Orlando Furioso pdf Ludovico Ariosto Free Download

From hand to hand it passed;

The muddy bottom disappeared and soon enough

The cavity was filled, for they worked fast.

Then to the walls they levelled out the rough.

The duke, the Count and Oliver now call

Upon the infantry to scale the wall.

The Nubians, impatient of delay,

Lured by the hope of booty, disregard

The heavy price which they might have to pay.

In ‘tortoises’ and ‘cats’ themselves they guard.

Equipped with battering-rams (a vast array),

They move towards the citadel, prepared

To break down towers and gates, to breach the walls –

And find the Moors on watch for what befalls.

Fire, metal missiles, roofs and merlons pour

In molten rain and like a tempest burst,

Shattering planks and beams assembled for

The catapults and siege-machines; at first

During the darkest of the hours before

The dawn, the baptized heads came off the worst;

But when the sun had left his rich abode,

Fortune turned hostile to the pagan brood.

Orlando gives the order to increase

The strength of the attack by sea and land.

The fleet which a mile off at anchor is

Now enters port and opens fire as planned.

Arrows and sling-stones fly without surcease,

And engines operate on every hand.

Ladders and spears meanwhile assembled are

With the full arsenal of naval war.

Orlando, Oliver and Brandimart

And he who flew so boldly through the skies

A fierce attack now launch upon that part

Which from the sea the farthest inland lies.

Each paladin commands a quarter part

Of the remaining troops, and with them hies

To beat down walls or gates; no matter where

They go, their valour shines beyond compare,

Which can be better seen than if they fought

Pell-mell; all those deserving of esteem,

All those by whom the bravest deeds are wrought,

Are obvious to many watching them.

On wheeled contraptions wooden towers are brought,

And elephants, trained for such stratagem,

Bring others on their backs, which reach so high,

The battlements far down below them lie.

The valiant Brandimarte came; he put

A ladder to the wall and up he went,

Encouraging his men to follow suit;

And many did so, bold and confident,

Thronging the rungs with many an eager foot;

And no one heeded if the ladder bent

Beneath the weight; the foe his sole concern,

Their leader clambers up and does not turn.

No skill in climbing Brandimarte lacks.

Now on the ramparts, brandishing his blade,

He slashes, slices, pierces, thrusts and hacks,

And amply shows the stuff of which he’s made;

But all at once the burdened ladder cracks

(Too much the unforeseeing climbers weighed)

And, save for Brandimarte, one and all

Head over heels into the gulley fall.

But Brandimarte’s courage does not fail.

He has no thought of making a retreat.

An easy target now, he does not quail,

Nor listen to the voices which entreat

Him to return (and how could they prevail?);

And though the ramparts measure ninety feet

From top to bottom (as I have heard tell),

He jumps below into the citadel.

As if he landed upon down or straw,

He hit the ground without the slightest jolt.

He cut, he ripped, he slashed all those he saw,

Just as one slashes, rips and cuts a bolt

Of cloth; the others hastily withdraw

And if he makes to follow them, they bolt;

While those outside who saw him leap within

Think nothing now can save the paladin.

Through all the camp a buzz of rumour flies.

From voice to voice the murmur swells and grows.

Rumour, once vague, repeated, gathers size,

Increasing danger everywhere it goes.

To Oliver, to Otto’s son, it hies,

And to Orlando, eager to disclose

The message of ill-fortune which it brings,

No rest affording to its rapid wings.

These warriors (Orlando most of all)

Love and hold Brandimarte in esteem.

They know that they must leave no interval

In rescuing a comrade such as him.

So, placing ladders up against the wall,

They climb and show themselves; so fierce and grim,

Of those three heads so angry is the glare,

The enemy, to see them, quake with fear.

As when at sea the stormy waters lash

A ship which too adventurous has been:

Against the prow, against the poop they dash,

Seething with fury, seeking a way in;

The pilot, pale, can only groan and gnash,

His wits adrift, his courage turned to spleen;

One wave engulfs his vessel with a roar

And where that enters, all the others pour;

So, when these three had stormed the bastion,

The breach they opened was so large and wide,

The others could then safely follow on.

A thousand ladders were affixed outside.

Meanwhile, the battering-rams now more than one

Way in, with a loud, rumbling crash, provide.

Thus many entrances at once are made

Through which to bring bold Brandimarte aid.

With the same rage as when the stately king

Of rivers banks and margins overtops

And, on the fields of Ocnus trespassing,

Rich plough-lands sweeps along and fruitful crops,

A flock complete with winter quartering,

The dogs, the shepherd, while in elm-tree tops

Fishes are seen to dart where formerly

Birds flying to and fro we used to see,

With that same rage the impetuous soldiery

Rushed through the spaces in the broken wall

With blazing torches, gleaming weaponry,

To kill those ill-led pagans once for all.

Violent hands were laid on property

And persons, bringing to a rapid fall

The city, rich with many spoils of war,

Which once was queen of all of Africa.

The dead lie everywhere; from countless wounds

A swamp has formed which more repellent is,

And darker, than the quagmire which surrounds

The Fury-ridden battlements of Dis.

From house to house a trail of fire compounds

Destruction, burning mosques and palaces.

From houses plundered of possessions, cries

And shrieks and thuds of beaten breasts arise.

Laden with booty, victors are seen leaving

Ill-omened doorways, silver figurines

Of household gods or vases in their thieving

Hands, or rich garments; pitiable scenes

Occur as children are dragged forth or grieving

Mothers raped; for here no mercy intervenes.

That day a thousand unjust deeds are done.

The Count, the duke, are powerless to stop one.

King Bucifar of Algaziers was slain

By one of valiant Oliver’s shrewd blows.

Seeing all hope and courage were in vain,

Release by his own hand Branzardo chose.

Astolfo struck three times : in triple pain

The life of Folvo flickered to its close.

King Agramante left these three behind

To guard Biserta and its treasures mind.

Meanwhile the king, who with Sobrino fled,

Had seen the conflagration on the shore.

Mourning Biserta, bitter tears he shed,

Then, drawing closer, he wept even more

To learn the truth: his city, people said,

Would never now be what it was before.

He even contemplated suicide

But, for Sobrino, put this thought aside.

Sobrino said, ‘What happier victory,

My liege, than the report of your demise

Could be imagined by your enemy,

Who would, unchallenged, then enjoy the prize

Of Africa in all security?

But your existence all such hope denies.

He knows he cannot long hold Africa

Unless departed from this life you are.

‘Your subjects by your death would be deprived

Of hope – the only asset left to them.

I trust that if you live, those who survived

You may yet from imprisonment redeem,

From misery withdrawn, their strength revived.

I know that if you die, you will condemn

Our land to servitude; live then to spare

Us that, if for your life you cease to care.

‘Your neighbour, Egypt’s Sultan, will not fail

To send you troops’ and money; he’ll not let

King Pepin’s son in Africa prevail.

And Norandino is your kinsman yet:

He’ll drive your enemies beyond the pale

And on your throne again you will be set.

Armenians, Turks and Persians, Arabs, Medes,

If you but ask them, will supply your needs.’

With similar advice the shrewd old man

Tries to restore his liege’s confidence

That all may not be lost, that soon he can

Recover Africa; and yet events

Such hope (it may be) from his bosom ban.

He knows how bitterly a king repents

Who, having lost his realm, must turn for aid

To foreigners; this error many made.

Good witnesses to that were Hannibal,

Jugurtha and many a king of old

And Ludovico il Moro, to the Gaul

(Another Ludovic!) by allies sold.

Your brother, Duke Alfonso, learnt from all

Such cases; he, my lord, is known to hold

That anyone who trusts in others more

Than in himself is mad beyond all cure.

Thus, when the Pope, enraged, made war on him,

Although the duke’s resources were but weak,

And slight were the defences he could scheme,

And though his would-be champion, to check

Invasion of his land (as it would seem)

Had fled from Italy, he would not seek

For aid, and for no promise, for no threat,

Would he his realm to alien hands commit.

Meanwhile King Agramante eastwards sailed,

Making far out into the open sea,

When from the land an angry storm assailed

The ship, lashing her side with savagery.

The pilot, sitting at the helm, bewailed

(As he looked up) the signs which he could see:

‘So violent a tempest looms,’ he said,

‘I fear the vessel now will make no head.

‘If you will follow my advice, my lords,

Until the fury of the storm is spent,

There is an island we should run towards,

Close by, to port.’ The king gave his consent,

And to the shelter which the beach affords

To many a hard-pressed seaman, they now went.

It lies between the shore of Africa

And where the furnaces of Vulcan are.

The little isle, of habitation bare,

With humble tamarisk and myrtle clad,

Offered the stag, the roebuck and the hare

A solitude remote, secure and glad,

Unknown except to fishermen; and there

They hung their nets on branches which they had

For this same purpose of their foliage stripped,

While fishes in the tranquil waters slept.

The fugitives discovered soon that Fate

Had forced another vessel to the isle,

Bearing Gradasso, whom we saw of late

At Arles (Baiardo he’d procured meanwhile).

Once on dry land, the warrior-kings with great

And mutual respect in regal style

Embraced, for they were friends, and comrades too:

Shared combat beneath Paris’ walls they knew.

With deep dismay the Sericanian heard

The Moor’s account of the catastrophe,

And to its depths his loyal soul was stirred.

He promised his support, in chivalry;

But to seek aid from Egypt, he averred,

Would be too dangerous. ‘The memory

Of Pompey should suffice’, he said, ‘to warn

All fugitives who to that quarter turn.

‘But since you say Astolfo, with the aid

Of Ethiops, the folk of Prester John,

This onslaught against Africa has made,

Burning your capital, and that the son

Of Milo, who till recently was mad,

Is with him too, I have now hit upon

The very plan, I think, whereby you may

Recoup your losses and your grief allay.

‘I will engage Orlando, for your sake,

In single combat; you need have no fear,

For no defence against me could he make

If solid iron or bronze his body were.

When he is dead, the Christian force will quake

Like lambs before a hungry wolf, I swear.

I know too how to drive the Nubians out.

I’ll do that in an instant – have no doubt.

‘I will command the other Nubians

This side the Nile, who other laws obey,

Arabs (both men and steeds), Macrobians,

A wealthy race, who’ll make a fine array,

Chaldeans also and Iranians,

And many more I hold beneath my sway,

To wage such war on Nubia that soon

From Africa – your land – they will be gone.’

King Agramante thought this second scheme

Of King Gradasso’s opportune and sound,

And he blessed Fortune, who had driven him

On this deserted island thus aground;

But his first proposition did not seem

Acceptable on any terms; he found

(Even to save Biserta) such a plan

His honour would irrevocably stain.

‘If Count Orlando challenged is to be,’

The king replied, ‘that combat is my due,

And I am ready; let God deal with me

As He thinks fit.’ ‘My plan let us pursue,’

Gradasso said, ‘and in conformity

With what you deem appropriate to you.

I have just thought of this : let us both fight

The Count, and let him bring another knight.’

‘If I am not left out, I’ll not complain,

And whether first or second, I don’t mind,’

The other said; ‘a comrade in such vein

As you in all the world I could not find.’

Sobrino cried, ‘And where do I remain?

If I seem old to you, let me remind

You that I have the more experience.

In danger, strength has need of common sense.’

Sobrino, though not young, is still robust,

And famous for his feats of arms; he says

That to his vigour they can safely trust –

He feels as strong as in his salad days.

Sobrino’s claim is recognized as just.

A messenger is sent with no delays

To Africa: the challenge of the three

Delivered to the Count by him shall be.

If he accepts, he and two knights shall make

For Lampedusa (a small island, this,

Set in the self-same sea); and they shall take

Their armour and all such necessities

For the encounter; the envoy does not slack

The speed of oars and sail until he sees

Biserta; there he finds the paladin

Awarding spoils and captives to his men.

The messenger the challenge of the three

Made known, causing Orlando such delight

That gifts with ample generosity

He showered on the envoy, left and right;

For in the meantime from his comrades he

Had learned that King Gradasso (by no right)

Was girt with Durindana, for which blade

A journey to the East he would have made;

For he believed Gradasso to be there,

Since he had heard the king had gone from France.

Now, in a place not far away, but near,

Fate offered him this unexpected chance.

Almonte’s horn, so resonant and clear,

And Brigliadoro, too, no less, he wants.

And both of these, Orlando has long known,

Are in the hands of King Troiano’s son.

He chose as comrades in this triple test

His brother Oliver and Brandimart.

He knew their expertise was of the best

And that they truly loved him from the heart.

Then of good destriers he went in quest,

Good weapons, armour good in every part,

Not for himself alone, but for all three.

(You will recall why this was necessary.)

Orlando (as I many times have said)

Scattered his arms in madness all around.

The other two their armour had to shed

When captives of the Sarzan they were bound.

Of the best weapons Agramante bled

His kingdom for the war; thus few are found

And even those few lack the qualities

Which worthy are of heroes such as these.

Such armour as there is, inferior,

Rusty and tarnished, Count Orlando takes

And with his comrades goes towards the shore

And plans for the ensuing combat makes.

When they have gone about three miles or more

The sea’s horizon with his gaze he rakes,

And spies a vessel with her sails full-spread

Which for the coast of Africa is sped.

No seamen are on board, no pilot steers;

Impelled by wind and Destiny alone,

Her canvas billowing, the vessel nears

The coast and to a beach is carried on.

But now the love I bear Ruggiero veers

Towards his story and I must be gone

To Arles, where with the valiant Clairmont knight

Unwillingly he fought a bitter fight.

The warriors their combat had suspended,

For, as I said, the truce, which had been sworn

By both the king and Emperor, was ended

And bitter conflict once again was born;

And which of the two monarchs had offended,

Holding his solemn pledges thus in scorn,

Ruggiero and Rinaldo strive to know

From those who pass before them to and fro.

Meanwhile a squire who served Ruggiero well,

A faithful lad, quick-witted and astute,

Who in the tumult, fierce and terrible,

Which now arose, his lord (who was on foot)

Had never lost from sight, but marked him still,

Brought him his horse and sword; but the pursuit

Of battle for Ruggiero holds no charms,

Though he remounts and with his blade rearms.

Then he departs, but first he promises

To keep the vow which earlier he swore,

That if he finds his Agramante is

The culprit he will never serve him more,

But leave him and his vile accomplices;

And he performs no further feats of war,

Seeking that day only to ascertain

Who broke the pact: his king, or Charlemagne?

He hears the same report on every hand:

King Agramante broke his promise first.

Ruggiero loves him (you must understand);

He sees the pagans broken and dispersed,

And to deny the help of his good brand

When Fortune’s wheel their fate has thus reversed

Would be a grievous error, he thinks now,

And he is less inclined to keep his vow.

Conflicting thoughts within his mind discourse:

Should he remain or follow Agramant?

Love of his lady rides him like a horse:

To Africa? The bit is adamant.

His head is twisted to another course.

By spurs and menaces of punishment,

He is reminded of the pledge he made

With Montalbano, which must be obeyed.

And from the other side he’s whipped and spurred

No less by the disquieting concern

That if he now deserts his stricken lord

A coward’s reputation he will earn.

Many will say that he should keep his word,

But many others that excuse will spurn,

And many more will say that he should break,

Not keep, an oath which it was wrong to make.

He meditated all that day and night.

The next day too he pondered, quite alone.

Which of these two decisions would be right:

To stay, or follow where his lord had flown

And bring assistance to him in his plight?

At last the cause of Agramante won.

Love of his bride was strong, and of her beauty,

But stronger still his honour and his duty.

He rides to Arles, in hope that he will find

The fleet to take him back to Africa,

But not one vessel has been left behind,

The only Saracens all dead men are;

And Agramante to the flames consigned

The ships he did not salvage from the war.

Ruggiero, since his first decision fails,

Proceeds along the coast towards Marseilles.

He’ll seize some vessel (such is now his plan)

And make the pilot carry him across.

But there was the armada of the Dane,

With captured ships (in all a grievous loss

To the barbarians); and not one grain

Of millet in the water could you toss,

So crowded were the ships at anchor there,

Which crammed with conquerors and captives were.

Such pagan ships as were not burned that night,

Or sunk, save for those two or three which fled,

Dudone added to his fleet, by right,

And to Marseilles in convoy safely led.

And seven kings, acknowledging their plight,

To the inevitable bowed their head,

Their seven ships surrendered to the foe,

And silent stood, cast down and full of woe.

The Dane had disembarked some time before:

His aim had been to visit Charles that day.

Long lines of captives and a splendid store

Of spoils formed a spectacular array.

The prisoners were marshalled on the shore.

Around them, jubilant, as is the way

Of victors, Nubians on high proclaim,

And Echo’s voice resounds, Dudone’s name.

Ruggiero hoped, while riding from afar,

And to confirm this hope he pricked his steed,

This was the missing fleet of Africa;

But drawing near, he recognized instead

The king of Nasamona, prisoner,

With Baliverzo, Agricalte, led

In chains with Manilard and Farurant,

Who with Clarindo wept and Rimedont.

Ruggiero’s love was such, he grieved to see

How much they suffered in their wretchedness.

He knows it will be sheer futility

To plead with empty hands; to gain redress

He must use force. Couching his weapon, he

Attacks the guard: a hundred men, no less,

Are lying on the ground and not by chance,

Struck either by his sword or by his lance.

Dudone hears the uproar and looks round:

The spectacle of fleeing men he sees,

The havoc and the slaughter on the ground,

But has no notion who Ruggiero is.

Calling for shield and helmet, with one bound

He leaps upon the destrier with ease

(Though wearing armour), as befits a peer

And paladin who means to use his spear.

He shouts commands for all to clear the way

And of his spurs he makes his steed aware.

In prisoners who saw Ruggiero slay

A hundred more, the signs of hope appear.

Seeing Dudone come with no delay

Alone on horseback (all the others were

On foot), he judged him leader of that host:

To fight with him was what he wanted most.

Though in mid-course, the Dane, when he discerned

That his opponent was without a lance,

His own flung far away; for he’d have spurned

To benefit from such a circumstance.

Ruggiero by this courteous gesture learned

This was a noble paladin of France,

And to himself he said, ‘I know him by

Such chivalry; this he cannot deny.

‘I will entreat him to reveal his name,

If he is willing, ere we come to blows.’

And so he did, and he achieved his aim

And learned that he the son of Ugier was.

Dudone asks Ruggier to do the same

And in return he pays the debt he owes.

Each having told his name, each next proceeds

To challenges and then from words to deeds.

Dudone had that iron club which brought

Him lasting honour in a thousand fights,

And with it demonstrated as he fought

He was the scion of brave Danish knights.

The sword (no better sword was ever wrought),

Which opens every breastplate that it smites

And every helm, allowed the Dane to test

Ruggiero’s skill and valour at their best.

But in his deep concern to spare his bride

Whatever pain and suffering he could

(As out of love for her he always tried),

And, knowing if he shed Dudone’s blood,

This would offend her – on her mother’s side

(His knowledge of the House of France was good)

She was his cousin in the first degree,

Both of two sisters being the progeny –

He never used the point against his foe

And rarely used the edge; where the club fell

He stepped aside or warded off the blow.

Turpin believes (and I believe as well)

Ruggiero could have laid Dudone low

With a few strokes; but, he goes on to tell,

Although the Dane was many times exposed,

Only the flat of Balisard was used;

For he could use the flat of it just like

The edge, so sturdy was its tempering.

Repeatedly the blade descends to strike

The Dane in a strange game of ring-a-ding,

Producing stars Dudone does not like,

For he can scarcely to his saddle cling.

But you will all the more enjoy my chime

If I defer it to another time.

CANTO XLI

A perfume clinging to the lustrous hair

Or silky beard or dainty raiment of

A youth or maiden, exquisite and fair,

Which often wakens tearful thoughts of love,

Releasing a new sweetness on the air

Which lasts for many days, will clearly prove

By manifest, convincing evidence

Its pristine and unchanging excellence.

That heavenly liquid which Icarius

Rashly induced his harvesters to taste

(Which lured, they say, the Celtic tribes to cross

The Alps, heedless of hardships to be faced),

At the year’s end retains, matured, for us

The sweetness of the grapes when they were pressed.

Leaves on a tree in winter show how green

The foliage in spring-time must have been.

That famous House, whose glory long has shone,

Illustrious in deeds of chivalry,

Whose splendour, still increasing, yields to none,

Clearly proclaims this truth with certainty:

The line of the Estensi springs from one

Who in all ways by which a man can be

Uplifted rose to a celestial height

And like the sun irradiated light.

Ruggiero, who in every worthy deed

The honour of a valiant cavalier

And signs of magnanimity displayed

Which lately ever more apparent were,

Dissembled with Dudone, as I said.

Mercy it was which caused him to forbear;

How strong in truth he was he would not show,

Lest he should deal the Dane a mortal blow.

Dudone knew for certain how things stood.

Ruggiero had no wish to take his life:

He left so many chances unpursued,

As when Dudone wearied in the strife

Or failed to keep his guard; he understood

That this was an affair of honour. If

Ruggiero in the combat came off best,

He would not yield in chivalry at least.

‘In God’s name, sir,’ he said, ‘let us make peace,

For I have lost all hope of victory

I have no hope of winning, I confess

And I surrender to your courtesy.’

Ruggiero answered, ‘I desire no less

To call a halt, but this the pact shall be

You must consign to me these seven kings,

Freed from their bonds and from their sufferings.1

Ruggiero pointed to the seven, who

In fetters stood dejected, as I said.

With them to Africa he means to go,

And nothing their departure shall impede.

The paladin makes no objection to

Ruggiero’s terms: the seven kings are freed.

He lets them choose the vessel which seems best

And so for Africa they sail in haste.

The ship’s mast bears its canvas spreading white,

Each bellying to the treacherous wind in turn.

At first this fills the pilot with delight

As straight upon her course the ship is borne

The shore recedes and soon is lost to sight,

As though the sea were bounded by no bourne.

The wind, as darkness fell, its treachery

Made clear as day for all on board to see.

From blowing dead astern, it veers to cross

Their bows, then gusts head-on; and shifts again

To whirl the vessel round; at hopeless loss

The seamen try to sail her, but in vain.

From all four quarters towering breakers toss;

No curb the foaming seas can now restrain.

The travellers look on in awe and dread,

And with each threatening wave they think they’re dead.

Now from the poop, now from the prow, a blast

Impelled the vessel on, then in reverse;

Over her bulwarks yet another passed

The threat of shipwreck at each gust grew worse

The helmsman, sicklied with the pallid cas

Of terror, sighed, or shouted himself hoarse

Or signalled with his hand, time and again,

To swing or drop the yard but all in vain.

His shouts, his signals are of no avail:

The rain, the dark have blotted him from sight

And noises louder than his words assail

The air as voices of the crew unite

To mourn their fate in a concerted wail,

While crashing waves together join their might.

To port, to starboard, at the stem or stern,

Not one command could any man discern.

The wind in fury screeches through the spars.

Flash after flash of lightning streaks the sky

Clap after clap of thunder rolls and roars.

All their accustomed skills the sailors try:

Some hurry to the helm, some to the oars;

While some the rigging loosen, others tie

Some bail the water out, repeatedly

The sea repouring back into the sea.

Boreas in a frenzy castigates

The raging storm which, shrieking louder still,

The sails against the mainmast flagellates.

The water rises up almost until

It laps the sky; the rowers at their seats

Grasp broken oars and at the tempest’s will

The vessel, unresisting, veers her prow,

Her bulwarks to the waves exposing now.

The starboard gunwale dips beneath the flood,

Threatening to turn the vessel upside-down,

And all on board commend their souls to God,

Now more than ever sure that they will drown.

The blows of Fortune with no interlude

Disaster with yet more disaster crown.

The ship in many parts is gaping wide,

And hostile water rushes through inside.

From every quarter now the tempest wreaks

An onslaught yet more dire and terrible.

Sometimes the sea mounts up as though it seeks

The highest circle where the Angels dwell;

Sometimes it lifts them to such lofty peaks

That looking down they see the depths of Hell.

They have no comfort now in hope or faith.

Before them looms, inevitable, Death.

All night across a turgid sea they speed,

Now here, now there, as drives the changing wind.

It should have dropped by day-break, but instead

It blows again, more dangerously inclined.

And now they see a naked rock ahead.

Towards it willy-nilly, howling blind,

The tempest, still reluctant to relent,

Carries them angrily, malevolent.

The helmsman, pale with terror, tries to force

The tiller round in a vain hope to steer

The ship along another, safer course;

But far away the mocking waters bear

The broken rudder, while with no remorse

The wind so fills the sails, no time is there

To lower them, or orders seek afresh;

At any moment now the ship will crash.

When it is seen that nothing can be done

To save the ship from her impending fate,

Then every man looks after number one.

Concerned for their own lives, they do not wait,

But scramble down into the boat; and soon

So burdened it becomes beneath their weight,

It threatens to surrender to the wave

And drown all those whom it was meant to save.

Seeing the captain, bos’n and all hands

Desert the vessel without more ado,

Ruggiero, in his tunic as he stands,

Unarmed, decides at once to join them too;

But when he does he quickly understands

The boat will sink beneath the overflow.

As still more people clamber for a place,

It plummets to the depths without a trace.

The little lifeboat disappears from sight

With all who left the vessel to her fate

The piteous shrieks they utter in their plight

As help from highest Heaven they entreat,

Are not for long continued, for with spit

The angry sea pours over them in spate,

Choking the larynges from whence emerge

The plaintive cries, soon silenced by the surge,

Some sink below, never to reappear,

Some break the surface, bobbing on the waves.

A head, an arm, a leg shoeless and bare,

Are glimpsed as hopefully some swimmer braves

The flood. Ruggiero will not yield to fear;

His body from the sea’s embrace he heaves.

He sees the naked rock not far away,

Where all assumed the ship must crash that day.

With arms and legs Ruggiero means to strive

Towards that dry, though rocky, piece of land.

Blowing the waters back, which would deprive

Him of his breath, he battles for the strand.

Meanwhile the raging wind and tempest drive

The empty vessel, left with not a hand

On board, of all whose evil destiny

Led them to seek salvation in the sea.

How fallible are the beliefs of men!

The vessel did not perish but sailed on.

Her captain and her crew no hope had seen.

They let her drift, abandoned and alone.

The wind, it seems, its tactics altered then.

Seeing the exodus of everyone,

It steered the ship towards a clear fairway,

Well out to sea where safer waters lay.

Though unresponsive to the pilot’s hand,

Once she was free of him she sailed a route

Direct to Africa and came to land

Beyond Biserta, two or three miles out,

On the Egyptian side, and in the sand

She grounded; there Orlando, who set out

With his companions, as I said before,

Was walking and conversing on the shore.

He wonders what can be the state of her:

Has she a crew? a cargo? He must know.

With Brandimarte then and Oliver

He takes a skiff and to the ship they go.

She’s empty of all hands; only the destrier

Frontino they discover down below

(He is the only living thing on board),

And find Ruggiero’s armour and his sword.

Ruggiero had departed at such speed,

To buckle on his sword there was no time.

The Count knew Balisarda well – indeed

This weapon had belonged to him one time.

I know that the whole story you have read:

How Falerina lost it at the time

Orlando laid her lovely garden waste,

And how Brunello stole it from him next,

And to Ruggiero’s keeping gave it then

Near the Carena mountains; just how good

Its tempering, how sharp its edge, had been

From previous experience he could

Well testify on oath (the Count, I mean);

And fervently he offered thanks to God,

For he believed (and later often said)

This was God’s gift for the great task ahead.

And a great task it was, for he would fight

With Sericana’s ruler, who he knew

Was a ferociously courageous knight,

Who had Baiard and Durindana too.

He did not prize Ruggiero’s armour quite

As much as those who had good reason to;

He judged it good, but most of all because

So finely-wrought and beautiful it was.

Since armour he had little need to wear

(For he could not be wounded, being enchanted),

He gave Ruggiero’s arms to Oliver.

The sword he girded on, for this he wanted.

To Brandimart he gave the destrier.

And so to the companions there was granted

(As he desired, and was his bounden duty)

An equal share and portion of the booty.

Each for the day of battle sumptuously

In a new surcoat strove to be attired.

The tower of Babel in embroidery,

Struck by a thunderbolt, the Count required.

A hound his brother’s emblem was to be,

Argent, couchant, unleashed, and he desired

The motto, ‘Till he come’; surcoat all gold

He ordered, as became a knight so bold.

By Brandimarte, on that battle morn,

Both for his honour and his father’s sake,

No brightly-coloured garment would be worn;

But a dark surcoat he resolved to take,

Which skilful Fiordiligi would adorn

With bordering as fair as she could make.

When she had done, with many a costly gem

The sombre surcoat glittered at the hem.

So fine a surcoat and caparison

His lady makes, in beauty they exceed

The less distinguished armour he has on,

Nobly adorning both the knight and steed;

But from the day this labour was begun

Until it was completed, and indeed

Long afterwards, on Fiordiligi’s face

Of joy, of happiness, there was no trace.

A constant dread and torment fill her heart

Lest she may widowed be of her dear knight.

In countless battles he has taken part,

And countless perils faced, yet no such fright,

No terror such as this, nor piercing smart,

So froze her blood, nor turned her deathly white.

Such apprehension, being new to her,

Makes her heart tremble with a double fear.

As soon as their equipment they prepare,

The cavaliers hoist sail and put to sea.

Astolfo and Sansonetto, who now share

Command, stay with the army faithfully.

Sweet Fiordiligi’s heart is rent with fear;

Filling high Heaven with many a vow and plea,

She strains her eyes to gaze with all her might

Till out at sea the sails are lost to sight.

The duke and Sansonetto were constrained

(Since to cajoling words she paid no heed)

To carry her, resisting, from the strand.

They left her in the palace on her bed,

Distraught and trembling; meanwhile the brave band

Of three by a propitious wind are sped

Directly to the island where a test

Of prowess will conclude the war at last.

Orlando stepped ashore, with Oliver

And Brandimart, and on the eastern side

They placed their tent, arriving earlier

Than Agramant, who later occupied

The other end (in this the Christians were

More skilled in strategy). The six decide,

Since it is late and night is drawing on,

Their combat till the morning to postpone.

On either side, until the early light,

Armed guards are posted who stand vigilant.

At evening Brandimarte, the black knight,

With the permission of his commandant

(Which he had first requested, as was right),

Approached the foe, to speak with Agramant:

Once they were friends, for with the pagan host

Under their flag from Africa he crossed.

When greetings were exchanged and hand clasped hand,

The Christian knight enjoined the pagan king

With many a cogent reason, as a friend,

To take the necessary steps to bring

The combat without bloodshed to an end:

His former cities (to this parleying

Orlando had agreed) he would yet own,

If he would but believe in Mary’s Son.

‘Because I loved you deeply and still do,

I give you this advice, my lord,’ said he;

‘I followed it myself, which proves to you

How prudent I consider it to be.

That Christ is God I recognized was true.

A dupe henceforth Mahomet seemed to me.

Salvation’s path I long for you to tread,

And to this truth may all I love be led!

‘Your good consists in this in this alone.

No other counsel is of any use

And least of all to fight with Milo’s son.

Greater will be the peril if you lose

Than an benefit which might be won

By victory, or spoil which you might choose.

For if you win, what do you hope to gain?

Whereas defeat will bring you loss and pain.

‘What if you kill Orlando here, what then?

Or us, who come resolved to win or die?

Your lost dominions you will not regain;

The state of things will not be changed thereby.

You cannot hope that if we three are slain

Charles will lack men on whom he can rely

To guard the frontiers and to garrison

The outposts and the towers, every one.’

Thus the knight spoke, and would have added more,

But he was interrupted by the king,

Whose countenance a proud expression wore,

Whose angry voice was harsh and menacing:

‘For such temerity there is no cure.

None to the madness remedy can bring

Of meddling busybodies who (like you),

Without being asked, tell others what to do.

‘That the advice you give me springs from love

Which once you felt for me and still profess

Now that I find you the companion of

Orlando, seems unlikely, I confess.

Rather, that dragon which is wont to rove

In search of souls now holds you in duress

And you desire, as far as I can tell,

To pull the whole world down with you to Hell.

‘Whether I lose or win, whether I can

Regain my kingdom, or shall banished be,

The mind of God has settled, which no man

Not I, not you, not Milo’s son, can see.

Whatever is the outcome of His plan,

No craven cowardice will coerce me

To an unkingly act If death were sure,

I’d die ere I my faith and blood forswore.

‘And now you may return. if you display

No better prowess in tomorrow’s fight

Than as an orator you showed today,

The help the Count will find in you is slight.’

Fury impels King Agramant to say

These final words inspired by sleen and spite.

Then each returned and rested till the sun

Rose from the sea and morning had begun.

The dawn was silvering the sky when al

The combatants had armed and quickly leapt

Upon their steeds. There was no interval

And no dela. Few words were said. Adept

The couched their lances. But, my lord, I shall

Be much at fault if I too long have kept

Ruggiero in the sea and he should drown

While of these others talking I go on.

Ruggiero strikes out boldly with each limb

And battles with the overwhelming waves.

The wind and tempest menacing and grim

(But not his troubled conscience), the youth braves.

He fears that Christ is now baptizing him,

Not in that water, clean and pure, which saves,

Which he was slow to seek (by his own fault),

But in this flood so bitter and so salt.

And all the many promises he made

To Bradamante now come flooding back,

The pact sworn with Rinaldo and betrayed –

Of all such memories there was no lack.

Four times, ten times, in penitence he said,

If God would overlook these sins so black,

If ever he set foot on land again,

He would become a Christian there and then.

Never again would he use sword or lance

Against the Faithful to support the Moor,

But he would straight away return to France

And render service to the Emperor.

No longer would he lead his love a dance

But as a husband honour her, he swore.

O miracle! When he has promised this

His strength and his agility increase.

His strength redoubled, and with heart undaunted,

Ruggiero struck the waves and pulled them past

As hard upon each other’s trail they flaunted.

One flung him up, another downward cast.

Now he descended, now again he mounted,

With great distress and labour, till at last

He landed; where the hill most gently verged

Towards the water, dripping he emerged.

And all the others who abandoned ship

Are left behind, unequal to the wave.

Alone upon the solitary steep,

Ruggiero, whom it pleases God to save,

Has clambered forth. Though rescued from the deep,

He has another danger now to brave:

Marooned upon this barren rock, he’ll die

Of hunger and privation by and by.

Yet with indomitable spirit, ready

To endure what fate the heavens had in store,

Among harsh stones, his progress bold and steady,

He climbed towards the summit; but before

A hundred steps he’d numbered by his tread, he

Saw a man bowed down in years, who bore

The signs of abstinence; his dress, his air,

A hermit worthy of respect declare.

When he was close at hand he cried ‘Saul! Saul!

Why do you persecute me?’, in the words

Our Saviour used when he appeared to Paul

Who lay beneath the blow which heavenwards

Would raise him; ‘you have come on a long haul,

Cheating the boatman of his just rewards;

But God has a long arm and reaches you

Just when you think He is least likely to.’

The holy hermit had a dream that night

Which God had sent to show how by His aid

Ruggiero would be rescued from his plight

And reach the rock; a vision he then had

Of the past life and future of the knight,

And of his death, how he would be betrayed.

His progeny, his grandsons, God revealed:

All the descendants which his line would yield.

The hermit first continued to rebuke

Ruggiero (but consoled him in the end)

For not submitting to the gentle yoke

When Christ had called him to Him as a friend;

That what he spurned in freedom, he now took

With little grace, only prepared to bend

His neck, when he was threatened with a lash

Which, as he feared, upon his back would crash.

Then he consoled him: Heaven is not denied

By Christ to any soul who soon or late

In true repentance on His name has cried.

The story he proceeded to relate

About the vineyard labourers who plied

Unequally but equal payment met.

With zeal and love, his steps sedate and slow,

He schools the knight as to his cell they go.

Above the hermit’s cell, carved in the stone,

There is a little church which faces east,

Convenient and fair to look upon.

Below, down to the sea, the gaze may rest

On evergreens, a refuge from the sun,

And date-palms offering a fruitful feast.

They are kept verdant by a limpid rill

Which murmurs as it trickles down the hill.

And close on forty years it now must be

Since Christ had sent the hermit here to dwell

Where nothing would distract the solitary

From holy contemplation in his cell.

Pure water, fruit or berries from a tree

Sustained his life and kept him strong and well;

Few men were healthier or happier.

He had now entered on his eightieth year.

Inside the cell the old man lit a fire

And heaped the table with a choice of fruit;

And when Ruggiero’s clothes and hair were drier

He helped himself and started to recruit.

The hermit led him higher yet and higher

In knowledge of our Faith and in pursuit

Of truth; in the pure water of the spring

Next day the knight received his christening.

As to the place, Ruggiero was content

To stay, the more so as the man of God

Had told him formerly of his intent

To send him back in a few days where God

Intended he should be; meanwhile, anent

Such matters as the Kingdom-come of God

They spoke, or of Ruggiero’s own affairs,

Of his posterity and of his heirs.

For God, Who knows and sees all things, had shown

The hermit what the future held in store:

That when he was baptized, from that day on

Ruggiero would live seven years, not more

For Pinabello’s death (the deed, though done

By Bradamante, at Ruggiero’s door

Was laid), for Bertolagi’s too, he’d meet

His death in ambush, by Maganzans set.

So secret will the treachery remain,

No news of it will spread, nor ever could,

For in the very spot where he is slain

He will be buried by the evil brood.

His wife and sister, that heroic twain,

Will therefore late avenge that turpitude.

His faithful wife, his offspring in her womb,

Will seek him out at last and find his tomb.

Between the Brenta and the Àdige,

Below the mountains which so greatly pleased

The Trojan Antenor that willingly

Those sulphur springs by which the sick are eased,

Those fertile fields and smiling meadows, he

Exchanged for Ida, and for the Xanthus ceased

To sigh, for Lake Ascania – her heir

Near Phrygian Este in the woods she’ll bear.

In beauty and in valour he will grow,

This new Ruggiero, Bradamante’s joy.

His Trojan origins these Trojans know

Who choose him as the founder of new Troy.

To the defence of Charlemagne he’ll go

Against the Longobards while yet a boy,

And Charles will justly in reward donate

This lovely region as a marquisate.

The Emperor will say in Latin: ‘Este

Hic domini’; the gift being thus bestowed,

The name of the fair city will be Este

(Auspicious omen!) and thenceforth exclude

The first two letters of the form Ateste.

And to the anchorite God also showed

The future vengeance, terrible and dire,

Which would be taken for Ruggiero’s sire;

For in a vision to his faithful wife

He’d show himself a little before day.

Telling her who it was who took his life,

He’d show the place in which his body lay.

Then with her sister, born and bred for strife,

With fire and flame Pontiero she’d destroy.

And the Maganzans no less cause for tears

Would have when young Ruggiero came of years.

Many an Azzo and Obizzo passed

Before Ruggiero’s vision as they spoke,

And many an Albert, till they came at last

To the sublime descendants of these folk,

To Ercole, Alfonso, unsurpassed,

And him to whom I dedicate my book,

And Isabel. Not everything was told:

Silence, the hermit sometimes judged, was gold.

Orlando, Brandimart and Oliver

Meanwhile with lowered lances ride to meet

That Mars of Saracens (thus I prefer

To call Gradasso and the name is fit)

And the two other combatants, who spur

Their destriers, so spirited and fleet.

At more than walking pace they cover ground:

The shore, the sea re-echoes to the sound.

At the encounter of three versus three,

In fragments to the sky flew every lance.

The mighty crash was seen to swell the sea,

The mighty crash was even heard in France.

Orlando and Gradasso seem to be

Well-matched, save that Gradasso (not by chance)

Rode on Baiard, which an advantage gave

And made him seem more valorous and brave.

Baiardo jolts against the lesser horse,

Taking Orlando also by surprise,

And sends it reeling with the sudden force

From port to starboard, till at last it lies

Full length upon the ground; with hand and spurs

Three or four times in vain Orlando tries

To make it stand; then, grasping sword and shield,

He hastens back on foot to face the field.

The king of Africa and Oliver

Had clashed in an equality of blows.

Sobrin was lifted from his destrier

By Brandimarte’s lance, yet no one knows

Which is to blame, the horse or cavalier.

He rarely falls, but this time down he goes

And finds himself – a horseman so renowned –

To his discomfiture, upon the ground.

But Brandimarte leaves him where he lies

And turns against the Sericanian;

Seeing Orlando is unhorsed likewise,

He speeds to bring him all the aid he can.

The king and Oliver in the same guise

Proceed, in parity as they began.

Their lances broken on each other’s shields,

A naked blade each brandishes and wields.

Seeing Gradasso also disinclined

To press home his advantage (the black knight

Was giving him no chance to change his mind,

But pressed and harried him with all his might),

Orlando turned, and was surprised to find

Sobrino too on foot, with none to fight;

The Count advanced, so menacing and grim,

The heavens trembled at the sight of him.

Against the onslaught of so great a man

Sobrino braced himself, alert and tense.

Just as a helmsman in a hurricane

Straight to the raging flood the prow presents,

Holding his course as steady as he can

(Though as the waves mount up his preference

Would be dry land), Sobrino tries to guard

Against the crash of Falerina’s sword.

So finely tempered Balisarda is

That plates of armour poor protection are;

And in the hands of such a knight as this,

A knight in all the world unique or rare,

It cuts the shield; nor can it fail or miss,

Despite the rim of steel beyond compare.

It cuts the shield from crown to base all through,

It cuts the shoulder underneath it too.

It cut Sobrino’s shoulder; no avail

Against the blade was anything he wore,

No double armour plate, no coat of mail.

The gaping wound was deep and wide and sore.

All his attempts to strike Orlando fail.

The Mover of the heavens granted sure

Defence to Milo’s son from injury:

His body cannot penetrated be.

Orlando now redoubles his attack,

Resolved to sever his opponent’s head.

Sobrino knows that valour and draws back

(His shield being useless now, as I have said),

But not in time, for with a mighty crack

The weapon strikes him on the brow. The blade

Descended flat, but smashed the helmet in,

Dazing the wits and senses of Sobrin.

He fell beneath the impact of the blow.

For a long time he did not rise again.

The paladin, who sees him thus brought low,

Thinks he is dead and lets him there remain.

His purpose now is with all speed to go

To Brandimarte’s help, lest he be slain.

In steed, arms, sword, perhaps in prowess too,

Gradasso is the stronger of the two.

But Brandimarte on Ruggiero’s horse

Acquits himself so well and is so brave,

The other knight, despite his greater force,

Not much of an advantage seems to have.

If, like Gradasso, he had had recourse

To a fine hauberk, strong enough to save

Him from all thrusts, he would have had no need

To step from side to side, as now he did.

No horse is more responsive to commands.

When Durindana falls, Frontino leaps

Now here, now there, so well he understands,

And every time a well-judged distance keeps.

The other duel inconclusive stands.

Here neither warrior advantage reaps.

Locked in a parity of strength and skill,

They fight a battle dire and terrible.

The son of Milo, who had left his foe

Sobrino on the ground, resolved (I said)

To Brandimarte’s help at once to go.

As he advanced on foot with hurried tread

And was about to strike the king a blow,

He noticed wandering at large the steed

Sobrino had vacated; by the Count

No time was lost in capturing the mount.

He seized the horse and, leaping unopposed

Into the saddle, in one hand he held

His sword on high; the other hand was closed

Upon the ornamented reins; he yelled

Gradasso’s name, who, unconcerned, proposed

For all three Christians, when all three were felled,

To make the darkness of the night descend

Before the light of day was at an end.

Turning towards the Count from Brandimart,

He aims his weapon straight at the camail.

It pierces everything, the flesh apart:

All efforts to pierce that are doomed to fail.

Then down comes Balisard : no magic art

Against her strokes can anywhere avail.

From helm to shield, from hauberk down to cuish,

She slices all she touches in one swish.

In face, in breast, in thigh Gradasso bore

The marks of Balisarda’s swift descent.

His blood has not been shed since first he wore

Those arms, yet by this weapon they are rent,

And not by Durindana (all the more

He’s irked and puzzled by this strange event).

From closer to, or had the length been such,

It would have split him down from head to crutch.

The proof is plain: he can no longer trust

His magic arms as he was wont to do.

More thought and greater wariness he must

Employ, and parry more than hitherto.

Since now the Count relieves him of that joust,

Bold Brandimarte stands between the two

Encounters, watching how they both proceed

And ready to assist if there is need.

And when the combat to this stage had passed,

Sobrino, who for long had prostrate lain,

Rose to his feet, come to himself at last.

His face and arm were causing him much pain.

He raised his eyes and round about him cast.

He saw his lord fighting with might and main.

With rapid strides, to help him he drew near him,

Moving so quietly that none could hear him.

Approaching Oliver, who nothing sees

But Agramant, intent upon the fight,

Sobrino strikes his horse behind the knees,

Which straight away collapses with the knight.

So unforeseen this evil action is

That Oliver, who fails to stay upright,

His left foot from the stirrup cannot free

And lies beneath the horse in jeopardy.

A sideways stroke Sobrino tries to deal

To cut his head off – this does not occur:

He is prevented by the shining steel

Which Vulcan tempered and which Hector wore.

Then Brandimarte rushes to reveal

How great a love for Oliver he bore.

He strikes Sobrino down; not long he lies.

The fierce old warrior is quick to rise.

He turns to Oliver again, to send

His spirit speeding to the world above;

Or, at the least, the king does not intend

That from beneath that burden he shall move.

But Oliver, despite it, could defend

Himself with his right arm; so well he strove,

Striking and lunging at him with such strength,

He kept Sobrino distant at sword’s length.

By warding off Sobrino in this style,

Though still beneath the horse, he hoped and planned

Soon to be extricated from its pile.

The king’s life-blood was crimsoning the sand;

He must accept defeat in a short while.

He was so weak that he could scarcely stand.

Though Oliver had tried repeatedly

To rise, inert the charger seemed to be.

The black knight, having turned to Agramant,

Tempestuous assault had now begun,

First at the side of him, and next in front,

His charger whirling as a lathe is spun.

Well-mounted is the son of Monodant,

No less well-mounted is Troiano’s son.

Ruggiero gave him Brigliador to ride

When he had humbled Mandricardo’s pride.

The armour which he wears, well-tried and sound,

Confers advantage on the king indeed,

For Brandimart had seized what arms he found

And put them on in haste to meet his need;

But he’ll be donning armour more renowned

(His courage reassures him) with all speed,

Although the king has dealt him such a blow,

, From his right shoulder blood begins to flow;

And though Gradasso ave him when the fought

A wound upon the thigh which is no joke.

Watching his moment, Brandimarte caught

King Agramante off his guard and broke

His buckler, wounding his left arm, then sought

And slashed his sword-hand with a glancing stroke.

But this is child’s-play in comparison

With what between the other two went on.

Gradasso has disarmed the Count almost.

His helmet at the crown and sides is split.

His shield upon the meadow has been tossed.

His hauberk and his coat of mail are slit

(Though every thrust upon his flesh is lost).

And yet Gradasso had the worst of it:

On face and throat and breast he bears still more

Of Balisarda’s markings than before.

Gradasso in his desperation sees,

Though he is drenched in his own blood, that by

So many blows unharmed Orlando is

And that from head to foot he stays quite dry.

His mighty weapon now behold him seize

In both his hands and lift it up on high.

Meaning to split Orlando’s trunk in two,

He brings it down just where he aimed to do.

But such a blow is wasted on the Count.

No blood had stained the shining virgin blade,

As if it came down flat or had been blunt.

Yet by its impact stunned, Orlando swayed,

And stars below on earth began to count,

And long it was before he saw them fade.

He dropped the reins – he would have dropped his brand,

But it was chained securely to his hand.

The heavy crash had terrified the steed

Which on its back the Count Orlando bore.

Giving a demonstration of its speed,

It raised a cloud of dust along the shore.

The Count, who by the blow seemed atrophied,

Could not control the charger as before.

Gradasso followed hard upon his track:

Of speed Baiardo likewise had no lack.

But looking round, he saw King Agramant

Facing the last extremity of man.

In his left hand the son of Monodant

Has grasped the helmet of the African.

He has undone the leather straps in front;

The dagger which he holds reveals his plan.

To Agramante no defence is left

Since even of his sword he is bereft.

Gradasso turns; he lets Orlando go;

He rides to bring King Agramante aid.

Incautious Brandimarte does not know;

His eyes, his thoughts, have not an instant strayed

From his intent to give the final blow

And in the pagan’s throat to plunge the blade.

Gradasso has arrived: with all his might,

Both hands upon his sword, he strikes the knight.

100

Father of Heaven, to a martyr’s throne

With Thy Elect, admit this soul, I pray,

Who through life’s stormy voyages has gone

And in the harbour furls his sails today!

Ah Durindana, what a deed was done!

Your cruelty, could no compassion stay?

The truest friend he ever had, or will,

Before Orlando’s very eyes you kill ?

101

His helmet, circled by an iron rim

Two fingers thick, the coif beneath, of steel,

No longer offered a defence to him

Against the blow Gradasso’s sword could deal.

It split them both apart; the world grew dim,

And from his charger Brandimarte fell,

And with the blood which from his head now drained

In widening crimson streaks the sand was veined.

102

Orlando, coming to himself again,

Looks back; and there his Brandimarte lies.

Gradasso’s air of triumph makes it plain

That he is dead; and in him now arise

(I know not which is stronger) rage and pain.

Having no time for weeping, he denies

His grief, and thus his rage the faster flows;

But now at last this canto I must close.

CANTO XLII

What curb is there so harsh, what iron bond,

What chain of adamant (if such there be)

To which the force of anger will respond

By keeping to a lawful boundary,

If one to whom your heart by love is joined,

And firmly riveted by constancy,

Is seen to be dishonoured, or to meet

With harm by violence or by deceit?

If to a cruel or inhuman deed

Such impetus may drive it on, the soul,

Thus overmastered, an excuse can plead,

Since reason has surrendered its control.

Achilles, when he saw Patroclus bleed,

Dragged Hector’s body round the Trojan wall.

The killing of the killer did not sate him:

He had thus to destroy and desecrate him.

Invincible Alfonso, by such fire

Your troops were kindled when the heavy stone

Fell on your brow with injury so dire

That all believed your soul on high had flown.

Then no defences from such blazing ire

Could save your foes, who perished, every one.

No rampart, wall or ditch was of avail,

And not a man was left to tell the tale.

The grief it caused your men to see you fall

Moved them to frenzy and to cruelties.

Had you been on your feet, perhaps the toll

Would have been less and the content to seize

And to restore to you the citadel

Of Bastia in fewer hours than days

Which needed were to take it, earlier,

By men of Còrdova and Grànada.

Perhaps the avenging Deity permitted

That you should be laid low in that event,

That an excess of cruelty committed

Should meet, as it deserved, with punishment:

When Vestidello in good faith submitted,

Weary and wounded all his spirit spent

Unarmed among the men-at-arms of Spain

(Who mostly served Mahomet) he was slain.

But now, to bring this matter to an end,

I tell you that no other wrath is like

The wrath you feel when you see one offend

Your liege lord, kinsman, comrade, or the like;

So it was right that for so dear a friend

A sudden wrath Orlando’s heart should strike

When dead upon the ground he saw him lie,

Felled by the blow Gradasso slew him by.

As a Numidian shepherd who has seen

A hateful snake slide off across the sand

When it has left its deadly poison in

His child, will grasp his cudgel in his hand

With rage so now that sword, more sharp and keen

Than any other, Falerina’s brand,

Orlando grasps and turns to do his worst:

His angry gaze meets Agramante first.

Bleeding, with half a shield, his helm unstrapped,

Swordless and with more wounds than could be said,

From Brandimarte’s clutch he had escaped,

As from the talons of a hawk, half dead,

A falcon frees itself, for spite uncapped,

Or for some foolish whim unwisely sped.

Orlando reached him: and exactly where

The head and body join, he struck him, there.

The neck, being undefended, like a reed

Was severed cleanly with a single slash.

That regal torso, following the head,

Ended its Libyan kingship with a crash,

And to the Acheron its spirit fled,

Where Charon hoisted it aboard. A flash –

And Balisarda, active once again,

Has sought, and found, the Sericanian.

When King Gradasso on that fateful shore

Has seen the headless torso fall – dread sight –

A thing occurred, unknown to him before:

His heart within him quailed, his face grew white.

Now, when Orlando down upon him bore,

He seemed to know and almost to invite

His doom, for no defence he made, and no

Attempt to intercept the mortal blow.

Gradasso on the right-hand side was cleft

Beneath the lowest rib; the blade went through

His belly and emerged upon the left,

Where it protruded by a palm or two,

Empurpled with his blood from tip to haft.

Thus the best warrior the world e’er knew

Brought to his death a mighty lord than whom

None was more powerful in Pagandom.

Small joy Orlando feels at his success

As, leaping with impatience from his steed,

His countenance distorted with distress,

His eyes suffused with tears, he makes all speed

Towards his Brandimart, for whom redress

Has come too late; he sees how he has bled.

He sees the helm as by an axe, split wide:

Frail bark as much protection would provide.

Orlando took the helmet from his face

And found that from his forehead to his nose

Gradasso’s sword had left its deadly trace;

Yet breath enough remained in his last throes

To ask for God’s forgiveness and for grace

Before his life descended to its close,

And to exhort the Count to find relief

In patient resignation for his grief.

These words he uttered just before the end:

‘Remember me, Orlando, when you pray’;

And he continued, ‘To you I commend

My Fiordi…’ but the ‘ligi’ could not say.

On high, angelic voices sweetly blend

With the celestial instruments which play,

As from the mortal veil his soul, set free,

Is wafted heavenwards in melody.

Orlando should feel naught but happiness

At so devout an end; he can believe,

He knows, that Brandimart is now in bliss;

He saw the heavens open to receive

His soul; but human will is weak in this.

At such a loss he cannot help but grieve,

At such a loss the tears pour down his face,

A loss no brother even could replace.

Sobrino’s face and side were drenched with gore.

Some time ago he’d fallen helplessly

Upon his back; continuing to pour,

His veins by now must almost empty be.

And Oliver is lying as before,

Pinned by his charger; and whatever he

Contrives, his foot, half-crushed beneath the weight,

And out of joint, he cannot extricate.

And if Orlando had not rescued him

(His countenance still sorrowful and wet

With tears), he never could have freed his limb.

The pain is such, he cannot stand, or set

One foot before the other; in this grim

Predicament, while numb and lifeless yet

His whole leg seemed, without Orlando’s aid

No single step could Oliver have made.

Small joy Orlando took in victory.

The death of Brandimarte was too high

A price to pay, too harsh a penalty;

And Oliver’s condition made him sigh.

Sobrino’s senses intermittently

Revived and sank, for Erebus was nigh.

So copiously from his wounds he bled,

His life was hanging by the merest thread.

Orlando had him carried to a tent

To have his bleeding gashes stitched with care

And spoke some words of kind encouragement,

As if two relatives, not foes, they were.

He felt no rancour after the event.

Humane his actions and benign his air.

Claiming the arms and horses of the dead,

The servants might take all the rest, he said.

Here Frederick Fulgoso casts some doubt

Upon my tale and wonders if it’s true.

When with his fleet he journeyed round about

The coast of Barbary, this isle he knew:

He landed and explored it all throughout.

He found it mountainous and, in his view,

On all that rough and rocky piece of land

No-one, no single foot, could level stand.

And on that crag (he says) six cavaliers,

The flower of the world though they might be,

Could not have run and jousted with their spears.

To this objection which he puts to me

I answer: at that time (so it appears)

There was a space for tilting, near the sea;

But it was covered when a pinnacle

Of massive rock, dislodged by earthquake, fell.

So, bright Fulgosan splendour, brilliant gleam,

Serene refulgence which for ever glows,

If in the presence, it may be, of him

To whom your land its peace and safety owes,

You have declared that I untruthful seem,

Let us our difference in friendship close:

Do not be slow in telling him that I

Perhaps as elsewhere in this do not lie.

Orlando, gazing out to sea meanwhile,

Noticed a little craft, its sails full-spread,

Making, it seemed to him, straight for the isle

As with all haste before the wind it sped.

But who it was approaching in this style

I will not tell you now; let us, instead,

Return to France, where they have chased away

The Moors, and see if they are sad or gay.

And let us see how fares that constant Maid

Who sees her only joy depart again.

I speak of Bradamant, who is dismayed

When she discovers that the vow is var

Which a few days ago Ruggiero made

In earshot of the troops of Charlemagne

And Agramant; and if in this he fails,

Her heart, bereft of hope, within her quails.

Then, newly giving vent to her distress,

Repeating her by now familiar wails,

Calling Ruggiero cruel, pitiless,

To the full blast of woe she spreads her sails

And in an anguished voice with bitterness

Against high Heaven itself she rants and rails,

Calling it weak, unjust and impotent,

Since perjury receives no punishment.

She turned against Melissa in her grief,

The grotto and the oracle she cursed,

To which she has accorded such belief,

She’ll perish in the sea of love immersed.

She turned next to Marfisa for relief;

Her mounting frenzy rising to its worst,

She cried and shrieked and endless clamour made

And on her kindness threw herself for aid.

Marfisa shrugs; what little she can say

To comfort her,she says; she has no doubt

Ruggiero will return to her straightway

And claim her as his bride; if he does not,

Marfisa will not let him get away

(She gives her solemn word) with such a blot

On his escutcheon (which is hers as well) :

Fulfilment of his vows she will compel.

And thus she helps the Maid to check her grief

Which, being vented, is less bitter now.

So, having seen and heard her gain relief,

Her love reviling for his broken vow,

Let’s find her brother and discover if

He better fares, although I don’t see how:

In every nerve he is aflame with love –

It is Rinaldo I am speaking of,

Rinaldo who so loved, as you recall,

Angelica the beautiful; and yet,

Although her beauty held him now in thrall,

He had been drawn by magic in Love’s net.

The other knights a peaceful interval

Enjoy, after the Saracens’ defeat.

Of all the victors, he alone remains

A captive, bound in sorrow by Love’s chains.

A hundred men for news of her he sent.

He too had searched; when no one could succeed,

To Malagigi in the end he went,

Who many times had helped him in his need;

And he confessed to his enamourment,

Standing with downcast brow and blushing red.

He begged him finally to tell him where

He’d find his love, Angelica the fair.

Amazement at such love, so strange and new,

Went spinning round in Malagigi’s head.

Rinaldo could have had the girl, he knew,

Had he so wished, a hundred times in bed;

And he himself did all that he could do,

And all that he could find to say, he said.

He threatened and cajoled but nothing moved him.

He did not want her then, although she loved him.

And what is more, if he had yielded then

She’d promised to set Malagigi free.

But now what has the sorcerer to gain?

Why should he listen to Rinaldo’s plea?

What of the suffering, what of the pain

Which he endured while in captivity?

In that dark dungeon he might well have died

Because Rinaldo his request denied.

But as Rinaldo’s pleas for aid still more

Insistent and importunate appear,

His cousin Malagigi they assure

The love which they betoken is no mere

Caprice; and all the injuries of yore

As in the ocean sink and disappear.

He does not let Rinaldo plead in vain

But now resolves to help him in his pain.

Setting a certain time for his return,

He gave Rinaldo hope, and went his way

The fate of fair Angelica to learn:

Was she in France, or was she far away?

Such matters conjured demons could discern.

He reached his secret cave without delay

(To no one else was it accessible)

And summoned droves of spirits by a spell.

He chooses one who in affairs of love

Is well informed; he asks, ‘How can it be

Rinaldo’s heart, once hard, which naught could move,

Is now so soft?’ He learns the mystery

Of the two fountains, how the water of

The one enkindles passion; contrary

Effect the other has; no cure is known,

But each is cancelled by the other one.

The waters which the heart from loving bar

Rinaldo drank, and harsh and cold became.

No pleadings of the fair Angelica

Availed; but then at last the moment came

When he was led by an unlucky star

To drink the waters which the heart inflame.

His passion now for her is desperate

Whom beyond measure he was wont to hate.

An evil star, a cruel fate indeed!

The fever from the icy stream he sips

Just when the fair Angelica is led

To touch the loveless water with her lips.

All soft emotion from her heart is shed;

Henceforth her flesh for him with horror creeps

As for a snake; and he as much loves her

As he abhorred and scorned her earlier.

The demon tells him everything he can

About Rinaldo’s strange vicissitude;

About Angelica’s young African

He tells him too, how he possessed her nude,

And how the damsel’s love for him began,

How they left European soil for good,

How they took passage on a ship from Spain

And sailed for India across the main.

And when Rinaldo came for his reply,

His cousin Malagigi told him all:

Angelica had left him high and dry

And at a lowly Berber’s beck and call

No joy did she withhold, no whim deny.

He must stop loving her for good and all.

Now she was half-way home and far from France,

Of tracing her he had but little chance.

Rinaldo leaves Paris

The damsel’s flight itself would not have been

A blow the eager lover could not bear;

Thoughts of returning to the East to win

Her back would not have made him turn a hair;

But when Rinaldo hears a Saracen

Has plucked the first fruits of a love so rare,

Such anguish and such torment rend his heart,

He never in his life has known such smart.

And not a word in answer can he say.

Tongue-tied, he cannot form one syllable;

His trembling lips his trembling heart betray,

He twists his mouth, as if he tasted gall.

Not one more instant can he bear to stay

But lets his fury drive him where it will.

And after many tears, and bitter woe,

Eastwards once more he knew that he must go.

He asks the son of Pepin for consent,

Making his horse Baiardo an excuse:

Gradasso took it with him when he went,

Committing thus a serious abuse

Of chivalry; to make him now repent,

Rinaldo, honour-bound, this course must choose:

Gradasso else would boast how with his lance

He won the charger of a peer of France.

Charles granted leave of absence with regret

And all in France were sad to see him go;

But since the quest on which his heart seemed set

Was honourable, he could not say no.

Rinaldo would on no account permit

Dudone or Guidone to come too,

But, leaving Paris, he rode forth alone,

With many a lover’s sigh and many a groan.

And ever by this memory he’s haunted:

A thousand times he could have known delight,

But he rejected what she would have granted

And foolishly such beauty chose to slight.

Of that sweet pleasure which he had not wanted

What years were lost! Ah! now if one short night

Of love’s fulfilment she would not deny,

How gladly he would come,how gladly die!

And ever in his mind and in his heart

He asks himself: how could a lowly Moor

Drive every recollection from her heart

Of her devoted aspirants of yore?

This is the thought which lacerates his heart

As on he journeys eastwards heading for

The Rhine and Basle; still brooding on his pain,

He enters the great forest of Ardennes.

Mile after mile the paladin rode on,

Where the dense wood grew more mysterious,

Where hamlets and where castles were unknown,

Where tangled paths were rough and dangerous;

And all at once a shadow veiled the sun:

Over the sky a gloom spread, ominous,

While from a cavern, dark and dank and deep,

He saw a monstrous female figure creep.

A thousand lidless eyes which cannot blink,

A thousand ears the creature has; it takes

No rest; it cannot ever sleep, I think.

In place of hair – a writhing mass of snakes,

A sight from which the bravest heart would shrink.

A larger and more cruel serpent tweaks

Its coils about the torso like a tail.

This form had issued from the shades of Hell

And what in all Rinaldo’s deeds of war

Had never happened to him, happened then.

As the dread monster down upon him bore

And all its hostile panoply was seen,

Fear such as none perhaps e’er felt before

Flooded him through and through in every vein;

Yet with a show of courage a brave stand

He made, his sword grasped in a trembling hand.

The monster crouches for a deadly spring,

In all the arts of war a champion.

Its tail (the venom reptile) brandishing,

It rushes at Rinaldo, now upon

This side and now another menacing.

Of all his strokes, transverse or straight, not one

The monster’s head or any part can find;

His sword each time on empty air falls blind.

The monster pierces through his coat of mail

And with its icy poison numbs his heart.

Next,through the visor’s sights it flicks its tail,

Stinging his face and neck in a quick dart.

Nothing Rinaldo does is of avail;

He has no other course than to depart.

The monster is not lame, and with one jump

It sits behind him on the charger’s rump.

And whether left or right or straight ahead

He goes, the cursèd beast is with him still.

He tries all means: the plague he cannot shed.

The charger bucks: it sits immovable.

Rinaldo’s heart is trembling, not with dread

That it may further seek to do him ill,

But with disgust and horror, and he groans,

Reviling life with his laments and moans.

Through the most intricate and tangled trails

Rinaldo spurs up the most hazardous

Of cliffs, and down the thorniest of vales,

Deep in the darkest and most ominous

Of shadows; but in spite of all he fails

To loosen from his back that venomous

And hateful beast; his end indeed seemed nigh,

But to the rescue came one riding by.

A cavalier in shining armour came.

A yoke, fragmented, as his crest he bore.

The emblem on his buckler was a flame

Of crimson blazing on a field of or.

His surcoat was embroidered with the same,

Like the caparison his charger wore.

His sword was sheathed, his lance in readiness,

And coruscations sparkled from his mace.

With an eternal flame this weapon burns,

Yet it is not consumed; and every shield,

Cuirass and helm, however strong, it scorns.

Before its blaze a cavalier must yield;

Whichever way the fiery weapon turns,

It clears all opposition from the field.

No less was needed to relieve our knight

Who found himself in such a cruel plight.

And, like a brave bold-hearted cavalier,

He makes for where the sound of combat is

And at a gallop speedily draws near.

The monster on Rinaldo’s back he sees,

Wrapping its tail around him, till in fear

It makes the paladin both burn and freeze.

The rescuer attacks and at one blow

The monster tumbles to the left below.

But scarcely has it fallen than anew

It springs erect and brandishes its tail.

The cavalier next tries what fire can do

(The lance, he thinks, will be of less avail).

He grasps the mace, the snake twists to and fro,

The blows descend as fast and thick as hail,

And not an instant can the creature find

To get a single stroke in, true or blind.

Forcing it back or holding it at bay,

Avenging many a shame with every blow,

He lets Rinaldo make a getaway

And up towards the mountain bids him go.

The paladin is willing to obey:

The path and the advice he is not slow

To take, but quickly vanishes from sight,

Though harsh is the ascent towards the height.

The cavalier fights on; through the black hole

He drives the monster down to the Abyss.

There it devours itself; there tears from all

Its thousand eyes will trickle limitless

And through eternity unchecked will fall.

The rescuer, having accomplished this,

Up to the mountain-top proceeds to ride

To be Rinaldo’s counsellor and guide.

Rinaldo’s gratitude was infinite;

He was in debt to him for evermore,

And with his life he’d willingly remit

His obligation and redress the score.

He asked his rescuer (as he thought fit)

If he’d divulge to him the name he bore,

That he might make his deed of valour known

To Charles and sing his praise to everyone.

The cavalier replied, ‘If I conceal

My name a while, be not displeased, I pray,

For my identity I will reveal

Before the shadows lengthen.’ A short way

They rode until they came upon a rill

As clear and sparkling as the light of day.

All passers-by who, by its murmur lured,

Drink from this water, of love’s pains are cured.

This was the very selfsame stream, my lord,

Of which the icy water quenches love.

Angelica who drank from it abhorred

Rinaldo from then on; but when she strove

To win his heart (for once she had adored

The paladin, as I have said above),

He hated her; of this the reason was

That from this fount he sipped – no other cause.

The knight who travelled at Rinaldo’s side

Drew rein as they approached the crystal spring,

Being heated with the combat and the ride.

He said, ‘To rest here will be no bad thing.’

‘Nothing but good will come of it,’ replied

Rinaldo; ‘the noon sun is menacing

And the foul monster has so harried me,

Welcome and timely some repose will be.’

So each dismounted and allowed his steed

To roam the forest, grazing at its will;

And each then drew his helmet from his head,

Prepared to take his rest and look his fill

Upon the flower-spangled verdant mead.

Rinaldo ran towards the sparkling rill

And quenched, with but one sip of the cold stream,

Both thirst and love which so tormented him.

The other knight, who watched him as he raised

His mouth all dripping from the icy spring,

His every thought of mad desire erased,

Then rose to his full stature, challenging,

As sternly on the paladin he gazed.

Then he divulged what I to light now bring:

‘Rinaldo, you must know my name is Scorn:

I free you from a yoke ignobly borne.’

And with these words he vanished instantly

And with him vanished too his destrier.

Rinaldo, marvelling, cried, ‘Where is he?’

All he could do was turn about and stare.

He wondered what the knight and horse could be:

Enchanted phantoms conjured in mid-air

By Malagigi, sent to break the chain

Which for so long had fettered him in pain?

Or else despatched from the Celestial Host

By God, Whose goodness is ineffable,

Who sent an Angel once in times long past,

Blind Tobit’s vision to restore and heal?

Rejoicing to be free again at last,

Whether the spirit be from Heaven or Hell,

Rinaldo offers thanks and praise; he knows

To it alone release from love he owes.

Angelica he hated once again.

For half a league he would not now pursue

One whom he’d sought so far and long in vain;

But none the less he is determined to

Ride on to Sericana to regain

His destrier Baiardo, as is due:

In the first place, his honour is involved,

And he had told his lord what he resolved.

Rinaldo reaches Basle on the next day,

Where rumour has it that the Count Anglant

Has pledged in a three-cornered final fray

To fight Gradasso and King Agramant.

This, nobody had heard Orlando say,

No message of the kind by him was sent

But he who brought the news arrived hotfoot

From Sicily, and he was in no doubt.

Rinaldo longs to reach Orlando’s side.

The journey he must undertake is vast.

Every ten miles he changes mount and guide.

Not sparing whip or spur, he gallops fast,

Crosses the Rhine at Constance, in his stride

Surmounts the Alps, to Italy at last

Descends; Verona, Mantua recede,

Then to the Po’s south bank he makes all speed.

The sun, already low, towards evening sank,

Already the first star was visible,

As he stood pensive on the river-bank:

Should he change horses here, or rest until,

Once more discountenanced, the darkness shrank

Before the light Aurora would unveil?

Just then he saw a cavalier approach,

In aspect courteous and sans reproche.

First greeting him with every compliment,

He asked the paladin if he were wed.

Rinaldo heard him with astonishment:

‘The wedded yoke does couple me,’ he said.

The other then replied, ‘I am content.’

Next, on his words some clarity he shed:

‘If you this night near by desire to rest,

I beg you will accept to be my guest,

‘For I will show you what all married men

(I do not doubt) would dearly love to see.’

Rinaldo’s curiosity being then

Aroused (for he was drawn to mystery

And to adventure) and since he had been

So long upon the road he willingly

Accepted the kind offer of the knight

And took the unknown path into the night.

Veering a bowshot from the main highway,

They came upon a palace, great and tall.

Pages with burning torches, bright as day,

Escorted them inside the spacious hall.

Rinaldo gazed about him every way,

At every entrance and at every wall.

Here was a dwelling rarely to be seen,

Too costly, surely, for one citizen.

The portal has a priceless pediment

Of hardest serpentine and porphyry.

The doors are bronze; figures which ornament

Them seem to breathe and turn their eyes to see.

Beneath an arch through which Rinaldo went

Lovel mosaics leam deludingly.

Beyond, a courtyard where on every side

,, Loggias extend, a hundred cubits wide.

Each loggia has its entrance, separate,

Preceded by an arch, each width the same,

But in relief distinctively ornate

(A lavish plenty was the sculptor’s aim).

A ramp goes up at such a gentle rate

A burdened ass would find it a mere game.

Another archway crowns the topmost stair

And leads to an apartment, rich and fair.

The upper-storey arches were so wide,

They straddled the majestic entrances,

Supported by two columns, one each side,

Of bronze or marble, or like substances;

But it would be excessive if I tried

To sketch all the ornate appurtenances,

Not only the delights above, which show,

But those the architect designed below.

High pillars with their gilded capitals,

Bearing the gem-encrusted porticoes,

Marble, imported to adorn the halls,

Fashioned in many a skilful form and pose,

Paintings and metal castings, and much else,

Though all their beauty night does not disclose,

Show clearly that for such an edifice

The riches of two kings would not suffice.

Supreme among the many ornaments,

So rich and fair, which gladdened the abode,

In copious rivulets and affluents

A fountain with refreshing water flowed.

From the four doors in equal evidence,

And with a central view of them, it stood.

The servants who the evening meal prepare

Are busy setting out the tables there.

The fountain, by a master craftsman made

With many a subtle touch of artistry,

Was shaped like a pavilion, giving shade;

Each of eight sides was fashioned differently,

Crowned with a golden cupola, inlaid

Beneath with blue enamel, fair to see.

Eight statues of fine marble, gleaming white,

Their left arms held aloft, supported it.

And sculpted with the master’s cunning skill

In their right hand a horn of plenty was,

Whence water with a pleasing murmur fell

And flowed into an alabaster vase.

These female figures were majestical

(Of artistry sublime which had no flaws),

Diverse in raiment and diverse in face,

But equal in their beauty and their grace.

And firmly fixed were every statue’s feet

Upon two other figures placed below.

That these found song and harmony a sweet

Delight, their mouths, wide open, seemed to show.

Their pose suggested they would dedicate

Their lives in praise of the fair ladies who

Were standing on their shoulders, were but they

In truth those whom these semblances portray.

Each pair of the supporters has a scroll

Which in their arms unfolded is and spread.

Incised on it are writings which extol

The more exalted statues overhead.

Their own names are not absent from the roll

And, like the women’s, can be plainly read.

Rinaldo scrutinized them, one by one,

While in the dark the light of torches shone

A first inscription meets Rinaldo’s eyes:

Lucrezia Borgia with all honour named,

Whose loveliness and virtue Rome should prize

Above her ancient namesake’s, likewise famed.

The two who raise her statue to the skies,

Strozzi and Tebaldeo, gladly claimed

The glorious burden and will serve her long,

A Linus and an Orpheus in song.

The statue by her side is no less fair:

‘Isabella, daughter of Ercole,

Behold!’ (so runs the script); ‘Ferrara, where

She will be born, greater felicity

Will owe to this, more thankfulness declare,

Than for the heaping of prosperity

Which Fortune has in store and will reveal

As through the turning years she turns her wheel.’

The pair which loving eagerness displays

That her renown for ever shall resound

Are both Gian Iacopi, the writing says,

But one to Bardelone will respond,

One to Calandra; in the next two bays,

Whence water trickles with a pleasing sound,

Two women stand, alike in blood and race,

Alike in honour, loveliness and grace.

Elisabetta one of them is named,

The other Leonora; they will bring

To Mantua, as Virgil’s birthplace famed,

No less renown (the marble lettering

Predicts); the first for whom this legend claimed

Such glory is upheld by two who sing

Her praise: Iacopo Sadoleto and

Pietro Bembo. Beneath the other stand

A courtly Castiglione, and, beside,

The learnèd Muzio Arelio;

These names, upon the marble scroll descried,

Were at that time unknown, but now are so

Deservedly renowned. Rinaldo’s guide

Next points to her on whom the heavens bestow

The virtue to sustain whatever ill

Or good shall come to her by Fortune’s wheel.

She is proclaimed in gold calligraphy

Lucrezia Bentivoglio; she in whom

Ferrara’s duke rejoices, proud to be

Her father; chanting her encomium

In a sweet voice with limpid melody,

Camillo stands; Bologna, overcome,

The Reno, rapt in wonder, will pay heed

As to its shepherd once Amphrysus did.

With him is one on whose account the town

Where the Isauro, growing brackish, flows

Into the sea, will gain a world renown,

From Auster’s region to the northern snows,

From East to West; on him a double crown

Together Phoebus and Athene pose.

The Roman origin of Pèsaro

Will be outweighed by Guido Postumo.

Next is Diana and of her they read:

‘She is as kind of heart as she is fair

Of face; to her proud bearing pay no heed.

Her glory Celio Calcagnin will bear;

Combining poetry’, so runs the screed,

‘With erudition, from the kingdom where

Monaeses ruled, to Juba’s Africa,

His trump is heard from Spain to India.’

Marco Cavallo’s words her praise endorse

And in Ancona will arise a fount

As when on Helicon the wingèd horse

(Some say it happened on Parnassus’ mount)

Struck with its hoof the enchanted watercourse.

Of Beatrice they next read this account:

‘Her spouse she blesses long as she draws breath;

Disconsolate she leaves him on her death.

‘All Italy is stricken by her loss,

Triumphant once, now plunged in slavery,’

A poet of Correggio, Nicholas,

With high-flown eloquence appears to be

Intoning as he writes. Mellifluous,

The Bendedei’s glory, Timothy,

Joins in her praise. Where tears of amber flow,

A river at their plangent tones will slow.

Between this, and that statue which portrays

The Borgia I have mentioned in my rhyme,

On a tall figure now they fix their gaze,

In alabaster carved, and so sublime,

No other form is worthier of praise.

Veiled and in black, adorned with neither gem

Nor gold, yet no less lovely she appears.

Than Venus does among the other stars.

One cannot tell by looking at her face

Which of these qualities prevail in it,

Such are her beauty, majesty and grace,

The upright virtues of her mind her wit.

This message on the marble scroll they trace:

‘Who speaks of her as fully as is fit,

His gifts to a most worthy task will lend,

Yet such that he will never reach the end.’

Though to her image all these virtues clung,

And though so sweet and gracious was her air,

She seemed disdainful that with humble song

One so uncouth should seek to honour her

As he who stood below unique among

, The rest (I know not why), with none to share

His burden. All the others were revealed;

These names alone the sculptor had concealed.

The statues on the fountain form a ring.

The coral floor is dry and rendered cool

By the clear water, sweetly murmuring,

Which pours unending in a crystal pool,

And thence in conduits channelled is to bring

Refreshment to the meadows, beautiful

With green and blue and white and yellow flowers,

To tender grasses and to shady bowers.

Sitting at table with the courteous knight,

Rinaldo urged him many times to say

What he had promised to reveal that night.

He longed to hear it now without delay;

But glancing at him when he deemed it right,

He saw that on his heart some burden lay,

He heard with every moment that went by

His breast give vent to an impassioned sigh.

So, many times Rinaldo held his peace.

Questions, impelled by curiosity,

Rose to his lips but did not gain release,

By tact restrained and modest courtesy.

The meal at last had come to a surcease

When a young page, whose task it seemed to be,

Placed on the board a goblet, gold and fine,

Inlaid with gems, filled to the brim with wine.

The lord and master smiled a little then,

Looking Rinaldo in the face, but one

Who closely scrutinized him could have seen

That in his eyes tears, not of laughter, shone.

He said, ‘I know how eager you have been

To hear the end of what I have begun.

Now is the time, I think, to bring you proof

For which no husband could give thanks enough.

100

‘In my opinion, every married man

Should keep a prudent watch upon his spouse,

And learn if she deceives him, if he can,

Or if she guards the honour of his house.

Nothing is easier than to obtain

A pair of horns, for all the shame they cause.

To almost everyone they’re obvious,

Except the husband, who’s oblivious.

101

‘If you are certain that your wife is pure,

You’ll love her more, and have good reason to,

Than he who knows his has a paramour,

Or he who suffers doubt and anguish too;

And many unjust jealousy could cure,

Whose wives are chaste and innocent and true,

While many more, though feeling no concern,

Are wearing horns which others can discern.

102

‘Thinking your wife is chaste, as I believe

That you believe and as believe you must

(Though to believe is hard, till you receive

Clear evidence of what it is you trust),

If you desire to have proof positive,

Drink from this goblet; it is placed here just

For this, that I may demonstrate to you

The test I spoke of, as I promised to.

103

‘Drink from this goblet; if you wear the crest

Of Cornwall (let us say), you’ll find it tips

The total of its contents down your breast

And not a drop of wine will pass your lips.

If on the other hand your wife is chaste,

Between you and the cup there’ll be no slips.’

And with these words he fixed his gaze upon

Rinaldo’s bosom where the wine would run.

104

Almost convinced and half at least inclined

To make the test, Rinaldo reaches out

And takes the golden cup, wherewith to find

What it were best perhaps to leave in doubt.

Then pausing, he considers in his mind

The risk he faces if he tries it; but

Let me now rest a while, my lord and I

Will let you know the paladin’s reply.

CANTO XLIII

O execrable avarice! O greed!

I do not marvel that a low-born soul,

Tainted with other sins, thou dost succeed

In grasping and in holding as thy thrall;

But that thou shouldst as helpless captive lead,

And with those selfsame talons strike and maul,

One who for nobleness of intellect,

If he avoided thee, would earn respect!

Some men can measure earth and sea and sky,

The origins of Nature’s works retrace,

Her every how disclose, her every why,

And, scaling Heaven, look God in the face;

Yet, if their souls should be infected by

The fatal poison of thy fangs, a base

Desire for wealth becomes their chief concern:

For this alone they hope, for this they yearn.

Others can vanquish armies and with zest

Will breach the portals of a garrison,

The first to offer their undaunted breast,

The last from scenes of battle to have flown;

Yet in thy dungeon thou imprisonest

Their souls, and no defences have they, none.

Others who other arts and skills pursue

Remain obscure, for them thou dost undo.

And what of women, lovely and high-born,

Who no reward for faithful service grant,

Who handsome looks and manly virtue scorn?

I see them hard and cold and adamant.

Lo! Avarice draws near: at once they burn

(Such power has the monster to enchant)

And not for love, but for their pockets’ sake,

The old, the ugly, the deformed they take.

Not without reason do I thus deplore

The ill effects of avarice and greed.

I know what I am doing; I assure

My listeners I have not lost the thread.

My words apply to the above no more

Than to what later on must yet be said.

Let us now seek the paladin who was

About to test the powers of the vase.

I told you that he wished to think a while

Before he raised the goblet to his lips.

He thought, and then he argued in this style:

‘Foolish it is to rouse a dog which sleeps.

Women are women, easy to beguile.

My wife’s a woman: I will take no steps

(In what way would it make me happier?)

To test the confidence I have in her.

‘What good will come of it? Perhaps much ill,

For God is vexed by those who probe and pry.

Whether I am a foolish man, or sensible,

I know not, but this wine I will not try.

So let it be removed, I pray; I feel

No thirst for it and no such thirst do I

Desire, for God denies such certainty,

More than to Adam He denied the tree.

‘When Adam ate the apple long ago

Which the Lord God with His own lips forbade,

He fell from joy and happiness to woe

And ever afterwards his life was sad.

Likewise a husband who desires to know

All that his wife has ever done or said

Will from contentment fall to pain and grief

And never henceforth will he find relief.’

Rinaldo with these words pushed back the vase

Which he had come to hate; to his surprise,

On looking at his host; he saw there was

, A stream of sorrow pouring from his eyes;

And as he wondered what could be the cause,

The sobbing man, grown calmer, in this wise

Began to speak: ‘Ah! bitter is the cost

I paid, for by this test my wife I lost.

‘A curse upon my evil counsellor!

Would that ten years ago I had known you!

Would I had taken your advice before

Such sorrow and such blinding tears I knew!

But let the curtain hide the scene no more.

Let the whole story be displayed to view.

I’ll tell you the beginning and the cause

Of my long torment, which no equal has.

‘You passed a city to the north of here:

A river, issuing from Garda, slows

Its pace, spreading around it like a mere,

Then swiftly downward to the Po it flows.

When Thebes collapsed, whose snake-born founders

By Cadmus harvested, this city rose. [were

There I was born, of noble family,

Though raised in lowliness and poverty.

‘If Fortune did not take sufficient care

Of me to give me riches at my birth,

Nature, to compensate, an extra share

Of beauty gave me (of far greater worth).

None of my fellows could with me compare,

And in my younger days I had no dearth

Of women who desired me, and I knew

How to respond and how to please them too,

‘(Though it is not for me to boast of this).

And in our city dwelt a learnèd sage,

Well versed in all the arts and sciences;

And when he closed his eyes in death, his age

One hundred eight-and-twenty was, no less.

And when he had approached the final stage,

Though up till then he’d lived a hermit’s life,

By Love induced he bought himself a wife.

‘By her he had a daughter secretly;

And that she might disdain her mother’s ways,

Who for a price sold her virginity

(Than which no treasure higher value has),

He hid her from the world’s society,

And in this lonely place resolved to raise,

First calling demon masons to his aid,

This spacious palace, sumptuously arrayed.

‘And here by chaste old dames the girl was reared,

Who grew, as time went by, in grace and charm.

So greatly for her innocence he feared,

Such was his dread that she might come to harm,

No man (apart from him) she saw or heard;

And by examples her resolve to arm,

Of every woman who resisted lust

He placed a portrait, statue or a bust.

‘Not only women who as Virtue’s friends

Adorned the world when it was young, whose fame

By ancient chronicles to us descends,

Whom everlastingly we shall acclaim:

To future ages the design extends,

And women who will glorify the name

Of Italy are pictured here in stone

Or paint, such as these eight whom I have shown.

‘And when he judged the fruit was ripe to pluck,

In his opinion I was worthier

(Whether by my misfortune or good luck)

Than any other man to marry her.

The corn-fields, fed by many a stream and brook,

Replete with every kind of provender,

Which stretch for twenty miles around outside,

He gave me as a dowry for the bride.

‘So gently reared, so beautiful was she,

In all respects a very paragon!

Her drawn-thread work and her embroidery

Equalled the best Athene might have done.

No mortal being – a divinity

In walk, in voice, she seemed to everyone.

In art and letters she was almost as

Accomplished as her learnèd father was.

‘Endowed with intellect and loveliness

(Which would have made the very stones relent),

She had so fond a heart that I confess

To think of it, with grief my heart is rent.

Her greatest joy, her keenest happiness,

Was to be near me whereso’er I went.

No quarrel had we in the years which passed –

But we fell out, and by my fault, at last.

‘Five years went by in conjugal delight

And then the sage, her father, passed away.

At once began the woes that to this plight

Reduced me which you find me in today.

While I yet sheltered ’neath Love’s wings that quite

Enfolded me, content in every way,

For me a lady of the neighbourhood

With ardour burned, as fierce as any could.

‘In every magic charm and spell as versed

As any sorceress, she plied her skill:

The night to day, or day to night reversed,

Halted the sun or moved the earth at will;

And yet, for all she tried to do her worst,

She could not make me cure her of her ill:

For I abhorred the only remedy,

Which would have done my spouse an injury.

‘Her charm and beauty were of no avail,

Her love for me (though it was deep, I knew),

Her gifts, her promises were doomed to fail,

Though many times repeated and not few.

My resolution she could not assail.

No spark from my first love to fire the new

Would I transfer; and what restrained my lust

Was knowing that my consort I could trust.

‘Such hope, such faith, such certainty I had

That she was true, I could have looked with cold

Disdain on Helen, and the offer made

To Paris, of great wisdom and much gold,

When he a shepherd on Mount Ida played,

And judged the goddesses in days of old,

I would have scorned; yet, spite of all I did,

Of my enchantress I could not be rid.

‘She found me wandering alone one day

Outside these walls (Melissa was her name)

And spoke at greater length in such a way

My peace was turned to strife; her cruel aim

Was to use jealousy to drive away

My trust and set my heart with wrath aflame.

First she commends me for my constancy

To one who I believe is true to me:

‘ “You cannot say your wife is true until

You have proof positive; she may not sin

And yet of sin she may be capable:

How do you know, if she has never been

Allowed away from you? How can you tell

How she would act if she saw other men?

Tell me on what your confidence is based

When you assure me that your wife is chaste.

‘ “Absent yourself a while, leave your domains,

And let the villages and cities hear

That you have gone away and she remains,

And let all gallants know the coast is clear;

Then if she proves, in spite of all their pains

(And thinking you could not discover her),

Unwilling to betray the marriage-bed,

Then true to you and chaste she may be said.”

‘With words like these Melissa urges me

To verify the faith I had expressed,

Until at last I yield and I agree

To put my consort’s virtue to the test;

But first I say, “Let us suppose that she

Is not the wife by whom I think I’m blest,

How can I tell for certain this is so?

If I am far away, how can I know?”

‘Melissa said, “I will present to you

A goblet with a power strange and rare.

Morgana made it for King Arthur who

Discovered by its help that Guinevere

Had sinned; a husband, if his wife is true,

Can drink from it, but can be proved to wear

The horns if when he puts it to his lips

All down his chest the content spills and drips;

‘ “But test the goblet first before you leave.

It’s my belief your chest you will not stain:

So far your wife is spotless, I believe.

But if on your return you try again

No guarantee from then on can I give.

If when you quaff your wine your chest is clean,

Of all the husbands in the world you’ll be

Most blest in conjugal fidelity.”

‘I followed her advice; I took the vase

And, testing it, as I expected to,

I found my dear wife true and constant was

And virtuous, just as I always knew.

“Now leave her for a while,” Melissa says,

“Absent yourself from her a month or two

And then return and once more make the test:

See if you drink your wine or drench your chest.”

‘I found it difficult to go away;

Not that I doubted her fidelity –

I could not bear to leave her for a day,

An absence of an hour seemed hard to me.

Melissa said, “Along another way

I’ll take you, where the truth you’ll plainly see.

To change your face, your speech, your dress, I plan,

And send you back to her another man.”

‘Close by there is a city, you must know,

My lord, which stands as guardian between

The menacing, proud antlers of the Po.

To where the tidal waves sweep out and in

Upon the shore, its rule extends; although

Less ancient, among neighbours she’s a queen:

By Trojan settlers founded, it is said,

When from the scourge of Attila they fled.

‘The reins of power are held, now slack, now tight,

By a young lord, wealthy and fair to see,

Who, following one day his falcon’s flight,

Entered my home and saw my wife; and she

So pleased him by her beauty at first sight,

Her imprint marked his heart indelibly.

From then, in his attempts he never tired

To make her yield to him as he desired.

‘But she repulsed him time and time again,

Until he ceased to pester her at last,

But from his memory he tried in vain

To pluck her beauty, whence Love holds him fast.

Melissa, who cajoled me in the strain

I have described, a spell upon me cast,

Changing to his my face, my voice, my hair,

Though how she did it I am unaware.

‘But first I bade my loving wife farewell,

Pretending to depart for the Levant.

Then I returned, but this no one could tell,

I so resembled her young aspirant.

Melissa had transformed herself as well:

A page attentive to my every want

She seemed, and had of gems a costlier store

Than ever Ethiop or Indian wore.

‘Knowing my way, since my domain it is,

I walk straight in; Melissa enters too.

I find my lady sitting at her ease.

There is no footman and no woman who

Attends on her; my chance at once I seize.

I plead with her; before her eyes I strew

Emeralds, rubies, diamonds, amethysts,

A stimulus to evil none resists.

‘I tell her that such offering is small

Compared with what she may expect from me.

I urge her to enjoy this interval

In which her husband absent plans to be.

My long devotion to her I recall.

She knew she could not fault my constancy:

Her faithful lover who so long had served

(I argued) surely some reward deserved.

‘At first she frowned and blushed and shook her head,

And she refused to hear another word;

But when she saw those lovely jewels shed

Their fiery radiance, her heart was stirred

Vanquished, in a low voice she briefly said

(It kills me to remember what I heard)

That she will grant the boon which I entreat

If nobody will ever hear of it.

‘For me her answer was a poisoned dart

Which through my bones and veins an icy chill

Diffused as soon as it transfixed my heart.

My voice stuck in my throat, inaudible.

Melissa at this moment by her art

From my true form removed the magic veil.

Just think how pale my consort then became,

Perceiving I had caught her in such shame.

‘We both turned pale as death, both silent stood

And both for very shame cast down our eyes.

My tongue does not obey me as it should,

The faltering tones I muster scarce suffice:

“And so, my consort, this is how you would

Betray your husband’s honour for a price?”

She cannot answer me save by the tears

Which drench her cheeks, so stricken she appears.

‘Great was her shame, but greater still her scorn

That I should play so base a trick on her;

And on a mounting tide of anger borne,

No sooner had the sun-god charioteer

Dismounted than, not waiting for the morn,

She acted on her plan and fled from here.

She hurried to the river and, despite

The dark, took ship and sailed all through the night.

‘And she presents herself next day before

The cavalier who’d loved her for so long,

Under whose guise, in clothes such as he wore,

I tempted her to do me grievous wrong.

In him who loved her still and even more,

The surge of joy (you may be sure) was strong;

And later she sent word to me to say

That she would never love me from that day.

‘Alas! she lives with him in great delight

And mocks at me and at my foolishness.

By my own fault I languish in this plight,

For which I find no cure and no redress.

My sufferings increase and it is right

That I should die soon of unhappiness.

In the first year I think I would have died

But for one thing which comfort has supplied.

‘My comfort is that in the past decade,

Of all the men who underneath my roof

Have been received and as my guests have stayed

(And I induced them all to try this proof),

There was not one who had not been betrayed.

You are the only husband wise enough

Not to risk ruining your married life

By measuring the virtue of your wife.

‘My eagerness beyond due bounds to see

Has meant that I shall never know again

In all my life, if long or short it be,

An hour of quietness, unracked by pain.

Melissa, overjoyed initially,

Soon saw that all her arts had been in vain.

The cause of my distress, I hated her;

To look upon her now I could not bear.

‘Restive at being hated by the one

Whom she declared she loved more than her life

(She hoped, once she had seen her rival gone,

She would become my mistress or my wife),

From these environs she departed soon;

My coldness to her cut her like a knife.

She left this land and city far behind.

No trace of her thereafter did I find.’

This was the tale which the sad knight related

And when at last he brought it to an end,

Rinaldo mused; then, filled with pity, stated:

‘Melissa, it is certain, was no friend;

With caution nests of hornets should be treated,

So your behaviour I do not commend.

Too little prudence then by you was shown:

You looked for what was better left unknown.

‘If by cupidity your wife was won

And thus persuaded to break faith with you,

Be not surprised; by no means the first one

Is she, of all the married women who

Have vanquished been, or who worse things have done

For less reward, whose wills were stronger too.

And of how many men must it be said

That they their lords and friends for gold betrayed?

‘Weapons too fierce you used against your wife,

If her resistance you desired to see.

Gold, marble, if submitted to such strife,

Even the hardest steel, will vanquished be.

You of the two were more at fault, for if

She had thus tempted you, it seems to me,

You would yourself have shown no greater strength,

But as she did, would have succumbed at length.’

Rinaldo ends and, rising, from the board,

He asks permission to retire; he plans

To rest a while, and when he is restored,

An hour or two before the dawn’s advance

He will set out, for he can now afford

But little time, and what he has he wants

To allocate with care; his host’s reply

Is to point out a room where he may lie.

The chamber was prepared, likewise the bed,

But he put this proposal to the knight:

He could, if he desired, be swiftly sped

For several miles in somnolent delight.

‘A little ship I’ll fit you out,’ he said,

‘Which will convey you safely through the night,

And you will gain a journey of a day,

Which will advance you nicely on your way.’

Rinaldo found this offer to his taste

And fervently he thanked his kindly host;

Then straightway, since he had no time to waste,

He went on board, and there with the utmost

Enjoyment he lay down at ease to rest.

The sailors, who expected him, then loosed

The ropes; the little ship, sped by six oars,

Skimmed like a bird along the river’s course.

No sooner did the cavalier of France

Lay down his head than he was sleeping fast;

He’d said he wanted to be roused at once

When they approached Ferrara. First they passed

Melara on the port side; then a glance

To starboard upon Sermide they cast.

By Figarola and Stellata next they slipped

Where Po its threatening horns in anger dipped.

Of the two horns the pilot chose the right,

Letting the left-hand course towards Venice flow.

He passed Bondeno, and the blue of night

In the east sky now pale began to show,

As all the flowers in her basket, white

And red, Dawn scattered in a single throw.

When from afar the turrets of Tealdo

Came into view, a noise awoke Rinaldo.

‘Most fortunate of cities!’ he exclaimed,

‘Of thee my cousin Malagigi read

In stars and planets, and a demon tamed

To tell him of the years that lie ahead

And of the glories which for thee are framed

By Destiny; all this to me he said,

Foretelling thy supremacy and sway

When we were travelling along this way.’

Such were his words; the boat sped on meanwhile

As if the sailors plied not oars but wings.

Along the king of rivers to the isle

Which near the city lies, the knight it brings.

Bare it was then, and of its future style

There was no sign, yet in his heart there springs

Great joy; he hails it as they pass, for he

Knows well how lovely it will one day be.

When he had passed this way before, he learned

From Malagigi, when the solar sphere

Had seven hundred times with Aries turned

This little island would be lovelier

Than any other which renown had earned.

Its beauty being held beyond compare,

No one who saw it would thereafter praise

Nausicaa’s island, as in olden days.

And for fine buildings it would be preferred

To the fair isle loved by Tiberius;

And the Hesperides would yield, he heard,

As to exotic plants; so plenteous

The breeds of animal that Circe’s herd,

In sty and stable, was less numerous;

The Graces, Venus, Cupid there would dwell,

Cyprus and Cnidus leaving, strange to tell.

And all these future wonders would be due

To the devoted zeal and care of one

Whose power and knowledge would be added to

His wish to make the city so immune

By dykes and walls that she need fear no foe,

Nor ever call for aid from anyone.

The father and the son of Hercules

Would be the lord who would accomplish this.

In such a way Rinaldo called to mind

All that his cousin in the stars had read

When things which were to come he had divined

(They often spoke about what lay ahead).

Before they left the lowly town behind,

He gazed in awe and to himself he said:

‘How can it be that from this marsh will rise

Such arts and learning, liberal and wise?

‘How from so small a village can so wide

A city grow – and one so beautiful?

And what is swamp and bog on every side

Be changed to fields, smiling and plentiful?

City, I greet thee, and with joy and pride

Rise to revere thy lords who here will rule,

Their love, their deeds of fame and courtesy,

The knights’ and citizens’ nobility.

‘May the Redeemer in His boundless good,

May justice in thy princes, kind and wise,

Keep thee in happiness and plenitude

With lasting peace and love which never dies.

On thy defences may no foes intrude:

Let all their wiles be known and all their lies.

May all thy neighbours rage at thy success,

Rather than thou of them be envious.’

While he thus speaks, the little vessel speeds

Along the waters of the river Po

So fast no peregrine its pace exceeds

When, summoned to the lure, it drops below.

The right-hand branch once more the pilot heeds.

The walls and roofs of San Gregorio

They leave behind; behind them too, afar,

Gaibana’s and La Fossa’s towers are.

Rinaldo, as it happens when one thought

Leads to another, which leads on again,

To a remembrance of the knight was brought

Who had invited him to his domain

To dine this was the cit not for naught

His host had cause to recollect with pain,

And he reflected on the drinking-cup

Which shows a woman’s misdemeanours up.

And he recalled the story of the test

Which the knight told him he had carried out,

How every man who tried it drenched his chest,

How of their wives’ misdeeds there was no doubt.

Now he repents, now says, ‘No, it was best

For me that I decided not to put

My consort to the proof. What could I gain?

A confirmation of my trust, or pain.

‘My faith is just as strong as if I knew

For certain, so not much is there to add.

If in the test my wife had been proved true,

Small benefit from that I would have had;

From the reverse no small ill would accrue.

To spy upon my Clarice I’d be mad:

Better a thousand-to-one chance than try it,

And lose so much or gain so little by it.’

And while the cavalier sat musing thus,

His face held low, a steersman opposite

Fixed him with eyes intent and curious.

He thought he knew what had induced this fit

Of pensiveness, and judged it courteous

To draw him out and make him speak of it;

And like a man articulate and bold

The topic he resolves now to unfold.

And the conclusion of their argument

Was that the husband ill-advised had been

To test his wife by an experiment

Such as no woman ever could sustain;

She who can stand against an armament

Of gold and silver and still pure remain,

Would find a thousand swords’ attack less dire

A peril, or survive in raging fire.

The boatman added, ‘You were right to say

That he was wrong to offer her such riches.

Not every breast presented to the fray

Stands fast in combat, as experience teaches.

I wonder if you know the tale (you may,

If rumour of it to your country reaches)

Of the young wife condemned to die for sin–

The same as she then caught her husband in?

‘My master ought to have remembered what

A glittering prize can do to bend the will,

Yet at the crucial moment he forgot

And all his fortune changed from good to ill.

Both he and I hail from the very spot

Where the events occurred which I now tell,

The city which a marsh and lake enclose,

Where at a sluggish pace the Mincio flows.

‘I mean the story of Adonio

Who gave the judge’s wife a dog – a rare

And costly gift.’ ‘This tale we do not know,’

Rinaldo said, ‘in France or anywhere

North of the Alps where I have been, and so

Tell on, if you don’t mind, while I prepare

Most willingly to listen to the tale

With which my mind you promise to regale.’

The boatman thus began: ‘Once in our town

There lived a man, well born, who lacked for naught,

Who spent his youth clad in the flowing gown

Of those who study what Ulpianus taught.

Anselmo was his name,of high renown.

A noble and a virtuous wife he sought,

And one near by, most beautiful he found,

Who to his fame and honour would redound.

‘Her ways so winning and so gracious were,

She seemed all love and loveliness combined.

She was perhaps more amorous, I fear,

Than was conducive to his peace of mind.

As soon as he had won and married her,

No husband more suspicious could you find:

And yet he had no reason save this cause:

That she too lovely and too loving was.

‘In the same city lived a noble knight

Whose ancient lineage was held in awe,

For he descended from that race of might

Which sprang from teeth sown from a serpent’s jaw,

Whence Manto too descended, and some write

That its beginnings thence my city saw.

Adonio the knight was named; and he

This lovely lady loved most ardently.

‘And to achieve fulfilment of this love

The knight began without restraint to spend

On clothing and on feasts, his worth to prove,

And lustre to his reputation lend.

Such squandering would soon the treasure of

Tiberius the Emperor expend.

I do not think two winters had gone by

Before his patrimony had run dry.

‘The house, which formerly from morn to eve

Was thronged with all his friends, deserted is,

For they depart as soon as they perceive

There will be no more quails and partridges.

The leader of the junketing they leave;

Almost a beggar’s portion now is his,

And he resolves, since all his wealth is flown,

To seek asylum where he is unknown.

‘Without a word to anyone at all,

One morning he departs; with tears and sighs

He walks along the lake outside the wall.

His lady (nay, his queen) is in no wise

Forgotten for she holds him still in thrall,

And as he wanders in this woeful guise

Lo! Fortune turns her wheel to lift him high

From grief to joy supernal by and by.

‘A peasant with a cudgel, thick and stout,

He sees belabouring a bush, and so

He stops and asks him what he is about.

The peasant’s answer to Adonio

Is that he saw a snake, he has no doubt:

There in the undergrowth he saw it go,

The longest, thickest which had ever been,

The oldest too that ever could be seen.

‘He was determined not to go away

Till he had found and killed the snake; the knight

Was angered by the things he heard him say.

Since he liked snakes, his patience was but slight.

It was his forebears’ custom to display

A serpent as their emblem, and of right,

In pious memory of how they sprang

From a snake’s teeth, as many poets sang.

‘With words and deeds he makes the peasant drop

The task in hand and soon, though grumblingly,

He is persuaded he had better stop.

The serpent is not killed nor yet will be

Pursued or hurt; the sport being given up,

The knight resumes his way and finally

A region reaches where incognito

He lives for seven years in grief and woe.

‘Distance and straitened means (which do not give

The thoughts much freedom to go wandering

Love’s ruthless hold on him do not relieve.

His heart is burning yet, his wounds still sting.

At last he knows he can no longer live

Without the solace she alone can bring;

So, bearded, bowed with sorrow and ill-clad,

He travelled back where he departed had.

‘It happened that my city had to send

A legate to the papal court at Rome,

Who with His Holiness would have to spend

A time unspecified ere he came home.

The lots are drawn, the judge gets the short end.

Ill-omened day! What sorrow was to come!

He made excuses, promised, bribed and pleaded,

But force majeure he finally conceded.

‘The pain and grief seem no less hard to bear

Than if he saw his bosom torn apart

And if a cruel hand should then appear

And mercilessly snatch away his heart.

His face is ashy pale with jealous fear:

What will his wife do when they are apart?

He tries all means to make his wife obey him;

He begs and pleads that she will not betray him.

‘He says not beauty, not nobility,

Not fortune will suffice to raise a wife

To highest honour and esteem if she

Neglects to lead a chaste and seemly life;

He says most valued is that chastity

Which, tested, does not yield, whate’er the strife.

Now his departure will provide a chance

For her to practise wifely abstinence.

‘With words like these and many others too

He tried to coax his consort to be chaste.

She wept and promised that she would be true.

Her tears along her cheeks each other chased.

She could not bear to think he had to go.

She swore the sun in heaven would be effaced

Ere she so cruel to her love would be;

She’d rather die than think of it, said she.

‘Though he believed her promises and vows

And by her tears was somewhat reassured,

His mind was not at rest about his spouse

Till further information he procured

(And further grief, which this was bound to cause).

He had a friend (whom would he had abjured!):

Of every sorcery and magic art

He knew the whole, or else the greater part.

‘He begged this sorcerer and wheedled him

His wife Argla’s constancy to test:

Would she be faithful in the interim,

Or would she in temptation prove unchaste?

The fortune-teller yielded to his whim.

Choosing the moment which he judged was best,

He charted out the aspect of the sky.

The judge returned next day for the reply.

‘The lips of the astrologer were sealed.

He did not wish to cause the lawyer pain.

Making excuses, he tried not to yield,

But when he saw his efforts were in vain,

That she would be unfaithful, he revealed,

As soon as he stepped forth from his domain.

Not beauty, not entreaties would induce her,

The bribery of riches would seduce her.

‘How such a warning from the spheres above,

Combined with doubts which had assailed him first,

Weighed on Anselmo’s heart, if you know love,

You can imagine for yourself; the worst

Affliction, so the lawyer judges, of

All those with which his soul is now accurst,

Is knowing that his consort’s chastity

By avarice thus overcome will be.

‘He took all the precautions he could take

To stop her falling into such a pit.

(Want is a master which can sometimes make

A man the gravest sacrilege commit.)

Jewels and gold (of which he has no lack)

He gives to her to use as she sees fit;

Income and benefits from all his lands,

All that he has, he places in her hands.

‘ “Feel free”, he said, “to spend it as you will,

Not only for your pleasures and your needs:

Squander it, lavish, throw away or sell,

Do as you wish, whatever Fancy bids.

I hold you for one thing accountable:

When Fate at last my footsteps homeward leads,

If you restore yourself intact to me,

Do as you like with all my property.”

‘He begs her, till she hears of his return,

To leave the thronging city far away

And to their villa prudently adjourn,

In rustic sweet contentment there to stay.

The humble folk who work from early morn

Till eve, tending the sheep or making hay,

Unlikely are, he thinks, to tempt his wife,

Who chastely longs to live an unstained life.

‘Argia held her lovely arms embraced

About her apprehensive husband’s neck,

Wetting his countenance with tears which raced

Like a small river that she could not check.

It saddened her to think, as if unchaste

She were, he sought to keep her thus in check,

For such suspicion must arise, i’ faith,

Because her husband lacks in her faith, faith.

‘Long it would be if I were to repeat

What at their parting by them both was said.

“Be careful of my honour, I entreat,”

He says at last and mounts upon his steed.

He turns: his heart no longer seems to beat;

It is as if it left his breast indeed.

He rides away: to follow him she seeks

With eyes which overflow and drench her cheeks.

‘Meanwhile Adonio, forlorn and sad

And bearded, as I said before, and wan,

Some progress on his homeward journey made.

Not recognized, he hoped, by anyone,

He reached the lake where he had given aid

To an old serpent which a countryman

Was busy searching for amid the scrub,

Wanting to kill it with his heavy club.

‘He had arrived just at the break of day

When a few stars still twinkled in the sky.

A damsel came towards him on the way,

Attired for travel; though escorted by

No page or maid in ever other way

She seemed to be of noble birth and high.

She gave him greeting with a friendly smile

And afterwards addressed him in this style:

‘ “Although you do not know me, cavalier,

I am your kinswoman and in your debt.

First, how we are related you must hear:

We both descend from Cadmus. I who set

The first stone of a village yonder there

Am Manto: and my name is living yet

In Mantua, for as perhaps you know

‘Twas thus I named the city long ago.

‘ “I am a sorceress; let me explain

Just what this fateful status signifies.

We are so born that all ills we sustain,

Save only death; but you must realize

Our immortality is tinged with pain

As sharp as death and all that it implies.

For every seventh day we have to take

Another shape, the dread form of a snake.

‘ “We see our bodies slither on the ground.

We see them clad in ugly reptile scales.

In all the world no equal grief is found;

Each sorceress her cursèd state bewails.

The debt I owe to you I will expound

As well as what a serpent’s life entails,

For when we change our forms, as you must see,

We are exposed to endless jeopardy.

100

‘ “No creature is so hated as a snake

And we who its appearance must put on

Suffer relentless outrage and attack,

For we are chased and hit by everyone.

If refuge underground we do not take

We feel the weight of missiles plied or thrown.

Better it were to die than to remain

Lamed and disabled by the blows which rain.

101

'“My obligation to you thus is great,

For, once when you were passing through this grove,

You rescued me from an unhappy fate.

Beating around a bush, a peasant strove

To kill me; but for you, the sorry state

I’d have been in does not bear thinking of,

With fractured skull, crippled and broken-backed

(Though power to demolish me he lacked);

102

‘ “For on the days when slithering we trail

Our bodies in a snake’s involucre,

At other times submissive to our will,

Heaven our incantations does not hear.

At other times, we speak: the sun stands still,

Its light is minished, darkness clouds its sphere,

The earth, no longer stable, spins and wheels,

Ice kindles, and fire freezes and congeals.

103

‘ “I am here now to give you a reward

For the great favour which you did me then.

No boon that you can ask me is too hard,

Now I no longer wear my viper’s skin.

Your father left you rich, but as my ward

You will be thrice as rich: never again

Will you be poor; henceforth the more you spend

The more your wealth will grow, and never end.

104

‘ “By that same knot you are still bound, I know,

Which Love in former years about you tied.

The manner and the method I will show

Whereby your longings may be satisfied.

I hear her husband is abroad; with no

Delay, I want this venture to be tried:

Seek out your lady at her country seat.

I will come with you, if you will permit.”

105

‘And she proceeded to explain what guise

He must adopt, how he must dress, how speak,

How he must plead his suit, and how entice.

Meanwhile she plans the form which she will take,

For she is able to assume disguise

(Save on the days when she becomes a snake)

As any creature she desires to be

Of all of Nature’s vast variety.

106

‘She dressed him in a pilgrim’s garb, like one

Who begs for alms for God from door to door.

She changed into a dog, so tiny none

So small was seen in Nature’s world before.

Its long-haired coat whiter than ermine shone.

Of pleasing little tricks it had a store.

Disguised like this, together they draw near

The country-dwelling of Argia the fair.

107

‘At first outside the gates the young man stopped

And on some pipes at once began to play.

The little dog reared up and danced and hopped.

The sound was heard both near and far away.

His lady to the window went and propped

Her elbows; then to Adonio sent to say

That he was welcome in her court below

(The judge’s destiny had willed it so).

108

‘Adonio accepted and began

To put the little dog through all its paces.

In dances, foreign and Italian,

With entrechats its steps it interlaces.

Obeying orders like a little man,

It bows and pirouettes and about-faces,

And so amazed are all who watch it that

They scarcely breathe and not an eyelid bat.

109

‘Argìa, by amazement overcome,

Longed to possess the charming animal

And offered, through her nurse, a goodly sum.

The wily pilgrim had no wish to sell

And he returned an answer with aplomb

(Instructed by the sorceress): “Not all

The wealth which female greed would satisfy

One single paw of this my dog could buy.”

110

‘To show the nurse the truth of what he said

He drew her confidentially aside.

He told the dog, which did as it was bade,

A bright new golden ducat to provide.

It shook itself: a coin was promptly shed.

He gave it to the nurse and added, “I’d

Be glad to hear if you can name a price

Which for a dog so useful could suffice.

111

‘ “Whatever treasure I request of it,

I never come away with empty hands.

Pearls, rings and bracelets tumble at my feet,

Sometimes a fine brocaded garment lands.

But tell your lady, though no gold could meet

The price (and this make sure she understands),

If she will let me lie with her one night,

I’ll let her have this dog for her delight”.

112

‘The little dog shook out a gem, unmatched,

Intended by Adonio for his love.

The nurse all these proceedings closely watched;

She rated the dog’s value high above

The ten or twenty marks she was despatched

To offer; and her lady she then strove

To influence to buy the dog; the cost

Was such that what she paid would not be lost.

113

‘At first the fair Argìa hesitates;

Partly, she does not wish to break her word;

Partly, the miracles her nurse relates

Appear impossible, if not absurd.

The nurse keeps on at her and nags and prates:

Rarely has fortune good as this occurred.

Argìa yields, and sets a day to see

The dog when fewer witnesses there’ll be.

114

‘And when Adonio appeared once more

The judge’s honour was as good as dead.

For as doubloons were scattered by the score

And strings of pearls and countless gems were shed,

Argìa’s heart was melted to the core.

Learning he was no pilgrim but instead

The knight who long ago for love of her

Had left, she lowered the last barrier.

115

‘The urgings of her nurse (no prude was she!),

Her lover’s pleas, his presence in her room,

The gain he spreads before her temptingly,

The prolonged absence of the judge in Rome,

The hope that she would not discovered be,

Argia’s chaste resolve soon overcome.

She takes the little dog; prepared to pay

The price, she yields, as lover and as prey.

116

‘Adonio long enjoyed the fruit he plucked.

His lady by the spell was set alight

With love and greed, and only with reluctance let the little dog out of her sight.

The sun through all his signs a year had clocked

Before the judge was granted a respite.

He left at last – but with misgivings filled,

By the astrologer’s forecast instilled.

117

‘When he arrived he went at once to call

On the astrologer: was his wife chaste,

Or did she, as he had predicted, fall?

A chart was plotted by the seer in haste

Which figured the position of the pole,

And every planet in its mansion placed.

Then he replied that just as he had feared,

And had foretold, the judge’s wife had erred.

118

‘His wife by precious gifts seduced had been

And fallen prey to a skilled predator.

The judge’s heart received a blow so keen,

It pierced him deeper than a dagger or

A lance; but first, the truth to ascertain

(Although of the diviner he was sure),

He went to find the nurse, and all his skill

In questioning he used, to make her tell.

119

‘Approaching in wide circles, round and round

He went, trying his best to scent the trace.

At first no vestige anywhere he found,

Despite the care he lavished on the case.

The nurse, who was no novice, held her ground.

She just said “No” with an impassive face.

More than a month she fenced so skilfully

He dangled between doubt and certainty.

120

‘How sweet his doubt would seem if he but knew

The grief and pain which certainty would bring!

His soft speech and his presents nothing drew;

The nurse could not persuaded be to sing.

None of the keys he played upon rang true,

So, wisely, he deferred his questioning

Until she had a quarrel with his wife:

Where women are, are arguments and strife.

121

‘As he expected, so it came about:

A tiff between the women soon occurred.

The nurse at once returned to him, without

Being asked, and every detail, every word,

Reported to him, leaving nothing out.

The pain he suffered when the truth he heard,

His consternation, would be long to tell;

A prey to madness soon the husband fell.

122

‘And he resolved in an access of rage

To end it all, but first to kill his spouse:

By the same blade his sorrow to assuage

And her misdeeds to punish; back he goes

To town a trusty henchman to engage,

And, driven by the frenzy of his woes,

He sends him to the villa straight away,

Giving strict orders which he must obey.

123

‘The henchman is to seek the judge’s wife

And in his name inform her that he lies

Stricken with fever so severe his life

Hangs by the merest thread; not otherwise

Escorted she must come to see him, if

She loves him – and on this the judge relies;

He bids the trusty henchman also note

That on the way he is to cut her throat.

124

‘The servant went to do his master’s will.

The lady seized her dog, and on her steed

Set out; the dog had cautioned her, but still

Advised her on her journey to proceed;

She could rely upon its canine skill

To give her what assistance she might need.

It had already planned what it would do

When finally too close the danger drew.

125

‘The henchman left the highway far behind;

Along strange, solitary paths he rode,

Then to a stream he came, as he designed,

Which to this river from the mountains flowed.

Here a dark wood its branches intertwined;

No city was near by and no abode.

This seemed a quiet, likely spot to him

To execute his master’s cruel scheme.

126

‘The henchman bared his deadly weapon now;

But first he told her of the gruesome task

He must perform (he did this to allow

Her to confess her sins, and pardon ask).

She disappeared – I cannot tell you how –

Behind what must have been a magic, mask

Just as the blow descended; everywhere

He sought her, then could only stand and stare.

127

‘And to the judge returning, much dismayed,

His face expressing deep astonishment,

He told him everything that passed, and said

He still could not account for the event.

The husband did not know Argia had

The help of Manto – whether by intent

Or oversight, the nurse omitted it,

Though she had told him every other bit.

128

‘He wonders what to do; the grave affront

Is unavenged, his woes remain the same;

His anguished heart has still to bear the brunt;

What was a mote has now become a beam;

The case was secret, but a full account

Will soon be known to many, thanks to him.

Argìa’s sin could have remained concealed,

But his to all the world will be revealed.

129

‘Now that his consort knows his evil plan

(The wretched husband sees this very well),

She’ll never to his rule submit again;

And his dishonour will be visible

If she takes shelter with another man;

The mockery will be unbearable.

Perhaps she’ll even fall a victim to

A lewd seducer who’s a pander too.

130

‘Hoping the worst disasters to prevent,

Throughout all Lombardy, in every town,

Letters and messengers in haste he sent

To ask her whereabouts and track her down,

Then in pursuit of her in person went;

No path was unexplored, unturned no stone,

Yet not a single clue could he uncover,

Nor any news of where she was discover.

131

‘At last he called the henchman whom he bade

Perform the cruel deed which came to naught,

And went with him to where Argìa had

Concealed herself; by day, the husband thought,

She might have hidden in the bush and made,

When darkness fell, for shelter in a hut.

The henchman led the way towards the wood

(As he believed), but there a palace stood.

132

‘Argìa’s sorceress (at her request)

Had conjured up with instantaneous

Effect an alabaster palace, dressed

With gold inside and out, more beauteous

Than heart has ever dreamed or tongue expressed,

In all its contents rich and sumptuous.

My master’s, which your admiration won,

Would seem a hovel by comparison.

133

‘Woven with costliest materials,

Curtains and arrases and tapestry

Adorned the cellars, outhouses and stalls,

As well as rooms prepared for company.

The tables glitter in the dining-halls

With gold and silver vessels; gems they see

Carved into goblets, cups and many a plate,

Red, blue and green, and silken cloth ornate.

134

‘The judge (as I was saying) came upon

This palace suddenly where nothing but

A forest should have been; and like a stone

He stood, so great were his surprise and doubt.

Amazed, he wondered if his wits had flown,

Or if he was asleep or drunk; a hut

He might have credited perhaps, but this

Beyond belief in his opinion is.

135

‘Before the gate he sees an Ethiop,

Broad-nosed, thick-lipped; the judge would roundly [swear

This of all ugly faces is the top.

Comparison with Aesop he would bear.

The music of the spheres would surely stop

If this monstrosity in heaven were.

Greasy and dirty, like a beggar dressed –

Still only half his squalor is expressed.

136

‘Anselmo (who no other person spies),

Longing to know who owns this fine abode,

Questions the Ethiop, and he replies,

“This house is mine.” Anselmo, in no mood

For foolery, is certain that he lies.

And yet in spite of threats, the Negro stood

His ground and reaffirmed repeatedly

That the sole owner of the house was he.

137

‘And he invites Anselmo on a tour:

Would he not like to see inside? If there

Is anything which takes his fancy for

Himself or for his friends, as if it were

His own he is to take it; without more

Ado the judge dismounts (his squire is near)

And through the sumptuous apartments led,

The house from top to bottom visited.

138

‘To the design, the site, the taste, the skill,

The opulence, the judge attention pays.

“Not all the gold on earth would meet the bill

For such a noble edifice,” he says.

The Moor replies, “There’s one thing which I will

Accept for it and which the price defrays:

Not gold or silver, but a payment which

Costs you so little that it leaves you rich.”

139

‘And to the judge he put the same request

Which to his wife Adonio had made.

Anselmo thinks, so deep is his disgust,

The Ethiop is bestial and mad.

Rejected thrice four times, the Moor still pressed,

In many ways attempting to persuade.

The palace won the day and, as he hoped,

To his vile wish at last Anselmo stooped.

140

‘Argìa, hiding all this time quite close,

Seeing her husband fall, at once leapt out

And cried, “Ah! What a venerable pose

For one so learned and of such repute!”

Discovered in a deed so vile and gross,

Anselmo blushed bright scarlet and was mute.

O earth! why did you not split open wide

That he might plunge into your depths and hide?

141

‘Excusing what she did, she poured reproach

Upon Anselmo till his eardrums split:

“What punishment in justice could approach

The sin which with this monster you commit?

To Nature’s urge I yielded and with such

A lover – handsome, noble, as was fit!

For this you tried to kill me, though as naught

This palace is to the rare gift he brought.

142

‘ “And if you think that I deserved to die,

You ought to die a hundred times; but though

Here in this place I have such strength that I

Could do with you just as I liked, yet no

More vengeance I desire; let us then try

To give and take on equal terms, and so

Now, husband, on this bargain let’s agree:

I’ll pardon you if you will pardon me.

143

‘ “Let us make peace; in mutual accord

Let our past sins to Limbo be consigned,

And let us ne’er again in deed or word

Each other of each other’s lapse remind.”

These terms the husband thought he could afford

And to forgive he was not disinclined.

Thus joined once more in peace and harmony,

For ever after they lived happily.’

144

This was the story which the pilot told.

Rinaldo laughed a little at the end,

Though he blushed red on hearin how the old

And learned judge to such disgrace could lend

Himself; he praised Argia for her bold

And clever plan: she made the bird descend

And with the ver net she caught him, in

Which she too fell, but for a lesser sin.

145

As the sun journeyed higher up the sky

A meal before the paladin was laid.

(The host had not neglected to supply A plentiful provision for his need.)

To port, the lovely countryside slipped by;

A vast and stagnant marsh to starboard spread.

Where the Santerno noses to the shore,

Argenta’s walls are passed, then seen no more.

146

Bastia, I think, scarcely existed then,

Of which the Spaniards have small cause to boast,

Despite their flaunted flag; Romagna’s men

Will there bewail a still more bitter cost.

The boat speeds on as if it flies again:

The reach to Filo is direct almost.

Then through a sluggish ditch they make their way,

Which brings them to Ravenna at midday.

147

Though many times the paladin was low

In funds, this time he was so flush he tipped

The rowers lavishly; he was not slow

To take his leave; a steady pace he kept,

With frequent change of horse and groom, and so

Passed Rimini; that night he never slept

But, leaving Montefiore, galloped on,

Reaching Urbino with the morning sun.

148

There was no Federigo in those days;

Elisabetta, Guidobaldo brave,

Francesco, Leonora beyond praise,

Were not yet born, else they would surely have

Insisted firmly (but in courteous ways)

That such a knight who proofs of valour gave

Should be their guest, a custom they for years

Have kept with passing dames and cavaliers.

149

Since no one ran to hold his bridle there,

Rinaldo rode straight down to Cagli; then

He crossed the Apennines precisely where

The Gauno and Metauro cleave them, when

No longer on his right the mountains were.

Tuscany, Umbria, Rome, and west again

To Ostia, and thence across the sea

To where Anchises lies at Tràpani.

150

Here he changed ships, and for the island made

Which had been chosen for the final test

Whereon the six their confrontation had.

Rinaldo bids the boatmen make all haste,

Urging the oarsmen to lend timely aid.

The winds, being contrary, do not assist:

They cause the paladin, to his disgust,

To reach the isle too late, but only just.

151

He landed at the moment when Anglante

His glorious and useful deed had done,

Gradasso having slain, and Agramante,

But with a bloody victory, hard won,

Costing the life of the heir of Monodante;

And Oliver, his ankle broken, on

The sand lay pinned beneath a heavy weight,

In pain and suffering obliged to wait.

152

The Count wept bitterly, for all he tried,

Then he embraced Rinaldo and related

How his dear faithful Brandimart had died;

And when Rinaldo saw him mutilated,

His head split through, he could not stay dry-eyed.

Not long to mourn for him he hesitated,

But ran to comfort Oliver who lay,

His foot beneath his charger, as I say.

153

Rinaldo comforted, as best he could,

His two companions, but himself remained

Disconsolate; for him there was no food,

This feast of glory was now at an end.

Attendants bore their monarch, as they should,

And bore Gradasso too, their monarch’s friend,

Back to the ruins of Biserta, where

They hid them and made known the tidings there.

154

Orlando’s victory rejoiced the heart

Of Sansonetto and the English duke,

But less so when they heard that Brandimart

No longer on the light of day would look.

Their joy was much diminished by the smart,

And gladness now their countenance forsook.

How could they let fair Fiordiligi know

The tidings of such grievous loss and woe?

155

The night before, sweet Fiordiligi dreamed:

The coat which covered Brandimarte’s mail,

Which she with skill for him had stitched and hemmed

To send him suitably adorned to sail

To Lampedusa, in her vision seemed

With crimson spots all spattered, as by hail.

She thought that she had thus embroidered it

And in her dream was filled with vain regret.

156

She seemed to say, ‘My lord instructed me

To make for him a surcoat all of black.

Why did I do this strange embroidery

And for his wish consideration lack?’

This dream, she thought, was a bad augury.

The news, announced that evening, was held back

Until the duke and Sansonetto went

To tell her of the tragical event.

157

When in their eyes she saw no triumph shine

At such a victory in such a war,

She knew without a word, without a sign,

Her Brandimarte was alive no more;

And at a premonition so malign

Her heart is overwhelmed, her eyes abhor

The light, and all her senses lifeless grow

As like a corpse her body falls below.

158

When she revives, she lacerates her cheeks,

Calling in vain upon her husband’s name.

A savage vengeance on herself she wreaks

Tearing her tresses in her frenzied aim.

Like one possessed by demons, loud she shrieks,

Or as (we hear) the Maenads wild became

And rushed together at the shrill horn’s sound,

She writhes and twists and whirls herself around.

159

Now one and now the other she beseeches

To let her plunge a dagger in her breast;

Now she would run to where the vessel beaches,

Bringing the pagan monarchs to their rest,

And when their lifeless bodies there she reaches

Wreak bitter vengeance on them like a beast;

Now to the island sail across and try

To find her love and near his body die.

160

‘Ah, Brandimarte!’ she exclaimed, ‘alas!

Why did I let you go without me to

So great a contest, to so dire a pass?

Your Fiordiligi always followed you;

No journey, combat, trial came to pass

But I was present, vigilant and true.

I could have helped you: if Gradasso tried

To come behind, a warning I’d have cried;

161

‘Or else I might have intervened at speed

And taken on myself the mortal blow,

Making a buckler for you of my head.

If I had died, the cost would have been low,

For soon in any case I shall be dead,

And profitless will be my death by woe.

If I had died defending you, a wife

Could in no better way have lost her life.

162

‘But if harsh Fate and if the whole of Heaven

My efforts to assist you had denied,

A last embrace at least I could have given,

Drenching your visage with the tears I cried;

And ere your spirit, from your body riven,

Rose to the choirs of the beatified,

“Go now in peace,” I’d say, “wait there for me,

For I will join you wheresoe’er you be.”

163

‘Is this, O Brandimart, is this your reign?

Like this you claim your sceptre for your own?

Is this the way I enter the domain

Of Dammogir, like this ascend your throne?

Ah, cruel Fortune, with what harsh disdain

You thwart my plans! Ah, what sweet hopes are flown!

Since I have lost the loveliest and best

Of life, why do I wait to lose the rest?’

164

With these and other words, she fell once more

To tearing out her lovely locks as though

For this calamity the blame they bore.

Her frenzy and her rage possessed her so,

She bit her hands, her lips and bosom tore

With merciless and savage nails; but to

The Count Orlando and his comrades I

Return and leave her to lament and cry.

165

The Count with Oliver (who had great need

Of medical attention for his foot),

To order worthy burial for their dead

Companion, for that mountain now set out

Whose fires light up the dark, and darkness spread

Across the face of day; ere long the boat,

Propelled by a fair wind, drew near the shore

Which to the right located was, not far.

166

When evening had descended, off they cast,

The wind being favourable at close of day.

Amid the dark the silent goddess passed

And with her horn of silver lit the way.

On the next morning they arrived at last

Where Agrigento’s pleasant coastline lay.

Orlando here the ceremonial

Arranged for Brandimarte’s burial.

167

When his instructions were completed quite

And all the splendour of the day was spent,

Nobles whom he deemed proper to invite

Came flocking from near by to the event.

As flaming torches to the shore give light

Amid a wailing chorus of lament

The Count returns to where his comrade lies,

Loved in his life and loved in his demise.

168

Bardino wept beside the funeral bier,

Bowed down beneath the burden of his age.

So much he’d wept on board on the way there

He scarce had eyes to weep with; to assuage

His pain, he cursed the stars in his despair

And like a fevered lion roared in rage,

While on his agèd locks and face assault

His frenzied hands committed in revolt.

169

There rose, upon the paladin’s return,

A louder wailing, a redoubled cry.

The Count Orlando, silent and forlorn,

To Brandimarte’s càdaver drew nigh;

A lily in the evening plucked at morn

Is not more pallid; drawing a deep sigh,

Keeping his eyes fixed on that countenance

Orlando voiced this woeful utterance:

170

‘O my belovèd comrade, strong and true!

Here dead to us, in Heaven you now live;

A life no heat or cold can take from you

Is the reward which you have gained. Forgive

My tears; I weep that I am left below.

This is the only reason why I grieve:

That with you in your joy I cannot be,

But not that you are not on earth with me.

171

‘Without you I’m alone, and nothing more

On earth which I possess will give me pleasure.

Ever in tempest with you and in war:

Ah, why not now in fair winds and in leisure?

This clay imprisons me, I cannot soar

And follow you; ah, failure beyond measure!

If I companioned you in strife and pain,

Why am I not beside you in your gain?

172

‘For you have gained and I have lost; alone

You stand, but in my sorrow many share:

France, Italy and Germany bemoan

Your death; my lord and uncle, every peer,

How bitterly they’ll grieve now you are gone!

How will the Church, how will the Empire fare?

The greatest champion of all, the most

Secure defence, the bravest now is lost.

173

‘Ah, how the terror of the enemy

Will lessen at the news of your demise!

Ah, how much stronger Pagandom will be!

What courage now will sparkle in their eyes!

Ah, how your consort suffers! Bitterly

I see her weep, I hear her anguished cries.

Me she accuses, perhaps hates me too,

Since all her hopes by me are slain with you.

174

'But Fiordiligi, let this comfort us

Who of our Brandimarte are bereft:

He’s envied for a death so glorious

By all the warriors who alive are left.

For not the Decii, not Curtius

Who leapt into the Roman Forum’s cleft,

Not Codros, so esteemed by the Argives,

Achieved more honour when they gave their lives.’

175

These words Orlando said, and others too.

Meanwhile the friars, black and grey and white,

With other clergy, walking two by two,

Formed a long line; observing every rite,

They prayed that God would grant admittance to

This soul to rest in the supernal height.

Candles before, behind, along the way,

The sombre evening seemed to change to day.

176

The bier was lifted, and the bearers, placed

Alternately, were counts and cavaliers;

Purple the silken pall, on which was traced

A rich design in gold, with pearls for tears;

And no less splendid work the pillows graced,

Adorned with gems by skilled embroiderers.

In purple robed likewise, there lay the knight,

With jewels glittering, a regal sight.

177

A column of three hundred men precedes,

Chosen among the poorest in the land,

All dressed alike in long, black mourning weeds

Which sweep the ground; they’re followed by a band

Of squires, a hundred on as many steeds,

Strong, sturdy thoroughbreds, for battle trained.

Both squires and horses being draped en deuil,

Their garb as they passed onward brushed the soil.

178

Banners before the hearse, banners behind,

In proud heraldic colourful display

Fluttered their diverse emblems in the wind,

Trophies of many a victorious fray

Fought against foes in Africa and Ind

For Christendom, by him who lifeless lay;

And many shields of vanquished warriors

Were borne along, the spoils of many wars.

179

Hundreds of others followed who fulfilled

Yet other roles in the procession; these,

Like all the others, lighted torches held.

They too were clad in sombre draperies,

Or truer it would be to say, concealed.

The Count comes next; his weeping copious is;

Rinaldo, no more joyful, follows him;

Not Oliver, by reason of his limb.

180

Long it would take to tell you in my verse

Of all the ceremonies, all the lines

Of mourners clad in mantles black or perse,

Of torches flaring till their light declines.

To the cathedral they escort the hearse.

The knight such valour, beauty, youth combines,

In all that concourse not an eye is dry;

The young, the old, the men, the women cry.

181

They laid him in the church; when useless tears

Were wept by women, when eleisons

Were chanted over him and holy prayers,

Such as for funerals a priest intones,

They set the precious casket on two piers,

Draped temporarily (this the Count condones)

With cloth of gold, until a sepulchre

More seemly could be made and costlier.

182

From Sicily the Count did not depart

Till he had sent for marbles, alabasters,

And ordered at high price a work of art,

Designed and sculpted by the finest masters;

When Fiordiligi came, she played her part,

Supplying panels and superb pilasters,

Which, when the Count had gone, she ordered from

North African deposits, for the tomb.

183

Her tears continued inexhaustible,

Her sighs unceasing issued from her breast.

The masses she recited, prayers as well,

Procured for her no respite in the least;

So she conceived a longing there to dwell

Till the time came when she should be deceased;

And in the tomb a cubicle was made;

She shut herself inside and there she stayed.

184

Envoys Orlando sends and messages,

He goes in person to the sepulchre,

A handsome pension and appointment as

Companion to the Empress offers her.

If to re-join her father her wish is,

He will escort her home; should she prefer

To dedicate her life to God, he’d build

A convent for her wheresoe’er she willed.

185

Within the tomb she stayed; and there, worn out

By penance, praying day and night, not long

She lingered; by the Fate the thread was cut

On which her life precariously hung.

By then the mariners had rigged the boat

And from the island of the Cyclops, sung

In ancient times, the three French knights departed,

At their companion’s absence broken-hearted.

186

To find a doctor was their first intent

For Oliver, whose foot had need of care.

The danger of delay was evident;

Too many hours already wasted were.

They heard him moan and grumble and lament

And for his state they all began to fear.

As they discussed his case, a pilot who

A sudden thought had near Orlando drew:

187

Not far from Sicily, the pilot said,

A hermit dwelt upon a lonely reef.

Recourse to him in vain was never made

For counsel, or assistance, or relief.

He gave sight to the blind, and raised the dead,

And miracles he wrought beyond belief.

He signed the Cross: the wind was hushed, the sea

Was calmed, however stormy, instantly.

188

The pilot added, they need have no doubt:

A man so dear to God would cure the knight;

Let them not hesitate to seek him out;

The clearest signs he’d given of his might.

They turned the prow towards the holy spot

(The scheme had filled Orlando with delight),

And never veering from their chosen way,

They saw the hermit’s rock at break of day.

189

The sailors are old sea-dogs, every one

Knows how to bring the vessel to with skill.

All hands stand by and when the course is run

They lower Oliver for good or ill

Into a little skiff which lands upon

The rugged rock; thence to the sacred cell

They scramble up and to the holy seer

Whose hands had recently baptized Ruggier.

190

The servant of the Lord of Paradise

Welcomed Orlando and his comrades too.

He blessed them, smiling and with joyful eyes,

Then asked to what their visit here was due

(Though to the elder it was no surprise,

For owing to the Powers above, he knew).

The Count replied the journey had been made

Because of Oliver, who needed aid;

191

While fighting for the Faith and Christendom,

He had been wounded and to death brought near.

The holy man relieved him of all gloom

And promised he would heal the cavalier.

Provided with no ointment or nostrum

Or skill in human medicine, the seer

Entered the little chapel, where he prayed;

Then he stepped forth, in confidence arrayed.

192

And in the name of the Eternal Three,

Father and Son and Holy Ghost, he gives

His blessing. Lo, a miracle they see!

What power is granted when a man believes

In Christ! The cavalier is instantly

Restored, the suffering departs and leaves

His foot more firm than it had ever been.

Sobrino too was present at the scene.

193

Sobrino was reduced to such a state,

His wounds were growing worse from hour to hour,

And, witnessing so evident and great

A marvel, he decided to abjure

Mahomet; scarcely could he bear to wait

Christ to confess in all His living power.

Thus, filled with faith and with a heart contrite,

He begged admittance to our sacred rite.

194

The holy man, delighted by his choice,

Baptizes him and heals him too by prayer.

Orlando and the other knights rejoice,

No less than at the cure of Oliver,

And one and all their jubilation voice.

No one was more delighted than Ruggier –

Indeed his joy exceeded all the rest,

So much his faith and piety increased.

195

Ruggiero, ever since he reached that spot

By swimming, had remained there to this day.

The holy elder, gentle and devout,

Continued with the warriors to pray

That they might be defiled and stained by naught

As through this vale of death they made their way

Which is called life, so dear to the unwise,

And on the path to Heaven fix their eyes.

196

Orlando sends a servant to the boat

To bring them bread, good wine and ham and cheese.

The holy elder, used to eating fruit,

Had long forgot the taste of foods like these;

But they prevailed on him to follow suit

And he partakes of meat and wine to please.

When they are all restored, they start to chat

Of many different things, of this and that.

197

As one thing to another tends to lead,

Orlando, Montalbano, Oliver

Look at Ruggiero and at last succeed

In recognizing the great warrior,

Renowned for many an heroic deed,

In praise of whom all cavaliers concur.

Rinaldo had not known him as the knight

With whom he once had entered on a fight.

198

Sobrino his identity had guessed

As soon as he had seen him in the cell,

But to keep silent he had judged it best,

In case he was mistaken after all;

And when it is reported to the rest

That this Ruggiero is, whose deeds men tell

Throughout the world, whose courage, courtesy

And valour seldom paralleled can be,

199

Knowing he is a Christian, they approach,

A smile of joyfulness on every face.

Some, to congratulate him, his hand touch,

Some kiss him, some enfold him and embrace;

But not one of them honours him as much

As does Rinaldo; in another place,

If you desire, and on another day

The reason for this I’ll go on to say.

CANTO XLIV

In poor and humble homes, in cottages,

In hardship and disaster, hearts are joined

More lastingly and truly than where ease

And opulence with envy are combined,

In regal courts and splendid palaces,

Where cunning and conspiracy you find,

Where fellow-feeling long extinct has been,

Where there’s no friendship that is genuine.

Thus pacts and treaties of great potentates

Crumble and fall at the first wind that blows.

Popes, emperors and kings and heads of states,

Allied today, tomorrow will be foes.

No way their inner mind or heart relates

To what their simulated aspect shows.

Heedless of right and wrong, of false and true,

Their own advantage only they pursue.

However little talent they possess

For friendship, which is withered by deceit,

Though none their thoughts will honestly profess

On topics grave or gay or bitter-sweet,

If a misfortune, harsh and merciless,

Should cast them down together in a pit,

In a short time, in shared calamities,

They learn, as ne’er before, what friendship is.

The holy elder in his humble cell

Joined his companions in a knot so tight,

True lovers never bonded were so well;

Not thus do hearts in royal courts unite.

In later years it proved so durable,

Only death loosened it; the anchorite

Found their hearts loving, candid and sincere,

And whiter inwardly than swans appear.

He found them amiable and courteous,

Not like those hypocrites of whom I spoke,

Whose inner motives are iniquitous

And ever hidden by their outward look.

The blows they had exchanged were numerous,

But recollection of them they forsook.

If sprung from the same womb and the same seed,

No greater love they’d feel than now they did.

More than the others, Montalbano’s lord

Showed honour and affection to Ruggier:

First, he had tested him with lance and sword,

He knew his martial skills for what they were;

And, secondly, because in deed and word

He knew him for a perfect cavalier;

But, most of all, because in many ways

So many debts to him Rinaldo has.

His brother Ricciardetto, as I said,

Seized by the orders of the king of Spain

(When he and the princess were found in bed),

Was rescued by Ruggiero; I made plain

That both the sons of Buovo too he freed

When they were captives of the Saracen,

Who planned to barter them for gold and silk

With evil Bertolagi and his ilk.

These debts appeared to him of such a kind

That honour, homage and great love he owed,

And grievously it weighed upon his mind

That he had never shown his gratitude;

Since in opposing camps they were aligned,

To do so would have been against the code.

Now that he found him there, and of our creed,

What earlier he could not do, he did.

The courteous paladin, to make amends,

Pledges and promises was quick to give.

The prudent hermit, seeing them now friends,

Approaching them, took the initiative:

‘All that remains is but to tie the ends.

Without demur I hope you will receive

And heed my counsel: friends you are, I see,

So now between you kinship let there be.

‘From your two families, which in our age

Remain unequalled for nobility,

There shall arise a splendid lineage,

Brighter by far than the sun’s panoply,

Which, as events unfold, page after page,

More fair and more illustrious will be

(As God decrees I shall reveal to you),

Long as the heavens circle as they do.’

And he pursues the matter with such zest

That he persuades the son of Aymon (though

No call was there to plead or to insist)

His sister on Ruggiero to bestow.

The Count and Oliver you will have guessed)

Delight at this proposed arrangement show,

Hoping the Emperor and all of France,

As well as Aymon, will approve their plans.

They did not know that Aymon had agreed

(And Charlemagne had given his consent)

His daughter Bradamante should be wed

To Leon, the young prince of the Levant;

His father Constantine he would succeed,

Who on his son’s behalf to France had sent.

The youth the warrior-maid had never seen,

But with her valour long in love had been.

Duke Aymon had replied that he alone

The marriage contract would not sign before

He had discussed the matter with his son

Rinaldo, now by reason of the war

Away from court and Montalbano gone.

He would be glad (of this, the Duke felt sure)

To have so great a brother, but he meant

To wait (out of respect) for his consent.

But now, of these arrangements unaware

And from his father many miles away,

Rinaldo gives his sister to Ruggier

On his own word and on Orlando’s say,

Supported by the others present there.

(The hermit’s words exert the strongest sway.)

He truly thinks in all sincerity

His father Aymon will delighted be.

They tarried there that day and the next night

And the next day, conversing with the saint,

As if their voyage was forgotten quite.

Many a message by the crew was sent:

The wind for France, they said, now stood just right.

At last, agreeing it was time they went,

They took their leave with sorrow and regret

Of the wise hermit, by good fortune met.

Ruggiero, who had been so long exiled,

And from the island not a foot had stirred,

Then said farewell to him who had beguiled

The time by lessons in God’s holy Word;

And with his weapon (Balisarda styled)

Orlando girt him, Hector’s arms restored,

And gave him back Frontino – all of these

For love, acknowledging that they were his.

Although Orlando had a better claim

To the enchanted weapon, which he won

With pain and travail on the day he came

To Falerina’s garden (whereas none

Ruggiero had – as to the steed the same

Is true – they were both stolen, as is known),

Yet he restored it gladly with the rest

Of the knight’s arms, at once, at his request.

The hermit blesses them as they at last

Depart; eager once more to spread their sails

To the south wind, they ply their oars so fast,

And so serene and clear a sky prevails,

No prayers, no vows are needed; soon they cast

Their anchor in the harbour of Marseilles.

There let them stay, and I meanwhile will look

For the renowned and valiant English duke.

When he had heard the news of victory

(So dearly won, it muted his delight),

No longer fretted with anxiety

Concerning France, he thought it would be right

To set the Nubian, Senapo, free

With what remained of his assembled might.

He planned to send them home along the route

They took when for Biserta they set out.

The son of Ugier had dismissed the fleet

Which smote the vessels of the Infidel.

Soon as the Negroes disembarked from it,

They witnessed yet another miracle.

The poops, the prows, the rigging, every sheet

Were changed to leaves again (incredible!).

Then came the wind; the leaves uplifted were

And swiftly whirled away like gossamer.

The Nubians, some mounted, some on foot,

Leave Barbary for Ethiopia;

The duke, before they take their homeward route,

Conveys to Prester John, who came so far

And all his troops at his disposal put,

His thanks which infinite and lasting are,

And gives him back the sturdy bladder-skin

With raging Auster tightly sealed within.

He had enclosed that wind in skins, I say,

Which in such rage emerges from the South

The desert sand is whirled aloft like spray;

But borne like this along their homeward path,

It could not hinder them in any way,

For they were well protected from its wrath;

Once they were back in Ethiopia

They would release the angry prisoner.

Soon as they crossed the lofty Atlas chain,

Their destriers (so Turpin says) all turned

To rocks; attempts to ride were now in vain;

As they had sallied forth, so they returned.

Now I must send Astolfo back again

To France; a respite having truly earned

By seeing to the Moors’ provisionings,

He mounts the hippogriff, which spreads its wings.

A wing-beat, and Sardinia appears;

Another, and he’s over Corsica.

Crossing the sea, towards the left he veers

And comes at last to where the lowlands are

Of rich Provence; now to the end he nears

Of riding high and travelling so far;

On landing here, the hippogriff he freed,

Just as St John Evangelist decreed.

St John had said that when he reached Provence

He must no longer ride the wingèd horse,

But lighten it of all accoutrements

And set it free upon its chosen course.

The magic horn had lost its resonance;

Its voice was mute as if it had grown hoarse,

For in the moon, where all we lose is found,

The horn was minished instantly of sound.

Astolfo reached Marseilles the very day

Orlando had arrived with Oliver,

Rinaldo also, famed in many a fray,

With good Sobrino, and reformed Ruggier.

The thought of their belovèd friend who lay

Bereft of life in a dark sepulchre

Lessened their joy; although the war was won,

Small triumph do they feel in what was done.

The news had reached King Charles from Sicily:

Two kings were slain, a prisoner the third;

He knew that Brandimart had ceased to be

And with a hero’s rites had been interred;

This weighed upon his heart most heavily.

About Ruggiero he had also heard

And he rejoiced, though in the midst of grief:

It will be long before he knows relief.

To honour those who were the chief support,

The prop and stay of his imperial throne,

Charles sent the highest nobles of his court

To ride ahead to greet them at the Saône.

Then he came forth with a select escort

Of kings and dukes; beside him rode his own

Fair lady; all around him thronged and pressed

Noble and lovely damsels, richly dressed.

King Charles, with a serene and smiling face,

A welcome to the victors now extends.

Nobles and commoners and populace

And paladins and relatives and friends

Hasten to show their love with an embrace.

‘Monglane!’ they cry; ‘Clairmont!’ the shout ascends.

Rinaldo and the Count and Oliver

Then duly to their lord present Ruggier.

He is the son, they tell the Emperor,

Of the renowned Ruggier of Reggio,

Equal in prowess to his sire of yore.

His courage and his strength our squadrons know.

Marfisa and the Maid step to the fore

(Together everywhere these damsels go).

Marfisa runs at once to clasp her brother;

Respect and modesty restrain the other.

Charles bids Ruggiero mount his steed again

(He had dismounted to show reverence),

And neck and neck with his own charger rein.

His every word and gesture represents

The utmost courtesy a sovereign

Can pay; a full account of the events

Which brought Ruggiero back into the fold

The warriors when they landed soon had told.

Triumphal pomp, joyful festivity

Mark the procession’s entry in Marseilles.

The city is bedecked with greenery;

Bright-coloured bunting all the streets regales;

A cloud of petals, scattered copiously

All round, the victors from above assails,

As from each balcony and window-ledge

Matrons and damsels grateful tributes pledge.

Now round a corner the procession turns

And through an archway passes, built that day:

In painted scenes Biserta, ruined, burns;

Now here a stage is set as for a play,

Now there, now everywhere, the gaze discerns

A spectacle, a mime or a display.

Inscriptions on all sides are to be read:

‘Hail to the heroes who the Empire freed!’

Amid the shrill of pipes, the trumpets’ blare,

The harmony of divers instruments,

Applause and joy which greets them everywhere

From thronging crowds, the Emperor dismounts

Before the portals of his palace; there

For many days with masks and tournaments,

Dances and plays and feasts, the company

Rejoices in conviviality.

One day Rinaldo to his father said

It was his dearest wish that Bradamant

To their new friend Ruggiero should be wed,

That he had promised him this boon to grant,

And that the Count and Oliver agreed

(They being present); nobody would want

A finer match for valour or for blood:

Nay, where could one be found that was as good?

The duke with anger listens to his son;

Without consulting him his daughter’s hand

He dared to pledge, whereas another one

As Bradamante’s husband Aymon planned:

The heir of Constantine, young Prince Leon.

Not only does Ruggiero rule no land,

No territory can he claim as his.

(Not virtue, wealth the first requirement is.)

And Beatrice the duchess even more

Rebukes her son and calls him arrogant;

His wish she never ceases to deplore

In private and in public; Bradamant

(On this her mother sets the greatest store)

Must now become the Empress of Levant.

Rinaldo is unmoved, budge he will not,

Nor from the pledge he gave withdraw one jot.

The duchess, who but little understood

Her daughter’s mind, exhorted her to say

Rather than be a poor man’s wife she would

Prefer to die; if she did not obey,

She’d be disowned, her mother said, for good

(She could not fail, she thought, to get her way).

How could her brother force her in her choice

If she said ‘No’ in a bold tone of voice?

The lovely Maid stands mute; her mother’s words

She would not ever dare to contradict,

Such is the reverence she feels towards

The one who gave her birth, such the respect.

Yet with her honour it but ill accords

To trifle with the truth – a grave defect.

She cannot now unwill her will, which Love,

In small things and in great, has robbed her of.

She did not dare say ‘No’, nor give consent;

Only one answer could she give – a sigh.

Where nobody could overhear she went

And floods of bitter tears began to cry.

She made her bosom share the punishment

And tore her golden tresses all awry.

Her grief and her despair were piteous

As, weeping, to herself she murmured thus:

‘Alas! shall I oppose my mother’s will

When she, not I, should have command of mine?

What she desires shall I esteem so ill

That to my wishes I instead incline?

No daughter could commit more terrible

A sin, or a more heinous fault combine

Than this, if I obedience forsake

And contrary to her wish a husband take.

‘Shall duty to my mother then prevail?

Must you and I, O my Ruggiero, part?

Alas! what pain and grief my breast assail!

And must I now admit into my heart

New love, new hope and new desire? Or shall

I rather from that reverence depart

Which children owe good parents, and consult

My wishes, in my joy alone exult?

‘I know what I should do, I know, alas!

I know how a good daughter should behave.

What use is that if Reason’s powerless,

Compared with the command the senses have,

If Love reduces me to this impasse

And deals with me as if I were his slave,

Forbidding me to think or speak or act

Except as his express demands exact?

‘If I displease my parents, I can look

For pardon as their daughter in the end,

Though I deserve their anger and rebuke;

But if my master, Love, I should offend,

Who no rebellion from his slave will brook,

No-one protection from his wrath could lend.

There is not one excuse which he would heed

Before he raised his hand to strike me dead.

‘What arduous endeavour did I use

Before Ruggiero the true Faith embraced!

If now the fruit to someone else I lose,

For me all I have gained is laid to waste.

Just so the bee, not for herself, renews

The honey every year which others taste.

But I would rather die, and this I swear,

Than take another husband than Ruggier.

‘If I am disobedient to my mother

And if my father’s wishes I gainsay,

I shall be dutiful towards my brother:

No dotard he, and shrewder far than they;

His wish has the approval of no other

Than Orlando; what more is there to say?

My cause is championed by this famous pair

Whom all men honour and whom all men fear.

‘If they are seen by all to be the flower,

The glory and the splendour of our line;

If, like the brow above the foot, they tower;

If every cavalier they far outshine,

Must I surrender to Duke Aymon’s power,

Rather than to these paladins incline,

And if, when to Ruggiero I was pledged,

With Leon no agreement had been reached?’

While Bradamante thus laments and wails,

Ruggiero’s mind is likewise not serene.

The news, though not yet current in Marseilles,

To him no secret for some time has been.

Against his fortune bitterly he rails:

So niggardly his portion is, and lean,

His cup of gladness from his grasp is twitched,

While thousands, undeserving, are enriched.

But of all other boons which granted are

By Nature, or by toil and effort won,

He knows he has as plentiful a share

As anybody he has ever known;

His manly beauty is beyond compare,

In prowess rarely can he be outdone.

For courage and for magnanimity

No one could better claim the prize than he.

But honours by the vulgar are conferred;

They give or take away, as they think fit;

And note that no one from the common herd,

Except a prudent man, would I omit.

To popes and emperors and kings the word

Applies, no crown, no mitre cancels it,

But only prudence and good sense, which Heaven

To but a few of us on earth has given.

The herd has no respect except for gold;

This is of all things what they most admire.

Where it is not, in no esteem they hold

The noblest deeds to which the brave aspire.

For beauty, courage, their regard is cold,

Prowess and martial skill, heroic ire,

Wisdom and goodness are of no account,

Still less in such a case as I recount.

Ruggiero said, ‘If Aymon is disposed

To make his daughter Empress of Levant,

Would she were not so soon to be espoused!

A year at least I would that he might grant.

Leon and Constantine will be deposed

By then; when their imperial crown I vaunt

(As I intend and hope), Aymon will see

A not unworthy son-in-law I’ll be.

‘But if without delay, as he has said,

Daughter-in-law to Emperor Constantine

His daughter he donates, to Leon wed,

Despite the promise that she would be mine,

By Montalban and by his cousin made,

The hermit, Oliver and King Sobrin

Being present, what then shall I do? Shall I

Endure a wrong so grave or, rather, die?

‘What shall I do? Shall I avenge the wrong

Upon her sire? I will ignore the fact

That such an enterprise would take me long,

I will not ask myself if such an act

Is wise; I will suppose that I have sprung

Upon this evil dotard and attacked

And slain his lineage: am I content?

Will this not, rather, thwart my whole intent?

‘For my desire was always and is yet

To fill the lovely Maid with love for me,

Not give her cause for vengeance, scorn and hate;

But if I slay her father cunningly,

If I an ambush for her brother set,

Will she not justly call me enemy?

Will she not cease to want to be my wife?

Sooner than that, I would renounce my life.

‘Why should I die? Rather let Leon bear

The punishment, he and his sire to boot.

Revenged I’ll be on this imperial pair.

Of their iniquity, death be the fruit!

Helen her Trojan lover cost less dear,

Pirithous in times still more remote

For love of Proserpina suffered less,

Than I will make them pay for my distress.

‘Or can it be you are not sad, my life,

To leave me, your Ruggiero, for this Greek?

Could Aymon force you to become his wife

When both Rinaldo and Orlando seek

To make you mine? My heart is fraught with strife,

Thinking that you perhaps prefer to take

An Emperor for husband, rather than

(A lesser match indeed!) a private man.

‘Ah! could the pomp, the crown imperial,

The fame, the splendour of a royal court,

Corrupt my noble Bradamante’s soul,

Her valour and her virtue so distort

That to this lure of splendour she would fall,

Holding her pledge to me of less import?

And rather than her sire antagonize,

Make all her words to me so many lies?’

Long with himself Ruggiero thus communed

And many other things he also said.

Those who were near him often heard the sound

Of his laments and knew how his heart bled,

So more than once to her for whom his wound

Grew worse, the tidings of his woe were sped.

She grieved to hear that he too grieved, no less

Distraught by his than by her own distress.

But, more than all those sorrows which she hears

Torment Ruggiero, this torments her most:

The anguish he endures because he fears

The Greek his image from her heart will oust.

That on this issue he may dry his tears,

She sends him, by a maid whom she can trust,

A letter which Ruggiero’s doubts allays

And in these words her true desires conveys:

‘As I have always been, so will I be

Till death, Ruggiero, and till far beyond.

If Love is harsh or is benign to me,

If Fortune whirls me high, or to the ground,

I am a rock of true fidelity,

Battered by wind and water all around,

Unchanging in fair weather and in foul,

Long as the heavens in their circles roll.

‘Sooner a chisel or a file of lead

Will carve a diamond, than any blow

Which Love in wrath calls down upon my head,

Or Fortune has in store to bring me low,

Will change my heart, to you for ever wed;

Uphill returning, streams will sooner flow

Than new events for better or for worse

Will turn my thoughts along a different course.

‘I gave to you, Ruggiero, full command

Of me (this some, perhaps, do not believe).

I know that no new ruler of a land

An oath more true or loyal could receive,

And in your princedom more secure you stand

Than any kings or emperors who live.

No need have you of rampart or of tower;

To take me from you, no one has the power.

‘Of mercenary troops you have no need,

For all assailants will be driven out.

To conquer me no riches will succeed

(By a vile price no noble heart is bought).

No rank, no crown my judgement will mislead,

So dazzling to the crowd, to me as naught.

No beauty, which a shallow lover lures,

Will please me more than I delight in yours.

‘You need not be afraid that on my heart

Another image will be cut; your own

Is carved so deeply, with consummate art,

It cannot be removed; a precious stone,

Not wax it is, and sound in every part.

Love struck it first a hundred times, not one,

Ere he could flake the first rough chippings hence

Or the fair image of your face commence.

‘Ivory, stone or any gem that makes

A firm resistance to the engraver’s skill,

If to great violence subjected, breaks,

But no new image bears, nor ever will.

My heart of marble’s character partakes,

Or any stone which fights against the steel:

For Love will crumble it or pulverize

Ere other beauty on it he incise.’

She added many other words to these,

All full of love, of comfort and of faith.

The reassurance which she thus conveys

Would bring him back a thousand times from death.

But when the lovers think their vessel is

Approaching port, safe from the tempest’s wrath,

Another storm, impetuous and black,

All their sweet hopes assails and forces back.

For Bradamante, wishing to achieve

Much more than she has yet aspired to do,

Resolves their threatened fortunes to retrieve;

And, with less reverence than is his due,

She goes to Charles and says, ‘Sire, by your leave,

If anything I did seemed good to you,

If I have served you well by any deed,

The boon which I shall ask, I pray concede.

‘Before my wish is openly expressed,

Give me your royal word’, the Maid went on,

‘That you will grant me what I shall request;

I’ll show you then the justice of the boon.’

‘Your valour, put so often to the test,’

King Charles replied, ‘the deeds which you have done,

Have earned, dear Maid, whatever you may want;

Part even of my kingdom I would grant.’

‘The gift I ask of you, Your Majesty,’

The Maid resumed, ‘is that you will permit

No man (whate’er his rank) to marry me

Unless in arms he proves that he is fit.

Whoever woos me must first show that he

With lance or sword can bring me to submit.

Who conquers me shall win my hand besides,

And those who lose must marry other brides.’

The Emperor answers with a joyful face

That the request most worthy is of her,

So all disquiet let her now erase:

He’ll do as she has asked, without demur.

This parley does not secretly take place;

Its purport other people plainly hear.

Of it that day her agèd parents learn

And with fierce wrath and indignation burn.

Aymon and Beatrice against the Maid

Are both incensed and with an equal ire.

From all that to the Emperor she said,

They know full well that she does not aspire

To Leon, but Ruggiero wants to wed.

As an impediment to her desire,

They take her, by a ruse, to Rochefort

And keep her there with them, away from court.

This was a fortress which the Emperor

Had recently bestowed on Duke Aymon.

A castle of importance, by the shore

It stood, ’twixt Perpignan and Carcassonne.

Therein her parents Bradamant immure

And they intend one day to send her on

To the Levant; they mean her to forsake

Ruggier and willy-nilly Leon take.

The gallant damsel was obedient

As well as valorous and spirited.

Though she might come and go without restraint

(No guard was posted at her door), she stayed

And to her father’s wishes meekly bent.

But she would sooner captive be, or dead,

And any martyrdom or pain endure

(So she resolved), than her dear love abjure.

Rinaldo saw his sister led away

By Aymon’s guile and henceforth it was plain

As to her husband he would have no say;

His promise to Ruggiero was in vain.

Forgetting the respect which he should pay,

He dares to chide his father and complain.

Duke Aymon takes but little heed of it

And with his daughter deals as he thinks fit.

Ruggiero heard of this and was afraid

Without his lady he’d be left to pine;

By hook or crook, Leon would have the Maid

Unless some strategy he could combine.

Without a word, this counter-plan he made:

To raise him from Augustus to Divine,

Depriving both the father and the son

(Or so he hopes) of life as well as throne.

He dons those arms which Trojan Hector’s were

And later Mandricard’s, and bids his squire

Saddle Frontino, his good destrier.

His silver eagle he does not desire,

His usual crest and surcoat he’ll not wear

(The enterprise demands disguised attire);

A unicorn he chooses for his shield,

White as a lily, on a crimson field.

He takes, of all his squires, the one most true

And wants, apart from him, no company.

He gives him strictest orders never to

Reveal the truth of his identity.

The Moselle and Rhine they cross, and, passing through

The Austrian region, enter Hungary.

Next, southwards on they gallop at great speed

Along the Danube till they reach Belgrade.

Then, where the Sava joins the Danube’s flood

And, thus commingled, towards the Black Sea turns,

A vast array of tents, a multitude

Of men-at-arms assembled he discerns;

For Constantine has judged the moment good

To take Belgrade (the Bulgars, whom he scorns,

Had seized it); near the imperial gonfalon

Wait, resolute, both Emperor and son,

Within Belgrade, and outside on the hill,

As far as to the river at its foot,

The Bulgars are encamped; to drink their fill

Both sides draw near; the Greeks intend to put

A bridge across, the Bulgar army will

With might and main all such attempts rebut.

Just as Ruggiero comes upon the scene

And looks about, hostilities begin.

The Bulgars are outnumbered, one to four;

The Greeks, in aspect fierce and merciless,

Resolved by force to reach the other shore,

Hold their pontoons and boats in readiness.

Meanwhile Leon, inactive heretofore,

By an astute manoeuvre leaves the press,

And circling from the river far and wide,

Returns, and crosses to the other side.

With a great host, some mounted, some on foot,

No less than twenty thousand, Leon sped.

Arriving by this unexpected route,

A fierce attack on the foe’s flank he made.

No sooner does the Emperor gladly note

His son across the water lending aid,

Than, bridge to bridge and boat to boat being tied,

He leads his army to the other side.

The Bulgar chief, King Vatran, skilled and brave,

A warrior of wide experience,

Laboured in vain his followers to save

From such ferocity and violence:

His steed, at the first blow which Leon gave,

Beneath him fell, all life departed hence.

Then, as the Bulgar chief refused to yield,

By myriad swords surrounded, he was killed.

The Bulgars had resisted until then;

Now that they saw their leader thus struck dead,

Where all their faces formerly had been

They turned their backs, and from the tempest fled.

Ruggiero, mingled with the Greeks, had seen

The rout; at once it came into his head

That he would be the Bulgars’ champion,

For Constantine he hates, still more Leon.

Frontino rushes past the cavalry

Just like a gust of wind; the Bulgar troops

For safety up the hill in panic flee.

Ruggiero a good number of them stops

And makes them turn to face the enemy.

His lance in rest, for the attack he stoops.

His aspect as he spurs his destrier

Would frighten Mars himself, or Jupiter.

Of knights in the front rank he noticed one

Who on his crimson surcoat seemed to wear

A stalk of millet, golden as the sun,

Fashioned in silk by an embroiderer:

Nephew of Constantine (his sister’s son)

Who like a loving father holds him dear.

His buckler and his breastplate break like glass

As through his frame the lance is seen to pass.

Ruggiero leaves him dead; clutching his sword,

He rides against the nearest band of Greeks.

First one and then another man is gored;

He pierces torsos, slits and slashes cheeks;

No armouring against his strokes can ward.

Breasts, flanks and thighs his Balisarda seeks.

On shoulders, arms and hands she rains her blows;

Blood like a river to the valley flows.

While he thus laid about him, no one durst

Remain to face him, such was the dismay.

The tide of battle was at once reversed;

The Bulgars turned about and won the day,

Though they had fled from certain death at first.

The Greeks are put to rout in disarray.

Breaking their ranks, they scatter in a trice,

Nor do the ensigns think about it twice.

Leon Augustus to a rise of ground

Withdrew, whence with a mind downcast and sad

He watched his army fleeing all around.

A perfect view of the terrain he had.

He saw the corpses littering the ground,

And to the score of slaughter he must add

The havoc of his camp; one knight alone,

Who wrought all this, his admiration won.

His shining arms, his gilded panoply,

The unicorn embroidered on his coat

Show that, for all he helps the enemy,

Yet plainly of their number he is not.

An Angel from the heavenly hierarchy

His superhuman deeds seem to denote,

In retribution on the Greeks descended

Who many times the Almighty have offended.

Leone, noble and magnanimous,

While many others would be filled with hate,

Of valour such as this enamoured was.

Although the losses of the Greeks are great,

Six times as many men he’d rather lose,

Than see him suffer at the hands of Fate;

He’d rather lose a part of his domain

Than see a cavalier so valiant slain.

As when a child, whose mother beats him well

And angrily excludes him from her sight,

His sorrows to his father does not tell,

Nor to his sister will confide his plight,

But hurries back, in spite of what befell,

And puts his arms around his mother tight,

So now Leon does not resent Ruggier:

For valour he must love him and revere.

But if Leone loves him and admires,

A poor return he gets, it seems to me.

Ruggiero hates Leone and aspires

To kill him there and then; most eagerly

He searches and of many he enquires

As to his whereabouts, but prudently

And by good luck Leon keeps out of sight,

Avoiding an encounter with the knight.

Leone, to prevent his total force

From being wiped out, gave orders for retreat.

He sent an envoy on the swiftest horse

The Emperor’s withdrawal to entreat:

It was now urgent he should alter course

(Lucky he’d be if he could manage it);

Then with the remnants of his regiment,

To where he’d crossed the river, Leon went.

Many are left behind, by Bulgars slain,

And many more the hillside would have strewn

But for the river which divides the plain;

Many go back across it by pontoon;

Many are drowned and never seen again;

Many, not looking back, run farther on

To find a shallow ford where they can wade;

And many are led captive to Belgrade.

And so the battle ended on that day.

The Bulgars, who had seen their leader killed,

Dejection would have suffered and dismay,

But for the knight who on a crimson shield

Bore the white unicorn – a proud display –

Who intervened and forced the foe to yield;

They all drew near him, conscious that they owed

The victory to him, and gladness showed.

One man saluted him, another bowed,

Some kissed his hand, still others kissed his foot;

Whoever touched him, joyful was and proud,

For supernatural he seemed, if not

Divine; jostling around him in a crowd,

As close as possible the Bulgars got,

And clamoured for him raucously and cried

To be their king, their captain and their guide.

Ruggiero said that he would gladly be

Their captain and their king, as they desired;

But he would not assume authority,

To neither rod nor sceptre he aspired,

Nor to Belgrade would march in victory,

But he must leave before Leon retired

Still farther out of sight and crossed the stream;

To catch him and despatch him was his aim.

A thousand miles and more, for this alone

He came, for this intent with no delay

He leaves the Bulgar army and is gone.

He turns in the direction which they say

Was taken by the fugitive Leon.

Fearing perhaps to lose him on the way,

Or lest obstruction his design impede,

Without his squire he gallops off at speed.

100

So good a start has Leon in his flight

(For flight it must be called, not planned retreat),

He breaks the bridge and sets the boats alight.

Ruggier arrives just as the sun has set.

Alone, without a lodging for the night,

He looks around him; no one does he meet;

Beneath the moon he travels hopefully,

But not a house or castle does he see.

101

Not knowing where to go to lay his head,

He rides all night without dismounting once.

When the new sun has turned the East to red,

He sees a city on his left and plans

To spend the day there, for his horse has need

Of rest, and this will be a welcome chance

To let Frontino now at last be idle,

After so many miles, freed from the bridle.

102

Ungiardo ruler of this city is,

A vassal much beloved of Constantine

Who horse and foot for these hostilities

To muster for his liege did not decline.

Here visitors may enter as they please.

The welcome is so sumptuous and fine,

No need Ruggiero has to look elsewhere

For better lodging or for choicer fare.

103

At the same hostel there arrived that night

A cavalier who from Romania hailed,

Who had been present at the bitter fight

When for the foe Ruggiero took the field;

He had been lucky to escape; with fright

He trembled yet, his soul within him quailed:

After him galloped still (he could have sworn)

The cavalier of the white unicorn.

104

As soon as he observes the shield, he knows

This is the knight who bore the sign of dread,

Who on the Greeks inflicted many blows,

And by whose hand so many men lie dead.

To seek an audience the stranger goes,

And to Ungiardo’s ante-room is led.

Admitted to his presence straight away,

He says at once what I will later say.

CANTO XLV

The higher up on Fortune’s wheel you see

A wretch ascend, the sooner he will fall,

And where his head is now, his feet will be.

Polỳcrates, for instance, I recall,

Croesus and Dionysius equally,

And many more – I cannot name them all –

Were good examples of such change of fate,

Plunged from supreme renown to low estate.

And the reverse is true contrariwise:

The lower down a man is to be found,

The sooner he will come where he must rise,

Provided that the wheel keeps turning round.

One day, upon the block a victim lies,

The next, as ruler of the world he’s crowned,

Like Servius, Marius, and Ventidius

In ancient times, King Louis among us:

The father-in-law of my duke’s son, I mean,

King Louis who was taken prisoner,

And almost lost his head at Saint-Aubin,

But he survived; and, somewhat earlier,

Still greater peril faced Matthew Corvin.

He too escaped the executioner.

The lowest point was passed; one rose to be

The king of France, and one of Hungary.

From history’s examples we conclude,

And modern instances teach us the same:

Good follows Evil, Evil follows Good,

Shame ends in glory, glory ends in shame.

Thus it is evident that no man should

Put trust in victories or wealth or fame,

Nor yet despair if Fortune is adverse:

She turns her wheel for better, as for worse.

Emboldened by the triumph he has won

Against his rival and the Emperor,

Ruggiero now so confident has grown

He trusts to luck and daring even more.

Without support or company, alone,

Facing a hundred squadrons, cavalry or

Infantry or both, against him banded,

He’ll kill the son and father single-handed.

But she who does not wish that any man

Shall feel assured of her, in a few days

Shows him beyond all doubt how soon she can

Cast down her victims and how quickly raise,

From friend to foe revert and back again.

Her fickle nature Fortune now displays:

The knight who from Ruggiero fled, hard pressed,

Will render him dejected and distressed.

He told Ungiardo that the cavalier

Who put the troops of Constantine to flight,

Leaving them tame and cowed for many a year,

Was there that day and would remain that night;

And if he now seized Fortune by the hair,

He’d give his king, without another fight

(If prisoner this guest of his he took),

The chance to bend the Bulgars to the yoke.

From fugitives who from the battle fled

In batches to Ungiardo’s safe retreat

(Not all could cross the river, as I said,

And countless hordes were still arriving yet),

Ungiardo knew that half the Greeks were dead,

He knew the full extent of the defeat,

He also heard a single champion

Had wrecked one camp and saved the other one.

And that this warrior has fallen now

Head first into the net without being chased,

Amazes him; by all his words, his brow,

His every move, his pleasure is expressed.

Gauging the time that’s needed to allow

Ruggiero to retire and take his rest,

He sends the guards and bids them softly creep

And seize him while he lies in bed asleep.

Ruggiero is betrayed by his own shield

And as a prisoner in Novigrad

Is now by merciless Ungiardo held,

Who at this triumph joyful is and glad,

Ruggiero wakes: what can he do but yield,

Finding himself in fetters and unclad?

Ungiardo sends to Constantine post-haste

And not a moment does the courier waste.

The Emperor the day before was quick

To move his troops from Sava’s banks and go

With them for safety on to Beletic

Ruled by his brother-in-law Androfilo,

Whose son was killed: his armour could not check

(It seemed like wax) the penetrating blow

Received at first encounter from the knight,

Who captive is of cruel Ungiard’s might.

Here Constantine had had the gates repaired

And all the city’s bulwarks fortified,

Lest a renewed attack the Bulgars dared.

With such a leader on the other side,

The Greeks would have good reason to be scared.

But of Ruggiero’s capture notified,

Of Bulgars he no longer feels afraid,

Not if the whole world with them were arrayed.

Now Constantine swims in a sea of milk

And scarce knows what to do for very bliss.

‘That is the end of Bulgars and their ilk!’

He cries; so confident is he of this,

His brow, unfurrowed, is as smooth as silk.

He is as sure that naught can go amiss

As if he’d lopped an enemy’s two arms;

This is the end, he thinks, of all alarms.

His son has reason for rejoicing too.

He hopes not only to retake Belgrade,

But every Bulgar region to subdue;

And it is his intention to persuade

The warrior, by means of favours, to

Become his friend; if he enlists his aid,

No envy he will ever feel again,

For all his paladins, of Charlemagne.

Quite different from this is the design

Of Theodora, for it was her son

Whose breast Ruggiero’s lance pierced to the spine,

Protruding by a handbreadth; she had thrown

Herself before the feet of Constantine.

She is his sister and his heart she soon

Contrives to touch with bitter floods of woe

Which copiously down her bosom flow.

‘I will remain thus at your feet, my lord,’

She said, ‘if on this prisoner who slew

My son, just vengeance you do not accord.

He was your nephew, but consider too

How much he loved you and with lance and sword

How many noble deeds he did for you.

If on this wretch you take no vengeance now,

A heinous wrong you will commit, I vow.

‘God to our sorrow is compassionate.

See how He takes this felon from the war

And guides him like a bird straight to our net,

So that my son upon the Stygian shore

Not long for his revenge will have to wait.

Give me this wretch to punish, I implore,

And grant this boon to me, O Constantine,

That with his torment I may lessen mine!

So well the mother weeps, so well she moans,

So well she speaks, so moving are her pleas,

That though her brother tries, and more than once,

Yet all in vain, to raise her from her knees,

The justice of her cause at last he owns;

And since no other remedy he sees,

He orders that the unnamed prisoner

Shall be straightway delivered up to her.

The warrior was brought without delay

(Known only from his sign, the unicorn),

And in the space of but a single day

Subjected was to Theodora’s scorn.

She longs to kill him, but too mild a way

It seems to her to quarter him or burn,

And so she ponders, striving to invent

Some cruel or unusual punishment.

Meanwhile she has him in her fiendish power,

Chained by his neck and by his hands and feet,

Deep in the gloomy dungeon of a tower.

The light of Phoebus never reaches it.

A little mouldy bread of meanest flour

(Not every day) was all he had to eat.

The gaoler whom she chose to be his guard

Was merciless and pitiless and hard.

Oh! if the valorous and lovely Maid,

Oh! if the brave Marfisa were to hear

The news of how Ruggiero was betrayed,

How he now languished as a prisoner,

They would both risk their lives to bring him aid.

Though Bradamante holds her parents dear,

Without respect to what they now might say

She’d leave to help her love without delay.

King Charles meanwhile his promise bears in mind:

Fair Bradamante shall not wed until

A husband worthy of her she can find,

Who equals her in courage and in skill.

Trumpets announce the plan he has designed;

Not only do his courtiers learn his will,

To every city subject to his sway

The tidings of it reach without delay.

And these were the conditions, word for word:

Whoever Aymon’s daughter would espouse

Must face her first, fighting with lance or sword

From morning until eve without a pause;

If he should last so long, as his reward

He’ll win the Maid, and she will not refuse,

If he has not been vanquished in this strife,

To let him take her as his wedded wife.

The Maid the choice of weapons will concede

Without regard to who makes the request.

She could afford to offer this indeed,

Skilled as she was in every martial test.

Aymon could not oppose the Crown and he’d

No wish to; he was beaten, he confessed;

After much talk, from Rochefort where he brought her

They then returned to Court, he and his daughter.

Although her mother was still furious,

She ordered gowns for her, for honour’s sake,

Of many colours, fair and sumptuous,

Of many styles; the Maid and Aymon make

Their way to Court: it is soon obvious

Ruggiero absent is and she can take

No pleasure in a court which once so fair

And radiant had seemed when he was there.

A garden seen in April or in May,

Resplendently adorned with bloom and leaf,

If visited anew when the sun’s ray

Is slanted south and day-time here is brief,

Forlorn and squalid seems and bleak and grey;

So now the court, to Bradamante’s grief,

Of her Ruggiero widowed and bereft,

No longer seemed to be the one she left.

She does not dare to ask where he has gone

In case still more suspicion is incurred.

She hangs upon the lips of everyone,

Hoping to hear the news in a chance word.

She knows he has departed, but upon

Which road or route no man has seen or heard;

For when he left he kept his secret close:

Only the squire who travels with him knows.

Oh, how she sighs! Oh, how distraught she is!

Oh, what misgivings aggravate her plight!

This is the worst of her anxieties:

That to forget her he has taken flight.

With Aymon’s obduracy, he foresees

No hope of wedlock, and since out of sight

Is out of mind, he hopes perhaps to prove

If distance will release him from his love.

And she imagines further in her pain

That, to erase her sooner from his heart,

While wandering through many a domain

He’ll seek another love to heal the smart.

(One nail drives out another, it is plain.)

Next, a new image in her mind will start:

Her dear Ruggiero constant is and true

And loves her always as he used to do.

Then she rebukes herself for lending ear

To such iniquitous and foolish doubt.

Alternately one thought defends Ruggier,

And one accuses him; she hears them out,

First this one and then that engages her.

Neither conclusion is convincing, but

She leans to the more comforting; the worse

(The contrary) she shrinks from and abhors.

And she remembers intermittently

The love her love has many times expressed.

Her error then seems of such gravity,

Her conscience is remorseful and distressed;

She bitterly regrets her jealousy.

Aloud she blames herself and beats her breast:

‘I am at fault,’ she cries, ‘this I admit,

But more at fault is the true cause of it.

‘Love is the cause; he printed on my soul

Your handsome form, your grace, your comeliness,

Your skill and daring which your peers extol,

Your valour which they emulate no less;

So that to me it seems impossible

That women do not long for your caress,

That, having seen you, any can abstain

From using all her skill your heart to gain.

‘If only Love permitted me to read

Your thoughts as now he conjures up your face,

I know that plain would be what now is hid,

I know that different would be my case.

At last of Jealousy I would be rid,

No longer would I suffer her embrace;

While seldom now her onslaught I evade,

Not only would she be repulsed, but dead.

‘I’m like a miser who so loves his gold,

His very heart lies buried with it too.

By fear of robbery his life is ruled;

He keeps the hiding-place in constant view.

Since now my treasure I may not behold,

The fear of loss does more than hope can do.

Although such fear is false, as I believe,

I let it thus mislead me and deceive.

‘Yet when I see once more the radiance,

Now hidden from my eyes, I know not where,

Of your belovèd, smiling countenance,

True hope will instantly depose false fear,

Thrusting it down, for all its arrogance.

Return to me, return, O my Ruggier!

My hope restore and strengthen once again –

My hope which by my fear is almost slain.

‘As, when at sunset shadows longer grow,

Of darkness vain and empty fears are born,

As, when the East with light is seen to glow,

Fears, like the shadows, vanish with the morn,

Without Ruggiero’s presence, fear I know,

When he approaches, fear at once I scorn.

Come back to me, Ruggiero, come, ah, come,

Before my hopes to fear and doubt succumb.

‘The stars like torches are ablaze at night,

By day no spark of all their splendour burns.

Thus, when my sun deprives me of his light,

To menace me fear lifts its evil horns;

When the horizon in the East is bright,

Fear vanishes at once and hope returns.

Return to me, return, beloved sun:

Bid my devouring, evil fear be gone.

‘The sun withdraws: earth will no longer show

Her former loveliness, the days are brief,

The bleak winds bluster, bringing ice and snow,

Song-birds are silent, withered flower and leaf.

You, my fair sun, withdraw from me, and lo!

My day is changed to night, my joy to grief,

And winter in my soul, induced by fear,

Occurs not once but many times a year.

‘O my dear sun, return to me, restore

The sweet, the long-departed, longed-for Spring.

On ice, on snow your melting vigour pour,

And to my stormy skies fair weather bring.’

As Procne can be heard lamenting, or

As Philomel, returned from foraging

To find an empty nest, or as the dove

Will moan and mourn the absence of her love,

So Bradamante wailed and grieved, afraid

That her Ruggiero she had lost for good;

And tears not once but many times she shed

(Although in secret) which her face bedewed.

How much more stricken, how much more dismayed

She’d be if the true facts she understood:

That her betrothed a prisoner remains,

Condemned to death, which he awaits in chains!

The cruelty of the revengeful dame

Against the noble knight she held thus bound,

Her plan that he should die a death of shame

When some unheard of punishment she found,

By God’s will to the ears of Leon came.

The Emperor’s son, for chivalry renowned,

Was moved by this to think how he could save

A cavalier so valiant and so brave.

Leone loves Ruggiero (though men speak

Of him, he does not know that this is he).

Stirred by that valour which he calls unique

And which he thinks must superhuman be,

Henceforth his one intention is to seek

A way to rescue him, and finally

He finds a plan for which his cruel aunt

The blame on him, he knows, will never plant.

Leone spoke in secret to the guard

Who kept the dungeon key; to him he said

He wished to see the knight on whom so hard

A sentence had been passed; the man agreed.

When darkness fell, Leon approached the ward.

With him he brought a henchman, born and bred

For cutting throats; the gaoler swore to say

No word and let Leone in straightway.

Indeed he thought it best to come alone

In order to observe the secrecy

The prince so urgently insisted on.

Where those condemned to the last penalty

Were held, he led the henchman and Leon;

And, as he turned his back to turn the key,

The others threw a rope around his neck,

Then drew it tight and his despatch was quick.

They pulled a trap-door up and bent to look.

Seizing a torch which blazed as bright as day,

By a stout rope which dangled from a hook

Leon climbed down to where Ruggiero lay

Stretched out on a bare board; the sun forsook

So deep a place, and scarce a palm away

Beneath him water flowed; a month or less

And death, unaided, would have brought release.

With deep compassion Leon holds Ruggier

In his embrace a while and then he says:

‘Your valour binds me to you, cavalier,

And indissolubly; for all my days

My willing vassalage to you I swear.

Your safety now above my own I place.

Friendship with you I hold more precious than

With my own father or with any man.

‘That you may understand, I am Leon

Who come in person here to bring you aid.

Yes, it is true, I am the Emperor’s son.

I am in danger, if I am betrayed,

If by my father this is ever known,

Of exile or disfavour; at Belgrade

You killed and routed such a multitude,

Not well-intentioned is his attitude.’

And other words with careful thought he chose

Which a return of vigour would permit,

While as he spoke he cut the fetters loose.

Ruggiero said, ‘My thanks are infinite.

This life which now you give me, I propose,

When in the future you have need of it,

To offer up in recompense to you.

Regard it as your own and as your due.’

Ruggiero was removed from the dark cell;

The strangled gaoler in his place remained.

They leave unrecognized; till he is well

Leon persuades Ruggiero as a friend

In peace and safety for some days to dwell

With him; and in the meantime he will send

A page to fetch the arms and destrier

Which by Ungiardo taken from him were.

Next day when doors are opened, all is known:

The gaoler strangled and Ruggiero fled.

The question is discussed by everyone.

They wonder: who is guilty of this deed?

The last they would imagine is Leon.

It seems to many he has cause indeed

To kill the cavalier (but not to aid)

Who turned the tide of battle at Belgrade.

Such chivalry has so abashed Ruggier

And so astounded and confused his mind,

That the intention which had brought him here

Yields to another and is left behind.

And if the two intentions you compare

No vestige of resemblance you will find:

The first, derived from venom, hate and ire,

The second, love and comradeship inspire.

By night, by day, he thinks of nothing else;

No other cause, no other wish has he

Than to repay the indebtedness he feels

With equal or with greater courtesy.

However many dangers and ordeals

He suffers, whether short his life may be

Or long, if he devotes it to Leon

It will be less than all the prince has done.

Meanwhile throughout the land the tidings spread

Of the announcement by the king of France,

That anyone who wished to woo the Maid

Must prove himself with her by sword or lance.

When Leon hears of this he feels dismayed,

His cheek turns pale, he knows he has no chance,

For he has noted well her expertise;

No match for her in arms he knows he is.

He thinks a while and sees he can make good

His lack of vigour by the use of wit.

Bearing his sign (Leone’s understood),

This warrior (whose name he knows not yet)

Shall fight for him; there is no Frank who could

Withstand his valour or his skill defeat.

The knight is sure to conquer, thinks Leon,

And thus the Maid will vanquished be and won.

Two things he has to do: first, to request

The knight to lend himself to this emprise;

Then, so arrange his entrance in the list

That nobody shall see through his disguise.

He calls Ruggiero to him; with his best,

With his most winning eloquence he tries

To induce him to agree to fight the Maid,

With a false emblem on his shield displayed.

The eloquence commanded by the Greek

Does much to win the cavalier’s assent;

But, though the prince persuasively can speak,

Ruggiero’s debt is still more eloquent.

This is a bond which he can never break.

However sad his heart, he must present

A smiling face; he is prepared, he says,

To serve his benefactor in all ways.

No sooner has he said these words than pain

Has pierced his heart, and all that day and night

It stabs and throbs and the next day again

It tortures him and gives him no respite.

His death will be the outcome, it is plain.

Yet he does not repent, for all his plight.

Sooner by far than not obey Leon,

A thousand deaths he’d die, and not just one.

His death is certain: for, if he must lose

His lady, both his life he’ll lose and her.

Either his grief will bring it to a close,

Or he will strip off the involucre

Which girds his captive soul and set it loose;

For any suffering he’d rather bear

And any other sorrow sooner prove

Than live to see her someone else’s love.

He is prepared to die; and yet what kind

Of death he would prefer he does not know.

Sometimes the notion comes into his mind

To feign less strength, exposing to his foe

His naked side; no sweeter death he’d find

Than to expire at his beloved’s blow.

But if the Maid in combat is not won,

He will discharge no debt towards Leon.

For he has promised, against Bradamant

To fight in single combat in the lists

And over her a victory to vaunt

Not yield by simulated thrusts and twists.

He stands by his decision, adamant.

Although a battle with his thoughts persists,

He routs them all save one which says he must

Abide by what he promised and keep trust.

By now Leon, with Constantine’s consent,

Had ordered horses, arms and retinue

Such as became a prince, and off he went.

He had Ruggiero with him too and he

Was clad in his own arms for the event.

And on Frontino mounted was anew.

They rode for days, and many countries passed,

Then came to France, and Paris reached at last.

Outside the city walls, Leon prefers

To set up his pavilion and at once

He gives instructions to his messengers

To ride to Court to tell the king of France

He has arrived; when Charles these tidings hears,

He visits him and courteous gifts presents.

Leon explains why he has come today

And begs that matters be arranged straightway.

He asked King Charles to summon forth the Maid

Who her avowed intention had declared

No man whose strength is less than hers to wed,

For he this challenge to accept now dared:

Either she marries him or strikes him dead.

The king consents; a stockade is prepared

That very night beneath the city walls.

Next day a herald Bradamante calls.

Ruggiero the preceding night had passed

As when a man condemned awaits the morn

In anguish, knowing it will be his last;

Who tosses sleepless, haggard and forlorn.

He judged it wise to wear full armour, lest

He should be recognized; he had fors worn

Both steed and lance; no weapon would he use

Except a sword (but not his own he chose).

He left his lance behind, but not because

He feared to face his lady’s lance of gold,

Which Argalìa’s, then Astolfo’s was,

Which felled all combatants, however bold,

For no one knew that magic was the cause:

That it was made by Galafron of old

By magic, that he gave it to his son,

Who many battles subsequently won.

Astolfo and the Maid believe indeed

That in the jousting-field by their own skill

And strength, and not by magic, they succeed;

That any lance would serve them just as well,

One snatched at random would supply their need.

The only reason why Ruggiero will

Not joust is that he’d rather not display

Frontino, who would give the game away.

For if his lady saw the destrier

She’d know him for Frontino easily,

Since he was long at Montalban with her

And bore her as a rider frequently.

The sole concern and object of Ruggier

Is to prevent her knowing it is he.

He leaves Frontino and all else which might

Reveal him to her as her own true knight.

For this emprise he chose another sword.

He knew all breastplates were as soft as dough

Before the cut and thrust of Balisard.

No tempering her furious speed can slow.

He hammered this new weapon long and hard

To blunt the edge; at the first gleams which show

On the horizon, as his pledge insists,

Ruggiero makes his way towards the lists.

Hoping to be mistaken for Leon,

Ruggiero dons the coat which Leon wore.

A golden eagle with two heads upon

A scarlet field Ruggiero also bore,

And thanks to this disguise which he puts on

He is successful in his purpose, for

Ruggiero and Leon are the same size

And Leon is now hidden from all eyes.

The purpose of the Maid is different:

Whereas Ruggiero hammered on his sword;

Eager to blunt its edge and so prevent

Himself from causing pain to his adored,

She grimly sharpens hers for the event,

So that with every stroke he shall be gored,

And pierced by every thrust in every part,

Until at last she penetrates his heart.

As, eager for the signal to be off,

A fiery thoroughbred of Barbary

Paws at the ground with an impatient hoof,

Its nostrils flaring and ears pricked, so she,

For combat having waited long enough,

Not knowing that her foe her love will be,

Awaits the herald’s trumpet with her veins

On fire, and her impatience scarce contains.

As when a thunder-clap is followed by

A cataclysmic gust of wind which churns

The troubled sea and tosses to the sky

A cloud of dust which light to darkness turns,

When the wild beasts and flocks and shepherds fly

From rain and hail, so now the Maid discerns

The signal to begin, her weapon takes,

And on Ruggiero a fierce onslaught makes.

No solid bastion, no ancient oak

Resists the battering of Boreas more,

No angry waves by an unyielding rock

Are more disdained as endlessly they pour,

Than, in those arms, secure from every shock,

By Vulcan made, which Trojan Hector wore,

Ruggiero spurns the fury and the hate

Which on his head and body rain in spate.

The Maid with cut and thrust her weapon wields,

Seeking a chink between the armour-joints;

No spot is there which to her anger yields,

But every stroke resists her sword and blunts;

So well that armouring his body shields,

That every lunge deludes and disappoints.

Now here, now there, she whirls about and spins,

Maddened by her vexations and chagrins.

As the besieger of a citadel

With solid walls and sturdy buttresses

Repeatedly attacks and probes it well

A lofty tower now his target is,

A gate, a moat which he intends to fill,

Though many men are lost, no entrances

He finds – so Bradamante fumes and frets

And fails to pierce the solid armour–plates.

Now flying from his shield or helm she sends

A shower of sparks, as now from his cuirass,

As now a blow upon his arm descends,

Now on his head or chest; her strokes surpass

The fall of hail on roofs which never ends

When in the country stormy clouds amass.

Adroit and skilled, the movements of Ruggier

Serve to defend him without harm to her.

Now he stands firm, now pivots, now withdraws;

In concert with his hand his foot moves too.

When harm her hostile hand attempts to cause,

With shield or sword he fends her off anew.

He never aims at her; if he has cause,

He strikes her where the blow least harm will do.

The Maid is eager to conclude the fray

Before the light declines at close of day.

For she recalled the edict which decreed

If in one day she did not take or kill

The challenger (to this King Charles agreed),

She was his captive and must do his will.

Phoebus was soon to plunge his golden head

Into the western sea when of her skill

And strength the Maid at last began to doubt,

While her fatigue was putting hope to rout.

As hope diminished, so her anger grew

And she redoubled her ferocious blows

Against that armour which the whole day through

Intact remained, whichever spot she chose,

Like one who at the work which he must do

Has dawdled and, perceiving night is close,

Makes all the haste he can until at length

The daylight ends, together with his strength.

Ah, if you knew the truth, unhappy Maid!

The knight whom you would slay is not your foe.

He is Ruggiero; from him hangs the thread

Of your own life; you’d kill yourself, I know,

Sooner than be the one to strike him dead;

And when you learn that he whom you have so

Belaboured is Ruggiero, you will mourn

To think what strokes of yours your love has borne.

Charles and his courtiers were looking on.

Greatly they marvelled at the challenger

(They all believed, of course, it was Leon

Who duelled with the Maid, and not Ruggier);

And when they saw how the event had gone,

How well he parried without wounding her,

They were convinced and said: ‘Well paired they seem;

He is the match for her and she for him.’

When Phoebus disappeared behind the sea,

The Emperor called finis to the fight.

He said the Maid must Leon’s consort be

And she must not refuse; it is his right.

Ruggiero takes no rest but instantly,

Still helmeted, departs into the night.

Mounted astride a palfrey, off he sets

To the pavilions where Prince Leon waits.

Leone threw his arms in fond embrace

Three times and more about Ruggiero’s neck,

Then gently drew the helmet from his face

And kissed him with a love he did not check.

‘Myself at your, disposal I now place,’

He said, ‘I will be ever at your beck

And call; my love for you will never end:

Draw on it lavishly and freely spend.

‘There is no recompense that I could make

Which would release me from the debt I owe,

Not if the crown itself I were to take

From my own head and on your head bestow.’

Ruggiero felt as if his heart would break.

Life was abhorrent to him; almost no

Reply he made; the shield which he had worn

He yielded, and resumed the unicorn.

With listless, weary step he took his leave

And to his own pavilion made his way.

He armed himself anew from helm to greave,

Saddled Frontino and without delay

Set out; no indication did he give

Of his intent, no farewell did he say.

At midnight, mounted on his destrier,

He left the route to him, and cared not where.

Frontino bears his master on all night

Through woods and fields, by winding paths and

Ruggiero’s sorrow gives him no respite. [straight.

His bitter tears unceasing flow in spate.

He calls on death to save him from his plight,

The only cure for grief so obstinate;

Grim death alone, severe and merciless,

Can end his unendurable distress.

‘Whom shall I blame’, he said, ‘for my reverse,

The loss of all I cherish at one blow?

If I am not to suffer even worse –

Injury unavenged – against which foe

Should I resentment in my bosom nurse?

I am my own worst enemy, I know:

I brought myself to this unhappy state;

Against myself I must direct my hate.

‘If I had injured but myself alone,

I might forgive myself, unwillingly,

For all the harm which I have undergone;

Yet I would not deserve such clemency.

So much the less should mercy then be shown

Since Bradamante shares the injury!

Even if I my score were to remit,

To leave her unavenged would not be fit.

‘So to avenge her I deserve to die:

This is a duty I do not regret,

For in no other way can I defy

My bitter grief, no respite can I get.

Would I had died much earlier when I

Had not offended Bradamante yet!

Would I had died when I a captive lay,

Helpless in cruel Theodora’s sway!

‘If after she had done her cruel worst

She had despatched me, I could hope at least

That Bradamante for me would have nursed

Some pity and compassion in her breast;

But when she learns that I put Leon first,

That willingly I granted his request

And placed him as her husband in my stead,

She will be right to hate me, live or dead.’

These words and many more he says, by sighs

And sobs accompanied with every breath.

When the new light of day begins to rise,

He wanders from a wild and rugged heath

To gloomy woods which hide him from all eyes.

Since he is desperate and longs for death,

This seems the very place, remote from view

And suitable for what he means to do.

Deeper and deeper, of the secret wood

He penetrates the tangled mystery;

But first of all, unharnessing his good

Frontino, whom he loves, he sets him free,

Saying, ‘O my Frontino, if I could

Reward you as rewarded you should be

You would not envy Pegasus his glory,

Set among stars, immortalized in story.

‘Neither Cyllarus nor yet Arion

Surpassed you or deserved more lasting praise,

Nor any other destrier made known

By Romans or by Greeks in ancient days;

But even if perhaps it could be shown

That they your equals were in other ways,

One honour and prestige they cannot claim

Which will for ever guarantee your fame.

‘A lady, the most noble, the most fair

And the most valorous, so cherished you,

With her own hand she tended you with care,

Harnessed you, saddled you and fed you too,

As I have often heard. My lady held you dear:

I call her mine? That is no longer true!

The right to call her mine I forfeited.

Why do I wait? O sword! now strike me dead!’

While thus Ruggiero vents his sorrow here,

Moving to pity every bird and beast

(No other creatures his lament can hear,

Nor see the tears which inundate his breast),

You must not think the Maid is free from care

In Paris; she is bitterly distressed,

For she has neither reason nor excuse,

But must take Leon now to be her spouse.

Sooner than take another husband than

Ruggiero, she would rather break her word.

By this the odium of every man,

Of Charles, especially, would be incurred,

And of her family and friends; a plan

She also had by poison or her sword

To kill herself; for she would much prefer

To cease to live than live without Ruggier.

‘O my Ruggiero!’ Bradamante cried,

‘Where can you be, my love? Where have you gone?

The proclamation published far and wide,

Has it remained unheard by you alone?

I know that you’d have rallied to my side

Faster, if you had heard, than anyone.

Alas! what explanation can there be

Except the worst of all? Ah, woe is me!

‘How is it possible you did not hear

What everyone has heard? And if you did,

And still you have not hastened to be here,

How is it possible you are not dead?

Or, if you are alive, a prisoner

Of Leon’s you must be; the traitor laid

A snare to catch you and to block your way,

That he, not you, should first arrive today.

‘I begged of Charles this grace, which I received:

No man whose strength was less than mine could claim

Me as his bride; against you, I believed,

And only you, I could not stand; my aim –

To yield to you – is cruelly deceived.

My own audacity is much to blame.

God now chastises me, for I am won

By him who no courageous deeds has done.

100

‘If I am won because I could not kill

Or capture him, this seems unjust to me;

And I do not abide, nor ever will,

By what in this King Charles has said shall be.

If thus my promise I do not fulfil

I shall seem guilty of inconstancy,

But I am not the first, nor yet the last,

To change her mind, in present times or past.

101

‘If to my lover I am staunch and true

And, firmer than a rock, hold to my vow,

If I surpass in this all women who

Have ever loved in ancient times or now,

In other things, in other people’s view,

Let me appear inconstant; if somehow

Our love is served thereby, let them declare

Me fickle as a leaf, I do not care.’

102

These plaintive words, expressive of her plight,

With sighs and copious weeping interspersed,

She ceaselessly repeated through the night

Which had succeeded to that day accurst;

But when Nocturnus with his shades took flight

And in Cimmerian grottoes was immersed,

The heavens which ab eterno chose the Maid

To be Ruggiero’s bride came to her aid.

103

The morning brought Marfisa, proud and strong,

Before King Charles; her angry words rang clear:

Her twin, Ruggiero, suffered grievous wrong;

It was an outrage which she would not bear;

Without a word, his bride, to whom he long

Had been betrothed and whom he held so dear,

Was taken from him; she would prove by strife

That Bradamante was Ruggiero’s wife.

104

First she would prove to Bradamant with swords,

If she should be so rash as to deny it,

That in her presence she pronounced the words

Which sanctify the marriage-knot and tie it;

And by the ceremony afterwards

Their union was confirmed, they must stand by it:

Neither was free to take another spouse,

For they had solemnized their marriage vows.

105

Whether Marfisa spoke the truth or not,

She spoke with the intention, wrong or right,

Of hindering Leone; beyond doubt,

To everything she said the Maid was quite

Agreeable, being party to the plot

Which, as she hopes, will quickly reunite

Her with Ruggiero; no more honest scheme,

Or speedier, suggests itself to them.

106

King Charles is much disturbed by what he hears.

He sends for Bradamante straight away.

At court her father Aymon, too, appears.

Charles tells him what Marfisa has to say.

The Maid looks down, confused, and close to tears;

She will not answer ‘No’, nor answer ‘Yea’.

Her bearing lets it easily be seen

That what Marfisa said may true have been.

107

Rinaldo and the Count are overjoyed

To hear what has occurred, for this will cause

The pact with Leon to be null and void

Which he assumed already binding was.

No violence requires to be employed,

To thoughts of rescue now they call a pause.

Though Aymon still persists in stubbornness,

The Maid will be Ruggiero’s none the less.

108

If they support Marfisa, all is well:

Ruggiero’s case is now as good as won.

The promise which they made they can fulfil

With honour and without a sword’s being drawn.

‘This is a plot designed to thwart my will,

But I am not defeated,’ said Aymon,

‘Not even if this rigmarole were true,

Which has, I know, concocted been by you.

109

‘Supposing, for the sake of argument

(Though I do not believe it or concede),

That Bradamante, as you represent,

To wed Ruggiero foolishly agreed

And vice versa: where did this event

Take place and when? I know that, if it did,

There is one fact which cannot be disguised:

It must have been before he was baptized.

110

‘Such a betrothal is untenable.

This contract is of no concern to me.

She was a Christian, he an infidel:

Their union cannot have validity.

Did Leon put his life at risk for nil?

Has he then lost, despite his victory?

Our Emperor, for something so absurd,

Will not, I think, go back upon his word.

111

‘What you now say should have been said before,

When Charles had not yet granted the request,

When he had not announced arrangements for

The combat which brought Leon to the West.’

These words from Bradamante’s father pour;

The cousins’ case they bitterly contest.

Charles listens to both sides in the affray

But not a word for either will he say.

112

As Auster and Boreas can be heard

Rustling the foliage of lofty trees,

Or as when Aeolus to wrath is stirred

And waves in tumult hiss among the screes,

So now a murmur through all France occurred.

Discussions rage; wherever converse is,

There is one matter only in dispute.

On every other topic tongues are mute.

113

Some for Ruggiero speak, some for Leon,

But many more are on Ruggiero’s side,

By a majority of ten to one.

The Emperor, unwilling to decide,

Let the debate continue and upon

His parliament as arbiter relied.

Marfisa (as the wedding is deferred)

Steps to the fore and once again is heard:

114

‘Since while Ruggiero lives’, Marfisa said,

‘No other man can marry Bradamant,

Let Leon fight my brother in her stead

And show his mettle as her aspirant.

Which of the two shall strike the other dead

Will have no rival and may rest content.’

Charles lets Leone hear about this test,

As earlier he told him all the rest.

115

Leon is confident that he can meet

This challenge, for the cavalier who bears

The unicorn can easily defeat

Ruggiero, as to this he has no fears.

He little knows that in a dark retreat

Deep in the wood the knight is shedding tears.

Thinking his champion will return ere long,

Leone makes his choice – and chooses wrong.

116

He soon regrets it, for the knight on whom

He placed undue reliance, all that day

Is nowhere to be seen, nor does he come

The next day or the next, and none can say

Why he has gone, nor where he chose to roam.

Leone has no stomach for the fray.

Fearing to suffer injury and scorn,

He seeks the warrior of the unicorn.

117

He sends his scouts to every citadel,

And far and near they search them, every one.

Then, not content with this, he goes as well

And does his best to find the champion.

No word of him could anybody tell,

No word of him would anyone have known,

But for Melissa’s help; but as to her,

The tale to my next canto I defer.

CANTO XLVI

Now, if the bearings of my chart speak true,

Not far away the harbour will appear.

On shore I’ll make my votive offering to

Whatever guardian Angel hovered near

When risks of shipwreck threatened, not a few,

Or of for ever being a wanderer.

But now I think I see, yes, I am sure,

I see the land, I see the welcoming shore.

A burst of joy which quivers on the air,

Rolling towards me, makes the waves resound.

I hear the peal of bells, the trumpets’ blare,

Which the loud cheerings of a crowd confound;

And who these are I now become aware

Who the approaches to the port surround.

They all rejoice to see me home at last

After a voyage over seas so vast.

And oh! what lovely witty women wait,

What gallant knights do honour to the strand,

What friends to whom I’ll always be in debt

For the glad welcome shown me as I land!

‘La Mamma’, and Genevieve, and others yet

Who from Correggio come I see who stand

At the quay’s tip and, waiting with them there,

Veronica, held by the Muses dear.

Of the same blood, another Genevieve

I can make out and, with her, Julia too,

Ippolita the Sforza I perceive,

And la Trivulzia, the damsel who

Drinks at the holy spring and, as I live!

Emilia Pia; Margaret, with you

Are Angela and Grace; Ricciarda d’Este’s

There, with Bianca, Diana and their sisters.

And lo! the fair, yet still more wise and just,

Barbara of the Turchi, and her friend

Laura: though you might search from East to West,

Two better women you would never find;

And Genevieve, she who the Malatest

Adorns and gilds with virtue of such kind

That never regal nor imperial palace

Had worthier adornment for its solace.

If long ago, this side the Rubicon,

To the proud conqueror of Gaul she’d come

When he was doubtful whether to press on

Across the stream dividing him from Rome,

No banners, I believe, would he have flown,

No heavy spoils would he have carried home;

But laws he would have made as she thought best,

And freedom he might never have oppressed.

My lord of Bòzolo, your womenfolk,

Your wife, your mother, sisters, cousins, aunts

Are here, with those of Bentivoglio stock.

Torellos and Viscontis meet my glance,

Pallavicino ladies too; and look!

There is the one whose lovely countenance

And grace deserve all fame that ever was.

All women, past and present, she outdoes.

Julia Gonzaga is this lady’s name.

Where’er she walks, where’er she turns her eyes,

To beauty other women yield their claim.

As if she were a goddess from the skies,

They look at her amazed; and with her came

Her brother’s wife who would not compromise

Her love, though long by Fortune put upon.

Lo! Vasto’s light, Anna of Aragon:

O high-born Anna, wise and kind and fair,

A temple of true love and chastity!

Her sister’s radiant beauty, I declare,

Puts other beauties in the shade; I see

Vittoria who from the murky air

Of Styx her consort drew by poetry.

He, by this feat unique, the Fates defies,

Among the stars resplendent in the skies.

My fair ones of Ferrara I behold,

Of Mantua and of Urbino’s court,

Ladies of Lombardy, by all extolled,

And lovely Tuscan girls of good report.

My vision by their radiance is dulled,

Yet I can still distinguish in a sort

Someone they welcome in their midst – a knight,

Accolti, called Unique, Arezzo’s light.

And Benedict his nephew there I see,

With purple hat and mantle, and as well –

Glory and splendour of the Consistory –

Campeggio, with Mantua’s Cardinal.

And each I note (unless I raving be)

In face and gestures is so jovial

At my return that surely it will tease me

From such an obligation to release me.

With them Lattanzio and Claudio Tolomei,

Paolo Panza Trìssino, Latino,

The Capilupi (Mantuan brothers, they),

Sasso and Molza, Florian Montino

And he who guides us on the Muses’ way

Along new paths (the speediest that we know),

Giulio Camillo; Marco I discern (he

Who’s called Flaminio), Sanga and Berni.

See Alessandro di Farnese come,

A leader of a learnèd comany:

‘Phaedra’, Capella, Porzio, Filippo whom

Bologna claims, Volterra’s pride, Maffei,

The Pierian and Maddaleni of Rome

Blosio and Vida (of Cremona he),

Lascaris and Musurro, Navagero,

Andrea Marone and the monk Severo.

Two other Alessandros in that band

I see: one Orologio, one Guarino,

Mario d’Olvito and, look! near at hand

That scourge of princes, divine Aretino.

And two Girolamos before me stand:

One Verità, the other Cittadino.

Mainardo I behold, Leoniceno,

With Pannizzato, Celio, Teocreno.

Capel I see, and Pietro Bembo who

Restored to us our pure, sweet native speech,

Purged of the dross of common use and to

Perfection brought, as his own verses teach.

Guasparro Obizzi comes behind him too,

Amazed that ink should yield a crop so rich.

Now Bevazzan and Fracastoro appear,

Trifon Gabriel, and Tasso in the rear.

Two Niccolos draw near (Amanio

And Tiepoli) who fix me with their eyes.

Anton Fulgoso see, who seems to show,

As I approach the shore, joy and surprise;

And there is my good friend Valerio,

Who from the ladies stands apart; he tries

Perhaps, seeking advice from Barignan,

Not to fall victim to their charms again.

I see, conjoined in friendship and in blood,

Pico and Pio, geniuses sublime.

The noblest spirits in that multitude

Revere one of the greatest of our time.

I never met him but long wished I could,

And gladly bid him welcome in my rhyme:

Iacopo Sannazaro, he who lures

The Muses from the mountains to the shores.

There is the learnèd, loyal, diligent

Pistòfilo, Alfonso’s secretary:

His pleasure and relief are evident.

Angiar and the Acciaiuolo family

Their happiness and joy have come to vent.

No longer need they fear the sea for me.

My cousin Malaguzzo I discern,

And Adoardo : fame, I know, he’ll earn.

Vittore Fausto, Tancred show delight

On seeing me, as do a hundred more;

And every woman, every man in sight

Rejoices at my safe return once more.

Enough of this delay: the wind is right

And of my course remains but little more.

Let us return to where Melissa comes

To aid Ruggiero who to grief succumbs.

Melissa, as I many times have said,

Desires with all her heart to see the day

When Bradamante and Ruggier will wed.

So heavily their fortunes on her weigh,

From hour to hour of tidings she takes heed

Which bands of spirit-messengers relay:

As one returns, another one departs;

As one his message ends, another starts.

She sees Ruggiero in the gloomy wood;

Gripped by inexorable grief he lies.

He has resolved that he will take no food

Of any sort, but fast until he dies,

So melancholy is his present mood;

But to his aid Melissa quickly hies.

She leaves the place where she abides and soon

Along her chosen route she meets Leon.

He sent first one and then another scout

To search now here, now there, from early morn

Till evening fell. Then he himself set out,

To find the warrior of the unicorn.

A clever sorceress, Melissa put

A saddle on a sprite, making it turn

Into a palfrey, and on this she rode

When she encountered Leon on the road.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘if your nobility

Of face is a reflection of your soul,

If inward goodness and true courtesy

Are shown by your appearance, may I call

On you for help? I pray you, come with me

And rescue the best cavalier in all

The world; if we delay to bring him aid,

I fear, ere we arrive, he may be dead.

‘The noblest knight who ever swung a sword,

The handsomest who ever bore a shield,

And the most chivalrous who ever warred

In past or present times on any field,

Now, for a gallant act to which his word

Was pledged, to the last enemy will yield

If no one rouses him; come, sir, I pray;

See if advice his sorrow can allay.’

An explanation instantly occurs

To Leon’s mind: the knight of whom she speaks

Must be the one his scouts and foragers

Are looking for and whom he also seeks.

Eager to bring him aid, Leone spurs

And follows her; she too her palfrey pricks;

And soon they came (after a little way)

Where almost at death’s door Ruggiero lay.

Ruggiero had been fasting for three days.

He is so faint that if he tried to stand

He’d fall without being pushed, nor could he raise

Himself upon his feet, or lift a hand.

He lies stretched out, with an unwinking gaze,

His helmet on his head, girt with his brand;

And of his shield a pillow he has made

On which they see the unicorn displayed.

And he continued, lying there, to brood

Upon the injury he’d done his bride;

And as he thought of his ingratitude

He was enraged as well as mortified.

From time to time, his hands, his lips he chewed

And bitter tears, which drenched his breast, he cried;

Engrossed thus deeply in his self-reproach,

He did not hear his rescuers approach.

He does not call a halt to his lament,

Nor does he check his sighing or his tears.

Leon draws rein; he gazes down intent,

Then he dismounts and to the figure nears.

It is the pains of love which thus torment

The sufferer, he knows, from what he hears,

But who she is for whom he suffers pain,

Ruggiero’s words of grief have not made plain.

Leone, step by step, on cautious feet

Approaches; when he sees him, face to face,

With brotherly concern he kneels to greet

The knight and takes him in a fond embrace.

I cannot quite be sure, I must admit,

If Leon’s sudden presence in this place

Was pleasing to Ruggier, for he supposed

, His plan to kill himself would be opposed.

Leone, with the sweetest words, essays

With all the love he feels to bring relief.

‘Have no misgivings, speak our mind,’ he says,

‘Disclose to me the reason for your grief.

There is no sorrow in the world which weighs

So heavily it can’t be lightened if

The cause is known; and no one should give up,

For it is true that while there’s life there’s hope.

‘It grieves me that you hide yourself from me.

Have I not shown that I am your true friend,

Not only since your act of chivalry

For which my bond of debt will never end,

But even when I had good cause to be

Your mortal enemy? You can depend

On me for aid, in danger and in strife.

I give you all I have, my friends, my life.

‘Confide in me, say what is grieving you.

Your scruples set aside and let me try

What force or skill or flattery can do,

What wiliness will win or gold will buy.

If I do not succeed, you can renew

The resolution you have made to die,

But do so only as a last resort,

First trying other means of every sort.’

And his entreaties so persuasive were,

So gently, so benignly Leon spoke,

He could not fail to influence Ruggier,

Whose heart is not of iron nor of rock.

He sees if he refuses to defer

His grim resolve, he will deserve rebuke

For churlishness; he tries in vain to speak,

For in his throat his words twice, three times, stick.

When he could speak at last, ‘My lord,’ he said,

‘I’ll tell you who I am, and when you know,

Not sorrow you will feel when I am dead,

But joy and satisfaction you will show;

For I am he you hate and hold in dread,

I am Ruggiero who abhorred you so,

Who, with the aim of killing you, set out

And gladly would have killed you, have no doubt.

‘I could not bear to lose my Bradamant

To you, when Aymon had declared his will.

Humans propose and strive for what they want,

But God alone makes all things possible.

When Fortune showed herself so adamant,

Your gallant action in my prison-cell

Not only made me shed my hate for you,

I swore that all you wanted, I would do.

‘Not knowing who I was, you uttered your

Request: to win my bride for you – a role

Which was equivalent to asking for

The heart out of my body or my soul;

But if I put your fond desire before

My own, you know, my lord, who know the whole.

The Maid is yours; to her in peace return.

Your good, more than my own, is my concern.

‘Grant that deprived of her, I be of life

Deprived as well, for I could live without

My soul as soon as live without my wife;

And while I live, of this there is no doubt,

She cannot be your lawful wedded wife.

Your claim to be her husband is as naught,

For we have plighted each to each our troth;

She cannot be the wife at once of both.’

Ruggiero so astonishes Leon,

When he has learned of his identity,

He neither speaks nor moves, and made of stone,

A votive offering, he seems to be.

Such chivalry as this he’s never known,

Nor ever heard of in all history;

Nor will it equalled be in future times

In any regions or in any climes.

Now that the cavalier’s true name he knows,

The love he felt for him becomes no less,

But deeper his devotion to him grows;

So that he suffers anguish and distress

At least as keenly as Ruggiero does.

An Emperor’s son, he’ll show his worthiness.

Ruggiero in all other things may be

Superior, but not in chivalry.

‘Ruggiero,’ Leon said, ‘if on the day

You valiantly attacked and slew my men,

So great was my amazement in that fray

Although Ruggiero’s name was hateful then,

If I had known what you reveal today,

Your staunch admirer I would still have been;

My hatred from my bosom would have fled,

With love, as now, remaining in its stead.

‘Ruggiero’s name I hated and maligned.

This I admit; that was before I knew;

So banish thoughts of hatred from your mind.

Do you remember how I rescued you

When in that prison-cell you lay confined?

If I had known – I swear that this is true –

That it was you, I would have done the same,

As now to help you further is my aim.

‘If willingly this favour I’d have done

When I was not, as now, in debt to you,

How much the more so now, when you have shown

What chivalry and courtesy can do!

For you renounced to me a treasured boon,

Yourself depriving of your rightful due;

But I restore it to you, happier

Than if I the possessor of it were.

‘You are much worthier of her than I.

It’s true I love her for her martial fame,

But I do not intend, like you, to die,

If someone else can prove a better claim.

I do not want your death thus to untie

The bonds which link you in the sacred name

Of Hymen; do not sacrifice your life,

Not thus do I desire to win a wife.

‘Not only would I sooner now forgo

The valiant Maid, but all that I possess,

My life itself, than be the cause of woe

To such a cavalier; I feel distress

That you so little confidence should show

In me, on whom you can rely no less

Than on yourself: you chose to die of grief

Rather than turn to me to gain relief.’

These words and many others Leon said,

But to repeat them all would take too long.

Objections which Ruggiero tried to plead

Were answered easily or else proved wrong;

And so Ruggiero finally agreed:

‘If you insist, I will remain among

The living, but, pray, what am I to do

To pay this double debt of life to you?’

Now in a trice (Melissa waved her wand)

Delicious food and choicest wine were brought.

She urged him to partake, e’er he be found

(And he was near to it) reduced to naught.

Meanwhile Frontino, having heard the sound

Of horses once again his master sought.

Leon bade his attendants seize the steed

And saddle him; and this straightway they did.

With difficulty hoisted on his horse

By Leon’s help, Ruggiero takes the rein.

Quite vanished now is that majestic force

Which recently so many Greeks had slain,

That stalwart stamina which stayed the course

When victory was falsely won in vain.

They all set forth, and half a league beyond

Or less, an abbey for their refuge found.

And there they took their rest until the morn.

For two more days they wait until at last

The cavalier of the white unicorn

Regains his health and strength as in the past.

To the imperial city they return.

An embassy of Bulgars, having passed

The gate, makes formal application to

The Emperor; he hears them, as is due.

The people who elected as their king

That warrior who saved the day for them

Now send ambassadors to France to bring

Ruggiero back (for he is there, they deem).

They want to swear allegiance, honouring

Their monarch with a royal diadem.

Ruggiero’s squire, who with the Bulgars stayed,

The tidings of Ruggiero had relayed.

The squire had seen the battle of Belgrade,

Won for the Bulgars by Ruggiero’s skill,

When Leon and his father were dismayed

To see him rout so many Greeks, or kill.

For this, king of the Bulgars he was made:

No other man they want, nor ever will.

Ungiardo took him captive – none could save him –

And into Theodora’s keeping gave him.

The news had been confirmed, the squire went on,

Of how the gaoler was discovered dead,

The cell-door open and the captive gone,

But where Ruggiero was, none knew, he said.

Ruggiero with his visor down, unknown,

Along a secret route to Paris sped

He and Leon, when morning comes again,

Request an audience with Charlemagne.

Ruggiero’s emblem is the golden bird

Twin-headed on a crimson field, just as

He and Leone had agreed when they conferred.

He wears the surcoat and those arms he has

By which his true identity was blurred

When Leon’s representative he was.

Slashed, holed and battered, his appurtenance

Proclaims him as the duellist at once.

Attired in costly style and jewelled too,

Unarmed, Leone enters royally,

Escorted by an endless retinue,

An honoured and a fitting company.

He bows his head to Charles, who, as is due,

Rises and goes to greet him graciously.

Taking Ruggiero’s hand, on whom all fix

Their eyes, before the court Leone speaks:

‘This is the gallant cavalier who fought

From daybreak to the setting of the sun.

Since Bradamante’s efforts came to naught –

She did not overpower him nor run

His body through, nor did she drive him out –

Acknowledged it must be that he has won.

If he has understood your edict, sir,

He comes to claim his bride and marry her.

‘To his entitlement by virtue of

This feat, I add: who has so good a claim?

For if a suitor prowess has to prove,

What cavalier can equal him for fame?

Or if the test is the degree of love,

Who can approach the ardour of his flame?

He is prepared by force of arms to show

The justice of his case to any foe.’

King Charles and all the court are stupefied

When these extraordinary words they hear.

They thought Leone was the knight who vied

With Bradamante, not this stranger here.

Marfisa her impatience could not hide

(For while he spoke, she too was present there).

She scarcely waited till he reached an end

But leapt at once her brother to defend:

‘Ruggiero is not here to claim his right.

He cannot settle this dispute by means

Of single combat with this unknown knight;

And by default, if no one intervenes,

He’ll lose his lawful wife without a fight.

I am his sister, he and I are twins.

Ruggiero’s rivals, whosoe’er they be,

Will have to reckon in his place with me.’

Marfisa was so fierce and vehement

That many feared she would begin straightway,

Not waiting for the Emperor’s consent,

And bring the matter to an end that day.

Now to Leone it was evident

The time had come Ruggiero to display.

He drew his helmet off: ‘Behold the knight’,

He said, ‘who the full story will recite.’

As when Aegeus, old and silver-haired,

About to offer at that vile repast

The poison, by his evil wife prepared,

To one whom he now recognized at last

As his own offspring, by the sword declared

In time, so now Marfisa stood aghast

When she discovered that the cavalier

Whom she so hated proved to be Ruggier.

She flung herself upon him and embraced him

And scarcely could she bear to let him go.

Rinaldo and Orlando too both kissed him,

But Charles had been the first his love to show.

Dudone, Oliver, Sobrin caressed him:

It seemed that weary they would never grow.

Of paladins and barons none held back;

Of gladness shared by all there was no lack.

When all was calm, Leon with eloquence,

Began to give King Charles a full report,

Holding him spellbound by the strange events.

I need not say the members of the court

Were an attentive, eager audience.

Ruggiero’s valour was of such a sort

When he defeated Leon at Belgrade,

It caused all sense of injury to fade.

So, when a prisoner Ruggiero lay

And mercilessly tortured would have been

By her who held him in her cruel sway,

He (Leon) had defied his kith and kin

And set him free; and, eager to repay,

Ruggiero did a deed so gallant then

That it surpassed all deeds of chivalry

Which ever were or ever yet would be.

Then he went on to tell them of that deed.

No detail of the story did he hide:

Of how it made Ruggiero’s heart so bleed

With anguish to renounce his promised bride

That he preferred to die; and soon indeed,

If help had not arrived, he would have died.

Leone told the tale so movingly

That every eye was moist with sympathy.

And next, with all the eloquence he could

Command, he turned to speak with Duke Aymon.

Not only did he change his stubborn mood

And make him want Ruggiero as his son,

But now so altered is his attitude,

To Bradamante’s consort he is won.

He asks his pardon for the long delay

And gladly now his daughter gives away.

To where she sat, her very life in doubt,

Weeping in secret at her bitter fate,

More than one joyful messenger set out

These happy tidings gladly to relate.

Her blood, which instantly her heart had sought

When sorrow made her so disconsolate,

Went pulsing through her veins at the surprise

And almost caused the joyful Maid’s demise.

So drained is she of her vitality

That she can scarcely hold herself upright,

Though spirited and strong she’s known to be.

A man condemned to hang or to the plight

Of block or wheel or other devilry,

Bandaged already from the dreadful sight,

At his reprieve no greater gladness voices

Than she who at these tidings now rejoices.

Monglane and Clairmont joyfully applaud

This new conjoining of two kindred strains;

But those past-masters of deceit and fraud,

Gano, Ginami, Gini, Anselmo – clans

For ever by a furtive envy flawed,

In whom the threat of treachery remains –

Vengefully bide their time with wily smirks,

As for the hare the fox in waiting lurks.

Not only had the Count and Montalban

Despatched a number of this evil brood

(Though Charles insisted wisely on the plan

Of hushing up the spilling of bad blood);

With Pinabel and Bertolagi gone,

Sombre indeed was the Maganzans’ mood;

But they were careful to conceal their aim,

Pretending not to know who was to blame.

The Bulgars who had come (as I have said)

In search of the heroic cavalier

Who on his shield the unicorn displayed –

Their chosen king – on finding he is there,

Rejoice and thank their lucky stars which led

Them to King Charles’s court; and they draw near

And fling themselves in reverence at his feet

And his return to his domain entreat.

In Adrianople crown and sceptre wait,

Ruggiero is expected eagerly,

His help is needed to defend the State;

New danger threatens their security,

For Constantine is arming, they relate,

And leader of his troops intends to be;

But if their king will come they hope to make

The Empire Bulgar and no longer Greek.

Ruggiero finds their offer and request

Acceptable; he vows he will return,

Fortune permitting, when three months have passed.

Leone hears the promise he has sworn

And warmly recommends him to stand fast,

For when the Bulgar crown by him is worn

There will be peace, he can be sure, between

The Bulgars and the Emperor Constantine.

Nor need he hurry to depart from France

To lead his squadrons forth in a campaign:

Leon will ure his father to renounce

Whatever land was once Bulgarian.

Of all the merits which Ruggiero vaunts,

None is so likely the consent to gain

Of Bradamante’s mother as to hear

Her future son-in-law is King Ruggier.

A wedding, splendid and spectacular,

Is now arranged, and a right royal one.

Charles sees to the arrangements with such care,

It might have been a daughter of his own

Who was to wed; but such her merits are

And such the worth of every Montalban,

It would not seem excessive if he spent

Half of his kingdom’s wealth for this event.

The heralds now proclaim an open court

Where all may come and safely take their ease,

And freedom of the lists, where every sort

Of quarrel may be settled, for nine days.

Pavilions rise, and bowers, for the sport,

Embellished by green boughs and flowering sprays,

With draperies of silk and cloth of gold –

A scene of joy and gladsome to behold.

Paris alone could not have housed so great

A crowd of visitors from foreign lands:

Poor, rich, of high degree, of low estate,

Greeks, Romans, lesser breeds in lawless bands

Ambassadors and lords and heads of state,

Whom every country to the wedding sends,

Are each in a pavilion, booth or tent

In comfort lodged and catered for, content.

Melissa, the resourceful sorceress,

The night before prepares the bridal room,

Adorning it with magic loveliness.

Long has she waited for this time to come!

This marriage, dreamed of by the prophetess

For many years, abundantly will bloom.

She knows the virtue which the Fates will grant

In future times to issue from this plant.

Melissa set the fertile thalamus

In a pavilion costlier and more

Resplendent, wider and more sumptuous

Than ever was set up in peace or war

In regions far away, or known to us.

She had removed it from the Thracian shore

When it had sheltered Constantine, who lay

At ease beside the sea one sunny day.

Melissa, first obtaining the consent

Of Leon, to surprise him with her skill

(For she could put a bridle of restraint

Upon the neck of the great Worm of Hell

And on him and the whole malevolent

And God-defying crew could work her will),

Had given demons orders to transfer

The tent, and in obedience to her

From off the prostrate Emperor of all

The Greeks, the demons lifted at mid-day

The tent, the guy-ropes and the centre pole,

And fittings, both inside and out. Away

They flew, nor did they let their burden fall,

But set it down, a lodging fair and gay,

Where it would serve the noble bride and groom.

They then restored it to Byzantium.

Two thousand years before, the costly tent

Had been embroidered by a Trojan maid.

Prophetic powers to her the gods had lent

And many true and tragic things she said.

Both day and night long hours at work she spent

And with her needle a fair story made.

She was Cassandra, sister of the brave

And dauntless Hector; him the work she gave.

The noblest, the most gallant cavalier

Of all who from her brother’s stock would spring

(Though many branches, she was well aware,

Would intervene to which much fruit would cling),

She had depicted with a skill so rare,

In gold and silk, of hues so ravishing,

That for its sake and hers, long as he lived,

Her brother prized the gift he had received.

When he had met his death by treachery,

And Troy fell victim to the wooden horse,

Deceived by cunning Sinon’s strategy

(And what ensued was infinitely worse

Than ever was described in history),

By lot to Menelaus in due course

The gift was passed; and, next, to Proteus

Of Egypt, where the lovely Helen was.

The king of Egypt in exchange for her

From grateful Menelaus received the tent;

And in succession, next, from heir to heir,

From Ptolemy to Ptolemy, it went.

Then lost by Cleopatra in the affair

Of Actium and by Agrippa sent

To Augustus; with Tiberius in Rome

It stayed, and then to Constantine had come,

That Constantine whom Italy will rue

Long as the spheres revolve in harmony,

That same who of the Tiber weary grew

And eastwards bore the precious canopy.

It was not he from whom Melissa drew

The ropes of gold, the pole of ivory,

The stitches which Apelles’ brush outshine

In beauty, but a later Constantine.

The Graces, in gay, festive garments clad,

Are in attendance as a queen gives birth.

So beautiful a child is there portrayed,

His equal has been never seen on earth.

Jove, Venus, Mars and Mercury, lending aid,

Ethereal flowers scatter, with no dearth

Of sweet ambrosia and every bloom

Whose petals breathe celestial perfume.

‘Ippolito’ in tiny lettering

Is written on the infant’s swaddling-bands.

Next, Valour as their guide acknowledging,

Adventure and the growing boy join hands.

Long-haired ambassadors a message bring;

Long garments show they come from foreign lands.

They beg the father for consent to take

His son abroad for Matthew Corvin’s sake.

Of Ercole he takes a reverent leave

And of his mother Leonora too.

Next, on the Danube, crowds the boy receive

And homage pay which to a god is due.

The king of Hungary (whom few deceive)

Admires and honours one so young who to

Such wisdom has attained; he raises him

Even above his barons in esteem.

He places in his nephew’s childish hand

The sceptre of Strigonia, and close

To him he likes the noble youth to stand;

At court, abroad and everywhere he goes,

Ippolito is always near at hand.

When Turks or Germans are his uncle’s foes

He witnesses the strategy of war

And understands what deeds of valour are.

Next he is shown employing his best years

In the pursuit of learning and of art.

Tommaso Fusco close to him appears

And teaches him what ancient works impart:

‘Follow this precept, from that be averse,

If glory is the course which you would chart.’

He seems thus to be heard as well as seen,

So well depicted have his gestures been.

And next he is a Cardinal, still young,

In solemn conclave in the Vatican;

And as he speaks his lofty mind among

The Consistory, his elders scarcely can

Conceal their stupor and burst out ere long:

‘What will he be when he becomes a man?

Oh, if St Peter’s mantle falls on him,

How blest, how fortunate our age will seem!’

The pastimes of the noble boy, elsewhere

Depicted, show him climb the craggy peaks

And unperturbed confront the mountain bear;

Or else the boar in swampy vales he seeks,

Or hunts the roebuck or the veteran deer,

As swifter than the wind his jennet streaks

And, overtaken, by one sword-stroke hit,

His prey collapses and in half is slit.

And here with poets and philosophers

He’s found among an honoured company.

With one about the heavens he confers

With one discourses of geography;

One recites elegies, one joyful verse,

One epic poems or gay odes maybe.

Musicians sing and play and as he dances

His graceful steps attract admiring glances.

The first part of the canopy displayed

This godlike progeny’s sublime enfance.

Cassandra on the other had portrayed

His prudence, justice, valour, temperance.

To these four virtues she saw fit to add

A fifth: the virtue of munificence,

Which ever with the other four combines.

With all these radiant attributes he shines.

Still in his youth, as counsellor he’s shown

To the unhappy Sforza of Milan.

In times of peace, their two minds are as one.

In times of war, with him he leads the van.

His friendship is to be depended on,

Whatever Fortune in caprice may plan.

With him in his sad exile he resides;

In grief he comforts him, in danger guides.

Elsewhere he is depicted deep in thought:

The safety of his brother and the State

Is jeopardized, but he reveals the plot;

By a strange means he catches in his net

Alfonso’s dearest relatives, who sought

With treacherous intent to seal his fate.

For this the Ferrarese on him bestow

The name the Romans gave to Cicero.

In haste to help the Church, behold him ride

In shining armour, with a motley band,

To face an army fully trained and tried.

The force by which the priests can make a stand

His presence is sufficient to provide.

The fire is doused before the flame is fanned.

To him those words can be applied of which we

Read in history: veni, vidi, vici.

Now from his native shore behold him seek

To drive the strongest navy ever sent

By the Venetians against Turk or Greek.

He scatters it and after the event

He leads the broken vessels up the creek,

Where to his brother he will then present

The spoils he brings as victor of the fray,

Save honour, which he cannot give away.

The cavaliers and ladies gathered round

And at the tent uncomprehending gazed,

For there was no one near who could expound

The meaning of the figures they appraised;

Yet pleasure in the craftsmanship they found

And pointed to the lettering, amazed.

Fair Bradamante was the only one

To whom the sense had fully been made known.

Ruggiero does not know the tale as well

As Bradamante, but he calls to mind

The stories which Atlante used to tell:

Ippolito, whose glory he divined,

He often praised. Alas! impossible

It is to sing in full all those refined

Delights, the varied games, the festive mood,

The tables plentifully spread with food.

100

They test the mettle of a cavalier,

They break a thousand lances in one day,

They fight on foot, astride a destrier,

They fight in single combat, or mêlée.

None else is so proficient as Ruggier:

He always wins in every kind of fray,

In dancing, wrestling; whatsoe’er the fight,

He keeps on top with honour, day and night.

101

For the ninth day (it was to be the last)

A solemn banquet Charlemagne had planned.

The hour had struck, they had begun the feast,

Charles had the bridal pair on either hand,

When suddenly they saw approach in haste

A knight in arms; against the festive band,

A towering bulk and hostile, he rode on.

Black were his surcoat and caparison.

102

The knight was Rodomonte of Algiers.

When Bradamante felled him on the pass,

To use no arms, to ride no destriers,

He swore, but in a hermit’s cell to pass

His time in prayer and repentant tears

Until a year, a month, a day should pass,

For it was customary in those days

For knights to purge their errors in such ways.

103

He heard the news of Charles’s victory,

He heard the news of Agramante’s fate,

But he observed his vow religiously

And in his hermit-cell preferred to wait.

A year, a month, a day had finally

Gone by and then at last, though it was late,

With a new horse, new arms, new sword, new lance,

He started for the royal court of France.

104

Without an inclination of the head,

Without a single gesture of respect,

Without dismounting from his thoroughbred,

With scorn he faced that noble and select

Assembly; they sat open-mouthed indeed,

Their meal suspended and their converse checked;

Amazed at his contemptuous display,

They wondered what the warrior would say.

105

Advancing now to where he could confront

Charles and Ruggiero, angrily he roared:

‘I am the king of Sarza, Rodomont.

I challenge you, Ruggiero; with my sword

E’er sunset I will settle our account,

I’ll prove you are a traitor to your lord;

No honour you deserve among these knights;

Apostate, you have forfeited your rights!

106

‘Your felony is obvious and clear,

Your change of faith is not to be denied,

But plainer still I’ll make the truth appear.

If anyone declares that I have lied,

I’ll prove him wrong and any challenger

By whom my charge of treason is defied;

Against not one, but five or six or ten,

I’ll fight and what I’ve said I will maintain.’

107

Ruggiero at this challenge stood upright.

With Charles’s leave, he uttered his retort:

Who called him traitor, lied, as he was quite

Prepared to prove in presence of the court

Against his false accuser in fair fight,

For he was innocent of any tort.

He’d always served his monarch as he should.

The truth of what he said he would make good.

108

Being well able to defend his cause,

He had no need of help from anyone.

He hoped to show that his opponent was

Unable to combat with more than one.

Rinaldo and Orlando did not pause:

The marquess, Aquilante and Grifon,

Marfisa and Dudon rushed to his side,

And one and all the infidel defied.

109

They were unwilling that, so newly wed,

Ruggiero should thus interrupted be.

‘Do not disturb yourselves, my friends,’ he said,

‘Excuses such as these seem base to me.’

The arms of Mandricard (who is now dead)

Were brought. All spring to help him instantly:

Orlando fastens on his golden spurs,

The hands that gird him are the Emperor’s.

110

Marfisa and his bride with loving care

The greaves and breastplate have secured in place.

Astolfo holds his famous destrier,

Ugier his stirrup, while, outside, a space

Rinaldo, Namo and the marquess clear;

All bystanders and onlookers they chase

From the stockade, which ever ready is

For battles and encounters such as this.

111

The matrons and the maidens, blanched with fright,

Flutter like doves which from the fields of grain

Are driven to their nests by the winds’ spite

When lightning flashes and when hail and rain

Are threatened by a sky as black as night,

And farmers see their labour all in vain.

For Bradamante’s husband are their fears,

Who than the pagan less robust appears.

112

The commoners and the majority

Of cavaliers and barons thought the same,

For they recall – ah, horrid memory! –

What Paris at the pagan’s hands became,

When single-handed unremittingly

He laid the city low with sword and flame.

The signs of the destruction still remain,

And will for long, the worst in the domain.

113

More trembling than all others was the heart

Of Bradamante; not that she believed

The Saracen more courage could assert,

Or promise of success he had received

From knowing he could claim the greater part

Of right and justice; none the less she grieved,

For apprehension for the one we love

Is no unworthy consequence of love.

114

How gladly to herself she would transfer

The trial which as yet uncertain is,

Even if all the indications were

That the ordeal would end in her decease!

To die, and more than once, she would prefer

(If death can offer more than one release);

Sooner than see her consort risk his life,

She’d take his place in the ensuing strife.

115

All her entreaties are of no avail.

Ruggiero will not yield to her request.

She stands to watch the combat from the rail,

Tears in her eyes, a tremor in her breast.

And now Ruggiero and the infidel,

Their visors down and each of each in quest,

Are riding hard; their lances break like ice,

The hafts, like birds, fly upwards in a trice.

116

The pagan’s lance which struck Ruggiero’s shield

Full centre had the puniest effect.

The steel of Trojan Hector did not yield,

So well does Vulcan’s tempering protect.

Likewise the weapon which Ruggiero held

Struck Rodomonte’s shield, but passed unchecked

Despite the covering of steel and bone

And thickness of a palm, or more than one.

117

Splinters and larger fragments flew so high,

Each might have been a feathered shuttlecock,

Soaring beyond the gaze of every eye.

This for the pagan was a stroke of luck:

His breastplate would have been split open by

Ruggiero’s lance, but on the shield it broke.

The battle might have ended save for that,

But now both chargers on their haunches sat.

118

No time is lost, for both the cavaliers

With spur and bridle urge their steeds to stand.

Their lances now being broken, each prefers

To test and prove the other with his brand.

Their blows, as they resume, are shrewd and fierce.

Their destriers are nimble and well trained.

Twisting now here, now there, for chinks they seek

Or thrust their sword-points where the steel is weak.

119

That day the breastplate which the pagan wore

Was not the dragon’s hide, as hard as stone.

He did not wield the blade which Nimrod bore.

The helmet on his head was not his own.

His usual arms (did I not say before?),

When vanquished by the lady of Dordogne,

He placed as a memento in the shrine,

Where many other arms and weapons shine.

120

The other arms the Saracen possessed

Were excellent, though not so fine or hard;

But neither these nor Nimrod’s could resist

The penetrating strokes of Balisard.

Not even magic armour stands the test,

The finest steel can no defence afford.

So well Ruggiero goes to work with her,

The pagan’s arms soon look the worse for wear.

121

When Rodomonte sees so many gashes

And knows he is unable to elude

The greater part of Balisarda’s slashes,

Which pierce him to the body and draw blood,

More furious than the winter sea which crashes

From full height to the shore in raging mood,

He casts away his shield and with both hands

A blow on his opponent’s helmet lands.

122

Just as an engine on the river Po,

Steadied on two pontoons, is winched on high

And, then released, inflicts a mighty blow

Upon the pointed stakes beneath, now by

The Saracen, the better to bestow

A stroke by which his enemy shall die,

The sword is lifted in two hands: it drops.

Its force Ruggiero’s magic helmet stops.

123

Ruggiero staggers twice and forward bends,

His arms and legs apart, for balance, flings.

The Saracen again his sword upends,

And down upon Ruggiero’s helmet brings

A second blow, a third; but there it ends.

The sword cannot endure such hammerings.

It flies in pieces and the pagan’s hand

Is left, to his surprise, without a brand.

124

The Saracen is not to be deterred:

He leaps upon his foe, who nothing feels;

His head is so concussed, his mind so blurred,

That everything revolves and spins and wheels;

But from his slumber he is quickly stirred.

The pagan wrenches him about the gills,

Uproots him from between his saddle-bows,

And on the ground with frenzied vigour throws.

125

No sooner is he down than to his feet

He springs, and anger moves him less than shame.

His eyes the eyes of Bradamante meet,

He sees her cheeks with grief and rage aflame.

When she had seen her gallant husband hit

The ground, aghast with terror she became.

But now, to make amends for his disgrace,

He grasps his sword and turns, his foe to face.

126

The pagan urged his horse against Ruggier.

He nimbly stepped aside and, as it passed,

He caught the bridle of the destrier.

His left hand turned it round and held it fast,

His right meanwhile attacked the cavalier

In thigh, in flank, in abdomen, in breast.

Twice he succeeded, twice inflicted pain,

First in the flank, then in the thigh again.

127

The sword had splintered in the pagan’s hand,

But now he crashed upon Ruggiero’s head

The pommel and the hilt which still remained.

At this, Ruggiero’s senses might have fled,

But right was on his side and fate had planned

That he should be the victor; so instead,

Using both hands, he seized his arm and tugged him

Till from the saddle finally he lugged him.

128

The pagan’s strength or skill had let him fall

On equal footing with his enemy.

I mean, he landed on his feet, that’s all.

Ruggiero had a sword, so it was he

Who was advantaged; seeking to forestall

The Saracen’s approach, which would not be

A welcome move, he kept him at arm’s length,

For bulk like that would overcome his strength.

129

Meanwhile the Saracen was losing blood

From side and thigh and other wounds as well.

Ruggiero hoped that bit by bit he would

Become enfeebled and incapable

Of further strife, and yield at last for good.

The pagan held the hilt and pommel still.

With all his might he flung this broken arm

Against Ruggiero, causing grievous harm.

130

On cheek and shoulder he receives the blow.

The impact makes him reel from left to right.

He staggers, off his balance, to and fro,

And scarcely can he hold himself upright.

Now is the moment for the pagan to

Close in and take advantage of his plight.

He tries to do so, but too hastily:

His thigh-wound brings him down upon one knee.

131

And not a moment does Ruggiero lose.

He strikes him in the chest and in the face.

He hammers him so hard and keeps so close,

The ground appears the pagan’s favourite place.

But up he rises and his arms he throws

Around Ruggiero in a tight embrace.

They strained and writhed and wrestled intertwined,

Their superhuman strength with skill combined.

132

The pagan’s stamina was growing less,

His gaping wounds so copiously bled.

Ruggiero had great skill and nimbleness.

To bouts of wrestling he was born and bred.

Thus his advantage he knew how to press,

And where the most amount of blood was shed,

Where Rodomonte’s injuries were worst,

His arms and chest and both his feet he thrust.

133

But Rodomonte, full of rage and scorn,

Seizes Ruggiero round the neck; he hugs

And presses, squeezes, pulls and twists; in turn,

Ruggiero pushes, Rodomonte tugs.

High off his feet the Christian knight is borne

Upon the pagan’s chest; with shakes and shrugs

He tries to throw him down with every move.

Ruggiero tries his best to stay above.

134

Ruggiero, changing holds this way and that,

The pagan round the middle tried to seize.

Pinning his left side down with all his weight,

He held him helpless in a rigid squeeze;

And while he had the pagan in this state,

He thrust his right leg over both his knees;

Then, with this purchase, hoisted him at last

And head first from his back his burden cast.

135

With head and shoulders Rodomonte struck

The earth and such a thump his body made,

Blood spurted from his wounds as from a rock

A fountain springs, and stained the earth bright red.

Ruggiero, who had Fortune by the lock,

Knelt on his belly, while one hand he laid

Upon his throat; lest he attempt to rise,

He held a dagger poised above his eyes.

136

As sometimes where the miners dig for gold

In Hungary or, it may be, in Spain,

If suddenly the roof caves in, to hold

As captives those who burrowed there for gain,

So heavy is the fall of earth which rolled

Upon their chests, they cannot breathe for pain,

So now the pagan, once he had been floored,

His conqueror’s oppressive weight endured.

137

Ruggiero holds the dagger at the sights

Of Rodomonte’s helm; he makes it clear

By threats that his surrender he invites,

And says that in exchange his life he’ll spare.

The thought of death the pagan less affrights

Than of betraying the least sign of fear.

To heave Ruggiero off, he twists and shakes

With all his might and not a word he speaks.

138

A mastiff under a ferocious hound

Whose fangs are fast embedded in its throat

In vain will writhe and struggle on the ground,

Its eyes ablaze, and flecked with spume its coat;

It knows that in its enemy is found

A greater strength, a greater skill, though not

More rage; so now the pagan must despair

Of throwing off his conqueror, Ruggier.

139

And yet he twists and turns in such a way,

He manages to pull his right arm free.

He too had drawn his dagger in the fray

And now attempts to use it furtively.

Ruggiero sees the danger straight away:

Stabbed in the back he knows that he will be

If here and now he does not end the strife

By cutting short the evil pagan’s life.

140

Raising his arm as high as would suffice,

He plunged his dagger in that awesome brow,

Retrieving it not once, but more than twice.

To Acheron’s sad shores, that spirit now,

Freed from its body, colder far than ice,

Fled cursing from the world, to disavow

The right which all his life he had defied

With insolence and arrogance and pride.

FINIS

xxvi.

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Rinaldo leaves Paris

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