Canto 46
ARGUMENTAfter long search for good Rogero made,Him Leon finds, and yields to him his prize:Informed of all—already with that maidHe wives; already in her bosom lies:When thither he that Sarza’s sceptre swayedTo infect such bliss with impious venom hies,But falls in combat; and, blaspheming loud,To Acheron descends his spirit proud.
II, if my chart deceives me not, shall nowIn little time behold the neighbouring shore;So hope withal to pay my promised vowTo one, so long my guide through that wide roarOf waters, where I feared, with troubled brow,To scathe my bark or wander evermore.But now, methinks—yea, now I see the land;I see the friendly port its arms expand.
IIA burst of joy, like thunder to my ear,Rumbles along the sea and rends the sky.I chiming bells, I shrilling trumpets hear,Confounded with the people’s cheerful cry;And now their forms, that swarm on either pierOf the thick-crowded harbour, I descry.All seem rejoiced my task is smoothly done,And I so long a course have safely run.
IIIWhat beauteous dames and sage, here welcome me!With them what cavaliers the shore adorn!What friends! to whom I owe eternityOf thanks for their delight at my return.Mamma, Ginevra, with the rest I see,Correggio’s seed, on the harbour’s furthest horn.Veronica de Gambara is here,To Phoebus and the Aonian choir so dear.
IVWith Julia, a new Ginevra is in sight,Another offset from the selfsame tree;Hippolita Sforza, and Trivultia bright,Bred in the sacred cavern, I with theeEmilia Pia, and thee, Margherite,Angela Borgia, Graziosa, see,And fair Richarda d’Este, Lo! the twain,Blanche and Diana, with their sister train!
VBeauteous, but wiser and more chaste than fair,I Barbara Turca, linked with Laura, know:Nor beams the sun upon a better pair‘Twixt Ind and where the Moorish waters flow.Behold Ginevra! that rich gem and rareWhich gilds the house of Malatesta so,That never worthier or more honoured thingAdorned the dome of Keysar or of king.
VIIf she had dwelt in Rimini of yore,What time, from conquered Gaul returning home,Julius stood fearing on the river-shore,To ford the stream and make a foe of Rome,He every banner would have bowed beforeThat dame, discharged his trophies, and such doom,Such pact would have received as liked her best;And haply ne’er had Freedom been opprest.
VIIThe consort of my lord of BozzoloBehold! the mother, sisters, cousinhood;Them of Torello, Bentivoglio,Pallavigini’s and Visconti’s brood!Lo! she to whom all living dames foregoThe palm, and all of Grecian, Latin blood,Or barbarous, all that ever were, whose nameFor grace and beauty most is noised by Fame;
VIIIJulia Gonzaga, she that wheresoe’erShe moves, where’er she turns her lucid eyes,Not only is in charms without a peer,But seems a goddess lighted from the skies:With her is paired her brother’s wife, who ne’erSwerved from her plighted faith—aye good and wise—Because ill Fortune bore her long despite;Lo! Arragonian Anna, Vasto’s light!
IXAnne gentle, courteous, and as sage as fair,Temple of Love and Truth and Chastity:With her, her sister dims all beauty, whereHer radiance shines. Lo! one that hath set freeHer conquering lord from Orcus’ dark repair,And him in spite of death and destiny(Beyond all modern instance) raised on high,To shine with endless glory in the sky.
XMy ladies of Ferrara, those of gayUrbino’s court are here; and I descryMantua’s dames, and all that fair arrayWhich Lombardy and Tuscan town supply.The cavalier amid that band, whom theySo honour, unless dazzled is mine eyeBy those fair faces, is the shining lightOf his Arezzo, and Accolti hight.
XIAdorned with scarlet hat, and scarlet pall,His nephew Benedict, lo! there I see;With him Campeggio and Mantua’s cardinal;Glory and light of the consistory;And (if I dote not) mark how one and allIn face and gesture show such mighty gleeAt my return, no easy task ‘twould seemSo vast an obligation to redeem.
XIIWith them Lactantius is, Claude Ptolemy,Trissino, Pansa, and Capilupi mine,Latino Giovenal, it seems to me;Sasso, and Molza, and Florian hight Montine;With him, by whom through shorter pathway weAre led to the Ascraean font divine,Julio Camillo; and meseems that IBerna, and Sanga, and Flaminio spy.
XIIILo! Alexander of Farnese, and OLearned company that follows in his train!Phaedro, Cappella, Maddalen’, Portio,Surnamed the Bolognese, the Volterrane.Blosio, Pierio, Vida, famed for flowOf lofty eloquence of exhaustless vein;Mussuro, Lascari, and Navagero,And Andrew Maro, and the monk Severo.
XIVLo! two more Alexanders! of the treeOf the Orologi one, and one Guarino:Mario d’ Olvito, and of royaltyThat scourge, divine Pietro Aretino.I two Girolamos amid them see,Of Veritade and the Cittadino;See the Mainardo, the Leoniceno,Panizzato, Celio, and Teocreno.
XVBernardo Capel, Peter Bembo hereI see, through whom our pure, sweet idiom rose,And who, of vulgar usage winnowed clear,Its genuine form in his example shows.Behold an Obyson, that in his rearAdmires the pains which he so well bestows.I Fracastoro, Bevezzano note,And Tryphon Gabriel, Tasso more remote.
XVIUpon me Nicholas TiepoliAnd Nicholas Ammanio fix their eyes;With Anthony Fulgoso, who to spyMy boat near land shows pleasure and surprise.There, from those dames apart, my ValeryStands with Barignan, haply to deviseWith him how, evermore by woman harmed,By her he shall not evermore be charmed.
XVIIOf high and superhuman genius, tiedBy love and blood, lo! Pico and Pio true;He that approaches at the kinsmen’s side,—So honoured by the best—I never knew;But, if by certain tokens signified,He is the man I so desire to view,That Sannazaro, who persuades the nineTo leave their fountain for the foaming brine.
XVIIIDiligent, faithful secretary, lo!The learned Pistophilus, mine Angiar here,And the Acciajuoli their joint pleasure showThat for my bark there is no further fear.There I my kinsman Malaguzzo know;And mighty hope from Adoardo hear,That these my nest-notes shall by friendly windBe blown from Calpe’s rock to furthest Ind.
XIXJoys Victor Fausto; Tancred joys to viewMy sail; and with them joy a hundred more.Women and men I see, a mingled crew,At my return rejoicing, crowd the shore.Then, since the wind blows fair, nor much to doRemains, let me my course delay no more;And turning to Melissa, in what wayShe rescued good Rogero let me say.
XXMuch bent was this Melissa (as I knowI many times have said to you whilere)That Bradamant in wedlock should bestowHer hand upon the youthful cavalier;And so at heart had either’s weal and woe,That she from hour to hour of them would hear:Hence ever on that quest she spirits sent,One still returning as the other went.
XXIA prey to deep and stubborn grief, reclinedMid gloomy shades Rogero they descried;Firm not to swallow food of any kind,Nor from that purpose to be turned aside;And so to die of hunger he designed:But weird Melissa speedy aid supplied;Who took a road, from home forth issuing, whereShe met the Grecian emperor’s youthful heir;
XXIILeo that, one by one, dispatched his trainOf followers, far and wide, through every bourn,And afterwards, in person went in vain,To find the warrior of the unicorn.The wise enchantress, that will sell and rein,Had on that day equipt a demon, borneBy him, in likeness of a hackney horse,Constantine’s son encountered in her course.
XXIII“If such as your ingenuous mien” (she criedTo Leo) “is your soul’s nobility,And corresponding with your fair outsideYour inward goodness and your courtesy,Some help, some comfort, sir, for one provideIn whom the best of living knights we see;Who, save ye help and comfort quickly lend,Is little distant from his latter end.
XXIV“The best of knights will die of all, who don,Or e’er donned sword and buckler, the most fairAnd gentle of all warriors that are gone,Or who throughout the world yet living are,And simply for a courteous deed, if noneShall comfort to the youthful sufferer bear.Then come, sir, for the love of Heaven, and tryIf any counsel succour may supply.”
XXVIt suddenly came into Leo’s mindThe knight of whom she parlayed was that same,Whom throughout all the land he sought to find,And seeking whom, he now in person came.So that obeying her that would persuadeSuch pious work, he spurred behind the dame;Who thither led (nor tedious was the way)Where nigh reduced to death the stripling lay.
XXVIThey found Rogero fasting from all foodFor three long days, so broken down; with painThe knight could but upon his feet have stood,To fall, albeit unpushed, to ground again.With helm on head, and with his faulchion goodBegirt, he lay reclined in plate and chain.A pillow of his buckler had he made,Where the white unicorn was seen pourtraid.
XXVIIThere thinking what an injury he had doneTo his lady love—how ingrate, how untrueTo her had been—not simple grief aloneO’erwhelmed him, to such height his fury grew,He bit his hands and lips; while pouring downHis cheeks, the tears unceasing ran, and throughThe passion that so wrapt his troubled sprite,Nor Leo nor Melissa heard the knight.
XXVIIINor therefore interrupts he his lament,Nor checks his sighs, nor checks his trickling tears.Young Leo halts, to hear his speech intent;Lights from his courser, and towards him steers:He knows that of the sorrows which tormentLove is the cause; but yet from nought appearsWho is the person that such grief hath bred;For by Rogero this remains unsaid.
XXIXApproaching nearer and yet nearer, nowHe fronts the weeping warrior, face to face,Greets with a brother’s love, and stooping low,His neck encircles with a fast embrace.By the lamenting Child I know not howIs liked his sudden presence in that place;Who fears annoy or trouble at his hand;And lest he should his wish for death withstand.
XXXHim with the sweetest words young Leo plied,And with the warmest love that he could show,“Let it not irk thee,” to the Child he cried,“To tell the cause from whence thy sorrows flow;For few such desperate evils man betide,But that there is deliverance from his woe,So that the cause be known; nor he bereftOf hope should ever be, so life be left.
XXXI“Much grieve I thou wouldst hide thyself from me,That known me for thy faithful friend and true;Not only now I am so bound to thee,That I the knot can never more undo;But even from the beginning, when to beThy deadly foeman I had reason due.Hope then that I will succour thee with pelf,With friends, with following, and with life itself.
XXXII“Nor shun to me thy sorrow to explain,And I beseech thee leave to me to tryIf wealth avail to free thee from thy pain,Art, cunning, open force, or flattery,If my assistance is employed in vain,The last relief remains to thee to die:But be content awhile this deed to shunTill all that thou canst do shall first be done.”
XXXIIIHe said; and with such forceful prayer appealed;So gently and benignly soothed his moan;That good Rogero could not choose but yield,Whose heart was not of iron or of stone;Who deemed, unless he now his lips unsealed,He should a foul discourteous deed have done.He fain would have replied, but made assayYet twice or thrice, ere words could find their way.
XXXIV“My lord, when known for what I am (and meNow shalt thou know),” he made at last reply,“I wot thou, like myself, content wilt be,And haply more content, that I should die.Know me for him so hated once by thee;Rogero who repaid that hate am I;And now ’tis many days since with intentOf putting thee to death from court I went.
XXXV“Because I would not see my promised brideBorne off by thee; in that Duke Aymon’s loveAnd favour was engaged upon thy side.But, for man purposes, and God aboveDisposes, thy great courtesy, well triedIn a sore need, my fixt resolve did move.Nor only I renounced the hate I bore,But purposed to be thine for evermore.
XXXVI“What time I as Rogero was unknown,Thou madest suit I would obtain for theeThe Lady Bradamant; which was all oneAs to demand my heart and soul from me.Whether thy wish I rather than mine ownSought to content, thou hast been made to see.Thine is the lady; her in peace possess;Far more than mine I prize thy happiness.
XXXVII“Content thee, that deprived of her, as wellI should myself of worthless life deprive;For better I without a soul could dwellThan without Bradamant remain alive.And never while these veins with life-blood swellCanst thou with her legitimately wive:For vows erewhile have been between us said;Nor she at once can with two husbands wed.”
XXXVIIISo filled is gentle Leo with amazeWhen he the stranger for Rogero knows,With lips and brow unmoved, with stedfast gazeAnd rooted feet, he like a statue shows;Like statue more than man, which votaries raiseIn churches, for acquittance of their vows.He deems that courtesy of so high a strainWas never done nor will be done again;
XXXIXAnd that he him doth for Rogero knowNot only that goodwill he bore whilereAbates not, but augments his kindness so,That no less grieves the Grecian cavalierThan good Rogero for Rogero’s woe.For this, as well as that he will appearDeservedly an emperor’s son—althoughIn other things outdone—he will not beDefeated in the race of courtesy;
XLAnd says, “That day my host was overthrown,Rogero, by thy wond’rous valour, thoughI had thee at despite, if I had knownThou was Rogero, as I know it now,So me thy virtue would have made thine own,As then it made me, knowing not my foe;So hatred from my bosom would have chased,And with my present love have straight replaced.
XLI“That I Rogero hated, ere I knewThou was Rogero, will I not deny.But think not that I further would pursueThe hatred that I bore thee; and had I,When thee I from thy darksome dungeon drew,Descried the truth, as this I now descry,Such treatment shouldst thou then have had, as thouShalt have from me, to thine advantage, now;
XLII“And if I willingly had done so then,When not, as I am now, obliged to thee;How much more gladly should I now; and when,Not doing so, I should with reason beDeemed most ungrateful amid ingrate men;Since thou foregoest thine every good for me!But I to thee restore thy gift, and, moreGlady than I received it, this restore.
XLIII“The damsel more to thee than me is due;And though for her deserts I hold her dear,If that fair prize some happier mortal drew,I think not I my vital thread should shear:Nor would I by thy death be free to woo:That from the hallowed bands of wedlock clearWherein the lady hath to thee been tied,I might possess her as my lawful bride.
XLIV“Not only Bradamant would I forego,But whatsoe’er I in the world possess;And rather forfeit life than ever knowThat grief, through me, should such a knight oppress.To me is thy distrust great cause of woe,That since thou couldst dispose of me no lessThan of thyself, thou—rather than applyTo me for succour—wouldst of sorrow die.”
XLVThese words he spake, and more to that intent,Too tedious in these verses to recite;Refuting evermore such argumentAs might be used in answer by the knight:Who said, at last, “I yield, and am contentTo live; but how can I ever requiteThe obligation, which by me is owedTo thee that twice hast life on me bestowed?”
XLVIMelissa generous wine and goodly cheerThither bade carry, in a thought obeyed;And comforted the mourning cavalier,Who would have sunk without her friendly aid.Meanwhile the sound of steeds Frontino’s earHad reached, and thither had he quickly made:Him Leo’s squires at his commandment caught,And saddled, and to good Rogero brought;
XLVIIWho, though by Leo helped, with much adoAnd labour sore the gentle courser scaled.So wasted was the vigour which some fewShort days before, in fighting field, availedTo overthrow a banded host, and doThe deeds he did, in cheating armour mailed.Departing thence, ere they had measured moreThan half a league, they reached an abbey hoar:
XLVIIIWherein what of that day was yet unwornThey past, the morrow, and succeeding day;Until the warrior of the unicornHis vigour had recruited by the stay.He, Leo, and Melissa then returnTo Charles’s royal residence; where layAn embassy, arrived the eve before,Which from the Bulgars’ land a message bore.
XLIXSince they that had for king proclaimed the knightBesought Rogero thither to repairThrough these their envoys deeming they would lightOn him in Charles’s court, where they should swearFidelity, and yield to him his right;And he from them the crown receive and wear.Rogero’s squire who served this band to steerHas published tidings of the cavalier.
LHe of the fight has told which at BelgradeErewhile Rogero for the Bulgars won;How Leo and his sire were overlaid,And all their army slaughtered and undone;Wherefore the Bulgars him their king had made;Their royal line excluding from the throne:Then how Ungiardo took the warrior brave,And him to cruel Theodora gave.
LIHe speaks with that of certain news, which sayHow good Rogero’s jailer was found dead,The prison broke and prisoner away:Of what became of him was nothing said.—Towards the city by a secret way(Nor was his visage seen) Rogero sped.He, on the following morning, and his friend,Leo, to Charles’s court together wend.
LIITo Charles’ court he wends; the bird he boreOf gold with its two heads—of crimson hueIts field—and that same vest and ensigns wore,As was erewhile devised between the two;And such as in the listed fight beforeHis bruised and battered armour was in shew.So that they quickly knew the cavalierFrom him that strove with Bradamant whilere.
LIIIIn royal ornaments and costly gown,Unarmed, beside him doth young Leo fare.A worthy following and of high renownBefore, behind him, and about him are.He bowed to Charlemagne, who from his throneHad risen to do honour to the pair:Then holding still Rogero by the hand,So spake, while all that warrior closely scanned.
LIV“Behold the champion good, that did maintainFrom dawn till fall of day the furious fight;And since by Bradamant nor taken, slain,Nor forced beyond the barriers was the knight,He is assured his victory is plain,Dread sir, if he your edict reads aright;And he hath won the lady for his wife:So comes to claim the guerdon of the strife.
LV“Besides that by your edict’s tenor noneBut him can to the damsel lift his eyes,—Is she deserved by deeds of valour done,What other is so worthy of the prize?—Should she by him that loves her best be won,None passes him, nor with the warrior vies;And he is here to fight against all foesThat would in arms his right in her oppose.”
LVIKing Charlemagne and all his peerage standAmazed, who well believed the Grecian peerWith Bradamant had striven with lifted brandIn fight, and not that unknown cavalier.Marphisa, thither borne amid the band,That crowded round the royal chair to hear,Hardly till Leo made an ending staid;Then prest before the listening troop, and said:
LVII“Since here Rogero is not, to contestThe bride’s possession with the stranger knight,Lest he, as undefended, be opprest,And forfeit so without dispute his right,On his behalf I undertake this quest,—His sister I—against whatever wightShall here assert a claim to Bradamant,Or more desert than good Rogero vaunt.”
LVIIIShe spake this with such anger and disdain,Many surmised amid the assistant crew,That, without waiting leave from Charlemagne,What she had threatened she forthwith would do.No longer Leo deemed it time to feign;And from Rogero’s head the helm withdrew;And to Marphisa, “For himself to speak,Behold him here and ready!” cried the Greek.
LIXAs looked old Aegeus at the accursed board,Seeing it was his son to whom—so willedHis wicked consort—that Athenian lordHad given the juice from deadly drugs distilled;Whom he, if he had recognized his swordThough but a little later, would have killed;So looked Marphisa when, disclosed to view,She in the stranger knight Rogero knew;
LXAnd ran forthwith to clip the cavalier;Nor could unclasp her arms: with loving showCharlemagne, Roland, and Rinaldo, hereAnd there, fix friendly kisses on his brow.Nor him Sir Dudon, nor Sir Olivier,Nor King Sobrino can caress enow:Nor paladin nor peer, amid the crew,Wearies of welcoming that warrior true.
LXILeo, who well can play the spokesman, nowThat warlike band hath ceased to clip the knight,Tells before Charles and all that audience, howRogero’s daring, how Rogero’s might,—Albeit to his good squadron’s scathe and woe—Which at Belgrade he witnessed in that fight,So moved him that they overweighed all harmsInflicted on him by the warrior’s arms.
LXIISo that to her Rogero being brought,Who would all havoc of the youth have made,He setting all his family at nought,Had out of durance vile the knight conveyed;And how Rogero, that the rescue wroughtBy Leo might be worthily repaid,Did that high courtesy; which can by none,That ever were or e’er will be, outdone;
LXIIIAnd he from point to point continuing, saidThat which Rogero had for him achieved;And after, how by sorrow sore bested,In that to leave his cherished wife he grieved,He had resolved to die, and, almost dead,Was only by his timely aid relieved;And this he told so movingly, no eyeRemained, amid those martial many, dry.
LXIVSo efficaciously he after prayedTo the obstinate Duke Aymon, not aloneThe stubborn sire of Bradamant he swayed,And to forego his settled purpose won;But that proud lord in person did persuadeTo beg Rogero’s pardon, and his sonAnd son-in-law to be beseech the knight;And thus to him his Bradamant was plight.
LXVTo her, where, of her feeble life in doubt,She in a secret chamber made lament,Through many a messenger, with joyful shoutAnd mickle haste, the happy tidings went.Hence the warm blood, that stagnated aboutHer heart, by her first sorrow thither sent,Ebbed at this notice in so full a tide,Well nigh for sudden joy the damsel died.
LXVIOf all her vigour is she so foregone,She cannot on her feeble feet rely:Yet what her force must needs to you be known,And what the damsel’s magnanimity.None doomed to prison, wheel or halter, noneCondemned some other evil death to die,About whose brows the sable band is tied,Rejoices more to hear his pardon cried.
LXVIIJoys Clermont’s, joys Mongrana’s noble house,Those kindred branches that fresh know to view.With equal grief Count Anselm overflows,Gan, Falcon, Gini and Ginami’s crew:Yet they meanwhile beneath contented browsConceal the dark and envious thoughts they brew.As the fox waits the motions of the hare,They wait their time for vengeance, and forbear.
LXVIIIBesides that oftentimes before the rageOf Roland and Rinaldo on them fell,Though they were calmed by Charles’s counsel sage,And common danger from the infidel,They had new cause for grief in BertolageSlain by their foemen and Sir Pinnabel:But they concealed their hatred, and enduredThose griefs, as of the matter ill assured.
LXIXThose envoys of the Bulgars that had madeFor Charles’s court (as hath erewhile been shown),Hoping to find the knight, whose shield pourtrayedThe unicorn, elected to their throne,Bless the good fortune which their hope repayed,Seeing that valiant warrior, and fall downBefore his feet, and him in humble speechAgain to seek their Bulgary beseech;
LXXWhere kept for him in Adrianople areThe sceptre and the crown, his royal due:But let him succour to his kingdom bear;For—to their further scathe—advices shewConstantine doth a mighty host prepare,And thitherward in person moves anew;And they—of their elected king possest—Hope the Greek empire from his hands to wrest.
LXXIHe accepts the realm, by their entreaties won;And, to afford them aid against their foes,Will went to Bulgary when three months are done;Save Fortune otherwise of him dispose.When this is heard by that Greek emperor’s son,He bids Rogero on his faith repose;For since by him the Bulgar’s realm is swayed,Peace between them and Constantine is made;
LXXIINor needeth he depart in haste, to guideHis Bulgar bands against the Grecian foe;For all that he had conquered far and wide,He will persuade his father to forego.None of the virtues, in Rogero spied,Moved Bradamant’s ambitious mother so,Or so to endear her son-in-law availed,As hearing now that son a sovereign hailed.
LXXIIIThe rich and royal nuptials they prepareAs well befits him, by whose care ’tis done,’Tis done by Charles; and with such cost and careAs if ‘twere for a daughter of his own.For such the merits of the damsel are,And such had all her martial kindred shown,Charles would not think he should exceed due measureIf spent for her was half his kingdom’s treasure.
LXXIVHe a free court bids cry; whither his waySecurely every one that wills may wend;And offers open lists till the ninth dayTo whosoever would in arms contend;And bids build bowers afield, and interlayGreen boughs therein, and flowers and foliage blend;And make those bowers so gay with silk and gold,No fairer place this ample world doth hold.
LXXVGuested within fair Paris cannot beThe countless foreign bands that thither fare;Who, rich and poor, of high and low degree,And Greeks and Latins and Barbarians are.There is no end of lord and embassyThat thither from all ends of earth repair;All lodged conveniently, to their content,Beneath pavilion, booth, and bower and tent.
LXXVIThe weird Melissa against the coming nightWith singular and matchless ornamentHad for that pair the nuptial chamber dight;Whereon long time before she had been bent:Long time before desirous of the riteHad been that dame, presageful of the event;Presageful of futurity, she knewWhat goodly fruit should from their stems ensue.
LXXVIIShe had prepared the genial, fruitful bed,Under a broad pavilion; one more rich,Adorned, and jocund, never overhead(Did this for peace or war its master pitch)Was in the world, before or after, spread;And this from Thracian strand had borne the witch.The costly prize from Constantine she bore,Who for disport was tented on that shore.
LXXVIIIShe with young Leo’s leave, or rather soThe Grecian’s admiration to obtain,And a rare token of that art to show,Which on Hell’s mighty dragon puts the rein,And at her pleasure rules that impious foeOf Heaven, together with his evil train,Bade demons the pavilion through mid airTo Paris from Constantinople bear.
LXXIXFrom Constantine that lay therein, who swayedThe Grecian empire’s sceptre, at mid-dayThis with its cordage, shaft whereby ’twas stayed,And all within and out, she bore away;And of the costly tent, through air conveyed,For young Rogero made a lodging gay.The bridal ended, this her demon crewThither, from whence ’twas brought, conveyed anew.
LXXXTwo thousand tedious years were nigh complete,Since this fair work was fashioned by the loreOf Trojan maid, warmed with prophetic heat;Who, ‘mid long labour and ‘mid vigil sore,With her own fingers all the storied sheetOf the pavilion had embroidered o’er;Cassandra hight; that maid to Hector brave(Her brother he) this costly present gave.
LXXXIThe curtiest cavalier, the kindliest shootThat ever from her brother’s stock should grow(Albeit she knew far distant from its root,With many a branch between, should be that bough)In silk and gold upon the gorgeous suitOf hangings had she wrought in goodly show.Much prized that gift, while living, Priam’s son,For its rare work and her by whom ’twas done.
LXXXIIBut when by treachery perished Priam’s heir,And Greeks the Trojans scathed in cruel sort,When her gates opened by false Sinon were,And direr ill was done than tales report,This plunder fell to Menelaus’ share,Wherewith to Egypt’s land he made resort;There left it to King Proteus, Egypt’s lord,In ransom for his prisoned wife restored;
LXXXIIIShe Helen hight: her Menelaus to free,To Proteus the pavilion gave away;Which, passing through the line of Ptolemy,To Cleopatra fell; from her in frayAgrippa’s band on the Leucadian seaBore off the treasure, amid other prey.Augustus and Tiberius heired the loom,Kept till the time of Constantine in Rome:
LXXXIVThat Constantine, whom thou shall ever rueFair Italy, while the heavens above are rolled.Constantine to Byzantium, when he grewWeary of Tyber, bore the tent of old.Melissa from his namesake this withdrew,Its pole of ivory and its cord of gold,And all its cloth with beauteous figures fraught;Fairer Apelles’ pencil never wrought.
LXXXVHere the three Graces in gay vesture gownedAssisted the delivery of a queen.Not in four ages in this earthly roundWas ever born a boy so fair of mien.Jove, Venus, Mars, and Mercury renownedFor fluent speech, about the child are seen:Him have they strewed, and stew with heaven’s perfume,Ambrosial odours and aetherial bloom.
LXXXVIHippolytus a little label said,Inscribed upon the baby’s swaddling clothes.By the hand him Fortune leads in age more staid;And Valour as a guide before him goes.An unknown band in sweeping vest arraid,With long descending locks, the tapestry shows,Deputed by Corvinus to desireThe tender infant from his princely sire.
LXXXVIIHe reverently parts from Hercules’ side,From her, his lady mother, Eleanor;And to the Danube wends; where far and wideThey meet the boy, and as a god adore.The prudent king of Hungary is descried,Who does due honour to his ripened lore,In yet unripe, yea, raw and tender years,And ranks the stripling above all his peers.
LXXXVIIIOne is there that in his green age and newPlaces Strigonia’s crozier in his hand.Him ever at Corvinus’ side we view;Whether he doth in court or camp command,Whether against the Turk, or German crewThe puissant monarch leads his martial band,Watchful Hippolytus is at his side,And gathers virtue from his generous guide.
LXXXIXThere is it seen, how he his blooming ageDivides mid arts and wholesome discipline:The secret spirit of the ancient pageThere Fuscus well instructs him to divine:“This must thou shun, that follow”—seems the sageTo say—“if thou immortally wouldst shine.”Fashioned withal with so much skill and careBy her who wrought that work, their gestures were.
XCA cardinal he next is seen, though youngIn years, at council in the Vatican;Where for deep wisdom graced by eloquent tongue,With wonder him the assembled conclave scan.“What will he be”—they seem to say amongThemselves—“when he is ripened into man?Oh! if on him St. Peter’s mantle fall,What a blest aera! what a happy call!”
XCIThat brave youth’s liberal pastimes are designedIn other place; on Alpine mountain hoarHere he affronts the bear of rugged kind;And there in rushy bottom bays the boar:Now on his jennet he outgoes the wind,And drives some goat or gallant hind before;Which falls o’ertaken on the dusty plain,By his descending faulchion cleft in twain.
XCIIHe is descried, amid a fair arrayOf poets and philosophers elsewhereThis pricks for him the wandering planets’ way;These earth, these heaven for his instruction square.Some chant sad elegies, some verses gayLays lyric or heroic; singers thereHe with rich music hears; nor moves a paceBut what in every step is sovereign grace.
XCIIIThe first part of the storied walls pourtraiedThat noble prince’s gentle infancy.Cassandra all beside had overlaidWith fears of justice, prudence, modesty,Valour, and that fifty virtue, which hath madeWith those fair sisters closest amity;I speak of her that gives and that bestows.With all these virtues gilt, the stripling glows.
XCIVIn this part is the princely youth espiedWith that unhappy duke, the Insubri’s head;In peace they sit in council at his side,Together armed, the serpent-banner spread.The youth by one unchanging faith is tiedTo him for ever, well or ill bested;His followers still in flight before the foe,His guide in peril, his support in woe.
XCVHim in another quarter you descry,For his Ferrara and her duke in fear,Who by strange proofs doth sift, and certifyTo his just brother, vouched by tokens clear,The close device of that ill treachery,Hatched by those kinsmen whom he held most dear;Hence justly he becomes that title’s heir,Which Rome yet free bade righteous Tully bear.
XCVIElsewhere in martial panoply he shone,Hasting to help the church with lifted blade;With scanty and tumultuous levy goneAgainst well-ordered host in arms arraid:And lo! the coming of that chief aloneAffords the priestly band such present aid,Extinguished are the fires before they spread.He came, he saw, he conquered, may be said.
XCVIIElsewhere he stands upon his native strand,Fighting against the mightiest armament,That whensoever against Argive land,Or Turkish, from Venetian harbour went;Scatters and overthrows the hostile band,And—spoil and prisoners to his brother sent—Nothing reserves save that unfading bay;The only prize he cannot give away.
XCVIIIUpon those figures gazed the courtly crew,But read no meaning in the storied wall:Because there was not any one to shewThat these were things hereafter to befall.Those fair and quaintly fashioned forms they viewWith pleasure, and peruse the scrolls withal:But Bradamant, to whom the whole was known,By wise Melissa taught, rejoiced alone.
XCIXThough not instructed in that historyLike gentle Bradamant, the affianced knightRemembers how amid his progenyAtlantes often praised this Hippolyte.—Who faithfully could verse such courtesy,As Charlemagne vouchsafed to every wight?With various games that solemn feast was cheered,And charged with viands aye the board appeared.
CWho is a valiant knight, is here descried;For daily broke a thousand lances lay:Singly to combat or in troops they ride;On horseback or afoot, they mix in fray.Worthiest of all Rogero is espied,Who always conquers, jousting night and day;And so, in wrestling, dance, and every deed,Still from its rivals bears away the meed.
CIOn the last day, when at their festive cheerWas seated solemnly the assembled band,Where at Charles’ left was placed the wedded peer,And Bradamant upon his better hand,Across the fields an armed cavalier,Of semblance haughty, and of stature grand,Was seen to ride towards the royal table;Himself and courser wholly clothed in sable.
CIIThe King of Argier he; that for the scornReceived from her, when on the bridge he fell,Never to clothe himself in arms had sworn,Nor draw the faulchion nor bestride the sell,Till he had like an anchoret outwornA year and month and day in lowly cell.So to chastise themselves for such like crimesWere cavaliers accustomed in those times.
CIIIAlbeit of Charles and Agramant the MoorHad heard the several fortunes while away,Not to foreswear himself, he armed no moreThan if in nought concerned in that affray:But when the year and month were wholly o’er,And wholly past was the succeeding day,With other courser, harness, sword, and lance,The king betook him to the court of France.
CIVHe neither lighted from his horse, nor bowedHis head; and, without sign of reverence due,His scorn for Charlemagne by gestures showed,And the high presence of so fair a crew.Astound and full of wonder stood the crowd,Such license in that haughty man to view.All leave their meat, all leave their talk, to hearThe purpose of the stranger cavalier.
CVTo Charles and to Rogero opposite,With a loud voice, and in proud accent, “IAm Rodomont of Sarza,” said the knight,“Who thee, Rogero, to the field defy;And here, before the sun withdraws his light,Will prove on thee thine infidelity;And that thou, as a traitor to thy lord,Deserv’st not any honour at this board.
CVI“Albeit thy felony be plain and clear,Which thou, as christened, canst not disavow;Nathless to make it yet more plain appear,This will I prove upon thee; and, if thouCanst find a knight to combat for thee here,Him will accept;—if one be not enow—Will four, nay six accept; and will maintainMy words against them all in listed plain.”
CVIIRogero, with the leave of Pepin’s son,Uprose at that appeal, and thus replied:That he—nor he alone—but every one,Who thus impeached him as a traitor, lied;That so he by his king had ever done,Him none could justly blame; and on his side,He was prepared in listed field to shewHe evermore by him had done his due.
CVIIIHe can defend himself; nor need he craveAnother warrior’s help that course to run;And ’tis his hope to show him he would haveEnough, perhaps would have too much, of one.Thither Orlando and Rinaldo, braveOlivier, and his white and sable son,Thither good Dudon and Marphisa wend;Who fain with that fierce paynim will contend.
CIXThey tell Rogero that, as newly wedThe combat he in person should refuse.“Take ye no further pains,” the warrior said,“For such would be for me a foul excuse.”The Tartar’s arms were brought, which cut the threadOf more delay and of all further truce:With spurs Orlando deck’d the youthful lord,King Charlemagne begirt him with the sword.
CXMarphisa and Bradamant in corslet caseHis breast, and clothe him in his other gear.Astolpho led his horse of noble race:Sir Dudon held his stirrup: far and nearRinaldo and Namus made the mob give place,Assisted by the Marquis Olivier.All from the crowded lists they drive with speed,Evermore kept in order for such need.
CXIThe pale-faced dames and damsels troop, in guiseOf pigeons round the lists, a timid show;When, homeward bound, from fruitful field they rise,Scared by wide-sweeping winds, which loudly blow,Mid flash and clap; and when the sable skiesThreat hail and rain, the harvest’s waste and woe:A timid troop, they for Rogero fear,Ill matched they deem with that fierce cavalier.
CXIISo him deemed all the rabble; and so mostOf those bold cavalier and barons thought;In that they had not yet the memory lostOf what that paynim had in Paris wrought,When singly fire and sword the warrior tost,And much of that fair town to ruin brought;Whose signs remained, and yet will long remain:Nor ever greater havoc plagued that reign.
CXIIIBradamant’s heart above those others’ beat:Not that she deemed the Saracen in might,Or valour which in the heart-core hath its seat,Was of more prowess than the youthful knight;Nor (what oft gives success in martial featThat with the paynim was the better right.Yet cannot she her some ill misgivings quell.But upon those that love such fear sits well.
CXIVOh! in her fear for him, how willinglyShe battle for Rogero would have done!If lifeless on the listed field to lieSurer than sure,—in fight with Ulien’s son.More than one death would she consent to die,If she withal could suffer more than one,Rather than she in that unhappy strifeWould see her cherished consort risk his life.
CXVBut prayer availed not on the damsel’s partTo make Rogero leave to her the quest:She then with mournful face and beating heartStood by to view that pair to fight addrest.From right and left the peer and paynim start,And at each other run with lance in rest.The spears seem ice, as they in shivers fly.The fragments birds, that mount through middle sky.
CXVIRodomont’s lance which smote in the careerUpon mid-shield, yet harmed it little; soPerfect was famous Hector’s iron gear,Hardened by Vulcan’s hand, and safe from blow.As well against the shield his levelled spearRogero guides, and that good buckler—thoughWell steeled within and out, with bone between,And nigh a palm in thickness—pierces clean;
CXVIIAnd—but his lance resists not that fierce shock,And at the first assault its splinters fly,And bits and fragments of the shivered stockSeem fledged with feathers they ascend so high;Were his arms hewn from adamantine rock,The spear would pierce the paynim’s panoply;And end that battle: but it breaks withal,And on their croups both staggering coursers fall.
CXVIIIWith bridle and with spur the martial pairRaise their proud horses nimbly from the ground;And having broke their spears, with faulchions bareReturn, to bandy fierce and cruel wound.Wheeling with wondrous mastery, here and there,The bold and ready coursers in a round,The warriors with their biting swords beginTo try where either’s armour is most thin.
CXIXRodomont had not that hard dragon-hideWhich heretofore had cased the warrior’s breast;Nor Nimrod’s trenchant sword was at his side;Nor the accustomed helm his temples prest.For on that bridge which spanned the narrow tide,A loser to Dordona’s lady, vestAnd arms suspended from the votive stoneHe left; as I, meseems, erewhile have shown.
CXXClad was the king in other goodly mail;Yet not like that first panoply secure:But neither this, nor that, nor harder scaleCould Balisarda’s deadly dint endure;Against which neither workmanship avail,Enchantment, temper, nor prime steel and pure.So here so there Rogero plied his sword,He more than once the paynim’s armour bored.
CXXIWhen Rodomont beholds in that fierce closeHis widely crimsoned arms, nor can restrainThe greater portion of those griding blowsFrom biting to the quick, through plate and chain,He with more fury, with more rage o’erflows,Than in mid winter the tempestrous mainFlings down his shield, and with both hands outrightLays at Rogero’s helm with all his might.
CXXIIWith that excessive force, wherewith the gin,Erected in two barges upon Po,And raised by men and wheels, with deafening dinDescends upon the sharpened piles below,With all his might he smote the paladinWith either hand; was never direr blow:Him the charmed helmet helped, or—such its force—The stroke would have divided man and horse.
CXXIIIAs if about to fall, the youthful lordTwice nodded, opening legs and arms; anewRodomont smote, in that he would affordHis foe no time his spirits to renew:Then threatened other stroke; but that fine swordBore not such hammering, and in shivers flew;And the bold Saracen, bereft of brandWas in the combat left with unarmed hand.
CXXIVBut not for this doth Rodomont refrain:He swoops upon the Child, unheeding aught:So sore astounded is Rogero’s brain;So wholly overclouded is his thought.But him the paynim well awakes again,Whom by the neck he with strong arm has caught,And gripes and grapples with such mighty force,He falls on earth, pulled headlong from his horse.
CXXVYet leaps from earth as nimbly, moved by spleenFar less than shame; for on his gentle brideHe turned his eyes, and that fair face sereneNow troubled the disdainful warrior spied.She in sore doubt her champion’s fall had seen;And well nigh at that sight the lady died.Rogero, quickly to revenge the affront,Clutches his sword and faces Rodomont.
CXXVIHe at Rogero rode, who that rude shockShunned warily, retiring from his ground,And, as he past, the paynim’s bridle tookWith his left had, and turned his courser round;While with his right he at his rider struck,Whom he in belly, flank and breast would wound;And twice sore anguish felt the monarch, goredIn flank and thigh, by good Rogero’s sword.
CXXVIIRodomont, grasping still in that close fightThe hilt and pommel of his broken blade,Layed at Rogero’s helmet with such might,That him another stroke might have dismaid:But good Rogero, who should win of right,Seizing his arm, the king so rudely swayed,Bringing his left his better hand to speed,That he pulled down the paynim from his steed.
CXXVIIIThrough force or skill, so fell the Moorish lord,He stood his match, I rather ought to sayFell on his feet; because Rogero’s swordGave him, ’twas deemed, advantage in the fray.Rogero stands aloof, with wary wardAs fain to keep the paynim king at bay.For the wise champion will not let a wightSo talk and bulky close with him in fight;
CXXIXRogero flank and thigh dyed red beheld,And other wounds; and hoped he would have failedBy little and by little, as it welled;So that he finally should have prevailed.His hilt and pommel in his fist yet heldThe paynim, which with all his might he scaledAt young Rogero; whom he smote so sore,The stripling never was so stunned before.
CXXXIn the helmet-cheek and shoulder-bone belowThe Child was smit, and left so sore astound,He, tripping still and staggering to and fro,Scarce kept himself from falling to the ground.Rodomont fain would close upon his foe;But his foot fails him, weakened by the wound,Which pierced his thigh: he overtasked his might;And on his kneepan fell the paynim knight.
CXXXIRogero lost no time, and with fierce blowsSmote him in face and bosom with his brand;Hammered, and held the Saracen so close,To ground he bore that champion with his hand.But he so stirred himself, again he rose:He gripes Rogero so, fast locked they stand.Seconding their huge vigour by address,They circle one another, shake, and press.
CXXXIIHis wounded thigh and gaping flank had soreWeakened the vigour of the Moorish king:Rogero had address; had mickle lore;Was greatly practised in the wrestlers’ ring:He marked his vantage, nor from strife forbore;And, where he saw the blood most freely spring,And where most wounded was the warrior, prestThe paynim with his feet, his arms, and breast.
CXXXIIIRodomont filled with spite and rage, his foeTakes by the neck and shoulders, and now bendsTowards him, and now pushes from him; nowRaises from earth, and on his chest suspends;Whirls here and there and grapples; and to throwThe stripling sorely in that strife contends.Collected in himself, Rogero wrought,To keep his vantage taxing strength and thought.
CXXXIVSo shifting oft his hold, about the MoorHis arms the good and bold Rogero wound;Against his left flank shoved his breast, and soreStrained him with all his strength engirdled round.At once he past his better leg beforeRodomont’s knees and pushed, and from the groundUplifted high in air the Moorish lord;Then hurled him down head foremost on the sward.
CXXXVSuch was the shock wherewith King RodomontWith battered head and spine the champion smote,That, issuing from his wounds as from a font,Streams of red blood the crimsoned herbage float.Rogero, holding Fortune by the front,Lest he should rise, with one hand griped his throat,With one a dagger at his eyes addrest;And with his knees the paynim’s belly prest.
CXXVIAs sometimes where they work the golden veinWithin Pannonian or Iberian cave,In unexpected ruin whelm the trainBy impious avarice there condemned to slave,So with the load they lie opprest, with painA passage can their prisoned spirit have:No less opprest the doughty paynim lay,Pinned to the ground in that disastrous fray.
CXXXVIIRogero at his vizor doth presentHis naked poniard’s point, with threatening cry,That he will slay him, save he yields, contentTo let him live, if he for grace apply.But Rodomont, who rather than be shentFor the least deed of shame, preferred to die,Writhed, struggled, and with all his vigour triedTo pull Rogero down, and nought replied.
CXXXVIIIAs mastiff that below the deer-hound lies,Fixed by the gullet fast, with holding bite,Sorely bestirs himself and vainly tries,With lips besmeared with foam and eyes alight,And cannot from beneath the conqueror rise,Who foils his foe by force, and not despite;So vainly strives the monarch of ArgierTo rise from underneath the cavalier.
CXXXIXYet Rodomont so twists and strives, he gainsThe freedom of his better arm anew;And with the right hand, which his poniard strains,For he had drawn his deadly dagger too,Would wound Rogero underneath the reins:But now the wary youth the error knewThrough which he might have died, by his delayThat impious Saracen forthwith to slay;
CXLAnd smiting twice or thrice his horrid front,Raising as high as he could raise in airHis dagger, buried it in Rodomont;And freed himself withal from further care.Loosed from the more than icy corse, to fontOf fetid Acheron, and hell’s foul repair,The indignant spirit fled, blaspheming loud;Erewhile on earth so haughty and so proud.