Canto 43
ARGUMENTRinaldo from his courteous landlord hearsWhat folly had destroyed his every good;Next learns another story, as he steersToward Ravenna with the falling flood:Then last arrives where, conqueror o’er his foesOrlando was, but in no joyful mood.He, that the Child a Christian made whilere,Christens Sobrino, and heals Olivier.
IO Execrable avarice! O vile thirstOf sordid gold! it doth not me astoundSo easily thou seizest soul, immersedIn baseness, or with other taint unsound;But that thy chain should bind, amid the worst,And that thy talon should strike down and woundOne that for loftiness of mind would beWorthy all praise, if he avoided thee.
IISome earth and sea and heaven above us square,Know Nature’s causes, works, and properties;What her beginnings, what her endings are;And soar till Heaven is open to their eyes:Yet have no steadier aim, no better care,Stung by thy venom, than, in sordid wise,To gather treasure: such their single scope,Their every comfort, and their every hope.
IIIArmies by him are broken in his pride,And gates of warlike towns in triumph past:The foremost he to breast the furious tideOf fearful battle; to retire the last;Yet cannot save himself from being stiedTill death, in thy dark dungeon prisoned fast.Of others that would shine thou dimm’st the praise;Whom other studies, other arts would raise.
IVWhat shall of high and beauteous dames be said?Who (from their lovers’ worth and charms secure)Against long service, I behold, more staid,More motionless, than marble shafts, endure:Then Avarice comes, who so her spells hath laid,I see them stoop directly to her lure.—Who could believe?—unloving, in a dayThey fall some elder’s, fall some monster’s prey.
VNot without reason here I raise this cry:—Read me who can, I read myself—nor soI from the beaten pathway tread awry,Nor thus the matter of my song forego.Not more to what is shown do I applyMy saying, than to what I have to show.But now return we to the paladine,Who was about to taste the enchanted wine.
VIFain would he think awhile, of whom I speak,(As said) ere to his lips the vase he bore;He thought; then thus: “When finding what we seekDispleases, this ’tis folly to explore,My wife’s a woman; every woman’s weak.Then let me hold the faith I held before.Faith still has brought, and yet contentment brings.From proof itself what better profit springs?
VII“From this small good, much evil I foresee:For tempting God moves sometimes his disdain.I know not if it wise or foolish be,But to know more than needs, I am not fain.Now put away the enchanted cup from me;I neither will, nor would, the goblet drain;Which is with Heaven’s command as much at strife,As Adam’s deed who robbed the tree of life.
VIII“For as our sire who tasted of that tree,And God’s own word, by eating, disobeyed,Fell into sorrow from felicity,And was by misery evermore o’erlaid;The husband so, that all would know and see;Whatever by his wife is done and said;Passes from happiness to grief and pain,Nor ever can uplift his head again.”
IXMeanwhile the good Rinaldo saying so,And pushing from himself the cup abhorred,Beheld of tears a plenteous fountain flowFrom the full eyes of that fair mansion’s lord;Who cried, now having somewhat calmed his woe,“Accursed be he, persuaded by whose word,Alas! I of the fortune made assay,Whereby my cherished wife was reft away!
X“Wherefore ten years ago wast thou not known,So that I counselled might have been of thee?Before the sorrows and the grief begun,That have nigh quenched my eyes; but raised shall beThe curtain from the scene, that thou uponMy pain mayst look, and mayst lament with me;And I to thee of mine unheard-of woeThe argument and very head will show.
XI“Above, was left a neighbouring city, pentWithin a limpid stream that forms a lake;Which widens, and wherein Po finds a vent.Their way the waters from Benacus take.Built was the city, when to ruin wentWalls founded by the Agenorean snake.Here me of gentle line my mother bore,But of small means, in humble home and poor.
XII“If Fortune’s care I was not, who deniedTo me upon my birth a wealthy boon,Nature that went with graceful form supplied;So that in beauty rival had I none.Enamoured of me in youth’s early tideErewhile was dame and damsel more than one:For I with beauty coupled winning ways;Though it becomes not man himself to praise.
XIII“A sage within our city dwelled, a wight,Beyond belief, in every science great;Who, when he closed his eyes on Phoebus’ light,Numbered one hundred years, one score and eight:A savage life he led and out of sight,Until impelled by love, the senior lateBy dint of gifts obtained a matron fair,Who secretly to him a daughter bare;
XIV“And to prevent the child from being won,As was erewhile the mother, that for gainBartered her chastity, whose worth aloneExcels what gold earth’s ample veins contain,With her he from the ways of man is gone,And where he spies the loneliest place, his trainOf demons forces, in enchantment skilled,This dome so spacious, fair, and rich, to build.
XV“By ancient and chaste dames he there made rearThis daughter, that in sovereign beauty grew;Nor suffered her to see or even hearA man beside himself; and, for her view,—Lest lights should lack, whereby her course to steer—The senior every modest lady, whoE’er on unlawful love the barrier shut,Made limn in picture, or in sculpture cut.
XVI“Nor he alone those virtuous dames, who, sageAnd chaste, had so adorned antiquity,Whose fame, preserved by the historic page,Is never doomed its dying day to see;But those as well that will in future ageEverywhere beautify fair Italy,Made fashion in their well-known form and mien;As eight that round this fount by thee are seen.
XVII“What time the damsel ripe for husband shows,So that the fruit may now be gathered, I(Did chance or my misfortune so dispose?)Am worthiest found; and those broad lands that lieWithout the walls which that fair town enclose,—The fishy flat no less than upland dry—Extending twenty miles about that water,He gives me for a dowry, with his daughter.
XVIII“She was so mannered, was so fair of hue,None could desire she other gifts should bring;So well to broider was she taught, and sew,Minerva knew not better; did she sing,Or play, or walk, to those that hear and view,She seems a heavenly, and no mortal thing;And in the liberal arts was skilled as wellAs her own sire, or scarce behind him fell.
XIX“With genius high and beauty no less bright,Which might have served the very stones to move,Such love, such sweetness did the maid unite,Thinking thereof meseems my heart is clove.She had no greater pleasure or delightThan being with me, did I rest or rove.Twas long ere we had any strife; in fineWe quarrelled; and the fault, alas! was mine.
XX“Five years my consort’s father had been dead,Since to that yoke I stooped, and pledged my vow;When in short time (the manner shall be said)Began the sorrows that I feel even now.While me with all his pinions overspreadLove of the dame, whose praises thus I blow,A noble townswoman with love of meWas smit; more sorely smitten none could be.
XXI“She, in all magic versed, was of such skillAs never was enchantress; by her sayMoved solid earth, and made the sun stand still,Illumined gloomy night and darkened day:Yet never could she work upon my will,With salve I could not give, except with scatheOf her to whom erewhile I pledged my faith.
XXII“Not because she right gentle was and bright,Nor because I believed her love so true,Nor for large gift, nor promise often plight,Nor yet because she never ceased to sue,Could she from me obtain one spark of lightFrom that first flame my gentle consort blew:So mates and masters every will in meThe knowledge of my wife’s fidelity.
XXIII“I in the hope, belief, and certitudeMy wife to me was faithful evermore,Should with contempt the beauty have eschewedOf that famed daughter which fair Leda bore;And all the wit and wealth wherewith was wooedThe illustrious shepherd upon Ida hoar.But no repulse withal with her avails,Who me, for ever at my side, assails.
XXIV“One day that me beyond my palace seesThat weird enchantress, who Melissa hight,And where she can discourse with me at ease,She finds a way whereby my peace to blight;And, goading me with evil jealousies,The faith I nursed at heart, she puts to flight.She ‘gan commending my intent to beFaithful to her who faithful was to me.
XXV“ ‘But that she faithful is, ye cannot say,Save of her faith ye have assurance true;If she fails not withal, where fail she may,She faithful, modest may be deemed by you:But is she never from your side away,Is not permitted other man to view,How does this boldness come, that you would beThe warrant of her untried modesty?
XXVI“ ‘Go forth awhile; go forth come from home alone;And be the bruit in town and village spreadThat she remains behind, and you are gone;Let lovers and let couriers have their head:If, unpersuaded still by prayer and boon,She does no outrage to the marriage bed;Though doing so she deem herself unseen,Then faithful you the dame may justly ween.’
XXVII“I with such words and such-like words was plied,Till so on me the shrewd enchantress wrought,I wished to see my consort’s virtue triedBy certain proof, and to the touchstone brought.—‘Now grant we (I to that witch-lady cried)She prove what cannot by myself be thought,How by some certain token can I readIf she will merit punishment or meed?’
XXVIII“ ‘A drinking-cup will I for that assayGive you (she said) of virtue strange and rare:Such was for Arthur made by Morgue the fay,To make him of Genevra’s fault aware.The chaste wife’s lord thereof may drink; but theyDrink not, whose wedded partners wanton are:For, when they would the cordial beverage sup,Into their bosom overflows the cup.
XXIX“ ‘Below departing, you the test shall try,And, to my thinking, now shall you drink clean;For clean as yet I think your consort, I:The event however shall by you be seen.Yet will I warrant not your bosom dry,Should you repeat the proof; for if, betweenThe cup and lip, the liquor be not shed,You are the happiest wight that ever wed.’
XXX“The offer I accept, the vase to meIs given, and trial made with full success;For hitherto (as hoped) confirmed I seeMy gentle consort’s worth and faithfulness.‘Leave her awhile (Melissa said), and beA month or twain a truant, more or less:Then homeward wend; again the goblet fill;And prove if you the beverage drink or spill.’
XXXI“I thought it hard to leave my consort’s side;Not as so much about her truth in pain,As that I could nor for two days abide,Nay, not an hour without her could remain.‘—You in another way (Melissa cried)Guided by me, the truth shall ascertain;Voice, vesture shall you change; and to her sightPresent yourself, disguised like other wight.’
XXXII“Sir, a fair city nigh at hand, defendsTwixt fierce and threatening horns the foaming Po;Whose jurisdiction to the shore extends,Where the sea’s briny waters come and go:This yields in ancientry, but well contendsWith neighbouring towns in rich and gorgeous show:A Trojan remnant its foundations placed,Which scaped from Attila’s destructive waste.
XXXIII“A rich, a youthful, and a handsome knightBridles this city with his sovereign sway;Who, following a lost falcon in its flight,Entering by chance my dwelling on a day,Beheld my wife, who pleased him so at sight,He bore her impress in his heart away;Nor ceased to practise on her, with intentTo incline the matron to his evil bent.
XXXIV“So often she repels the cavalierThat finally his courtship is foregone;But her fair image graved by Love will ne’erBe razed from memory; me Melissa won(So well she soothed and flattered) of that peerThe face and figure to the sight to don;And changed me—nor well how can I declare—In voice and visage and in eyes and hair.
XXXV“I, having to my lady made a showAs eastward bound and gone,—like him that wooed,Her rich and youthful lover, altered so,His semblance, attended by Melissa, go,Into a page upon her side transmewed;Who the most costly jewels with her boreE’er brought form Ind, or Erithraean shore.
XXXVI“I enter safely, that my palace knew,And with me wends Melissa; and there ISo wholly at her ease Madonna view,No woman or attendant squire is by.To her with suppliant prayer forthwith I sue,And next those goads to evil deed apply;Show emerald, ruby, diamond, that might serve;To make the firmest heart from honour swerve;
XXXVII“And I declare to her the gift is smallTo that, which she may hope to make her own;Then of the vantage speak, that from his hallHer husband at the present time is gone;And I how long it was to her recall,Since, as she knew, to her my love was shown;And that my loving with such faith, in the endMight worthily to some reward pretend.
XXXVIII“At first she was somedeal disturbed; becameLike scarlet; nor would listen to my say;But seeing those bright jewels flash like flame,Her stubborn heart was softened, and gave way;And in brief speech and feeble said the dameWhat to remember takes my life away:She with my wishes, said, she would comply,If sure to be unseen of watchful eye.
XXXIX“Me my wife’s words like poisoned weapon thrill,And pierce my suffering spirit through and through:Through bones and veins there went a deadly chill;My tongue clave to my throat: The witch withdrewWith that the magic mantle, and at willTransformed me to mine ancient shape anew.—Bethink thee of what hue my wife became,Taken by me in such notorious shame!
XL“Of deadly hue we both of us remain;We both stand silent; both with downcast eye.So feeble is my tongue, that I with pain,So faint my voice, that I with pain can cry;‘Thou wouldst betray me then, O wife, for gain,If there was one that would my honour buy!’She nought replies; nor save by tears she speaks,Which furrow, as they fall, her woeful cheeks.
XLI“Shame stings her sore, but yet in sorer wiseWrath at the outrage I to her had done;And so without restraint it multiplies,And into rage and cruel hate is run,To fly from me forthwith does she devise;And, what time from his car dismounts the sun,Runs to the shore, aboard her pinnace wends,And all that night the stream in haste descends;
XLII“And she at morn presents herself beforeHim that had loved her once, the cavalier,Whose semblance and whose borrowed face I woreWhen, to my shame, I tempted her whilere.To him that loved, and loves her evermore,Her coming, it may be believed, is dear.From thence she bade me never entertainThe hope she’d love me or be mine again.
XLIII“Alas! with him she swells in mickle gleeEven from that day, and makes of me a jest;And of that evil which I brought on meI languish yet, and find no place of rest.Justly this growing ill my death will be,Of little remnant now of life possest.I well believe I in a year had died,But that a single comfort aid supplied.
XLIV“That comfort was; of all which harboured wereHere for ten years (for still to every guestBeneath my roof I bade the vessel bear)Was none but with the wine had bathed his breast.To have so many comrades in my care,Some little soothes the griefs that so molest.Thou only of so many hast been wise,Who wouldst forbear the perilous emprize.
XLV“My wish, o’erpassing every fitting bound,To know what husband of his wife should know,Is cause, by me no quiet will be found,Whether my death be speedy of be slow.Thereat at first Melissa joys; but drownedForthwith is her light mirth; for of my woeEsteeming her the cause, that dame so soreI hated, I would not behold her more.
XLVI“Impatient to be treated with disdainBy me,—of her more loved than life, she said -Where she forthwith as mistress to remainHad hoped, when thence the other was conveyed,—Not to behold such present, cause of pain,Her own departure little she delayed;And went so far away, no further wordBy me was ever of that woman heard.”
XLVIIHis tale the mournful cavalier so taught;And when he now had closed his history,With pity touched, somewhile immersed in thoughtRinaldo mused, and after made reply:“Right ill advice to thee Melissa brought,Who moved three thus to anger wasps; and IPerceive in thee small wisdom, that wouldst soundA thing which thou wouldst gladly not have found.
XLVIII“If she, thy wife, by avarice was inclinedTo break her faith and be to thee untrue,Muse not: nor first nor last of womankind,She, worsted, from such cruel war withdrew;And by a meaner bribe yet firmer mindIs even tempted fouler deed to do.Of men, of how many we hear, that soldTheir patrons and their friends for sordid gold?
XLIX“With such fierce arms thou ill didst her assail,If to behold a brave defence thou sought.Knowst thou not, against gold of no availIs stone, or steel to hardest temper wrought?Meseems that thou in tempting her didst failMore than herself, that was so quickly caught.I know not, had she tempted thee as much,If thou, thyself, hadst better stood the touch.”
LHere ends Rinaldo, and—the parley done—Rises and to his rest desires to go:Awhile will he repose; and then be gone,An hour or two before the daylight show.But little time has Aymon’s warlike son;Nor idly will that little time bestow.To him the mansion’s master made reply,He in his house might at his pleasure lie.
LIFor bed and bower, within, were ready dight;But—would he take his counsel for his guide—In comfort might he sleep throughout the night.And yet advance some miles; “For thou,” he cried,“Shalt have a pinnace, that with rapid flightAnd without risque shall with the current glide.Therein shalt thou all night pursue thy way,And on thy journey gain withal a day.”
LIIGood seemed that proffer in Rinaldo’s eyes,And to the courteous host large thanks he paid;Then for the pinnace which that lord supplies,That waits him with her crew, the warrior made.Here, at full ease reclined, Rinaldo lies,While with the stream his frigate is conveyed;Which, by six oars impelled, flies fast and fair,And cleaves the water, as a bird the air.
LIIIAs soon as he reclines his weary head,Asleep is Mount Albano’s cavalier;Having erewhile that they shall wake him, said,As soon as they Ferrara’s city near.Melara lies left of that river’s bed,Sermide to the right; they in their rearNext leave Stellata and Figarolo,Where his two horns are lowered by angry Po.
LIVOf those two horns that which t’ward Venice goesRinaldo’s pilot left, and took the right;Then the Bodeno past. Already showsFaintly the eastern blue, and fades from sight;For now Aurora from her basket throwsAll her rich flowers, and paints it red and white;When viewing the two castles of Tealdo,Again his head uplifts the good Rinaldo.
LV“O happy town! whereof” (the warrior cried)“Spake Malagigi, having, far and near,The fixt and wandering fires of heaven espied,And forced some subject spirit to appear,To me foretelling that in future tide,—What time with him I took his way whilere—Even to such pitch thy glorious fame should rise,Thou from all Italy wouldst bear the prize.”
LVISo saying, in his barge he all this whileHurries, as if the bark with pinions flew,Scowering the king of rivers, to that isleNearest the town; and, though it not to view(Deserted and neglected then) doth smile,This yet rejoices to behold anew;Nor makes small mirth thereat; because awareHereafter how adorned ‘twill be and fair.
LVIIBefore when he with him that way had gone,From Malagigi, his cousin, did he hearThat when seven hundred times his course had run,Circling the heaven in Aries, the fourth sphere,Of islands this should be the fairest oneIn sea, or pool, or river, far and near,So that who this beheld, would brook no moreTo hear that praised which fair Nausicaa bore.
LVIIIHe heard, it in fair mansions would outdoThat island which Tiberius held so dear;And trees that in Hesperian gardens grewWould yield to what this beauteous place should bear;—So rare its race of beasts—no fairer shewHerded or housed erewhile by Circe were;Venus with Loves and Graces there should sport,Nor more in Gnide and Cyprus keep her court;
LIXAnd so would flourish through his study and care,Who will with knowledge and with power should blend;And who so safely should that bright repairWith circling wall and sheltering dyke defend,The united world’s assault it well might dare,Nor call on foreign power its aid to lend;And that Duke Hercules’ sire and Hercules’ sonWas he by whom this marvel should be done.
LXSo wends the warrior summing in his mindWhat erst to him had told his cousin wise;What time the sage of future things divined,Whereof with him he often wont devize;And aye contemplating that city blind,“How can it ever be,” Rinaldo cries,“That in all liberal and all worthy artsShall flourish so these waste and watery parts?
LXI“And that to city of such amplitudeAnd beauty such a petty burgh should grow,And where but marsh and miry pool is viewed,Henceforth should full and fruitful harvests glow?Even now I rise, to hail the gentle blood,The love, the courtesy thy lords shall show,O thou fair city, in succeeding years;Thy burghers’ honours and thy cavaliers’.
LXII“The grace ineffable of powers above,Thy princes’ wisdom and their love of right,Shall with perpetual peace, perpetual lovePreserve thee in abundance and delight;And a defence from all the fury proveOf such as hate thee; and unmask their spite.Be thy content thy neighbours’ wide annoy,Rather than thou shouldst envy other’s joy!”
LXIIIWhile thus Rinaldo speaks, so swiftly borneBy the quick current flies that nimble yawl;Not to the lure more swiftly makes returnThe falcon, hurrying at his lord’s recall.Thenceforth the right-hand branch of the right hornRinaldo takes; and hid are roof and wall:St. George recedes; recede from that swift boatThe turrets OF GAIBANA and OF THE MOAT.
LXIVMontalban’s martial lord (as it befell,That thought moved thought, which others moved again)In memory chances on the knight to dwell,That him at supper late did entertain;That, through this city’s cause, the truth to tell,Hath reason evermore to be in pain;And of the magic vessel him bethinksWhich shows his consort’s guilt to him that drinks;
LXVAnd him bethinks therewith of what the knightRelated; how of all that he had tried,Who of his goblet drank, there was no wightBut split the wine he to his lips would guide.Now he repents him; now, “’Tis my delight,”(Mutters) “that I the proof would not abide:Succeeding I should prove but what I thought;And not succeeding, to what pass am brought!
LXVI“This my belief I deem a certainty;And faith could have but small increase in me:So, if I this should by the touchstone try,My present good would little bettered be:But small the evil would not prove, if ISaw of my Clarice what I would not see.This were a thousand against one to stake;To hazard much where I could nothing take.”
LXVIIThe knight of Clermont buried in this mood,Who lifted not his visage from the floor,A mariner with much attention viewed,That overright was seated at his oar;And, for he deemed he fully understoodThe thought that prest the cavalier so sore,Made him (well-spoken was the man and bold)Wake from his muse, some talk with him to hold.
LXVIIIThe substance of the talk between the twoWas, that the husband little wit possest,Who, wishing to assay if she was true,Had tried his wife by too severe a test:For woman, proof to gold and silver, who,Armed but with modesty, defends her breast,This from a thousand faulchions will defendMore surely, and through burning fires will wend.
LXIXThe mariner subjoined: “Thou saidest well;With gifts so rich he should not her have prest;For, these assaults, these charges, to repel,Not good alike is every human breast.I know not if of wife thou has heard tell(For haply not with us the tale may rest)That in the very sin her husband spied,For which she by his sentence should have died.
LXX“My lord should have remembered, gold and meedHave upon every hardest matter wrought:But he forgot this truth in time of need;And so upon his head this ruin brought,Ah! would that he in proof, like me, a deedDone in this neighbouring city had been taught,His country and mine own; which lake and fen,Brimming with Mincius’ prisoned waters, pen.
LXXI“I of Adonio speak, that in a houndA treasure on the judge’s wife conferred.”“Thereof,” replied the paladin, “the soundHath not o’erpast the Alps; for never wordOf this neighbouring France, nor in my roundThrough far and foreign countries have I heard:So tell, if telling irks not,” said the peer,“What willingly I bown myself to hear.
LXXIIThe boatman then: “Erewhile was of this townOne Anselm, that of worthy lineage came;A wight that spent his youth in flowing gown,Studying his Ulpian: he of honest fame,Beauty, and state assorting with his own,A consort sought, and one of noble name:Nor vainly; in a neighbouring city, crownedWith superhuman beauty, one he found.
LXXIII“She such fair manners and so graceful shows,She seems all love and beauty; and much morePerchance than maketh for her lord’s repose;Then well befits the reverend charge he bore.He, wedded, strait in jealousy outgoesAll jealous men that ever were before:Yet she affords not other cause for careBut that she is too witty and too fair.
LXXIV“In the same city dwelt a cavalier,Numbered that old and honoured race among,Sprung from the haughty lineage, which whilereOut of the jaw-bone of a serpent sprung:Whence Manto, doomed my native walls to rear,Descended, and with her a kindred throng.The cavalier (Adonio was he named)Was with the beauties of the dame inflamed;
LXXV“And for the furtherance of his amorous quest,To grace himself, began his wealth to spend,Without restraint, in banquet and in vest,And what might most a cavalier commend:If he Tiberius’ treasure had possest,He of his riches would have made an end.I well believe two winters were not done,Ere his paternal fortune was outrun.
LXXVI“The house erewhile, frequented by a horde—Morning and evening—of so many friends,Is solitary; since no more his boardBeneath the partridge, quail, and pheasant bends.Of that once noble troop upon the lord,Save beggars, hardly any one attends.Ruined, at length he thinks he will begoneTo other country, where he is unknown.
LXXVII“He leaves his native land with this intent,Nor letteth any his departure know;And coasts, in tears and making sad lament,The marshes that about his city go:He his heart’s queen, amid his discontent,Meanwhile forgets not, for this second woe.Lo! him another accident that falls,From sovereign woe to sovereign bliss recalls!
LXXVIII“He saw a peasant who with heavy stakeSmote mid some sapling trunks on every side:Adonio stopt, and wherefore so he strake,Asked of the rustic, that in answer cried,Within that clump a passing ancient snake,Amid the tangled stems he had espied:A longer serpent and more thick to viewHe never saw, nor thought to see anew;
LXXIX“And that from thence he would not wend his wayUntil the reptile he had found and slain,When so Adonio heard the peasant say,He scarce his speech with patience could sustain,Aye reverence to the serpent wont to pay,The honoured ensign of his ancient strain;In memory that their primal race had grownErewhile from serpent’s teeth by Cadmus sown;
LXXX“And by the churl the offended knight so said,And did withal, he made him quit the emprize;Leaving the hunted serpent neither dead,Nor injured, nor pursued in further wise.Thither, where he believes would least have spreadThe story of his woe, Adonio hies;And in discomfort and in sorrow wears,Far from his native land, seven weary years.
LXXXI“Neither for distance nor for straitened cheer,Which will not let Thought run its restless round,Ceased Love, so wont to rein the cavalier,Aye to inflame his heart, aye vex his wound:At length those beauties, to his eyes so dear,Parforce must he revisit, homeward bound.Unshorn, afflicted, he, in poor array,Thither returns, from whence he went his way.
LXXXII“My city, at the time whereof I tell,To Rome was fain to send an embassy;That sometime near his holiness should dwell;And for how long a time could none foresee.Upon our judge the lot of envoy fell:O day, that ever wept by him will be!To be excused, Anselmo promised, prayed,And bribed; but at the last parforce obeyed.
LXXXIII“As no less cruel and less hard to abideHe deemed a woe which caused such piteous smart,Than had he seen a hostile hand his sideLay bare, and from his bosom pluck his heart:Dead-white with jealous fear his cheek is dyed,Through doubt of his fair consort while apart;And in the mode he deems may best avail,He supplicates her not in faith to fail,
LXXXIV“Nor beauty, to his wife the husband cries,Nor noble blood, nor fortune, are enowTo make a woman to true honour rise,Save chaste in name and deed; subjoining howThe virtue that mankind most highly prizeIs that which triumphs after strife; and nowThrough his long absense, a fair field and wideIs opened where that virtue may be tried.
LXXXV“With such persuasions, and with many moreAnselm exhorts the lady to be true.His going doth his woful wife deplore.O heaven, what tears, what loud complaints ensue!Immersed in her despair, that lady swore,Sooner the sun bedimmed the world should viewThan she would break her faith; she would expireSooner than she would cherish such desire.
LXXXVI“Though to the lady’s promise and protestHe lent belief, and somewhat calmed his fears,Until he further hear he will not rest;And till he can find matter for his tears,A soothsayer he among his friends possest,Prized for his knowledge, as the first of seers;Who of all witchery and of magic artHad read the whole, or read the greater part.
LXXXVII“To him before departing does he pray,To take the charge upon himself to seeIf true would be Argia while away(So name his consort), or the contrary.Won by his prayers, he takes the time o’ the day;Figures the heavens as they appear to be.Anselmo left him at his work, and cameHis answer on the following day to claim.
LXXXVIII“The astrologer is silent, loath to exposeA matter that will work the doctor woe;And would excuse himself with many a gloze:But when he sees, he would the evil know,Argia will break faith with him, he shows,As soon as he shall from his threshold go.Nor prayer shall soften her, nor beauty fire:Corrupted will she be by gain and hire.
LXXXIX“When to Anselmo’s early doubt and fearAre joined the threatnings of the signs above,How stands his heart may well to thee appear,If thou hast known the accidents of love;And worse than every woe, wherewith whilereThe afflicted spirits of that husband strove,Is that it by the prophet is foretold,Argais’ honour will be bought and sold.
XC“Now to support his wife, as best he may,From falling into such an evil deed.For man, alas, will sometimes disarrayThe altar, when he finds himself in need,What gold and gems the judge had put away,(A plenteous store) he leaves; and field and mead,Rents, fruits, and all possessions whatsoe’erLeaves to his consort; all his worldly gear:
XCI“ ‘With power,’ he said, ‘not only without measure,These, as thou needest, to enjoy and spend,But do with them according to thy pleasure,Consume and fling away, and give and vend:Other account I ask not of my treasure,If such as now I find thee in the end;But such as now remain;—at thy command(Even shouldst thou squander both) are house and land.’
XCII“Unless she heard he thither made repair,He prayed that she would dwell not in the town;But would a farm of his inhabit, whereShe might with all convenience live alone.And this besought he of his consort fair,As thinking, that the rustics, which on downPasture their flocks, or fruitful fallows till,Could ne’er contaminate her honest will.
XCIII“Her fearful husband still embracing close,Her arms about his neck Argia threw:A burst of tears her visage overflows:For from her eyes two streams their way pursue.She grieves, he guilty should his wife suppose;As if she hath already been untrue:For his suspicion to its source she traced;That in her faith no faith Anselmo placed.
XCIV“Citing their long farewell, I should exceed.‘—To thee at length,’ he so the dame addrest,‘I recommend my honour’;—and indeedTook leave, and on his road in earnest prest;And truly felt, on wheeling round his steed,As if his heart was issuing from his breast.She follows him as long as she can followWith eyes whose tears her furrowed visage hollow.
XCV“Poor, pale, unshorn, and wretched (as whilereTo you in former strain by me was said),Homeward meanwhile the wandering cavalier,Hoping he there should be unknown, had made.Beside the lake that pilgrim journeyed, nearThe city, where he gave the serpent aid,In that thick brake besieged by village swain,Who with his staff the reptile would have slain.
XCVI“Arriving here, upon the dawn of light,For yet some stars were glimmering in the skies,Approaching him, in foreign vesture dight,Along the shore, a damsel he espies.Though neither squire nor waiting wench in sightAppears, yet noble is the lady’s guise.With pleasing visage she Adonio boards,And then breaks silence in the following words.
XCVII“Albeit thou know’st me not, O cavalierI am thy kin, and greatly bound to thee:I am thy kin; for of the lineage clearDerived of haughty Cadmus’ seed are we.I am the fairy Manto, that whilereLaid the first stone of this rude villagery;And (as thou haply mayst have heard it famed)Mantua from me the rising town was named.
XCVIII“ ‘O’ the fairies am I one: with that to showOur fatal state, and what it doth import;We to all other kinds of ill belowAre subject by our natal influence, shortOf death; but with immortal being such woeIs coupled, death is not of direr sort.For every seventh day we all must takeBy certain law, the form of spotted snake.
XCIX“ ‘So sad it is that loathsome coil to fill,And prone, at length, upon the ground to crawl;Equal to this here is no worldly ill;So that immortal life is cursed by all.And thou the debt I owe thee (for my willIs to inform thee of its cause withal)Shalt know as well; how on that fatal dayOf change we are to countless ills a prey.
C“ ‘So hated as the serpent beast is none;And we that wear its evil form, alarm,Outrage, and war endure from every one:For all that see us, hunt and do us harm:Unless we can to ground for shelter run,We feel how heavy falls man’s furious arm.Happier it were to die, than languish—broke,Battered, and crippled by the cruel stroke.
CI“ ‘My mighty obligation due to theeIs that, when once thou didst this greenwood thread,Thou from a rustic’s fury rescuedst me,By whose ill handling was I sore bested.But for thine aid, I should not have got free,Without a broken spine or battered head:With body crooked and crushed I should have lain,Albeit I could not by his arm be slain.
CII“ ‘Because thou hast to know upon the dayWe sprang from earth with scales of dragon dight,—Subject to us at other times—to obeyThe heavens refuse; and we are void of might:At other seasons, at our simple sayThe circling sun stands still, and dims its light:Fixt earth is moved, and in a circle wheels:Ice at our word takes fire, and fire congeals.
CIII“ ‘Now here, prepared to render thee the meedOf benefit then done to me, I stand;For now, dismantled of my dragon weed,Vainly no grace of me wilt thou demand.Even now, thrice richer art thou by my deed,Than when thou heirdst erewhile thy father’s land:Now will I that henceforth thou shalt be poor;But wealth, the more ’tis spent, augment the more:
CIV“ ‘And because with that ancient knot thou still,I know, art tangled, which by Love was tied,The mode and order, how thou mayst fulfilThy wishes, shall by me be signified.Now that her lord is absent, ’tis my willMy scheme without delay by thee be tried;Go forth the lady at her farm to find,Without the town; nor will I say behind.’
CV“She her discourse continuing, ‘gan adviseWhat form he to that lady’s eyes should take:I say, what vesture wear, and in what wiseShould speak, how tempt her; what entreaties make:And said, how she her figure would disguise;For, save the day wherein she was a snake,Upon all others went the fairy drestIn whatsoever figure pleased her best.
CVI“She in a pilgrim’s habit clothed the knight,Such as from door to door our alms entreat:Into a dog she changed herself to sight;The smallest ever seen, of aspect sweet,Long hair, than ermine’s fur more snowy white;And skilled withal in many a wondrous feat.Towards Agria’s villa, so transmewed,The fairy and the knight their way pursued;
CVII“And at the labourer’s cabins in his roundThe stripling halts, before he stops elsewhere;And certain rustic reeds begins to sound;His dog is up, and dances to the air.The dame, that hears the voice and cry rebound,Is by the rumour moved to see the pair.Into her court she has the pilgrim brought,As Anselm’s evil destiny had wrought:
CVIII“And here Adonio gives the dog command;And here by that obedient dog is shownDance of our country and of foreign land,With paces, graces, fashions of his own;And finally he does, amid that band,With winning ways what else is to be done,With such attention of the admiring crew,None winked their eyes, their breath they scarcely drew.
CIX“Great marvel in the dame, then longing, bredThat gentle dog: she one that her had nursedWith no mean offer to his master sped.—‘If all the riches for which women thirst’(To her embassadress in answer saidThe wary pilgrim) ‘in my bags were pursued,There is not in that treasure what would bootTo purchase of my dog one single foot’:
CX“And he, the truth of his discourse to show,Into a corner took the beldam old,And bade the dog in courtesy bestowUpon that messanger a mark of gold.The dog obeyed, and shook himself; and lo!The treasure! which he bade her have and hold:Thereto he added, ‘Thinkest thou by oughtA dog so fair and useful can be bought?
CXI“ ‘For whatsoever I of him demand,I empty-handed never go away;Now pearl, now ring will he shake from him, andNow gift me with some rich and fair array.Yet tell madonna he is at her command;But not for gold; for him no gold can pay;But if I for one night her arms may fill,Him may she take and do with him her will.’
CXII“So said, a gem, new-dropt, on her he prest,And bade her to the lady bear the boon.That in the costly produce she possestTen, twenty ducats’ value deemed the crone.She bore the message to the dame addressed,And after wrought on her till she was wonTo buy the beauteous dog, who might be boughtBy payment of a prize which costeth nought.
CXIII“Argia somewhat coy at first appears;Partly that she her faith will not forego;Partly that she believes not all she hearsThat beldam of the dog and pilgrim show.The nurse insists, and dins into her ears,That seldom such a chance occurs below;And makes her fix another day to seeThat dog, when fewer eyes on her shall be.
CXIV“The next appearance which Adonio madeWas ruin to the doctor; for the houndDoubloons, by dozens and by dozens, braidOf pearl, and costly jewels scattered round.So that Argia’s pride of heart was laid;And so much less the dame maintained her ground,When she in him, who made the proffer, viewedThe Mantuan cavalier that whilom wooed.
CXV“The harlot nurse’s evil oratory,The prayer and presence of the suitor lord,The occasion to acquire that mighty fee,Which wretched Anselm’s absence would afford,The hope that none would her accuser be,So vanquish her chaste thoughts, she makes the accord—Accepts the wondrous dog; and, as his pay,To her leman yields herself a willing prey.
CXVIThe fruits of love long culled that cavalierWith his lady fair; unto whom the fayTook such affection, whom she held so dear,That she obliged herself with her to stay.Through all the signs the sun had travelled, ereThe judge had leave to wend his homeward way.He finally returned; but sore afraidThrough what the astrologer erewhile had said.
CXVII“Arrived, his first employment is to runTo that astrologer’s abode, and crave,If shame and evil to his wife be done;Of if she yet her faith and honor save.The heavens he figured; and to every oneOf the seven planets its due station gave;Then to the judge replied that it had beenEven as he feared, and as it was foreseen.
CXVIII“By richest presents tempted to foregoHer faith, a prey was she to other wight.This to the doctor’s heart was such a blow;Nor lance, nor spear, I deem, so sorely smite.To be more certified he wends (althoughHe is too well assured the seer is right)To that old nurse; and, drawing her apart,To learn the truth employs his every art.
CXIX“He in wide circles doth about her wind,Hoping now here, now there, to spy some trace:But nought in the beginning can he find,With whatsoever care he sifts the case.For she, as not unpractised in that kind,Denies, and fronts him with untroubled face;And, as well taught, above a month stands out,Holding the judge ‘twixt certainty and doubt.
CXX“How blest would doubt appear, had he that woundForeseen, which would be given by certainty!When out of that false nurse at last he foundHe could not fish the truth by prayer or fee,Touching no chord but yielded a false sound,He shrewdly waits his time till there should beDiscord between the beldam and his wife:For whereso women are, is stir and strife.
CXXI“And even that Anselmo waited, soBefell; since, angered by the first despite,Unsought of him, to him that nurse did go,To tell the whole; and nothing hid from sight.How sank his heart beneath that cruel blow,‘Twere long to say; how prostrate lay his sprite.So was the wretched judge with grief opprest,He of his wits well-nigh was dispossest;
CXXII“And finally resolved to die, so burnedHis rage, but first would kill the faithless dame;And he with one destructive faulchion yearnedTo free himself from woe and her from shame.Stung by such blind and furious thoughts, returnedAnselmo to the city, in a flame;And to the farm despatched a follower true,Charged with the bidding he was bound to do.
CXXIII“He bids the servant to the villa go,And to Argia in his name pretend,He by a fever is reduced so low,She hardly can arrive before his end.Hence without waiting escort—would she showHer love—she with his man must backward wend,(Wend with him will she surely, nor delay)And bids him cut her throat upon the way.
CXXIV“The serving man to call his lady wentPrepared his lord’s command on her to do.Having her little dog at starting hent,She mounted and began her journey, throughThe dog advised of Anselm’s ill intent,But bid no less her purpose to pursue;For he had taken thought for her; and aidShould in the time of peril be purveyed.
CXXV“The servant from his pathway turns aside,And through bye-roads and solitary goes;Purposely lighting on a stream, whose tideFrom Apennine into our river flows;Where, both of farm and busy city wide,A holt, and dark and dismal greenwood grows.Silent appeared the gloomy place, and oneFitting the cruel deed which should be done.
CXXVI“He drew his sword on her, and signifiedThe mandate by her angry husband given;That so she might entreat, before she died,Forgiveness of her every sin from Heaven.I know not how; she vanished from his side,When through her flank the blade he would have driven.Vainly long time he seeks her, then remainsFoiled and outscorned, for guerdon of his pains.
CXXVII“He all astound and with bewildered face,And full of shame, to seek his lord returns;Who from the servant that unwonted case,Unweeting how the thing had happened, learns;Nor knows the fairy Manto fills a placeAbout Argia, prompt to serve her turns.Because the nurse, that all the rest revealed(I know not wherefore, I), had this concealed.
CXXVIII“He knows not what to do: the outrage soreAvenged he has not, nor his pain allaid:What was a mote is now a beam; so soreIt prest him; on his heart so heavy weighed.So plain is what was little known before,He fears that it will shortly be displaid.At first, he haply might have hid his woe;Which Rumour now throughout the world will blow.
CXXIX“Full well he wots, that since his evil veinHe to his wife, unhappy wretch! hath shown,Not to be subject to his yoke again,She to some strong protector will have flown;Who to his ignominy will maintain,And utter scorn, the lady as his own:And haply may she to some losel flee,Who will her paramour and pander be.
CXXX“For remedy, he sends in haste a bandOf messengers, with letters far and nigh.Some of Argia here, some there demand;Nor town unsearched is left in Lombardy.Next he in person goes; nor any landLeaves unexamined by himself or spy.Yet cannot he discover means or wayFor learning where concealed his consort lay.
CXXXI“The servant last he called on whom was laidThe ill hest, but who had served not his despite;And thither by his guidance was conveyed,Where (as ’twas said) she vanished from his sight;Who haply lurked by day in greenwood-shade,And to some friendly roof retired at night.He thither guided, where but forest-treesHe thinks to find, a sumptuous palace sees.
CXXXII“This while for bright Argia in that partThe fay had made with speedy toil prepareAn alabaster palace by her art,Gilded within, without, and everywhere.So wonderful, no tongue could tell, no heartConceive, how rich within, without how fair:That, which thou deemed so fair, my master’s home,Is but a cottage to that costly dome.
CXXXIII“Curtain and cloth of arras deck the wall,Sumptuously woven and in different wise,In vaulted cellar and in littered stall;Not only spread in latticed galleries,Not only spread in lordly bower and hall.Vase, gold and silver, gems of many dyes,Carved into cup and charger, blue, red, green,And countless cloths of silk and gold are seen.
CXXXIV“He chanced upon the costly dome (as ITo you was in my story making known)When he expected not a hut to spy,And but a weary waste of woodland lone.As he beheld the dome with wondering eye,Anselmo thought his intellects were gone:That he was drunk, or dreamed that wondrous sightHe weened, of that his wits had taken flight.
CXXXV“An Aethiop woman posted at the door,With blubber lip and nostril, he descries.Nor will he see again, nor e’er beforeHad seen a visage of such loathsome guise:Ill-favoured—such was Aesop feigned of yore:If there, she would have saddened Paradise.Greasy and foul and beggarly her vest;Nor half her hideousness have I exprest.
CXXXVI“Anselm, who saw no other wight besideTo tell who was that mansion’s lord, drew nighTo the Aethiopian, and to her applied;And she: ‘The owner of this house am I.’The judge was well assured the negress lied,And made that answer but in mockery:But with repeated oaths the negress swears;’Tis hers, and none with her the mansions shares;
CXXXVII“And would he see the palace, him invitesTo view it at his ease; and recommendsIf there be ought within which him delights,To take it for himself or for his friends.Anselmo hears, and from his horse alights,Gives it his man; and o’er the threshold wends;And by the hag conducted, mounts from hallBelow to bower above, admiring all.
CXXXVIII“Form, site, and sumptuous work doth he behold,And royal ornament and fair device;And oft repeats, not all this wide world’s goldTo buy the egregious mansion wound suffice.To him in answer said that negress old:‘And yet this dome, like others, hath its prize;If not in gold and silver, price less highThan gold and silver will the palace buy’:
CXXXIX“And she to him prefers the same request,Which erst Adonio to Argia made.A fool he deemed the woman and possest,Who for a boon so foul and filthy prayed.Yet ceased she not, though more than thrice represt;And strove so well Anselmo to persuade,Proffering, for his reward, the palace still,She wrought on him to do her evil will.
CXL“The wife Argia, that is hid fast by,When in such sin her husband she descries,Of doctor, that was deemed so passing wise,Springs forth and saith: ‘Ah! worthy deed! which IFound in such foul and filthy work, espy!’Bethink thee, if his kindling blushes rise;If he stands mute! why opens not thy hollowAnd central womb, O earth, the wretch to swallow?
CXLI“To clear herself and shame him, doth she stunAnselmo, never ceasing to upbraid.‘What pain should by thyself be undergoneFor this so filthy deed, (Argia said)If thou would’st take my life for having doneWhat Nature prompted and a lover prayed;One that was fair and gentle, and who broughtA gift, compared wherewith, this dome is nought?
CXLII“ ‘If worthy of one death thou deemest me,Worthy art thou a hundred deaths to die:And, though my pleasure might I do on thee,So passing puissant in this place am I,No other or worse vengeance done shall beUpon my side, on thy delinquency.The give against the take, O husband, place;And, as ’twas granted thee, so grant me grace:
CXLIII“ ‘And be there peace between us, and accordThat all be to forgetfulness consigned;Nor thee I of thy fault by deed or word,Nor me of mine, henceforward thou remind!’This seemed a goodly bargain to her lord;Nor to such pardon was he disinclined.Thus peace and concord they at home restore,And love each other dearly evermore.”
CXLIVSo said the mariner, and some brief fitOf laughter in Montalban’s master stirred;And made his visage burn, as if ’twas litWith fire, when of Anselmo’s shame he heard.Rinaldo greatly praised Argia’s wit,Who by such quaint device had trapped that bird;Who fell into the net wherein the dameHerself erewhile had fallen, but with less shame.
CXLVWhen the sun climbed a steeper road, the knightOrdered the board with food to be supplied,Which the good Mantuan landlord overnightTook care with largest plenty to provide;While the fair town, upon the left, from sightRetired, and on the right that marish wide.Argenta is come and gone, with circling wallsAnd stream into whose bed Santerno falls.
CXLVIThen was not fair Bastia built, deem I,Which little cause of boast affords to Spain(That there her banner has been raised on high),And causes deeper sorrow to Romagne.Thence in strait line their bark, that seems to fly,To the right shore the boatmen drive amain:Next through a stagnant channel make, that nearRavenna brings by noon the cavalier.
CXLVIIThough oft of money he had small supply,Then was the knight so well bested, he madeThe weary rowers, in his courtesy,A parting present, ere farewell was said.Here changing horse and guide, to RiminiRinaldo rode that very eye, nor stayedIn Montefiore till the night was done;And well nigh reached Urbino with the sun.
CXLVIIIThen Frederick was not there of gentle lore,Nor was Elizabeth nor Guido good;Francis Maria nor sage Leonore;Who would in courteous, not in haughty mood,Have forced so famed a paladin for moreThan one short eye, with them to make abode;As they long did, and do unto this day,By dames and cavaliers who pass that way.
CXLIXSince here none takes his rein, Rinaldo bendsHis course an-end to Cagli; o’er the height,Rifted by Gaurus and Metaurus, wendsPast Apennine, no longer on his right,Umbri and Tuscans; and at Rome descends.From Rome to Ostia goes Montalban’s knight:Thence to the city sails; wherein a graveHis pious son to old Anchises gave.
CLThere changes back; and thence in haste he goesBound towards Lampedosa’s island-shore,That place of combat chosen by the foes,And where they had encountered Frank and Moor.Rinaldo grants his boatmen no repose;That do what can be done by sail and oar.But with ill wind and strong the warrior strives;And, though by little, there too late arrives.
CLIThither he came what time Anglante’s peerThe useful and the glorious deed had done;Had slain those paynim kings in the career,But had a hard and bloody conquest won:Dead was Sir Brandimart; and Olivier,Dangerously hurt and sore, sate woe-begone,Somedeal apart, upon the sandy ground,Martyred and crippled by his cruel wound.
CLIIFrom tears could not the mournful Count refrain,When brave Rinaldo he embraced, and said,How in the battle Brandimart was slain.Such love, such faith endeared the warrior dead.Nor less Rinaldo’s tears his visage stainWhen he so cleft beholds their comrade’s head.Thence to embrace bold Oliviero, whereHe sits with wounded foot, he makes repair.
CLIIIAll comfort that he could he gave; though noneCould good Rinaldo to himself afford;Because he came but when the feast was done;Yea after the removal of the board.The servants wend to the demolished town,There hide the bones of either paynim lordBeneath Biserta’s ruined domes, and nighAnd far, the fearful tidings certify.
CLIVAt the fair conquest won by Roland’s blade,Sansonet and Astolpho make great cheer;Yet other mirth those warriors would have madeHad Brandimart not perished; when they hearThat he is dead, their joy is so allayedThey can no more the troubled visage clear.Which of them now the tidings of such woeTo the unhappy Flordelice shall show?
CLVThe night preceding that ill-omened dayFlordelice dreamed the vest of sable grainThat she had made, her husband to array,And woven with her hand and worked with pain,Before her eyes all sprinkled-over layWith ruddy drops, in guise of pattering rain.That she had worked it so the lady thought;And then was grieved at seeing what was wrought.
CLVIAnd seemed to say, “Yet from my lord have ICommand to make it all of sable hue;Now wherefore it is stained with other dyeAgainst his will, in mode so strange to view?”She from that dream draws evil augury;And thither on that eve the tidings flew:But these concealed Astolpho from the dameTill he to her with Sansonetto came.
CLVIIWhen they are entered, and she sees no showOf joyful triumphs, she, without a word,Without a hint to indicate that woe,Knows that no longer living is her lord.With that her gentle heart was riven so,And so her harassed eyes the light abhorred,And so was every other sense astound,That, like one dead, she sank upon the ground.
CLVIIIShe in her hair, when life returns again,Fastens her hand; and on her lovely cheeks,Repeating the beloved name in vain,With all her force her scorn and fury wreaks;Uproots and tears, her locks, and in her painLike woman, smit by evil demon, shrieks,Or, as Bacchante at the horn’s rude sound,Erewhile was seen to run her restless round.
CLIXNow to the one, to the other now her prayerShe made for knife, wherewith her heart to smite;Now she aboard the pinnace would repairThat brought the corse of either paynim knight,And would on either, lifeless as they were,Do cruel scathe, and vent her fierce despite.Now would she seek her lord, till at his sideShe rested from her weary search, and died.
CLX“Ah! wherefore, Brandimart, did I let theeWithout me wend on such a dire emprize?She ne’er before did thy departure see,But Flordelice aye followed thee,” she cries:“Well aided mightest thou have been by me;For I on thee should still have kept my eyes;And when Gradasso came behind thee, IThee might have succoured with a single cry;
CLXI“And haply I so nimbly might have madeBetween you, that the stroke I might have caught,And with my head, as with a buckler, stayed:For little ill my dying would have wrought.Anyhow I shall die; and—that debt paid—My melancholy death will profit nought:When, had I died, defending thee in strife,I could not better have bestowed my life.
CLXII“Even is averse had been hard Destiny,And all heaven’s host, when thee I sought to aid,At least my tears had bathed thy visage, IShould the last kiss thereon, at least, have laid;And, ere amid the blessed hierarchyThy spirit mixt, ‘Depart’—I should have said—‘In peace, and wait me in thy rest; for there,Where’er thou art, I swiftly shall repair.’
CLXIII“Is this, O Brandimart, is this the reign,Whose honoured sceptre thou wast now to take?With thee to Dommogire, thy fair domain,Thus went I; me thus welcome dost thou make?Alas! what hope to-day thou renderest vain!Ah! what designs, fell Fortune, dost thou break!Ah! wherefore fear I, since a lot so blest,Is lost, to lose as well the worthless rest?”
CLXIVRepeating this and other plaint, so spiteAnd fury waxed, that she in her despairMade new assault upon her tresses bright,As if the fault was wholly in her hair:Wildly her hands together doth she smite,And gnaw; with nails her lip and bosom tear.But I return to Roland and his peers;While she bemoans herself and melts in tears.
CLXVRoland with Olivier, who much requiresSuch leech’s care, his anguish to allay;And who, himself, some worthy place desiresAs much, wherein Sir Brandimart to lay,Steers for the lofty mountain, that with firesBrightens the night, with smoke obscures the day.The wind blows fair, and on the starboard hand,Not widely distant from them, lies that land.
CLXVIWith a fresh wind, that in their favour blows,They loose their hawser at the close of day:In heaven above the silent goddess showsHer shining horn, to guide them on their way;And on the following morn before them roseThe pleasant shores that round Girgenti lay.Here Roland orders for the ensuing nightAll that is needful for the funeral rite.
CLXVIIHe, when he saw his order duly done,And now the westering sun’s fair light was spent.With many nobles, who from neighbouring town,At his invital, to Girgenti went,—The shore with torches blazing up and down,And sounding wide with cries and loud lament,—Thither returned where late, of life bereft,His friends, beloved in life and death, was left.
CLXVIIIThere stands Bardino, weeping o’er the bier,Who under Age’s heavy burden bows;Who, in the tears on shipboard shed whilere.Might well have wept away his eyes and brows:Upbraiding skies and stars, the cavalier,Like lion, in whose veins a fever glows,Roars as he wreathes his wayward hands withinHis hoary hair, and rends his wrinkled skin.
CLXIXUpon the paladin’s return the cryRedoubled, and the mourning louder grewOrlando to the corse approached more nigh,And speechless stood awhile, his friends to view,Pale, as at eve is the acanthus’ dyeOr lily’s, which were plucked at morn: he drewA heavy sigh, and on the warrior deadFixing his stedfast eyes, the County said:
CLXX“O comrade bold and true, there here liest slain,And who dost live in heaven above, I know,Rewarded with a life, thy glorious gain,Which neither heat nor cold can take, my woeForgive, if thou beholdest me complain:Because I sorrow to remain below,And not to share in such delights with thee;Not that thou art not left behind with me.
CLXXI“Alone, without thee, there is nought I mayEver possess, without thee, that can please.If still with thee in tempest and affray,Ah wherefore not with thee in calm and ease?Right sore must be my trespass, since this clayWill not to follow thee my soul release.If in thy troubles still I bore a burden,Why am I not a partner of thy guerdon?
CLXXII“Thine is the guerdon; mine the loss; thy gainIs single; but not single is my woe:Partners with me in sorrow are Almayne,And grieving France and Italy; and oh!How will my lord and uncle, Charlemagne,How will his paladins lament the blow!How will the Christian church and empire moan,Whose best defence in thee is overthrown!
CLXXIII“Oh! how thy foes will by the death of theeBe freed henceforward from alarm and fear!Alas! how strengthened paynimry will be!What hardiment will now be theirs! what cheer!What of thy consort will become? I seeEven here her mourning, and her outcries hear.Me she accuses, haply hates, I know;In that, through me, her every hope lies low.
CLXXIV“Yet by one comfort, Flordelice, is followedHis loss, for us that reft of him remain:His death, with such surpassing glory hallowed,To die all living warriors should be fain.Those Decii; Curtius, in Rome’s forum swallowed;Cordus, so vaunted by the Grecian train;Not with more honour to themselves, with moreProfit to others, went to death of yore.”
CLXXVThese sad laments and more Orlando made;And all this while white friars, and black, and gray,With other clerks, by two and two arrayed,Behind in long procession took their way;And they to God for the departed prayed,That he would to his rest his soul convey.Before and all about were torches reared,And changed to day the sable night appeared.
CLXXVIThey raise the warrior’s bier, and ranged to bearBy turns that honoured weight were earl and knight.The pall was purple silk, with broidery rareOf gold, and pearls in costly circles dight.Thereon, of lordly work and no less fair,Cushions were laid, with jewels shining bright.On which was stretched the lifeless knight in view,Arrayed in vest of like device and hue.
CLXXVIIA hundred men had past before the rest,All taken from the poorest of the town;And in one fashion equally were drestThose beadsmen all, in black and trailing gown.A hundred pages followed them, who prestA hundred puissant steeds, for warfare bown;And by those pages backed, the portly steedsWent, sweeping wide the ground with sable weeds.
CLXXVIIIBanners in front and banners borne in rear,Whose fields with diverse ensignry is stained,Unfurled accompany the funeral bier;Which from a thousand vanquished bands were gained,For Caesar and for Peter’s church whilere,By that rare force, which now extinct remained.Bucklers by other followers carried are,Won from good warriors, whose device they bear.
CLXXIXBy hundreds and by hundreds followed more,Ordained for different tasks, the steps of those;Who burning torches like those others bore.Mantled, say rather closely muffled, goesRoland in sables next, and evermoreHis eyes suffused and red with weeping shows.Nor wears a gladder face Montalban’s peer.At home his wound detains Sir Olivier.
CLXXXThe ceremonies would be long to sayIn verse, wherewith Sir Brandimart was mourned;The mantles, black or purple, given away;The many torches which that eve were burned.Wending to the cathedral, where the arrayPast on its road, were no dry eyes discerned:All sexes, ages, ranks, in pitying moodGazed upon him so youthful, fair, and good.
CLXXXIHe in the church was placed; and, when with vainLament the women had bemoaned the dead,And Kyrie Eleison, by the priestly train,And other holy orisons were said,In a fair ark, upraised on columns twain,Was reared, with sumptuous cloth of gold o’erspread.So willed Orlando; till he could be laidIn sepulchre of costlier matter made:
CLXXXIINor out of Sicily the Count departs,Till porphyries he procures and alabasters,And fair designs; and in their several artsHas with large hire engaged the primest masters.Next Flordelice, arriving in those parts,Raises the quarried slabs and rich pilasters;Who, good Orlando being gone before,Is hither wafted from the Africk shore.
CLXXXIIIShe, seeing that her tears unceasing flow,And that of long lament she never tires;Nor she, for mass or service said, her woeCan ease, or satisfy her sad desires,Vows in her heart she thence will never goTill from the wearied corse her soul expires;And builds in that fair sepulchre a cell;There shuts herself; therein for life will dwell.
CLXXXIVThither in person, having courier sentAnd letter, Roland goes, her thence to take;Her, would she wend to France, with goodly rentWould gift, and Galerana’s inmate make;As far as Lizza convoy her, if bentOn journeying to her father; for her sakeIf wholly she to serve her God was willed,A monastery would the warrior build.
CLXXXVStill in that sepulchre she dwelt, and wornBy weary penance, praying night and day,It was not long, ere by the Parcae shornWas her life’s thread: already on their wayWere the three Christian warriors, homeward borne,Sorrowing and afflicted sore in mindFor their fourth comrade who remained behind.
CLXXXVIThey would not go without a leech, whose skillMight ease the wound of warlike Olivier;Which, as in the beginning it could illBe salved, is hard to heal. Meanwhile they hearThe champion so complain, his outcries fillOrlando and all that company with fear.While they discoursed thereon, the skipper, movedBy a new notion, said what all approved.
CLXXXVIIA hermit not far distance hence, he saidA lonely rock inhabits in this sea;Whose isle none, seeking succour, vainly tread,Whether for counsel or for aid it be:Who hath done superhuman deeds; the deadRestores to life; and makes the blind to see;Hushes the winds; and with a sign o’ the crossLulls the loud billows when they highest toss;
CLXXXVIIIAnd adds they need not doubt, if they will goTo seek that holy man to God so dear,But he on Olivier will health bestow;Having his virtue proved by signs more clear.This counsel pleases good Orlando so,That for the holy place he bids him steer;Who never swerving from his course, espiesThe lonely rock, upon Aurora’s rise.
CLXXXIXWorked by good mariners, the bark was laidSafely beside the rugged rock and fell:The marquis there, with crew and servants’ aid,They lowered into their boat; and through the swellAnd foaming waters in that shallop madeFor the rude isle; thence sought the holy cell;The holy cell of that same hermit hoar,By whom Rogero was baptized before.
CXCThe servant of the Lord of ParadiseReceives Orlando and the rest on land;Blesses the company in cheerful wise;And after of their errand makes demand;Though he already had received adviceFrom angels of the coming of that band.That they were thither bound in search of aidFor Oliviero’s hurt, Orlando said;
CXCIWho, warring for the Christian faith, in fightTo perilous pass was brought by evil wound.All dismal fear relieved that eremite,And promised he would make him wholly sound.In that no unguents hath the holy wight,Nor is in other human medicine found,His church he seeks, his knee to Jesus bows,And issues from the fane with cheerful brows;
CXCIIAnd in the name of those eternal Three,The Father, and the Son, and Holy Ghost,On Oliviero bade his blessing be.Oh! grace vouchsafed to faith! his sainted hostFrom every pain the paladin did free;And to his foot restored its vigour lost.He moved more nimble than before, and sure;And present was Sobrino at the cure.
CXCIIISobrino, so diseased that he describedHow worse with each succeeding day he grew,As soon as he that holy monk espiedThe manifest and mighty marvel do,Disposed himself to cast Mahound aside,And own in Christ a living God and true.He, full of faith, with contrite heart demandsOur holy rite of baptism at his hands.
CXCIVSo him baptized the hermit; and as wellThat monarch made as vigorous as whilere.At this conversion no less gladness fellOn Roland and each Christian cavalier,Than when, restored from deadly wound, and wellThe friendly troop beheld Sir Olivier.Rogero more rejoiced than all that crew;And still in faith and grace the warrior grew.
CXCVRogero from the day he swam ashoreUpon that islet, there had ever been.That band is counselled by the hermit hoar,Who stands, benign, those warlike knights between,Eschewing in their passage mire and moor,To wade withal through that dead water, clean,Which men call life; wherein so fools delight;And evermore on heaven to fix their sight.
CXCVIRoland on shipboard sends one from his throng,Who fetches hence good wine, hams, cheese, and bread;And makes the sage, who had forgotten longAll taste of partridge since on fruits he fed,Even do for love, what others did, amongThose social guests for whom the board was spread.They, when their strength by food was reinforced,Of many things amid themselves discoursed;
CXCVIIAnd as in talk it often doth befallThat one thing from another takes its rise,Roland and Olivier Rogero callTo mind for that Rogero, in such wiseRenowned in arms; whose valour is of allLauded and echoed with accordant cries.Not even had Rinaldo known the knightFor him whose prowess he had proved in fight.
CXCVIIIHim well Sobrino recognized whilere,As soon as with that aged man espied;But he at first kept silence; for in fearOf some mistake the monarch’s tongue was tied.But when those others knew the cavalierFor that Rogero, famous far and wide,Whose courtesy, whose might and daring throughThe universal world loud Rumor blew,
CXCIXAll, for they know he is a Christian, standAbout him with serene and joyful face:All press upon the knight; one grasps his hand;Another locks him fast in his embrace:Yet more than all the others of that bandHim would Montalban’s lord caress and grace:Why more than all the others will appearIn other strain, if you that strain will hear.