Orlando Furioso pdf Ludovico Ariosto Free Download

Should Ruggiero want

His steed, tell him to seek out Rodomont.’

Ruggiero’s rising colour soon reveals,

As he lends ear to what Ippalca says,

The wrath and indignation which he feels.

Frontino’s dear to him in many ways;

This noble horse which Rodomonte steals

He nurtured with great love; if he delays

He sees his honour is in jeopardy.

This outrage straight away avenged must be.

Ippalca willingly Ruggiero guides,

Longing to see the offender make amends.

She brings him soon to where the road divides.

One branch goes to the plain, and one ascends

The hill; but to the valley, from both sides,

Each of these paths returns at last and ends.

Though steep, the upward route, Ippalca knew,

Was, strange to say, the shorter of the two.

Ippalca’s eager longing to regain

Frontino and to bring revenge upon

The African leads her to turn the rein

Towards the hill; but Rodomont has gone

Along the slower route towards the plain,

Together with the three who follow on;

And so he does not meet the angry pair

Who search for him – Ippalca and Ruggier.

The enmity between the other two

Had been deferred till they could help their king.

With them (you know) was Doralice who

Had caused their strife. Now hear me while I sing

The sequel of their history to you:

As to the fountain they come cantering,

They see the brothers, Aldigier, Marfise,

And Ricciardetto, who recline at ease.

Marfisa, in response to the request

Of her companions, in the jewellery

And feminine apparel was now dressed,

Which the Maganzan in his treachery

Intended for Lanfusa; so from crest

To spurs, Marfisa doffed her arms, though she

Was rarely seen without them, and arrayed

Herself, to please the others, as a maid.

As soon as Mandricard set eyes on her,

He planned, with overweening confidence

(For, in his view, she and his lady were

A fair exchange), that he would recompense

The Sarzan monarch and to him transfer

This damsel, having first removed her hence:

If Love, he thought, arranges matters thus,

The African will not lament his loss.

So Mandricardo, scheming to provide

His rival with the damsel who appears

As comely as the lady at his side

(Whom he desired to keep), the cavaliers,

Whom he approached, now formally defied,

Claiming the lovely maid as his, not theirs,

And, challenging them all to joust with him,

He called them forth to battle fierce and grim.

The brothers, who had kept their armour on,

To guard the company from all affray,

Ready and eager, had at once begun

To move to the attack, believing they

Were challenged by both knights; but of these, one

Remained immobile, nor in any way

Gave sign of joining in this joust; and so

Two combatants opposed a single foe.

Viviano moved towards him with high heart,

His heavy lance couched low; towards him came

The Tartar king, whose prowess in the art

Of combat earned for him undying fame.

Each seeks to strike the other in the part

Which least can stand the blow. Viviano’s aim

At Mandricardo’s helmet fails to make

Him fall: he is not even seen to shake.

But Mandricard, who has a stronger spear,

Shatters Viviano’s shield as it were glass,

And from the saddle sends him flying clear,

To land among the flowers and the grass.

Then Malagigi spurs his destrier,

His brother’s setback eager to redress.

He goes to keep his brother company

The sooner, sharing his indignity.

Next, Aldigiero, having quickly put

His armour on, was mounted on his steed,

Not waiting for his cousin, and full out

Rode off against the pagan; at top speed

He struck the helmet in the centre, not

An inch below the sights, and yet no heed

Does Mandricardo pay, while to the sky

Four fragments of the shattered weapon fly.

The pagan struck him now upon the left.

The weapon’s impact was so violent

That Aldigiero’s shield in two was cleft,

And his cuirass as much protection lent

As plaited straw, or bark; the cruel shaft

Through Aldigiero’s snowy shoulder went;

Amid the grass and flowers fell the knight,

His armour gory red, his visage white.

With daring, Ricciardetto follows on.

He couches, as he comes, a mighty lance,

Showing once more, as he has often shown,

He is a worthy paladin of France.

As though the conflict were already won,

He gallops onward, but by some mischance

His charger falls and Ricciardetto is

At once unhorsed, though by no fault of his.

Then, since there is no other cavalier,

The pagan thinks that he has won the joust,

And to the fountain goes to claim the fair

Young damsel, and he says: ‘Lady, you must

Concede that you are ours, since it is clear

No one is left to champion you. I trust

You’ll not demur or make excuses, for

This custom has been long observed in war.’

Raising a haughty face, Marfisa said,

‘The premisses of your remarks are wrong.

Right would be on your side, I will concede,

And you could justly claim me, if among

These cavaliers, who on the ground lie spread,

Were one who is my lord; but I belong

To no one but myself; and so you see,

Who wants me must do battle first with me.

‘A buckler and a lance I too can wield

And many a cavalier I have unhorsed.’

Then to the squires she said, ‘Bring me my shield,

Bring me my arms and steed.’ Away they coursed.

Stripped to her doublet soon she stood revealed.

Save for her visage, valour, reinforced

By combat and the hardihood of wars,

Had formed in her a replica of Mars.

When she was armed, she girded on her sword

And lightly leapt upon her destrier.

Putting him through his paces on the sward,

She rode him three times round, now here, now there.

And then with many a defiant word,

Aiming her lance, a gallant challenger,

Against the Tartar king she galloped on,

Bold as the Troy-defending Amazon.

Then both their lances to the very butt,

At that first, fierce encounter, broke like glass.

Yet neither foe had yielded by one jot,

Nor did they sit their steeds upright the less.

Marfisa, eager to discover what

The pagan’s prowess is, resolves to pass

To combat at close range and corps à corps;

So, sword in hand, she faces him once more.

Cursing the heavens and the elements,

The pagan raged to see her still upright;

She too blasphemed with no less violence

To see his shield intact; the chilling sight

Of naked steel each cavalier presents.

In turn, the blades the magic armour smite

In which both combatants that day are clad,

And greater need of it they’d never had.

Enchanted armour nothing can assail,

No sword can penetrate, no lance can pierce.

They could prolong the fight to no avail

That day and all the next, from dawn to tierce.

But Rodomonte now begins to rail.

Flinging himself between them, proud and fierce,

He shouts: ‘If you are eager for a fray,

Let us conclude our fight begun today.

‘We called a truce, do not forget, and made

A pact to bring assistance to our side.

No other battle, till we lend such aid,

Should be begun, no other foe defied.’

Then, bowing to Marfisa, he displayed

The message they received, and does not hide

The story of the courier who came

To ask their help in Agramante’s name.

He asked her then if she would please defer

The inconclusive combat here begun,

And without more ado invited her

To fight with them for King Troiano’s son:

This is a nobler cause and worthier,

For which there’s greater glory to be won,

Than in a quarrel of no consequence

Which such heroic enterprise prevents.

Marfisa, ever eager to contend

Against the knights of Charlemagne with lance

And sword, and having had no other end

When from so far away she came to France

Than to observe their valour at first hand,

Hearing the pagan’s words, jumped at the chance

Of helping Agramante in his need,

And with the plan she readily agreed.

Ruggiero in the meantime has in vain

Followed Ippalca on the mountain route,

For when they reach the summit it is plai

That Rodomont, of whom they’re in pursuit,

Has gone the other way; so once again

Ruggiero turns, and at a spanking trot,

Knowing the miscreant has not gone far,

Reaches the fountain where the others are.

But first Ippalca he has wisely sent

To Montalbano, a distance of one day;

For, had she come with him, this would have meant

An even longer journey and delay.

He bids her be of cheer and not lament.

He’ll win Frontino back and in some way

Get word to her, wherever she may be

That she may hear the tidings speedily.

He gives to her the letter which he wrote

In Agrismonte and has ever since

Kept hidden in a fold inside his coat.

Ippalca on her memory imprints

His word-of-mouth additions to the note

The loyal messenger no effort stints.

Without a moment’s pause she gallops on

And comes, when evening falls, to Montalban.

Along a well-marked trail Ruggiero chased

His quarry; not until he reached the fount

Did he catch up with him for all his haste.

And there he saw him on the stolen mount.

The Tartar had just promised not to waste

More time – an oath confirmed by Rodomont:

They’d perpetrate no further hostile ploy,

But save the camp which Charles’s troops annoy.

Ruggiero knew Frontino, and thus knew

Who the thief was who sat his horse astride.

Over his lance his shoulders rounded grew,

As loudly he the African defied,

Who showed more patience then than Job could do;

For in response he quelled his mighty pride,

Refusing this new challenge, he who fought

So willingly and ever battle sought.

This was the first and last occasion when

The monarch of Algiers refused a fight;

But Agramante now needs all his men

And Rodomont acknowledges his right

To summon aid; and if Ruggiero then

Were at his mercy like a hare held tight

Between a leopard’s paws he would not so

Delay as to inflict a single blow.

To add to this, the Sarzan is aware

This is Ruggiero come to claim his steed,

The one whose valour he would gladly dare,

And whose renown all warriors concede,

Whose feats are celebrated everywhere

He longs to test his mettle and his breed,

Yet he refuses – an amazing thing –

So greatly he prefers to aid his king

A thousand miles and more he would have gone

For such a fight, had this not been the case;

Yet nothing else that day would he have done,

Were it Achilles in Ruggiero’s place.

Of all the many sparks which flew, not one

Caught fire and of a flame there was no trace.

He tells Ruggiero why he will not fight

And begs him aid their monarch in his plight.

For as a loyal cavalier he must

Defend his lord and rally to his side;

Let them conclude their duel when this trust

Has been fulfilled. Ruggiero then replied:

‘I am quite willing to defer our joust

Until the Frankish king has been defied

And from his clutches Agramant is free,

If first Frontino is restored to me.

‘That you have greatly erred I’ll prove by force

Of arms; it ill became you as a knight

To rob a gentle maiden of my horse.

But if you wish me to defer our fight,

Dismount Frontino; it will be the worse

For you unless you yield me up my right.

For then no earthly power will induce

Me to delay, nor grant you one hour’s truce.’

So these, then, are the terms Ruggiero makes:

Frontino, or a combat then and there.

While Rodomonte neither offer takes,

Unwilling yet to yield the destrier,

Or further to delay, for all their sakes,

The Tartar from the other side draws near

And on Ruggiero’s banner sees the bird

On whose account new conflict now is stirred.

An eagle, argent, on an azure field

Ruggiero bore, the noble Trojan sign,

Being descended, as I have revealed,

From mighty Hector and his royal line.

This fact from Mandricardo was concealed,

And, not permitting that this bird divine

Should be by any other knight displayed,

A challenge to the newcomer he made.

100

He also bore upon his shield the bird

Which from Mount Ida snatched up Ganymede.

This shield on Mandricardo was conferred

At Castle Perilous for a brave deed.

I think, among the stories you have heard,

You will remember how the fairy maid

Gave him those weapons which Jove’s armourer

Had forged for Hector in the Trojan war.

101

These two, Ruggiero and the Tartar king,

For this same cause had often fought before.

How they had parted and gone wandering

Is known to you: of that I’ll say no more.

And now their fates these knights together bring

Seeing again the shield Ruggiero bore,

On all his strength and rage the Tartar drew

And to Ruggiero cried: ‘I challenge you!

102

‘That emblem which you rashly bear is mine,

And this is not the first and only day

That I have seen you flaunting that ensign

Which still, despite my warnings, you display.

Madman! no threats,it seems, can I combine

To turn you from the folly of your way:

I’ll show you it were better to have paid

Due heed to me, and my commands obeyed!

103

As well-dried kindling quickly catches light

At a small puff of wind, and leaps and flares,

So now Ruggiero’s angry pride burns bright

As soon as Mandricard’s first words he hears.

‘You think’ (he said) ‘because this other knight

To pick a quarrel with me rashly dares,

That I must yield? But I will take the two –

Frontin from him and Hector’s shield from you.

104

‘I fought with you before, not long ago.

And for this selfsame cause; I did not slay

You then, for I would scorn to kill a foe

Who has no sword, and you had none that day.

Now let us pass to deeds (that was but show).

For that white eagle you shall dearly pay.

That emblem from my forebears I inherit.

You have no right to it: I justly wear it.’

105

‘You have usurped that emblem, which is mine!’,

The Tartar king retorted, and drew sword,

The one which he had found beneath the pine

With all Orlando’s other weapons stored.

Ruggiero’s sense of honour is so fine,

By him no rule of chivalry’s ignored.

Seeing the Tartar draw his sword, at once

Upon the ground beneath he casts his lance.

106

Then, grasping Balisarda in his fist,

His shield upon his arm he firmly takes.

But Rodomonte plunges in their midst.

A sudden dash Marfisa likewise makes.

Each urges one opponent to desist

And forces them apart, for all their sakes.

The African in his complaint is loud:

Twice Mandricardo broke the truce he vowed.

107

First, thinking he could win the maid as his,

He’d stopped and jousted more than once; and now,

To take away Ruggiero’s emblem, he’s

Prepared once more to violate his vow:

A poor concern for Agramante, this!

‘Let us conclude ourfight: you will allow,’

He said, ‘if dilly-dally here you must,

Our combat is more suitable and just.

108

‘A truce was sworn between us and agreed,

And our dispute must thus be settled first.

When I have dealt with you, I shall proceed

To answer him who in his folly durst

Contest with me the right to mount this steed.

Then for his shield, against him do your worst.

But I shall give you so much work to do,

Ruggiero will not find much left of you.’

109

‘The part of me you think you can defeat’,

The Tartar king replied to Rodomont,

‘You’ll not subdue; but I will make you sweat

From head to foot and on this you can count.

More than you bargain for in me you’ll meet.

Like water springing from a living fount,

My strength will last me for a thousand fights,

With you, Ruggiero and all other knights.’

110

Their anger mounted and the insults flew

Now from the one, now from the other, side.

King Mandricard would like to fight with two

At once, so fierce he burns with rage and pride.

Ruggiero, who is not accustomed to

Endure abuse, will not be pacified.

Alone Marfisa turns now here, now there;

In vain she tries to calm each cavalier,

111

Just as a farmer, when a swollen stream,

Topping its lofty banks, new outlet seeks,

Will hasten where the rising waters seem

To menace his green pastures, and there checks Their onrush, or where next they’ll overbrim

Their onrush, or where next they’ll overbrim

The hoped-for corn, he blocks and dams the leaks

As best he can, and yet, for all he does,

Elsewhere the water, ramifying, flows.

112

So, while Ruggiero, Mandricardo and

Fierce Rodomonte are at odds, all three,

Each being resolved to win the upper hand

And show the others his supremacy,

Marfisa does her best to gain command.

Yet all her efforts end but fruitlessly:

If one of them she does at last restrain,

She sees the other two begin again.

113

‘Brave knights,’ Marfisa said, hoping to bring

Them to agreement, ‘heed my words, I pray:

Defer all single combat till our king

Is out of danger; and if then for fray

Among yourselves you are still hungering,

Let us resume our fights begun today.

With Mandricard my combat I’ll renew,

To test his boast and see the matter through.

114

‘But if King Agramante needs our aid,

Let him be aided and our strife deferred.’

‘I’m willing to depart’, Ruggiero said,

‘When I regain my charger; in a word,

Either this thief surrenders me my steed,

Or else I claim it back with lance and sword;

Either I die in combat sur-le-champ,

Or else I ride Frontino back to camp.’

115

And Rodomonte answered, ‘To obtain

The second of your two alternatives

Will be less easy than the first to gain.’

And he continued, ‘If our king receives

Insult or injury, it will be plain

The fault is yours, not mine.’ This protest gives

Ruggiero not a moment’s pause; no heed

He pays but grasps his sword and spurs his steed.

116

And with the impetus of a wild boar

He hurls himself against his enemy,

With shield and shoulder battering the Moor,

Who slips his stirrup, so put out is he.

The Tartar shouts, ‘Defer this battle or

You’ll have to settle your account with me.’

Dishonourably, even as he spoke,

He dealt Ruggiero’s helm a cruel stroke.

117

This bows Ruggiero to his charger’s neck

And when he tries to raise himself upright,

The blows of Rodomonte serve to check

All his attempts; such deadly onslaughts might

Have cleft his helmet, splitting cheek from cheek,

But, adamantine, it protects the knight.

Ruggiero in dismay flings both hands wide.

The rein hangs loose, his sword falls at his side.

118

The charger bears him off, and on the ground

His Balisarda lies. She who that day

Companionship with him in arms has found,

Watches with burning wrath the ignoble way

Against one, two in enmity are bound.

Since she is valorous and brave, straightway

Against the Tartar she directs her horse

And strikes him on the head with all her force,

119

After Ruggiero Rodomonte speeds:

Another blow will make Frontino his.

But Vivian and Richard place their steeds

Between the two and check hostilities.

One hurtles Rodomonte and succeeds

In blocking him from where Ruggiero is.

The other, Viviano, hands his sword

To his good friend, Ruggiero, now restored.

120

Soon as Ruggiero to himself returns

And in his hand finds Viviano’s blade,

Eager for vengeance, all delay he scorns

And on his foe he rushes unafraid,

As when a lion, tossed on a bull’s horns,

Feeling no pain, is driven, undismayed,

By frenzied rage to re-attack in haste,

The quicker its desired revenge to taste.

121

A rain of blows on Rodomonte’s head

Ruggiero strikes, and if he had the sword

Which by a breach of honour, as I said,

He was obliged to drop upon the sward,

I do not think, if I am not misled,

That helmet much protection would afford,

Though for the king of Babel it was fired

When to wage war with heaven he aspired.

122

Dame Discord, thinking nothing could reduce

The strife and turmoil which had broken out,

Seeing no prospect of a peace or truce,

Assured her sister they need have no doubt:

Their work being done, their bonds they now might

And to their monks, so pious and devout, [loose,

Return; so let them now depart; we’ll stay

And watch the progress of the bitter fray.

123

Ruggiero hit the other with such force

Upon the brow, that Rodomonte struck,

With back and helm, the cruppers of his horse.

From side to side, three and four times he shook,

Dangling head down; and in the frantic course

Which, uncontrolled, the startled charger took,

He would have lost his sword, had not a twist

Of leather tied it firmly to his wrist.

124

Meanwhile Marfisa makes the Tartar sweat.

He also for his part so shrewdly hits

That she, like him, pours like a rivulet.

The hauberk of each one so closely fits

That through no chink can either’s weapon get,

Thus in their duel so far they are quits;

But at a sudden turn made by her steed,

Marfisa of Ruggiero’s help has need.

125

The charger of Marfisa, making a swift

Leap sideways where the grass was soft and moist,

Slipped and went down; straightway it strove to lift

Its heavy bulk, which was no sooner hoist

Than Brigliadoro hurtled from the left

(The steed in which Orlando once rejoiced),

Spurred by the Tartar with a total lack

Of honour, and Marfisa’s horse fell back.

126

Ruggiero, when he sees the damsel lie

Thus disadvantaged, help does not defer.

His foe being stunned, there is no reason why,

Since he is free, he should not rescue her.

He strikes the Tartar’s helm a blow whereby,

If but that sword his Balisarda were,

That head he’d sever like an apple core,

If Mandricard another helmet wore.

127

And in the meantime the Algerian king

Comes to himself once more and gazes round.

He sees young Richard and, remembering

How he had helped Ruggiero hold his ground,

He makes for him, a harsh reward to bring

For his brave deed; but Malagigi found,

With his great skill and using a strange spell,

A means by which the pagan’s wrath to quell.

128

For Malagigi knew the secret art.

Compared with any other sorcerer,

He was no less accomplished and expert.

And though his book of magic was not there,

He had the special formula by heart

Whence by long usage demons conjured were.

He sends one into Doralice’s horse

Which drives it forward on a frenzied course.

129

Into the body of that humble hack

Which bore the daughter of King Stordilan

Upon its docile, uncomplaining back,

The sorcerer (brother to Vivian)

By words alone sent one of Minos’ black

Angels; the nag, which never walked or ran

Unless encouraged, leapt into the air

Sixteen feet high and thirty long, I swear.

130

The leap was high and wide, yet it was not

The kind to make a rider lose his seat.

Thus flying in mid-air, the damsel thought

That her last moment she would surely meet,

And in great fear began to call and shout.

The nag, just as the devil urges it,

After a second leap runs off so fast

The speed of every arrow is surpassed.

131

And from the combat Ulieno’s son

Withdrew at the first sound of that loved voice,

And where the palfrey bore his lady on

He raced to rescue her; and the same choice

The Tartar made, and straightway he was gone;

Without requesting either peace or truce

Of either foe, he chases Rodomont

And Doralice on her frenzied mount.

132

Meanwhile Marfisa rose from where she lay,

Burning with wrath and rage and ire and scorn.

She longs for vengeance but too far away

She sadly sees her enemy is borne.

Ruggiero at such ending of the fray

As lions roar in rage (not when they mourn)

Bellows in fury, for he knows indeed

They cannot now catch up with either steed.

133

Ruggiero, far from willing yet to cease,

The matter of his charger still contests.

Marfisa does not want to leave in peace

The Tartar till she further probes and tests

The limits of his skill and expertise:

To leave such things unsettled, each protests,

Would be a grievous breach of chivalry,

And so to follow them they both agree.

134

In Paris they decide to seek them out

(If they should fail to come upon them first),

For there they will have gone without a doubt,

Where Charlemagne prepares to do his worst,

By putting all the Saracens to rout;

And so to satisfy their unquenched thirst

For vengeance, they resolve to leave straightway.

But now Ruggiero, his farewells to say,

135

His horse’s head has turned where to one side

The brother of his lovely lady waits.

He vows they shall be friends, whate’er betide,

No matter what shall be their several fates.

Then in his name (and this no harm implied

Remembrance to his sister he entreats.

This part he did so well and with such tact

That Ricciardetto nothing could suspect.

136

Of him, of Malagigi, Vivian,

Of wounded Aldigier, his leave he takes.

All of them proffered friendship, every man,

For all that he had done for all their sakes.

Marfisa, to defend the Saracen,

For Paris her departure quickly makes,

Without farewells; the brothers wave goodbye,

But cannot catch her up for all they try.

137

And Ricciardetto too went on his way,

While stricken Aldigiero tarried there;

Against his will he was obliged to stay.

Then, taking the same path as the first pair,

The two remaining followed on that day.

My lord, in my next canto you shall hear

What superhuman deeds against Charlemagne

Those four achieved, whose marvels I’ll make plain.

CANTO XXVII

The advice of women, if spontaneous,

Is better than if pondered well, and weighed.

This is their special gift which bounteous

Heaven, with countless more, to them has made.

But men’s advice (and this is curious)

Which a mature reflection does not aid,

Is rarely good, but must be long thought out,

Each aspect studied, sifted every doubt.

The plan which Malagigi formed seemed good

And yet was not; although (as I have said)

The danger in which Ricciardetto stood

Was thus removed, the stratagem had led

To the departure of two foes, who would,

To Charlemagne’s discomfiture, be sped

To Paris all the faster, there to smite

The Christian cavaliers with all their might.

If he had had more time to think it out,

He could have helped his cousin equally,

As he was bound to do, and yet without

Causing the Christians any injury.

He could have sent the damsel round about

The world, eastwards or westwards, so that she

Would vanish from their ken and never more

Be heard of in all France, from shore to shore.

The two who loved her would have followed her,

Just as to Paris, so to any place.

This obvious truth escaped the sorcerer,

Who had reflected for too short a space.

The demons who from Heaven banished were,

Of blood and fire and slaughter go in trace;

And so, being free to choose, this demon went

Where he could bring King Charles most harassment.

The palfrey which the fiend has thus possessed

Carried the frightened damsel on and on.

No stream, ditch, wood or marshland could arrest

Its course; up hills, down valleys it had gone

Till, where the French and English troops were massed

With other Christian forces, it had won

Its way through all those hostile ranks to bring

The damsel to her sire, Granada’s king.

The rivals, Rodomont and Mandricard,

Pursued their lady for a while that day,

Keeping her still in sight by riding hard.

She disappeared from view at last and they,

Like well-trained bloodhounds which their pace retard

And closely track the footprints of their prey,

Followed the traces where the hoof-marks ran

And heard at last she was with Stordilan.

Beware, O Charles! such fury threatens you

And draws so nigh that no escape I see;

Not these two only, but Gradasso too

And Sacripant approach in enmity.

And now, as if to prove you through and through,

Fate robs you of both beacons: potency

In martial strife and acumen of mind,

Whence you are left to grope in darkness, blind.

Orlando and Rinaldo I here mean:

One in his furious and frenzied state,

In heat and cold, in sunshine and in rain,

Runs naked like a torrent in full spate.

And now the other, scarcely less insane,

Abandons you just when your need is great.

His love is not in Paris, he now knows,

And so in search of her at once he goes.

A fraudulent magician, as I said,

Made him believe by a fantastic spell

(By such illusion many he misled)

Angelica approached the citadel

With Count Orlando; to his heart there sped

A pang of jealousy more terrible

Than any lover knew; to Court he went

And straight away to Britain he was sent.

After the battle, when renown he earned

And glory by immuring Agramant,

To Paris then Rinaldo had returned.

To every fortress, every house he went,

And every cloister; every stone he turned,

All paths explored and followed every scent.

Seeing at last his lady was not there,

Nor yet the Count, he left to seek the pair.

Then, picturing Orlando’s lustful joy

At Brava and Anglante, where he thought

That in those sweet delights which never cloy

The lovers were now dallying, he sought

Them both, in vain; then, hoping to employ

A ruse whereby Orlando might be caught,

To Paris he returns, to lie in wait,

For surely soon the Count must pass the gate.

Rinaldo tarries there a day or two.

Orlando does not come, so he decides

To visit both his strongholds, and anew

Sets off, in hope of hearing where he hides.

From early morning until night, all through

The burning midday heat, Rinaldo rides,

And back and forth, whether by moon or sun;

Two hundred times he travels, not just one.

But the old Adversary who caused Eve

To lift her hand towards forbidden fruit

His envious eyes now raises to perceive

Rinaldo’s absence on his vain pursuit.

Seeing the harassment he can now give

To the whole Christian army, by astute

Manoeuvring he brings upon the scene

The greatest knights of all the Saracen.

First, in Gradasso’s heart, and Sacripant’s

(Companions since they fled Atlante’s spell),

An eagerness the Prince of Darkness plants

To help the armies of the Infidel,

To add their valour to King Agramant’s,

And Charles’s stubborn contumacy quell;

And as along an unknown route they went

A demon to escort them Satan sent.

And then another demon he despatched

To urge on Rodomont and Mandricard

Where Malagigi’s evil sprite, well matched

With this, drove Doralice’s horse so hard.

And even further mischief Satan hatched

By sending yet another to retard

Marfisa and Ruggiero; they with less,

The other pair with greater, speed progress.

And so these two, delayed by half an hour,

Arrived in Paris after the first pair,

For the black Angel, who desired to shower

Disasters on the Christians, was aware

How much it would reduce the pagans’ power

If now the quarrel of the destrier

Should be renewed, as it was sure to be

If they reached Paris simultaneously.

The previous four now all together came

Where both encampments they could see with ease,

The victors and the vanquished, and could name

The banners as they fluttered in the breeze.

First they conferred a little and the same

Conclusion reached after their colloquies:

They would defy King Charles, and help their liege,

King Agramante, to resist the siege.

In close formation on they ride again,

Making for where the Christian forces are.

Shouting their slogans, ‘Africa!’ and ‘Spain!’,

They show in full how pagans can make war.

‘To arms!’ ‘To arms!’ re-echoes clear and plain,

But not before the weapons clash and jar;

And of the rear-guard many are now dead,

While in confusion many more are fled.

The Christian army, taken by surprise,

Is at a loss to understand the cause.

It is the Swiss or Gascons, some surmise,

Those fiery troops which such commotion cause;

But most of them the tumult mystifies.

With drum or clarion, the captains cause

The nations to assemble, and a din

And clamour as of battle now begin.

The mighty Emperor is fully-armed,

Save for his head; his paladins stand nigh.

What has occurred, he asks, what has alarmed

The retroguard, where have they fled, and why?

Most of the fugitives are sorely harmed.

Angrily halting some as they run by,

He sees blood pouring from a head or throat,

Or faces slashed, or hands from forearms cut.

And even now he has not seen the worst,

For farther on, in a vermilion lake,

He finds more soldiers gruesomely immersed

In their own blood; no sorcerer could wake,

No doctor cure, them now; the limbs dispersed,

The headless trunks, a scene of horror make,

As from the first encampments to the last

Among the many dead King Charles goes past.

Wherever the small company of four

Had gone, deserving of eternal fame,

In a long line a flood was seen to pour,

An unforgettable and gory stream.

The cruel slaughter filled the Emperor

With rage, astonishment and bitter shame;

Like one whose house a thunderbolt has struck,

Along the trail of death he goes to look.

The four have not yet reached King Agramant’s

Entrenchments, when along another way

Ruggiero and Marfisa now advance

To help to raise the siege that very day.

The splendid pair, first casting round their glance

At the terrain, select without delay

The quickest route by which to reach their lord,

Behind stockades defended and immured.

As when the slow-match of a fuse is lit,

So that the flame, like a lascivious tongue,

So fast the eye can scarcely follow it,

Runs licking the black powder all along

The trench, when roar on roar the hills emit,

As rocks or broken walls on high are flung,

So, when Ruggiero and Marfisa came,

Their fiery speed and impact were the same.

The heads of Christians, lengthwise and across,

They now begin to split; shoulders are cleft

And arms are lopped, while wholly at a loss

The troops attempt to scatter, right and left.

If you have seen a tempest tear and toss

Through hill or vale, leaving one side bereft

Of trees, you can imagine how these two

Cut down the ranks and hacked a passage through.

Many who had escaped in the first race

Were thanking God Who gave them legs and feet

Which let them scurry off at such a pace;

But being so unlucky as to meet

Ruggiero and Marfisa face to face

They saw that they must now concede defeat

And that a man, whether he stay or flee,

Cannot evade his hour of destiny:

Escaping from one danger, he is caught

By yet another and in flesh and bones

He finds that he must pay the final scot.

Just so a vixen with her little ones

Falls victim to the wily huntsman’s plot

When, driven from her den by sticks and stones,

And fire and smoke, she creeps forth above ground,

And there is pounced on by the waiting hound.

Marfisa and Ruggiero now bring aid

To the encampment of the Saracen;

With eyes upturned to Heaven, thanks are made

To God in fervent prayers by grateful men.

No longer of the paladins afraid,

The meanest now would challenge ten times ten.

It is concluded that without delay

The field once more shall flow with blood that day.

Trumpets and Moorish drums and clarions

Fill heaven with their formidable sound

And, in the breeze, banners and gonfalons

Flutter and flap as armies rally round.

Meanwhile each of King Charles’s captains dons

His helmet and prepares to stand his ground,

As with the French their allies mustered are

In close formation for a deadly war.

The strength of Rodomont the terrible,

The strength of Mandricard the furious,

Of King Gradasso, famed in chronicle,

Of good Ruggiero, bold and valorous,

Of Sacripant whom few can parallel,

And of Marfisa brave, and marvellous,

So menace Charles that on the saints he calls,

Withdrawing soon within the city walls.

The daring of these knights and of the maid,

Their skill and prowess, were of such a kind

That their description cannot be essayed

Nor yet imagined be by any mind;

And so, my lord, it scarcely need be said

How many deaths to them could be assigned

That day; beside them battled too

A Moorish squadron, led by Ferraù.

Many who fled had perished in the Seine:

The bridge was narrow, they too many were.

(The wings of Icarus were needed then.)

The paladins were taken prisoner.

Uggiero and the marquess of Vienne

Alone evaded capture: Oliver

Returned to Paris, his right shoulder hit;

Uggiero too went back, his head near split.

If like Rinaldo, like Orlando too,

Sweet Fiordiligi’s love had stayed away,

Charles would have left the citadel, if through

The fire he had escaped alive that day;

But Brandimarte did what he could do,

Then let the pagan frenzy have its way.

So Fortune smiled on Saracen and Moor,

Who once again besieged the Emperor.

The cries of widows, of the old and blind,

Of orphaned children who their loss lament,

Rise from the murky regions of mankind

To the clear air beyond the firmament

Where Michael, turning his angelic mind

To earth once more, sees the predicament

Of the Believers and the fate of those

Who scattered lie, a prey to wolves and crows.

The blèsséd Angel blushed bright red, ashamed

To have so ill Almighty God obeyed.

Dame Discord, the perfidious, he blamed.

By her he had been tricked, by her betrayed.

For sowing seeds of conflict she was famed.

This was the reason why he sought her aid

To split the pagans, but the contrary

Had been achieved, as anyone could see.

As when a loyal servant, with more love

Than sense endowed, commits some oversight

In an affair he should hold dear above

His life and soul, guarding it day and night,

And, ere his lord see what he’s guilty of,

Attempts in haste to put the matter right,

So Michael would not rise to God until

This obligation he should first fulfil.

But to the monastery, where he has seen

Dame Discord often, Michael now takes wing,

And in the chapter-house, where she has been,

He comes on an election in full swing.

There she sits smiling gaily on the scene,

As at each other’s heads the friars fling

Their breviaries; the Angel grasps her hair

And without mercy kicks and punches her.

Then on her head, her arms, her back, he breaks

The handle of a cross. Dame Discord calls

For mercy, and a piteous clamour makes,

As to embrace his knees she humbly crawls.

Michael does not release her yet but takes

Her to the pagan camp and there installs

Her, saying: ‘Worse than this you may expect

If once again your duties you neglect.

Though broken-backed and buffeted with pain,

Fearing another battering as cruel

(For well she knows, if she’s remiss again,

Of Michael’s wrath she’ll suffer a renewal),

She runs to fetch her bellows, not in vain:

To flames already kindled adding fuel,

And lighting others, soon Dame Discord starts

A fire of rage rising from many hearts.

The flame in three opponents burns so hot –

Ruggiero, Mandricard and Rodomont –

They go before their king, since they are not

Now pressed by Charlemagne on any front

(For pagans the advantage have now got);

They tell their quarrels, making known the fount

From which they sprang, and ask their king to say

Which two of them shall duel first that day.

The brave Marfisa also puts her case:

She must conclude the fight begun by her

When Mandricard provoked her to her face,

Not knowing what her skill and prowess were;

And to no other pair will she yield place,

Not by one day, one hour, will she defer,

But vehemently pleads to be the first

To challenge Mandricard to do his worst.

But Rodomonte on his claim no less

Insists: he must conclude the fight

Which, while the Africans were in distress,

He has deferred till now, as he thought right.

Ruggiero, with an equal readiness,

Declares he can no longer bear the sight

Of Rodomonte mounted on his steed,

Nor can he wait to punish his misdeed.

The Tartar even further tangles things,

Saying Ruggiero has no right to bear

The Trojan eagle with the silver wings.

In him the flames of wrath so fiercely flare

And for revenge so keen a zest he brings

That all three quarrels in one fight he’d dare

To settle, if the other knights agreed,

And they no less, if thus their king decreed.

As best he can King Agramant essays

A reconciliation to induce;

But when he finds that, deaf to all he says,

They will consider neither peace nor truce,

How best to fix the order, he now weighs,

In this, at least, agreement to produce;

And he decides that to untie this knot

They must establish precedence by lot.

Taking four slips of paper, the king wrote

First ‘Mandricardo–Rodomont’ on one;

‘Ruggiero–Mandricardo’, he next put;

‘Ruggiero–Rodomonte’, he went on;

‘Marfisa–Mandricard’ was the fourth note,

And to the goddess Chance, when this was done,

He left the choice; and she that day decreed

That Rodomont and Mandricard should lead.

The Tartar with Ruggiero next is cast,

Who then with Rodomont must battle third.

The Tartar and Marfisa will fight last.

By this to discontent Marfisa’s stirred.

Ruggiero’s spirits are no less downcast.

He knows the first will fight on undeterred

Till nothing more of either one remain

To fight with him, or her, for both are slain.

Not far from Paris was an open space,

About a mile, or somewhat less, all round.

A lofty stone embankment ringed the place,

As in an ancient theatre is found.

Here once a castle stood, of which no trace

Remained, razed by besiegers to the ground.

One similar along the road between

Borgo and Parma may today be seen.

In this enclosure they prepare the lists,

First marking out a rectangle with stakes,

Such as is needed for the coming tests,

While at each end a spacious portal makes

The scene complete, as chivalry insists.

King Agramante his decision takes,

Choosing the day the jousting shall commence.

Pavilions are now set beyond the fence.

In the pavilion on the western side

Stands Rodomonte; on his giant frame

His ancient armour, made of dragon’s hide,

Is fastened by two warriors of fame,

King Sacripant and Ferraù; with pride

Gradasso and Falsirone do the same

For Mandricardo, fixing on his limbs

The venerable arms which Homer hymns.

Sitting upon a wide and lofty seat

Are the two kings of Africa and Spain,

Also King Stordilan with the élite

Of pagandom; lucky are those who gain,

From tops of trees or from some high retreat,

An unimpeded view of the terrain.

Great was the press, and great the crowd which swayed,

Packed close together, round the vast stockade.

Attendant on the queen of all Castile

Were many a princess and many a queen,

From Aragon, Granada and Seville,

From where the marks of Hercules are seen.

There Doralice too gazes her fill,

Dressed in rich garments coloured red and green.

The latter hue was vivid, fresh and bright,

The red was pale and faded, almost white.

Marfisa, in a warrior’s jerkin clad,

As well became her, seemed an Amazon,

Like Queen Hippolyta and those she led

In regions watered by the Thermodon.

The herald of King Agramante had

By now arrived; the coat which he had on

Displayed his monarch’s arms, and he decreed

No favour must be shown by word or deed.

Impatiently the tight-packed throng awaits

The fight; it finds these preparations slow

And for delay the warriors berates.

A clamour rises suddenly and seems to grow

Where Mandricard, by one of the two gates,

Has his pavilion; this noise, you must know,

My lord, is a contention which breaks out

Between two disputants who rail and shout.

Gradasso, having armed the Tartar king

With his own hand, save only for his sword,

This splendid weapon was about to bring,

When on the pommel he perceived a word –

DURINDANA – likewise the quartering

Which once Almonte bore: as you have heard,

Both trophies were surrendered to the Count

Orlando, then a boy in Aspromont.

Seeing the sword, Gradasso had no doubt

This was the weapon which Orlando won.

To claim it back Gradasso had set out

With a great fleet; and no more splendid one

Had ever left the East; he put to rout

The kingdom of Castile; he had then gone

To France and was victorious; and now

The Tartar has it and he knows not how.

He asked if by accord or by onslaught

He took it from the Count, and where and when;

And Mandricard replied that he had fought

A mighty battle for the sword and then

Orlando had feigned madness. ‘Thus he sought

To hide his apprehension, for, to gain

His weapon Durindana, he well knew

The combat I would ceaselessly pursue.’

Just as the beaver, he went on to say,

Which sees the hunter drawing near, and knows

The reason, rips its genitals away,

A similar resource Orlando chose,

And left his sword. Gradasso did not stay

To hear the story out. ‘I don’t propose’,

He said, ‘to yield to you or anyone

What I by such expense have rightly won.

‘Another weapon let your squires provide.

Orlando’s I here claim. I give my word,

Wherever he may wander, far and wide,

Sane or demented, this is now my sword.

Since no one to your claim has testified,

This weapon you illicitly procured.

I move a suit against you, and my blade

The prosecution’s argument will aid.

‘If you would wield this weapon in your fight

With Rodomonte, win it first from me.

This is a custom, known to every knight,

Long honoured in the code of chivalry.’

‘There is no sweeter sound, no sweeter sight’,

Proudly replied the king of Tartary,

‘Than the defiance of a challenger,

So ask if Rodomonte will defer.

‘I’ll fight you first, if he will give consent.

His fight with me can move to second place;

And have no doubt concerning my intent:

All who defy me I will turn and face.’

Ruggiero shouted: ‘I am not content:

The order fixed by lot you now erase.

Either the Sarzan monarch first must be,

Or his allotted place must yield to me.

‘For, if Gradasso’s argument prevails

(That arms, ere they are used, must first be won),

The white-winged bird you bear, this rule assails:

First prove your right to it, as I have done.

But if this rule a further change entails,

I’ll not revoke what was agreed upon:

In battle-order I am number two,

If Rodomonte duels first with you.

‘If you in part disturb the plan agreed,

I will disturb it totally, I vow.

The eagle you display I’ll not concede

Unless you fight me for it here and now.’

‘If both of you were Mars himself, indeed,’

The Tartar said, with fury on his brow,

‘You could not either of you make me yield

Either my Durindana or my shield.’

He leapt, enraged, to where Gradasso stood.

The blow he struck him was so terrible

Gradasso’s hand was numbed, as though of wood,

And from its lifeless grasp the weapon fell.

He little dreamt that such mad frenzy would

To such an act the Tartar king impel.

Taken thus unawares and off his guard,

He saw, dismayed, that he had lost his sword.

Vexed and discountenanced, with wrath and shame,

The colour mounts like fire to his face,

So violent he seems to shoot forth flame,

The more so that in such a public place

Dishonour should occur to harm his name.

Thirsting for vengeance, he steps back a pace

And draws his scimitar, but, nothing loath,

The Tartar is prepared to fight them both:

‘Come forth together, both of you combined.

Let Rodomonte come and make a third.

All Africa, all Spain and all mankind

To battle I will challenge, undeterred.

The Tartar, with a daring unconfined,

Assumed the shield which bore the Trojan bird,

And Durindana wielded without fear,

Defying both Gradasso and Ruggier.

‘Leave me to settle him,’P Gradasso said;

‘For madness such as his I know a cure.’

‘By God! I mean to deal with him instead,’

Ruggiero cried, ‘for I will not endure

To lose my place and let you get ahead.’

‘You must draw back!’ Gradasso said; ‘No, you’re

The one who must withdraw! ’ Ruggiero cried,

While Mandricardo both of them defied.

To put an end to the three-cornered fray,

Many unwisely rushed upon the scene

Who quickly learned the price they had to pay

Their interference cost them their own skin.

Nor had the world entire sufficed that day,

Had not King Agramante entered in,

With King Marsilio, at sight of whom

The combatants respectfully made room.

They had now moved to where the tethered horse

Stood lathering its costly bit with foam.

I speak of good Frontino here, of course,

For loss of which Ruggiero had become

So furious, no fury has been worse.

The monarch of Circassia, on whom

The Sarzan king, as on a squire, relied,

The steed’s accoutrements now verified.

Troiano’s son enquired the reason why

So fierce and strange a fight had broken out;

And when he heard, he set himself to try

With all his tact to bring a truce about,

Asking Gradasso if he would comply

With his request, and the conventions flout:

Might not the Tartar king in his affray

With Rodomonte use the sword that day?

And while King Agramante reasoned first

With one and then the other litigant,

In the tent opposite, a quarrel burst

Involving Rodomont and Sacripant;

The latter, with the son of the accurst

Lanfusa, attended to the combatant,

On whom they fastened, as I said befor

The arms of Nimrod, his progenitor.

Looking more closely at the destrier,

Noting its markings and its agile frame,

He knew beyond a doubt, he was quite clear,

This was his charger, once known by the name

Of Frontalatte, which he held so dear,

And had defended against all who came;

When it was stolen he would only go

On foot, the loss of it had grieved him so.

Brunello stole it from him in Cathay

When from Angelica he stole as well

The magic ring; he also took away

Orlando’s horse and horn, as you heard tell,

Likewise Marfisa’s sword; and then one day

In Africa, where he returned to dwell,

He gave Ruggiero both the steeds, and one

Was ever after as Frontino known.

When he was sure there could be no mistake,

To Rodomonte Sacripant declared,

‘Sir, what I say, as gospel you must take:

This is m destrier which someone dared

To steal, and to this witnesses could speak.

Since they are far away, I am prepared,

If anyone should challenge me today,

To prove by arms the truth of what I say.

‘In token of the friendship you have shown

In our few days together, I’m content

To let you have this charger now on loan,

Which I can see you need for this event,

But on the understanding’, he went on,

‘That he is mine, else I will not consent.

If you maintain this horse is yours by right,

You must first win him from me in fair fight.’

No prouder warrior this era knows

Than Rodomonte; I would even say

That of the ancient heroes few were those

Who could be matched with him in every way.

He answers: ‘You are wrong if you suppose

That I another knight would not repay

In the same coin, since anyone but you

I’d gladly give a well-earned lesson to.

‘But for the sake of our companionship,

Newly sprung up between us, as you said,

I’ll be content with giving you this tip:

Do not rush in where angels fear to tread.

Let me first smite the Tartar on the hip.

You will then say if I am not misled.

“Such an unparalleled display of force

I cannot hope to rival: keep the horse.’’ ’

‘Discourtesy to you is courtesy,’

Said Sacripante, filled with wrath and rage,

‘But loud and clear and unmistakably

I’ll tell you once again: if you engage

To claim this charger which belongs to me,

As long as I can wield this sword, I’ll wage

Unceasing combat, or with tooth and nail

I will defend it if naught else avail.’

From this to formal challenges they passed,

To shouts and menaces, until they moved

To combat, than which never straw so fast

Was kindled nor so quick in burning proved.

The difference between the two was vast,

For Rodomont was armed as it behoved,

But Sacripant had neither plate nor mail;

Yet with his weapon he seemed covered well.

The Sarzan’s prowess and ferocity

(Although no mightier warrior was born)

Are matched by Sacripant’s agility.

No water-wheel was ever seen to turn

With greater or with like rapidity

The upper millstone when it grinds the corn,

As Sacripante whirls and spins with speed

Now here now there wherever he sees need.

But Ferraù and Serpentino, both

Courageous, drew their swords and rushed between,

Followed by King Grandonio, nothing loath,

And Isolier; and other Moors were seen

Who tried to stem the current of such wrath.

This was the noise and clamour which had been

The origin of such astonishment

To those who heard it in the other tent.

Someone conveyed the news to Agramant,

Assuring him that what was said was true:

That bitter combat between Sacripant

And Rodomont had broken out, these two

In claiming the same horse being adamant;

The king, dismayed at so much discord, to

Marsilio said: ‘See that no worse occurs

While I resolve this matter of the horse.’

When Rodomonte sees his lord appear,

He instantly withdraws and checks his pride;

With equal homage, seeing him draw near

From battle Sacripante turns aside.

King Agramante first demands to hear,

In awesome majesty and tones which chide,

The meaning of their wrath; when all is plain

He tries to reconcile them, but in vain.

King Sacripant refuses to allow

The king of Sarza to retain the steed,

Unless he comes with many a humble bow

To beg the loan of it to meet his need;

But Rodomont, who never bends his brow,

His right to ride the horse will not concede,

And he replies: ‘Not you, nor Heaven above

My steadfast will in this regard could move.’

What right has Sacripante to the horse:

How did he come to lose it, where and why?

The truth, as it comes out, grows worse and worse

And Sacripante blushes to reply.

By guile the steed was taken, not by force;

As he sat lost in thought, a thief came by

Who propped the saddle on four blocks of wood

And stole the steed beneath him where it stood.

Hearing the shouts, Marfisa also came.

As soon as she had heard the story through,

Her countenance concerned and grave became.

Recalling how she lost her sword, she knew

This destrier must be the very same

Which seemed equipped with wings, so fast it flew;

Who Sacripant must be, she realized,

Whom hitherto she had not recognized.

Those who stood by had heard Brunello boast

Of his manoeuvre more than once; they turned

To point him out among the assembled host,

Where by all present he could be discerned.

Marfisa, her suspicions roused, now lost

No time: by asking bystanders she learned

Beyond all doubt, by general accord,

Brunello was the thief who stole her sword.

And for this deed the thieving miscreant,

Who well deserved a noose around his neck,

King of Tangier was crowned by Agramant.

Marfisa, in whose view for such a trick

A kingdom was a strange reward to grant,

Determined there and then revenge to seek,

For at his hands not only had she borne

Deceit and theft, but mockery and scorn.

Her squire now fixed her helmet on her head,

For she was fully-armed except for that,

As was her custom, for she had been bred

For war, and seldom could be seen in what

Young women like to wear; thus helmeted,

She strode at once to where Brunello sat

To watch the jousting on a lofty seat

Among the foremost ranks of the élite.

Clutching him by the breast, without a pause

She lifted up the villain there and then,

As sometimes in its sharp, rapacious claws

An eagle carries off a farmyard hen;

And where the king enquires into the cause

Of discord which divides the Saracen,

She carries him; Brunello knows that he

Can only weep and beg for clemency.

Above the pandemonium with which

The jousting-ground was filled from side to side,

Was heard Brunello’s penetrating screech

As now for mercy, now for help he cried.

His alternating shrieks the welkin reach

And crowds come running up from far and wide.

Marfisa stands before Troiano’s son

And proudly claims that justice shall be done:

‘This thief, your vassal, let me now repay

As he deserves: I’ll hang him by the throat

With my own hands, for on the very day

He stole that horse (and I went in pursuit),

He also stole my trusty sword away.

If anyone my story should refute,

Let him come forward: I will demonstrate

That he is lying and the truth I state.

‘But since by someone it may be alleged

That until now this challenge I put off

When the most famous warriors, engaged

In other quarrels, can make no rebuff,

My word on this account is hereby pledged

To wait three days, if that is long enough;

If no one then prevents me in fair fight,

I’ll hang this villain for the birds’ delight.

‘Three leagues away, beside a little wood,

A lofty tower rises, plain to see.

There I propose to make my promise good.

One serving-woman I will take with me,

And one young page to squire me as he should.

Whoever dares to set this villain free

Will find me there’; thus having said her say,

Awaiting no reply, she went her way.

First on her charger’s neck she drapes the thief,

Holding him by his grizzled locks the while.

Brunello weeps and bellows in his grief.

His shouts for help are heard for many a mile.

To Agramant it seems beyond belief

That he should be thus flouted in such style.

He’s much put out, but knows not what to say,

Seeing Marfisa take Brunel away.

Not that King Agramante now esteems

Or loves Brunello; there are days indeed

When fit for nothing but the noose he seems,

As when he stole the ring; but by her deed

She now commits lése-majesté, he deems.

He’s tempted to pursue her at full speed

And seek revenge in person for the slight

He thinks he has received, with all his might.

But King Sobrino, who was standing near,

Dissuaded him from such an enterprise.

Not only was Marfisa not his peer,

And hence to challenge her would compromise

His royal status (though there was no fear

As to the outcome); it would be unwise

To risk the censure which he would invite

If she should press him long in a hard fight.

The honour would be small, the danger great,

In combat with this woman warrior;

Better to let Brunello share the fate

Which for such felons is the end in store;

And if to save him, he went on to state,

To flick one eyebrow would suffice, no more,

Far better to let justice take its course

And keep a steadfast gaze without remorse.

‘Send someone to Marfisa to request

That you shall be the judge in this,’ he said,

‘And promise that the hangman’s rope will twist

About Brunello’s neck till he is dead.

If in her obstinacy she persist,

Then let Marfisa deal with him instead.

Above all, do not lose her as a friend,

But let all villains meet with such an end.’

King Agramante readily paid heed

To King Sobrino’s wise and shrewd advice.

He let Marfisa gallop off at speed.

To follow her would cost too high a price;

No challenger should go, no one should plead.

And so (God knows at what a sacrifice!),

To deal with urgent matters he now planned,

By quelling bitter quarrels close at hand.

100

At this Dame Discord laughs with frenzied glee.

Little has she to fear of peace and truce.

Now here, now there, diffusing enmity

She runs until no more can she produce.

Pride also skis and leas for joy as she

Adds kindling to the fury, letting loose

So loud a shriek, it can be heard on high

And Michael takes it for a victor’s cry.

101

All Paris trembled and the river Seine

Was swollen, as the fearful shouting spread

And, echoing and echoing again,

Drove woodland creatures from their dens in dread.

The Alps and the Cévennes had heard it plain.

From Blaye to Arles, to Rouen it soon sped.

To Rhône, Saône, Rhine, Garonne it caused unrest,

While mothers clasped their offspring to their breast.

102

There are five cavaliers whose minds are set

On fighting first, although the battle-list

Presents a tangled skein more intricate

Than all Apollo’s wisdom could untwist.

King Agramante, to untie the net,

Begins with two who, as you know, persist

As claimants to fair Doralice’s •hand,

One from the East, and one from his own land.

103

In an attempt to terminate this pother,

King Agramante now resolves to go

First to the one and, second, to the other,

And more than once returning to and fro,

Not only as their king, but like a brother,

Tries to remind them both of all they owe;

But both are deaf and both refuse to budge,

For both the lady each to each begrudge.

104

To this decision finally he came:

To ask if the two rivals were content

That Doralice one of them should name

To whom she would prefer to give consent;

And ever afterwards to play the game,

Accept her choice, whichever way it went,

And let the matter rest; this compromise

Pleases them both, for both expect the prize.

105

The king of Sarza loved her long before

The Tartar king appeared upon the scene

And many favours she bestowed of yore,

Though comme il faut the maid had always been;

And thus it was that Rodomont was sure

That he the fair princess was bound to win.

In this opinion he was not alone,

For all the Moors believed, it everY one.

106

They knew what Rodomonte had achieved

For her, in jousts and tournaments and war,

And Mandricard was foolish, they believed,

In odds as long as these to trust so far;

But he knew what was given and received

From set of sun until the morning star.

He knew for certain how he stood with her

And laughed to think how wrong the others were.

107

So the two aspirants to married bliss,

To seal the pact, join loyal palm to palm

And, kneeling, place them, as the custom is,

Between the monarch’s hands; without a qualm

They go to hear their lady’s verdict; this

She gives, with downcast eyes, but with a calm

Assurance: Mandricardo is her choice.

No cause has Rodomonte to rejoice.

108

Astonishment is seen on every face.

When Rodomonte raises his bowed head,

Anger and scorn his blush of shame replace.

The sentence was unjust and false, he said.

Seizing his sword, ‘With this let me erase,’

He cried for all to hear, ‘alive or dead,

The wayward judgement of a woman’s mind,

Ever to do what she should not, inclined.’

109

‘Let it be as you wish; you’ll come off worst!’

The Tartar monarch answered, filled with scorn;

But many miles of sea must be traversed

Before that vessel into port is borne.

King Agramante will not be coerced,

Nor from his fixed refusal will he turn.

No challenge is permitted, that is certain.

On the dispute he firmly drops the curtain.

110

And when the king of Sarza with dismay

Sees he is doubly scorned, both by his king

And by his lady, in one single day,

He has no further arguments to bring,

He has no longer any wish to stay;

And for his simple needs commissioning

Two servants only, of his many men,

He leaves the purlieus of the Saracen.

III

As when a bull, defeated by a young

Victorious male, the heifer must now yield,

And, wounded, he departs to roam among

The woods or streams or sands, away from field

And pasture, and unceasingly gives tongue,

With amorous bellows filling down and weald,

So Rodomonte, stricken by the grief

Of his dismissal, could find no relief.

112

Ruggiero, to regain his destrier

(And for this aim he’d put his armour on)

Set out to follow Rodomonte where

He rode away, but not far had he gone

When he remembered he must now defer

This combat and begin instead the one

Which Mandricard and he were due to fight,

Before Gradasso could usurp his right.

113

To see the Sarzan take his horse away

Before his eyes and yet to be thus tied,

On his proud spirit cannot fail to weigh;

But Sacripante, not disqualified

By obligation in some other fray

Such as now makes Ruggiero turn aside,

In this imbroglio an opponent lacks

And gallops after Rodomonte’s tracks.

114

He would have caught him too, had it not been

That on the way a strange event occurred:

A woman who had fallen in the Seine,

Whose cries for help as he rode by he heard,

Kept him for long so busy on the scene,

When he was free to go the trail was blurred.

For her survival she had him to thank,

Since he jumped in and dragged her to the bank.

115

And when he wanted to remount his steed

He found the animal had wandered off,

Not waiting for him to complete his deed.

He sought him over smooth and over rough

Terrain, for he was difficult indeed

To catch, though Sacripant ran fast enough.

At last he caught him, but had lost the trail

And rode at random over hill and dale.

116

Where, how, he found the horse and at what cost,

How Sacripant was taken prisoner,

And how Frontino once again was lost,

I will not tell you now, for I prefer

To say how Rodomonte shook the dust

From off his heels, leaving his king and her

Whom once he loved, but now for whom he burned

With anger for devotion unreturned.

117

The air is incandescent with his sighs

Wherever the afflicted lover goes,

And Echo in compassion for his cries

In hollow caverns more responsive grows.

‘Ah! Woman, wayward, wanton, full of lies,

Full of pretences, changes and vain shows,

The opposite of faith and truth and trust!

He who believes in her, his hopes are dust.

118

‘Neither long service, nor my constant love,

Which had been proved a thousand times and more,

Sufficed to hold your heart which ceased to prove

As fond towards me as it was before.

The Tartar king I was the rival of –

You could not think me his inferior.

No cause I find, though I search near and far,

Save only this: that you a woman are.

119

‘Ah, female sex, which God and Nature made

To be a curse and burden to mankind,

Man, who a heavy penalty has paid,

Without you joy and happiness could find!

As snakes and wolves and bears his peace invade,

As flies and wasps and hornets are designed

To sting, as tares and darnel choke the grain,

So women are created for his pain.

120

‘Why did kind Nature not provide for man

To multiply without your help, as we

By grafting pear with sorb or apple can

Cross-fertilize by careful husbandry?

But moderation is not Nature’s plan,

And if I think about it well, I see

That Nature nothing perfectly can do,

For Nature, that blind force, is female too.

121

‘You have no reason to be puffed with pride

That we, your sons, are born of women’s wombs:

The thorn-bush by the rose is beautified

And from a fetid plant a lily blooms.

All spite, all cruelty in you reside.

Your lack of faith, of love, of mercy, dooms

All men to sorrow, victims of your scorn;

As an unending torment you were born.’

122

Ranting and railing Rodomonte rode.

His diatribes against the sex, now low,

Now audible for miles, unceasing flowed.

Too far from reason he would sometimes go,

As from his soul he shed the heavy load

Of disillusionment; for well I know,

For every two or three who prove unkind,

A hundred women true and good you’ll find.

123

Although of all the women I have loved

Not one was faithful, yet I do not say

On this account that all are faithless proved.

The blame upon my cruel fate I lay.

Many there are who cannot be reproved

And no rebuke deserve in any way.

But if, among a hundred, one there be

Who is unkind, her prey I’m sure to be.

124

And yet I hope to find before I die,

Or ere my greying hairs grow whiter still,

One who is true, on whom I can rely

To keep all promises, all vows fulfil.

If this should ever come to pass (and I,

In spite of all, am hopeful that it will),

Her name I will extol to heights sublime

And praise untiringly in prose and rhyme.

125

Against his king the Sarzan raged no less

Than against Doralice and, beyond

All reason blaming him for his distress,

In violation of his loyal bond,

He longed to see his realm a wilderness,

Struck by a cataclysm so profound

That every Moorish house in twain were cleft

And not one stone upon a stone were left;

126

And, driven penniless to beg his bread,

A ragged monarch he’d go wandering,

Having no place to lay his royal head;

But Rodomonte timely help would bring

And to the throne which he’d inherited,

And to his wealth, restore the rightful king,

To show him what a loyal friend he slurred

When he let Mandricardo be preferred.

127

And thus he tried to soothe his troubled breast,

This way and that distributing the blame;

Long days and nights he journeyed without rest,

Making the good Frontino almost lame.

One day he found himself, sad and depressed,

Beside the Saône, for it had been his aim

To travel towards a harbour in Provence

And there take ship for Africa at once.

128

The river was alive from shore to shore

With lighters and with heavy craft which plied,

Stacked high with victualling and many a store

Which to the army was to be supplied.

This area had fallen to the Moor;

From Paris to the pleasant countryside

Of Aiguesmortes, then west as far as Spain,

The Infidel had no more lands to gain.

129

The stores, when disembarked, were piled in stacks

On carts for transport where no ships could go,

Or else were slung across the patient backs

Of mules, whose footing was secure but slow.

Fat cattle, destined for the butcher’s axe,

Explore the banks for pasture, to and fro,

And all along the Saône, from left to right,

Are inns which offer shelter for the night.

130

The night was coming on, the air was dank,

So Rodomonte thought he would put up

For shelter at an inn along the bank

Where a kind host invited him to sup.

His horse being stabled, he then ate and drank,

But not as Moslems should: for in his cup

Were poured choice wines from Greece and Corsica,

Which by Mahomet’s law forbidden are.

131

The landlord with good food and beaming face

Did everything he could to please the knight.

His presence there did honour to the place.

He recognized his valour at first sight,

And yet it seemed to him there was a trace

Of sadness, as of one who was not quite

Himself, for not a single word he spoke

And never once his mournful silence broke.

132

Despite himself, his thoughts were once again

With Doralice; the kind host, among

The best in all of France (although from Spain

And Africa the enemy now throng

His homeland, he decided to remain

And serve his clients), sensing something wrong,

Called his relations, but not one would dare

To rouse the Saracen who brooded there.

133

The pagan cavalier was lost in thought

And where he was he scarcely realized.

His head was bowed and, if he raised it, naught

He saw and no one else’s glance surprised.

After long silence, all his will he brought

To bear, it seemed, and like a man disguised

Who throws aside a mask, his brow he raised

And at the company intently gazed.

134

He broke the silence and with milder mien,

In gentle accents, as one mollified,

He asked the host and others on the scene

If they had wives, and when they had replied

That all of them were husbands, or had been,

He questioned each of them about his bride:

How far could she be trusted? Was she true?

Were faithful wives the rule, or were they few?

135

And everyone replied, except the host,

That they believed their wives were pure and chaste.

The landlord said: ‘There’s nothing to be lost

By speaking as you find: to each his taste,

I often say; but think what it will cost

If on such foolery your breath you waste:

Greenhorns you’ll be considered by this knight,

Unless you show him proof in black and white.

136

‘Because, just as the phoenix is unique,

And never more than one of them is found,

So of a faithful wife let no one speak,

For thin indeed they are upon the ground;

Yet every husband thinks he is that freak

Whose marriage by fidelity is crowned.

How is it possible that all can be

What in the whole world is a rarity?

137

‘Once I was guilty of the same mistake,

For I believed most womenfolk were true.

A gentleman from Venice chanced to make

A journey hither; after one or two

Of his ripe stories I was wide awake

And ever afterwards the truth I knew.

Valerio, Francesco was his name

Which graven on my memory became.

138

‘The tricks of mistresses or of sedate

Young wives, he had them at his finger-tips.

On top of that, the tales he could relate!

Ancient and new, they tumbled from his lips.

He quoted his own case to demonstrate

The truth of what he said; from all these tips

I learned that women are not chaste and pure

Although the clever ones may seem demure.

139

‘Among the many stories which he told

(And not a third of them could I recall)

The one I shall remember till I’m old

Is this, the most amazing of them all.

This is the one which I will now unfold;

And if, as I relate it, I should call

A spade a spade, I’m but a simple man.

I’ll tell the tale as plainly as I can.’

140

The pagan answered, ‘What could please me more

At present than to hear an anecdote

Which will confirm the view I held before

And chime with my opinion, note for note?

Sit facing me, that I may keep the score

Your best attention to the tale devote.’

The story which he told to Rodomont

In my next canto I will now recount.

CANTO XXVIII

Ladies, and all who the fair sex esteem,

For God’s sake do not listen to this tale

By which the landlord now prepares to shame

And slander you! Yet his intent will fail:

Of no importance is the praise or blame

Of vulgar folk, whose custom is to rail

Against their betters and to talk the most

On what they know the least of, like mine host.

Omit this canto for without it you

Will find the story will be no less clear.

Turpin includes it and so I do too,

But not for spite or rancour, have no fear.

I love you and have shown that this is true

A thousand times; witness to this can bear

The praise of you which in my verse occurs,

For I am, nor could other be than, yours.

Turn a few pages, three or four maybe,

And do not read a single verse or word;

But if you do, no more credulity

Than to a fairy-tale to this accord.

But, to return you to the company

Which sat attentive, anything but bored,

The host, complying with the knight’s request,

Began the story he remembered best.

‘Astolfo, of the Lombard kingdom heir,

After the monk, his elder brother, died,

Was in his youth so handsome and so fair

That few with him in beauty could have vied;

Not Zeuxis nor Apelles could compare

With all their art, however hard they tried.

Handsome he was and so by all was deemed,

But he more highly yet himself esteemed.

‘His rank to him was of less consequence

In setting him apart from other men.

His armed supporters and his affluence

Which made him, among monarchs, sovereign,

Were less important than the difference

In face and form which put a gulf between

Himself and other mortals; praise for this

To him was happiness, to him was bliss.

‘And at his court was one whom he loved well,

Fausto Latini, a Roman cavalier.

With him the vain young king would often dwell

Upon his looks, his shapely hand, his hair.

He asked his friend if ever he heard tell

Of any man who could be judged his peer.

The answer which he gave the king one day

Was not what he expected him to say:

‘ “From what I’ve heard and seen,” Fausto replied,

“Your beauty has few equals here below.

Few, do I say? If I searched far and wide,

One only would there be, as I well know:

My brother, named Giocondo. Though beside

You, other men have nothing they can show,

His only can stand up to equal you,

Not only equal, but surpass you too.”

‘This seemed to the young king beyond belief.

Till then his victor’s palm was uncontested.

He longed to see this splendid youth; in brief,

He thought his rival should be fully tested.

Lest his uncertainty should cause him grief,

A visit from Giocondo he requested.

Fausto agreed and said that he would try,

But doubted if he could and told him why:

‘In truth, in all his life (his brother said)

Giocondo had not ventured outside Rome,

But a serene existence always led,

A peaceful and contented stay-at-home.

The property which he inherited

Had not increased nor had it less become.

Pavia would have seemed as far to him

As someone else the river Don might deem.

‘Even more difficult the task would be

To separate him from his wife, because

Giocondo loved her so devotedly

Her wishes and desires for him were laws.

But Fausto, to obey His Majesty,

Said he would go to Rome and plead his cause.

The eager king had overwhelmed him bY

So many gifts he could not but comply.

‘So he departs and after a few days

Arrives in Rome and, at his father’s house,

The king’s request before Giocondo lays.

To his persuasiveness his brother bows.

Even his wife can no objection raise.

Indeed she sits as quiet as a mouse

While Fausto shows what benefits might come

If she will let her husband go from Rome.

‘Giocondo fixed the day they should depart

And servitors and horses chose meanwhile.

Garments were made for him, adorned with art,

For beauty is enhanced by clothes of style.

His wife and he are never seen apart.

Her eyes are wet with tears, she cannot smile.

She does not know, she says, how she can bear

To go on living if he is not near.

‘To think of it, she feels on her left side

As if her heart were torn up by the root.

“My life,” Giocondo said, and he too cried,

“Do not distress yourself; I will be but

Two months away, then home you’ll see me ride.

If Fortune favours me upon my route,

I’ll not prolong my absence by one day.

Not for one half his kingdom would I stay.”

‘Giocondo’s wife will not be comforted.

He will be too long absent, she knows well.

If on return he does not find her dead,

It will be nothing but a miracle.

She weeps all day, she weeps all night in bed.

She cannot eat; unable to dispel

Her grief, Giocondo, by compassion stirred,

Begins to wish he had not pledged his word.

‘His wife was wont to wear about her neck

A little cross which hung upon a chain,

Adorned with relics and with gems set thick.

A pilgrim left it to her father when,

Arriving at his gate infirm and sick,

He was received and tended in his pain;

And, dying, he bequeathed the precious gem

Which he had carried from Jerusalem.

‘She gave this gem to him and begged that he

Would wear it now in memory of her.

This pleased him and he promised readily.

Not that he needed a remembrancer;

No absence, length of time, or destiny,

No matter what befell, could ever blur

Her image and as long as he drew breath

He would remember her, and after death.

‘On the last night before he goes, they lie

So close together, in so sweet a swoon,

In her Giocondo’s arms she thought she’d die.

Knowing that she must do without him soon.

She did not sleep, she scarcely winked an eye.

Her husband, just an hour before the sun,

Came to his last embrace and off he sped.

His wife, who saw him off, went back to bed

‘He had not gone above a mile or two

When he remembered he had left the chain

Beneath his pillow. What was he to do?

“Alas!” he pondered, “How can I explain?”

For no excuses could he find, he knew.

His wife would think, and this would give her pain,

That little value on her gift he set,

Since he so soon his promise could forget.

‘When he rehearses an excuse, he knows

It will not seem acceptable or good,

No matter whom he sends, unless he goes

Himself in person, as he clearly should.

So, reining in his horse, its pace he slows.

“Ride on,” he says, “and in the neighbourhood

Around Baccano wait a while for me.

I will return and join you speedily.

‘ “I must go back; there is no other way

To do what I must do; I promise I

Will catch you up again without delay.”

He turned his horse around and said goodbye.

Taking no servitor, he rode away.

The sunlight had begun to gild the sky

When he arrived and, entering his house,

He went upstairs to find his sleeping spouse.

‘He drew the curtains of the bed aside

And saw what he could never have believed:

His chaste and faithful wife, his loving bride,

Clasped in a young man’s arms, no longer grieved.

And who he was the covers could not hide.

He knew at once by whom he was deceived:

A lad of humble stock who had been taught

To serve the household and was raised from naught.

‘Giocondo’s sorrow and astonishment

Are better understood at second hand

Than known by personal experiment

Such as this husband’s destiny had planned.

By rage and fury stung, he fully meant

To draw his sword and slay them but, unmanned

By pity for her (for he loved her still

Despite himself) his wife he could not kill.

‘And Love the tyrant (judge to what degree

Giocondo was his victim) would not let

Him even waken her for fear lest she,

On catching sight of him, might be upset

That he should find her in adultery.

Tiptoeing out, he left them sleeping yet.

Pricked to the quick by Love, he pricked his steed

And reached the inn just as his brother did.

‘Giocondo’s countenance seemed changed to all.

They saw his heart was heavy now, not gay;

But what had happened in the interval

When he rode back to Rome no one could say.

His journey was in truth equivocal,

For to Corneto he had gone that day.

Everyone guessed that love must be the cause,

Though far from knowing what his secret was.

‘His brother thinks Giocondo must be sad

Because of having left his wife alone,

Whereas the contrary is true: she had

Too much companionship when he was gone.

With furrowed brow and pouting lip, to add

To their perplexity, he gazed upon

The ground; all Fausto’s efforts are in vain.

The cause unknown, he cannot soothe his pain.

‘Without intending to, he treats the sore

With the wrong ointment; as though with a knife,

Where he would heal, he opens it the more,

By talking to Giocondo of his wife.

Small wonder is it this will not restore

His brother to his former joy in life.

His face, once beautiful, is changed so much,

It cannot be regarded now as such.

‘His lovely eyes are sunken in his head.

His nose looks longer in his wasted face.

As for the beauty contest, the less said

The better, since of his there is no trace.

Stricken with fever, he remains in bed

In Florence and Siena; any grace

Which can be seen to linger withers soon,

Like severed roses wilting in the sun.

‘Though Fausto, filled with sorrow and regret,

Was grieved to see his brother so distressed,

He was more vexed and troubled even yet

To think how he had praised him as the best

Of all the handsome men he’d ever met,

And now he would appear the ugliest;

But on towards Pavia all the same

They made their way and to the city came.

‘Unwilling to surprise the king, he wrote

Despatches to prepare him in advance

(Lest he should take him for an idiot),

Saying his brother by a sad mischance

To such a state of illness had been brought,

And so transfigured were his lineaments

(Affliction of the heart had been the cause)

That he no longer seemed the man he was.

‘Giocondo’s coming pleased the king no less

Than if he were a loved and long-lost friend,

For great indeed had been his eagerness.

Now all uncertainty is at an end.

He is relieved to find, he must confess,

His rival’s looks cannot with his contend,

Although but for Giocondo’s malady

He might superior or equal be.

‘Astolfo bids his servitors prepare

For him a set of rooms, and every day

He visits him; and every hour elsewhere

He asks about his health; in every way

He tries to honour him and show his care,

But still Giocondo languishes, a prey

To sadness which no music and no sport

Can cure, nor spectacle of any sort.

‘His rooms were at the top, beneath the roof,

And often to an attic he withdrew,

For he desired to keep himself aloof

And all delight and company eschew;

And there he brooded on the dismal proof

That she whom he so loved had proved untrue.

There he discovered (who would credit it?)

The remedy which made him well and fit.

‘The shutters at one end were always shut.

Giocondo sees that at a certain height

A space divides the plaster from a strut

And through a gap there shines a ray of light.

Giocondo is surprised and, having put

His eye to it, is startled by a sight

So unexpected he can scarce believe

The truth of what his very eyes perceive.

‘He sees a charming little chamber where

The queen invited only those whom she

Regarded the most intimate and dear

Of all her friends, and in strict secrecy.

Amazed, Giocondo sees a writhing pair:

A dwarf entangled with Her Majesty;

And so adroit the little man has been

That he has placed himself above the queen.

‘Giocondo by this sight is stupefied.

Thinking he must be dreaming, he looks on;

And when he sees his senses have not lied,

As earlier he thought they must have done,

“This hunchback, ugliness personified,”

He says, “a royal paramour has won,

Whose husband is the greatest king and quite

The handsomest; what a base appetite!

‘His wife, whom he has so condemned because

She took a youthful lover to her bed,

Now seems to him to have transgressed no laws

Of Nature, for the blame should not be laid

On her, but on the female sex which was

Insatiable; if it could be said

That all of them with the same brush were tarred,

At least his wife a hunchbacked monster barred.

‘On the next day, at the same time, he went

To the same place once more and squinnied through.

He saw the queen and dwarf again intent

On cuckolding the king; the next day too,

And the next after that, their time was spent

In toiling at this sportive task anew.

Strangest of all, the queen (at this he paled)

The monster’s lack of love for her bewailed.

‘One day he noticed she was much distressed.

The dwarf being absent, she had sent her maid

Not once, but twice, to call him to their nest.

He did not come, the queen grew more dismayed

And for his presence for a third time pressed.

“Ma’am, he is playing cards,” the damsel said;

“Just at the moment he is down one sou.

Till he breaks even he’ll not come to you.”

‘Giocondo’s face at this strange sight became

What formerly it was, smooth-browed, serene,

Bright-eyed, plump-cheeked, and jocund like his name;

His tears had ceased, once more his smiles were seen.

A radiance enveloped all his frame.

A cherub from on high he might have been.

The king, his brother, all astonished seem

To see the change that has come over him.

‘If the king longed to hear Giocondo say

What remedy had brought about this cure,

Giocondo for his part desired straightway

To tell the king, but wanted to be sure

The queen would have no penalty to pay,

Nor any retribution would endure.

No matter what he heard, he made him swear

Upon the host that he his wife would spare.

‘He made him swear that nothing which he heard,

That nothing untoward which he might see,

However painfully he might be stirred,

However flagrant the lese majesty,

Would make him take revenge, and by no word

The evil-doer should suspect that he,

The king, has fully understood the case

And knows precisely what has taken place

‘Astolfo gave his word without delay.

All else, except the truth, he could believe.

Giocondo then at last began to say

What had occurred to make him pine and grieve

(Not he alone has cause to feel dismay,

For women do not scruple to deceive):

To find his wife in bed with a young lad

Giocondo’s very life endangered had.

‘But in this palace a strange sight he’d seen

And now his deep despondency was gone.

Though he had fallen in the eyes of men,

In such dishonour he was not alone.

He leads Astolfo to the gap between

The plaster and the strut; the dwarf is shown

Astride the stolen mare, which by his spurs,

And by manège, to high curvets he stirs.

‘You will believe, I have no need to swear it,

This despicable sight the king appals.

If he does not go mad, then he comes near it.

He almost bangs his head against the walls.

His anger is so fierce he cannot bear it,

He almost shouts, but this the pact forestalls.

He stops his mouth, as well he knows he must,

For he has sworn upon the sacred host.

‘ “Brother, advise me; what am I to do?”

Astolfo asked, “for since I am denied

All vengeance by the vow I swore to you,

What satisfaction is there for my pride?”

“Let’s leave our two ungrateful wives to stew

In their own juice,” Giocondo then replied;

“Let’s see how many are adulterous

And do to husbands what was done to us.

‘ “We are both young, our looks exceptional.

What woman could resist us or refuse?

If to such brutes so easily they fall,

We shall possess as many as we choose.

If youth and beauty are of no avail,

With money in our purse we cannot lose.

Do not return till you have claimed as booty

A thousand wives; regard this as your duty.

‘ “Absence from home, travel in foreign parts,

The company of women in strange lands,

Are said to be a cure for broken hearts.”

The king approves the plan and he commands

Two squires to bear them company; he starts

In a few hours and into Fortune’s hands

The Lombard monarch and the knight of Rome

Their future both commit as forth they roam.

‘They travelled through all Italy and France,

In Flanders and in England, in disguise.

Wherever pretty faces drew their glance,

They met with none but courteous replies,

And were invited soon to join the dance.

They gave and they received; to their surprise

The money which they offered was returned;

By some they were invited, by none spurned.

‘And staying one month here and two months there,

Not once but many times they verified

Their wives no worse than other women were.

However far they travelled, far and wide,

They found none chaste and faithful anywhere.

After a time the two of them decide

To call a halt; in every neighbourhood

Husbands are waiting, thirsting for their blood.

‘Better to choose one girl who by her face

And form would please them both and who

Would satisfy them equally; no trace

Of jealousy need come between the two.

Astolfo asked, “If I must yield my place

Not to a stranger but, instead, to you.

Why should I mind? In all the female clan

There is not one contented with one man.

‘ “One woman, without overdoing it,

But guided by our natural desires,

Let us enjoy in common, as is fit.

There is no need to quarrel: as one tires,

The other can take over for a bit.

She will be pleased; a wife perhaps requires

Two husbands, and if this could be arranged

The present state of marriage might be changed.”

‘The king’s suggestion greatly pleased the knight,

Who liked to hear him talking in this vein.

The project he accepted with delight.

So, searching every hill and every plain,

They found at last a girl who seemed just right,

The daughter of an innkeeper in Spain.

His inn was in Valencia, near the bay,

And she was fair and sweet in every way.

‘She was a damsel in the bloom of spring,

Of tender age and scarcely yet mature.

The poverty which broods of children bring

Such trials caused her father to endure

That to persuade him proved an easy thing.

His daughter he is willing to procure

And even for a modest sum to sell,

Provided they will always treat her well.

‘They took the girl and had their pleasure of her.

In amity alternately they came.

First one and then the other played the lover,

As bellows in succession fan the flame.

Now when this trio’s tour of Spain is over,

To visit Africa is their next aim.

They leave Valencia and that same day,

Arriving at Jativa, there they stay.

‘The partners go to see the palaces,

The monuments, the churches and the squares,

For visiting the sights their custom is

On all their travels, in between affairs.

Back at the inn, the girl of service is :

Horses are stabled, beds are made upstairs;

She helps the kitchen boys set out a meal

To meet requirements of the clientele.

‘There was a lad in service at the inn

Who at her father’s house was once employed;

And from his earliest years this boy had been

The girl’s admirer and her love enjoyed.

They eyed each other furtively, unseen

By those around them; careful to avoid

The knowing looks of the inquisitive,

When anyone is there, no sign they give.

‘But when an opportunity arose,

He asked the damsel where she went and why,

And which her lord and master was of those

Two travellers she was escorted by.

Fiammetta (that’s her name) tells all she knows.

(The young man’s name is Greco, by the by.)

“Alas,” he said, “when once again I find you,

You must depart and leave me far behind you!

‘ “All my sweet plans to bitterness are turned,

For you belong to others, not to me.

From tips and meagre wages which I earned,

I skimped and hoarded with economy.

In all this time for you alone I yearned

And in Valencia I longed to be,

Where, when I’d settled down, as I had planned,

I’d go and ask your father for your hand.”

‘The damsel shrugged her shoulders and replied

That it was now a little late, she thought.

Greco shed tears (some in pretence) and sighed.

“Ah! do not thus torment me,” he besought.

“You will regret your scorn when I have died.

Let my desire have rein, ere I am brought

To my last hour; each hour with you I spend

Will help to reconcile me to my end.”

‘Fiammetta said, moved to compassion now,

“Believe me, I desire it too, no less;

But when can we achieve it, where and how,

Surrounded as we are by witnesses?”

Greco replied, “Were but the love you vow

A third of that which I for you confess,

You would contrive to find this very night

Some hideaway where we could share delight.”

‘ “How can I,” said the girl, “when all night through

I lie between two men and either one

Is taking pleasure of me, as is due,

And when one stops, the other has begun?”

Greco replied, “This need not trouble you,

For I will show you how it can be done,

And, if you wish, I’ll even set you free.

Surely you wish it, if you care for me?”

‘Fiammetta thinks a moment and then says,

When everyone appears to be asleep

That night, if her instructions he obeys,

He’ll find it will be possible to creep

Unnoticed up and down the passage-ways.

When all is quiet, Greco, step by step,

Reaches her bedroom door, as she has said,

And softly tiptoes in towards the bed.

‘And from the moment when his footsteps pass

The threshold of the room, as if on eggs,

Or like a man afraid of breaking glass,

He shifts his weight on to alternate legs,

Which in long strides thus gingerly progress;

And, like a blind man groping as he begs,

He finds the bed, and where the sleepers’ feet

Are, Greco goes head first beneath the sheet.

‘And, sliding up between Fiammetta’s thighs,

Who on her back in expectation lay,

He reached so high, he could no further rise.

Thus they remain embraced till break of day;

And all that night no other mount he tries,

But on this filly gallops all the way.

She goes so well he needs no other horse,

And she is quite content to stay the course.

‘Giocondo and the king were well aware

Of the vibration in the bed that night,

But each of them fell victim to the snare,

Thinking the other was the favoured knight.

When Greco knew he could no further fare,

He slipped away as he had come; the light

Of day on the horizon could be seen

When the girl rose and let the servants in.

‘The king said to Giocondo, jokingly,

“Brother, you must have ridden quite a way.

You’d better rest a while, it seems to me.

You were on horseback till the break of day.”

Giocondo answered him as smilingly,

“You have just said what I was going to say.

You are the one who needs a good long rest.

All night you galloped and your quarry chased.”

‘Astolfo said, “I also, I admit,

Should have been glad to give my dog a run

If you had let me ride the horse a bit.

For my need, a brief canter would have done.”

Giocondo answered, “Do as you think fit.

I am your vassal, be there pact or none.

Such innuendoes wasted are on me.

You could have said, «Now let the damsel be.»”

‘And soon at one another’s head they fling

Annoyed retorts and, moving on from jests,

They come to bitter taunts, and jibes which sting.

Such mockery their patience sorely tests.

They call Fiammetta, who alone can bring

Some light upon the truth which each contests

And each continues to reiterate.

She is not far; they have not long to wait.

‘ “Come here,” Astolfo said, with a fierce look,

“We will not hurt you, neither he nor I:

Who was it who such lusty pleasure took

Of you, that no one else all night could try?”

Each thought the other would be brought to book

And proved a liar by the girl’s reply.

Fiammetta throws herself upon her knees,

Imploring pardon; all is lost, she sees.

‘She pleaded that her love for a young man

And her compassion for his tortured heart

Had led her, wrongly, to devise a plan

Which they had carried out with skill and art.

A true account of it she then began,

Telling no lies concerning any part.

She said how Greco hoped to trick them both

In such a way they’d never know the truth.

‘Exchanging glances of astonishment,

Giocondo and Astolfo at once knew,

From their expressions it was evident,

No men were made such fools of as they two.

Then, bursting into equal merriment,

They throw their heads back, open-mouthed, and screw

Their eyes up; scarce a breath can either fetch

As on the bed both fall and helpless stretch.

‘When they have laughed so much they can no more,

With streaming eyes, holding their sides for mirth,

They ask each other, “How can we make sure

Our wives are faithful, when no power on earth

Our rights in this one woman can secure?

We lay so close to her: what was the worth?

If husbands had as many eyes as hairs,

Their wives would still betray them unawares.

‘ “A thousand women we have had in bed,

And all were beautiful and to our taste,

And no resistance any of them made.

To sample any more would be a waste.

We have now proved the wives whom we have wed

Are no more lecherous and no less chaste:

Cosi fan tutte! let us now go home,

Enjoy our wives ourselves and cease to roam.”

‘Having said this, they sent Fiammetta first

To fetch her lover, and they blessed the pair

With many witnesses; they then disbursed

A dowry to her, generous and fair.

Then, mounting on their horses, they reversed

Their route, from west to east; quite soon they were

United with their wives, and from that day

No fault they found with them in any way.’

The landlord brought his story to a close,

And keen attention everyone had paid.

No word did Rodomonte interpose,

But sat in silence till an end was made.

‘I well believe the tricks a woman knows

Are almost infinite,’ at last he said,

‘And not a thousandth part of female guile

Could all the scribes in all the world compile.’

One man, mature in years, endowed with sense

And better judgement, and with courage too,

Such slander of the female sex resents,

Which should be more respected, in his view.

‘Mine host,’ he says, ‘in my experience

I have heard many things which are not true,

And many tales which no assent have won.

Of these your anecdote is surely one.

‘And I put no reliance on the man

Who first related it, not if he is

St John Evangelist himself. I can

Assure you that his harsh remonstrances

Are based on hasty judgement, rather than

True knowledge; two or three adulteries,

And he condemns all women! When his mood

Has passed, he’ll praise them all as chaste and good.

‘And if he wants to utter praise instead,

The scope is wider than it is for blame.

A hundred women could be garlanded

For every one who puts the sex to shame.

Opprobrium should not on all be spread,

When countless others worthy are of fame.

If otherwise you heard Valerio speak,

You may be sure he did so out of pique.

‘Tell me: is there one man among you all

Who has not been unfaithful to his wife,

Who would refuse an extra-marital

Adventure as a change from married life?

A man must be a liar or a fool

Who would deny such episodes are rife.

Temptation is the test of constancy

(I’m not referring here to harlotry).

‘Do you know any man who would not leave

His wife, however lovely, to pursue

Another woman, hoping to receive

Her favours easily? What would he do

If some invited him, or were to give

Him presents, to make love to them? Both you

And I would do our best, I think, to please

Not only those whom we pursue, but these.

‘Those wives who are unfaithful (there are some)

Have had good reason for it, I dare say:

Their husbands, tired of what there is at home,

After new joys and new adventures stray.

They should give love, if they expect love from

Their wives, and in the same degree and way.

If it were in my hands I would impose

A law which no man rightly could oppose.

‘According to this law, no woman known

To be adulterous would punished be

By death unless in court it could be shown

Her spouse had never in adultery

Been found; if with another he had gone

(Once would suffice) his wife should be set free.

Did not Christ say: “Unto others do not do

What you would not they should do unto you”?

‘Incontinence is the besetting sin

Of women, but not all of them succumb;

And in this contest easily we win,

For not one man in all the world you’ll come

Upon who’s continent; when we begin

To list our other failings, then by whom,

I ask, are worse deeds done, than blasphemy,

Murder or theft, arson or usury?’

The earnest, just old man examples brought,

In reinforcement of his arguments,

Of women who by neither deed nor thought

Allowed a stain upon their innocence.

But truth was not what Rodomonte sought.

By threatening him with cruel truculence

He cut the old man short – but could not alter

The views he held; in these he did not falter.

When he had vented all his scorn and spleen,

The pagan king withdrew and went to bed.

He tried in vain to sleep, outstretched between

The sheets until the dark of night was sped.

When the first ray of morning light was seen,

Still weary from the tears which he had shed,

He rose and took his leave; he planned that day

To take a river-boat and sail away.

For he respected, as a cavalier

Should always do, the splendid horse he rode,

Of which both Sacripante and Ruggier

Had been deprived; two days upon the road

Without a pause, exceeded what a destrier

Should do; and so upon a ship he stowed

The steed, to let him take a well-earned rest,

This means of transport being the speediest.

He bids the boatman launch the boat straightway

And ply the oars; the vessel, light and trim,

With little cargo, soon gets under way

And floats along the river Saône, down-stream.

The pagan’s sorrow haunts him all that day.

On water and on land it follows him.

It lies in wait for him on prow and poop;

It sits behind his saddle on the croup.

It takes possession of his head and heart

And to all consolation bars access.

Like one besieged, he knows not where to start

To look for help; there can be no redress,

For now the citadel in every part,

By those who should be guarding it, no less!

Is overrun; and he whose duty is

To help, betrays him to his enemies.

He voyages all day and the next night,

And heavy is his heart with grief and woe.

He cannot banish from his mind the slight

He suffered from his lady or the blow

Inflicted by his king; and no respite,

No matter how he travels, does he know:

No water anywhere will quench the flame.

He changes place: his state remains the same.

And as a sick man on a fevered bed,

Who turns and tosses in his weariness,

Hoping to be relieved or comforted

By lying first on that side, now on this,

And by his hopes is every time misled,

And nothing gains from all his restlessness,

So Rodomonte, fleeing from his pain

On land, on water, finds he flees in vain.

Impatient now with life on board he grows.

Stepping ashore, he mounts his steed, and soon,

Passing Lyons, Vienne, Valence he goes

To see the famous bridge at Avignon.

This territory now obedience owes,

With that between Subalda and the Rhône,

To Agramante and the king of Spain

Who in possession unassailed remain.

Near Aiguesmortes a right-hand route he takes,

Meaning to reach Algiers without delay,

But near a stream he finds a town which makes

Him change his mind and there decide to stay.

Of wine and corn this region nothing lacks,

But all the occupants have fled away.

It lies between the sea and sunlit vales

Where corn in golden waves the eye regales.

He finds a little church upon a brow.

It has been newly built, he notices,

But stands neglected and abandoned now,

For to escape the recent ravages

The priests have fled; he sees it will allow

Retreat and quietude, advantages

He values; so his journey to Algiers

In favour of this dwelling he defers.

All thoughts of Africa being thus postponed,

He lodged his servants and his destrier

And stowed his baggage in the same compound.

Near by the city of Montpellier

And other cities, too, the hill-tops crowned.

The village, which is situated near

A teeming river, every means provides

Of food for anyone who there resides.

One day as he was brooding on his pain

(As for long hours his habit was to sit)

He saw approaching on a grassy plain

Along a little path bisecting it

A damsel with a bearded monk in train;

And on her face the woes of love were writ.

Behind them walked a charger on whose back

Was borne a heavy burden, draped in black.

Who the monk is and who the doleful maid

And who it is they bring, is surely clear:

The grieving Isabella, as I said,

Zerbino’s body, which she held so dear,

Upon his horse devoutly thus conveyed.

When I last spoke of her I left her near

Provence; the venerable monk had just

Persuaded her in God to put her trust.

Although her face bewildered is and wan

And all her locks dishevelled, and her sighs

Follow unceasing on each other, one

By one, and tears as from two fountains rise,

And other signs of sorrow undergone

Are evident to a beholder’s eyes,

So much of beauty can be seen as well,

That Love and the three Graces there might dwell.

As soon as Rodomonte saw the fair

Young damsel, all his blame and hatred of

The female sex had vanished in thin air

As nearer into view he saw her move.

Worthy she seems to him beyond compare

To be the object of his second love.

His former love no longer now survives,

As from a plank one nail another drives.

He went to meet her, and with gentle speech

And in his most ingratiating style

He asked her what her trouble was; to which

The maiden answered frankly, without guile,

That with God’s help she had resolved to reach

Some holy convent, to escape the vile

And foolish world, and to perform good works.

At this the unbelieving pagan smirks

100

He calls her aim mistaken and perverse;

Her resolution is, he knows, unsound.

No better than a miser, perhaps worse,

It is to hide such riches underground.

The miser makes no use of his own purse.

And by no other men can it be found.

Lions and bears and snakes must be confined,

Not lovely creatures, innocent and kind.

101

The monk had overheard the Saracen

And so, to guide the maid in the right way,

He took the helm for her a while and then

A lavish feast proceeded to display

Of spiritual food such as the souls of men

Require to fit them for the Judgement Day.

Of this repast the pagan will not eat,

Having no inclination for such meat.

102

He tried to interrupt the monk in vain.

The flow of eloquence he could not quell;

And finally his patience broke the rein.

Enraged, upon the holy man he fell.

But now my flow of words I must restrain

Lest I exceed what is acceptable.

I end this canto lest I too incur

The anger which loquacity can stir.

CANTO XXIX

How vacillating is the mind of man!

How rapid are the changes which it makes!

How quickly jettisoned is every plan!

How soon new love in angry hearts awakes!

Through Rodomonte’s veins such fire there ran,

Such burning hatred of the female sex,

I wondered whether there were any ways

Of quenching, or of cooling, such a blaze.

Sweet ladies, for the evil which he spoke

Concerning you, I have been so irate

That I’ll not pardon him till I invoke

All my best skill and fully demonstrate

In pen and ink to all who read my book

How wrong and how unfounded was his hate;

Far better were it to have bitten through

His tongue, or held it, than speak ill of you.

That he was ignorant will now be shown,

And stupid too for, venting his tirade,

He aimed it at all women, every one,

Without reserve, and no exception made.

And now by Isabella he’s undone.

A glance from her: all his convictions fade.

Straightway he puts her in the other’s place –

Her name unknown, and scarcely glimpsed her face.

And so, by this new passion pricked and stung,

He urges further reasoning, in vain,

For Isabella, though she is so young,

In serving God salvation hopes to gain.

The hermit, like a shield robust and strong,

Her firm resolve continues to sustain;

With many sound and valid arguments

He valorously comes to her defence.

And when the cruel pagan has endured

For long enough the hermit’s bold defence,

When he has many times in vain assured

Him he can get him to his desert hence,

When even then he finds he is not cured

Of persevering in his insolence,

Enraged, the holy hermit’s beard he snatches

And where he pulls, it comes away in batches.

His wrath and fury grew till, like a vice,

His hand had gripped the hermit’s neck and throat;

Then round his head he whirled him once or twice

And flung him towards the sea; whether or not

The holy man then paid the final price,

Varies according to the anecdote:

In one, his body struck against a stone

And there, unrecognized, his parts were strewn.

Some have suggested in the interim

He fell into the sea, three miles away,

And that he died because he could not swim:

All he could do was clasp his hands and pray;

Still others that a saint assisted him:

A hand came out of Heaven to convey

The drowning man ashore; howe’er it be,

No more about him now you’ll hear from me.

The cruel Rodomonte, having thus

Removed the importuning holy man,

Now with a countenance less mutinous

Turned to the grieving damsel and began

In words much favoured by the amorous:

She was his heart, his life and dearer than

Whatever he held dear, his fondest hope,

And other terms which gave his passion scope.

His manner was so gentle and controlled,

No vestige of coercion it betrayed;

His pride, so fierce and furious of old,

Was humbled by the beauty of the maid.

He knew he had the fruit within his hold,

Yet not one move to pluck it he essayed.

It seemed to him it might not taste so sweet

If as a gift she did not offer it.

And by such gentle means, by slow degrees

He hopes to bend the damsel to his will;

And, helpless in that lonely place, she sees

The cat will pounce upon the mouse, and kill.

Rather than suffer such indignities,

A death by burning seems less terrible.

She tries to think of some device or act

By which she can escape from him intact.

She is resolved by her own hand to die

Rather than yield to Rodomonte’s lust,

And his barbaric cruelty defy

Rather than violate her sacred trust.

Though unkind Fate had chosen to deny

Fulfilment of her love, she knew she must

Fulfil the vow of chastity she made

When in her arms her cavalier lay dead.

She saw the pagan king’s blind appetite

Grow stroner still, and wondered what to do,

For when such frenzy rose to its full height

Resistance would be useless then, she knew.

But as she meditated on her plight

She found at last the course she must pursue

To save her chastity and her good name,

For which she well deserves undying fame.

The ugly Saracen, who moved towards

His victim with a resolute intent,

Was using less conciliatory words.

His evil purpose was now evident.

Then Isabella said, ‘If the rewards

Of virtue will not lead you to relent,

I offer you a recompense to spare

My honour: you have only to forbear.

‘So small a pleasure and so brief as this,

Of which there is a plentiful supply,

Is not to be preferred to that which is

A lasting boon; women with whom to lie,

Lovely in face and form, are numberless,

But no one else could give you, only I

(Or very few in all the world I’d say),

The gift which I can offer you today.

‘I know a herb – along my way it grew –

And I can find it easily again;

It must be boiled with ivy and with rue

Over a fire of cypress-wood; to strain

The liquid, let it be pressed between two

Sinless hands; take the fluid next and stain

Your body with it thrice; you will grow hard

And can be harmed by neither fire nor sword.

‘He who anoints himself with it, I say –

But not just once, three times, in every part –

Invulnerable for a month will stay;

The virtue of the juice will then depart

And more of it must be distilled; today,

I’ll make you some, for I have learnt the art.

This day you’ll see such liquid is worth more

Than if you now were Europe’s conqueror.

‘I ask you in return for this to swear

Upon your faith that by no word or deed

You will again molest me or come near,

And that my vow of chastity you’ll heed.’

This offer made the Saracen forbear,

And to the stipulation he agreed.

He promised all she asked him and beyond,

Eager to be a knight whom none can wound.

And he will keep his word until he tries

The liquid for its marvellous effects.

All sign of violence he will disguise.

His menacing behaviour he corrects.

And yet he later means to have the prize,

For neither God nor Prophet he respects.

Of all the liars Africa can boast,

He is the one who breaks his word the most.

A thousand times and more the pagan king

Now promised her that she was safe with him,

If she procured the liquid which could bring

Immunity from wounds in every limb.

So, over cliffs the maid went clambering

And down into the valleys deep and dim.

She gathered many herbs; the Saracen

Followed her everwhere, alert and keen.

They picked as many herbs as she thought right.

Some had their roots and others rootless were.

When they regained their dwelling, late at night,

She, of a chastity beyond compare,

Boiled the concoction till the morning light

With full attention and the utmost care:

And Rodomonte watched her as she stirred

And, as it simmered, in the potion peered.

As he beguiles the time with cards and dice

With the few servitors who are awake,

The heat becomes oppressive; in a trice

A raging thirst they are obliged to slake.

Filling their flagons more than once or twice,

Refreshment more than once or twice they take

Two barrels of Greek wine are soon left dry

Which they had pillaged from some passers-by.

Now, Rodomonte is not used to wine,

For alcohol the Muslim law proscribes;

And tasting it, he finds it more divine

Than nectar or the manna of the tribes

Of Israel; he curses as malign

The Saracen observance, and imbibes.

The wine was excellent and freely flowed.

That it was strong, their spinning heads soon showed.

And in the meantime Isabella took

The cauldron from the fire; the herbs were done.

No longer need she leave them there to cook.

‘No empty words upon the wind I’ve sown,’

She said, ‘as I shall prove if you will look.

Experiment, the means by which is shown

The truth which is distinguished from a lie,

On my own body I shall shortly try.’

And she went on, ‘I want to be the first

To test the potent virtue of this juice,

For you might otherwise suspect the worst

And poisonous ingredients deduce.

When head and neck and breast I have immersed,

Then put your sword with all your strength to use.

See if this potion has the power to check

Your weapon’s edge, or if it cuts my neck.’

She smoothed the mixture on, as she had said;

With joy her neck to the imprudent king

She bared – imprudent, and by wine misled,

Against whose fumes no helm or shield can bring

Defence; and like a stupid dunderhead,

His cruel weapon wildly brandishing,

Her breast and torso he divested of

Her lovely head, the dwelling once of Love.

It bounced three times, and from it a clear voice

Was heard to call Zerbino, for whose sake

Unflinchingly she made so rare a choice

And bravely this escape preferred to make.

Heroic soul, who paid so high a price,

Who, with your very life, so young, at stake,

Fulfilled your sacred vow of chastity

(A term unheard-of in our century),

Depart in peace, blest soul, so sweet and fair!

Would that I had the skill and eloquence,

And that my verse with art embellished were,

So that a thousand, thousand years from hence

Your celebrated name the world might hear

And learn the story of your innocence!

Depart in peace to the supernal throne,

Of all your sex the perfect paragon.

On such heroic courage God confers

Encomium: ‘More highly I commend

This deed which thou hast done than hers

Who brought the rule of Tarquin to an end.

Among My laws, which time shall not reverse,

Lo! a new edict henceforth I intend

Which by the inviolable seas I swear

No man shall change nor future age impair.’

And the Creator uttered His decree:

‘Whoever in the future bears thy name,

Wise, beautiful and courteous shall be,

And virtue cherish as her constant aim.

Renowned in rhyme, honoured in history,

It will be chronicled, and with its fame

Parnassus, Pindus, Helicon will ring,

“Isabella, Isabella” echoing.’

God spoke; the sea and the surrounding air

More tranquil then became and more serene.

Her soul, so chaste, ascends to the third sphere,

To be embraced anew by her Zerbin.

The pagan brute was left to stand and stare,

More cruel than Bréhus had ever been.

Then rage and shame his fuddled mind possess.

Blaming the wine, he curses his excess.

And to placate or partly satisfy

The soul of Isabella, now in bliss,

Since by his action she had come to die,

He thought he would attempt amends for this:

Her life, so brief, should be remembered by

The church: for all that he had done amiss

He would convert it to a sepulchre

And dedicate the monument to her.

From villages around he summons there

Stone-masons and six thousand men at least.

Some answer willingly, others in fear.

The height of the surrounding hills decreased

As heavy blocks were cut and trundled near.

From tip to base the stone they raised and dressed

Was ninety yards; his aim was to enclose

The church wherein the lovers now repose.

It emulates the mighty edifice

Beside the Tiber, built by Hadrian.

A tower is raised, near the necropolis;

To dwell therein is Rodomonte’s plan,

And he gives orders that a bridge which is

Sufficient length the foaming stream shall span.

Though it is long, it has the width at best

For two good horsemen there to ride abreast

Two horsemen riding level or who met

Half-way across its length-finding thereon

No guard-rail or defence or parapet,

Would fall into the stream from either one

Side or the other; thus a toll was set

For pagans and for Christians; very soon

The spoils of warriors adorn the shrine,

Where trophies in their thousands gleam and shine.

In ten days or in less the bridge was made.

At a high price the river could be crossed.

The tomb was not completed at such speed;

Nor had the tower reached its uppermost

And crowning summit, but a look-out stayed

On the top storey, watching from his post,

And every time a cavalier drew near

The watchman’s horn was sounded, loud and clear.

Then Rodomonte armed himself and went

To challenge the intruder; now from one,

Now from the other, bank he would prevent

His progress; if the cavalier came on,

He had to battle in a strange event

Fought in a narrow list, its like unknown;

The destrier would fall at one false step

Into the river full and fast and deep.

By fighting in such peril on the brink,

Taking so many risks of falling in,

The pagan hoped that if obliged to drink

The water it would wash away his sin,

Which had been caused by wine; he seemed to think

That such a plunge would leave him purged and clean:

Water, which quenches thirst for wine, he says,

The errors which wine causes must eřase.

Not long does Rodomonte wait in vain.

By many soon the bridge attempted is.

By those who made for Italy or Spain

No other route more travelled was than this.

Others who dare at any cost to gain

True glory such a challenge will not miss.

All of them hope to win a victor’s crown.

All of them lose their arms, and many drown.

Those whom the pagan vanquished in the fight,

If they were Saracens, he was content

To strip, and on their weapons clearly write

Their names and hang them on the monument.

For Christians he devised a different plight:

To keep them prisoners was his intent

And send them to Algiers; and then one day

The mad, deranged Orlando passed that way.

The frenzied Count had turned his steps by chance

Towards the river, deep and swift and wide,

Where many masons laboured to advance

The tower and the tomb; for all they tried,

The work was not yet done; with sword and lance,

Without a helmet, Rodomont defied

All comers as Orlando then appeared

And river-bank and bridgehead quickly neared.

And with a madman’s strength he leaps the gate

And runs across the bridge at frantic speed;

But Rodomonte, puzzled and irate,

Beneath the tower, on foot, not on his steed,

Bellows an order for him to retreat.

(To challenge such as him he sees no need.)

‘Go back, you boor; this is no place for you;

Elsewhere your rash and headlong course pursue.

‘This bridge was made for lords and cavaliers,

Not for such coarse and bestial passers-by.’

Orlando, being distracted, nothing hears,

But comes ahead despite the pagans cry.

‘I see I’ll have to box this madman’s ears,’

Says Rodomonte, his resentment high.

Meaning to push him off the bridge, he goes,

For who it is who comes he little knows.

A fair young damsel came in sight just then.

As she approached the bridge, her lovely face

And beautiful adornments could be seen.

She picked her way with care, at prudent pace.

My lord, this is the damsel who has been

In search of Brandimarte, but no trace

Of him has found, for she looks everywhere

But Paris, where he is, as you’re aware.

When Fiordiligi (that’s the damsel’s name)

Arrived upon the bridge, the pagan king

Was wrestling with Orlando, for his aim

Had been to catch and in the water fling

The frenzied trespasser who onward came.

She knew Orlando’s wits were wandering;

She realized at once this must be he,

And marvelled greatly at such malady.

She stops to watch the outcome of the fight

Between this pair of combatants, one nude,

The other armed, who strove with all their might

To throw each other down into the flood.

‘This madman has the valour of a knight,’

The pagan muttered and, as best he could,

He turned and whirled and veered from side to side,

Swelling the while with scorn and wrath and pride.

With one and then the other hand he tries

To get a better hold; he waits his chance,

Trying to trip him, now between the thighs

And now between the feet; Orlando’s stance

Is shaken by no force, nor by surprise.

The pagan, like a stolid bear which wants

To devastate the tree from which it fell,

His rage and fury spends on him pell-mell.

Orlando’s mind is sunk, I know not where.

He uses in this battle force alone,

That mighty force, exceptional and rare,

In all the universe a paragon.

Locked swaying in a fierce embrace, the pair

Pitch headlong from the bridge they wrestle on

And plunge together to the utmost deeps.

The margins tremble as the water leaps.

The river makes them separate in haste.

Orlando, naked, agile as a fish,

Strikes out with arms and legs, and swimming fast

Soon lands upon the shore; he has no wish.

To look behind or further time to waste,

But straightway rushes off; his heathenish

Opponent, whom his armour held beneath,

Emerged more slowly and with laboured breath.

Meanwhile the damsel was now seen to ride

Across the bridge and, venturing with care,

She searched the monument from side to side

To see if Brandimarte’s shield was there.

No sign of her dear love was to be spied,

So she had hopes of fínding him elsewhere.

But let us now the Count Orlando find,

Who river, bridge and tower leaves behind.

It would be mad if all his madnesses

One after one I tried to chronicle.

There were so many, what their number is

And where to finish them, I could not tell;

I will select whatever instances

For my heroic song are suitable,

Such as his deeds (which I must not refuse)

High in the Pyrenees above Toulouse.

Since madness took possession of the knight,

For many miles his fury drove him on,

Till finally he clambered to the height

Which has divided Frank from Tarragon.

He’d followed the direction of the light,

Ever pursuing the declining sun.

A narrow mountain-path he went along

Which on one side a valley overhung.

And face to face along this pass he met

Two woodcutters, both young, who goaded home

An ass which bore the wood they went to get;

And when they see this raving madman come,

They utter many a shout and many a threat,

And coarsely order him to give them room.

‘Go back,’ they call, or ‘Stand aside,’ they cry,

‘And clear the way for us as we go by.’

Orlando makes no answer to their shouts,

Save that with fury he lets fly a kick

Which takes the donkey squarely in the guts.

Joined with the frenzy of a lunatic,

His strength is now extreme beyond all doubts.

The donkey soon becomes the merest speck

As through the sky it travels like a bird

And to a hill a mile off is transferred.

Next, he advanced upon the youths, and one,

Who had more luck than judgement, leapt below,

A jump of sixty yards, but not for fun –

Because there was no other place to go.

However, half-way down he landed on

A patch of grass and bramble, and although

He scratched his face a little, luckily

In other ways the lad escaped scot-free.

The other clambered up a jagged spur

And tried to gain the summit of the rock

Hoping some hiding-places yonder were,

Where he might yet escape by hook or crook

But this Orlando does not let occur:

He reaches up and seizes either hock.

Parting his arms as wide as they will go,

He tears his victim’s body into two,

Just as we sometimes see a heron split

Apart, or see a chicken opened wide,

So that a falcon or a hawk can eat

The smoking entrails and be satisfied.

Lucky the lad who fell upon his feet,

Although to break his neck, it seemed, he tried!

And he it was who told the miracle,

And Turpin heard it and told us as well.

Such acts and many more astounding deeds

Are done as he continues to explore.

At last, towards noon, he takes a path which leads

Downhill to Spain, and there along the shore,

Where the salt wave advances and recedes,

In Tarragon he journeys as before.

The fury which possesses him has planned

That he shall make a shelter in the sand.

And so, to seek protection from the sun,

He ran for cover where the sand was dry

And there he lay, unseen by anyone,

When with her spouse Angelica passed by,

For to the coast of Spain they too had gone,

First having gazed along it from on high.

A yard away, Angelica the fair

Was passing, of his presence unaware.

Beholding him, she would not think this man

Could be Orlando, he was so much changed,

For ever since his malady began,

Quite naked in all weathers he had ranged.

He was as burnt and black as if Aswan

Or where the Garamanths their gods avenged

Had been his birthplace, or the mountains where

The sources of the river Nile appear.

His eyes were almost sunken in his head;

His face was thin and fleshless as a bone.

His tangled, bristling hair, inspiring dread,

And shaggy beard were wild to look upon.

Angelica in trembling terror fled;

In trembling terror, from this monster flown,

Filling the heavens with her piercing shrieks,

Help and protection from her guide she seeks.

And when Orlando, wild and witless, sees

That delicate and lovely countenance

And that sweet form which so delight and please,

He is consumed with greed for them at once

And, leaping up, he makes a rush to seize

Her whom he’d cherished with such reverence.

Devotion long forgotten, he gives chase

Just as a dog after its prey would race.

And young Medoro, seeing him pursue

His wife, against the madman spurred his mount.

He tried to run him down, and struck him too,

Meaning to cut his head off; but the Count

(That it was he in person no one knew)

Had skin so hard it made the sword seem blunt,

For his enchanted body was like steel,

Impenetrable, suffering no ill.

Feeling the blows descending from behind

He turned, and as he turned he clenched his fist.

With force beyond the measurement of mind,

He struck a blow which nothing could resist.

He struck the horse which galloped like the wind,

Like glass its head was splintered by that wrist,

And the same instant he had turned again

And after her who fled, once more he ran.

With whip and spur she urges on her mare.

In her predicament it would seem slow

if speeding like an arrow through the air.

Faster and faster yet she makes it go.

The magic ring, of which you are aware,

She puts at last into her mouth, and so

(The ring had kept its virtue, there’s no doubt)

She vanished like a light which is blown out.

If capture by the madman she so feared,

Or if the mare stopped dead, I cannot tell,

But at the moment when she had transferred

The ring and thus became invisible,

High in the air her legs were upwards reared.

Leaving the saddle, on the sand she fell.

Behind her came Orlando in pursuit,

Gaining upon her though he ran on foot.

And she was lucky that she did not land

An inch or two behind; colliding then,

He would have left her dead upon the sand,

But Fortune favoured her and stepped between.

Once more to stealing she must put her hand

(And good at this she has already been) :

For now she needs another destrier.

No further use will that one be to her.

But she will find another, have no fear.

We will pursue the madman’s vestiges.

His rage and fury do not disappear

Simply because the lady vanishes.

Closer and closer he pursues the mare,

And level with her now he almost is.

He touches her, he has her by the mane,

And finally he grasps and pulls the rein.

Orlando takes her with the same delight

As when a lover takes a fair young maid.

Her bridle and her rein he first puts right,

Then, leaping in the saddle, rides the jade

For miles and miles; not resting day or night,

Unmercifully on her back he stayed,

Not once removing saddle, rein or bit;

And neither grass, nor hay, he let her eat.

Wanting to pass a ditch that bars his way

He tries to leap across it on her back.

She falls; he feels no shock and no dismay.

She puts her shoulder out, the poor old hack.

She cannot move, so to avoid delay

He hoists her on his shoulder like a sack.

He clambers up and carries her as far

Ahead as three lengths of a bowshot are.

And then, becoming weary of his load,

He set her down and pulled her by the rein

And, slowly limping, after him she trod.

‘Gee up!’ the Count commanded, but in vain,

And had she galloped like the wind, she would

Have been too leisurely for his insane

Desire; at last he took her bridle off

And tied it to her right and hinder hoof.

Tugging and dragging, he encouraged her,

As though she could have followed him with ease.

The rocks along the coast, which jagged were,

Stripped hair and hide from her until she is

At last the tattered remnant of a mare,

Sped to her death by senseless cruelties;

But to her state Orlando pays no heed

As on his madman’s way he runs with speed.

Although the mare is dead, he drags her still,

Proceeding on his course towards the West;

Continuing to plunder, sack and kill,

He takes whatever suits his purpose best,

Fruit, meat or bread, provided he can fill

His paunch; a gruesome and unwelcome guest,

At every house he left some dead, some lame,

Then onward passed as quickly as he came.

He would have dealt likewise (and thought it right)

With his fair lady, had she not been hid;

For he could not distinguish black from white,

Believing good the evil which he did.

Curst be the ring and curst be, too, the knight

Who gave it to her! Else had we been rid

Of her, and by Orlando, at one stroke:

Just vengeance for the many hearts she broke.

And would not only she were in his hands,

But all the women in the world today!

Unkind to all their lovers in all lands,

There is no scrap of good in them, I’d say.

But now my grief my slackened strings expands

So that discordant melodies I play.

My song till later on I will defer,

When less displeasing it may be to hear.

CANTO XXX

When passions too much freedom are allowed,

When reason, overcome by rage, submits,

When our best judgement angry feelings cloud,

When tongue insults, or hand strikes out and hits

Our dearest friends, if then our head is bowed

In penitence, no tearful sigh acquits

Us of the wrong which we have done; in vain

I grieve to think my words have given pain.

But I am like a sick and ailing man

Who, after suffering for many years

In patience ever since his ill began,

No longer can endure the pain he bears:

He yields to rage, and curses all he can.

The pain subsides: his anger disappears.

Aghast, he lies repentant on his bed,

But what was said cannot be now unsaid.

I hope, sweet ladies, you will pardon me.

I trust that you will favour me this much,

For in the anguish of my malady

My wits went wandering, and I lost touch.

So pardon me and blame my enemy

On whose account my suffering is such

My state could not be worse, and God above

Knows how she wrongs me; she knows how I love.

I am deranged, just as Orlando was,

And I deserve to be excused no less.

Up hill, down dale, he rushes without pause.

Marsilio’s kingdom sees him onward press.

The battered carcass of the mare he draws

For days behind him in his stubbornness.

Arriving where a river ends its course,

He is obliged at last to leave the horse.

And, swimming like an otter through the flood,

He soon emerged upon the other side,

And to the water’s edge a shepherd rode

That there his horse might drink; and when he spied

Orlando coming, all alone and nude,

He had no fear of him and did not hide.

‘I want that nag of yours,’ the madman said,

‘And in exchange I’ll give you mine; she’s dead.

‘She’s lying there upon the other bank.

Look, you can see her easily from here.

I don’t know why it is, but down she sank,

But you can put her right again, it’s clear.

She has no other blemish, so I’ll thank

You for your nag, and something else to square

The bargain; pray dismount.’ With no reply

Except a laugh, the shepherd passes by.

‘Did you not hear? I want that nag of yours,’

Orlando shouted, running after him.

The shepherd, who proceeded on his horse

To where the river dwindled to a stream,

Struck out with a stout cudgel to endorse

His scorn and laid his heavy blows with vim.

Orlando, roused to rage, drove his fist full

Upon the shepherd’s head and broke his skull.

He leaps into the saddle and is gone.

He robs, he sacks, he plunders and he slays.

He gives the nag no rest, but drives it on.

Deprived of nourishment, in a few days

It too expires and joins the other one.

But not for this the Count on foot delays,

For every mount he happens on he uses,

First killing any rider who refuses.

At Malaga the damage which he does

Is worse than all his ravages elsewhere.

Sacking and plundering without a pause,

He brings the population to despair.

The havoc which his devastations cause

Will not be remedied for many a year.

He burns or ruins, throughout Malaga,

One third of all the habitations there.

Rampaging on, at length Orlando came

To Algeciras, situated close

Beside the strait which some Gibraltar name,

But others, other appellations use.

A boat the madman spied (whom none could tame),

Laden with trippers who this moment chose

Upon the tranquil sea to take their ease,

Refreshed and solaced by the morning breeze.

Orlando in his madness shouted ‘Wait!’,

Desiring suddenly to go on board.

Not for such cargo would the boat abate

Its speed, for all he bellowed, yelled and roared,

But skimmed across the sea at such a rate

No swallow swooped more rapidly or soared.

Orlando beats and urges on his horse

And to the water kicks it on its course.

And willy-nilly the poor steed at last

Must yield, despite its preference for land.

The water, reaching to its knees, then passed

Its belly, next its rump, then soon had gained

The level of its head, which vanished fast.

Prevented from returning to the strand,

It had to swim to Africa, or sink –

Quite a dilemma for the beast, I think.

Orlando can no longer see the boat

Which prompted him to leave the Spanish shore;

Too far away the merry-makers float

Beyond the water’s rim; yet all the more

He urges on the steed, though it is not

A sea-horse, as he might have seen before.

Not breath but water fills its lungs, and so

It finishes its swim, and life, below.

It sank below and almost took as well

The madman on its back, but just in time

He lifted both his arms; breasting the swell,

He struck out vigorously with each limb,

And puffed the water from his face; to tell

The truth, the gentle air assisted him,

For if the elements that day had frowned,

The paladin Orlando would have drowned.

But Fortune, who takes care of the insane,

Deposited the Count on Ceuta’s coast.

For some time near the city he had lain

(A distance of two arrow-shots almost),

When eastwards he began to run again,

For many days, until a dark-skinned host

He found, in tents, encamped beside the sea,

Vast and unending as infinity.

Now let us leave the paladin to roam.

There will be time to speak of him anon;

And as to what, my lord, will now become

Of fair Angelica, so timely flown,

And how she will at last regain her home,

Finding a well-found ship to travel on,

And how she’ll make Medoro India’s king,

A lyre more resonant than mine may sing.

I have so many other things to say

That I no longer wish to follow her

But to the Tartar king will make my way,

Whose rival could no longer interfere

When with his love in sweet content he lay.

In all of Europe none her equals were,

Now that the fair Angelica was gone

And Isabella’s soul to Heaven had flown.

But Mandricardo, though he could rejoice,

Could not experience in full as yet

The benefit of Doralice’s choice.

His pride had other challenges to meet.

One has been uttered by Ruggiero’s voice,

Claiming the eagle on his banneret.

Gradasso too, the king of Sericana,

Will not renounce his claim to Durindana.

King Agramante does the best he can

And King Marsilio assists as well,

But neither of them hits upon a plan

Such enmity and rivalry to quell;

Ruggiero and the Sericanian

Continue to be adamant as steel.

The sacred bird once borne on Hector’s shield,

Orlando’s sword, these heroes will not yield.

Ruggiero will not let the Tartar wear

The Trojan eagle in another fight;

Against Gradasso only may he bear

The sword once borne by such a famous knight.

‘Let us let Fortune settle the affair,’

Said Agramant, ‘and no more words recite.

What she proposes for us, let us see,

And let us then abide by her decree.

‘And if you wish to set my mind at rest

And earn my gratitude, I ask one thing:

Decide by lot which of you two shall test

His strength and will against the Tartar king,

And he whose name is drawn, I now suggest,

Shall fight for both of you and, triumphing,

Shall triumph twice, and if the combat goes

The other way, both shall be deemed to lose.

‘If I compare the valour of these two

I see but little or no difference:

And either, if selected, in my view,

In combat will exhibit excellence.

The victory, predestined, as is due,

According to the will of Providence,

Will bring no stain to either knight’s repute,

For such results to Fortune men impute.’

While he thus tries to solve this private war,

Ruggiero and Gradasso silent stand.

It is agreed, the terms accepted are,

That in one combat two disputes shall end.

So on two slips of paper, similar

In size and shape, two names are duly penned.

Then in an urn, on which a lid is fixed,

The papers are well mingled, tossed and mixed.

An innocent young boy his hand then pu

Into the urn; of the two names, as Chance

Decreed, one slip of paper he drew out:

Ruggiero’s, not the Sericanian’s.

Ruggiero could not be more joyful, but

Gradasso wears a mournful, downcast glance.

However, he must take what Fate has sent

And reconcile himself to the event.

And he devotes his efforts to assist

Ruggiero to come off victorious

Advising him on every turn and twist,

Being for both their sakes solicitous.

When to advance, withdraw or to resist,

Which thrusts are certain, which are perilous,

He counselled him, as to his mind returned

The repertoire of skills which he had learned.

Likewise, for the remainder of the day,

Friends gather to exhort the combatants,

Reminding them in the accustomed way

How best to handle sword and shield and lance.

The populace, impatient of delay,

Hurry to take their places in advance

And, not content to come before the light

Of morning, some keep vigil there all night.

The stupid crowd is waiting eagerly

For the two valiant heroes to contend.

No farther than their noses can they see;

A spectacle is all they comprehend.

Sobrino and Marsilio agree

That in disaster the dispute will end.

The more enlightened Saracens deplore

This fight between the Tartar and the Moor.

They tried to reason with King Agramant:

The danger to the Saracens was great,

For it was plain, whichever combatant

Was destined then to die by cruel Fate,

Of his assistance they would feel the want

Against those who defeated them of late;

Among ten thousand, hard it was to find

One who such prowess and such skill combined.

King Agramante knows that this is true,

But what he pledged he cannot now deny.

His only course is to entreat the two:

Will they consent to put their quarrel by

(Although they have no obligation to) ?

Is theirs a worthy cause for which to die?

And if they are reluctant to obey,

Will they defer until another day?

Would they defer their duel for about

Six months, till Charlemagne, King Pepin’s son,

From his French kingdom should be driven out,

With loss of sceptre, crown and robe and throne?

Both warriors desire, there is no doubt,

To obey their king, but neither will postpone

The combat; each opprobrious would deem

Whichever first consented to the scheme.

More than all those who argue thus in vain

With Mandricardo to defer the fight,

Fair Doralice, the princess from Spain,

Laments, entreats and pleads with all her might.

She begs him to consent and it is plain

She trembles for the safety of her knight.

She grieves that she must always suffer thus,

Filled with anxiety and timorous.

‘Alas!’ she said, ‘is there a remedy

Which I can find to bring relief and rest?

By this, by that, will you for ever be

Drawn into battle, in full armour dressed?

What consolation has it been to me,

What joy can I now cherish in my breast,

That for my sake one combat you postpone,

If now another duel is begun?

‘Ah, me!’ she said, ‘flown now is all the pride

I used to take that such a noble king,

That such a cavalier, would both have died

In battle for my sake; now for a thing

So trivial, devotion set aside,

You risk your life; and, this considering,

I know that natural ferocity

It was which made you fight, not love for me.

‘If it is true your love is such indeed

As constantly you seek to demonstrate,

Then for the sake of such a love, I plead,

And for the fear I suffer for your fate:

Such flaunting of the eagle do not heed.

Do not resent Ruggiero’s banneret.

It has but small importance, in my view,

Whether Ruggiero bears this bird, or you.

‘The combat you propose to undertake

Small profit but great loss can only yield.

Suppose you are successful and can make

Ruggiero say he will renounce the shield?

If Fortune’s forelock you should fail to take,

And if she turns her back and you are killed,

That is a consequence which even if

I think of it, pierces my heart with grief.

‘And if your precious life you hold so cheap

That you esteem a painted eagle more,

Then for my life at least some pity keep,

For if you die, my life I too abjure.

Yet if I died with you I would not weep:

To follow you in life and death I swore;

But let me not depart this life alone,

Dying in wretchedness when you are gone.’

Thus Doralice reasons with her knight,

Mingling her many words with tears and sighs.

Unceasingly she pleads with him all night

And to dissuade him from his purpose tries.

And Mandricard responded to her plight;

First kissing the sweet moisture from her eyes

And the sweet sorrow from her lips more red

Than any rose, weeping himself, he said:

‘Do not distress yourself, my love, my wife.

Than this, far greater perils I have seen.

Should all the forces marshalled here for strife

Advance against me, French and Saracen,

Harbour no apprehension for my life.

This grave concern you feel can only mean

That you have little confidence in me,

Since in this combat but one foe there’ll be.

‘Have you forgotten when without a sword

Or scimitar, with broken lance, alone

I entered into combat with a horde

Of cavaliers (they were all armed), and won?

Gradasso will admit, though it afford

Him grief and shame, if asked by anyone,

In Syria I took him prisoner:

Yet in renown he far exceeds Ruggier.

‘And King Gradasso too does not deny,

Nor Isolier, your fellow-countryman,

Nor Oliver’s two sons (who do not lie),

Nor Sacripante, the Circassian,

Nor yet a hundred more, that it was I

Who freed them from the castle, every man,

Baptized or infidel; none will gainsay

They owed their liberty to me that day.

‘They marvelled then and they have never ceased

To marvel at the wonder of that deed,

More glorious than if I fought at least

Both the assembled hosts and made them bleed.

And this young falcon with its yellow breast,

What can it do alone? Why should I heed

Ruggiero when Orlando’s sword I bear

And Hector’s shield? What danger do you fear?

‘Alas, would I had won you earlier

By force of arms! You would have truly known

My valour and predicted for Ruggier

The fate which waits for him when I have done.

So, dry your eyes, my love, and let us hear

No more such forecasts in this gloomy tone.

It is my honour drives me to the field,

And not a painted eagle on a shield.’

But Doralice reasoned with him still.

She spoke so movingly, so sadly sighed,

He could not long remain inflexible

(She could have made a column move aside).

A woman, she thus bent him to her will,

And he, a mighty warrior, complied:

If Agramante made his plea once more

He would postpone the combat with the Moor.

And this he truly meant, but when the morn,

Led by Aurora, the fair harbinger,

The sky with gold had started to adorn,

Resolved to vindicate his rights, Ruggier,

Who held all further dallying in scorn,

That the dispute might end the earlier,

To the enclosure, which the crowd surrounded,

Rode in full armour and his challenge sounded.

Hearing Ruggiero’s horn, the Tartar king

No further words of peace would listen to.

Leaping from bed, he bade his servants bring

His arms; his face so formidable grew,

His attitude became so menacing,

That Doralice did not dare renew

Her efforts to persuade him to refrain;

The battle must proceed – this now is plain.

He arms himself and he can scarcely wait

Until the squires perform their services;

Then mounts the destrier, which once the great

Defender bore, that champion who is

Reduced by love to such a sorry state.

He gallops to the chosen square and sees

The king and court arriving for the fray

Which now will soon begin without delay.

Their shining helmets fastened on their heads,

They take the lances which the squires present.

The trumpet shrills, a signal which precedes

The long-awaited start of the event.

The crowd grows pale, the riders prick their steeds.

With lances couched, their backs and shoulders bent,

So fast they ride and with such impact hit,

The heavens seem to fall, the earth to split.

On either side is seen the silver bird

Which carried Jove aloft and through the air,

And which in Thessaly, as you have heard,

Was wont (with other feathers) to appear.

How each by daring and by wrath is stirred

Is manifested by the way they bear

Their weapons and resist as firm as rocks,

Erect as towers and unmoved by shocks.

The shattered lances rose into the sky

(So Turpin says and he speaks truly here);

Indeed one or two pieces flew so high,

They came down singed, burned in the fiery sphere.

The combatants now seize their swords and try

Once more, like men who have no sense of fear,

To bring the battle to an end; both knights

Aim with their sword-points at the helmets’ sights.

Each tries to pierce the visor at first thrust,

But no intention either has to kill

The other’s horse, an action which all must

Condemn, since it is not the horses’ will

That battle should be waged; a special trust

(Though not a formal pact, yet it is still

Respected by all knights) makes them refrain:

To aim to kill a horse was shameful then.

Though reinforced, the visors almost broke

Beneath those blows, delivered with such might,

Which followed one another, stroke on stroke,

Thicker than any stones of hail which blight

The grain and fruit for which the farmers look.

No other swords than these more sharply bite,

And in such hands you can imagine how

Both Durindan and Balisard cut now.

Not yet the swords’ full cutting power they show:

Waiting for the right moment, they refrain.

Then Mandricardo deals a deadly blow

By which the valiant Moor is nearly slain.

A stroke such as these weapons can bestow

Slices Ruggiero’s Trojan shield in twain.

It splits apart the skirts of his cuirass

And to his flesh the blade is seen to pass.

The hearts of the spectators froze in fear

To see this harsh and terrible attack

Upon their well-loved favourite, Ruggier,

Who on that day supporters does not lack.

The Tartar would be taken prisoner

Or lying dead already on his back

If Fortune brought about what they desire:

His cruel stroke has roused them all to ire.

An Angel must have intervened at speed

To save Ruggiero from the full effect

Of such a blow; his vigour was not fled,

His fury, scorn and strength were still unchecked.

He crashed his sword on Mandricardo’s head

So fast (I do not count it a defect),

The blade descended flat, not edgeways on,

Else had the Tartar monarch been undone.

If Balisarda’s cutting edge had hit

The helm of Hector, no enchantment then

Would have protected or defended it.

The Tartar at this blow let go the rein.

Three times he toppled forward; with the bit

Between its teeth, the destrier was seen

To gallop round the field, disconsolate

That it no longer bore Orlando’s weight.

No trodden snake, no wounded lioness

Such fury, such disdain had ever shown

As Mandricardo, roused to consciousness,

Which at Ruggiero’s recent blow had flown;

His strength and valour, once again, no less

Than pride and anger, rapidly rewon,

He turned and spurred Orlando’s destrier,

Raising his weapon high above Ruggier.

First rising in his stirrups, Mandricard

Had aimed Orlando’s sword, as he judged best,

At his opponent’s helmet, and prepared

To split him, as he thought, down to his breast.

But the young Moor, alert and on his guard,

Now proves himself well equal to the test:

His sword, ere Mandricardo’s arm descends,

Straight underneath the armpit he now sends.

And from that gash, by Balisarda slit,

Hot blood came streaming forth, vermilion red.

With lessened impact Durindana hit

The Moor, failing therefore to leave him dead.

But even so, Ruggiero could not sit

Upright, such was the crash upon his head,

And if his helmet had been less well made,

The final penalty he would have paid.

Spurring his horse, Ruggiero does not cease,

And from the right he lunges at the king.

No metal can protect him now from this,

However fine the steel or tempering,

For Balisarda cannot strike amiss:

The sword, enchanted in its fashioning

By Falerina, pierces without fail

Enchanted armour and enchanted mail.

So, piercing all defence, the magic blade

Wounded the Tartar monarch in the side.

The ocean, tempest-tossed, inspires less dread

Than he whose blasphemies the gods defied.

Calling his uttermost resolve to aid,

First the disputed shield he cast aside

As though in scorn and furious distaste,

And both his hands on Durindana placed.

‘Ah!’ said Ruggiero, ‘now you cast away

The sign which you despoiled; there is no need

To prove your claim is void in every way.

All further right to it you must concede.’

These words he spoke, but then no more could say,

For Durindana fell at such a speed

That if a mountain crashed upon the knight,

Its weight would in comparison be light.

It struck his visor with a central blow,

But luckily for him it missed his eyes,

Descending to the armoured saddle-bow.

The double plates on which the knight relies

Could not protect him as it passed below,

Slicing the steel like wax, and reached his thighs.

So grave an injury it gave the Moor,

That long his illness was and long the cure.

Now with each other’s blood both swords are red,

For both had shrewdly wielded them that day;

And many, by the double stream misled,

Were undecided who had won the fray.

But now the sword which leaves so many dead

Soon sweeps all their remaining doubts away.

Its thrusting point a cruel blow inflicts

Where now no shield the Tartar’s side protects.

It pierces from the left through the cuirass

And unimpeded reaches to the heart.

When Mandricardo feels that weapon pass

He knows he has received a mortal smart.

All claims for ever he now yields, alas!

With eagle, sword and life he has to part.

As from his failing grasp these treasures fall,

His life he deems most precious of them all.

Not unavenged, however, did he die,

For at the moment of that deadly thrust

His blade (now still less his) he raised on high,

Bringing it down at such a speed, it must

Have split Ruggiero’s face, had he not, by

An intercepting stroke, its vigour just

In time diminished, when he ran his sword

Under the Tartar’s arm, behind his guard.

But at the moment when Ruggiero slew

The king, this blow descended on his head.

His helm could offer no resistance to

The celebrated Durindana’s blade.

Both casque and arming-cap it sliced; right through

The scalp and bone, two fingers deep, it sped.

Ruggiero fell, unconscious from the blow,

And there a crimson stream began to flow.

Ruggiero was the first to fall; the king

Remained so long upright, the crowd believed

Almost he was the victor, triumphing,

And the death-blow Ruggiero had received.

And she whose heart that day kept wavering

‘Twixt joy and grief was equally deceived.

Raising her hands she offered thanks on high

That God had not let Mandricardo die.

But when from signs that no one can mistake

They see that from the lifeless, life has flown,

And life the living man does not forsake,

Those who rejoiced begin to weep and groan,

While through the barrier the others break –

Kings, nobles, cavaliers and everyone

Who longed to see Ruggiero win the fight,

And joyfully pay honour to the knight.

And they rejoice with all sincerity,

For every tongue with every heart concurs.

Only Gradasso stoops to flattery.

With joyful countenance, he too confers

Loud praises on the knight, but secretly

A pang of envy in his bosom stirs.

He might have won such glory and such fame,

But Fate, or Chance, preferred Ruggiero’s name.

But how can I describe the many true

Congratulations and endearments of

King Agramante, on this triumph, to

The knight without whose help he could not move

His many troops from Africa to sue

For vengeance and their mighty prowess prove?

Now that King Agricane’s son was dead,

Ruggiero in his eyes all others led.

Nor did such praise come only from the men,

But women gathered round him eagerly

Who with the troops of Africa and Spain

Had come to France to keep them company,

And Doralice, who with grief and pain

Was mourning her dead lover, even she

Perhaps, who knows?, but for a sense of shame,

Might likewise have paid homage to his fame.

I say ‘perhaps’, I do not say for sure,

And yet I think it highly probable,

Such are the fascination and allure

Of glory and of handsome looks as well;

And she, from what we knew of her before,

Is quick to change her mind, and, truth to tell,

Rather than see herself deprived of love,

Her heart she’d make him now a present of.

While Mandricardo lived, then, well and good:

But of what use is he, now he is dead?

She needs a man whose strength and hardihood

Both night and day will stand her in good stead.

A doctor after a brief interlude

Examined all Ruggiero’s wounds and said

His life was in no danger; this submission

Was offered by the foremost court physician.

King Agramante ordered that the knight

Be carried gently to his royal tent.

He did not want to lose him from his sight.

His love for him was now so great, he meant

To give him every care both day and night.

The trophies he had won in this event

Were hung about his bed, except the sword,

Which to Gradasso goes as an award.

The other arms are given to Ruggier,

As is the case in combats of this kind,

And Brigliadoro too, the destrier

Orlando in his frenzy left behind.

He gave it to the king, as you shall hear.

But now no more of him, as I must find

The Maid who for Ruggiero sighs in vain,

And take in hand her story once again.

What were the pains of love with which she burned

While waiting for Ruggiero, I’ll now say.

Ippalca to her mistress had returned

And told her all that had occurred that day.

First what had happened when the Sarzan spurned

Ruggiero’s name and took his horse away;

How she had met Ruggiero at the fount

And of the others too she gave account.

How she rode off with him (she told her too),

Hoping to find the thieving Saracen,

And punish him severely, as was due,

For his unchivalry; and how this plan

Did not succeed, for, as they later knew,

He took another route; she told her then

The reason why Ruggiero had delayed:

All this and more Ippalca told the Maid.

Ruggiero’s words she next began to quote,

Giving them all, exactly as they were,

For she had conned them carefully by rote.

The letter which Ruggiero gave to her

She handed to the Maid, who took the note

With troubled countenance, for happier

That day she would have felt, and more serene,

If only her dear love she could have seen.

Long had she waited for her love and now

She saw that she must be content instead

With ink and paper; thus her lovely brow

Was lined with fear and sorrow as she read.

She kissed the page ten times and more, I vow;

To him who wrote, her loving thoughts were sped.

Her tears protect the paper from her sighs,

Which, burning, might consume it otherwise.

Four times and six she read the letter through

And just as many times she also made

Her messenger repeat the tale anew,

Saying again all that her love had said;

And still she wept. I will confess to you

That she would never have been comforted

(And on such matters I am seldom wrong),

Save that she hoped to see her love ere long.

For, at the most, fifteen or twenty days

He’ll be detained, he said, and he has vowed

That after this there will be no delays;

But, voicing all her fears for him out loud,

In tones of anguish Bradamante says:

‘Misfortune, which impedes so many proud

And valiant knights, and most of all in war,

May rob me of my love for evermore.

‘Alas, Ruggiero! ah, who would suppose,

When I love you more than myself, that you

Love, not another woman, but your foes?

The very people whom you should subdue

It is your purpose to assist, and those

Whom you should help, you now continue to

Oppress; between rewards and punishments

For good and ill, you see no difference?

‘Do you not know it was Troiano’s hand

Which killed your father? Why, the very stones

Have heard of it; and yet you now have planned

Without demur to rally to his son’s

Assistance, to protect his honour and

His life; an action such as this condones

Your father’s death. Thus you reward your friends?

And thus you cause me grief which my life ends?’

Such were the words Ruggiero’s love addressed

To him (though he was absent) through her tears;

Not once, but many times, she thus expressed

Her apprehensions for him and her fears.

Meanwhile the kind Ippalca does her best

To comfort her: this promise of Ruggier’s

Can be relied upon; beyond the day

Which he has mentioned, he will not delay.

Ippalca, by her words inspiring hope

(And hope the constant friend of lovers is),

Brings Bradamante’s weeping to a stop

And her worst fears at last diminishes.

In Montalbano on the mountain-top

She waits, believing in his promises;

But when the day arrives for his return,

It seems as if Ruggiero is forsworn.

But if her love has failed to keep his word,

Not he at least is to be blamed for that.

If his return has been so long deferred,

It is that for a month he has lain flat

Upon his back; when Mandricardo’s sword

(Though he himself will never more combat)

Had struck Ruggiero, it inflicted pain

So deadly that the knight was almost slain.

So all that day Ruggiero’s loving Maid

Had waited for his coming, fruitlessly,

And nothing knew but what Ippalca said.

Later, her brother came and told how he

Was rescued by Ruggier, and how they sped

To set Vivian and Malagigi free.

To hear of these brave deeds the Maid was glad,

Yet something in the tale had left her sad.

For Ricciardetto told his sister then

How brave and beautiful Marfisa was.

He told her how Ruggiero followed when

She galloped off to aid the pagan cause,

Where Agramante and the Saracen

Had the most need of help. With no applause

She heard this news, although such company

Would for Ruggiero’s valour fitting be.

Suspicion in her heart begins to grow,

For if Marfisa is in truth as fair

As her repute, if side by side they go,

And every danger, all adventures share,

Has she not won his heart? It must be so,

And Bradamante, verging on despair,

But ever hopeful she will see her love,

At Montalbano stays and does not move.

And as she waited there, the prince, the lord

Of that fair castle (not the eldest son,

For two preceded him at birth), whose sword

Such glory for the family had won,

Rinaldo, who, wherever he had warred,

In splendour like the sun in heaven shone,

Reached Montalbano at the hour of three,

A single page his only company.

When he was riding to and fro, from Blaye

To Paris, in pursuit, as I have said,

Of fair Angelica, he heard one day

How his two cousins, bartered by the dread

Lanfusa, were in peril, and straightway

To Agrismont for further news he sped,

To hear if Bertolagi had received

His victims and his evil aim achieved.

And when he heard that all their enemies

Were killed or scattered, and that both were free,

And that it was Ruggiero and Marfise

Who helped to rescue them from jeopardy,

And that his brother had returned with his

Two cousins, that they had been saved, all three –

Young Richard, Malagigi, Vivian –

He’d hastened eagerly to Montalban.

And so he came to Montalbano, where

His mother, wife and children he embraced,

His brothers and his cousins too, who were

The captives of Lanfusa, now released.

And when they saw their kinsman thus appear

They were like fledgling swallows when at last

The mother bird returns with nourishment.

After some days, away with him there went:

Richard, Alardo, Ricciardetto and

The eldest son, Guicciardo, with the two

Young cousins; six of them, a warlike band,

Clad in full armour, muster for review,

Then ride behind Rinaldo, as he planned.

But Bradamante, since the time was due

(She hoped) when Fate her longing would fulfil,

Did not go with them, saying she was ill.

Indeed, she spoke the truth, for she was sick,

But not of bodily disease or pain.

Ardent desire had left her spirit weak,

For all her hopes and longings were in vain.

Rinaldo rode away with all the pick

Of knights and men-at-arms of Montalban;

And how he came to Paris and brought aid

To Charles, in the next canto will be said.

CANTO XXXI

What sweeter bliss and what more blessed state

Can be imagined than a loving heart,

With happiness and joy inebriate,

Possessed, in thrall to Love in every part,

But for the torment which Man suffers, that

Suspicion, sinister and deep, that smart,

That aching wretchedness, that malady,

That frenzied rage, which we call jealousy?

All other bitterness which may arise

To temper the excess of so much sweet,

The joys of love augments and multiplies,

Refining them and making them complete.

Water more exquisitely satisfies

When we are thirsty; hunger what we eat

Improves; Man cannot relish peace before

He has experienced a state of war.

If eyes do not behold what the heart keeps

For ever visible, this can be borne.

Absence, however long a lover weeps,

Heightens but more the joy of the return.

Service, unwavering and true, which reaps

No recompense, provided hope still burn,

This too can be endured, though it is hard:

A lover in the end has his reward.

Rejection, scorn and all the pains of love,

The sufferings which last for many a year,

Can, when recalled, increase the pleasure of

More joyful times when Fate is less severe.

But that dread poison nothing can remove

From a sick mind, for none is deadlier.

No happiness, no merriment avails

To cure a jealous lover of his ills.

This is that poisoned wound for which there are

No potions, unguents, salves or antidotes;

No secret charm, no magic formula

Such as the book of Zoroaster quotes.

No vigil for a favourable star,

No cabbalistic sign which power denotes,

Not all the magic arts, could heal that sore

For which, alas! death is the only cure.

Implacable and life-destroying wound,

How soon you fester in a lover’s breast!

Suspicion, indiscriminate, beyond

All reasoning, of ills the cruellest,

The intellect you darken and confoun

Till true is false, and false, truth manifest!

Ah, Jealousy, more cruel than the grave,

What pain in store for Bradamant you have!

First, what her brother and Ippalca said

Had pierced her tender heart with bitter woe.

Next, tidings still more terrible and dread,

Which after a few days she came to know,

caused her more sorrow, and more tears she shed;

But this was nothing to a further blow

Which fell, as I’ll explain; but now I must

To Paris, with Rinaldo and his host.

Late on the second day they met a knight

Who had a lady at his side; his shield

And surcoat were of black, save that a white

Bend sinister traversed the sable field.

He challenged Ricciardetto to a fight,

Who, riding fearlessly ahead, revealed

A readiness to take him at his word

(And he was never one to have demurred).

So, from the distance which the rules demand,

They ride to the encounter at top speed

(Asking no names), while all the others stand

To see which valiant horseman will succeed.

‘I’ll soon unseat him’, Ricciardetto planned

(So saying, he was confident indeed),

‘If I can strike him in my usual way.’

But the reverse result occurred that day.

For he was struck beneath the visor hard

By the black cavalier, of name unknown,

And, lifted from the saddle, off his guard,

Two lance-lengths from his charger he was thrown;

And to avenge his brother, next Alard

At once took up the challenge; he was soon

Unseated, and so potent was the shock

Of the encounter that his shield it broke.

Straightway Guicciardo put his lance in rest,

Observing his two brothers on the ground.

Although Rinaldo shouted, ‘Wait! Desist!

I am the third. Let me fight the third round,’

Guicciardo paid no heed to his request.

Spurring his horse, he rode full tilt, but found

(Before Rinaldo had his helmet on)

That like his brothers he was also thrown.

Ricciardo, Malagigi, Vivian

All clamoured to avenge the fallen three.

Rinaldo quelled the quarrel which began.

Already armed, he said, ‘Leave this to me.

Our duty is in Paris with Charlemagne.

There is no time to wait for you to be’

(But these last words he did not say outright)

‘Defeated one by one by this strange knight.’

(If he had made these last remarks out loud

He would have given serious offence.)

The two opponents took the space allowed

According to the rules of such events

And, turning, to the harsh encounter rode.

Rinaldo now displays his excellence:

He does not fall; like glass both lances break,

Both cavaliers the impact fails to shake.

Quite other is the case with the two steeds

As to the ground their cruppers are brought low.

Rising at once, Baiardo onward speeds,

His course uninterrupted by the blow.

The stranger’s horse, unequal to such deeds,

Its spine and shoulder smashed, no more will go

To war; the knight, perceiving it is dead,

Leaps free, prepared to fight on foot instead.

And to Count Aymon’s son who, turning now,

Approached him empty-handed, he thus spoke:

‘So fine a charger I cannot allow

To lie there unavenged, and you who broke

His back shall pay the penalty, I vow,

For having robbed me of him by this stroke.

So now advance and do your worst, I pray,

For you and I must settle this today.’

Rinaldo answered, ‘If a destrier

Is all there is between us, then take one

Of mine instead; you’ll find it, I declare,

Of no less use and value than your own.

‘You must be dense’, replied the cavalier,

‘If you believe that you can thus atone.

But if you do not see why I must fight,

I’ll set it down for you in black and white.

‘It would be counter to the code if I

Did not contend with sword as well as lance.

My honour is impugned unless we try

Our prowess also in this second dance.

So, as you please, dismount or stay on high;

I am prepared to give you every chance,

And whatsoever benefit you will,

So eager am I for this test of skill.’

Rinaldo did not keep him in suspense.

‘I promise you this test,’ he said, ‘and so

That you may feel no doubt, I will dispense

With all my men-at-arms and bid them go

Ahead until I come’; he sent them hence

(Save for a page to hold his horse), to show

Good faith; for, in all matters chivalrous,

No cavalier was more punctilious.

This courtesy of the brave paladin

Commends him greatly to the unknown knight.

On foot, Rinaldo gives Baiardo’s rein

To the young page, who leads him out of sight;

And when the standard can no more be seen,

Rinaldo, read for this second fight,

Takes shield and sword, an eager challenger,

And shouts defiance at the cavalier.

The battle which between them then began

Appeared unequalled in ferocity.

Neither opponent thinks the other can

Resist so long, but each is proved to be

As good a warrior, as brave a man.

Neither rejoices yet in victory,

But neither combatant surrender will:

To gain advantage both use all their skill.

The blows, so merciless and obdurate,

Breaking the corners of the heavy shields,

Now slashing mail, now smashing armour plate.

While both no progress make, and neither yields,

With horrifying sounds reverberate.

Both in attack and in defence each wields

His sword, and grimly each resolves to make

(For this might well be fatal) no mistake.

The combat lasted for one hour and more

Than half the next; the sun had sunk below

The western waters, to the farthest shore

The shadows spread, but in the afterglow,

Taking no moment’s respite to restore

Their strength, giving and taking blow on blow,

The warriors continue; not for rage

Or rancour, but for honour they engage.

Rinaldo wonders who this unknown youth

Can be, so bold, so stalwart and so strong.

Not only does he stand his ground, in truth

He presses his opponent hard and long.

By now the paladin would not be loath

(If honour could defended be from wrong),

Such the exertion is and such the heat,

To end the fight, or call a halt to it.

And, for his part, the unknown cavalier –

Who, likewise, did not know the other’s name,

Who did not know this paladin and peer,

Rinaldo Montalbano, of great fame,

Whom opposite he saw and very near

With sword in hand – to the conclusion came

That this was someone of great excellence,

Unparalleled in his experience.

And of that pledge he’d gladly now be free

Which he had taken to avenge his horse.

If without fear of blame or calumny

He could withdraw, he would prefer that course.

Too desperate he deems the jeopardy.

The shadows his misgivings now endorse,

For almost all the blows exchanged miscarry

And scarcely can they see to thrust or parry.

Rinaldo was the first to speak the word

Which called a halt; but, he went on to say,

Let them regard the combat as deferred

Till slow Arcturus paled at break of day;

And, in the meantime, until this occurred,

The unknown knight should with Rinaldo stay,

Where he would be an honoured, welcome guest,

Well served, well squired, where he could safely rest.

To these proposals which Rinaldo made

The courteous cavalier at once agreed;

And now together through the darkling glade

To where the troops have halted they proceed.

All honour to the unknown knight is paid.

Rinaldo picks for him a handsome steed,

With splendid trappings, tested, tried and trained,

Which much experience in war has gained.

The warrior, who was unknown, now knows

It is Rinaldo who escorted him,

For on the way he happened to disclose

His name; since from one origin they stem

(For they are brothers), each affection shows

At this discovery; their eyes now brim

With tears of joy and tenderness and love,

As overwhelming these new feelings prove.

Guidon Selvaggio is this warrior’s name

And you have heard me speak of him before,

When Sansonetto and Marfisa came

With Oliver’s two sons and, making war

On Orontea’s realm, saved him from shame.

Since then, that felon Pinabello more

Humiliation had imposed on him,

Making him implement his lady’s whim.

And when Guidone understood at last

That this Rinaldo was, that famous knight

Who in his fame all other knights surpassed,

Whom, as the blind desire to see the light,

He’d longed to see, ‘What fortune has thus cast

My lot,’ he said, ‘that I was led to fight

With you whom I so ardently admire,

Whom but to serve and honour I aspire?

‘Costanza gave me birth, on the far shore

Of the Black Sea, the seed, as you were too,

Of that illustrious progenitor,

Aymon of Montalbano; when I knew

I was your kin, such was my longing for

My brothers’ company, I sought for you.

I am Guidon; my only purpose was

To honour you, but pain to you I cause.

‘Yet for my error, my excuse shall be:

I did not recognize my kith and kin.

If I can make amends for this, tell me

What I must do; I’m eager to begin.

And when they had embraced repeatedly

And of each other’s love assured had been,

Rinaldo answered, ‘Seek no more, I pray,

To ask my pardon for our fight today:

‘Nothing could better testify to us

You are a true branch of our ancient stock,

Nothing convince us like your valorous

Resistance in the battle’s clash and shock;

But you would not have found us credulous

If quiet and pacific were your look:

Hinds are not offspring of the king of beasts,

No doves were ever hatched in eagles’ nests.’

Proceeding, they continue to converse;

Conversing, they proceed upon their way.

Soon as Rinaldo has re-joined his peers,

He tells them who Guidone is, and they,

Who long have hoped to welcome him as theirs,

Rejoice to learn he has arrived that day;

And as around Guidone they assembled,

They said how much his father he resembled.

How welcome by his kinsfolk he was made,

How brothers, cousins, clasped him by the hand,

What joyful homage all the others paid,

How gladly they received him in their band,

What he to them and what to him they said,

I shall not tell you, but you understand,

In spite of all these things I do not say,

That he persona grata was that day.

Welcome Guidone would have been indeed

At any time, of this I am quite sure;

But since he had arrived in time of need,

His coming gladdened all their hearts the more.

When shadows at the break of day recede,

And the new sun, rising from Ocean’s floor,

Is circled with an aureole of light,

Guidone and his kin go forth to fight.

Two days they travel on, at such a pace

That soon they find themselves beside the Seine,

Ten miles or so from Paris; in that place

Gismonda’s sons Guidone sees again,

Accoutred each in his strong carapace,

Which weapons seek to penetrate in vain:

Grifon the White and Aquilant the Black,

Who nothing of the knightly virtues lack.

A damsel earnestly conversed with them;

Of no mean rank she seemed, for she was clad

In a white samite robe, which round the hem

A gold-embroidered decoration had.

Although her beauty sparkled like a gem,

Her tearful eyes proclaimed that she was sad.

Her gestures, bearing, aspect, all conveyed

A grave significance in what she said.

Guidone and the sons of Oliver

Have recognized each other straight away;

Not long ago all three together were.

Guidone to Rinaldo turns to say,

‘Here are two knights for you; we cannot err

If they will side with Charlemagne today.

We’ll put to flight all pagans with those two.’

Rinaldo says that what he says is true.

He too has recognized them at first sight,

For he remembers how they used to ride,

One surcoat black, the other surcoat white,

With blazonin ornate and beautified.

They, for their part, with manifest delight,

To greet Guidone with each other vied,

His brothers, cousins, eagerly embraced,

Rinaldo too, laying all hate to rest.

They had been enemies, but why and how

(The fault was Truffaldino’s) would take long

To say; embracing one another now,

And setting memories of wrath among

Forgotten things, to lend their aid they vow.

To Sansonetto, who next joins the throng,

Rinaldo gladly all due honour pays,

For of his valour he has heard great praise.

The damsel, knowing every paladin,

Had recognized Rinaldo drawing near.

As soon as she was able to begin,

She told him tidings he was sad to hear.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘your cousin I have seen,

Of Church and Empire, champion and peer:

Orlando, once a man for every season,

So wise and so renowned, has lost his reason.

‘How this has come about I cannot say,

Nor why he wanders witless all around.

I saw his sword and other arms, which lay

Thrown here and there, neglected, on the ground.

I saw a cavalier who passed that way,

Who in compassion gathered all he found,

Who hung them one by one upon a tree,

As a memorial, in piety.

‘That very day Orlando’s sword was gone,

Taken – consider what a grievous loss –

By Mandricardo, Agricane’s son.

It is a serious affront to us

That Durindana, of all swords the one

We prize the most, should to the infamous

Return; and Brigliadoro, wandering,

Was also taken by the pagan king.

‘I saw Orlando a few days ago

Running quite naked, witless, without shame,

Uttering terrifying shrieks; and so

To this conclusion with regret I came:

Orlando has gone mad; and this I know

(Though I should never have believed the same)

For I have seen him.’ She went on to tell

How from the bridge Orlando wrestling fell.

‘To everyone I judge to be his friend

And not his enemy, I speak of this,’

She added, ‘for I hope that in the end,

By pity moved for what has gone amiss,

Someone the Count may rescue, and defend,

Till he is cured, from all hostilities.

I know if Brandimarte hears the news,

All speed and every effort he will use.’

For this was Fiordiligi, the sweet wife

Of Brandimarte, whom she long had sought;

And he loved her more dearly than his life.

She added that Orlando’s sword had brought

Ferocious rivalry and bitter strife

Among the pagans; how the Tartar fought

And died, and how the weapon had then passed

Into Gradasso’s eager hands at last.

On hearing of this strange calamity,

Rinaldo weeps and cannot be consoled.

As ice is melted to fluidity

By the hot sun, his heart, so brave and bold,

Is liquefied by grief; the memory

Of what Orlando was and did of old

Makes him resolve to bring his cousin home

And cure his ills, wherever he may roam.

But first, since Heaven or the hand of Chance

Has here assembled all this mighty host,

Rinaldo is determined to advance

Upon the Moors, who have surrounded most

Of Paris, but he does not move at once.

To make the pagans pay a higher cost,

He waited till the dark of night was deep

And Lethe’s water sprinkled was by Sleep.

He placed his men-at-arms about the glade

And at their stations ordered them to stay

Until Apollo his departure made

And to his ancient nurse moved on his way;

When bears and goats and serpents were displayed,

No longer hidden by the lamp of day,

Rinaldo moved his silent forces on,

As pagans slumbered in oblivion.

And with him came Grifone, Aquilant,

Guidone, Viviano and Alard,

And Sansonet, a mile or so in front,

With quiet steps and speaking not a word.

Finding the sentinels of Agramant

Asleep, they did not spare a single guard;

Not one was taken prisoner; unseen,

Unheard, they crept among the Saracen.

Rinaldo takes the vanguard by surprise

And his destruction of it is complete,

For not a man is there but falls and dies.

Having no time to rally or retreat,

The pagans do not smile; since in their eyes

The future will not joyful be or sweet;

For half asleep, unarmed and ill-prepared,

Badly against such warriors they fared.

To terrify the Saracens still more

Rinaldo gave the signal for a blast

Of clarions and trumpets; with a roar

Of ‘Montalbano!’ his supporters passed.

Over the barricades Baiardo bore

His master with one leap; then forward fast,

Trampling the fallen bodies, on they went,

Till no pavilion stood and scarce one tent.

Not one among the pagans was so brave

But that his hair stood upright on his head;

Soon as they heard the shout the Christians gave –

That formidable name, inspiring dread –

Spaniards and Africans alike, to save

Their precious skins, from their encampments sped.

On loading packs no precious time is wasted,

When once the fury of the foe is tasted.

Guidone follows him and does no less;

No less achieve the sons of Oliver;

Alardo, Ricciardetto, onward press

And horror the two other brothers stir;

Vivian and Aldigiero spread distress

With Sansonetto as a harbinger

And every knight who rallies to the sign

Brings yet more glory to the Clairmont line.

Of Montalbano’s farmers and their sons

Rinaldo gathered seven hundred men.

Ferocious as Achilles’ Myrmidons,

In winter’s cold, in summer’s heat they train;

No man among them but his armour dons

As soon as danger to their lord is seen.

One hundred would against a thousand stand –

A loyal, valorous and gallant band.

Rinaldo is not rich, in property

Or money, but his frank and open ways,

His readiness to share whatever he

Possesses, mean that every soldier stays

With him, unshaken in his loyalty,

Although a higher wage another pays.

Rinaldo never moves these troops unless

An urgent need arises somewhere else.

But since King Charlemagne has need of aid,

Rinaldo now denudes his citadel,

Taking his soldiers with him, as I said.

Against the Africans they fight so well,

No cruel wolf more fierce an onslaught made

When on the woolly-coated sheep it fell

By the Galaesus, no lion among the goats

Beside the Cinyphus e’er ripped more throats.

King Charles, to whom Rinaldo had sent word

Knew that assistance would be soon at hand;

When of the night attack he also heard,

He armed in readiness to help the band.

When need arose, his paladins he stirred

To action (two were still in Paris) and

The son of Monodante, whom the fair

Young Fiordiligi loved, as he loved her,

Whom she for many days had sought in vain,

Wandering here and there throughout all France.

As soon as she beheld his emblem plain,

She recognized him from afar at once.

When Brandimarte saw his love again,

Setting aside all thoughts of spear and lance,

He hastened to embrace her, and above

A thousand kisses showered on his love.

In olden days they seemed to place great trust

In women, whether middle-aged or young;

Permitted to indulge their wander-lust,

They travelled unaccompanied along

Strange roads, up hill, down dale, from coast to coast,

But those at home suspected nothing wrong.

Fair Fiordiligi started to relate

What she had witnessed of Orlando’s state.

Such tidings he would scarcely credit if

He heard them from another messenger;

But he believes his beautiful young wife

(Far more than this he had believed of her).

Not only did she hear, but large as life

She saw with her own eyes, as she can swear,

Orlando mad, the Count whom she knows well;

And where and when she now proceeds to tell.

She tells him of the bridge which Rodomont

Has built and holds as a pass perilous,

And of the tomb she also gives account,

With surcoats and with arms made sumptuous;

And she describes how she has seen the Count

Commit the wildest and most furious

Of follies, how he wrestled with the Moor,

And fell into the river, and much more.

And he who loved Orlando as a friend,

As ever brothers or a father loved,

As soon as Fiordiligi reached an end,

Resolved to search for him, as it behoved.

No hardship and no jeopardy should bend

His will from finding him, where’er he roved,

And to seek help for him from a physician,

Or else, if that should fail, from a magician.

Armed as he is and mounted on his horse,

He leaves with Fiordiligi as his guide.

Day after day they journey on their course

Until they reach the bridge where many tried

To cross and, failing, lost their arms, or worse,

Their lives. Alerted by the guard inside

The tower, Rodomonte takes his stand

As soon as Brandimarte nears the strand.

As soon as Rodomonte saw him come,

He matched his fury with a direful voice:

‘Whoever you may be, who to your doom

Are here misled by Fate, whence I rejoice,

Dismount! Disarm! Here to this sacred tomb

Pay tribute; do not thank me, for no choice

I give you: I will slay you in a trice

And offer you as the next sacrifice.’

No other answer Brandimarte gave

Than with his lance; and spurring on his steed,

Batoldo, loyal, spirited and brave,

He rode against the pagan at such speed

And with such courage, he was seen to have

That valour which the knightly virtues breed.

And Rodomonte, as his foe approached,

Thundered across the bridge, his weapon couched.

So many times had Rodomonte’s horse

Traversed the narrow bridge, from which now one

And now another knight was flung by force,

Secure, unfaltering he galloped on.

Batoldo, unaccustomed to the course,

Trembled in every sinew, nerve and bone.

The bridge was trembling too as on they rode,

And seemed about to fall beneath their load.

Both cavaliers are masters of the joust.

As thick as tree-trunks both their lances are.

The heavy blows they strike, to their great cost,

Are heavier than they have struck so far.

Though strong and skilled, the horses cannot trust

Their mighty frames to save them from the jar.

Their balance being unsettled, down they slip,

Both riders falling with them in a heap.

Both horses struggle to rise up again,

Urged by the spurs which both the knights apply.

So narrow is the bridge, they strive in vain

To find a foothold; neither can defy

The force of gravity, howe’er they strain.

They fall with such a splash, the sound on high

Re-echoes, as when in our river Po

Apollo’s son, Phaëthon, fell below.

The horses carry with them on their backs

The weight of the two knights, who sit erect.

Total immersion neither of them lacks.

The bottom of the river they inspect

As though they followed in a naiad’s tracks.

The pagan found it easy to direct

His underwater steed, for more than once

They have descended to these crystal haunts.

He knows where all the mud-banks are, and where

The water’s deep or shallow; head and breast

And thighs at last emerge into the air.

But Brandimarte does not pass this test.

The river’s current whirls him here and there.

Batoldo, sinking in the sand, sinks fast.

He tries to extricate himself, but down

He sinks again, till both, it seems, must drown.

The tumbling water turns them downside-up

And thus they float (as Turpin tells the tale),

The rider underneath, the horse on top;

And from the bridge, the damsel, deathly pale,

With sighs and sobs and tears, which never stop,

To Rodomonte utters this appeal:

‘For her whose memory you so revere,

Be not so cruel! Save my cavalier!

‘Ah! courteous knight, if love you ever knew,

On me have pity, who so love this knight.

Make him your prisoner, as is your due.

Adorn this sepulchre, as is your right,

With this fair banner, fairer far than you

Have ever conquered here in any fight.’

So well she pleads, the cruel pagan king

Is moved to pity by her suffering.

And to the aid of Brandimart, immersed,

He ran, and not too soon; the knight by then

Had fully quenched his (non-existent) thirst,

And wondered if he’d ever see again

The light of day; but Rodomonte, first

Relieving him of helm and sword, by main

Force dragged him, almost lifeless, to the shore

And locked him, among many, in the tower.

All joy had died in Fiordiligi’s breast,

To see her lover led away and bound,

Though she consoled herself to think at least

In spite of everything he had not drowned.

The blame was hers, she inwardly confessed

(And this her grief with sharper sorrow crowned),

For she had told her love, and only she,

About Orlando’s grievous malady.

The damsel rode away, for she had planned

To fetch Rinaldo, Sansonetto, or

Guidone, or another of their band,

Well-versed in every skill and art of war,

As nimble in the water as on land,

Who, if he was to overcome the Moor,

If not of greater strength, must be possessed

Of better fortune than her love at least.

She journeys on her quest for a long way

Before she meets with any cavaliers

Who in her view those qualities display

Which are essential for this task of hers.

She searches here and there until one day

She sees a knight approaching her who wears

A surcoat broidered with a fair design

Of cypress-trees, ornate and rich and fine.

But I will tell you later who this was,

For now my purpose is to take you back

To Paris, where the pagans have good cause

To flee before Rinaldo’s fierce attack.

I cannot count them all, nor number those

Who are despatched for ever to the black

Infernal shores of Styx; though Turpin tried,

Such inky darkness his attempt defied.

King Agramante, sleeping in his tent,

Is wakened from his slumber by a knight.

His capture, he declares, is imminent.

He must as soon as possible take flight.

The king looks round him in bewilderment.

He sees his men and he observes their plight:

Naked and helpless, running here and there,

Having no time to arm or to prepare.

The king, confused, uncertain what to do,

Allows his squire to fasten his cuirass,

When Balugant, with others of that crew,

Arrive to tell him what has come to pass.

Grandonio and Falsirone, who

Accompanies his son, all round him press,

And on him urge the danger he is in:

He will be fortunate to save his skin.

So does Marsilio; good Sobrino’s voice

Is mingled with the others there, to say

That Agramant must flee; he has no choice,

For ruin stares him in the face that day:

Rinaldo comes, his followers rejoice.

If Agramante now decides to stay,

His fate, his allies’ fate, he will ensure:

Death or imprisonment they must endure.

Let him withdraw to Arles or to Narbonne,

Together with such troops as still remain.

Both fortresses are strong and either one

A siege, if necessary, could sustain.

When he is safe inside the garrison,

He can regroup his forces once again,

And every stratagem and means employ

To take revenge and Charlemagne destroy.

King Agramante heeded their advice,

Though harsh and bitter the decision was.

So, to avoid a greater sacrifice,

Along the road to Arles, without a pause,

He went; wings seemed to waft him in a trice,

Though, leaving in the dark, he had no cause

To fear pursuit; thus from the net that day

The wild-fowl (twenty thousand) got away.

But those Rinaldo and his brothers slew,

And those the sons of Oliver laid low,

And those who fell before the gallant few –

The seven hundred – who allegiance owe

To Montalbano, those whose death is due

To Sansonetto, their sum who can know?

One might as well attempt to count the flowers

Which star the meadow after April showers.

Some think that Malagigi had a share

In that night’s triumph; so much butchery,

So many bodies scattered everywhere,

And broken heads, the work of sorcery

Must be; from Tartarean regions drear

He conjured up the Devil’s cavalry,

Of which the banners, destriers and lances

The forces would outnumber of two Frances.

The crash of metal clashing, clattering,

The rolling thunder of so many drums,

So many thudding hoofs, the whinnying,

The roar which from so many voices comes,

O’er hill and plain and valley echoing,

A tumult which all pandemoniums

Exceeds must come from Hell, so it was said,

And that was why the pagans turned and fled.

Ruggiero, whose condition was still grave,

Was not forgotten by King Agramant,

Who to his squires precise instructions gave

To lay him on a steed which smoothly went

Along the safest path; and next, to save

Him pain or any untoward incident,

They were to find a ship and thence on board

Bring him to Arles to join the pagan horde.

Those who from Charles and from Rinaldo fled

Numbered a hundred thousand, I believe,

Or little less; o’er hill and dale they sped,

And over wood and plain, in haste to leave

The soil of France; and many stained it red

Where it was clad with green; but I deceive

You if I here omit Gradasso’s name,

Who from the farthermost pavilion came.

For when he knows that Montalban is there,

That it is he who marshals the assault,

His joy is such he leaps into the air,

For at this news he cannot but exult.

He thanks his Maker that a chance so rare

Has come his way; and he will not default.

The longed-for moment has arrived at last

To win Baiard, that charger unsurpassed.

Gradasso longed with all his royal pride

(And this I think you have already heard)

To flaunt Orlando’s weapon at his side,

And by the mad ambition too was stirred

Upon that flawless destrier to ride.

And so, this horse to mount, this weapon gird,

He’d brought a hundred thousand men to France

And had defied Rinaldo more than once.

And to the shore one day, where they agreed

To see which of the two would come off best,

Gradasso went, but did not then succeed

In putting Montalbano to the test,

For Malagigi made his cousin speed

On board a ship (lured by illusion) lest

He came to harm; and from that day to this

The king suspected him of cowardice.

Thus when he knows that it is Montalban

Who leads the assault, Gradasso feels delight.

He dons his arms as quickly as he can

And in pursuit rides off into the night;

And indiscriminately every man

Whom he encounters, be he Christian knight

Or Saracen, of Libya, or France,

Is laid low by the impact of his lance.

He sought Rinaldo here, he sought him there,

Louder each time he challenged him by name,

And to the centre of the turmoil, where

The dead lay thickest on the field, he came.

At last they meet, a formidable pair.

Swords are their weapons, for each lance the same

Fate overtakes: a thousand splinters rise

To join the starry wagon of the skies.

And when he sees the valiant paladin

He knows him straight away, beyond all doubt

Not by his banner (which he has not seen),

But by the impact of his blows, without

Compare, and by the destrier between

His thighs; and he begins at once to shout

Abuse, reproaching him because he fled

And failed to keep the tryst they had agreed.

‘’You thought perhaps that if you hid that day’,

He said, ‘you’d never meet me face to face;

But, as you see, although you ran away,

I have now caught you, and whatever place

You chose, the furthest shores of Styx or, say,

The highest sphere of Heaven, I would trace

You (even if you rode your destrier),

In darkness or in light, no matter where.

‘But if your courage fails you once again,

If, as before, you fear to fight with me,

And if your honour you would rather stain

Than risk your life, here is a remedy:

Give me your charger, and alive remain,

But go on foot; you don’t deserve to be

The owner of that horse if you refuse

My challenge and a coward’s part you choose.’

Two others near Rinaldo hear these words –

Guidon and Ricciardetto – who at once,

At the same moment, both unsheathe their swords

In answer to the Sericanian’s

Abuse; but Montalbano turns towards

Them and, to check their resolute advance,

He says, ‘Do you consider that without

Your help the outcome is in any doubt?’

Then to the pagan monarch he replied,

‘Listen, Gradasso, I will make it clear

That to the shore I came; I did not hide

But kept my promise as a cavalier;

Then I will prove by arms that you have lied,

That what I tell you is the truth you hear.

You will commit an act of calumny

If you accuse me of unchivalry.

100

‘But first, before we fight, attend, I pray,

And you shall hear my true and just excuse,

The reason why we did not meet that day,

And how unjustified is your abuse.

As for Baiard, it shall be as you say:

Your challenge for him I will not refuse,

But we must fight on foot and face to face,

As you decreed, and in some lonely place.’

101

The king of Sericana, courteous

As it behoves all cavaliers to be,

Whose heart, courageous and magnanimous,

Rejoices ever in true chivalry,

Follows Rinaldo without animus

Along a path beside the Seine, where he

With candour from the truth removes the veil,

All heaven being witness to his tale.

102

In further proof he calls for Buovo’s son,

Who from his repertoire of magic charms

Recites in full again the very one

By which he drew his cousin from the harms

And perils of that day. ‘Let us move on’,

Rinaldo added then, ‘to proof by arms.

What I have shown to be the truth by words.

I’ll prove the more convincingly by swords.’

103

Gradasso, who desired at least to save

The first of the two reasons for dispute,

Accepted the excuse Rinaldo gave

pg(And any doubts he had he firmly put

Aside). This time, not where the waters lave

The shores of Barcelona is their route;

They choose a near-by fountain as their site,

Where they will meet next morning for their fight.

104

The terms are these: the destrier, Baiard,

Shall tethered be as trophy while they fight.

If he defeats his foe, the king’s reward

Shall be to take the charger as his right;

But if Rinaldo presses him so hard

He has to choose between eternal night

And ignominy, then let him surrender

And to Rinaldo Durindana tender.

105

With great astonishment and greater grief

(As I have said) Rinaldo had heard tell

Of the disaster which (though past belief)

The greatest of the paladins befell.

The quarrel which broke out among the chief

Opponents of the Faith he also knew,

And thus he learned Gradasso had that blade

So famous by Orlando’s prowess made.

106

When they had come to terms, Gradasso, though

Invited by Rinaldo to his tent,

Declined with thanks, for he preferred to go

To his own quarters, and away he went.

When in the East new light began to glow,

Both combatants were armed for the event

And to the fountain came, where they agreed

To fight for Durindana and the steed.

107

This duel which Rinaldo is to fight

With Sericana’s monarch, hand to hand,

Is causing deep alarm in every knight

And fear in every soldier of his band.

Great is Gradasso’s skill and great his might –

This they all know, and when they understand

He carries Durindana at his side,

Rinaldo’s friends grow pale and terrified.

108

Viviano’s brother, more than all the rest,

Feared for his cousin’s safety in this fray.

He longed to put his magic to the test

And every blow against Rinaldo stay;

But though he was prepared to do his best,

He did not want to vex the knight that day.

He had incurred his anger once before

When to the ship he lured him from the shore.

109

However much the others doubt and fear

Rinaldo goes off happy and secure.

His reputation he now hopes to clear.

Reproach, he finds,is bitter to endure.

His foes of Altafoglia and Pontier

Of arrogant pretensions he will cure.

So bold and confident, he goes his way

To win the triumph he expects that day.

110

From two directions the two combatants

Arrive beside the fount near the same hour.

First they embrace with friendly countenance,

As if the king were a relation or

At least a life-long friend of Montalban’s.

Their brows are so serene, none could be more.

But what occurred when they began their fight

I will defer until another night.

CANTO XXXII

I now remember (it had slipped my mind)

I promised to enlarge upon that pang

Of jealousy, and why the Maid repined.

One cause of her uneasiness I sang.

Then a new doubt, more subtle and refined,

Torments her with a sharper, poisoned fang:

The words of Ricciardetto so infest

Her heart, it is consumed within her breast.

I meant to sing to you of her distress,

When suddenly Rinaldo came between.

Guidone next distracted me no less,

Holding Rinaldo long, as you have seen.

What with these two, and others, I confess

Of Bradamant forgetful I have been.

But I remember now, and will defer

The duel I began, and sing of her.

And yet, before I tell you of her plight,

I have to speak of Agramant again

Who, after all the terrors of the night,

Near Arles conducts such troops as still remain,

For this, he thinks, is a convenient site

To victual and regroup his forces; Spain

Is near at hand and, opposite, the coast

Of Africa he faces, with his host.

Through all his realm Marsilio recruits

Fresh men-at-arms and horsemen, good and bad.

In Barcelona every captain puts

His ship in fighting order; some are glad

To do so, for their purposes it suits.

Each day the generals confer; to add

To all these efforts, heavy taxes are

Imposed on every town in Africa.

To Rodomont an offer has been sent:

For bride he’ll have a cousin of the king,

Almonte’s daughter, if he will consent

To leave the bridge, and reinforcements bring

To help the Moors in their predicament.

With Rodomont there is no reasoning:

Even Oran as dowry he refuses.

To guard the lovers’ sepulchre he chooses.

Marfisa does not copy him in this.

When word of what has happened reaches her –

The king defeated by his enemies,

So many dead, or taken prisoner –

She does not wait, but hastens where he is

Encamped beside the river Rhône; and there

She offers him her skill, her strength, her all,

And on her loyal service bids him call.

She led Brunello captive in her train

And gave him over to the king, unharmed.

Marfisa had done nothing but detain

Him for ten days; despondent and alarmed,

He waited to be hanged by her or slain;

But she, when no one challenged her in armed

Dispute, unwilling now to soil her hands,

Decided to release him from his bonds.

Instead of punishing his trickery,

She brings him to King Agramant at Arles.

You may imagine his delight that she

Has come to fight for him against King Charles.

In recognition of her loyalty,

He has the thief Brunello seized, who snarls,

And what she once desired the king to do

By Agramante is attended to.

The hangman left him in a lonely place

As food for vultures, as a meal for crows.

Ruggiero, who once saved the villain’s face

And from his evil neck untied the noose,

Is lying at this moment, by the grace

Of God, upon his pallet; when he knows

About Brunello’s miserable fate,

He cannot help the wretch, it is too late.

Meanwhile, fair Bradamante had bemoaned

The long, slow passing of those twenty days

Before Ruggiero was to keep his bond

To her and to the Faith; but he delays,

And, like a prisoner who long has groaned

For liberty, her toll of tears she pays,

Or like a patriot who long is banned

From his belovèd, smiling fatherland.

So slowly now the sun-god seemed to drive,

She thought one of his horses must be lame.

So slowly did the light of dawn arrive,

A broken wheel must surely be to blame.

No day so long did Joshua contrive,

Who stopped the sun, as then her days became.

The threefold night when Hercules was born

Did not so long delay the languid morn.

How often did she envy as she wept

The dormouse and the badger and the bear!

For gladly all that time would she have slept,

And nothing hear or see, and never stir

Until Ruggiero to her chamber stepped

And with his voice and kiss awakened her;

But to achieve that was beyond her power

Who could not even sleep one single hour.

She turns and tosses on her bed all night,

The downy feathers granting no repose,

Or window-gazes, eager for the sight

Of fair Aurora, old Tithonus’ spouse,

Who scatters in the path of morning light

Her tribute of the lily and the rose;

And when day rises she no less desires

To see the sky ablaze with starry fires.

When four or five days only must go by

Before the ending of the time agreed,

Hour after hour she waited for the cry

‘Here comes Ruggiero on his mighty steed!’

Often she climbed a tower and from on high

She scanned the woods and fields, as if to read

The longed-for message there, or glimpse perchance

A cavalcade along the road from France.

If from afar the gleam of arms is seen,

Or rider who might be a cavalier,

Her eyes, her brow, once more become serene,

For this at last, she thinks, must be Ruggier;

Or if some figure trudges on the scene,

Unarmed, she takes him for his messenger.

Though many times she is deceived by hope,

She does not cease to be illusion’s dupe.

Sometimes she puts on armour and sets out,

Descending from the castle to the plain;

Failing to meet him, by some other route

She thinks he must have come; and once again,

With undiminished hope, she turns about

And enters Montalbano, but in vain.

She seeks him here, she seeks him there; at last

The day when he had pledged to come has passed.

One day, then two, then three, then six, then eight,

Elapsed; at last they mounted to a score.

She, knowing nothing of her bridegroom’s fate,

Was troubled by his absence more and more.

Her bitter cries would make compassionate

The snake-haired Furies on the Stygian shore.

The beauty of her eyes she does not spare,

Nor yet her snowy breast, her golden hair.

‘Can it be true, alas!’ she cried, ‘that he

For whom I search, from me attempts to fly?

He whom I hold so dear, despises me?

And he whom I entreat, will not reply?

To one who hates, my heart in bond must be?

Does he esteem his qualities so high

That an immortal goddess is required

Before his unresponsive heart is fired?

‘Knowing how much I love him, in his pride

He spurns me both as lover and as slave.

Knowing my sufferings, he stands aside

And in his cruelty will feign to save

Me after I am dead; as serpents hide,

Blocking their ears from music, so this brave

Heroic warrior keeps out of range,

Lest by my grief his evil heart I change.

‘Ah, stay him, Love!, who speeds from me so fast,

Whom I pursue with laggard steps and slow;

Or let me once again, as in the past,

About the world, a heart-free damsel go!

How foolish and fallacious was the trust

I had in you! Mercy you never show,

For it is your delight, your joy, your bliss,

To see your victims all reduced to this!

‘But, in the end, of what do I complain

Except of my irrational desire,

Which lifts me far above the azure plain,

Until at last its pinions have caught fire

My weight no longer able to sustain,

It drops me to the earth; then even higher

It raises me; its wings are singed anew;

To such repeated falls no end I view.

‘And yet, my fault was greater, I must own;

For it was I who welcomed to my breast

A love which banished reason from its throne.

My powers are unequal to the test.

From bad to worse the charger bears me on;

I have no rein, I cannot check the beast.

It makes me realize my death is near,

To render life more difficult to bear.

‘But why should I thus take myself to task?

My only error was in loving you.

What marvel was it that I could not mask

My feelings, or my female heart subdue?

Why should I shield myself, when I might bask

In manly beauty, grace, and wisdom too?

Such radiance as yours, how could I shun?

As well refuse to greet the rising sun!

‘I was impelled, not only by my fate,

But by a sacred pledge that I would be

By a felicitous and blessed state

Rewarded for my love and constancy.

If now, I realize, alas!, too late,

That I was duped by a false prophecy,

Then Merlin I revile, him I reprove,

But never will I cease to love my love.

‘Both Merlin and Melissa I will blame

Until the end of time, for by a spell

They showed me my descendants, to their shame,

As spirits conjured from the depths of Hell;

And of this trickery their only aim

Was to delude me – why, I cannot tell.

Perhaps they envied me my peace of mind.

No other reason for it can I find.’

Grief so possesses her, there is no place

In her whole body which is comforted.

Yet hope within her bosom still finds space.

Though she is sure that she has been misled,

The recollection of Ruggiero’s face

And, when they parted, of the words he said,

Although no evidence can she discern,

Persuades her to believe he will return.

This hope sustains her after twenty days

Have passed, and for a month her grief is less

Acute; her expectation helps to raise

The heavy burdens which her soul oppress.

She wonders why Ruggiero still delays

But ever at the reason fails to guess;

Then, as she searches for him here and there,

Some tidings come which throw her in despair.

She met one day by chance a Gascon knight

Who from the Africans had lately fled.

He had been taken prisoner that night

When the surprise attack Rinaldo led.

She closely questioned him about the fight

And listened eagerly to all he said.

Then she enquired if he had seen her love

And from that subject would not let him move.

He was acquainted with the pagan court

And of the duel he was well aware.

He gladly gave the Maid a full report:

How Mandricard was killed and how Ruggier

Had almost died, so badly was he hurt.

And if his message had but stopped just there,

This would have been a perfect alibi.

Her eyes already she began to dry.

But he went on to say that a young maid,

As fair as she was brave, Marfisa named,

Had come to the encampment, bringing aid.

For skill in battle she was justly famed.

She and Ruggiero were in love, he said.

They were together always, unashamed.

They were betrothed, so everyone believed,

And each the other’s promise had received.

And when Ruggiero is quite well once more,

The wedding will be published far and wide

And every leader, Saracen and Moor,

By this announcement will be gratified.

Nothing could please the pagans better, for

They know the prowess of the pair; with prid

And confidence a race of supermen

They prophesy, such as were never seen.

The Gascon thought that what he said was true,

And with good reason; every Saracen

And every Moor believed the rumour too.

The many indications that were seen,

The mutual affection of the two,

The origin of this belief had been.

From mouth to mouth the story quickly spread

That soon the loving couple would be wed.

That she had come to help King Agramant

And reached the camp just when Ruggiero did,

Confirmed the rumour; and although she went

Away, taking Brunello, to be rid

(And well rid) of the thieving miscreant,

She had returned (as I have said) amid

The Saracens, without being summoned there,

Solely that she might see and tend Ruggier.

To visit him appeared her only aim,

As he lay gravely wounded on his bed.

Not only once but many times she came.

All day beside him in his tent she stayed,

And left, when evening fell, for her good name;

And what was even stranger, people said,

Though for her pride Marfisa was well known,

To him a humble sweetness she had shown.

All this and more the Gascon verified.

When Bradamante heard this terrible

Account, the pain and grief which pierced her side

Caused her such torment that she all but fell.

Sadly she turned upon her homeward ride.

Her rising jealousy she could not quell.

All hope by rage was driven from her breast

As to her room she hastened, to seek rest.

She does not stop to take her armour off,

But flings herself upon her bed, face down.

The bed-clothes in her mouth she tries to stuff,

Hoping by this her anguished cries to drown.

Ruggiero’s absence caused her grief enough,

And now this Gascon has arrived to crown

Her misery; unable then to bear

Her grief, she thus gave vent to her despair:

‘Alas! whom shall I ever trust again?

If you, my love, are cruel and untrue,

Untrue and cruel are all other men;

With all my heart and soul I trusted you.

What cruelty has ever caused such pain?

And in what ancient tragedy, or new,

Was such betrayal ever heard or shown?

What fate so undeserved was ever known?

‘How does it come to pass that you, Ruggier,

In courage, beauty, valour, chivalry,

The paragon, the perfect cavalier,

Have not the virtue of fidelity?

In courtesy and grace you have no peer;

Your only blemish is inconstancy.

How is it that, of all the virtues this,

The greatest of them, you do not possess?

‘Without this saving grace (did you not know?)

All other virtues of a noble knight

Remain unnoticed; for, how can one show

A thing of beauty where there is no light?

How easy to deceive a maid who so

Adored you as her idol, in whose sight

You were a god, and whom you could have told

(She trusting) that the sun was dark and cold!

‘Ah, cruel one! Of what do you repent

If killing her who loves you will not cause

Remorse? If broken faith an incident

Of no account you hold, are there no law

Which you respect? And if you so torment

A loving friend, how do you treat your foes?

There is no justice in this world, I know,

Nor yet in Heaven, if my revenge is slow

‘If more than any other sin Man hates

Ingratitude, knowing no keener smart,

And if for this, exiled from Heaven’s gates,

The Light-bearer in darkness dwells apart,

And if grave punishment grave sin awaits,

When due repentance does not cleanse the heart,

Beware! On you harsh punishment descends

Who for ingratitude make no amends

‘Of theft, that crime most evil and most foul,

I also have good reason to complain.

I hold you guilty, not because you stole

My heart, for that will ever yours remain;

I mean the gift you made me of your soul,

Which now, ah cruel! you take back again.

Restore yourself to me, ignoble thief,

And be absolved of guilt and of my grief.

‘You have abandoned me, but I from you,

Not even if I would, could never part.

But there remains one thing which I can do,

And will, to cure this pain within my heart:

My days I will now end, though they are few.

Would that the gods had not seen fit to thwart

Me in my last desire: to die while yet

Ruggiero loved me! Then had death been sweet.’

So saying, ready and disposed to die,

She leaps up from her bed and draws her sword.

Rage and despair within her bosom vie.

She turns her weapon’s deadly point toward

Her breast upon the left-hand side, up high –

But armour finds; her better self a word

Now whispers in her heart: ‘You, nobly born,

Will thus incur eternal shame and scorn?

‘Would it at least not be more suitable

To die in battle, honoured on the field?

If in the presence of Ruggier you fell,

Your death might move his heart; if you were killed

By him, could any woman die so well?

– For by his deed your wish would be fulfilled;

And right it were, if you by him were slain,

Since he it is who fills your life with pain.

‘Before you die, it may be you will wreak

Revenge upon Marfisa, whose deceit

And female wiles have caused your heart to break

And from you your Ruggiero alienate.’

These whisperings a good impression make

Upon the Maid, who an elaborate

Device invents, by which to signify

Her desperation and resolve to die.

Her surcoat is the colour of the leaf

Which fades when it is parted from the tree,

Or sap no longer rises; and the chief

Design consists of cypress-stumps, which she

Selects as fit to represent her grief;

For never they regain vitality,

Once they are severed by the woodman’s axe,

Just as the Maid her source of life now lacks

She takes the steed Astolfo used to ride.

She takes his golden lance, which at a touch

Unseats all combatants and flings them wide

The reason why Astolfo gave her such

A horse and lance, on which he so relied,

And how he first obtained them, would take much

Too long to tell again. The Maid by chance

Has chosen, unaware, the magic lance.

Taking no shield-bearer or company,

She rode downhill and started on her way

To Paris, for she thought the enemy

Was still encamped outside and there would stay.

No news had reached her of the strategy

By which the siege was raised, nor of the fray

In which Rinaldo slew the pagan horde,

By Malagigi helped, and Charles’s sword.

All Quercy and its capital, Cahors,

She left the mountain she had lost from view

Where the Dordogne (her river) has its source

And close to Montferrand and Clermont drew,

When all at once a lady on a horse,

Serene of brow, benign and gracious too,

Passed on ahead of her upon the road.

Three knights, escorting her, beside her rode.

A train of squires and ladies came with her.

Some rode in front and others rode behind.

The Maid enquired of one who passed quite near,

‘Pray tell me, sir, if you will be so kind,

Who is this lady?’ ‘As a messenger

She has been sent from the Far North, to find

The king of all the Franks,’ the squire replied;

‘The Arctic seas to reach him she defied.

‘Our region, the “Lost Isle” some people call.

By others, Iceland it is also named.

Our queen by far the loveliest of all

Whom Heaven blessed with beauty is acclaimed.

She sends this shield to Charlemagne, who shall

Award it to that knight, of all those famed

For chivalry, whom he declares the best

In the whole world, by every proof and test.

‘Since she esteems herself, and rightly so,

The loveliest of women, she will have

Only that cavalier whom she can know

To be above all others strong and brave;

And nothing her resolve can overthrow:

No man will she accept as husband save

That knight who in the lists is proved supreme.

It is for him she waits and only him.

‘She hopes that at the famous court of France,

Where Charlemagne is ruler, such a knight

Is to be found, who with both sword and lance

Has proved a thousand times his skill and might.

The three who by the lady proudly prance

Are kings; their kingdoms I will now recite:

In Sweden, Gothland, Norway, they were crowned

In skills of combat few are so renowned.

‘These three, whose countries are less far-away

Than others from the Isle men call the Lost

(Because, according to what people say,

There are few mariners who know that coast)

Have been enamoured of our queen since they

First saw her,and desire at any cost

To marry her; for her, such things they’ve done

As shall for all eternity be known.

‘But she the hand of no man will accept,

Unless above all others he excel.

“That in these regions you are proved adept”,

She says to them, “is a poor test of skill.

Whoever wins, I grant is not inept:

A sun among the stars, he shines quite well.

But that does not entitle him to claim

A champion’s renown, a hero’s fame.

‘ “To Charlemagne, whom I esteem and hold

In all the world to be the wisest lord,

I plan to send a costly shield of gold,

Which I expressly ask him to award

To the most valorous, to the most bold,

Of all who fight for him with lance or sword.

And be he knight or vassal,any man

I will accept if chosen by Charlemagne.

‘ “When Charlemagne shall have received the shield

And given it to that courageous knight

Who is the champion of all who wield

Their sacred weapons in a holy fight;

Or if to one of you all others yield,

To whomsoever brings it back by right,

My hand and heart I offer in reward.

He will my husband be, my love, my lord.”

‘These words of hers induced the kings to come

To France, so distant from the Arctic main.

Each plans to take the golden trophy home,

Or by the winner vanquished be and slain.’

The Maid has listened silently and from

The tale she gathers all there is to glean.

Her courteous informant spurs his steed

And catches his companions up with speed.

She gladly lets him gallop on ahead,

Content to wend more slowly on her route.

Turning the contest over in her head,

Mischief, she sees, will be its only fruit.

Such rivalry as this is bound to lead

To enmity and discord and dispute

Among the paladins and others, if

King Charles agrees to countenance such strife.

This weighs upon her heart, but even more

She is cast down, oppressed and troubled by

The thought which weighed so heavily before

That in her grief she has resolved to die:

The love which once for her Ruggiero bore

Is now Marfisa’s; she can scarce descry

The path, nor does she seek a night’s abode,

So sunk is she beneath her sorrow’s load.

And as a vessel, which an off-shore wind,

Or some mishap, has loosened from her berth,

The river’s quiet reaches leaves behind

Whirling unpiloted towards the firth

So Bradamante wandered, with her mind

Fixed on Ruggiero, whom no power on earth

Made her forget; her thoughts were miles away

While Rabicano chose the course that day

Raising her eyes at last, she sees the sun

Has turned his back on Mauretania’s shore

And, diving like a goosander, has gone

To seek his ancient mother’s lap once more.

And if she thinks that she will sleep upon

The ground beneath the trees, there is in stor

The prospect of a night of rain or snow,

For cold and menacing the winds now blow.

She urges on her charger to a trot

And soon observes a shepherd with his flock,

Leaving the pastures for his simple cot.

Then, of her situation taking stock,

She asks the shepherd if he knows a spot

Where she may find some shelter; any nook

Will do, for no one is ill-lodged if warm

And dry he keeps, protected from a storm.

The shepherd said, ‘The only place I know,

Unless I send you several miles from here,

Is Tristan’s fortress, where not many go.

The doors are shut to every cavalier

Who does not first in single combat show

A winner’s claim to a night’s lodging there,

And, having won it with his lance, will fight

Against all comers to defend his right.

‘For when a knight one foe has overcome

He is admitted by the castellan

(Always supposing there’s a vacant room);

But he must arm himself and fight again

If any other claimants chance to come.

If not, he may in peace all night remain.

In this new combat, he who wins may stay,

The other sleeps outside till break of day.

‘If two or three or more arrive at once,

They run but little risk of being turned out,

For if a single knight comes next by chance,

He has to fight them turn and turn about.

Just so, one cavalier in residence

To such a test of prowess may be put;

If two or three or more come after him,

The combat will be strenuous and grim.

‘Likewise, if any lady should approach

The fortress-gate, escorted or alone,

She is obliged to yield her downy couch,

And sleep beneath the starry sky, if one

Arrives whose grace and loveliness are such

As to surpass and to eclipse her own.’

And, not content with words, the shepherd showed

The Maid with gestures where the fortress stood.

And Bradamante, eager to complete

The journey (of about six miles, or five,

The shepherd said) urges with hands and feet

Her willing horse, who does his best to strive

Against the muddy paths which spell defeat.

It is already dark when they arrive.

The fortress is shut fast, the gate is barred.

The Maid requests a lodging of the guard.

He told her all the rooms were occupied.

A group of knights and ladies had reserved

Them, who now waited in the hall inside

Around a fire for supper to be served.

‘That meal is not for them,’ the Maid replied.

‘I know the custom; let it be observed.

Go in and tell them that a knight has come

To prove his right to occupy a room.’

The sentinel departs as he is told

And gives the message to the cavaliers.

Though they are valorous and brave and bold,

The challenge falls unwelcome on their ears.

The prospect of the dark and rain and cold

With present ease and comfort ill compares.

Reluctantly they arm and go outside

To meet the knight by whom they are defied.

They are those three whose valour is so great

By few in all the world they are surpassed.

They are those three whom we have seen of late

Beside the messenger whose troop went past.

They are those three who, hazarding their fate

Resolve to win the golden shield; so fast

They spurred, they galloped on ahead of her

Who, now arriving, is their challenger.

Those who surpassed these cavaliers were few

But Bradamante of those few was one.

Her night would not be spent outside, she knew,

, In rain and darkness, hungry and alone.

The others who remained inside could view

The combat through the windows, for the moon,

Though veiled by clouds, yet shed a fitful light

Through drenching rain, illumining the fight.

As when a lover, burning with desire

To enter and enjoy that sweetest fruit

For which his senses long have been on fire

Has heard the bolt which held the portal shut

Slide softly open and with love conspire,

So Bradamante, eager now to put

Her prowess to the test, rejoiced to hear

The drawbridge lowered as her foes drew near.

As soon as she has seen the three emerge

And cross the bridge, abreast or riding close,

She turns to take her distance and to urge

Her splendid destrier towards her foes.

The lance her cousin gave her on the verge

Of his departure is in rest; it throws

All enemies it touches, without fail

Against it Mars himself could not prevail.

The king of Sweden, who rode forth ahead,

Turned first and came towards her on the plain.

The magic weapon smote him on the head,

That lance which never lowered was in vain.

The king of Gothland was the next who sped:

His horse went wandering with dangled rein,

Its rider far away and upside-down,

Who, like the third, in mud seemed like to drown.

With these three blows the score the Maid has notched

Is three heads down and six legs in the air.

So, none of these encounters having botched,

She gallops back towards the castle where

She claims a bed; the castellan (who watched

The combat) first obliges her to swear

That if her claim is challenged she will fight,

And then he grants her lodging for the night.

He pays her all due honour and respect,

Having observed her prowess and her skill.

So does the lady who, you recollect,

Has come to do the queen of Iceland’s will.

The Maid approaches, formal and correct;

The lady, rising with an affable,

Serene and gracious smile, extends her hand

And leads her to the fire where others stand.

And Bradamante, taking off her shield,

Had next removed her helmet from her head.

In doing so, the golden coif, which held

Her tresses coiled and flat, she likewise shed.

They fell about her shoulders and revealed

Her unmistakably as a young maid,

Who was as beautiful in countenance

As she was skilled with horse and sword and lance.

As when the curtain falls to show a scene

Illumined by a thousand brilliant lights,

Where archways, statues, monuments are seen,

Where paint and gilding add to the delights,

Or when the sun emerges from between

The clouds and with his radiant face invites

Us to rejoice, so now before their eyes

The helm, removed, discloses Paradise.

Her tresses which the holy hermit cut

Have grown again; though shorter than they were,

They can be coiled again to form a knot

Behind her neck, and thus she binds her hair.

The castellan now knows, beyond all doubt,

That this is Bradamante, brave and fair,

For he has seen her many times before,

And now he pays her homage even more.

They sit beside the fire, and pleasant food

Is offered to their ears by what they say,

While for their bodies nourishment as good

Will be provided in another way;

And Bradamante, in this interlude,

Asked why all travellers this fee must pay

For lodging; was the custom new or old?

This story in reply the host then told.

‘Once in the days of good King Pharamont,

Prince Clodione loved a fair young maid.

Her beauty, grace, and manners elegant

Put many other damsels in the shade.

Such was his love for her that he was wont

To keep his gaze on her as, it is said,

Argus watched Io at the will of Jove,

For jealousy in him was strong as love.

‘On him the king this fortress had bestowed.

He kept the lady here and seldom went

Beyond the gates; and in this same abode

Ten of the bravest kngihts were resident.

One day by chance there paśsed along the road

The noble Tristan on adventure bent.

He had just saved a damsel in distress

From a fierce giant’s undesired caress.

‘Tristan arrived just as the setting sun

Had turned its shoulders to the Spanish shore.

He asked here for a bed (elsewhere not one

Could he have found, not for ten miles or more):

But entry was refused by Clodion.

Such were his love and jealousy, he swore

That to no stranger lodging would he give,

Long as his lovely lady here should live.

‘When Tristan knew that prayers were in vain,

That Clodione never would agree,

“What I by gentle words could not obtain,

I hope to take from you by force,” said he.

And so the prince he challenged and the ten

Who waited on him; and then instantly

His sword unsheathed, his mighty lance in rest,

With a loud shout he called them to the test

‘These are the terms of combat he proposed:

If he unseated them and stayed upright

The portals of the fortress would be closed

To them and he inside would spend the night.

Since such a challenge could not be refused

Prince Clodione risks his life to fight.

He falls; and Tristan, turn and turn about,

Unseats the other ten and locks them out.

‘And, entering the fortress, Tristan sees

The lady so beloved of Clodion.

Nature to women seldom lavish is

And yet of her she made a paragon.

Tristan exchanges a few courtesies.

Meanwhile outside the lover hammers on

The door, sparing no effort and no pain

To get his lovely lady back again.

‘Tristan, although he does not highly prize

The lady (nor for any save Iseult

Whom he so greatly loves, could he have eyes –

The potion which he drank has this result),

To take revenge on Clodion replies:

“It would be a great wrong and a great fault

To turn such beauty out into the cold.

To do so is unchivalrous, I hold.

‘ “But if the prince declines to sleep alone

Beneath the sky and asks for company,

I have a damsel here; her charms, I own,

Are less outstanding; but, despite that, she

Is young and fair; to pleasure she seems prone,

So let her do his will; it seems to me

That it is only right and only just

The fairest should reward the most robust.”

‘These haughty words of Tristan do not please

The prince, who snorts with rage, and all night through,

As if for those who slept inside at ease

He were on guard, he paces to and fro;

And much more than the cold and rain which freeze

His bones, his lady’s absence does he rue.

Tristan, who had compassion on his grief,

Next morning gave her back, to his relief.

‘He grieved no more, for Tristan told him plain

The lady was restored to him intact;

And though for his ill manners and disdain

The prince deserved worse punishment in fact,

The night which he had passed in wind and rain

Tristan accepted, and dissolved the pact.

But he would not accept as an excuse

That Love thus drove the prince to such abuse.

‘For Love refines a rough and churlish heart;

The opposite result should be unknown.

When Tristan and his company depart,

It is not long before Prince Clodion

For a new domicile prepares to start;

But first the fortress he entrusts to one

Whom he has long held dear, who will impose

The rule which Tristan made; and then he goes.

‘And thus the cavalier of greatest might,

The lady who is seen to be most fair,

Shall turn the others out into the night,

To sleep upon the grass or anywhere

They can; and, as you saw, this custom, right

Until today, is honoured by us here.’

The castellan thus finishes his tale;

Meanwhile the steward has prepared the meal.

It is laid ready in the dining-hall.

No finer room in all the world was seen.

With lighted torches, pages come to call

The ladies, who are ushered to the scene.

When Bradamante enters, every wall

Attracts her gaze; the other damsel in

Astonishment likewise admires the sight

Of paintings which extend from left to right.

In ecstasy before such loveliness,

Each guest the noble paintings contemplates,

Though need for food they have, as you may guess,

After a tiring day; the steward waits

Impatiently: it causes him distress

To see the supper cooling on the plates.

The cook calls out, ‘First fill your stomachs, pray;

Then feast your eyes on what the walls display.’

When they were seated, ready to commence,

The castellan remembered there were two

Fair ladies present; this was an offence.

The fairer one must stay, the other go

And brave the fury of the elements.

And there was nothing else which they could do,

For Bradamante and the messenger

That night had not arrived together there.

He calls two servitors and several maids,

Whose judgement and discernment he can trust.

They scrutinize the ladies from their heads

Down to their toes, and finally they must

Admit that Bradamante’s beauty leads,

And everyone agrees this view is just.

In loveliness she is victorious

As she in combat proved more valorous.

The host the other lady then addressed

(Who had with apprehension waited for

The verdict) : ‘I regret, since in this test

You are the loser, you must yield before

Your rival; she, not you, must be our guest,

And I, alas! must show you to the door,

For she, though unadorned, surpasses you,

And this the law obliges me to do.’

100

As suddenly an inky cloud is spied

Which from a marshy vale on high ascends,

That pure and shining countenance to hide

Which radiance to all creation lends,

So, when she hears the sentence which outside

Will banish her, her head the lady bends,

And all her face is clouded with despair

Which only now so joyful was and fair.

101

Her countenance has altered and turned pale,

This verdict is so terrible to hear.

But Bradamante’s wisdom does not fail;

She reassures the lady in her fear.

She says, ‘No judgement rightly can prevail

Unless the arguments well-weighed appear,

And the accused must also testify,

To affirm the evidence, or to deny.

102

‘Now as the counsel for defence, I say:

Whether or not I am more fair than she,

Not as a woman I came here today,

Nor do I want a woman’s victory.

Unless I strip quite naked, who can say

If what she is I can be shown to be?

What is not proved should not be used in court,

And even less, if someone it may hurt.

103

‘Consider all the knights who have long hair:

Not all of them are women, you’ll allow.

I won my lodging as a cavalier.

That fact was obvious to all. Why now

The name of woman do you make me bear,

If masculine my every deed is? How

Can you be said to keep the law, if men

With women fight? What is your verdict then?

104

‘Let us suppose that, as it seems to you,

I am a woman (which I don’t concede)

And that my beauty is unequal to

This lady’s beauty: would you have agreed

To take away from me what is my due?

It would be scarcely justice if you did:

To take away from me for lesser charms

What I’ve already won by force of arms.

105

‘Even supposing such your custom was

And she must leave whose beauty is surpassed,

I should remain in any case, because,

Whatever the result, I should stand fast.

The test between us two defies your laws;

The die against her is already cast,

For if she wins in beauty, I contend

In arms, and must defeat her in the end.

106

‘There must be perfect parity between

Competitors; if not, it should be clear

The judgement is invalid; it is seen

That as of right or as a gift to her

A lodging must be granted, and herein

She must remain; if any challenger

His verdict against mine would like to test,

I am prepared to show that mine is best.’

107

So deeply was Count Aymon’s daughter stirred

By the sad prospect of the lady’s plight,

And so regretted all that had occurred

To put her at the mercy of the night,

Without a roof, the castellan who heard

Her arguments now judged that she was right.

Her final words convinced him above all:

Agreement with them seemed most logical.

108

As when beneath the burning summer sun

A need of moisture in the grass is plain,

And when a flower in which almost none

Of its life-giving fluids now remain

Delights to feel in all its vessels run

The sweet refreshment of the friendly rain,

So the queen’s messenger became once more

As joyful and as lovely as before.

109

The supper which before them had been spread,

Which had remained in all this time untasted,

They now enjoyed; no claimants for a bed,

No passing cavaliers their peace molested.

By all, the food was relished, save the Maid.

On her alone such haute cuisine was wasted:

Her fears, her doubts, her jealousy, which quite

Unfounded were, had spoiled her appetite.

110

She leaves the table soon to feast her eyes

Upon the beauty of the painted walls.

The queen of Iceland’s lady does likewise.

The castellan at once a servant calls

Who, lighting countless candles of great size,

Sheds splendour everywhere a shadow falls,

Till the whole chamber is as bright as day.

And what next happened in my next I’ll say.

CANTO XXXIII

Such ancient painters as Parrhasius,

Zeuxis, Timàgoras, Protogenes,

Apollodorus and Polygnotus,

Timanthes, Alexander’s Àpelles,

Whose names for ever will be known to us

(In spite of Clotho and her cruelties)

As long as men shall write and men shall read

What artists’ hands in former ages did,

And those of recent times, or living still,

Leonardo and Mantegna and the two

Named Dossi, Gian Bellino, he whose skill

In paint and marble may be likened to

The Angel Michael’s, Bastian, Raphael,

And Titian to whose mastery is due

Such glory that Urbino shares no more,

And Venice shines no brighter, than Cador;

And many others, in whose works is seen

The selfsame genius of the past, have all

Depicted with their brushes what has been,

Some upon board and some upon a wall;

But you have never known or heard, not in

The art of ancient times, nor those we call

The new, of artists who have painted things

To come – such works as now my poem sings.

But of this talent let no artist boast,

Whether he be of olden times or new;

To sorcery, which sets the infernal host

A-tremble, all such works of art are due.

The book of Merlin (whether sacred to

That painted dining-hall which I discussed

Avernus or Nursia) brought to sight

By demons’ labour in a single night.

The magic art by which our ancestors

Did many wondrous things is dead today.

But now the guests have waited many hours

To see the painted room, so let me say

Again how rapidly the light devours

The dark when servants hasten to obey

Their lord’s command and flaming torches bring,

And the room’s splendours into vision spring.

The castellan addressed the company:

‘I want you all to understand,’ he said,

‘That of the wars which painted here you see

Few have been fought, so do not be misled.

This is not only art but prophecy.

What victories, what failures, lie ahead

For us in Italy, these walls make plain

And will illumine many a campaign.

‘The battles which the Franks predestined are

To wage beyond the Alps, for good or ill,

The prophet Merlin with spectacular

Effect depicted, from his time until

A thousand years from thence; this theme of war

The sorcerer set forth with all his skill.

The British king had sent him on this task:

“What purpose did he have?” I hear you ask.

‘King Pharamond had been the first to lead

An army of the Franks across the Rhine

To Gaul, and there as sovereign he stayed.

To seize proud Italy was his design,

Seeing the Empire day by day decline;

So with King Arthur Pharamond had made

A pact, to join the British strength with his

(For these two monarchs were contemporaries).

‘No act of war King Arthur entered on

Without consulting Merlin (him I mean

Who was conceived and born a demon’s son,

By whom events to come were clearly seen);

And from him Arthur learned, and he made known

To Pharamond, the danger which had been

Foretold if he invaded Italy,

The land girt by the Alps and by the sea.

‘Merlin revealed that almost all the kings

Who in the future were to govern France

Would meet destruction in their plunderings

By steel, by famine and by pestilence.

Joys will be brief, and long their sufferings,

And losses rather than inheritance

They’ll find in Italy, for in that plot

God wills the fleur-de-lis shall ne’er take root.

‘King Pharamond believed the sorcerer

Who saw the future clearly as the past,

And planned instead to send his troops elsewhere;

And Merlin, it is said, at his request,

Depicted all the scenes which you see here,

And by a magic spell made manifest

The future deeds of Frankish kings, as though

They had already happened long ago.

‘Thus all successive kings might understand

That victory and honour would reward

Whoe’er stood forth as champion of that land

Against the onslaughts of a savage horde.

Contrariwise, if any should descend

To subjugate her or become her lord

, Him from his own undoing none should save:

Beyond the Alps he’d dig his certain grave.’

With this preamble, the kind castellan

Led the two ladies to the painted wall

And showed them where the histories began.

To Sigibert he pointed first of all:

‘From the Mons Iovis to the Lombard plain

See him descend, lured by imperial

Mauricius and his promises of gold

Here his defeat by Authari behold.

See Clovis who a hundred thousand leads,

And more, across the Alps; and see the duke

Of Benevento who by guile succeeds

Although outnumbered; see, he has forsook

The camp and lies in ambush, which mislead

The Franks, who like a fish upon a hook

Are caught: they rush with glee upon the casks

Of Lombard wine – no better the duke asks.

‘And see how lare a host King Childebert

Has brought to Italy, yet he, no more

Than Clovis, can supremacy assert,

Nor claim that he has waged successful war.

In Lombardy he meets his just desert:

A blazing sword which Heaven has in store

For him, descends; in droves his troops succumb

To dysentery; not one in ten gets home.’

He points to Pepin and to Charlemagne,

Showing how each to Italy descends,

How each of them succeeds in his campaign,

For neither harm to that fair land intends;

But one against Aistulf the sovereign

Pope Stephen aids; the other first defends

Pope Adrian against the Lombard might,

And next to Leo he restores his right.

Pepin the Younger he moves on to show,

Who with his army seems to cover all

The region from the outlet of the Po

As far as Pellestrina’s littoral;

Who builds a pontoon bridge at Malmocco;

Whose troops attack Rialto, but to fall

Into the depths of the lagoon and drown

When wind and water wash the structure down.

‘Look, here is Ludwig, King of Burgundy,

And here is one who takes him prisoner,

And here he makes him promise solemnly

That he will never more return; but here

The monarch breaks his promise, as you see,

And falls into the trap his foes prepare.

They rob him of his eyes, and like a mole

He is borne home to France to count the toll.

‘See Hugh of Arles who from the Lombard plains

Has put two Berengarii to flight:

One helped by Huns, one by Bavarians,

Each fails in turn to reassert his right.

But Hugh at last is forced to yield his gains

And soon he dies; so does his offspring, quite

Soon after him (the cause was dubious).

The realm then passed to Berengarius.

‘See there another Charles, the Angevin,

Who sets the land of Italy ablaze

To aid the Pope; Manfred and Conradin

In two relentless battles he now slays,

And here his cruel army may be seen

Oppressing the new realm in countless ways.

Now see it scattered through the citadel,

Killed at the signal of a vesper bell.’

And next he shows, after an interval

Of many lustres, let alone of years,

A captain who descends the Alps from Gaul

With a vast host of foot and cavaliers

Against the great Visconti, which the wall

Of Alessandria to gird appears.

But Galeazzo has things well in hand:

Defence within, ambush without, are planned.

And where the cunning net with skill is spread,

By the imprudent Count of Armagnac

The unsuspecting men of France are led.

Visconti’s army strikes them from the back.

The countryside is littered with the dead;

Of captives too it seems there is no lack

With blood no less than water, they see flow

The river Tanar, reddening the Po.

The castellan, proceeding as before,

Names others to the ladies one by one:

‘La Marca and three Angevins are four

Who, each in turn unleashing havoc on

The south, in waves through all its regions pour

But, spite of aid from Franks and Latians, none

Remains; however many times they come,

Alfonso or Ferrante sends them home.

‘See Charles the Eighth who with the flower of France

Descends the Alps and Liri’s flood has crossed.

No sword is drawn and lowered is no lance.

The realm of Naples none the less is lost,

Save for that rock which to Typhoeus grants

No respite, there spread-eagled to his cost

Inigo Vasto by his brave defence

The Frenchman’s further progress here prevents.’

And here the castellan, who showed the Maid

How to interpret future history,

Pointed to Ischia; and then he said,

‘There are so many paintings yet to see,

But first let me relate what as a lad

My grandfather was wont to tell to me

What he had often heard his father say,

Repeating what he heard in his young day,

‘When in his turn his father would relate

What he had heard his grandsire recollect

What he had heard his father’s father state,

Back to the one who heard the tale direct

From him who undertook to decorate

These walls without a brush, with the effect

Of brilliant colours which you here behold:

This is the story I will now unfold.

‘It was foreseen that from this cavalier

Who bravely holds the threatened citadel,

And scorns the raging fury far and near,

Another would arise invincible

(And Merlin told the very month and year)

Who in his deeds all others would excel

Who would surpass in might and chivalry

All other heroes known to history.

‘Nereus was less beautiful, less strong

Achilles was, Ulysses was less bold,

Less fleet was Ladas, Nestor who among

The wisest men was held, less wise I hold;

Less liberal was Caesar, famed in song,

To pleas for mercy deaf, to justice cold:

Beside him who in Ischia is born,

Such heroes seem of all their virtues shorn.

‘If ancient Crete was jubilant because

The grandson of Uranus was born there,

As Thebes for Hercules and Bacchus was,

If Delos boasted of the heavenly pair,

The isle of Ischia will have no cause

Not to exult and triumph in her share

Of glory when the marquess in that place

Is born, endowed with all celestial grace.

‘Merlin the prophet many times foretold

That Providence would long delay his birth

Until the Empire toppled; by his bold

Exploits (of which you’ll see there is no dearth)

He’ll render her illustrious as of old;

But let me not anticipate his worth.’

And with these words, the kindly castellan

Moved on along the painted walls again.

‘His folly Ludovico here repents’,

He said, ‘in bringing Charles to Italy.

His plan was not to drive his rival hence,

But harass him; stirred now to enmity,

He joins with Venice and to Charles presents

These serried ranks of hostile soldiery

The king with resolution puts his lance

In rest and opens up a path to France.

‘But all his troops who in the south remain

Will undergo a ver different fate.

Ferrante, aided by the Mantuan,

Returns so strong that not a single pate

Is left unbroken: all the French are slain

In a few months; and vengeance comes too late

When he who with a Moor a pact has mad

By that same traitor is himself betrayed’.

And that unhappy marquess he now shows,

Alfonso of Pescara, and he say

‘More brightly than the fiery garnet glows

His glory; countless are the foes he slays.

But see the traitor’s net around him close,

Spread by an evil Ethiop, who plays

A double game; see now an arrow strike

His throat; the world will never know his like.

‘With an Italian escort,Louis is

The next to cross the Alps; the mulberry

He first uproots, then plants the fleur-de-lis

In rich Visconti soil of Lombardy.

Where Charles’s army went he now sends his.

By means of pontoon bridges rapidly

They cross the Garigliano, but soon all

His troops are slain or in the river fall.

‘See in Apulia no fewer dead

Where the French troos are likewise put to rout

Consalvo is that general’, he said,

‘Who tricks them twice; then Fortune turned about.

She frowned on Louis here, but on him shed

Her smile in the rich northern lowlands, cut

, Between the Alps and Apennines, right to

The Adriatic, by the river Po.’

Then he rebukes himself, remembering

Another episode which he omitted;

And, going back, he shows one bartering

A castle which his lord to him committed.

And next the Swiss falsely imprisoning

A master whom to serve it more befitted.

These two betraals give the king of France

The victory, who couches not one lance.

And Caesar Borgia he next indicates,

By Louis raised on high in Italy,

By whom all barons in the Roman States

And every subject lord deposed will be.

Then in Bologna the same king enstates

(Removing first the Saw from sovereignty)

The papal Acorns; Genoa rebels,

And Louis straight away the tumult quells.

‘Behold how Ghiaradadda’s countryside

Is littered with the many thousands slain.

All city-gates to Louis open wide.

Venice her freedom scarcely can maintain.

See how beyond Romagna passage is denied

To Julius who seeks, but seeks in vain,

To rob Ferrara’s duke of Modena;

Here Acorns from Bologna banished are.

‘For Louis now restores the rightful lords:

The Bentivoglio family returns.

And next his army marches on towards

The walls of Brescia, which it sacks and burns,

Then to Bologna instant help affords

Against the Pope, and double glory earns.

Here, as you see, both armies meet again

Beside Ravenna, upon Classe’s plain.

‘Here are the French and there the troops of Spain.

The battle now is merciless and dire.

On both sides bodies fall and scarlet stain

The soil; in every ditch the mud and mire

Are mingled with the life-blood of the slain.

Mars stands uncertain, but Alfonso’s fire

At last secures the victory for France;

Of no avail to Spain are sword and lance.

‘Ravenna will be sacked, as you can see.

Biting his lips with frenzied grief, the Pope

Summons the German hordes to Italy,

Who pour in raging torrents down the slope.

They chase the Frenchmen forth relentlessly,

Granting no quarter, leaving them no hope;

And of the Mulberry they plant a shoot

Where the fair Fleur-de-lis they first uproot.

‘The French return and are destroyed again

By the disloyal Swiss, employed to aid,

To his great risk, young Maximilian,

Whose father they had captured and betrayed.

But see how, under a new sovereign,

The army is reformed and plans are made

That Frenchmen may obliterate the shame

Inflicted at Novara on their name.

‘Observe with what high hopes they now set out.

Observe the king of France who rides ahead,

Who by his prowess puts the Swiss to rout.

Many are slain, the others all are fled.

Their motto is usurped, there is no doubt.

No longer on their banners will be read :

“Tamers of Princes”, “Of the Church of Rome

Defenders”; vain have all their boasts become.

‘See how despite the League he takes Milan

And with young Sforza reaches an accord;

And see how Bourbon Charles does all he can

To fend the Germans off with lance and sword.

The monarch, busy elsewhere with a plan

To stem the Emperor’s advance, the abhorred

Excesses of his regents cannot check,

And so Milan from him the allies take.

‘Behold the young Francesco Sforza who

In prowess as in name his ancestor

Resembles; to his heritage anew

He comes, assisted by the Church; once more

The French return, but are unable to

Proceed unchallenged as they did before.

The duke of Mantua, who blocks the way,

On the Ticino glory wins that day.

‘See Federigo, on whose youthful cheeks

No down has blossomed yet: Mantua’s duke.

Eternal glory with his lance he seeks

And with his diligence and cunning. Look!

He saves Pavia from the French and checks

The Lion’s plan. Two marquesses, who brook

No opposition, both will prove to be

Our terror and the boast of Italy,

‘Both of one blood, both born in the same nest.

Alfonso of Pescara’s son is he

(You saw his sire shot in the throat, who least

Expected such an act of treachery).

The French from Italy will oft be chased

By his advice; the other whom you see,

Benign and glad of countenance, is named

Alfonso, for his rule of Vasto famed.

‘He is that gallant knight of whom I said,

When Ischia I pointed out to you,

That Merlin many centuries ahead

Had prophesied the deeds that he would do,

Foretelling that his birth, long heralded,

Should be deferred until the time was due

When stricken Italy his help would need,

And from their wounds both Church and Empire bleed.

‘With his Pescara cousin (in their rear,

Prosper Colonna) how he makes the Swiss

Pay dearly for Bicocca! And more dear

The French will pay, as you may tell from this.

Look how the French, led by their king, prepare

To make their losses good; one army is

Descending to the fertile Lombard plain;

The other, Naples tries to take again.

‘But Fortune, who does with us what she will,

As the wind whirls the particles of sand,

Tossing them in a cloud on high until

It dies away and drops them on the land

From which it lifted them, her utmost skill

Now uses to persuade the king a band,

One hundred thousand strong, Pavia rings.

Heedless, he gives his mind to other things.

‘But, owing to the greed of ministers,

And to the king’s indulgent trust in them,

He has but few, not many, followers;

And when, at night, “To arms!” the trumpets scream,

The king, to his surprise, meets a reverse:

The Spaniards cunningly leap out at him.

By the Avalos cousins they are led

And Heaven or Hell itself they would invade.

‘See how the finest noblemen of France

Lie dead, their bodies scattered on the ground.

See how the Spanish troops with sword and lance

The gallant monarch on all sides surround.

See how his horse in full accoutrements

Has fallen, but the king is not yet downed.

He does not cry, “Enough! ”, he does not yield:

Alone, unaided, he confronts the field.

‘The valiant king defends himself on foot,

Drenched by the blood of foes as if by rain.

Numbers at last prevail; here, you will note,

The king is captured, here he is in Spain.

The marquess of Pescara shares the fruit

Of victory with Vasto’s lord: the twain

Are never seen apart, and both receive

The glory for the deeds which both achieve.

‘This army now destroyed, the other one,

En route for Naples, which it hoped to take,

Is like a lamp from which the oil is gone,

Or like a taper, flickering and weak,

For lack of wax. The king returns alone,

Leaving his sons in prison; see him make

New war on Italy, while on his soil

Invading armies enter and despoil.

‘Here sacrilegious murderers you see,

And Rome in all her regions desolate.

With rapine, rape and arson equally

The sacred and profane they violate.

The army of the League, which ought to be

The Pope’s defender, leaves him to his fate;

Hearing the Roman people shriek and wail

And witnessing their sorrows, it turns tail.

‘The king with reinforcements sends Lautrec,

Not to wage war on Lombardy again,

But from those impious, thieving hands to take

The Church’s head and to its limbs re-join.

Too long is the delay which he will make.

Ere he arrives the Pontiff will regain

His freedom; so to Naples he next turns

His hostile forces, and the city sacks and burns.

‘Behold the imperial fleet set sail to aid

The stricken city of Parthènope.

Behold them now by Doria waylaid,

Who burns their ships and drowns them in the sea.

Behold how fickle Fortune has betrayed

The French, so favoured by her recently:

To fever they succumb, not to the lance.

Of many thousands, few return to France.’

Such were the tales depicted in the hall

In many different colours, bright and fair.

Long it would take me to describe them all.

The meaning of the paintings now is clear.

Repeatedly the ladies scan them all

And fascinated at the future stare.

Repeatedly they read the words of gold

Which name the heroes and their deeds unfold.

The two fair ladies mingled with the rest,

Discoursing on the paintings for a while.

The castellan then led them to their rest

(His visitors were honoured in this style),

But Bradamante, troubled and distressed,

The long, slow hours unable to beguile,

Tossing and turning on her bed all night,

Now on her left lies wakeful, now her right.

Soon after dawn she shuts her eyes at last

And sees her dear Ruggiero in a dream,

Who sas to her, ‘Why are you so downcast?

What you believe is false. Sooner a stream

Would flow uphill than I could ever wrest

My thoughts from you; my very eyes I’d deem

Less dear, my very heart I would abhor,

If than myself I did not love you more.’

And then he seems to add, ‘I come today

To be baptized and to fulfil my vow.

Wounds, other than of love, caused my delay

And kept me lying helpless until now.’

Ruggiero and the dream then melt away.

No further words from him the Fates allow.

Fair Bradamante wakes, and weeps anew,

Convinced that the sweet vision is untrue.

And with herself communing in this wise,

‘The pleasurable dream is false, alas!

My waking torment is the truth,’ she cries;

‘Too soon the lovely vision vanished has,

And harsh reality now greets my eyes.

Ah! Why do I not hear and see him as

Just now I heard him clearly in my thought

And saw him plainly while my eyes were shut?

‘Sweet sleep has brought me promises of peace,

But bitter waking brings me back to war.

Sweet sleep, I know, but an illusion is

But bitter waking does not, cannot, err.

If truth brings sorrow and illusions please,

Then of the truth, ah! leave me unaware.

If sleep brings happiness and waking pain,

Then may I sleep and never wake again!

‘Happy the creatures that for half the year

Sleep undisturbed and waken not at all!

And though with death such slumber we compare,

My hours of waking, life I will not call,

For I alone a strange misfortune bear:

Waking I die, but when to sleep I fall

I live; and if such sleep is a demise,

Ah, Death, I pray, make haste to close my eyes!’

Far in the East, the early morning sun

Had crimsoned the horizon with its ray.

The clouds of the preceding night were gone

And fair the promise seemed of the new day

The Maid arose and put her armour on,

Desiring to be soon upon her way,

But first she sought the kindly castellan

And thanked him for his courtesy again.

She found the queen of Iceland’s messenger

Had left the castle with her retinue.

Outside, three warriors awaited her,

Whom Bradamante vanquished, owing to

The golden lance; each from his destrier

Had been unseated, and the whole night through

Exposure to the elements endured,

In howling winds and in the rain which poured.

They and their steeds, to add to their mishaps,

Were left with empty bellies all that night

To champ and stamp; and, worst of all, perhaps

(No, beyond any doubt, this crowned their plight),

Their queen would surely hear of their collapse.

The messenger the tidings would recite,

How each had failed, laid low by the first lance

Which they had met to run against in France.

And they were ready now to do or die;

Their one desire was to avenge their shame.

That the report to be delivered by

The messenger (Ullania is her name)

Might be more favourable, they would try

Their strength once more. When Bradamante came

Across the drawbridge, straight away they called

A challenge to her, resolute and bold.

They had no inkling she was not a man,

For not one gesture gave the truth away.

At first she scorned their challenge and began

To gallop off, unwilling to delay;

But after her insistently they ran.

For honour’s sake she had to turn and stay.

Couching her lance, three monarchs with three blows

She floored, and brought the conflict to a close.

For, riding off, she did not turn again,

But from their sight she disappeared at speed.

The kings, who came so far in hope to gain

The golden shield by some heroic deed,

Rose to their feet in silence; it was plain,

Despite their resolution to succeed,

All three of them had failed. In their disgrace

They dared not look Ullania in the face

Too many times with her along the road

They’d boasted of their prowess and had claimed

No paladin or knight who ever rode

To arms,of the most brave or skilled or famed,

Could stand against them; and such pride they showed,

Ullania, to make them more ashamed,

Told them, in punishment for arrogance,

They were unseated by a woman’s lance.

‘So, if a female knight can thus defeat

All three of you, what do you think’, she says,

‘Will be the outcome if by chance you meet

Orlando or Rinaldo, whom men praise,

And not without good cause, for many a feat?

I put it to you, if a woman lays

You flat, will you fare better against them?

I do not think so, nor do you, I deem.

‘Let this suffice, you need no further proof:

You understand now what your valour is.

If one of you has not yet had enough

And wants to make another test of his,

He’ll to the warp of shame add but the woof

Of mortifying wounds and injuries,

Unless he’s eager to be vanquished by

Such warriors and at their hand to die.’

And when the messenger had proved to each

That by a woman they had been unseated;

That their bright fame was blacker now than pitch;

That what she said could well have been repeated

By ten more witnesses at least, the breach

Thus opened in their self-esteem defeated

Them anew; on their breasts they all but turned

Their weapons, with such grief and rage they burned.

By wrath and fury stung, each king in haste

Undoes his armour, tearing off his coat

Of mail, his sword unclasps from round his waist

And throws it deep into the castle moat.

That by a woman they have been outfaced,

That twice, so soundly, each of them she smote,

Is such a lapse from valour, they all swear

They will not put on armour for a year.

And everywhere on foot they meant to go,

Whether the path be smooth or rough or steep.

And when a year had passed, then even so

Their vow they would continue yet to keep

Until a horse and armour from a foe

They won; thus of their fall all three would reap

The consequence by this self-punishment:

On horse the others rode, on foot they went.

Fair Bradamante, riding onward, came

That evening to a castle, on the way

To Paris. Here she heard her brother’s name

And Charlemagne’s, and learned about the fray

Which to King Agramante had brought shame;

And here good victuals on the tables lay,

Here were good beds: to her of little use,

Who little eats and little can repose.

But I must not delay so long with her

That I forget to tell you what took place

When those two knights I mentioned earlier

Prepared to fight each other face to face

Each by the fount had tied his destrier.

The winner of the battle would posses

Orlando’s sword and on Baiardo ride

The time had come these matters to decide.

And so, unheralded, untrumpeted,

Hearing no formal signal to commence,

Unwatched, unaided and unseconded

With none to warn, or shout encouragement,

They move towards each other, as agreed,

As agile in attack as in defence;

And the repeated crash of heavy blows

Reverberates around as anger grows.

Not two such swords I know, however tested,

However solid, firm and hard they are,

That of these blades three strokes could have resisted,

For they beat all comparison, by far.

No others of such temper e’er existed,

No others proved so trustworthy in war,

For they a thousand times and more might clash

Together blow on blow, and never smash.

This way and that, Rinaldo, with great skill,

First on the one and then the other foot,

Evaded Durindana, knowing well

That through unyielding iron she could cut.

Gradasso flashed the celebrated steel

And wielded her with all his vigour, but

Either his strokes were wasted on the air

Or smote Rinaldo where they harmless were.

Rinaldo plies his sword with greater care

And many times he numbs the pagan’s arm.

Now in his side he thrusts the blade, now where

The corslet joins the helmet, but no harm

Can he inflict, nor of his mail-coat tear

A single mesh, for it was woven by a charm.

His breastplate had been forged by magic too

And was impenetrable through and through.

They took no rest, so fixed was their intent,

Although a great part of the day was gone.

Both were incensed and neither would relent

But, gazing straight ahead, they battled on,

When suddenly another clamour rent

The air; their combat they suspend, with one

Accord they turn to find the reason why,

And see Baiardo menaced from on high.

They saw a monster harass and attack

The steed; it was a bird of giant size,

And yet some bird-like features seemed to lack.

Its beak was three yards long, but otherwise

Its head was like a bat’s; its plumes were black

As ink, its talons merciless, its eyes,

Darting their cruel glances, were as red

As flame, its wings as wide as sails full-spread;

Perhaps the monster truly was a bird,

Yet I know none in any century

Like this, nor any land, nor have I heard

Of one, except in Turpin’s history,

Wherein to such a creature he referred.

I am inclined to think that it may be

A devil Malagigi conjured up

From Hell to bring the combat to a stop.

Rinaldo thought so too, and angry words

Will be exchanged by the indignant knight

With Malagigi not long afterwards;

But he does not confess, and by the Light

Which lights the sun he swears that neither birds

Nor demons he despatched to stop the fight.

The monster, whether bird or bat it was,

Swooped on the steed and seized him with its claws.

Baiardo, who is strong, soon snaps the rein.

Enraged, he plunges, rears and bites and kicks.

The monster rises in the air again

And, downwards swooping, with its talons pricks

The destrier and maddens him with pain.

No reason to allow the bird to vex

Him further the outraged Baiardo sees,

Who from the scene of battle quickly flees.

So to the near-by wood Baiardo fled,

Seeking the thickest boughs to hide among.

The feathered beast pursued him overhead,

And watched which path its quarry went along;

But soon that wingèd monster was outsped.

The wonder-horse, alert and swift and strong,

Had found a cave to hide in, and away

The creature flew, in search of other prey.

Rinaldo and Gradasso, who thus see

One bone of their contention take its leave,

To cease their combat readily agree

Until the monster’s quarry they retrieve,

Which gallops through the darkling wood; and he

(Their solemn promise each to each they give)

Who first succeeds in capturing the mount

Shall bring him back and tie him by the fount.

So they depart and, following the clue

Of grasses freshly trampled to the ground,

The hoof-marks of Baiardo they pursue,

Who will not easily by now be found.

Gradasso mounts his Spanish mare and through

The forest gallops, leaving with one bound

The paladin behind, disconsolate

And deeply discontented with his fate.

He quickly lost the hoof-prints of his horse.

By river-banks, by boulders and by trees,

Baiardo chose so strange and wild a course,

The thorniest thickets and the roughest screes,

To escape the monster plummeting with force

Upon his back, inflicting agonies.

So, when he saw his efforts were in vain,

Rinaldo waited by the fount again,

To see if King Gradasso brought him there,

As they agreed; when this had borne no fruit,

Rinaldo left the fountain, in despair,

And sadly he went back to camp on foot.

Now let us leave him and return to where

Gradasso gallops off in hot pursuit.

His journey ends in quite another way

When near at hand he hears Baiardo neigh.

He found him hiding in a hollow cave

Where he had taken refuge in his fright

He was so terrified, he would not brave

The open, so Gradasso caught him quite

Without resistance; though he knows they have

Agreed to bring him back, now, uncontrite,

Gradasso has resolved to overlook

His promise, and within himself thus spoke:

‘Let those who will, obtain this steed by force,

But I prefer in peace to make my claim.

From the Far East I travelled a long course,

To call Baiardo mine being my sole aim;

And now that finally I have the horse,

I will not give him up; and as I came

To France so let Rinaldo travel east

If he desires so much to have the beast.

‘No less secure will Sericana be

For him, if he should venture in those parts

Than France has twice already proved for me.’

Choosing a level pathway, he departs.

To Arles he comes and, making for the sea,

He finds the fleet, and on a galley starts

For home, with sword and charger making off;

But on this matter I have said enough.

I want to find the English knight once mor

Who rode the hippogriff just like a steed

So fast above the clouds he made him soar,

Eagles and falcons travel at less speed

Over all France the paladin it bore,

From sea to sea, from west to east it sped,

Then turned towards the mighty mountain-chain

Which separates the land of France from Spain.

Over Navarre and thence to Aragon

They pass, causing amazement down below.

Biscay is on his right and Tarragon

Is on his left; Castile is next in view,

Galicia, Portugal he gazes on,

Then changes course to Córdova and to

Seville; and not one city in all Spain

Does he omit, on coast or hill or plain

Astolfo hovers next above Cadiz

And the two signs set up in early days

By the indomitable Hercules.

The coast of Africa now meets his gaze;

The Balearic Islands too he sees,

Which for their rich fertility men praise.

Then, changing course again, towards Tangier

He flies, and soon Arzilla he draws near.

Fez in Morocco he observes, Oran,

Algiers, Bougie and Bone, proud cities all,

Centres of commerce and far richer than

The other cities on that littoral.

Then on he spurs to the Tunisian

Biserta and the thriving capital,

Gabes and Djerba and, next, Tripoli,

Benghazi and the shores of the Red Sea.

100

Thus every town and region he surveyed

Between the sea and Atlas’ tree-clad spine.

To the Carena mountains then he bade

Farewell, flying directly in a line

To Cyrenaica, thence to Baiad

In Nubia, not far from the confine.

The tomb of Battus now behind him lay

And Ammon’s temple, derelict today.

101

Another Tremesin Astolfo passed

(As in Algeria, here too the style

Of worship is Mahommedan); then fast

To Ethiopia, across the Nile

He flew, from Dobada until at last

He came to Coalle after many a mile.

Here these are Christians, while those pagans are,

And at their confines is unending war.

102

The Emperor Senapo (Prester John)

Rules Ethiopia, and in his hand

He wields no sceptre but the Cross alone.

The Red Sea is the border of his land,

Where cities teem and golden bullion

Abounds; if I mistake not, here they brand

The neophyte upon his brow, as well

As using water – or so travellers tell.

103

Senapo’s faith, like ours in some respects,

Exempted him from banishment to Hell.

Astolfo has dismounted and inspects

The castle where the king, he thinks, must dwell.

Its costly style more wealth than strength reflects

The drawbridge and portcullis chains, as well

As hinges on the doors,and bolts which hold

Them shut, are not of iron but of gold.

104

Though gold is here abundant, it is true,

The use of it is held in high esteem.

Columns of crystal lend enchantment to

The spacious loggias; brilliant colours gleam –

Yellow and red and green and white and blue–

In patterned friezes which adorn the rim

Of royal monuments and palaces –

Emeralds, sapphires, rubies, topazes.

105

Inlaid on walls, on roof-tops and on floors,

Are rarest pearls and other precious gems.

Here balsam is produced, in richer stores

Than any portion of Jerusalem’s.

Amber from here arrives at many shores,

And here the hunter by his stratagems

Deprives the musk-deer of his sweet perfume:

From here so many things of value come.

106

And the Egyptian Sultan, it is said,

Pays tribute and is subject to the king,

Who could divert into another bed

The river Nile, and thus disaster bring

On Cairo, and on all that region spread

The blight of famine and great suffering.

Senapo by his subjects he is named;

As Prester John among us he is famed.

107

Of all the many kings of this domain

None could compare with him in wealth and might;

But all his wealth and power were in vain

For he had lost that greatest treasure – sight.

This was the very least of all the pain

To which Senapo was condemned: despite

His wealth (if wealthy such a man can be)

He suffered cruel hunger endlessly.

108

If the unhappy man, driven by thirst

Or a desire for food, drew near the board,

Avenging harpies, monstrous and accurst,

Swooped down in an abominable horde.

With beak and claws they did their hellish worst.

Viands were snatched away or spilled and poured,

And when their greedy bellies had been glutted,

Whatever was left over they polluted.

109

The reason was, the king in his young days,

Having achieved such honour and such fame,

Finding himself the subject of much praise,

And being bolder far than most, became

As proud as Lucifer; daring to raise

His eyes against his Maker, and on Him

Make war, he marched his army many a mile

Towards the secret sources of the Nile.

110

A mountain stretches far into the skies;

It soars beyond the clouds, it is so tall.

And there was the Terrestrial Paradis

Where Adam dwelt with Eve before the Fall,

Or so Senapo has been told, who tries

With camels and with elephants to haul

His troops up to the summit where some new

Terrain he hopes to conquer and subdue.

111

But God, beholding such ambition, quells

The troops’ foolhardiness; as they advance,

He sends an Angel in their midst, who kills

A hundred thousand; for his arrogance,

Senapo’s eyes are dimmed, and of all Hell’s

Horrendous and accurst inhabitants,

God sends the harpies, that rapacious brood,

To steal or to contaminate his food.

112

His torment was increased unendingly

By a far-seeing sage who prophesied

Senapo’s victuals would no longer be

Defiled and stolen when a knight astride

A wingèd horse should come, when all should see

This marvel through the air serenely ride.

Such an event appeared impossible

And so the king was inconsolable.

113

Now, climbing up on every tower and wall,

The people in amazement see that knight

Arrive; some of them hurry off to tell

Senapo of this unexpected sight.

Their words the fateful prophecy recall.

Leaving his staff behind in his delight,

Senapo, with his hands held out before him,

Goes forth to greet the marvel and adore him.

114

Before the castle gate Astolfo lands,

First swooping low with many a graceful gyre.

And when the blind Senapo understands

He has been brought before the wondrous flyer,

He kneels and, clasping his imploring hands,

He cries, ‘Angel of God! O new Messiah!

Though I have sinned, thy heart to me incline.

To err is human, to forgive divine.

115

‘Conscious of all my sins, I do not dare

To ask if thou wilt give me back my sight,

Although thou couldst, for thou, I am aware,

Art of that host in whom God takes delight.

Let it suffice that I am blind, and spare

Me now this hunger, added to my plight.

Chase back to Hell at least this fetid brood

Which mercilessly robs me of my food.

116

‘And I will build for thee a marble shrine

And set it high upon my citadel.

The portals and the roof with gold will shine,

The walls will glow with gems, inside as well

As out; to honour thee is my design,

And to commemorate thy miracle.’

Thus spoke the king, who could not see one jot

And tried in vain to kiss Astolfo’s foot.

117

‘I am no Angel from on high, no new

Messiah,’ said Astolfo modestly,

‘I am a mortal and a sinner too,

Unworthy of the grace vouchsafed to me;

But what you ask I will attempt to do,

And if your kingdom of this plague I free,

You must thank God for it, and Him alone,

For hither by His guidance I have flown.

118

‘To Him belong all honour and all praise,

To Him’, Astolfo said, continuing,

‘Your churches dedicate, your altars raise’.

He moves towards the castle with the king

And barons, who pay heed to all he says.

Senapo orders servitors to bring

The finest viands, hoping that at least

For once the harpies will not spoil the feast.

119

At his command a banquet was prepared.

The hall was fair, the décor richly wrought.

Only the duke the place of honour shared

With King Senapo; when the food was brought

A frightful clamour in the air was heard

As, beating their vile wings, the harpies sought

Once more their filthy bodies to obtrude,

Attracted by the odour of the food

120

These monsters, who a band of seven formed,

Had women’s faces, lean, as if their jaws

Had long known hunger; ravenous they swarmed.

More horrible than death their aspect was.

Each had wide wings, repulsive and deformed,

Rapacious hands, with twisted, curving claws,

A foul distended belly, a long tail

As convoluted as a serpent’s trail.

121

No sooner are they heard than they are seen

And all together, swooping on the board,

They overturn the goblets and between

Their claws snatch up the food; the filthy horde,

Fouling the tables, leave them so unclean

The stench which rises cannot be endured.

Holding his nose, Astolfo seized his blade

And frequent lunges at the monsters made.

122

One on the neck and one upon the back

He strikes, one on the wing, one on the breast.

It has no more effect than on a sack

Of tow: they are not wounded in the least.

The strokes fall dead, failing in their attack.

No dish is left unspoilt of all that feast,

No cup is left upright, and not till all

The food is sullied do they leave the hall.

123

The king (who hoped that now his luck would turn,

And that the duke would drive the fiends away),

Groaning, bemoans the hour that he was born.

All hope is gone, extinguished the last ray.

Astolfo then bethinks him of his horn –

His help in peril – this will be the way

To rid Senapo of these pests, and so

A terrifying blast he means to blow.

124

But first he makes Senapo block his ears

With molten wax (as all the barons do),

Lest when that shrill and piercing sound he hears

He may be driven from his kingdom too.

Bidding Senapo set aside his fears,

He leaps upon the hippogriff anew

And to the steward plainly indicates

That he should bring more victuals, cups and plates.

125

Accordingly a meal is laid once more,

On other tables, in another hall.

The harpies swoop in as they did before

And greedily upon the viands fall.

Astolfo sounds his horn; its loud uproar

The birds cannot endure, and one and all,

Their ears being unprotected, terrified,

Heedless of victuals now, they swarm outside.

126

And after them at once Astolfo flies.

He leaves the citadel of Prester John

And to the hippogriff his spurs applies

The harpies flee: Astolfo follows on

, Still blasting with the horn which terrifies.

The harpies make towards the torrid zone

Where a tall mountain lifts its lofty head

And where the Nile begins (so it is said).

127

Here almost at the mountain’s very root

There is a passage leading underground.

Here it is certain if a man sets foot

The way down into Hell is to be found.

And here that horde take refuge from pursuit

And, to escape the horn’s tormenting sound

All seven hurry to the further shore

Of the Cocytus, where it’s heard no more

128

And at this murky aperture, which leads

For ever downwards those who lose the Light,

Astolfo’s horn is silent; ere he speeds

His destrier on yet another flight,

Let me defer the story of his deeds,

As is my custom, till another night.

My pages now are full, and it is best

That I should cease my song a while and rest

CANTO XXXIV

O cruel harpies, ever ravenous,

Which on blind, erring Italy descend

To ravage every meal prepared for us,

A punishment perhaps the Powers send

In judgement for our past iniquitous

And vile wrong-doing! Who will now defend

The starving mothers and the innocent,

Robbed by these monsters of their nourishment?

He greatly erred who opened wide the cave

Which for so many years was sealed and blocked,

From which these vile and stinking poisons have

Emerged and spread, and Italy have choked.

All peace, all quiet now are in the grave,

All fair, sweet arts of civil life are mocked.

War and its horrors, poverty and tears,

Have reigned since then and will for many years,

Until one day, when Italy will shake

Her heedless, hapless children by the hai

And from their long, Lethean slumber wake,

Shouting, ‘Is there not one who can compare

With Calais and with Zetes? None to make

Our tables clean again as once they were,

Freed from these stinking monsters’ greedy claws,

As Phineus was and as Senapo was?’

The paladin the harpies had pursued

And with his horn had scattered them in fright,

And now inside a mountain cave the brood

Had entered and had disappeared from sight.

Astolfo to the aperture had glued

His ear, and, hearing sounds of souls in plight,

Shrieks, wails and lamentations, he could tell –

The evidence was plain – this must be Hell.

Astolfo thought that he would enter in

To see those who have lost the light of day,

And search the circles of the realm of sin

Till to Earth’s centre he had made his way.

‘What should deter me?’ said the paladin,

‘I have my horn which 1 can always play.

Pluto and Satan from my path will flee,

And Cerberus, that dog whose heads are three.’

And so, dismounting from the hippogriff,

He left it tethered to a little bush,

And entered in, clasping his horn as if

His life depended on it.

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