Canto 14
ARGUMENTTwo squadrons lack of those which muster underKing Agramant, by single Roland slain;Hence furious Mandricardo, full of wonderAnd envy, seeks the count by hill and plain:Next joys himself with Doralice; such plunder,Aided by heaven, his valiant arms obtain.Rinaldo comes, with the angel-guide before,To Paris, now assaulted by the Moor.
IIn many a fierce assault and conflict dread,‘Twixt Spain and Afric and their Gallic foe,Countless had been the slain, whose bodies fedThe ravening eagle, wolf, and greedy crow;But though the Franks had worse in warfare sped,Forced all the champaigne country to forego,This had the paynims purchased at the costOf more good princes and bold barons lost.
IISo bloody was the price of victory,Small ground was left them triumphs to prepare;And if, unconquered Duke Alphonso, weMay modern things with ancient deeds compare,The battle, whose illustrious palm may beWell worthily assigned to you to wear,At whose remembrance sad Ravenna trembles,And aye shall weep her loss, this field resembles.
IIIWhen the Calesians and the Picards yielding,And troops of Normandy and Aquitaine,You, with your valiant arms their squadrons shielding,Stormed the almost victorious flags of Spain;And those bold youths their trenchant weapons wielding,Through parted squadrons, followed in your train;Who on that day deserved you should accord,For honoured gifts, the gilded spur and sword.
IVYou, with such glorious hearts, who were not slowTo follow, nor far off, the gorgeous oakSeized, and shook down the golden acorns so,And so the red and yellow truncheon broke,That we to you our festive laurels owe,And the fair lily, rescued from its stroke;Another wreath may round your temples bloom,In that Fabricius you preserved to Rome.
VRome’s mighty column, by your valiant handTaken and kept entire, more praise has shedOn you, than if the predatory bandHad routed by your single valour bled,Of all who flocked to fat Ravenna’s land,Or masterless, without a banner fled,Of Arragon, Castile, or of Navarre;When vain was lance or cannon’s thundering car.
VIThis dear-bought victory brought more reliefThan joy, by its event too much outweighed,The loss of that French captain and our chief,Whom dead we on the fatal field surveyed;And swallowed in one storm, for further grief,So many glorious princes, who, arrayedFor safeguard of their own, or neighbouring lands,Had poured through, frozen Alps their friendly bands.
VIIOur present safety, and life held in fear,We see assured us by this victory,That saved us from the wintry tempest drear,Which would have whelmed us from Jove’s angry sky.But ill can we rejoice, while yet the tearIs standing in full many a widow’s eye,Who weeping and attired in sable, vents,Throughout all grieving France, her loud laments.
VIII’Tis meet King Lewis should find new suppliesOf chiefs by whom his troops may be arrayed,Who for the lilies’ honour shall chastiseThe hands which so rapaciously have preyed;Who brethren, black and white, in shameful wise,Have outraged, sister, mother, wife, and maid,And cast on earth Christ’s sacrament divine,With the intent to thieve his silver shrine.
IXHadst thou not made resistance to thy foe,Better, Ravenna, had it been for thee,And thou been warned by Brescia’s fate, than soThine should Faenza warn and Rimini.O Lewis, bid good old Trivulzio goWith thine, and to thy bands example be,And tell what ills such license still has bred,Heaping our ample Italy with dead.
XAs the illustrious King of France has needOf captains to supply his leaders lost,So the two kings who Spain and Afric lead,To give new order to the double host,Resolve their bands should muster on the mead,From winter lodgings moved and various post;That they may furnish, as their wants demand,A guide and government to every band.
XIMarsilius first, and after Agramant,Passing it troop by troop their army scan.The Catalonians, who their captain vauntIn Doriphoebus, muster in the van;And next, without their monarch Fulvirant,Erst killed by good Rinaldo, comes the clanOf bold Navarre; whose guideless band to steerThe King of Spain appoints Sir Isolier.
XIIWith Balugantes Leon’s race comes on,The Algarbi governed by Grandonio wheel.The brother of Marsilius, Falsiron,Brings up with him the power of Less Castile.They follow Madarasso’s gonfalon,Who have left Malaga and fair Seville,‘Twixt fruitful Cordova and Cadiz-bay,Where through green banks the Betis winds its way.
XIIIStordilane, Tessira, and Baricond,After each other, next their forces stirred;This in Grenada, that in Lisbon crowned;Majorca was obedient to the third.Larbino had Lisbon ruled, whose golden roundWas at his death on Tessira conferred;His kinsman he: Gallicia came in guideOr Serpentine, who Mericold supplied.
XIVThey of Toledo and of Calatrave,Who erst with Sinnagon’s broad banner spread,Marched, and the multitude who drink and laveTheir limbs in chrystal Guadiana’s bed,Came thither, under Matalista brave;Beneath Bianzardin, their common head,Astorga, Salamanca, Placenza,With Avila, Zamorra, and Palenza.
XVThe household-troops which guard Marsilius’ state,And Saragossa’s men, Ferrau commands;And in this force, well-sheathed in mail and plate,Bold Malgarine and Balinverno stands;Morgant and Malzarise, whom common fateHad both condemned to dwell in foreign lands,Who, when dethroned, had to Marsilius’ court(There hospitably harboured) made resort.
XVIFollicon, Kind Marsilius’ bastard, hiesWith valiant Doricont; amid this horde,Bavartes, Analard, and Argalise,And Archidantes, the Saguntine lord.Here, Malagur, in ready cunning wise,And Ammirant and Langhiran the swordUnsheath, and march; of whom I shall endite,When it is time, their prowess to recite.
XVIIWhen so had filed the warlike host of SpainIn fair review before King Agramant,Appeared King Oran with his martial train,Who might almost a giant’s stature vaunt;Next they who weep their Martasino, slainBy the avenging sword of Bradamant,King of the Garamantes, and lamentThat woman triumphs in their monarch spent.
XVIIIMarmonda’s men next past the royal Moor,Who left Argosto dead on Gascon meads;And this unguided band, like that before,As well as the fourth troop, a captain needs.Although King Agramant has little storeOf chiefs, he feigns a choice, and thinks; next speedsBuraldo, Ormida, and Arganio tried,Where needing, the unordered troops to guide.
XIXHe give Arganio charge of Libicane,Who wept the sable Dudrinasso dead.Brunello guides the men of Tingitane,With cloudy countenance and drooping head;Who since he in the wooded mountain-chain(Nigh where Atlantes dwelt), to her he led,Fair Bradamant, had lost the virtuous ring,Had lived in the displeasure of his king;
XXAnd but that Ferrau’s brother Isolier,Who fastened to a stem had found him there,Made to King Agramant the truth appear,He from the gallows-tree had swung in air:Already fastened was the noose, and nearThe caitiff’s fate, when at the many’s prayerThe king bade loose him; but reprieving, swore,For his first fault to hang, offending more.
XXIThus, not without a cause, Brunello pined,And showed a mournful face, and hung his head.Next Farurantes; to whose care consigned,Maurina’s valiant horse and footmen tread.The new-made king Libanio comes behind,By whom are Constatina’s people led:Since Agramant the crown and staff of gold,Once Pinador’s, had given to him to hold.
XXIIHesperia’s people come with Soridan,With Dorilon the men of Setta ride;The Nasamonians troop with Pulian,And Agricaltes is Ammonia’s guide.Malabupherso rules o’er Fezzan’s clan,And Finaduro leads the band suppliedBy the Canary Islands and Morocco:Balastro fills the place of king Tardocco.
XXIIINext Mulga and Arzilla’s legions two.The first beneath their ancient captains wend;The second troop without a leader, whoAre given to Corineus, the sovereign’s friend.So (late Tanphirion’s) Almonsilla’s crew,To a new monarch in Caichus bend.Goetulia is bestowed on Rhimedont,And Cosca comes in charge of Balinfront.
XXIVRuled by Clarindo, Bolga’s people go,Who fills the valiant Mirabaldo’s post:Him Baliverso, whom I’d have you knowFor the worst ribald in that ample host,Succeeded next. I think not, ‘mid that show,The bannered camp a firmer troop could boastThan that which followed in Sobrino’s care;Nor Saracen than him more wise and ware.
XXVGualciotto dead, Bellamarina’s crew,(His vassals) serve, the sovereign of Algiers,King Rodomont, of Sarza; that anewBrought up a band of foot and cavaliers:Whom, when the cloudy sun his rays withdrewBeneath the Centaur and the Goat, his spearsThere to recruit, was sent to the Afric shoreBy Agramant, returned three days before.
XXVIThere was no Saracen of bolder strain,Of all the chiefs who Moorish squadrons led;And Paris-town (nor is the terror vain)More of the puissant warrior stands in dreadThan of King Agramant and all the train,Which he, or the renowned Marsilius head;And amid all that mighty muster, moreThan others, hatred to our faith he bore.
XXVIIPrusion is the Alvaracchia’s king: belowKing Dardinello’s flag Zumara’s powerIs ranged. I wot not, I, if owl or crow,Or other bird ill-omened, which from towerOr tree croaks future evil, did foreshowTo one or to the other, that the hourWas fixed in heaven, when on the following dayEither should perish in this deadly fray.
XXVIIINoritia’s men and Tremisene’s aloneWere wanting to complete the paynim host;But in the martial muster sign was none,Nor tale, nor tiding of the squadrons lost;To wondering Agramant alike unknown,What kept the slothful warriors from their post,When of King Tremisene’s a squire was broughtBefore him, who at large the mischief taught;
XXIX—Who taught how Manilardo was laid low,Alzirdo, and many others, on the plain.—“Sir,” said the bearer of the news, “the foeWho slew our troop, would all thy camp have slain,If thine assembled host had been more slowThan me, who, as it was, escaped with pain.This man slays horse and foot, as in the cote,The wolf makes easy waste of sheep and goat.”
XXXWhere the bold Africans their standards plant,A warrior had arrived some days before;Nor was there in the west, or whole Levant,A knight, with heart or prowess gifted more.To him much grace was done by Agramant,As successor of Agrican, who woreThe crown of Tartary, a warrior wight;The son the famous Mandricardo hight.
XXXIRenowned he was for many a glorious questAtchieved, and through the world his fame was blown.But him had glorified above the restWorth in the Syrian fairy’s castle shown:Where mail, which cased the Trojan Hector’s breastA thousand years before, he made his own.And finished that adventure, strange and fell;A story which breeds terror but to tell.
XXXIIWhen the squire told his news amid that showOf troops, was present Agrican’s bold son,Who raised his daring face, resolved to goAnd find the warrior who the deed had done;But the design he hatched, forebore to show;As making small account of any one,Or fearing lest, should he reveal his thought,The quest by other champion might be sought.
XXXIIIHe of the squire demanded what the vestAnd bearings, which the valiant stranger wore;Who answered that he went without a crest,And sable shield and sable surcoat bore.—And, sir, ’twas true; for so was Roland drest;The old device renounced he had before:For as he mourned within, so he without,The symbols of his grief would bear about.
XXXIVMarsilius had to Mandricardo sped,As gift, a courser of a chestnut stain,Whose legs and mane were sable; he was bredBetween a Friesland mare and nag of Spain.King Mandricardo, armed from foot to head,Leapt on the steed and galloped o’er the plain,And swore upon the camp to turn his backTill he should find the champion clad in black.
XXXVThe king encounters many of the crewWhom good Orlando’s arm had put to flight;And some a son, and some a brother rue,Who in the rout had perished in their sight;And in the coward’s cheek of pallid hueIs yet pourtrayed the sad and craven sprite:—Yet, through the fear endured, they far and nigh,Pallid, and silent, and insensate fly.
XXXVINor he long was had rode, ere he descriedA passing-cruel spectacle and sore;But which the wonderous feats well testified,That were recounted Agramant before.Now on this hand, now that, the dead he eyed,Measured their wounds, and turned their bodies o’er;Moved by strange envy of the knight whose handHad strown the champaign with the slaughtered band.
XXXVIIAs wolf or mastiff-dog, who comes the lastWhere the remains of slaughtered bullock lie,And finds but horn and bones, where rich repastHad fed the ravening hound and vulture night,Glares vainly on the scull, unsmacked; so passedThe barbarous Tartar king those bodies by;And grudged, lamenting, like the hungry beast,To have come too late for such a sumptuous feast.
XXXVIIIThat day, and half the next, in search he strayedOf him who wore the sable vest and shield.When lo! he saw a mead, o’ertopt with shade,Where a deep river wound about the field,With narrow space between the turns it made,Where’er from side to side the water wheeled.Even such a spot as this with circling wavesBelow Otricoli the Tyber laves.
XXXIXWhere this deep stream was fordable, he scannedA crowd of cavaliers that armour bore:And these the paynim questioned who had manned,With such a troop, and to what end, the shore?To him replied the captain of the band,Moved by his lordly air, and arms he wore,Glittering with gold and jewels,—costly gear,Which showed him an illustrious cavalier.
XL“In charge” (he said) “we of the daughter goOf him our king, who fills Granada’s throne,Espoused by Rodomont of Sarza, thoughTo fame the tidings are as yet unknown.And we, departing when the sun is low,And the cicala hushed, which now aloneIs heard, shall bring her where her father keepsI’ the Spanish camp; meanwhile the lady sleeps.”
XLIHe who for scorn had daffed the world aside,Designs to see at once, how able wereThose horsemen to defend the royal bride,Committed by their sovereign to their care.“The maid, by what I hear, is fair” (he cried).“Fain would I now be certified, how fair:Then me to her, or her to me convey,For I must quickly wend another way.”
XLII“Thou needs art raving mad,” replied in fewThe chief,—nor more. But with his lance in rest,The Tartar monarch at the speaker flew,And with the levelled spear transfixed his breast.For the point pierced the yielding corslet through,And lifeless he, perforce, the champaign prest.The son of Agrican his lance regained,Who weaponless without the spear remained.
XLIIINow sword nor club the warlike Tartar bore,Since, when the Trojan Hector’s plate and chainHe gained, because the faulchion lacked, he swore(To this obliged), nor swore the king in vain,That save he won the blade Orlando wore,He would no other grasp,—that Durindane.Held in high value by Almontes bold,Which Roland bears, and Hector bore of old.
XLIVGreat is the Tartar monarch’s daring, thoseAt such a disadvantage to assay,He pricks, with levelled lance, among his foes,Shouting, in fury,—“Who shall bar my way?”—Round and about him suddenly they close;These draw the faulchion, and those others layThe spear in rest: a multitude he slew,Before his lance was broke upon the crew.
XLVWhen this he saw was broke, the truncheon soundAnd yet entire, he took, both hands between,And with so many bodies strewed the ground,That direr havoc never yet was seen:And as with that jaw bone, by hazard found,The Hebrew Samson slew the Philistine,Crushed helm and shield; and often side by side,Slain by the truncheon, horse and rider died.
XLVIIn running to their death the wretches vie,Nor cease because their comrades perish near:Yet bitterer in such a mode to die,Than death itself, does to the troop appear.They grudge to forfeit precious life, and lieCrushed by the fragment of a broken spear;And think foul scorn beneath the pounding stakeStrangely to die the death of frog or snake.
XLVIIBut after they at their expense had readThat it was ill to die in any way,And near two thirds were now already dead,The rest began to fly in disarray.As if with what was his the vanquished fled,The cruel paynim, cheated of his prey,Ill bore that any, from the murderous strifeOf that scared rabble, should escape with life.
XLVIIIAs in the well-dried fen or stubble-land,Short time the stalk endures, or stridulous reed,Against the flames, which careful rustic’s handScatters when Boreas blows the fires to feed;What time they take, and by the north-wind fanned.Crackle and snap, and through the furrow speed;No otherwise, with little profit, thoseKing Mandricardo’s kindled wrath oppose.
XLIXWhen afterwards he marks the entrance free,Left ill-secured, and without sentinel.He, following prints (which had been recentlyMarked on the mead), proceeds, amid the swellOf loud laments, Granada’s dame to see,If she as beauteous were as what they tell.He wound his way ‘mid corpses, where the wave,Winding from side to side, a passage gave:
LAnd in the middle of the mead surveyedDoralice (such the gentle lady’s name),Who, at the root of an old ash tree laid,Bemoaned her: fast her lamentations came.And tears, like plenteous vein of water, strayedInto the beauteous bosom of the dame;Who, (so it from her lovely face appeared,)For others mourned, while for herself she feared.
LIHer fear increased when she approaching spiedHim foul with blood, and marked his felon cheer;And piercing shrieks the very sky divideRaised by herself and followers, in their fear.For over and above the troop who guideThe fair infanta, squire and cavalier,Came ancient men and matrons in her train,And maids, the fairest of Granada’s reign.
LIIWhen that fair face by him of TartaryIs seen, which has no paragon in Spain,Where amid tears (in laughter what were she?)Is twisted Love’s inextricable chain.He knows not if in heaven or earth he be;Nor from his victory reaps other gain,Than yielding up himself a thrall to her,(He knows not why) who was his prisoner.
LIIIYet not so far his courtesy he strained,That he would lose his labour’s fruit, althoughThe royal damsel showed, who sorely plained,Such grief as women in despair can show.He, who the hope within him entertainedTo turn to sovereign joy her present woe,Would wholly bear her off; whom having placedOn a white jennet, he his way retraced.
LIVHe dames, maids, ancient men, and others, whoHad from Granada with the damsel fared,Kindly dismissed, their journey to pursue;Saying, “My care suffices; I of guard,Of guide, of handmaid will the office do,To serve her in her every need prepared.Farewell!” and thus unable to withstandThe wrong, with tears and sighs withdrew the band,
LVSaying, “How woe-begone will be her sire,When he the miserable case shall hear!What grief will be the bridegroom’s! what his ire!How dread the vengeance of that cavalier!When so the lady’s needs such help require.Alas! and why is not the champion near,To save the illustrious blood of Stordilane,Ere the thief bears her farther hence, from stain?”
LVIThe Tartar, joying in the prize possest,Which he by chance and valour won and wore;To find the warrior of the sable vestSeemed not to have the haste he had before,And stopp’d and loitered, where he whilom prest;And cast about and studied evermoreTo find some fitting shelter; with desire,In quiet to exhale such amorous fire.
LVIIDoralice he consoled this while, whose eyesAnd cheek were wetted with the frequent tear,And many matters feigned and flattering lies;—How, known by fame, he long had held her dear,And how his country and glad realm, whose sizeShamed others, praised for grandeur far and near,He quitted, not for sight of France or Spain;But to behold that cheek of lovely grain.
LVIII“If a man merits love by loving, IYours by my love deserve; if it is wonBy birth,—who boasts a genealogyLike me, the puissant Agricano’s son?By riches,—who with me in wealth can vie.That in dominion yield to God alone?By courage,—I to-day (I ween) have provedThat I for courage merit to be loved.”
LIXThese words, and many others on his part,Love frames and dictates to the Tartar knight,Which sweetly tend to cheer the afflicted heartOf the unhappy maid, disturbed with fright.By these fear first was laid, and next the smartSheathed of that woe, which had nigh pierced her sprite;And with more patience thence the maid beganTo hear, and her new lover’s reasons scan.
LXNext much more affable, with courteous loreSeasoning her answers to his suit, replies;Nor looking at the king, sometimes forboreTo fix upon his face her pitying eyes.The paynim thence, whom Love had smote before,Not hopeful now, but certain, of his prize,Deemed that the lovely damsel would not still,As late, be found rebellious to his will.
LXIRiding in her glad company a-field,Which so rejoiced his soul, so satisfied;And being near the time, when to their bield,Warned by the chilly night, all creatures hied,Seeing the sun now low and half concealed,The warrior ‘gan in greater hurry ride;Until he heard reed-pipe and whistle sound,And next saw farm and cabin smoking round.
LXIIPastoral lodgings were the dwellings near,Less formed for show, than for conveniency;And the young damsel and the cavalierThe herdsman welcomed with such courtesy,That both were pleasured by his kindly cheer.For not alone dwells HospitalityIn court and city; but ofttimes we findIn loft and cottage men of gentle kind.
LXIIIWhat afterwards was done at close of dayBetween the damsel and the Tartar lord,I will not take upon myself to say;So leave to each, at pleasure, to award.But as they rose the following morn more gay,It would appear they were of fair accord:And on the swain who them such honour showed,Her thanks at parting Doralice bestowed.
LXIVThence from one place to the other wandering, theyFind themselves by a river, as they go.Which to the sea in silence winds its way,And ill could be pronounced to stand or flow,So clear and limpid, that the cheerful day,With nought to intercept it, pierced below.Upon its bank, beneath a cooling shade,They found two warriors and a damsel laid.
LXVNow lofty Fancy, which one course to runPermits not, calls me hence in sudden wise;And thither I return, where paynims stunFair France with hosile din and angry cries,About the tent, wherein Troyano’s sonThey holy empire in his wrath defies,And boastful Rodomont, with vengeful doom,Gives Paris to the flames, and levels Rome.
LXVITidings had reached the Moorish sovereign’s earThat the English had already passed the sea;And he bade Garbo’s aged king appear,Marsilius, and his heads of chivalry:Who all advised the monarch to prepareFor the assault of Paris. They may beAssured they in the storm will never thrive,Unless ’tis made before the aids arrive.
LXVIIInnumerable ladders for the scaleHad been collected upon every hand,And plank and beam, and hurdle’s twisted mail,For different uses, at the king’s command;And bridge and boat; and, what might more availThan all the rest, a first and second bandFor the assault (so bids the monarch) form;Who will himself go forth with them that storm.
LXVIIIThe emperor, on the vigil of the dayOf battle, within Paris, everywhere,By priest and friar of orders black and gray,And white, bade celebrate mass-rite and prayer;And those who had confessed, a fair array,And from the Stygian demons rescued were,Communicated in such fashions, all,As if they were the ensuing day to fall.
LXIXAt the high church, he, girt with paladineAnd preachers of the word, and barons brave,With much devotion at those acts divineAssisted, and a fair example gave;And there with folded hands and face supine,Exclaimed, “O Lord! although my sins be grave,Permit not, that, in this their utmost need,Thy people suffer for their king’s misdeed!
LXX“And if that they should suffer is thy will,And that they should due penance undergo,At least delay thy purpose to fulfil;So that thine enemies deal not the blow.For, when ’tis given him in his wrath to killUs who are deemed thy friends, the paynim foe,That thou art without power to save, will cry,Because thou lett’st thy faithful people die:
LXXI“And, for one faithless found, against thy swayA hundred shall throughout the world rebel;So that false Babel’s law will have its way,And thus thy blessed faith put down and quell.Defend thy suffering people, who are theyThat purged thy tomb from heathen hounds and fell.And many times and oft, by foes offended,Thy holy church and vicars have defended.
LXXII“That our deserts unfitting are to placeI’ the scale against our mighty debt, I know;Nor pardon can we hope, if we retraceOur sinful lives; but if thou shouldst bestowIn aid, the gift of they redeeming grace,The account is quit and balanced, that we owe;Nor can we of thy succour, Lord, despair,While we in mind thy saving mercy bear.”
LXXIIISo spake the holy emperor aloud,In humbleness of heart and deep contrition;And added other prayers withal, and vowedWhat fitted his great needs and high condition.Now was his supplication disallowed;For his good genius hears the king’s petition,Best of the seraphs he; who spreads his wings,And to the Saviour’s feet this offering brings.
LXXIVInfinite other prayers as well preferred,Were, by like couriers, to the Godhead’s earSo borne; which when the blessed spirits heard,They all together gazed, with pitying cheer,On their eternal, loving Lord, and, stirredWith one desire, besought that he would hearThe just petition, to his ears conveyed,Of this his Christian people, seeking aid.
LXXVAnd the ineffable Goodness, who in vainWas never sought by faithful heart, an eye,Full of compassion, raised; and from the trainWaved Michael, and to the arch-angel: “Hie,To seek the Christian host that crost the main,And lately furled their sails in Picardy:These so conduct to Paris, that their trampAnd noise be heard not in the hostile camp.
LXXVI“Find Silence first, and bid him, on my part,On this emprize attend thee, at thy side:Since he for such a quest, with happiest artWill know what is most fitting to provide.Next, where she sojourns, instantly impartTo Discord my command, that she, suppliedWith steel and tinder, ‘mid the paynims go,And fire and flame in their encampment blow;
LXXVII“And throughout those among them, who are saidTo be the mightiest, spread such strife, that theyTogether may contend, and that some deadRemain, some hurt, some taken in the fray;And some to leave the camp, by wrath, be led;So that they yield their sovereign little stay.”Nothing the blessed winged-one replies,But swoops descending from the starry skies.
LXXVIIIWhere’er the angel Michael turns his wing,The clouds are scattered and the sky turns bright;About his person forms a golden ring,As we see summer lightning gleam at night.This while the courier of the heavenly kingThinks, on his way, where he may best alight,With the intent to find that foe to speech,To whom he first his high behest would teach.
LXXIXUpon the thought the posting angel brooded,Where he, for whom he sought was used to dwell,Who after thinking much, at last concludedHim he should find in church or convent cell;Where social speech is in such mode excluded,That SILENCE, where the cloistered brethren swellTheir anthems, where they sleep, and where they sitAt meat; and everywhere in fine is writ.
LXXXWeening that he shall find him here, he pliesWith greater speed his plumes of gilded scale,And deems as well that Peace, here guested, lies,And Charity and Quiet, without fail.But finds he is deceived in his surmise,As soon as he has past the cloister’s pale.Here Silence is not; nor (’tis said) is foundLonger, except in writing, on this ground.
LXXXINor here he Love, nor here he Peace surveys,Piety, Quiet, or Humility.Here dwelt they once; but ’twas in ancient days;Chased hence by Avarice, Anger, Gluttony,Pride, Envy, Sloth, and Cruelty. In amazeThe angel mused upon such novelty:He narrowly the hideous squadron eyed,And Discord too amid the rest espied;
LXXXIIEven her, to whom the eternal Sire as well,Having found Silence, bade him to repair.He had believed he to Avernus’ cell,Where she was harboured with the damned, must fare,And now discerned her in this other hell(Who would believe it?) amid mass and prayer.Strange Michael thought to see her there enshrined,Whom he believed he must go far to find.
LXXXIIIHer by her party-coloured vest he knew.Unequal strips and many formed the gown,Which, opening with her walk, or wind that blew,Now showed, now hid her; for they were unsown.Her hair appeared to be at strife; in hueLike silver and like gold, and black and brown;Part in a tress, in riband part comprest,Some on her shoulders flowed, some on her breast.
LXXXIVExaminations, summons, and a storeOf writs and letters of attorney, she,And hearings, in her hands and bosom bore,And consultation, and authority:Weapons, from which the substance of the poorCan never safe in walled city be.Before, behind her, and about her, waitAttorney, notary, and advocate.
LXXXVHer Michael calls to him, and give commandThat she among the strongest paynims go;And find occasion whence amid the bandWarfare and memorable scathe may grow.He next from her of Silence makes demand,Who of his motions easily might know;As one who from one land to the other hied,Kindling and scattering fire on either side.
LXXXVI“I recollect not ever to have viewedHim anywhere,” quoth Discord in reply;“But oft have heard him mentioned, and for shrewdGreatly commended by the general cry:But Fraud, who makes one of this multitude,And who has sometimes kept him company,I think, can furnish news of him to thee,And” (pointing with her finger) “that is she.”
LXXXVIIWith pleasing mien, grave walk, and decent vest,Fraud rolled her eye-balls humbly in her head;And such benign and modest speech possest,She might a Gabriel seem who Ave said.Foul was she and deformed, in all the rest;But with a mantle long and widely spread,Concealed her hideous parts; and evermoreBeneath the stole a poisoned dagger wore.
LXXXVIIIOf her the good archangel made demandWhat way in search of Silence to pursue:Who said; “He with the Virtues once was scannedNor dwelt elsewhere; aye guested by the crewOf Benedict, or blest Elias’ band,When abbeys and when convent-cells were new;And whilom in the schools long time did pass,With sage Archytas and Pythagorus.
LXXXIX“But those philosophers and saints of yoreExtinguished, who had been his former stay,From the good habits he had used beforeHe passed to evil ones; began to stray,Changing his life, at night with lovers, boreThieves company, and sinned in every way:He oftentimes consorts with Treason; further,I even have beheld him leagued with Murther.
XC“With coiners him you oftentimes may seeHarbour in some obscure and close repair.So oft he changes home and company,To light on him would be a fortune rare:Yet have I hope to point him out to thee;If to Sleep’s house thou wilt at midnight fare,Him wilt thou surely find; for to reposeAt night he ever to that harbour goes.”
XCIThough Fraud was alway wont to deal in lies,So like the simple truth appears her say,The angel yields the tale belief; and fliesForth from the monastery without delay,Tempers his speed, and schemes withal in wiseTo finish at the appointed time his way,That at the house of Sleep (the mansion blindFull well he knew) this Silence he may find.
XCIIIn blest Arabia lies a pleasant vale,Removed from village and from city’s reach.By two fair hills o’ershadowed is the dale,And full of ancient fir and sturdy beech.Thither the circling sun without availConveys the cheerful daylight: for no breachThe rays can make through boughs spread thickly round;And it is here a cave runs under ground.
XCIIIBeneath the shadow of this forest deep,Into the rock there runs a grotto wide.Here widely wandering, ivy-suckers creep,About the cavern’s entrance multiplied.Harboured within this grot lies heavy Sleep,Ease, corpulent and gross, upon this side,Upon that, Sloth, on earth has made her seat;Who cannot go, and hardly keeps her feet.
XCIVMindless Oblivion at the gate is found,Who lets none enter, and agnizes none;Nor message hears or bears, and from that groundWithout distinction chases every one;While Silence plays the scout and walks his round,Equipt with shoes of felt and mantle brown,And motions from a distance all who meetHim on his circuit, from the dim retreat.
XCVThe angel him approaches quietly,And, “ ’Tis God’s bidding” (whispers in his ear)“That thou Rinaldo and his company,Brought in his sovereign’s aid, to Paris steer:But that thou do the deed so silently,That not a Saracen their cry shall hear;So that their army come upon the foe,Ere he from Fame of their arrival know.”
XCVISilence to him no otherwise repliedThan signing with his head that he obeyed:(And took his post behind the heavenly guide)Both at one flight to Picardy conveyed.The angel moved those bands of valour tried,And short to them a tedious distance made:Whom he to Paris safe transports; while noneIs conscious that a miracle is done.
XCVIISilence the advancing troop kept skirting round,In front, and flank, and rear of the array;Above the band he spread a mist profound,And everywhere beside ’twas lightsome day;Nor through the impeding fog the shrilling soundOf horn was heard, without, or trumpet’s bray.He next the hostile paynims went to find,And with I know not what made deaf and blind.
XCVIIIWhile with such haste his band Rinaldo led,That him an angel well might seem to guide,And in such silence moved, that nought was saidOr heard of this upon the paynim side;King Agramant his infantry had spreadThroughout fair Paris’ suburbs, and besideThe foss, and underneath the walls; that dayTo make upon the place his worst assay.
XCIXHe who the Moorish monarch’s force would tell,Which Charlemagne this day will have to meet,In wooded Apennine might count as wellThe trees upon its back, or waves that beat(What time the troubled waters highest swell)Against the Mauritanian Atlas’ feet;Or watch at midnight with how many eyesThe furtive works of lovers Heaven espies.
CThe larum-bells, loud-sounding through the air,Stricken with frequent blows, the town affray;And in the crowded temples every whereMovement of lips and hands upraised to prayAre seen: if treasure seemed to God so fairAs to our foolish thoughts, upon this dayThe holy consistory had bid mouldTheir every statue upon earth in gold.
CILamenting may be heard the aged just,In that they were reserved for such a woe;Calling those happy that in sacred dustWere buried many and many a year ago.But the bold youths who, valiant and robust,Small thought upon the approaching ills bestow,Scorning their elders’ counsel, here and thereHurrying, in fury, to the walls repair.
CIIHere might you paladin and baron ken,King, duke, and marquis, count and chivalry,And soldier, foreigner or citizen,Ready for honour and for Christ to die;Who, eager to assail the Saracen,On Charlemagne to lower the bridges cry.He witnesses with joy their martial beat,But to permit their sally deems not meet.
CIIIAnd them he ordered in convenient post,The advance of the barbarians to impede:For this would ill suffice a numerous host,To that he was content that few should speed.Some worked at the machines, some wild-fire tost,All ranged according to the separate need.Charles, never in one place, with restless careProvides defence and succour every where.
CIVParis is seated on a spacious plain,I’ the midst—the heart of France, more justly say.A stream flows into it, and forth again;But first, the passing waters, as they stray,An island form, and so secure the mainAnd better part, dividing on their way.The other two (three separate quarters note).Within the river girds, without the moat.
CVThe town, whose walls for miles in circuit run,Might well have been attacked from many a side;Yet, for he would assail it but on one,Nor willingly his scattered troops divide,Westward beyond the stream Troyano’s sonRetired, from thence the assailing bands to guide.In that, he neither city had nor plainBehind, but what was his, as far as Spain.
CVIWhere’er the walls of Paris wound about,Large ammunition had king Charles purveyed;Strengthening with dyke each quarter held in doubt;And had within trench, drain, and casemate made:And where the river entered and went out,Had thickest chains across the channel laid.But most of all, his prudent cares appearWhere there is greatest cause for present fear.
CVIIWith eyes of Argus, Pepin’s valiant son,Where Agramant was bent to storm foresaw,And every thing forestalled, ere yet begunBy the bold followers of Mahound’s law.With Isolier, Grandonio, Falsiron,Serpentin, Balugantes, and Ferrau,And what beside he out of Spain had led,Marsilius was in arms, their valiant head.
CVIIIWith old Sobrino, on the left of Seine,Pulian and Dardinel d’Almontes meet,With Oran’s giant king, to swell the train:Six cubits is the prince, from head to feet.But why move I my pen with greater painThan these men move their arms? for in his heatKing Rodomont exclaims, blaspheming sore,Nor can contain his furious spirit more.
CIXAs swarming to assail the pastoral bowl,With sound of stridulous wing, through summer sky,Or relics of a feast, their luscious dole,Repair the ready numbers of the fly;As starlings to the vineyard’s crimsoning poleWith the ripe clusters charged,—heaven’s concave highFilling, as they advanced, with noise and shout,Fast hurried to the storm the Moorish rout.
CXUpon their walls the Christians in array,With lance, sword, axe, and wild-fire tost,The assaulted city guard without dismay,And little reck the proud barbarian’s boast:Nor when death snatches this or that away,Does any one in fear refuse his post.Into the fosse below the paynim foesReturn, amid a storm of strokes and blows.
CXINor in this was is iron plied alone,But mighty masses and whole bulwarks fall,And top of tower, huge piece of bastion,And with much toil disrupted, solid wall;While streams of boiling water pouring down,Insufferably the advancing paynims gall:An ill-resisted rain, which, in despiteOf helmet, makes its way, and blinds the sight.
CXIIAnd this than iron spear offended more:Then how much more the mist of lime-dust fine!Then how the emptied vessel, burning soreWith nitre, sulphur, pitch, and turpentine!Nor idle lie the fiery hoops in store,Which, wreathed about with flaming tresses, shine.These at the foemen scaled, upon all hands,Form cruel garlands for the paynim bands.
CXIIIMeanwhile, up to the walls the second crewFierce Sarza’s king was driven, accompaniedBy bold Orlando and Buraldo, whoThe Garamantes and Marmonda guide;Clarindo and Loridano; nor from view,It seems, will Setta’s valiant monarch hide:Morocco’s king and he of Cosco goWith these, that men their martial worth may know.
CXIVWith crimson Rodomont his banner stains,And in the vermeil field a lion shows;Who, bitted by a maid, to curb and reinsHis savage mouth disdains not to unclose.Himself in the submissive lion feignsThe haughty Rodomont, and would supposeIn her who curbs him with the bit and string,Doralice, daughter to Grenada’s king;
CXVWhom Mandricardo took, as I beforeRelated, and from whom, and in what wise.Even she it was, whom Sarza’s monarch moreLoved than his realm,—beyond his very eyes:And valour showed for her and courteous lore,Not knowing yet she was another’s prize.If he had,—then,—then, first,—the story known,Even what he did that day, he would have done.
CXVIAt once the foes a thousand ladders rear.Against the wall by the assailants shored,Two mannered each round; the second, in the rear,Urged on by the first; the third the second gored.One mounts the wall through valour, one through fear,And all attempt perforce the dangerous ford;For cruel Rodomont of Argier slaysOr smites the wretched laggard who delays.
CXVII’Tis thus, ‘mid fire and ruin, all assayTo mount the wall; but others to assureThemselves, some safer passage seek, where theyWill have least pain and peril to endure.Rodomont only scorns by any wayTo wend, except by what is least secure;And in that desperate case, where others madeTheir offerings, cursed the god to whom they prayed.
CXVIIIHe in a cuirass, hard and strong, was drest;A dragon-skin it was with scaly quilt,Which erst secured the manly back and breastOf his bold ancestor, that Babel built;Who hoped the rule of heaven from God to wrest,And him would from his golden dome have split.Perfect, and for this end alone, were madeHelmet and shield as well as trenchant blade.
CXIXNor Rodomont to Nimrod yields in might,Proud and untamed; and who would not forbearTo scale the lofty firmament till night,Could he in this wide world descry the stair.He stood not, he, to mark the bulwark’s plightNor if the fosse of certain bottom were.He past, ran,—rather flew across the moat,Plunging in filth and water to his throat.
CXXDripping and foul with water and with weeds,‘Mid fire and stone, and arbalests, and bows,On drives the chief; as through the marshy reeds,The wild-swine of our own Mallea goes;Who makes large day-light wheresoe’er he speeds,Parting the sedge with breast and tusk and nose.The paynim, safe in buckler lifted high,Scorns not the wall alone, but braves the sky.
CXXIRodomont has no sooner gained the shore,Than on the wooden bartizan he stands,Within the city walls, a bridge that bore(Roomy and large) king Charles’s Christian bands.Here many a scull is riven, here men take moreThan monkish tonsure at the warrior’s hands:Heads fly and arms; and to the ditch a floodRuns streaming from the wall of crimson blood.
CXXIIHe drops the shield; and with two-handed swayWielding his sword, duke Arnulph he offends.Who came from whence, into the briny bay,The water of the rapid Rhine descends.No better than the sulphur keeps awayThe advancing flame, the wretch his life defends.He his last shudder gives, and tumbles dead;Cleft downwards, a full palm from neck and head.
CXXIIIAt one back-stroke sir Spineloccio true,Anselmo, Prando, and Oldrado fell;The narrow place and thickly-swarming crewMake the wide-circling blow so fully tell.The first half Flemings were, the residueAre Normans, who the list of slaughter swell.Orghetto of Maganza, he from browTo breast divides, and thence to paunch below.
CXXIVDown from the wall Andropono and MoschineHe cast into the ditch: a priest the first;The second, but a worshipper of wine,Drained, at a draught, whole runlets in his thirst;Aye wonted simple water to decline,Like viper’s blood or venom: now immersedIn this, he perishes amid that slaughter;And, what breeds most affliction, dies by water.
CXXVLewis the Provencal is cleft in two;Arnold of Thoulouse through the breast before;Hubert of Tours, sir Dionysius, Hugh,And Claud, pour forth their ghosts in reeking gore.Odo, Ambaldo, Satallon ensue,And Walter next; of Paris are the four—With others, that by me unmentioned fall,Who cannot tell the name and land of all.
CXXVIThe crowd, by Rodomont of Sarza led,The ladders lift, and many places scale.Here the Parisians make no further head,Who find their first defense of small availFull well they know that danger more to dreadWithin awaits the foemen who assail;Because between the wall and second moundA fosse descends, wide, horrid, and profound.
CXXVIIBesides, that ours, with those upon the height,War from below, like valiant men and stout,New files succeed to those who fall in fight,Where, on the interior summit, stand the rout,Who gall with lances, and a whistling flightOf darts, the mighty multitude without;Many of whom, I ween, that post would shun,If it were not for royal Ulien’s son.
CXXVIIIBut he still heartened some, and chid the rest,And forced them forward to their sore alarm.One paynim’s head he cleft, and other’s breast,Who turned about to fly; and of the swarmSome shoved and pushed and to the encounter prest,Close-grappled by the collar, hair, or arm:And downwards from the wall such numbers threw,The ditch was all to narrow for the crew.
CXXIXWhile so the foes descend, or rather flingThemselves into the perilous profound;And thence by many ladders try to springUpon the summit of the second mound,King Rodomont, as if he had a wingUpon his every member, from the groundUpraised his weight, and vaulted clean across,Loaded with all his arms, the yawning fosse.
CXXXThe moat of thirty feet, not less, he cleared,As dexterously as leaps the greyhound fleet,Nor at his lighting louder noise was heardThan if he had worn felt beneath his feet.He now of this, now that, the mantle sheared;As though of pewter, not of iron beat,Or rather of soft rind their arms had been:So matchless was his force and sword so keen!
CXXXIThis while, not idle, those of ours had laidSnares in the inner moat, a well-charged mine:Where broom and thick fascines, all over paidWith swarthy pitch, in plenty intertwine.Though they from bank to bank that hollow line,Filling the bottom well-nigh to the brink;And countless vessels the defenders sink.
CXXXIICharged with salt-petre, oil, or sulphur pale,One and the other, or with such like gear;While ours, intent the paynims that assailThe town, should pay their daring folly dear,(Who from the ditch on different parts would scaleThe inner bulwark’s platform) when they hearThe appointed signal which their comrades raise,Set, at fit points, the wildfire in a blaze.
CXXXIIIFor that the moat was full from side to side,The scattered flames united into one,And mounted to such height, they well-nigh driedThe watery bosom of the moon; a dunAnd dismal cloud above extending wide,Dimmed every glimpse of light, and hid the sun:A fearful crash, with a continued sound,Like a long peal of thunder, shook the ground.
CXXXIVA horrid concert, a rude harmonyOf deep lament, and yell and shriek, which cameFrom those poor wretches in extremity,Perishing through their furious leader’s blame,Was heard, as in strange concord, to agreeWith the fierce crackling of the murderous flame.No more of this, no more!—Here, sir, I closeMy canto, hoarse, and needing short repose.