those of luxury and gayety; the
cup of happiness seemed for them ever-flowing and exhaustless. The two
young damsels to whom Rogero owed his deliverance from the hobgoblins
conducted him to the apartment of their mistress. The beautiful Alcina
advanced, and greeted him with an air at once dignified and courteous.
All her court surrounded the paladin, and rendered him the most
flattering attentions. The castle was less admirable for its
magnificence than for the charms of those who inhabited it. They were
of either sex, well matched in beauty, youth, and grace; but among this
charming group the brilliant Alcina shone, as the sun outshines the
stars. The young warrior was fascinated. All that he had heard from the
myrtle-tree appeared to him but a vile calumny. How could he suspect
that falsehood and treason veiled themselves under smiles and the
ingenuous air of truth? He doubted not that Astolpho had deserved his
fate, and perhaps a punishment more severe; he regarded all his stories
as dictated by a disappointed spirit, and a thirst for revenge. But we
must not condemn Rogero too harshly, for he was the victim of magic
power.

They seated themselves at table, and immediately harmonious lyres and
harps waked the air with the most ravishing notes. The charms of poetry
were added in entertaining recitals; the magnificence of the feast
would have done credit to a royal board. The traitress forgot nothing
which might charm the paladin, and attach him to the spot, meaning,
when she should grow tired of him, to metamorphose him as she had done
others. In the same manner passed each succeeding day. Games of
pleasant exercise, the chase, the dance, or rural sports, made the
hours pass quickly; while they gave zest to the refreshment of the
bath, or sleep.

Thus Rogero led a life of ease and luxury, while Charlemagne and
Agramant were struggling for empire. But I cannot linger with him while
the amiable and courageous Bradamante is night and day directing her
uncertain steps to every spot where the slightest chance invites her,
in the hope of recovering Rogero.

I will therefore say that, having sought him in vain in fields and in
cities, she knew not whither next to direct her steps. She did not
apprehend the death of Rogero. The fall of such a hero would have
reechoed from the Hydaspes to the farthest river of the West; but, not
knowing whether he was on the earth or in the air, she concluded, as a
last resource, to return to the cavern which contained the tomb of
Merlin, to ask of him some sure direction to the object of her search.

While this thought occupied her mind, Melissa, the sage enchantress,
suddenly appeared before her. This virtuous and beneficent magician had
discovered by her spells that Rogero was passing his time in pleasure
and idleness, forgetful of his honor and his sovereign. Not able to
endure the thought that one who was born to be a hero should waste his
years in base repose, and leave a sullied reputation in the memory of
survivors, she saw that vigorous measures must be employed to draw him
forth into the paths of virtue. Melissa was not blinded by her
affection for the amiable paladin, like Atlantes, who, intent only on
preserving Rogero's life, cared nothing for his fame. It was that old
enchanter whose arts had guided the Hippogriff to the isle of the too
charming Alcina, where he hoped his favorite would learn to forget
honor, and lose the love of glory.

At the sight of Melissa joy lighted up the countenance of Bradamante,
and hope animated her breast. Melissa concealed nothing from her, but
told her how Rogero was in the toils of Alcina. Bradamante was plunged
in grief and terror; but the kind enchantress calmed her, dispelled her
fears, and promised that before many days she would lead back the
paladin to her feet.

"My daughter," she said, "give me the ring which you wear, and which
possesses the power to overcome enchantments. By means of it I doubt
not but that I may enter the stronghold where the false Alcina holds
Rogero in durance, and may succeed in vanquishing her and liberating
him." Bradamante unhesitatingly delivered her the ring, recommending
Rogero to her best efforts. Melissa then summoned by her art a huge
palfrey, black as jet, excepting one foot, which was bay. Mounted upon
this animal, she rode with such speed that by the next morning she had
reached the abode of Alcina.

She here transformed herself into the perfect resemblance of the old
magician Atlantes, adding a palm-breadth to her height, and enlarging
her whole figure. Her chin she covered with a long beard, and seamed
her whole visage well with wrinkles. She assumed also his voice and
manner, and watched her chance to find Rogero alone. At last she found
him, dressed in a rich tunic of silk and gold, a collar of precious
stones about his neck, and his arms, once so rough with exercise,
decorated with bracelets. His air and his every motion indicated
effeminacy, and he seemed to retain nothing of Rogero but the name;
such power had the enchantress obtained over him.

Melissa, under the form of his old instructor, presented herself before
him, wearing a stern and serious visage. "Is this, then," she said,
"the fruit of all my labors? Is it for this that I fed you on the
marrow of bears and lions, that I taught you to subdue dragons, and,
like Hercules, strangle serpents in your youthful grasp, only to make
you, by all my cares, a feeble Adonis? My nightly watchings of the
stars, of the yet warm fibres of animals, the lots I have cast, the
points of nativity that I have calculated, have they all falsely
indicated that you were born for greatness? Who could have believed
that you would become the slave of a base enchantress? O Rogero, learn
to know this Alcina, learn to understand her arts and to countervail
them. Take this ring, place it on your finger, return to her presence,
and see for yourself what are her real charms."

At these words, Rogero, confused, abashed, cast his eyes upon the
ground, and knew not what to answer. Melissa seized the moment, slipped
the ring on his finger, and the paladin was himself again. What a
thunderclap to him! Overcome by shame, he dared not to encounter the
looks of his instructor. When at last he raised his eyes he beheld not
that venerable form, but the priestess Melissa, who in virtue of the
ring now appeared in her true person. She told him of the motives which
had led her to come to his rescue, of the griefs and regrets of
Bradamante, and of her unwearied search for him. "That charming
Amazon," she said, "sends you this ring, which is a sovereign antidote
to all enchantments. She would have sent you her heart in my hands, if
it would have had greater power to serve you."

It was needless for Melissa to say more. Rogero's love for Alcina,
being but the work of enchantment, vanished as soon as the enchantment
was withdrawn, and he now hated her with an equal intensity, seeing no
longer anything in her but her vices, and feeling only resentment for
the shame that she had put upon him.

His surprise when he again beheld Alcina was no less than his
indignation. Fortified by his ring from her enchantments, he saw her as
she was, a monster of ugliness. All her charms were artificial, and,
truly viewed, were rather deformities. She was, in fact, older than
Hecuba or the Sibyl of Cumae; but an art, which it is to be regretted
our times have lost, enabled her to appear charming, and to clothe
herself in all the attractions of youth. Rogero now saw all this, but,
governed by the counsels of Melissa, he concealed his surprise, assumed
under some pretext his armor, long neglected, and bound to his side
Belisarda, his trusty sword, taking also the buckler of Atlantes,
covered with its veil.

He then selected a horse from the stables of Alcina, without exciting
her suspicions; but he left the Hippogriff, by the advice of Melissa,
who promised to take him in charge, and train him to a more manageable
state. The horse he took was Rabican, which belonged to Astolpho. He
restored the ring to Melissa.

Rogero had not ridden far when he met one of the huntsmen of Alcina,
bearing a falcon on his wrist, and followed by a dog. The huntsman was
mounted on a powerful horse, and came boldly up to the paladin,
demanding, in a somewhat imperious manner, whither he was going so
rapidly. Rogero disdained to stop or to reply; whereupon the huntsman,
not doubting that he was about making his escape, said, "What if I,
with my falcon, stop your ride?" So saying, he threw off the bird,
which even Rabican could not equal in speed. The huntsman then leapt
from his horse, and the animal, open-mouthed, darted after Rogero with
the swiftness of an arrow. The huntsman also ran as if the wind or fire
bore him, and the dog was equal to Rabican in swiftness. Rogero,
finding flight impossible, stopped and faced his pursuers; but his
sword was useless against such foes. The insolent huntsman assailed him
with words, and struck him with his whip, the only weapon he had; the
dog bit his feet, and the horse drove at him with his hoofs. At the
same time the falcon flew over his head and over Rabican's and attacked
them with claws and wings, so that the horse in his fright began to be
unmanageable. At that moment the sound of trumpets and cymbals was
heard in the valley, and it was evident that Alcina had ordered out all
her array to go in pursuit. Rogero felt that there was no time to be
lost, and luckily remembered the shield of Atlantes, which he bore
suspended from his neck. He unveiled it, and the charm worked
wonderfully. The huntsman, the dog, the horse, fell flat; the trembling
wings of the falcon could no longer sustain her, and she fell senseless
to the ground. Rogero, rid of their annoyances, left them in their
trance, and rode away.

Meanwhile Alcina, with all the force she could muster, sallied forth
from her palace in pursuit. Melissa, left behind, took advantage of the
opportunity to ransack all the rooms, protected by the ring. She undid
one by one all the talismans and spells which she found, broke the
seals, burned the images, and untied the hagknots. Thence, hurrying
through the fields, she disenchanted the victims changed into trees,
fountains, stones, or brutes; all of whom recovered their liberty, and
vowed eternal gratitude to their deliverer. They made their escape,
with all possible despatch, to the realms of the good Logestilla,
whence they departed to their several homes.

Astolpho was the first whom Melissa liberated, for Rogero had
particularly recommended him to her care. She aided him to recover his
arms, and particularly that precious golden-headed lance which once was
Argalia's. The enchantress mounted with him upon the winged horse, and
in a short time arrived through the air at the castle of Logestilla,
where Rogero joined them soon after.

In this abode the friends passed a short period of delightful and
improving intercourse with the sage Logestilla and her virtuous court;
and then each departed, Rogero with the Hippogriff, ring, and buckler;
Astolpho with his golden lance, and mounted on Rabican, the fleetest of
steeds. To Rogero Logestilla gave a bit and bridle suited to govern the
Hippogriff; and to Astolpho a horn of marvellous powers, to be sounded
only when all other weapons were unavailing.



THE ORC

We left the charming Angelica at the moment when, in her flight from
her contending lovers, Sacripant and Rinaldo, she met an aged hermit.
We have seen that her request to the hermit was to furnish her the
means of gaining the sea-coast, eager to avoid Rinaldo, whom she hated,
by leaving France and Europe itself. The pretended hermit, who was no
other than a vile magician, knowing well that it would not be agreeable
to his false gods to aid Angelica in this undertaking, feigned to
comply with her desire. He supplied her a horse, into which he had by
his arts caused a subtle devil to enter, and, having mounted Angelica
on the animal, directed her what course to take to reach the sea.

Angelica rode on her way without suspicion, but when arrived at the
shore, the demon urged the animal headlong into the water. Angelica in
vain attempted to turn him back to the land; he continued his course
till, as night approached, he landed with his burden on a sandy
headland.

Angelica, finding herself alone, abandoned in this frightful solitude,
remained without movement, as if stupefied, with hands joined and eyes
turned towards heaven, till at last, pouring forth a torrent of tears,
she exclaimed: "Cruel fortune, have you not yet exhausted your rage
against me? To what new miseries do you doom me? Alas! then finish your
work! Deliver me a prey to some ferocious beast, or by whatever fate
you choose bring me to an end. I will be thankful to you for
terminating my life and my misery." At last, exhausted by her sorrows,
she fell asleep, and sunk prostrate on the sand.

Before recounting what next befell, we must declare what place it was
upon which the unhappy lady was now thrown. In the sea that washes the
coast of Ireland there is an island called Ebuda, whose inhabitants,
once numerous, had been wasted by the anger of Proteus till there were
now but few left. This deity was incensed by some neglect of the usual
honors which he had in old times received from the inhabitants of the
land, and, to execute his vengeance, had sent a horrid sea-monster,
called an Orc, to devour them. Such were the terrors of his ravages
that the whole people of the isle had shut themselves up in the
principal town, and relied on their walls alone to protect them. In
this distress they applied to the Oracle for advice, and were directed
to appease the wrath of the sea-monster by offering to him the fairest
virgin that the country could produce.

Now it so happened that the very day when this dreadful oracle was
announced, and when the fatal mandate had gone forth to seek among the
fairest maidens of the land one to be offered to the monster, some
sailors, landing on the beach where Angelica was, beheld that beauty as
she lay asleep.

O blind Chance! whose power in human affairs is but too great, canst
thou then abandon to the teeth of a horrible monster those charms which
different sovereigns took arms against one another to possess? Alas!
the lovely Angelica is destined to be the victim of those cruel
islanders.

Still asleep, she was bound by the Ebudians, and it was not until she
was carried on board the vessel that she came to a knowledge of her
situation. The wind filled the sails and wafted the ship swiftly to the
port, where all that beheld her agreed that she was unquestionably the
victim selected by Proteus himself to be his prey. Who can tell the
screams, the mortal anguish of this unhappy maiden, the reproaches she
addressed even to the heavens themselves, when the dreadful information
of her cruel fate was made known to her? I cannot; let me rather turn
to a happier part of my story.

Rogero left the palace of Logestilla, careering on his flying courser
far above the tops of the mountains, and borne westward by the
Hippogriff, which he guided with ease, by means of the bridle that
Melissa had given him. Anxious as he was to recover Bradamante, he
could not fail to be delighted at the view his rapid flight presented
of so many vast regions and populous countries as he passed over in his
career. At last he approached the shores of England, and perceived an
immense army in all the splendor of military pomp, as if about to go
forth flushed with hopes of victory. He caused the Hippogriff to alight
not far from the scene, and found himself immediately surrounded by
admiring spectators, knights and soldiers, who could not enough indulge
their curiosity and wonder. Rogero learned, in reply to his questions,
that the fine array of troops before him was the army destined to go to
the aid of the French Emperor, in compliance with the request presented
by the illustrious Rinaldo, as ambassador of King Charles, his uncle.

By this time the curiosity of the English chevaliers was partly
gratified in beholding the Hippogriff at rest, and Rogero, to renew
their surprise and delight, remounted the animal, and, slapping spurs
to his sides, made him launch into the air with the rapidity of a
meteor, and directed his flight still westwardly, till he came within
sight of the coasts of Ireland. Here he descried what seemed to be a
fair damsel, alone, fast chained to a rock which projected into the
sea. What was his astonishment when, drawing nigh, he beheld the
beautiful princess Angelica! That day she had been led forth and bound
to the rock, there to wait till the sea-monster should come to devour
her. Rogero exclaimed as he came near, "What cruel hands, what
barbarous soul, what fatal chance can have loaded thee with those
chains?" Angelica replied by a torrent of tears, at first her only
response; then, in a trembling voice, she disclosed to him the horrible
destiny for which she was there exposed. While she spoke, a terrible
roaring was heard far off on the sea. The huge monster soon came in
sight, part of his body appearing above the waves and part concealed.
Angelica, half dead with fear, abandoned herself to despair.

Rogero, lance in rest, spurred his Hippogriff toward the Orc, and gave
him a thrust. The horrible monster was like nothing that nature
produces. It was but one mass of tossing and twisting body, with
nothing of the animal but head, eyes, and mouth, the last furnished
with tusks like those of the wild boar. Rogero's lance had struck him
between the eyes; but rock and iron are not more impenetrable than were
his scales. The knight, seeing the fruitlessness of the first blow,
prepared to give a second. The animal, beholding upon the water the
shadow of the great wings of the Hippogriff, abandoned his prey, and
turned to seize what seemed nearer. Rogero took the opportunity, and
dealt him furious blows on various parts of his body, taking care to
keep clear of his murderous teeth; but the scales resisted every
attack. The Orc beat the water with his tail till he raised a foam
which enveloped Rogero and his steed, so that the knight hardly knew
whether he was in the wate

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