1
Almighty God, when all our many sins
Have passed beyond the point of being remitted,
His justice (and His mercy) to evince,
Our punishment to tyrants has committed.
Thus in the days of ancient Rome, long since,
The rule of monsters often He permitted,
As Sulla, Caius Caesar, Marius,
Or cruel Nero and Tiberius,
2
Domitian and the youngest Antonine,
Or Maximinus, from the people raised
And set on high in the imperial line,
Creon of Thebes, Mezentius, half-crazed,
Terror and scourge of every Agylline,
Who with men’s blood the soil of Caere greased;
And Italy in later times has known
The rage of Longobard, of Goth, of Hun.
3
What shall I say of Attila, or of
Vile Ezzellino da Romano’s crimes?
Or many hundreds more whom God above
Has sent, in ancient as in recent times,
A clear example of His wrath to prove,
Our evil ways thus punishing betimes;
And to us, sheep-like, futile and unshriven,
Ferocious wolves as guardians has given?
4
Their hunger, it appears, is unabated,
However full of flesh their bellies are,
And ultramontane wolves, likewise unsated,
Come prowling down from forest-lands afar.
The many bones by Trasimene, ill-fated,
Or those at Cannae or at Trebbia,
Less fertile make the soil than those which lie
Where Adda, Mella, Ronco, Tar flow by.
5
Now God consents that we should punished be,
By other races who perhaps are worse,
For all our manifold iniquity.
The time will come when we shall raid their shores
And make them of their errors pay the fee
(If ever we shall learn to mend our course),
When they will suffer as an aftermath
The penalty of the Almighty’s wrath.
6
The Christians must have caused by their excesses
A clouding of the Father’s countenance.
On every side the Saracen oppresses
With murder, rape and all incontinence;
But worse than all the worst of these distresses
Is Rodomonte’s pitiless advance.
The tidings reached King Charles, as I have said,
Who to the rescue with new forces sped.
7
He meets his broken army on the way.
The churches, palaces in ruins lie,
Burning and desolate; from this one may
Deduce that Rodomonte has passed by.
King Charles imperiously bids them stay:
‘Where are you going? Whither do you fly?
What other refuge, think you, will be left
If Paris is abandoned and bereft?
8
‘One man alone wreaks havoc in your city,
Which walls enclose, whence there is no escape?
You let him slay and slaughter without pity
And on him no revenge you plan to reap?’
Charles was so angered by the shame of it, he
Tongue-lashed his army into better shape,
Then made his way towards his royal court,
Where Rodomonte slew as though for sport.
9
There, terrified, a multitude had flocked
For safety to the palace, for, the age-
old building with munitions being well stocked,
Its massive walls might well withstand a siege.
But all defences Rodomonte mocked.
Unaided, in his arrogance and rage,
He held the forecourt, brandishing his sword
And hurling flaring missiles at the horde.
10
Then of the palace, lofty and sublime,
He hammers on the door with mighty blows.
The inmates to the topmost turrets climb:
A crenellation falls, a column goes.
Having no boiling oil or pitch or lime,
One flings a baluster, another throws
A marble slab, or gilded beams some break,
Sparing no work of art for beauty’s sake.
11
Before the door, the monarch of Algiers
Stands in his shining armour, brave and strong;
A gleaming helmet on his head he wears,
As when a snake, shedding its skin among
The undergrowth, rejuvenated rears
Itself in glistening pride, its triple tongue
Vibrating, darting from its eyes such fire,
All other creatures from its path retire.
12
No catapult, no bow, no mangonel,
No balustrade, no beam, no architrave,
No battlement which on the pagan fell,
From his right arm the palace door could save.
He slashed and hewed and battered it so well,
That faces, pale as death, of the enclave
Therein were seen, and saw the press outside,
Through all those apertures now gaping wide.
13
In stately houses women rush apace
From room to room in desperate distress,
Beating their breasts and shrieking, pale of face.
Their loved possessions fervently they kiss,
Flinging their arms as in a last embrace
About those objects which to lawlessness
Must be surrendered. Such the peril was
When Charlemagne rode up. Without a pause
14
He thus addressed the barons at his side,
Who many a time had rallied to his aid:
‘Are you not those companions who defied
A hundred thousand men, and by whose blade
Almonte, Agolant, Troiano died
In Aspromonte? Are you now afraid
Of one, a single one of that same brood,
Within whose veins there flows that self-same blood?
15
‘Must I now see that valiant prowess fail,
Unequal to the courage I saw then?
Turn on this dog and make him now turn tail,
This snarling dog, unmuzzled, which eats men.
No brave heart at the thought of death will quail,
For death must come, it matters little when,
If it be death with honour; neither fear
Nor doubt have I, provided you are near.’
16
With these concluding words he urged his steed
With lowered lance against the Saracen,
As Namo, Oliver and Ugier did,
Likewise Avolio and bold Avin,
Otto and Berlingier, whose every deed
Together is performed, for they are seen
Together always. Rodomonte’s breast
And head and sides they strike. But, for the rest,
17
Let us have done, my lord, for pity’s sake,
With talk of wrath, of fury and of death,
And to the city of Damascus make
Our way (spending for now no further breath
Upon the Saracen), where I will take
Grifone’s tale in hand. I left him with
Perfidious Orrigille and that other
(Her paramour, of course, and not her brother).
18
Of all the wealthy cities of Levant,
Ornate and populous, Damascus is
Reputed the most fair and opulent.
Set in a plain where corn and fruitful trees
In winter as in spring abundance grant,
A week away from the metropolis,
Jerusalem, it lies. A near-by height
Occludes the early rays of morning light.
19
Two crystal streams which through the city flow
Give water in their branching rivulets
To gardens where in sweet profusion grow
Fronds, ever green, and fragrant flowerets;
And perfumed waters turn the mill-wheels, so
Abundantly the blossoms yield their sweets;
And every passer-by inhales the scent
Wherewith each mansion there is redolent.
20
Now all the high road festive is today
With bunting, pennons, flags and drapery
And many a fragrant garland and bouquet.
Now every portal has its canopy,
And every window-sill is bright and gay
With sumptuous brocades and tapestry,
But more with ladies in their beauty’s pride,
Adorned with silks and gems, on every side.
21
Through many a doorway might be glimpsed within
Dancers disporting to a gladsome sound;
And riders too along the road are seen
On horses splendidly caparisoned.
Bevies of noblemen accoutred in
A rich and elegant attire, are found:
With Eastern gems and Erythraean pearls
Adorned, they number vassals, barons, earls.
22
Grifone and his company move on,
Gazing in admiration, left and right,
Until a fair demesne they come upon,
Where they are bidden by a gentle knight.
Therein no courtesy is left undone,
Observed is every hospitable rite.
When they have bathed and are refreshed at last,
He leads them to a sumptuous repast.
23
And of King Norandino he related,
Who ruled Damascus and all Syria,
By whose command a joust had been instated,
To which brave knights had come from near and far,
Who when they had been well and truly fêted
Would on the morrow to the lists repair.
If of the present company the bearing
Was matched by skill, they too might show their daring.
24
Although at first Grifone had not planned
To undergo so rigorous a test,
He felt at once inclined to try his hand.
He judged that this decision was the best.
But first of all he wished to understand
The origin and nature of the feast:
Was it an annual event, or newly
Instituted? The knight informed him duly,
25
Replying in these words: ‘This festival
Will be repeated every fourth new moon.
This is the first, the precedent of all.
Never before has such a feast been known.
The day our king was saved we thus recall,
When, in great peril, he had undergone
Four endless months of suffering and grief,
The tale of which surpasses all belief.
26
‘To tell you plainly what in truth occurred,
Our king, a victim of the power of love
(His name is Norandino, you have heard),
The beautiful and lovely daughter of
The king of Cyprus had for long adored.
His overtures at last successful prove:
He weds the fair princess and makes for home,
And many lords and ladies with him come.
27
‘But, driven off our course, with sails full-spread,
Far from our port, to that deceitful sea
‘Twixt Crete and Rhodes by cruel Fortune led,
We met a storm which tossed us cruelly.
Three days and nights obliquely we were sped
By towering waves; the captain finally
Made land; we disembarked, fatigued and wet,
On a green shore, ’mid shady hillocks set.
28
‘Pavilions were put up and tents were pitched.
From tree to tree the awnings we had brought,
For shelter we commanded should be stretched.
Soon fires were kindled, provender laid out,
Carpets and tables from on board were fetched.
The king meanwhile amid the woodland sought
For goats or fawns or stags, or any kind
Of game; his bow two servants bore behind.
29
‘In pleasant expectation as we sat
Awaiting the return of our brave king,
We saw a fearful sight, a monster, that
Along the sandy shore came lumbering.
God save you, my dear sir, from such a fate,
And grant you never see so vile a thing!
Far better that it be described to you
Than that you see the dreadful beast close to.
30
‘No term of length can be compared with it.
Its width is measureless, and vast its girth.
In place of eyes, beneath its brow are set
Bone-like projections; coloured like the earth,
It ambles on towards us where we sit,
As though an alp had yawned and given birth.
Its chest is moist with slobber, long its snout,
Whence tusks or fangs, as on a boar, stick out.
31
‘With quickened steps it snuffled at the ground,
As hunting-dogs will do when on the trail
They narrow down their quarry, round and round.
And we who fled, our countenances pale,
Seeing it blind, no crumb of comfort found.
Though lacking eyes, the monster did not fail
To use its nose to lead it to its prey,
And wings were then required to get away.
32
‘Some scatter here, some there, but swifter than
The wind it overtakes them, and of all
The company of forty scarcely ten
Are left alive the sorry tale to tell.
Some swim to safety; others in its den
Are destined for a fate more tragical:
Stuffed in the monster’s sack, which dangles from
Its side, they’re carried to its grisly home.
33
‘Such dwelling as the evil monster had
Was in a cliff close to the water’s edge,
Carved in the living rock, of marble made,
As pure and white as an unwritten page.
Therein a matron lived, cast-down and sad;
And other women too, of every age,
Of every kind and aspect, it held there.
Some were repulsive, some surpassing fair.
34
‘Beside the secret grotto where it dwelt,
Close to the very summit of the rock,
It had another just as large, which held
Of sheep and goats quite an extensive flock.
Winter and summer, as the monster felt
Inclined, the door of this it would unlock
And let them out or drive them in at will,
Its pleasure, more than hunger, to fulfil.
35
‘It much prefers the taste of human meat.
To sate this appetite, ere we arrive,
Three of our youths it now proceeds to eat,
Gulping them down, all three of them alive.
Then from the stall, removing first from it
A heavy stone, the flock begins to drive
Into the open. We, now penned inside,
Can hear its bagpipes sounding far and wide.
36
‘Our king, meanwhile, returning to the coast,
Looks on the scene with an astonished stare.
He scarce can comprehend what he has lost:
Tents and pavilions empty everywhere,
On every side signs as of holocaust,
While out to sea his mariners prepare
To raise the anchor and to hoist the sails.
Alas! to raise his spirits naught avails.
37
‘Perceiving him upon the shore, straightway
They send a boat to bring him safe on board;
But, hearing what the sailors have to say
About the dreadful monster so abhorred,
Upon the instant he decides to stay
And track it to its den, where his adored
Lucina has been carried off; for I
Can swear, without her he would rather die.
38
‘He tracks the recent footprints on the sand,
Impelled by haste such as a lover knows.
Now to the right, and now to the left hand,
As far as to the monster’s den he goes,
Where we, in dire foreboding, have been penned,
Anticipating death and all its throes.
At every sound we seem to see before us
That evil monster ready to devour us.
39
‘Fortune so willed that at its dwelling-place
The king saw not the monster but its wife.
And she, no sooner had she glimpsed his face,
Cried out: “Be gone, my lord ! Flee for your life!”
But he replied: “My steps I’ll not retrace.
To me I vow it matters little if
I’m caught; no worse my fate would be, for I
Beside my consort am resolved to die.”
40
‘Continuing, he begs the dame to give
What news she can of captives from the shore.
His fair Lucina, does she still survive?
This is the news he is most eager for.
She tells him that Lucina is alive
And further says, to comfort him still more,
To be devoured will never be her plight;
The orc for females has no appetite.
41
‘ “And certain evidence of this”, said she,
“In my continued presence here you have
And all these women who are here with me.
But any who attempt to leave the cave
It punishes with great severity.
No peace, no consolation then they have:
It buries them, or chains them foot and hand,
Or makes them lie stark naked on the strand.
42
‘ “Though when it brought your people here today
It did not sort the women from the men,
But in an undiscriminating way
It drove them all into the self-same pen,
Your love will have no reason for dismay.
It knows the sexes by their smell, and when
It sniffs the males there are no ifs and buts.
With four or six a day it stuffs its guts.
43
‘ “Plans or advice for rescue have I none.
To save her there is nothing you can do.
You must content yourself with this alone,
That as we here survive she will live too.
But for yourself, make haste and flee, my son,
Before the orc return and swallow you.
It will soon sniff you out, inside the house.
It knows who’s here, down to the smallest mouse.”
44
‘The king replied that he would not depart
Till he had seen Lucina once again.
Sooner than live from his dear love apart
He’d rather die with her and share her pain.
When the good matron sees that all her art
And all her protestations are in vain,
His firm resolve she helps him to fulfil
By using all her cunning, all her skill.
45
‘Inside the den were many carcasses
Of goats and sheep, some old and others young.
To feed on them the inmates’ custom is,
And many a sheepskin from the rafters hung.
The beldam urged the king to use the grease
Of an old goat which round its bowels clung.
He oiled himself from head to foot so well
No vestige was there of his human smell.
46
‘And when that evil stench appears to her
Convincing of the normal smell of goat,
She takes a skin and on the visitor
She drapes it like a wide, capacious coat.
Then, covered in this strange involucre,
He crawls along beside her on the route
To where his fair Lucina languishes,
For whom his very soul in anguish is.
47
‘Obediently, beside the entrance to
The cave, he waits until the orc is seen
Returning with its flock; and late into
The evening dusk his vigil long has been
Before the sound of pipes is heard anew,
The flocks recalling from their pastures green;
And every day returning thus you’ll find them,
The cruel shepherd following behind them.
48
‘Imagine how his heart began to race
Soon as he saw the monster drawing near,
And he beheld that evil, cruel face;
And how he truly loved will now appear,
For of pretence his ardour had no trace;
Love for Lucina conquering his fear,
Soon as the monster had removed the block
King Norandino entered with the flock.
49
‘When all the goats and sheep have passed inside,
The monster, having first secured the door,
Sniffs at us all in order to decide
Which of the men for supper he’ll devour.
It chooses two and eats them, hair and hide.
(When I recall those fangs I shake once more!)
As soon as it departs, the king has cast
His fleece and clasps Lucina to his breast.
50
‘No joy she feels in his embrace; instead,
The sight of him affords her keenest sorrow.
She knows that very soon he will be dead
And that his end he may well meet tomorrow.
“In all my suffering”, Lucina said,
“This crumb of comfort only could I borrow,
That you, my dearest lord, were far away
When we were captured by the orc today.
51
‘ “Thought of the dreadful death I must endure,
Concerning which I was disconsolate,
Caused me most bitter grief, but only for
My own misfortune and my own sad fate;
But now, whether I predecease you, or
You die before I do, I shall regret
Your death, my love, more than my own demise.”
And she continued sadly in this wise.
52
‘The king replied, “I hope to rescue you
And all these others here with you confined,
And I will die if this I cannot do.
You are my sun, without you I am blind.
My way of entering, my exit too
Will be, and yours, if you will come behind,
Disguised, as I am, by this brutish stench,
If such a fetor does not make you blench.”
53
‘The need for cunning taught us to comply
With the instructions of the kindly dame.
To trick the orc, accustomed to rely
Upon its sense of smell, we used the same
Foul unguent as the king was covered by.
To pass the orc unnoticed was our aim.
Killing a number of the sheep and goats,
The older and more fetid, with thick coats,
54
‘We oiled ourselves with intestinal fat,
The foulest, greasiest which could be found
Inside the beasts and, when we had done that,
Fleeces and skins about ourselves we wound,
And thus anointed and attired we sat
And waited for the morning to come round.
As soon as the first rays of dawn appeared,
The grisly shepherd’s fluting tones were heard.
55
‘It held its hand against the aperture
To keep us from escaping with the flock.
It touched us as we passed, and to make sure
It sniffed at every ewe and every buck.
But with the animals we passed the door,
Women as well as men, and by good luck
Not one of us did it suspect until
Lucina, in great terror, reached the sill.
56
‘Perhaps because Lucina did not wish
To smear herself with fat as we had done,
Or by her gait, which was more womanish
Than goat-like, her disguise at once was known,
Or, when it touched her with its ogreish
Appendages, she gave a frightened moan,
Or that her tresses tumbled loose about her –
It held her back, and we passed on without her.
57
‘Intent on our escape, we had no eyes
For anything but our own destinies;
But when I heard Lucina’s doleful cries
I turned: the orc had stripped her of her fleece
And thrust her in the cave; still in disguise,
Covered in wool or skin and smeared with grease,
Amid green hills and pleasant slopes we creep,
Where’er the shepherd leads its goats and sheep.
58
‘And there we waited till the long-nosed orc
Lay sleeping in the shadow of a wood.
We parted then, where branching pathways fork,
Some to the shore and some, as best we could,
Into the hills, there in dark caves to lurk.
Only our king this urge to flee withstood,
Remaining constant to his first intent,
To save his bride or die in the attempt.
59
‘When, as he left that prison, he had seen
That she alone a prisoner remained,
By grief distracted, he had almost been
Spontaneously led to make an end
And let himself be mangled there and then
By those foul jaws, but still by hope sustained
Of rescuing her yet, by hook or crook,
He changed his mind and lingered with the flock.
60
‘That evening, when the monster brought them back
And knew that we, its provender, had fled,
And understood that supper it would lack,
It blamed Lucina and devised a dread
And fearful punishment, such as its black
And evil heart conceived: high overhead
Upon a rock in chains she was to lie.
King Norandin looks on and longs to die.
61
‘Morning and evening the unhappy lover
Observes her as she languishes and weeps,
When, mingled with the flock, he wanders over
The higher slopes and homeward sadly creeps.
With suppliant face she begs that, if he love her,
For God’s sake he will flee, for here he reaps
No benefit, but risks his precious life,
Making more wretched yet his wretched wife.
62
‘The monster’s spouse entreated him likewise,
But likewise vain all her entreaties prove.
The constant lover constantly denies
That he will ever leave without his love.
Passion and pity bind him with their ties
And from his firm resolve he will not move.
But then it chanced that Mandricard one day,
Accompanied by Gradasso, passed that way,
63
‘And in their sudden raid they proved so bold
They snatched Lucina from the monster’s cave
(Luck helped them more than judgement, I am told).
In eagerness the fair princess to save,
They hurried to the vessel, where her old
And grieving father stood, and there they gave
His daughter to his arms; all this occurred
One morning while the flock was still immured.
64
‘And when they issue from the squalid house
And Norandino learns his bride has flown
(He hears the story from the monster’s spouse
Who tells him just how the affair has gone),
He renders thanks to God above and vows
That when his way to freedom he has won,
Wherever men may be coerced or bought
By arms or gold the princess will be sought.
65
‘Then, filled with joy, he wanders with the band
Of snub-nosed sheep among the pastures green;
And there he waits, while, lying close at hand,
Stretched in the shade the monstrous orc is seen.
After some days he hastens to the strand;
To save his own, he sheds his borrowed skin.
He boards a vessel in Satalia,
And in three months arrives in Syria.
66
‘In every citadel and town, in Rhodes,
In Cyprus, Turkey, Egypt, Africa,
Along the thoroughfares, along the roads,
He searched for fair Lucina, near and far,
By sea, by land, up mountains and in woods;
And all this time he had no news of her,
Till from her father tidings came at last
That safe to Nicosia she had passed.
67
‘In joy and thankfulness at the good news,
The king prepares a fine and costly feast;
And as each fourth succeeding moon renews
Her face, another will be held, at least
As sumptuous as this, lest he should lose
The memory of when, clad like a beast,
He wandered with the hairy flock. Tomorrow
Four months it is that he escaped such sorrow.
68
‘What I have told you, I in part have seen,
In part have heard from one who saw it all
From A to Z: the king himself, I mean.
Four Ides, four Kalends there he stayed, recall,
Till sorrow into joy transformed had been.
This is the truth and if it should befall
That anyone should tell you otherwise,
He has been misinformed, or else he lies.’
69
And thus Grifone came to know the cause
Of that fair feast, and half the night they sat
Discoursing of the monarch’s love, which was
Exceptional (they all agreed on that);
And, rising then from table, their repose
They took as guests in the same habitat.
Next day the morning dawns serene and clear
And joyful sounds of revelry they hear.
70
Along the streets, with drum and clarion,
Calling the people to the city-square,
The heralds go; and horses proudly run.
Thronging with life is every thoroughfare.
Grifone puts his shining armour on,
Which precious is and most exceeding rare,
Unyielding and impenetrable made
By the enchantment of a snow-white maid.
71
That miscreant of Antiochia,
Viler than vile, then arms himself likewise.
The hospitable knight his armourer
Instructed had to furnish all supplies,
All chivalrous paraphernalia,
Lances and spears, robust, of every size,
And èquerries, on horseback and on foot,
To serve them well at their disposal put.
72
They reach the square and, drawing to one side,
As yet unseen, they watch the panoply
Of knightly combatants who hither ride,
Alone, or forming groups of two or three.
Some, sad or joyful hearts display with pride,
Combining the bright hues of heraldry,
Or emblems, on a crest or shield designed,
Love represent as cruel or as kind.
73
For you must know, my lord, the Syrians
Had then assumed this custom of the West,
Perhaps because the cavaliers of France,
Of Christian knights the finest and the best,
Of that abode were the custodians
Which God Incarnate with His presence blessed,
Which Christians now, to their undying shame,
Leave in the hands of pagans of ill fame.
74
No longer now defenders of the faith,
With one another Christian knights contend,
Destroying in their enmity and wrath
Those few who still believe; make now an end,
You Spaniards; Frenchmen, choose another path;
Switzers and Germans, no more armies send.
For here the territory you would gain
Belongs to Christ; His kingdom you profane.
75
If ‘the most Christian’ rulers you would be,
And ‘Catholic’ desire to be reputed,
Why do you slay Christ’s men? Their property
Why have you sacked, and their belongings looted?
Why do you leave in dire captivity
Jerusalem, by infidels polluted?
Why do you let the unclean Turk command
Constantinople and the Holy Land?
76
Spaniards, have you not Africa near by,
Which more than Italy has injured you?
And yet, to ravage her, you now deny
Those former noble claims of derring-do?
Ah! wretched Italy, asleep you lie,
In drunken stupor, fallen subject to
This and that other nation who were once
Your slaves, your subjects, your dominions?
77
Switzers, if hunger drives you to invade,
Like famished animals, the Lombard plain,
To beg among us for a crust of bread,
Or end your poverty, in battle slain,
See how the riches of the Turk are spread
Near by: chase him from Europe, from his den
In Greece expel him and your bellies sate,
Or in those regions meet a nobler fate.
78
And to your German neighbours now I say
What I have said to you: look to the East.
The wealth which Constantine once took away
From Rome lies there; he portioned off the best
And the remainder gave into our sway.
The Pactolus and Hermus, rivers blest
With gold, Phrygia and Lydia and that land
Much praised in legend, all lie near at hand.
79
And you, great Leo, bearing on your back
St Peter’s burden, do not still allow
Fair Italy to sleep in sloth for lack
Of your strong arm to pull her from the slough.
You are the Shepherd: from the wolves’ attack
Defend your flock; stretch forth your right arm now.
Like your proud name, chosen for you by God,
Be leonine and worthy of your rod.
80
From one theme to another now I go,
Leaving the path which previously I strode;
But not so far that yet I do not know
How to regain once more the rightful road.
The Syrians, I said (was it not so?),
Accoutred like the French to battle rode;
And in Damascus festive was that day
The central square with chivalrous array.
81
From their pavilions lovely damsels cast
Bright-coloured flowers on the combatants,
While at the sounding of the herald’s blast
These make their horses jump or make them prance.
Each one, in prowess whether first or last,
Desires to meet with an admiring glance.
Some arouse laughter, some inspire esteem,
And some draw shouts of wonder after them.
82
A set of weapons was the victor’s prize,
Presented to the king some days before,
Found by a merchant, to his great surprise,
As homeward from Armenia he bore
His caravanserai of merchandise.
The king a surcoat added, what is more,
Adorned with precious gems and pearls and gold,
Of value unsurpassed, of price untold.
83
But if those arms the king had truly known,
Above all else he would have held them dear,
Not as a trophy offered to be won
(Though held as bountiful, both far and near).
Long would it take to tell you of the one
Whose disregard of them must strange appear,
Who left them in the middle of a street,
Where they were spurned and kicked by passing feet.
84
This tale I will recount to you below.
But first Grifone’s story I’ll advance.
When he arrived, already many a blow
Had been exchanged, and broken many a lance.
Eight cavaliers combined, as you must know,
To challenge one by one all combatants.
Well versed in arms they were, of noble birth,
And loyal to their king, who knew their worth.
85
Thus in the precincts of the city-square
For one whole day all comers are defied.
Lance, sword and mace they wield and do not spare.
Their king looks on at them with joy and pride.
Their coats of mail are pierced, the blows they bear
And give, with deadly skill are multiplied,
As though they fought in earnest, not in jest,
Save that the king cries ‘Hold!’, if he thinks best.
86
Then he of Antiochia, of sense
Devoid (Martano was the coward’s name),
As though accustomed to such tournaments
And strength like young Grifone’s he could claim,
Entered the lists with misplaced confidence.
First, to one side he waited, with the aim
Of seeing the conclusion of a fierce
Encounter ’twixt two noble cavaliers.
87
Seleucia’s lord, one of the noble band
Of whom I spoke, in combat was engaged
With Count Ombruno, and, as Fate had planned,
When at its height the deadly contest raged,
Struck him a blow which he could scarce withstand.
It pierced him through the brow; his soul, uncaged,
Departed. His untimely death all mourn.
No nobler, better knight was ever born.
88
Martano greatly fears on seeing this
That he will meet a comparable fate.
Reverting to his native cowardice,
He looks about him for escape: too late.
Grifone, next to him, insistent is
That he shall in no wise prevaricate,
Pushing him towards a knight who has emerged,
As if a dog against a wolf he urged,
89
Which, moving backwards ten or twenty steps,
Barks from a distance and the dog defies,
Baring its fangs and curling back its lips,
With fiery hatred burning in its eyes.
Seen by those princes, whose brave deeds eclipse
All other cavaliers, the coward tries
To escape the lance which he cannot withstand,
By turning head and rein to the right hand.
90
For this default you might have blamed the horse,
If as a coward you were loath to brand him;
But with his sword his conduct was far worse –
Demosthenes himself could not defend him.
As though of paper (it was steel, of course)
His armour was, he feared each blow would rend him.
Then breaking through the ranks, he fled, and laughter
From all the crowd arose and followed after.
91
The clapping and the mockery became
So boisterous that, as Martano fled,
Grifone, who remained, was filled with shame,
As though he had been guilty of the deed,
And brought dishonour down upon his name;
At his companion’s flight he hung his head
And rather would he seek the fire’s embrace
Than stay, defiled and tainted, in that place.
92
As inwardly, so outwardly, he burns,
As if his were the shame and only his.
The crowd of onlookers at once discerns,
And longs to see him test, his expertise.
Much on Grifone’s skill and courage turns.
Perfection more than ever needful is.
An inch, a fraction of an error will
Appear an even grosser blunder still.
93
Already on his hip his lance was placed,
For seldom in such matters could you fault him.
Riding his horse full tilt, his foe he faced,
Then lifted up his weapon to assault him.
The lord of Sidon fell and was disgraced,
Having expected easily to halt him.
This drew the crowd, astonished, to its feet,
For it expected quite the opposite.
94
Grifone still the self-same weapon held
Which in one piece intact he had retained,
And into three he broke it on the shield
Of him who over Laodicea reigned,
Who three times tottered and a fourth time reeled,
But on the crupper of his mount remained,
Stretched out; at last he lifted up his head
And, turning swiftly, towards Grifone sped.
95
Seeing him upright in the saddle, whence
The impact failed the rider to unfix,
Grifone thinks: ‘What at one blow the lance
Could not, the sword will do in five or six.’
He brings it down upon his helmet once,
And twice, and thrice; as if a ton of bricks
Has struck him from above, the knight is stunned
And lies defeated, sprawling on the ground.
96
Two brothers who from Apamìa came,
Accustomed to prevail in feats of war,
Who Thyrsis and Corimbo were by name,
Were vanquished by the son of Oliver:
One by the lance was toppled, to his shame,
One by the sword; soon every spectator
Knew that Grifone would the winner be,
For certain now appeared his victory.
97
Next Salinterno, minister of state,
Entered the lists, the object of all eyes.
The reins of government, his country’s fate
He held in his two hands; well versed, likewise,
In feats of arms, he could not suffer that
A foreigner should carry off the prize.
Taking a lance, in readiness he waits
And challenges the youth with many threats.
98
He in reply a heavy lance, the best
Of ten, aimed full at his opponent’s shield.
Piercing his body-armour and his chest,
More than Grifone’s purpose it fulfilled.
From side to side the cruel weapon passed
And by a palm protruded; thus was killed
That avaricious minister, whose fall
(Save to the king) gave great delight to all.
99
And next Grifone caused to bite the dust
Two of Damascus; one was Ermofil.
Control of the king’s army was his trust.
The other, Carmond, was an admiral.
One left his saddle at the lance’s thrust.
The heavy charger on the other fell,
Unable to sustain the mighty blow
By which Grifone brought its rider low.
100
Seleucia’s lord alone remained upright,
He who the other seven far surpassed.
His horse and arms, as well became his might,
Were choice and perfect, tempered and well-cast.
Now where the helms are open to the light
They aimed their lances as they galloped past.
Grifone’s stroke, the stronger of the two,
The other caused to veer, and checked him, too.
101
Casting away the stumps, they turned once more,
Brandishing swords, and with high courage rode.
The pagan the first stroke received, which tore
His shield, revealing bone and leather (it would
Have split an anvil), though from a vast store
Of thousands he had chosen it; his good
Mail-armour, reinforced, his thigh defended,
Checking the heavy blow where it descended.
102
The baron of Seleucia likewise smote
Grifone’s visor, and with such a blow,
He would have split it open were it not
By magic, like his other armour, so
Impervious it yielded not one jot.
Yet in the other’s armour you must know
Grifone many a slash and rent has made,
As stroke on stroke he parried and repaid.
103
It can be clearly seen by everyone
That in this fight Grifone is on top.
The other champion will perish soon
Unless King Norandino bids them stop.
The herald, at his signal, steps upon
The jousting-ground and makes his baton drop
Between the combatants; their swords are raised,
And for this clement act the king is praised.
104
The eight who had thus challenged all who came
And, in succession, against one had failed
(Their fortune being unworthy of their fame),
Dead or alive, had quit the stricken field.
The others who had hoped to challenge them
Remained, but since Grifone had prevailed,
And victory had won in every fight,
No further test of valour seemed in sight.
105
So short a time the tournament endured,
That all was over in an hour or less;
But Norandino for his guests ensured
A game that before evening should not cease;
And, stepping on the field, a space conjured.
Then, judging their attainments with finesse,
The combatants he coupled two by two,
And set in motion all the joust anew.
106
Grifone had decided to return
To where he lodged; he was so full of rage
And so humiliated by the scorn
Martano stirred, no triumph could assuage
The sting of obloquy. A liar born,
Martano understands just how to gauge
His cunning lies, helped by the meretricious
Orrigille, who is no less judicious.
107
Whether or no the youth believed these two,
He none the less accepted their excuses.
His sole intention there and then was to
Persuade them to be gone lest more abuses
Should at Martano levelled be; and so
Along a secret path which no one uses,
Leaving the city gate that very day,
To the periphery they made their way.
108
Whether Grifone or his horse was tired,
Or both were weary from the many trials,
At the first inn for lodging he enquired,
Though scarcely had they gone above two miles.
He shed the arms with which he was attired,
And saw his horse unsaddled too meanwhiles;
Withdrawing to his chamber, he undressed
And lay down naked on his bed to rest.
109
Grifone had no sooner placed his head
Upon the pillow than he fell asleep.
No dormouse and no badger, be it said,
Enjoyed so sweet a slumber, nor so deep.
Meanwhile Martano Orrigille led
To an adjoining garden; there, to reap
Advantage from discomfiture, they plan
The strangest strategy devised by man.
110
Grifone’s horse and clothes and arms he meant
To take and, thus disguised, as though that knight
He were who that day in the tournament
Such proof had given of his skill and might,
To claim the victor’s prize was his intent.
He mounted then Grifone’s steed, as white
As milk, wearing his armour, crest and shield
And all the weapons he was wont to wield.
111
By squires escorted, and accompanied
By Orrigille, to the square he came
When evening fell, and at the time agreed
Concluded soon was every joust and game.
The king commands his heralds with all speed
To seek that noble cavalier whose name
He knows not but whose crest and horse are white,
And who the victor was in every fight.
112
So, in the armour of another man,
As once the donkey wore the lion’s skin,
On being summoned, as had been his plan,
In brave Grifone’s place, to Norandin
The villain went. Straightway the king began
To honour him; as if he were his kin
He welcomed him and, not content to praise him,
In every man’s esteem desired to raise him.
113
He bids the heralds sound their clarions
And name him victor of the games that day.
Through all the palisades the resonance
Of that base name reverberates. To pay
Him yet more honour, by his side he wants
The vile impostor as they ride away,
And on him as much graciousness confers
As if he had been Hercules or Mars.
114
To sumptuous apartments he was led
And Orrigille too is lodged likewise,
By high-born servitors accompanied
And chamberlains attired in courtly guise.
But of Grifone, now, who on his bed,
Fearing no trick or treacherous surprise,
Had fallen fast asleep, it’s time to speak.
Not until evening came did he awake.
115
When he arose and saw the hour was late,
He hastened from his room; there, plain to view,
Were traces of the flight of the ingrate,
Her so-called brother and their retinue.
At first he wondered what might be their fate,
But soon, on looking here and there, he knew.
His armour and his clothing all are gone
And in their place he finds Martano’s own.
116
The landlord of the inn describes to him
How they departed several hours ago,
And how the knight, white-clad in every limb,
Was mounted on a horse as white as snow.
To this Grifone listens, stern and grim.
The truth, concealed by love, he now must owe,
And to his grief at last he understands
What has occurred and how the matter stands.
117
In vain he rails at his stupidity,
When he has heard the landlord’s story through,
In having been the dupe of trickery
Of one who many times had proved untrue.
Would he had punished her duplicity!
But seeking now revenge upon his foe,
He is obliged to ride his very horse
And even wear his armour, which is worse.
118
Better it were to go unarmed and bare
Than put that evil traitor’s garments on,
Or his abominable buckler wear,
His banner flourish or his helmet don;
But in his longing to discover where
The harlot and her paramour have gone,
His reason is o’erswayed; and to the town
He rides an hour before the sun goes down.
119
And as he nears a gate, he sees not far
Upon the left-hand side a splendid pile,
Designed for pleasure rather than for war,
With rooms adorned in fair and costly style.
Therein the king and all his nobles are.
Together with their ladies, they beguile
The hours of evening, banqueting in state,
And the joust’s ending fitly celebrate.
120
Beyond the loggia where the feast is laid,
A broad and distant prospect they command.
Before their gaze the cornfields are displayed
And all the many roads on either hand.
Thus as Grifone towards the palace made,
Bearing those arms which bore a coward’s brand,
He was observed (of Fortune now the sport)
By Norandino and by all his court.
121
Mistaken for the wretch whose arms he wore,
He moved that company to jeer and jest,
Whereas Martano, who was honoured more
Than any courtier present at the feast,
Was seated by the king, and she who bore
No sisterly resemblance but can best
Be termed his equal sat near by. Their host
Enquired: ‘Who is this coward who can boast
122
‘So little pride that, after such display
Of craven fear as in the tournament
He made before our eyes this very day,
He comes towards us, bold and impudent?
Why did you make him your companion, pray?
No other would you find in all Levant
To equal him. Perhaps you keep him near,
That braver still in contrast you appear?
123
‘But by the gods in heaven above I vow
That were it not for my regard for you
I would have visited this wretch ere now
With public ignominy, as was due;
For never in my realm do I allow
Cowards to go unpunished; this is true.
And so if hence he unrewarded goes
You must believe that this to you he owes.’
124
And he, whose soul contained the sediments
Of every vice, replied: ‘O Sire esteemed,
I met this knight upon the road by chance,
Coming from Antiochia; he seemed,
As far as I could judge him at first glance,
A worthy cavalier, and so I deemed,
Having no reason to think otherwise,
Until today, when, to my great surprise
125
‘And grave displeasure, he betrayed such fear
And in his timorous retreat persisted.
To teaching him a lesson I was near,
On which there was no need to have insisted;
Yet for your Majesty, whom I revere,
I had respect and therefore I desisted.
But I have no desire he should go free
Because he travelled in my company.
126
‘My honour will be stained and on my heart
A grievous burden will for ever weigh
If to the shame of all he now depart
Unpunished and unharmed in any way.
Nay, rather would I see him, for my part,
Hanged from these very battlements today,
For that would be a deed of noble worth,
A warning to all cowards from henceforth.’
127
Martano’s words by Orrigille are
At once confirmed, but Norandin replies:
‘I do not think we need to go as far
As you suggest; the fault which in him lies
Is not so grave nor so irregular;
But for the punishment I now devise
I wish the people summoned to look on.’
And he gives orders what is to be done.
128
He sends a baron to the city gate.
A group of men-at-arms march at his side.
There by the bridge so silently they wait,
In ambuscade so patiently they hide,
Crouching unseen behind a parapet,
That when they hear that borrowed charger ride
Across the bridge, they leap upon their prey
And hold him prisoner till break of day.
129
The Sun his golden locks no sooner raised
From the sweet bosom of his ancient nurse
And from the mountain slopes the shadows chased,
While peak on peak he rendered clear and terse,
Than vile Martano cunningly appraised
His situation; fearing a reverse,
If brave Grifone’s words should undeceive
The king, he bade adieu and took his leave,
130
Finding excuses when the king expressed
The wish that he Grifone’s shame should see.
Many a gift upon the wretch was pressed
In token of his (not his) victory.
The highest honours which his realm possessed
The king bestowed upon him gratefully.
So let him now depart: I promise you,
He’ll not go far ere he receives his due.
131
Forth from the dungeon cell where he has lain
They drag Grifone to the crowded square.
To make his ignominy the more plain,
No helmet, no cuirass, they let him wear;
As though he went to market to be slain,
Dressed in a doublet, to the public stare
Exposed, upon a common cart they place him,
Harnessed to lean-flanked cattle to disgrace him.
132
Around this vile quadriga there appear
A crowd of harlots and of ancient crones.
Now this one and now that his charioteer
Pretends to be, and urges on with groans
The slowly-pacing cows; but most to fear
He has from bands of children, who fling stones
As well as insults; all restraint they lack
But, by good fortune, elders hold them back.
133
Those arms which were the cause of so much ill
And have misled the judgement of the king,
Are dragged behind the lowly vehicle
And to the dust his reputation bring.
Before a raised tribune the cart stands still,
And there, accompanied by trumpeting,
He hears the recitation to his face
Of deeds which are another man’s disgrace.
134
Next, as an object of contempt they show him,
Going the round of churches, workshops, houses,
That for a coward every man may know him.
No jibes, no taunts, no insults, no abuses,
Are anywhere withheld; then forth they throw him,
In final ignominy, as their use is,
Driving him from their midst with cuffs and blows,
For who he is not one among them knows.
135
No sooner were his hands and feet released,
Which till that moment had been tied with thongs,
His buckler and his sword Grifone seized,
Which in the dust had trailed. At last his wrongs
And sufferings, or so it seemed, had ceased.
To my next canto what came next belongs,
For it is time, my lord, to finish this,
Of which the length perhaps excessive is.