Every important event can be pinpointed: Orlando’s attack on Angelica on the shore of Spain, just north of Barcelona; Rodomonte’s bridge across the river Hérault, near (it seems likely) the village of Aniane; Bradamante’s journey from Montalbano past Quercy and Cahors, along the valley of the Dordogne; Rinaldo’s journey by boat along the Po to Ravenna, every ramification of the river (as its course was then) charted and described; Astolfo’s flight on the hippogriff over Spain and along the north coast of Africa, south over Cyrenaica and into Ethiopia to the kingdom of Prester John. Even Alcina’s island, unnamed, may be Japan, as shown on Contarini’s map.1

Ariosto delights in geographical precision, as he delights also in versifying the chronicle of Italian history represented by the prophetic paintings in Tristan’s castle. Historic personages, contemporary rulers, acquaintances and friends are met with again and again, on the marble surround of Merlin’s fountain, as caryatides supported on the shoulders of admirers gracing another fountain, and as a reception committee gathered on the quay to welcome Ariosto back from his long journey. Some of the real characters even wander into the world of fantasy.

This framework of reality and precision constitutes a structural device of great originality. It provides unity and relevance to the multifarious episodes and lends verisimilitude to the incredible. The uncertainty of life, man’s helplessness before forces he cannot control, the illusions and self-deceptions of human relationships, the capriciousness of Fortune, conflicting motives and desires, irrationality, violence and insanity are imaged in the wanderings, the quests, the search for adventure, the mysterious forests, the sea-journeys, the storms, the sorcery, the monsters, the large-scale conflicts and the duels, the anguish of frustrated love. But though life is chaos, man has rational powers; on his varied and disparate material, Ariosto imposed his vision of order and the patterns of his art.

BARBARA REYNOLDS

Nottingham and
Berkeley, California
16 March 1976

PRINCIPAL NEW CHARACTERS AND DEVICES

MEN

Aldigiero, bastard son of Buovo

Viviano, son of Buovo

Malagigi, sorcerer, son of Buovo

Aymon, Duke of Montalbano, father to Bradamante

Guicciardo, brother of Rinaldo

Ricciardo, brother of Rinaldo

Astolfo, King of Lombardy

Fausto Latini

Giocondo, brother of Fausto

Greco

King of Gothland

King of Norway

King of Sweden

Marganorre

Cilandro, son of Marganorre

Tanacro, son of Marganorre

Olindro, husband of Drusilla

Prester John (Senapo)

Alcestes, suitor of Lydia

King of Lydia

King of Armenia

St John Evangelist

Folvo, King of Fers

Bucifar, King of Algaziers

Branzardo, King of Bugia

Anselmo

Adonio

Bardino, guardian of Brandimarte

Constantine, Emperor of Byzantium

Leone, son of Constantine

Vatran, King of Bulgaria

Ungiardo, ruler of Novigrad

WOMEN

Fiordispina

Fiammetta

Ullania, messenger of Queen of Iceland

Clarice, wife of Rinaldo

Drusilla, wife of Olindro

Argìa, wife of Anselmo

Lydia, spirit

Theodora, sister of Constantine

Galerana, wife of Charlemagne

PERSONIFICATIONS

Old man, representing Time

Fates

Scorn

MONSTERS

Black bat-like bird

Harpies

Many-headed female, representing Jealousy

SUPERNATURAL BEINGS

Demon sent by Malagigi into Doralice’s palfrey Manto, sorceress:

transformed to snake

transformed to dog

HORSE

Batoldo, Brandimarte’s steed, owned by Barigaccio in Orlando Innamorato

ANONYMOUS CHARACTERS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE

Landlord of inn at La Rochelle

Surgeon who tends Corebo

Shepherd interrogated by Zerbino

Hermit who befriends Isabella

Envoy who appeals for help for Agramante to Rodomonte and Mandricardo

Envoy who appeals for help for Agramante to Ruggiero

Hermit who cuts Bradamante’s hair

Messenger who brings news to Aldigiero

Envoy sent by Aldigiero to Rinaldo

Giocondo’s wife

Lover of Giocondo’s wife

King Astolfo’s wife

Dwarf, lover of Astolfo’s wife

Woman rescued from the Seine by Sacripante

Landlord who tells the story of Fiammetta

Man who defends the reputation of married women

Two woodcutters attacked by Orlando

Shepherd watering his horse, slain by Orlando

Physician who tends Ruggiero

Gascon knight who brings Bradamante news from Arles Knight who encourages Rinaldo to test his wife’s fidelity Ethiopian who tempts Anselmo Castellan at Tristan’s castle

Shepherd who directs Bradamante to Tristan’s castle

Two damsels who accompany Ullania

Woman who tells story of Marganorre

Greek cavalier

Lady loved by Cilandro

Drusilla’s serving-maid

Pilot who brings Christian captives to Algiers

Hermit who baptizes Ruggiero

Nephew of Constantine

Cavalier from Romania Gaoler

Squires, attendants, soldiers, guards, pilots, shepherds, courtiers, crowds, etc., passim

CANTO XXIV

Who in Love’s snare has stepped, let him recoil

Ere round his wings the cunning meshes close;

For what is love but madness after all,

As every wise man in the wide world knows?

Though it is true not everyone may fall

Into Orlando’s state, his frenzy shows

What perils lurk; what sign is there more plain

Than self-destruction, of a mind insane?

The various effects which from love spring

By one same madness are brought into play

It is a wood of error, menacing,

Where travellers perforce must lose their way;

One here, one there, it comes to the same thing.

To sum the matter up, then, I would say:

Who in old age the dupe of love remains

Deserving is of fetters and of chains.

You might well say: ‘My friend, you indicate

The faults of others; yours you do not see.’

But I reply: ‘I see the matter straight

In this brief moment of lucidity,

And I intend (if it is not too late)

To quit the dance and seek tranquillity.

And yet I fear my vow I cannot keep:

In me the malady has gone too deep.’

My lord, in my last canto I had said

That Count Orlando, of his wits bereft,

Scattered his armour and his clothing shed,

Even his trusty Durindana left.

He tore up trees, and noise to wake the dead

Resounded as caves, caverns, rocks he cleft.

To meet their fate or to atone for sin,

Shepherds ran forth, astonished by the din.

First, from far off they watch the madman show

A strength unheard-of; next, they draw too near,

Then turn to run, but where they do not know,

As happens when a man is gripped by fear.

The madman to pursue them is not slow.

He seizes one and is as quick to tear

His head off as a man might easily

Pluck blossom or an apple from a tree.

He swings the heavy body by one leg,

Using it as a club to beat the rest.

Two of them have no time or chance to beg

For mercy: until doomsday they will rest.

The footsteps of the others do not drag.

Of policies, they judge retreat is best.

The madman is diverted from the chase

And turns upon the flocks, which he now slays.

The peasants who were working in the fields,

Leaving their scythes, their mattocks and their ploughs,

Clamber to roof-tops or whatever yields

A vantage-point (not trusting to the boughs

Of trees) and watch the madman as he wields

His grisly weapon, or kills oxen, cows,

Tearing the hapless creatures limb from limb –

And swift indeed are those which flee from him.

A pandemonium one might have heard

Reverberate from every near-by town,

Of voices, horns and rustic trumpets, blurred

By bells which every other clamour drown.

With bows and clubs and spikes and slings, a herd,

About a thousand, from the hills leaps down,

While from the valleys many hundreds vault,

Resolved to take the madman by assault.

As when a wave rolls gently to the shore,

While playfully the south wind blows at first,

And as a second follows and then more,

Stronger and stronger, till at last they burst

With all their volume, and the sandy floor

Is lashed as though the sea would do its worst,

So now against Orlando mounts and swells

The hostile crowd which pours from hills and dells.

He slaughtered ten, and then another ten,

Who in disorder fell beneath his hand,

And from this demonstration it was plain

That safer farther off it was to stand.

His body none can injure and in vain

Their weapons strike him; God on high had planned

That he should be preserved inviolate,

Defender of the Faith decreed by fate.

Orlando ran a mortal risk that day

(Had he been capable of death, that is).

Just what it meant to throw his sword away

And then, unarmed, join in hostilities,

He would have learned, and what the price to pay.

The crowd retreats, and when Orlando sees

That nobody his movements now opposes,

He strides towards a little group of houses.

There not a single soul is to be found,

For all in terror of their lives have fled;

But humble viands everywhere abound

Which rustic folk find fitting for their need.

Unable to distinguish, I’ll be bound,

Between the vilest acorns and good bread,

He fell upon whatever food he saw,

And ate it ravenously, cooked or raw.

Then, as he roamed about the countryside,

He hunted animals, and humans too.

The nimble-footed creatures, terrified,

Goats, stags and does in vain before him flew.

With bears and with wild boars his strength he tried,

And many with his naked hands he slew;

Their flesh, quite raw, and innards, all complete,

With savage relish he would often eat.

Here, there, up, down, the length and breadth of France

He goes, till to a bridge he comes one day.

Beneath, a river flows, of broad expanse;

Steep, rocky banks its swirling waters stay.

Beside it is a tower, whence the glance

The land in all directions can survey.

But what he did there you will learn elsewhere,

For now about Zerbino you must hear.

After Orlando left, first for a while

Zerbino waited; then he took the route

Marked by the paladin; in leisured style

He rode, more at an amble than a trot.

He had not gone, I think, above a mile

Or two when he observed, bound hand and foot,

A knight upon a nag; and on each side,

Like guards, two cavaliers in armour ride.

Zerbino recognized the prisoner,

And so did Isabella, from close to,

For he was Odorico, in whose care

She had been placed. A wolf a tender ewe-

Lamb would protect as well, but trustier

Zerbino thought him and more staunch and true

Than all his friends, and so believed he could

Rely on him to guard her maidenhood.

Exactly what had happened, Isabel

Was vividly describing to him then:

How, when the vessel sank, as it befell,

She had survived, together with three men,

How Odorico tried to force her will,

How she was carried to the pirates’ den.

She had not finished all she had to say

Before they met the villain on their way.

The two who lead him captive know the truth.

They recognize the damsel instantly.

The knight beside her must be he who’s both

Her lover and their lord; and when they see

The markings on his shield, they’d take their oath

Those ancient signs betoken royalty.

When they come near enough to see his face,

They have no doubt at all about the case.

Dismounting from their steeds and kneeling down,

They clasp him where the humble clasp the great.

They bare their heads and, visible from crown

To chin, for his acknowledgement they wait.

Zerbino, staring with a puzzled frown,

Beholds thus paying homage at his feet

Corebo and Almonio, whom he

Had sent to bear his lady company.

Almonio spoke: ‘Since it has been God’s will

That Isabella should be here with you,

I understand full well, my lord, the ill

Report I have to give you is not new,

Of how this felon sought to wreak his will,

Whom as a prisoner between us two,

Fettered upon a nag, you now behold,

For she who suffered must all that have told.

‘How by this traitor I was tricked when he

Despatched me off to La Rochelle, you know,

And how Corebo, for his loyalty,

Was wounded by what seemed a fatal blow;

But what occurred when I returned to see

Your lady vanished and my friend struck low,

She could not tell you, for she was not there;

So now to tell you this, falls to my share.

‘From La Rochelle I galloped back again,

To bring the horses I was quick to find.

I gazed ahead, intent on the terrain,

Eager for signs of those I’d left behind.

Onward I ride, I look about in vain,

I reach the shore, now here, now there I wind;

Of my companions I can see no trace,

Save that a trail of footsteps marks the place.

‘I followed them; they led me to a wood,

Fearsome and dark. I’d gone but a short way

When from a sound of groans I understood

That therein someone sorely wounded lay:

It was Corebo, weak from loss of blood.

“What has become of Isabel?” I say,

“Of Odorico?” When the truth I knew,

After the traitor through the woods I flew.

‘In vain all the surroundings I explore,

Wherever labyrinthine pathways lead.

Then I return to where Corebo’s gore

Has stained the earth around so deep a red

That, had he lingered there a little more

A grave he would have needed, not a bed,

And priests to bury him with solemn prayer,

Having long passed beyond a doctor’s care.

‘Help came and he was borne to La Rochelle.

The landlord of an inn, who was my friend,

Summoned a surgeon, old and of great skill.

The wounds in a short time began to mend

Clad in new arms and on new steeds as well

We scoured the countryside from end to end

In search of Odorico; in Bisca

We came upon him at the court one day.

‘The justice of the king (who a free field

Allows,) the truth, which the Almighty sees,

And Fortune also, who is wont to yield

The victory wherever she may please,

So aid me that the traitor scarce can wield

His lance against me; and I captive seize

The felon. When the king his crime had heard

He let me deal with him as I preferred.

‘I had no wish to sentence him untried,

But as you see, to bring him to you, chained.

It is for you to judge him and decide

If he deserves to die or be detained.

News that you rallied to King Charles’s side

Brought me from Spain to seek you in this land.

Now I thank God, who led me to this place,

Where I least hoped to meet you face to face.

‘I thank Him also that your Isabel

(I know not how) is safely in your care,

Of whom good tidings, after what befell,

And at whose hands, I never thought to hear.’

To everything Almonio has to tell

Zerbino listens, fixing with a stare

The villain, Odorico, less in hate

Than sorrow for their friendship, and regret.

And when Almonio his story ends,

Zerbino stands perplexed for a long while:

That one whom least of all his many friends

He would suspect of treachery and guile

Should have betrayed him for his lustful ends,

With what once was he fails to reconcile.

He sighs and, from his stupor coming to,

He asks the captive if these things are true.

The traitor fell at once upon his knees

And said these specious words in his defence:

‘My lord, each one of us a sinner is.

Between the good and bad the difference

Is only that the latter is with ease

Defeated by desire and then repents.

The other takes up arms against the foe,

But he too by one stronger is brought low.

‘If you had trusted me to guard a fort

And I had yielded at the first attack,

Hoisting, without defence of any sort,

The banners of the foe, you would not lack,

On hearing tidings of such ill report,

Terms of abuse to heap upon my back;

But if I long resisted, I am sure

My fame and glory would for long endure.

‘The more redoubtable the enemy,

The more acceptable is the excuse

Of him who has to cede the victory;

And like a fortress ringed about with foes,

I knew that I must guard my loyalty;

And so, with all the prudence I could use,

With heart and soul I tried, but to my shame

My passion my resistance overcame.’

Thus Odorico spoke, and added then

Still more which it were lengthy to relate,

Showing how sharp his sufferings had been,

How fierce the lash, how agonized his state.

If ever prayers the wrath of angry men,

If ever humble words the heart placate,

Then surely Odorico must succeed,

So skilfully and ably can he plead.

Revenge for such an injury to take –

’Twixt yes and no Zerbino’s will is hung,

And difficult he finds the choice to make:

Only the felon’s death would right the wrong,

And yet he hesitates for friendship’s sake,

That bond which had united them so long,

The water of compassion in his heart

Quenches his rage and counsels mercy’s part.

And while Zerbino hesitated still

Whether to take as captive or to free,

Whether to castigate, or yet to kill

The miscreant for his disloyalty,

The horse which Mandricardo, as you will

Recall, had left unbridled, rapidly

Approached, bearing the hag who not long since

Contrived to bring such peril to the prince.

The palfrey, hearing hoofs, had pricked its ears

And galloped at full speed across the plain

To join its kind; the harridan, in tears,

Shrieked all the while for help, but shrieked in vain.

Zerbino, when he sees her, offers prayers

Of thanks that Heaven so benign has been

As to deliver in his hands those two:

For them alone hatred from him was due.

Zerbino first detains the evil crone

Till he decides what he will do with her.

Cut off her nose and both her ears is one

Good method evil-doers to deter;

To let the vultures pick clean every bone

Would be another: which does he prefer?

On punishments of many kinds he muses

And one solution finally he chooses.

He turned to his companions and declared:

‘I am content to let the traitor live;

Although he does not merit to be spared,

Yet neither does he merit to receive

The final penalty; I am prepared

To let him be released – this boon I give.

I see his error was the fault of love

And this the guilt in great part must remove.

‘For love has many times turned upside down

A mind more stable and more sound than his.

Greater excess is laid to love’s renown

And greater outrage than our injuries.

Not Odorico is to blame; I own

I am the culprit, mine the error is.

I should be punished, having been so blind.

That fire burns straw I should have borne in mind.’

Then, fixing Odorico with his eye,

‘The penalty for your misdeed shall be

That for a year you shall be followed by

This agèd crone and on your company’

(He said) ‘both night and day she shall rely,

At every hour, wherever you may be;

And with your very life you must defend her

Against whoever threatens to offend her.

‘And I decree that you shall undertake,

At her command, with whomso’er may chance,

To engage in mortal strife; and you shall make

From town to town this quest throughout all France.’

Such was Zerbino’s judgement; for the sake

Of mercy he had spared the miscreant’s

Unworthy life, but dug a ditch too deep.

Across it (save by luck) he’d never leap.

The evil crone had injured and betrayed

So many men and women in her time,

Whoever at her side a journey made

Would meet with challengers in every clime.

Thus equally they both would be repaid,

She for her evil deeds, he for the crime

Of having pledged to champion the wrong,

Whence he was bound to meet his death ere long.

Then Prince Zerbino made the traitor swear

A sacred oath that he would keep the pact;

But if he should break faith, let him beware,

For if by any chance Zerbino tracked

Him down, no pleas this time would make him spare

His life: a cruel death let him expect.

Then to Corebo and Almonio

Zerbino turned, and bade them let him go.

Reluctantly obeying, they untied

The traitor finally, but not in haste,

For both of them were vexed and mortified

So sweet a moment of revenge to waste.

Then through the forest the two villains ride,

Passing together from the scene at last.

What next befell them, Turpin does not say;

I read it in another book one day.

I will not tell you who the author is.

He writes that ere a single day went by,

Breaking his oath, to rid himself of his

Encumbrance, quickly managing to tie

A rope about her neck with expertise,

He left her dangling from an elm near by;

And a year thence (the place I do not know)

He met the same death from Almonio.

Zerbino, who was following the track

Of great Orlando, which he must not lose,

Now saw the chance to send a message back

To reassure his troops; for this he chose

Almonio and gave him too (I lack

The time to quote his words) the latest news.

Corebo with Almonio he sends

And thus he parts with both his faithful friends.

His love for the brave paladin was great

And Isabella loved him too no less,

And for this reason he resolved to wait,

Eager to hear the tale of his success

Against the Tartar knight, whom soon or late

He would be bound to meet; he’d soon redress

The outrage of being hoisted off his horse

Zerbino lets the three days run their course

During this time for which Orlando bade

Zerbino wait till Mandricard should come,

Along no pathway and along no glade

The Count had travelled did he fail to roam,

And he arrived at last beneath the shade

Of trees on which the faithless damsel, whom

Orlando loved, inscribed Medoro’s name,

And to the broken cave and fount he came.

Glimpsing an object shining on the ground,

He recognized it as the Count’s cuirass;

And next, a little farther off, he found

A helmet (not Almonte’s, but of brass).

Then, startled by an unexpected sound

Of whinnying, he sees, cropping the grass,

Its bridle from its saddle hanging loose,

The famous Brigliadoro he well knows.

He searched for Durindana through the wood.

He found it lying there, without its sheath;

And next he saw Orlando’s surcoat, strewed

In countless pieces; both the lovers, with

Their faces woebegone and pensive, stood

Amazed; these did not seem the signs of death.

Over all possibilities they ranged,

Save that Orlando’s wits had been deranged.

They might have thought Orlando had been slain

But for the fact that nowhere could they see

A drop of blood nor any gruesome stain.

Along the stream a shepherd hurriedly

Approached; pale and distraught, he had seen plain

The tokens of the victim’s malady:

How he had torn his clothing, strewn his arms,

Killed shepherds with their flocks, and ravaged farms.

Zerbino, who interrogates the man

Receives a true account of what has passed.

He tries to credit it, but scarcely can,

Though everywhere the signs are manifest.

Dismounting from his charger, he began,

Filled with compassion, tearful and downcast,

To gather up the remnants where they lay,

Scattered some here, some there, as best he may.

And Isabella leaves her palfrey too

And gathers all the weapons in one pile.

As they are thus engaged, a damsel who

Is tearful and forlorn draws near meanwhile.

If you should ask to what her grief is due,

And who it is who sorrows in such style,

Her name is Fiordiligi, I’d reply;

She searches for her loved one low and high.

When Brandimarte left the city gate

Without a word to Charles or to his love,

She waited for him some six months or eight.

Resolved, when he did not return, to rove

Through France from coast to coast to learn his fate,

The Alps, the Pyrenees, below, above,

She searched, looking in every place except

The one where as a captive he was kept.

If she had visited that hostelry

Created by Atlante’s magic spell,

She would have seen him wandering aimlessly,

Gradasso, Ferraù, the Maid as well,

Ruggiero and Orlando, even he;

But when Astolfo blew that terrible

Loud blast, to Paris Brandimart returned,

But this, fair Fiordiligi had not learned.

As I have said, she happened now by chance

On those two lovers in their deep distress.

She recognized Orlando’s arms at once

And Brigliadoro too, left riderless,

His bridle hanging free; and at one glance

She understands the signs, for she no less

Has heard the story from the shepherd lad

Of how he watched Orlando running mad.

Zerbino gathers all the weapons there

And hangs them up in order on a pine.

On the green bark this legend, brief and clear,

He writes: ‘Arms of Orlando, paladin’,

By this inscription meaning to deter

Whoever saw the splendid trophy shine,

As though to say: ‘Hands off, all who pass by,

Unless Orlando’s strength you wish to try.’

His pious labours being completed then,

Zerbino was preparing to remount

When Mandricardo came upon the scene.

He asks Zerbino for a full account:

What does the splendour on the pine-tree mean?

The Prince relates the truth about the Count.

The pagan monarch, wholly undeterred,

In joyful triumph takes Orlando’s sword.

He cried: ‘This, nobody can take away.

Here on this spot I seize it rightfully,

For I laid claim to it before today,

And will again, wherever it may be.

Orlando feigns his wits have gone astray,

Rather than stand and hold his ground with me.

If thus he thinks he can excuse his fright,

That is no reason to forgo my right.’

Zerbino shouted, ‘Do not touch that sword,

Or think that you can seize it undefied.

The blade of Hector does not well accord

With such a thief as you!’ At once they ride

Against each other with no further word,

Two paragons of prowess, each well-tried.

The wood already echoes with the din,

Almost the very moment they begin.

Twisting and turning like a living flame,

Zerbino dodged where Durindana fell.

As nimble as a doe his horse became,

Leaping now here, now there; and it is well

It yielded not one jot in such a game,

Else were the prince despatched at once to dwell

Among his fellow-sufferers in love

Whose mingling shadows haunt the myrtle-grove.

Just as a hound will rush towards the boar

Which in the fields has wandered from its herd,

And round it run in circles, ever more,

Until to a mistake the prey is lured,

So, as the weapon flashed above him or

Below him, Prince Zerbino never erred,

Striving his best to see, in all the strife,

How he might save both honour and his life.

But when the pagan plied his sword, the sound

With whining, whistling winds might well compare

Which through the mountain peaks in March resound,

Or seize the forest by its tangled hair,

Bending the tree-tops down to kiss the ground,

And whirling broken branches through the air.

Although the prince avoided many blows,

One finally was sure to come too close.

One mighty stroke at last achieved its aim.

Between his sword and shield it reached his breast.

His mail was thick, his corslet was the same,

His metal apron too was of the best,

Yet through them passed that sword of cruel fame.

They being unequal to this crucial test,

Nothing resisted the descending blow

Which slashed from mid-breast to the saddle-bow.

If Mandricardo’s stroke had fallen true,

It would have split Zerbino like a cane;

But as it scarcely penetrated to

The living flesh, the wound was in the main

Inflicted on the skin; a span or two

Perhaps in length, it caused a shallow pain

And in a crimson stream the blood ran hot,

Streaking his shining armour to the foot.

Thus have I often seen a scarlet band

Of ribbon on a silver dress, with art

By such device divided by that hand,

Whiter than alabaster, which my heart,

Alas! divides. Zerbino’s courage and

His skill in war play now but little part.

That Tartar monarch, as his strokes evince,

In strength, as well as sword, outdoes the prince.

This blow of Mandricardo’s had appeared

More deadly than it was in its effect

And Isabella, looking on, had feared

The worst (nor could she otherwise suspect).

It froze her bosom and with horror seared

Her heart. Zerbino’s daring is unchecked.

Enraged, he takes his sword in both his hands

And on the Tartar’s head a blow he lands.

Down to his charger’s neck the Saracen,

For all his pride, was bowed by such a stroke.

Only his magic helmet saved him then;

So mighty was the crash it almost broke

His skull; not waiting to count up to ten,

Or to defer revenge, the pagan took

His sword and raised it high above the crest,

Hoping to split Zerbino to his breast.

Zerbino called both eye and mind to aid

And turned his charger quickly to the right,

But not so fast as to escape the blade,

Which caught his shield and through the centre, quite

From top to bottom, two half portions made.

The thong beneath was severed, and the knight

Received upon his arm the blow, which passed,

Piercing his armour, to his thigh at last.

Now here, now there, Zerbino tries to break,

But all in vain, through his opponent’s guard,

For not one blemish all his blows can make

Upon the armour of King Mandricard;

But he can now a good advantage take,

And presses back his enemy so hard

(Whose shield and helm are broken) that his blade

Has seven or eight relentless gashes made.

But though the prince was weak from loss of blood,

Of his condition he was unaware.

His vigorous and valiant heart withstood

The strain and he was able still to bear

His body upright; meanwhile in the wood,

His lady, pale with terror, to the fair

Young Doralice turns, and begs her end

The deadly strife in which the two contend.

Being courteous as well as beautiful

(And being uncertain who will win the fight),

She gladly now persuades her love to call

A truce; and Isabella, too, her knight

Beseeches so successfully that all

His anger from his heart is put to flight.

Letting her choose the path, he rides away

And unconcluded leaves the bitter fray.

And Fiordiligi, who has also seen

The trusty sword of the unhappy Count

Plied to such ill effect, feels woe as keen.

She weeps and strikes her brow at this affront.

Ah, would that Brandimart had present been!

And if she ever finds him, she’ll recount

The whole, and when he learns what has occurred

Not long will Mandricardo flaunt that sword!

She went on searching night and day in vain

For Brandimart, for whose embrace she yearned,

But he, who could have healed her grief and pain,

Unknown to her to Paris had returned.

She wandered over hill and over plain,

Till, as she crossed a river, she discerned

And recognized the frenzied paladin.

But let us say what happened to Zerbin.

To leave the sword so shames him as a knight,

It pains him more than any other ill,

Though he can barely sit his horse upright

For all the blood he’s lost, and loses still.

Heat, by his anger kindled, has now quite

Departed, while his grief increases till

It rushes through his veins and, as it grows,

He feels his life-force ebbing to its close.

Too weak to travel farther, with a sigh

He stopped beside a stream and down he lay.

To help him Isabella longs to try.

She knows not what to do, nor what to say

And, failing proper care, she sees him die.

All habitations are too far away

Where to a doctor she might find access,

Invoking pity or his worldliness.

So she can only call upon the skies,

Reproaching Fortune and her fate in vain:

‘Ah, why was I not drowned, alas!’ she cries,

‘When first my ship set out upon the main?’

On her Zerbino turns his languid eyes.

Her lamentations cause him greater pain

Than all his wounds, which no respite allow

And to the point of death have brought him now.

‘My only grief, dear heart,’ Zerbino said,

‘Is that I leave you helpless and alone.

If you will love me after I am dead,

I’ll have no vain regrets when I am gone.

If in some safer place my life were shed,

These few last moments had serenely flown:

Contented, happy and entirely blest

That, dying, in your loving arms I rest.

‘But since I am condemned to leave you here,

A victim of whoever first goes past,

By this sweet mouth, by these sweet eyes, I swear,

And by these tresses which have bound me fast,

Though I go down to Hell in my despair,

Yet every punishment will be surpassed

When thoughts of you arise whom I have left

Abandoned here without me and bereft.’

And Isabella, infinitely sad,

Bending a tearful countenance to his

And touchin with her own his mouth, which had

The languor of a rose whose season is

Gone by, whose beauty, paling in the shade,

No passer-by has plucked and no one sees,

She answered thus: ‘My life, do not believe

Your spirit shall without me take its leave.

‘Of this, I do beseech, my love, doubt not:

I’ll follow you to Heaven or to Hell.

Our souls, from one same bow together shot,

Still fly as one and thus will ever dwell.

As soon as I have seen those dear eyes shut,

My grief all suffering will so excel

That I will die, or else, I give my word,

Into my breast today I’ll plunge this sword.

‘And for our bodies I at least have hope

That better dead than living they may fare,

For someone passing by perchance may stop

And in one sepulchre, with pious care,

May bury them.’ Her welling tears now drop

Where with her lips, ere Death the Plunderer

Has done his worst, his fleeting breath she drains

While yet some vital sign of it remains.

Exerting his now faltering voice, he spoke:

‘Belovèd, I entreat you by that love

You showed me when for me you once forsook

Your father’s shores, live out your life enough

To reach the time allotted in the book

Of destiny, as God has willed above.

This I command you, if command I may.

How deep my love was, ne’er forget, I pray.

‘God may perhaps provide a means to save

You from all villainous attack, as when

He sent Orlando to the pirates’ cave

To rescue you from those rapacious men.

Thanks also to His aid, the ocean wave

Did not engulf you; by His help again

You managed Odorico to defy.

But if all fails, then be content to die.’

I do not think this final utterance

Could be distinctly heard; as fading light,

For lack of wax or other sustenance

Subsides and is extinguished, so the knight

Expired. Who can the sorrowing desolance

Of Isabella in her wretched plight

Convey, as pale her dear love lies, and cold

As ice the form which now her arms enfold?

Uon his blood-stained body she then flings

Her own, and bathes him with her streaming tears.

Her shrieks awaken distant echoings.

Neither her bosom nor her cheeks she spares,

But rends the tender flesh, the curling rings

Of her gold tresses, in her frenzy, tears

Unjustly from her head, while in her pain

She cries, unceasing, the loved name in vain.

So deep her rage, so wild her ravings seem,

Which sorrow has induced, the maid might well

Have plunged the sword into her breast, I deem

Thus disobeying her Zerbino’s will,

But that a hermit, who the crystal stream

Was wont to visit from his near-by cell,

Arriving at that instant, her intent

Was able, by persuasion, to prevent,

This venerable hermit goodness joined

To natural prudence and was well endowed

With charitable feeling; every kind

Of precept he could quote, if time allowed.

On the afflicted damsel he enjoined

Patient endurance, and good reasons showed,

And many virtuous women instanced too

From the Old Testament and from the New.

And then he showed her that true happiness

In life was to be found in God alone.

All other hopes, all other earthly bliss,

Were transitory, fluid and soon flown.

He urged so justly, from her pitiless

Intention he dissuaded her quite soon,

And she resolved, so well she understood,

To dedicate her life henceforth to God.

But she has no intention to abjure

Her love, or to neglect her lord’s remains,

For, to protect the body and ensure

Its safe interment in due course, she plans

To keep it by her, night and day; the pure

And holy man, still strong in back and reins,

Helps her to lay the prince upon his horse,

Which stands dejected, and they take their course.

The prudent hermit did not deem it wise

To take the young and lovely Isabel

To the wild mountain-cave, wherein there lies,

Not far away, his solitary cell.

He thinks: ‘A conflagration will arise

If in one hand I bear a torch as well

As straw.’ He does not trust either his age

Or prudence in such trial to engage.

So he resolves to take her to Provence.

Close to Marseilles, he knows a castle where

A sisterhood, in holy, abstinence,

A convent has established, rich and fair.

And at another castle, which by chance

They come upon, for the dead cavalier

Is made, at their request, a coffin which

Is long, capacious and well sealed with pitch.

They travel many miles for many days.

Since war is raging everywhere they turn,

They choose the rough and least frequented ways,

For to be unobserved is their concern.

At last a knight obstructs their path and says

Ignoble words of insult; you shall learn

His name when later I return to him;

But now King Mandricardo is my theme.

When he had ceased from battle, the young king

Sat down to rest a while in cooling shade,

Taking his ease beside the crystal spring,

And from his charger reins and saddle had

Removed,letting it go meandering

To graze at will. Not long like this he stayed,

Ere his attention was aroused again

On seeing a knight descending to the plain.

As soon as Doralice raised her brow,

She recognized the cavalier and to

The king she said, ‘Proud Rodomonte now

Approaches down the hill to challenge you,

Unless my eyes deceive me; and I vow

All valour and resolve you must renew.

He holds the loss of me, his bride, a great

Outrage; his claim he comes to vindicate.’

As when a well-trained hawk a duck or quail

Or dove or partridge or like bird has seen

Winging towards it from some distant trail

And its bright head has reared, alert and keen,

So now the king, like one who could not fail

To slaughter Rodomonte, and has been

Awaiting this encounter, with delight

And confidence remounted for the fight.

They rode towards each other and from where

The haughty interchanges could be heard

Waving his trusty weapon in the air

The monarch of Algiers, by fury stirred,

Tossing his head in menace, cried: ‘Beware!’,

And vowed, his frenzy mounting with each word,

His rival would repent the outrage shown

To him, and the rash deed which he had done.

And Mandricard replied: ‘He tries in vain

Who tries to frighten or to threaten me.

Children or women take alarm, or men

Who never battle know or weapons see:

Not I, who love all combat and would fain

Spend day and night in strife, whether it be

On foot, on horse, unarmed, in arms arrayed,

In fields of battle, or in the stockade.’

They pass to oaths, with insults interspersed,

To swords unsheathed, to clash of blade on blade,

As when a wind, which softly blew at first,

The ash and oak-tree back and forward swayed,

And day, by clouds of dust, to night reversed,

Uprooted trees, and houses flattened laid,

Vessels submerged at sea, and in the wood

The scattered sheep destroyed by storm or flood.

100

The pagans, who no equals have on earth,

With their last ounce of strength, from their brave

To fearful blows and battle now give birth, [hearts,

Befitting foes of such ferocious parts.

The globe reverberates in all its girth

Soon as the clamour of the combat starts.

Sparks from the clashing blades to heaven rise,

Lighting a thousand lanterns in the skies.

101

Taking no rest, nor stopping to take breath,

The kings no respite have in their travail.

Now on this side, now that, above, beneath,

They try to pierce the armour and the mail.

Though they pursue the battle to the death,

In gaining terrain neither can prevail

(Perhaps the ground there costs too much an inch),

Nor stir beyond the compass of a trench.

102

Among a thousand blows, the Tartar king

One blow now deals on Rodomonte’s head,

Both hands upon the sword, such as to bring

A myriad of lights, whirling at speed

Before his eyes, more than the stars that ring

The world; then backwards on his startled steed

He bends and from his saddle, all strength gone,

He dangles, with his lady looking on.

103

As when a sturdy and well-fashioned bow,

With finely tempered metal reinforced,

By winches and by levers is bent low,

The heavier the weight by which it’s forced,

The greater is the fury it will show

On its release, nor does it come off worst,

So Rodomonte rises instantly

With doubled strength to strike his enemy.

104

And where he had been struck, in that same place

He likewise hit the son of Agrican,

And yet the weapon failed to cleave his face,

His helm protects him as none other can.

The Tartar was so stunned he lost all trace

Of what o’clock it was; the African,

Who now was so enraged that he saw red,

Brought down a second blow upon his head.

105

The charger, flinching from the deadly sword,

Which whistles as it menaces on high,

Now, to its own undoing, saves its lord,

As, backing a few steps, it means to try

To leap well out of range, but in reward

Receives the impact on its skull, which by

No Trojan helm (unlike its master’s crown)

Defended was; stone dead it tumbles down.

106

No longer stunned, the king leaps to his feet

And brandishes his blade, burning inside

And out with fury that his horse should meet

Its death. The African intends to ride

Him down and spurs his charger; no retreat

The Tartar makes, nor does he turn aside.

A rock does not withdraw before the flood:

The charger fell and Mandricardo stood.

107

Feeling his charger sink beneath his thighs,

The African has grasped the saddle-bow.

Letting his stirrups dangle, he relies

On his dexterity and leaps below.

On equal footing now, and in no wise

Placated, they resume; with every blow

Their hatred, pride and anger are increased:

But suddenly an envoy comes in haste.

108

This envoy was among the messengers

Sent by King Agramant throughout all France

To rally all the private cavaliers

And captains, for, with deadly arrogance,

The fleurs-de-lis, inflicting dire reverse,

Had ravaged all the camp; and if at once

Help is not mustered and despatched, says he,

The slaughter of the Moors will certain be.

109

He recognized the foemen straight away,

Not by their surcoats or their crests, as much

As by the swordsmanship which they display;

No other hands were capable of such.

He does not dare to intervene that day,

Nor as an envoy with his baton touch

Their blades; though he’s a king’s ambassador,

He does not trust immunity so far.

110

Approaching Doralice in their stead,

He says King Agramant and Stordilan

And King Marsilio, with few to aid,

In their encampment by the Christian clan

Are sorely pressed; he begs her to persuade

The valiant warriors, as best she can,

From their ferocious combat to desist

And hasten back to Paris to assist,

111

The lady, with great courage, stands between

The combatants and says: ‘Stop, I command!

If you both love me, let it now be seen.

Put up your swords; save them to put an end

To the great peril which the Saracen

Now faces; ringed by foes on every hand,

Our people, lacking all defences, wait

For help – or ruin, if help comes too late.’

112

And then the fate to which they’d all succumb

The ambassador outlined; when he had done,

He duly handed letters-patent from

Troiano’s son to Ulieno’s son.

The warriors cannot refuse to come.

On this decision they agree as one:

To call a truce to last until the day

When the besiegers have been chased away.

113

And they resolved that without more ado,

Once they secured the safety of their side,

Their former enmity they would renew,

Forgetting comradeship, and then decide,

By cruel tests of arms, which of the two

The more deserved the lady as his bride.

Upon her hands this oath they swore, and she

For their good faith as knights stood guarantee.

114

Dame Discord by this plan is much put out,

Being a sworn enemy of truce and peace.

And Pride likewise begins to sulk and pout.

She cannot bear such rivalry to cease;

But Love is also present, who can flout

Them both and put an end to their caprice.

All-conquering, his arrows are enough

To drive Dame Discord and her ally off.

115

The truce was duly sworn, as I have said,

As she desired who had command of them.

They lacked one horse, for Mandricard’s lay dead

And nothing further could be hoped of him.

But Brigliadoro came to meet their need,

From where he cropped the grasses by the stream.

My lord, this canto is concluded now,

So I will make a pause, if you’ll allow.

CANTO XXV

In youthful minds how great the contest is

Between love’s impulse and desire for praise!

And which of them prevails, none ever sees,

As to and fro the tide of battle sways.

Honour and duty the advantage seize

In both the knights, in whom, it seems, love plays

A lesser part, since now a truce they’ve made

Until their stricken allies they can aid.

But love was stronger, for, had it not been

Their lady who had thus commanded them,

The cruel battle would no end have seen

Until a victor’s laurel one should claim;

And Agramante long had looked in vain

Ere help from two such valiant warriors came.

Love is not always evil, truth to tell;

Though harm he does, he serves the good as well.

And so, deferring now all thrusts and parries,

The cavaliers set out upon their course,

And with their lady travel on towards Paris,

To save the Africans from death or worse.

The dwarf, who witness of the whole affair is,

Goes too; when Sarza’s king to find a horse

Had left, he followed him from place to place

And saw him meet the Tartar face to face.

By chance a meadow they soon came upon,

Where cavaliers close to a fount reclined.

Two had their helmets off, two had them on;

A damsel sat beside them, fair and kind.

You’ll learn just who they are, but later on,

Not now, for first Ruggiero I must find,

The good Ruggiero who, as you heard tell,

Has thrown his magic buckler down a well.

He’d barely gone above a mile or so,

When, riding fast, a messenger drew near,

One of the many Agramant bade go

And summon help from pagans everywhere.

This courier now lets Ruiggero know

The peril of the Saracens, who fear

(So great the danger), if no help arrives,

They’ll either lose their honour or their lives.

Reduced by his conflicting thoughts to doubt,

Ruggiero pauses: which course is the best?

No time, no chance he has to think things out,

On every side by urgent matters pressed.

The lady wins; he turns his steed about

To face the way she came; taking no rest,

Together through the wood they gallop off.

For all their haste, their speed is scarce enough.

The route they chose (by then the sun was low)

Had led them to a citadel at last,

In central France, which King Marsilio

Had lately captured from King Charles; he passed

Across the bridge and through the gate; and no

Resistance does he meet, no doors shut fast,

Though at the barricades and on the mounds

With men-at-arms the garrison abounds.

Knowing the damsel who had brought him here,

They saw no reason to suspect the knight.

They did not challenge him, nor ask him where

He came from; on he went, as if of right.

It did not take him long to reach the square

Which, thronged with people, was ablaze with light;

And in the midst, his face an ashen gray,

There stood the youth condemned to die that day.

Ruggiero gazes at his face, held low,

Eyes fixed upon the ground and filled with tears.

He seems to see his Bradamante, so

Astonishingly like her he appears.

The more he looks, the more he seems to know

That semblance and that face. Transfixed, he stares,

And to himself he says, ‘It must be she,

Else, though I’m called Ruggiero, I’m not he.

‘Perhaps she rashly went to the defence

Of one who was condemned, so young, to die,

Eager to rescue him, and, as events

Turned out, was taken prisoner. Ah! why

Did she not wait? Alas! that I, far hence,

Could not assist in her emprise! But I

Will save my Bradamante from this fate.

Thanks be to God, I have not come too late.’

Without delay, Ruggiero seized his sword.

(His lance, in his last combat, had been split.)

His steed against that unarmed crowd he spurred,

Their chests and bellies ramming; many a hit

With scythe-like movements of his blade he scored

On foreheads, cheeks and throats; the mob, no whit

A match for such as he, in terror fled,

Or limped away, or nursed a broken head.

Birds winging in a flock perhaps alight

Beside a pond; intent upon their food,

They forage, unafraid; but from a height

A falcon drops and seizes one; the brood

Is scattered, every bird in single flight

Abandons its companion; so you would

Have seen that crowd disperse, soon as Ruggier

His weapon drew and laid about him there.

The heads of four or six he neatly lopped,

Of some who were too slow to run away.

His sword sliced through another six, nor stopped

Until it reached their chests; I cannot say

How many to their teeth or eyes were cropped.

I grant they wore no helmets on that day,

Though many metal caps were to be seen;

But not much use would finest steel have been.

Ruggiero’s strength is now beyond compare.

No modern cavalier could fight as well,

No lion could compete with him, no bear,

Nor any beast however terrible.

Only the Earthquake is perhaps his peer,

Or the Great Devil – not the one in Hell –

I mean my lord’s, of which the fiery blast

On sea, on land, in heaven is unsurpassed.

One man at least went down at every blow.

Sometimes a couple fell, or four or five.

A hundred soon Ruggiero had struck low.

Against his mighty strength in vain they strive.

Through armour made of tempered steel, as though

Through curdled milk, his sword appears to drive –

The cruel sword which Falerina made,

To slay Orlando in Orcagna’s glade.

She later wished she had not made so fine

A sword, when all her garden was laid waste.

What death, what slaughter, must it now combine,

In such a hand of such a warrior placed!

If force, if fury, ever were the sign

Which made Ruggiero’s valour manifest,

Here it was seen, here in full evidence,

As he moved forward to his love’s defence.

And as a hare delays when dogs are loosed,

Just so that rabble stand their ground with him

Already a vast number he’d reduced,

While others fled in an unending stream.

Meanwhile the lady the occasion used

To set the young man free in every limb,

And soon he stood (her eager hands being quick)

Girt with a sword a shield about his neck.

His honour being outraged, as best he can

He seeks for vengeance for his injury,

And soon his former captors, to a man,

Good reason have to judge his gallantry.

Already now the golden wheels which ran

Towards the West had dipped below the sea,

When brave Ruggiero, and the youth as well,

Restored to freedom, left the citadel.

And when that comely youth, alive and well,

Faces his rescuer outside the gate

His heartfelt words of thanks unending spill

In courteous phrases, gracious and ornate;

To save him from a death so terrible

This gallant cavalier had tempted fate

Not knowing who the man he rescued was.

The youth then asks to whom so much he owes.

Ruggiero said, ‘I see my lady’s face,

Her features beautiful beyond compare,

I see her lovely aspect and her grace,

The sweetness of her voice I do not hear.

These words of gratitude I cannot place.

Such thanks to me, her lover, strange appear.

If this is Bradamant, how can it be

That she forgets my name so soon, and me?’

In order to be sure, he shrewdly said:

‘Have I not seen you somewhere else ere now?

I’ve turned the matter over in my head,

And still I can’t remember when or how.

Tell me if you remember it instead.

Your name might be of help, if you’ll allow.

Reveal it, then, that I may know whom I

Have rescued from the death you were to die.’

‘It may be you have seen me once before,’

The youth replied, ‘when, where, I do not know,

Since many different regions I explore;

Seeking adventure, through the world I go.

You may have seen my sister when she wore

Full armour and a sword; we two are so

Alike (for we were born on the same day)

That who is which, our parents cannot say.

‘You’re not the first; it causes us great mirth

That many folk commit the same mistake.

My father, brothers, she who at one birth

Produced us, the same error often make.

Short hair I have, my sister once no dearth

Of tresses had which for adornment’s sake

She twisted round her head in a long braid;

And this between us some distinction made.

‘But she was wounded in the head one day

(How this occurred would take too long to tell),

And when a holy hermit passed that way,

He cropped her hair so that the wound might heal.

Now which of us is which no one can say,

If we our names and sex do not reveal:

I Ricciardetto, Bradamante she,

Born of the Montalbano family.

‘Such joy at first, such torment in the end

My likeness to my sister brought me to,

I could relate, if you an ear would lend,

A strange event that would astonish you.’

No history or tale could more commend

Itself, no anecdote, Ruggiero knew,

More please him than a narrative wherein

His love appeared; he begged him to begin.

And thus he did: ‘My sister, not long since,

Was riding through these woods, unhelmeted,

And, overtaken by some Saracens,

By one of them was wounded in the head.

A passing hermit, using his good sense,

Observing how extensively she bled,

Cut off her golden hair; then on she rode,

Close-cropped as any man, about the wood.

‘Thus wandering, she reached a shady fount.

Her wound had weakened her, so she drew rein,

And when she had descended from her mount

She pulled her helmet off and on the green

Young grass soon fell asleep. I’ll now recount

The most delightful tale that’s ever been:

Out hunting with her friends that very day,

Fair Fiordispina chanced to pass that way.

‘She saw my sister as she rested there,

In armour fully clad, save for her face;

A sword was at her side, where women wear

A distaff; as she views the manly grace

Of one she takes to be a cavalier,

Her heart is vanquished, and to join the chase

She first invites her, then contrives ere long

To separate her from the merry throng.

‘Alone with her, where no one could surprise

Them in that leafy, solitary nook,

Her anguished soul reflected in her eyes,

The damsel then began to show with look

And words and gestures and with ardent sighs

Her passion for my sister, whom she took

To be a man; she pales, then, blushing red,

She steals a kiss, so greatly she’s misled.

‘My sister understood the maid believed

She was a man, and it was evident

Such burning love could never be relieved

By her. “Better” (so ran her argument)

“This damsel should at once be undeceived

Than she should think me so indifferent.

Better a woman I should prove, and kind,

Than seem a man for love so disinclined.”

‘And this was right, for base it were and weak,

And worthy of a statue, not a man,

When such a lovely maid her love should speak,

So sweet and melting in her languid pain,

To sit inertly by, as mild and meek

As a young owl by day; so she began

To tell the maid she was a woman, not

A manly cavalier as she had thought;

‘That, like Camilla and Hippolyta,

She went in search of glory in the life

Of arms; that in Arzilla, in Africa,

She had been born and bred for martial strife,

And trained from childhood in the arts of war.

No spark of love is quenched; it is as if

The remedy has been applied too late.

The damsel’s wound is deep and desperate.

‘That face on this account is no less fair;

That glance, that grace of manner are the same.

The damsel’s heart does not return from where

It sunned itself in the beloved beam

Of those entrancing eyes; seeing her wear

That manly armour which has earned such fame,

Her longing may be yet fulfilled, she thinks,

Then sighs and into deepest sorrow sinks.

‘Whoever heard her mourn and weep that day

His own lament would have combined with hers.

“What cruel torments”, she began to say,

“Have ever been, than which mine are not worse?

Of any other love I could allay

The pain by hope of solace in due course;

The rose I’d gather which sharp thorns defend.

Only my present longing has no end.

‘ “Love, if to torture me was your intent,

If you so envied me my happy state,

Could you, as is your wont, not be content

With many another lover’s wretched fate?

In all the world of nature, you invent

A female lover for a female mate!

Women their hearts to women do not lose,

Nor doe to doe, nor ewe to other ewes.

‘ “On land, on sea, in heaven, I alone

Must bear a blow of such severity;

You mean by my example shall be shown

The last extreme of your authority.

The wife of Ninus, who desired her son,

Your victim was; Myrrha with infamy

Desired her father, Pasiphae the bull,

Yet mine the maddest folly is of all.

‘ “The mother, hoping to seduce the boy,

Succeeded in her scheme, so I have heard,

And Pasiphae achieved a lustful joy

Inside a wooden cow among the herd.

If Daedalus should all his skills employ

And fly to my assistance like a bird,

This knot would be too intricate for him.

The master-hand of Nature is supreme.”

‘So bitterly she grieves in her despair,

No solace can she find in her laments.

She beats her face, she twists and breaks her hair,

And on herself, herself revenge attempts.

My sister, looking on, cannot forbear

To weep at what such sorrow represents.

She seeks to turn her from her vain desire,

To no avail; she cannot quench the fire.

‘Not comfort Fiordispina needs, but aid,

And, unconsoled, she grows the more distressed.

The daylight now would soon begin to fade,

As redder flamed the sun towards the West;

The time had come for them to leave the glade.

Since both considered this was for the best,

The damsel to her home near by invited

My sister, lest they both become benighted.

Bradamante gowned gowned

‘She could not find it in her to refuse

And so together they approached this town,

Where I by burning was about to lose

My life, had you not mowed the rabble down.

All courtesy the gracious damsel shows

To Bradamante; and a woman’s gown

She gives her, so that everybody can

Observe she is a woman, not a man.

‘For, understanding that she would obtain

No solace from my sister’s virile air,

She judged it would be ill-advised to gain

A name for dalliance with a cavalier.

She also hoped that it would dull the pain

Which armour had inflicted on her fair

Young, unsuspecting, palpitating breast,

To see her thus in women’s garments dressed.

‘They lay together in the selfsame bed,

But not the same repose; for while one sleeps

The other groans and, still uncomforted,

With longing is on fire, the more she weeps;

And if she slumbers, by her dreams she’s led

To Fancy’s realm, where promises Love keeps,

Where Fate’s decrees fond lovers do not vex,

And where her Bradamante has changed sex.

‘As when a sick man with a raging thirst,

If he should fall asleep, will toss and turn

And, with his lips as fevered as at first,

Will dream of drinking deep at beck or burn,

So in her dreams, when grief has done its worst,

Her longings gain the boon for which they yearn;

But on awaking, with her hand she gropes,

And finds once more that vain are all her hopes.

‘What vows, what prayers she uttered every night

To her Mahomet and to every god,

That, working wondrous miracles, they might

To manhood change her love from womanhood!

But all in vain; the heavens mocked her plight.

The long hours passed and Phoebus from the flood

Now slowly lifted up his golden head

And on the waking world his radiance shed.

‘The day arrived when more reluctant yet

Fair Fiordispina from her couch arose,

For Bradamante said, with feigned regret,

She must depart (from this impasse she knows

There is no other exit than retreat).

The damsel offers her before she goes

A Spanish horse, with trappings all of gold,

A surcoat also, broidered gay and bold.

‘The damsel bore her company a while,

Then, weeping, to her castle went her way.

My sister galloped on, mile after mile,

And Montalbano reached that very day.

Our mother once again began to smile;

Her brothers gathered round to hear her say

What had befallen her, for we had feared

The worst, no tidings of her having heard.

‘We gazed astonished at her close-cropped hair,

Which formerly was wound about her head.

Her strangely-broidered surcoat made us stare.

She told us everything, just as I said:

How she was wounded in the forest, where

A hermit passed who, seeing how she bled,

Cut off her tresses that the wound might heal;

And now no more discomfort did she feel.

‘And how, while she was sleeping by a fount,

A beautiful young maid came riding by,

Who took her for a knight and bade her mount

And join the huntsmen’s merry hue and cry;

And how the maid then drew her from the hunt.

No detail did she spare us or deny.

The story stirred us to our very souls,

To think how nothing the poor maid consoles.

‘Of Fiordispina I was well aware,

, In Saragossa I’d seen her and in France.

Her lovely eyes, her rounded cheek, her hair

Were to my taste and often drew my glance;

And yet not long I let it linger there,

For hopeless love is folly; now that Chance

Provided access to an open door,

The flame leapt up as ardent as before.

‘So from new strands of hope Love weaves his net.

(No other threads at present can he use.)

He catches me and shows how I may get

My heart’s desire, how by a simple ruse

I may succeed; if I’m content to let

My likeness to my sister so bemuse

Beholders that they think I am my twin,

The damsel also may be taken in.

‘Shall I or shall I not? I ponder well.

To follow pleasure where it leads seems good.

But no one of my secret plan I tell:

To seek advice on this I am too shrewd.

My sister’s arms I found when evening fell

(Those she had worn when riding through the wood);

I put them on and rode her horse away,

Not waiting for the light of the new day.

‘That very night I leave (Love being my guide)

To find fair Fiordispina once again.

I reach the end at last of my long ride

Just as the sun is rising from the main.

The eager servants one with th’other vied

To carry the glad tidings to their queen;

Hoping to curry favour and earn grace,

They hurried off to her at a great pace.

‘They all mistook me, as just now you did,

For Bradamante, being deceived the more

By her apparel and the Spanish steed

On which she galloped off the day before.

And soon towards me Fiordispina sped;

Such joy and happiness her visage wore

So festive was her welcome and so fond,

No one in all the world was more jocund.

‘Throwing her lovely arms about my neck,

She clapss me sweetly and imprints a kiss

Upon my mouth (I swear it was no peck!).

Imagine if Love’s arrow now can miss!

Straight to my heart, its flight receives no check.

Then to her room (no harm she sees in this)

She hurries me and there, from helm to spurs,

Disarms me and no help allows but hers.

‘Then ordering a robe, ornate and fair,

She spreads its folds and in it dresses me

As if I were a woman; on my hair

She puts a net of golden filigree.

The modest glance, the bashful look I wear,

My every gesture femininity

Proclaim; and though my voice too manly is,

I use it so that no one notices.

‘A hall we entered next, where many folk

Awaited us, ladies and chevaliers.

They paid us honour and respect, and spoke

As when great ladies or a queen appears;

And up my sleeve, as at a secret joke,

I laughed at some who (this is for your ears),

Not knowing what I hid beneath my gown,

With languid glances looked me up and down.

‘The night was far advanced, the hour grew late;

The servants long ago had cleared the board,

At which the guests and household always ate

The choicest viands, fit for any lord.

The lovely Fiordispina did not wait

For me, who longed for her, to speak the word,

But, as she rose from table, graciously

To sleep with her that night invited me.

‘When all the waiting-women moved away,

And pages who escorted us to bed

Had left the sconces flaming bright as day,

“My lady, do not be surprised”, I said,

While we in night-attire together lay,

“Though on my homeward path you saw me sped

(And when I would come back God only knew),

To see me now so soon returned to you.

‘ “I’ll tell you first just why I had to leave.

Next, why I have returned will be explained.

If, lady, I’d had reason to believe

Your ardour would have cooled had I remained,

No greater joy or sweetness than to live

And die in serving you could I have gained;

But as my presence caused you grief and woe,

I judged it best at last that I should go.

‘ “But Fortune made me wander all about

Among the tangled branches of a glade;

And suddenly I heard a piercing shout

As if a frightened damsel called for aid.

I did not hesitate for long in doubt:

Beside a crystal lake, a bare-limbed maid

Who dangled from a rod-and-line I saw.

A cruel troll prepared to eat her raw.

‘ “I rushed towards the monster, sword in hand

(Nor could I help the damsel otherwise).

That evil fisherman will never land

Another catch; the maid, to my surprise,

Leapt back into the water from the strand.

«You’ll be rewarded handsomely » she cries,

«And anything you care to ask, I’ll grant;

I am a nymph; this crystal lake I haunt.

‘ “ «I am possessed of wondrous potency:

The elements and Nature I can bend.

Ask what you will and leave the rest to me,

If you would know how far my powers extend.

The fire to ice, air to solidity,

Will change, the moon above to earth descend

To hear my song; with simple words alone

The globe I can dislodge and stop the sun. »

‘ "No treasure did I ask, no gold require,

No wish had I to dominate mankind,

Nor to a superhuman strength aspire,

Nor fame in military conquests find.

Only the means I ask that your desire

May be fulfilled; and so whatever kind

Of spell or influence she needs to use,

I do not specify, but let her choose.

‘ “No sooner had I uttered my request,

Than once again she dived beneath the lake,

And put her magic talents to the test:

The only answer she would deign to make

Was to splash water at me, as in jest!

At once I see, I feel – there’s no mistake –

I know, though credit it I scarcely can,

I’m changing from a woman to a man.

‘ “If it were not that here and now straightway,

You can confirm it, you would doubt it too.

As female once and now as male today,

My pleasure it will be to pleasure you.

Command me, for I long but to obey,

And gladly will I serve the whole night through.”

And, taking then her hand in mine, I made

Her test and prove the truth of what I said.

‘Like one who, lacking hope, for long has pined

For some loved object, lost (or found too late),

Who, sighing, cannot put it from his mind,

And moans and groans and rails against his fate,

Who if he unexpectedly should find

What he desires, having been desperate

So long and by ill fortune so ill-used,

At first incredulous, would stand confused,

‘So Fiordispina, when she feels and sees

What she has been desiring for so long,

Her touch, her eyes, can scarcely trust; she is

Afraid that after all she must be wrong

Or sleeping; to dispel these fantasies,

Good proof I gave her, adequate and strong.

“Dear God,” she said, “if this is dreaming, make

Me always dream and let me never wake.”

‘No roll of drums is heard, no trumpetings

These love-opponents forth to battle send,

But dove-like kisses and sweet murmurings

Give signal to go forward or ascend.

Our weapons are not arrows, nor yet slings.

No scaling-ladders here assistance lend.

I leap upon the fort and am not slow

To plant my standard and subdue my foe.

‘If on the previous night that bed had been

A vestibule of sighing and laments,

Tonight, although unaltered is the scene,

Sweet games and smiles and joy are the events.

The sinuous acanthus ne’er was seen

To twine on columns and on pediments,

As we, who clasp each other face to face,

With arms and legs our breasts and thighs embrace.

‘At first the secret stayed between us two.

For several months our pleasure was secure.

But someone then observed our rendezvous

And after that it was not long before

The king, her father, heard of it; and you,

Who rescued me, require to hear no more.

You saw the flames; you understand the rest.

God sees the pain which leaves my heart distressed.’

This was the story Ricciardetto told

As on they rode together through the night,

Breasting a rising terrain, sheer and bold,

Surrounded by ravines to left and right.

A narrow, rocky pathway, like an old

And rusty key, turned slowly to the height

To reach a citadel, called Agrismonte,

Guarded by Aldigier of Chiaramonte.

This governor was Buovo’s bastard son.

Vivian and Malagigi were his two

Half-brothers; do not put reliance on

The rumour that Gherardo (it’s untrue)

His lawful father was. Brave deeds he’d done,

And he was prudent, kind and gracious too.

Custodian of his brothers’ citadel,

He laboured night and day to guard it well.

He welcomed Ricciardetto courteously,

As between cousins, to the manner born.

He loved him like a brother; equally

He paid the brave Ruggiero, in his turn,

All due respect; and yet not joyfully

He sallied forth, but with a face forlorn.

That very day a message he has had

Which grieves his heart and makes his aspect sad.

Without formality he said straightway,

‘Brother, there is bad news; a messenger

On whom I can rely disclosed today

That Bertolagi and Lanfusa were

Negotiating terms: he is to pay

Rich loot and costly merchandise to her,

And she to sell my brothers to this man,

Our Malagigi and our Vivian.

‘When prisoners they fell to ferraù

He gave them in his cruel mother’s charge.

She hid them in a dungeon, waiting to

Conclude her evil pact. She will discharge

The bargain with that vile Maganzan who

(On his iniquities I’ll not enlarge)

Tomorrow near Bayona the price agreed

Will pay for two such knights of noblest breed.

‘I have informed Rinaldo; only now

An envoy at the gallop I sent off;

But for the life of me, I can’t see how

He can arrive in time, so long and rough

The journey is; my means do not allow

Me to set forth, I have not troops enough.

My soul is willing but my strength is weak.

I know not what to do, nor how to speak.’

Young Ricciardetto finds these tidings grim.

Ruggiero too is downcast for his sake.

Since both the cousins, standing silent, seem

Unable any rescue-plan to make,

Ruggiero sees that it is up to him:

‘Do not despair, this task I’ll undertake.

This sword against a thousand will prevail

And liberate your brothers without fail.

‘No men-at-arms, no troops do I desire,

For single-handed I’ll perform this deed;

But someone who can guide me, I require,

To where this vile exchange is planned; indeed,

I’ll make them keep their contract, but the hire

In shrieks by both the parties will be paid.’

To one, Ruggiero’s words said nothing new,

For he had seen what this bold knight could do.

The other scant attention to him paid,

As one of many words but little sense.

So, taking him aside, his cousin said

How this brave knight had come to his defence:

No idle boast was this which he had made,

As would be shown in time and by events.

Then Aldigiero pays more heed to him

And holds him in respect and high esteem.

At table, where the cup of plenty flowed,

He honoured him as if he were his lord;

And then and there arrangements they conclude

Whereby the brothers, cruelly immured,

May be set free. The dying sun bestowed

The boon of sleep on all who left the board

Except Ruggiero; though repose he sought,

His heart was pierced by a tormenting thought.

The message which the envoy brought that day

Concerning Agramante’s grievous plight

Has vexed his heart; he knows the least delay

Will be to his dishonour as a knight.

What scorn he will incur if he now stay

With his lord’s enemies, whom he should fight!

And as a coward how he’ll be despised

When news leaks out that he has been baptized!

At any other time they might believe

True faith had moved him to conversion thus.

But now that it behoved him to relieve

His monarch from a siege so perilous,

No word of his would ever undeceive

His allies, who would hold him treacherous

And cowardly, in spite of evidence

Of his good faith; this thought all sleep prevents.

And to depart without his lady’s leave!

That is another cause of his distress.

Many such thoughts his troubled bosom grieve.

Some urge him this way, others that way press.

No comfort, furthermore, does he receive

When he recalls their plan had no success:

They were to meet each other, they’d agreed,

To rescue Ricciardetto, as I said.

Then he remembers he has pledged his sword

To meet his love at Vallombrosa’s shrine,

And he imagines her by wonder stirred

At his delay. Would he might send a line

At least to let her know what has occurred!

She has good reason to lament and pine:

Not only has he failed to do her will,

But he departed ere they said farewell.

Thus, turning matters over in his mind,

He thinks that he will write to her straightway.

As yet he’s formed no plan of any kind,

But he will write the letter, come what may.

Perhaps upon the morrow he will find

Some trusty messenger along the way.

So, leaping from his bed that very night,

He calls for paper, ink and pen and light.

The servants hasten, ready and discreet,

To bring Ruggiero all that he commands.

His first words (as is customary) greet

His love; then, passing onwards, he expands

Upon the message from his king: how it

Requests his aid, else capture at the hands

Of enemies, or death, will be the fate

Of Agramante if help comes too late.

And, he continues, since to such a pass

His king has come that he has called for aid,

She must agree that nothing would surpass

The shame he would incur if he delayed;

And more than ever it behoved him, as

The husband (as he hoped) of such a maid

To keep his honour as a knight unsmutched

So that her own, so fair and true, it matched.

If in the past an honourable name

By noble deeds he’d laboured to deserve,

So, having won the recompense of fame,

Its cherished lustre henceforth to preserve

Now more than ever it must be his aim,

To seek renown, by straining every nerve,

For henceforth she would share it as his wife –

One soul within two bodies, all their life.

As he had said already, face to face

,, He said to her in writing once again:

When from the service of his king release,

His bond being terminated, he should gain,

The Christian faith he would in truth embrace,

As he had long desired to do; and then

He’d ask her father Aymon for consent

To marry her, that they might be content.

‘I wish’, he added, ‘(and this wish pray grant)

To raise the siege which menaces my lord,

And quell the slander of the ignorant,

Whose scorn on me would otherwise be poured:

“As long as Fortune smiled on Agramant,

Ruggiero’s loyal service was assured;

Now that success has veered to Charlemagne,

He rallies to the victor, it is plain.”

‘Give me but fifteen, twenty days,’ he prayed,

‘That once for all it ma be clearl shown

Those Africans, besieged in their stockade,

Their liberation owe to me alone.

Our union will not longer be delayed.

I will return, soon as this deed is done.

Grant me, for honour’s sake, this one request.

I give you then, of all my life, the rest.’

These words and others similar he wrote,

But everything he said I cannot tell,

For he continued until every spot

Was covered of the page and covered well.

At last in careful folds he closed the note

And stowed it in his bosom, under seal.

He hoped to find a traveller next day

Who’d take his message to the Maid straightway.

The note being closed, his eyes he also closed,

And Sleep, beside the couch he lay upon,

Sprinkled him with a branch, as he reposed,

Dipped in the waters of oblivion

Of Lethe’s quiet stream; nor was he roused

Until the joyful East with flowers shone,

Crimson and white, by lavish hands bestowed,

And Morning issued from her gold abode.

When little birds on the green boughs began

To greet with song the light of the new day,

The hospitable Aldigier (whose plan

It was to guide Ruggiero on his way

With Richard to the spot where, if they can,

The cruel Bertolagi they will slay)

Was first afoot, and when they heard him stir

The other two arose and ready were.

Then, being dressed and fully-armed once more,

Ruggiero and the cousins all set out.

In vain did he beseech them and implore

To let him undertake this task without

Their help; but they, being eager to restore

Their kin (and to avoid the charge, no doubt,

Of churlishness), as obdurate as stone,

Refused to let Ruggiero go alone.

When Vivian and Malagigi are

To be exchanged, that day the trio reach

Bayona; this is an arid region where

No cypresses, no ash-trees and no beech

Protect the naked land from the sun’s glare;

No laurel-trees, no myrtle-bushes which

Give shade are to be seen amongst the scrub,

But only sparse, uncultivated shrub.

The three brave warriors at last drew rein,

And where a narrow path could be discerned

They saw a knight in armour cross the plain.

A banner with a golden border burned;

It bore as emblem on a field of green

That long-lived bird, the phoenix. I have earned,

My lord, a rest; this canto’s at an end.

My song, with your permission, I suspend.

CANTO XXVI

Women of chivalry in olden days

There were, who valued manly valour more

Than wealth; quite other now are women’s ways,

For most of them on gain set highest store.

Those women in whom virtue rightly plays

The greater part such avarice abhor,

Content to follow truth and righteousness

In hope of glory and eternal bliss.

Praise everlasting Bradamante earned,

Who loved not riches and not power desired,

But for Ruggiero’s martial valour burned

And to his noble excellence aspired.

And he, as she deserved, her worth discerned;

His bosom by her loveliness was fired.

To please her he performs heroic deeds.

All other knights in prowess he exceeds.

Now with the Clairmonts, as you are aware,

Ruggiero rode; these cousins thought it right

(I speak of Ricciardet and Aldigier)

To save two brothers from a gruesome plight.

Across the plain they’d seen a cavalier

Approach – an arrogant and haughty knight,

Flaunting the bird which rises from the flame

Renewed, unique and of undying fame.

And when the oncomer observed the three,

Each poised for combat, ready to set off,

This seemed a welcome opportunity

To test their worth. When she was near enough,

She challenged them: ‘Who dares to fight with me

With lance or sword? I’d like to see what stuff

You’re made of; and the one who stays upright

Shall be declared the winner of the fight.’

‘Gladly’, said Aldigier, ‘I’d try my skill

Against you, wielding either lance or sword,

But with another task, which, if you will,

You can observe, such test does not accord.

No time to joust, nor even to stand still

In parleying with you, can we afford.

Six hundred men who’ll reach the cross-roads soon

We have today to try our prowess on.

‘Two of our kith and kin it is our plan

To rescue, whom their captors here will bring.’

And he goes on to tell, as best he can,

The story of the cruel bartering.

‘If this excuse is true,’ the knight began,

‘Which I cannot gainsay, then everything

You tell me makes it plain that there can be

Few knights who are the equal of you three.

‘I hoped I might exchange a blow or two,

To test your valour and your expertise;

But if your skill you are prepared to show

At someone else’s cost, then, as you please.

I only ask that I may fight your foe,

And with a shield and helmet such as these,

If you accept, I hope to demonstrate

That no unworthy ally you have met.’

Someone, I think, would like to know the name

Of him who offers to assist the three

Who to the rescue of the brothers came,

So I will say the cavalier is she

(Not he or him henceforth), that very same

Marfisa, who a toll of chivalry

Exacted from Zerbino, binding him

To do the vile Gabrina’s every whim.

The Clairmont cousins and the good Ruggier

Welcomed Marfisa gladly as a fourth,

For they believed she was a cavalier,

Not knowing her true sex nor her true worth.

A banner was soon spied by Aldigier,

Which fitful breezes fluttered back and forth.

Alerted, his companions watch the train

Of men-at-arms who wind across the plain.

And as the hostile column closer drew,

Their Moorish dress could plainly be made out;

So they were Saracens, the allies knew,

And in their midst they saw, beyond all doubt,

Pinioned, each on a little nag, the two

Defenceless brothers. Then with a great shout

Marfisa cried, ‘What are we waiting for?

This party offers merriment galore!’

Ruggiero answered, ‘But not all the guests

Have yet arrived; many are missing still.

Such preparation for a ball suggests

A gala day; we must use all our skill.

So let us choose the festive games and jests

And with our partners frolic as we will.’

The traitors of Maganza now advance

And it is almost time to start the dance.

The Maganzese from one direction ride,

Leading their mules weighed down with merchandise –

Rich garments, gold and precious goods beside,

While from the other come, with downcast eyes,

The captive brothers, hemmed in on each side

With lances, swords and bows, a costly prize;

And cruel Bertolagi could be heard

As with the Moorish captain he conferred.

Neither Count Buovo’s nor Count Aymon’s son

At sight of him can any more delay.

Couching their lances, at their foe they run.

One lance the traitor’s paunch is seen to splay,

First piercing the front saddle-bow, and one

Splits both his cheeks. Ah, would that in this way

The world of evil-doers might be rid

And traitors die as Bertolagi did!

And at this signal, waiting for no blast

Upon a trumpet, both the other knights,

Marfisa and Ruggiero, follow fast.

Each with the foe with lance unbroken fights

Till from the saddle three of them are cast:

Ruggiero first the Moorish leader smites,

A worthy enemy, and next, with him,

Two more are sped to regions drear and dim.

From this, confusion in the ranks arose

Which brought about their ultimate defeat;

On the one side the Maganzese suppose

That they have been betrayed; the Moors, who meet

With like affront, the Frankish side abuse

As vile assassins, and the noise and heat

Of battle now begins, as weapons clash,

As lances hurtle and as arrows flash.

Between the lines Ruggiero alternates,

Killing now ten, now twenty, at one swoop.

Likewise Marfisa’s weapon decimates

Now first the one and then another troop.

Touched by the blade the victims meet their fates

At once and from their saddles sag and droop.

Helmets and breastplates vanish all around,

Crashing like burning timber to the ground.

If you recall that you have ever seen,

Or if report has ever reached your ears,

How when a swarm of bees has risen in

A warlike cloud, a swallow then appears,

Skimming among them greedily with keen

And snapping beak, so the two cavaliers,

Ruggiero and Marfisa, seemed to be

Two swallows swooping on the enemy.

But Ricciardetto and his cousin chose

To trip a measure less diversified.

Leaving the Saracens to the others’ blows,

They now bore down on the Maganzan side.

The prowess which Rinaldo’s brother owes

To knightly training is now multiplied,

Till he is brave and strong enough for two,

By hate for his hereditary foe.

And the same hatred makes the bastard son

Of Buovo seem a lion in his rage.

Without a pause he lays his weapon on,

Splitting the helms like eggs with its sharp edge;

But who such daring would not then have shown,

Or seemed a Hector born in a new age,

Having companions like Ruggiero and

Marfisa, unsurpassed in every land?

Marfisa, never pausing in her fight,

Glanced round at her companions now and then.

Seeing such proof of prowess and of might,

She was amazed to see the number slain;

But most of all she marvelled at the sight

Of him she deemed unequalled among men.

This must be Mars himself, she thought, come down

From his fifth heaven, lending us renown.

She marvelled at Ruggiero’s deadly blows.

She marvelled, too, at their unerring aim.

When Balisarda struck, you would suppose

That iron, paper suddenly became.

However thick the armour of the foes,

In twain the weapon sliced them just the same,

Down to their very steeds, and sent them flying

Till here, there, everywhere the dead were lying.

Sometimes the selfsame stroke would follow through,

Killing the horse together with the man.

From shoulders, heads in all directions flew,

Torsos were severed where the hips began.

Five at one blow and even more he slew.

Did I not fear to go beyond the span

Of what can be believed, I would say more,

But here the truth the face of falsehood wore.

Turpin, relating marvels such as these,

Knows that he speaks the unvarnished truth and leaves

His hearers to accept whate’er they please.

He says (you may consider he deceives)

Almost as though Marfisa’s enemies

Were ice, they melt as, like a torch, she weaves

Among their ranks, causing no less surprise

Than he on whom she turns astonished eyes.

If she the god of war considered him,

Ruggiero in his turn could equally

Bellona this amazing damsel deem,

Did he but know the truth, so contrary

To what her skill and courage make her seem.

Between them then arose keen rivalry.

Alas for their poor. foes, upon whose flesh,

Blood, sinews, bones they now compete afresh!

The valour and the skill of four suffice

To put both armies in the field to rout.

The legs of horses are the best device

For those who flee, of that there is no doubt.

They have a value now beyond all price,

The gallop being better than the trot,

And he who has no steed soon notices

That war on foot a sad profession is.

Victorious, the four survey the plain.

The field is won, the booty now is theirs,

For neither Moors nor Maganzese remain;

Gone are all men-at-arms and muleteers,

Who’d fled in two directions from the scene,

Leaving the prisoners and precious wares.

They set the brothers free with joyful hearts

And many a willing hand unloading starts.

Not only silver in great quantity

They found, fashioned in divers plates and bowls,

And women’s clothes with rich embroidery,

And, fit for palaces, long, precious rolls

Of gold and silken Flemish tapestry,

Of which the beauty all the world extols,

And many other rich and costly things,

But also wine and bread and victuallings.

When all have drawn their helmets off, the three

Observe to whom they owe such timely aid:

The golden, curling tresses they now see,

And the fair features, of a lovely maid.

They greatly honour her and beg that she

Will not conceal her name, which she has made

Deserving of such glory; she replied

With courtesy and with their wish complied.

They gaze their fill upon her countenance,

Remembering her valour as a knight.

Upon the others she scarce deigns to glance,

But keeps Ruggiero only in her sight

And talks with him; the servants now advance

And all the gallant company invite

To take their places in the hill’s cool shade,

Beside a fountain where a meal is laid.

This fountain, made by Merlin (one of four

In France) was girdled by a fair surround

Of polished marble, white as milk and more;

Figures, exquisitely inlaid all round,

Witness to the magician’s handwork bore.

You would have said they breathed, save that no sound

Escaped their lips; each one appeared to live,

So wondrously did Merlin’s art deceive.

They saw a loathsome beast depicted there,

Cruel and ugly, with a wolfish head

And fangs, and asses’ ears; its body, spare

And fox-like, looked as if it seldom fed,

Despite its lion’s claws to rend and tear.

Through England, France, Spain, Italy it sped,

Throughout all Europe and through Asia too,

Till all the world its fearful havoc knew.

It killed or wounded everywhere it went,

No less the highest than the lowliest,

For those who suffered its most violent

Attack were kings and princes and not least

The Roman court, where with malign intent

Prelates and Popes were murdered by the beast.

Infinite scandal it had brought upon

The Faith, contaminating Peter’s throne.

Before its onslaught, crumbles every wall;

No rampart but must yield at its approach;

There is no citadel which does not fall;

All gates of castles open at its touch.

Worshipped as if divine by fools who call

It prudence, it will further yet encroach,

For to itself it abrogates as well

The very keys of Heaven and of Hell.

Crowned with imperial laurel now appears

A knight and at his side another three;

All are of royal standing, each one wears

A surcoat woven with the fleur-de-lis;

And with a banner similar to theirs,

A lion moves with awesome majesty.

And on their garments or above each head

Their names and titles may be plainly read.

That one who in the monster’s belly plants

His sword up to the very hilt is named

In marble script: Francis the First of France;

And Maximilian is next proclaimed,

Of Austria, and Charles the Fifth, whose lance

Pierces the monster’s throat; of one who aimed

An arrow at its heart, the English king,

Henry the Eighth, a future age will sing.

‘The Tenth’ is written on the lion’s back.

Sinking his fangs into the monster’s ears,

He shakes it; others run to the attack

And gone, it seems, are all men’s doubts and fears.

That former errors may be kept in check,

An army, moderate in size, appears

And soon it rids the world of the vile beast,

And mankind now it ceases to molest.

Marfisa and the cavaliers desire

To know who all these warriors may be

By whose stern hands they see the beast expire,

That cause of sorrow and iniquity.

And so, of one another they enquire

(For though the names and titles they can see,

These have no meaning in those far-off days)

What is the story which the fount displays.

Viviano looked at Malagigi, who

Stood listening, but had uttered not a word.

He said, ‘This marble story is for you

To expound, for you are learnèd, I have heard.

What men are these, who divers arms imbue

In that beast’s blood which has their wrath incurred?’

And Malagigi said, ‘This history

Is no part yet of any memory.

‘For you must know, all these who, each by name,

Are indicated here, are not yet born;

But seven hundred years from now, their fame

The temples of the future will adorn.

Merlin the sorcerer from Britain came

In brave King Arthur’s time and one fine morn

Gave orders for this fountain to be made

And by the finest craftsmen thus inlaid.

‘This monster issued from the depths of Hell,

When weights and measures in the world were new,

When property was made divisible,

When pen and ink recorded what was due.

At first not every land, as I heard tell,

The monster ravaged; some, exemption knew.

The harm it does today, although widespread,

To men of low degree is limited.

‘From its beginnings to the present age,

The monster has been growing and will grow,

Until, of all the beasts which havoc wage,

No larger, no more vile, the world can show.

The famous python, which on many a page

Has been described, was large as pythons go,

Yet was not half so large as this will be,

Nor was it so detestable to see.

‘Much cruel slaughter will this beast commit.

There’ll be no region it will not infect,

No country which will be immune from it,

No town it will not damage or affect.

And of such torment longing to be quit,

The world will cry for help, and these elect,

Shining like oriflammes, whose names we read,

Will save the nations in their hour of need.

‘The beast will have no more relentless foe

Than Francis the French monarch, of that name

The First; such skill and valour he will show

That many who seem valiant he will shame.

No equal and few rivals he will know.

His royal splendour and heroic fame

Will others’ deeds eclipse, as by the sun

All lesser lights are instantly outshone.

‘In the first year of his auspicious reign,

The crown being scarcely settled on his brow,

He’ll cross the Alps, where he will render vain

The plan to hold the pass, revealing how

His heart is stirred by wrath and just disdain

That the disgrace is not avenged ere now

Which frenzied herdsmen on the French will bring

With savage and ferocious battering.

‘To the rich Lombard plain he will descend,

Surrounded by the flower of all France,

And Switzerland to such submission bend

That checked for ever is her arrogance.

The Church and Spain and Florence will defend

A fortress, but in vain, for he’ll advance

Upon it and will storm the citadel

Which they had deemed to be impregnable.

‘The weapon that will serve his purpose best

Will be that honoured sword by means of which

He will have previously slain the beast,

Corruptor of all regions and of each

Community; no standard makes the least

Resistance; not a rampart, not a ditch,

And not a wall, however thick and strong,

Will keep a citadel secure for long.

‘This prince in all the virtues will excel

Which any conqueror has ever shown:

Great Caesar’s courage, and that prudent skill

Whence Trebbia and Lake Trasimene were won,

And Alexander’s lucky star as well,

Without which every plan is overthrown.

Such liberality he will possess,

There is no measure he will not surpass.’

Thus Malagigi read the marble screed,

Inspiring in the knights a wish to know

The names of other figures who, instead

Of slaying the infernal monster, show

How best to set about the noble deed.

He said, ‘That one whom Merlin places so,

Bernardo, will confer upon Bibbiena

Renown eclipsing Florence and Siena.

‘And to the forefront, each a paragon,

Are Sigismond, Giovanni and Ludovic

(Gonzaga, Salviati, Aragon),

Who the destruction of the monster seek.

Francis of Mantua, likewise his son

Who follows in his footsteps, Frederick;

Two dukes, Ferrara’s and Urbino’s, stand,

Brother and son by marriage, on each hand.

‘And Guidobaldo, son of one of these,

Does not intend to linger at the back.

Eager as Ottobono Fieschi, he’s

As quick as Sinibaldo to attack;

And Luigi of Gazolo’s arrow is

So swift, the metal burns the creature’s neck.

Phoebus, the archer-god, will grant him bow

And quiver, Mars himself a sword bestow.

‘Two Ercoles and two Ippolitos

Of Este; and of these names another two

(A Medici and a Gonzaga, those)

The traces of the weary beast pursue.

Giuliano with his offspring level goes,

Ferrante with his brother; near by too

Andrea Doria stands vigilant.

No passage will Francesco Sforza grant.

‘Of noble, generous, illustrious blood,

Two of Avàlos carry as their sign

A mighty rock, like that which long has stood

Holding Typhoeus helpless in confine.

No injury against the monster could

Exceed the blows which these two will combine.

Francesco of Pescara one is named,

And one Alfonso of Vasto is proclaimed.’

But what of the great commandant of Spain,

Consalvo, who was held in such esteem,

Whom Malagigi praised and praised again?

Few in that band there were to equal him.

And last, of all those who the beast had slain,

William of Monferrat not least I deem.

Few were those heroes in comparison

With those the brute had wounded or undone.

In games or converse, after their repast,

Together they beguiled the heat of day,

Or else beside the fountain took their rest

‘Mid shady shrubs, or on fine carpets lay.

While the two brothers, in full armour dressed,

Kept guard lest any should approach that way,

A lady, unescorted, soon they see,

Who rides towards them with rapidity.

It is Ippalca, who set out to lead

Frontino to Ruggiero, as his love

Desired, and was obliged to yield the steed

To Rodomonte; all that day she strove

To follow him; in vain she tried to plead,

Or curse: the miscreant she could not move.

Then on her way she learned (I know not how)

Ruggiero was with Ricciardetto now.

And since she knew the territory well,

For she had been there many times before,

She rode towards the fountain without fail,

Finding Ruggiero and the others (for

They’d rested there a while, as you heard tell).

And she, who was observant and still more

Discreet, when she saw Ricciardetto there,

Feigned not to know or recognize Ruggier.

She turned to Ricciardetto straight away,

As though her message were for him alone.

He rose to welcome her without delay,

Asking her where she went. Her eyes still shone

With tears, and sighing she began to say

(Though speaking audibly in a clear tone

In order that Ruggiero, who stood nigh,

Might hear how sorrowful she was, and why):

‘I was conducting on a leading-rein,

As Bradamante had commanded me,

A splendid destrier, with flowing mane;

Frontino he is called, a horse which she

Most dearly loves; my orders were to gain

A region near Marseilles where she would be

Ere many days had passed; I was to wait

Till she should come where we arranged to meet.

‘My heart was confident, I had no fear

That anyone would try to take the steed.

Its owner’s name I deemed enough to hear –

Rinaldo’s sister, famed for many a deed;

But yesterday an African drew near;

He was on foot and of a mount had need.

I told him Bradamante owned the horse

And yet he seized the rein from me by force.

‘I followed him, beseeching him in vain.

Throughout all yesterday and all today

I cursed and menaced and besought again.

I left him finally not far away,

Fighting, hard-pressed, with all his might and main,

Against a warrior whose prowess may

Bring down revenge for me upon his head –

A retribution just and merited.’

Ruggiero at these words leapt to his feet,

And scarcely could he wait to hear them all.

He turns to Ricciardetto to entreat,

If he considers he has served him well,

That he may leave without delay to meet

This unknown knight, and that Ippalca shall

Go with him to point out the arrogant,

Importunate horse-stealing miscreant.

Although it seems to him unchivalrous

To leave to someone else an enterprise

Which thus concerns a member of his house,

Yet Ricciardetto with this wish complies;

And so Ruggiero takes a courteous

Farewell of his companions, whose surprise

And wonder know no bounds when they observe

His resolution and unfailing nerve.

When she had led the knight some way apart,

Ippalca then revealed the true account –

How she was sent by her upon whose heart

His image was engraved to bring the mount

To him, and she proceeded to impart

(No longer feigning now, as at the fount,

When she saw Ricciardetto standing near)

All that her lady bade her tell Ruggier.

She added that with overbearing pride,

On learning who Frontino’s owner was,

The Saracen had straight away replied:

‘What you have told me gives me greater cause

To take the horse; my name I will not hide.

Throughout the world its splendour overawes

Whoever hears it.

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Orlando Furioso Read Online

PRINCIPAL NEW CHARACTERS AND DEVICES

MEN

WOMEN

PERSONIFICATIONS

MONSTERS

SUPERNATURAL BEINGS

HORSE

ANONYMOUS CHARACTERS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE

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