CANTO XXIV
1
Who in Love’s snare has stepped, let him recoil
Ere round his wings the cunning meshes close;
For what is love but madness after all,
As every wise man in the wide world knows?
Though it is true not everyone may fall
Into Orlando’s state, his frenzy shows
What perils lurk; what sign is there more plain
Than self-destruction, of a mind insane?
2
The various effects which from love spring
By one same madness are brought into play
It is a wood of error, menacing,
Where travellers perforce must lose their way;
One here, one there, it comes to the same thing.
To sum the matter up, then, I would say:
Who in old age the dupe of love remains
Deserving is of fetters and of chains.
3
You might well say: ‘My friend, you indicate
The faults of others; yours you do not see.’
But I reply: ‘I see the matter straight
In this brief moment of lucidity,
And I intend (if it is not too late)
To quit the dance and seek tranquillity.
And yet I fear my vow I cannot keep:
In me the malady has gone too deep.’
4
My lord, in my last canto I had said
That Count Orlando, of his wits bereft,
Scattered his armour and his clothing shed,
Even his trusty Durindana left.
He tore up trees, and noise to wake the dead
Resounded as caves, caverns, rocks he cleft.
To meet their fate or to atone for sin,
Shepherds ran forth, astonished by the din.
5
First, from far off they watch the madman show
A strength unheard-of; next, they draw too near,
Then turn to run, but where they do not know,
As happens when a man is gripped by fear.
The madman to pursue them is not slow.
He seizes one and is as quick to tear
His head off as a man might easily
Pluck blossom or an apple from a tree.
6
He swings the heavy body by one leg,
Using it as a club to beat the rest.
Two of them have no time or chance to beg
For mercy: until doomsday they will rest.
The footsteps of the others do not drag.
Of policies, they judge retreat is best.
The madman is diverted from the chase
And turns upon the flocks, which he now slays.
7
The peasants who were working in the fields,
Leaving their scythes, their mattocks and their ploughs,
Clamber to roof-tops or whatever yields
A vantage-point (not trusting to the boughs
Of trees) and watch the madman as he wields
His grisly weapon, or kills oxen, cows,
Tearing the hapless creatures limb from limb –
And swift indeed are those which flee from him.
8
A pandemonium one might have heard
Reverberate from every near-by town,
Of voices, horns and rustic trumpets, blurred
By bells which every other clamour drown.
With bows and clubs and spikes and slings, a herd,
About a thousand, from the hills leaps down,
While from the valleys many hundreds vault,
Resolved to take the madman by assault.
9
As when a wave rolls gently to the shore,
While playfully the south wind blows at first,
And as a second follows and then more,
Stronger and stronger, till at last they burst
With all their volume, and the sandy floor
Is lashed as though the sea would do its worst,
So now against Orlando mounts and swells
The hostile crowd which pours from hills and dells.
10
He slaughtered ten, and then another ten,
Who in disorder fell beneath his hand,
And from this demonstration it was plain
That safer farther off it was to stand.
His body none can injure and in vain
Their weapons strike him; God on high had planned
That he should be preserved inviolate,
Defender of the Faith decreed by fate.
11
Orlando ran a mortal risk that day
(Had he been capable of death, that is).
Just what it meant to throw his sword away
And then, unarmed, join in hostilities,
He would have learned, and what the price to pay.
The crowd retreats, and when Orlando sees
That nobody his movements now opposes,
He strides towards a little group of houses.
12
There not a single soul is to be found,
For all in terror of their lives have fled;
But humble viands everywhere abound
Which rustic folk find fitting for their need.
Unable to distinguish, I’ll be bound,
Between the vilest acorns and good bread,
He fell upon whatever food he saw,
And ate it ravenously, cooked or raw.
13
Then, as he roamed about the countryside,
He hunted animals, and humans too.
The nimble-footed creatures, terrified,
Goats, stags and does in vain before him flew.
With bears and with wild boars his strength he tried,
And many with his naked hands he slew;
Their flesh, quite raw, and innards, all complete,
With savage relish he would often eat.
14
Here, there, up, down, the length and breadth of France
He goes, till to a bridge he comes one day.
Beneath, a river flows, of broad expanse;
Steep, rocky banks its swirling waters stay.
Beside it is a tower, whence the glance
The land in all directions can survey.
But what he did there you will learn elsewhere,
For now about Zerbino you must hear.
15
After Orlando left, first for a while
Zerbino waited; then he took the route
Marked by the paladin; in leisured style
He rode, more at an amble than a trot.
He had not gone, I think, above a mile
Or two when he observed, bound hand and foot,
A knight upon a nag; and on each side,
Like guards, two cavaliers in armour ride.
16
Zerbino recognized the prisoner,
And so did Isabella, from close to,
For he was Odorico, in whose care
She had been placed. A wolf a tender ewe-
Lamb would protect as well, but trustier
Zerbino thought him and more staunch and true
Than all his friends, and so believed he could
Rely on him to guard her maidenhood.
17
Exactly what had happened, Isabel
Was vividly describing to him then:
How, when the vessel sank, as it befell,
She had survived, together with three men,
How Odorico tried to force her will,
How she was carried to the pirates’ den.
She had not finished all she had to say
Before they met the villain on their way.
18
The two who lead him captive know the truth.
They recognize the damsel instantly.
The knight beside her must be he who’s both
Her lover and their lord; and when they see
The markings on his shield, they’d take their oath
Those ancient signs betoken royalty.
When they come near enough to see his face,
They have no doubt at all about the case.
19
Dismounting from their steeds and kneeling down,
They clasp him where the humble clasp the great.
They bare their heads and, visible from crown
To chin, for his acknowledgement they wait.
Zerbino, staring with a puzzled frown,
Beholds thus paying homage at his feet
Corebo and Almonio, whom he
Had sent to bear his lady company.
20
Almonio spoke: ‘Since it has been God’s will
That Isabella should be here with you,
I understand full well, my lord, the ill
Report I have to give you is not new,
Of how this felon sought to wreak his will,
Whom as a prisoner between us two,
Fettered upon a nag, you now behold,
For she who suffered must all that have told.
21
‘How by this traitor I was tricked when he
Despatched me off to La Rochelle, you know,
And how Corebo, for his loyalty,
Was wounded by what seemed a fatal blow;
But what occurred when I returned to see
Your lady vanished and my friend struck low,
She could not tell you, for she was not there;
So now to tell you this, falls to my share.
22
‘From La Rochelle I galloped back again,
To bring the horses I was quick to find.
I gazed ahead, intent on the terrain,
Eager for signs of those I’d left behind.
Onward I ride, I look about in vain,
I reach the shore, now here, now there I wind;
Of my companions I can see no trace,
Save that a trail of footsteps marks the place.
23
‘I followed them; they led me to a wood,
Fearsome and dark. I’d gone but a short way
When from a sound of groans I understood
That therein someone sorely wounded lay:
It was Corebo, weak from loss of blood.
“What has become of Isabel?” I say,
“Of Odorico?” When the truth I knew,
After the traitor through the woods I flew.
24
‘In vain all the surroundings I explore,
Wherever labyrinthine pathways lead.
Then I return to where Corebo’s gore
Has stained the earth around so deep a red
That, had he lingered there a little more
A grave he would have needed, not a bed,
And priests to bury him with solemn prayer,
Having long passed beyond a doctor’s care.
25
‘Help came and he was borne to La Rochelle.
The landlord of an inn, who was my friend,
Summoned a surgeon, old and of great skill.
The wounds in a short time began to mend
Clad in new arms and on new steeds as well
We scoured the countryside from end to end
In search of Odorico; in Bisca
We came upon him at the court one day.
26
‘The justice of the king (who a free field
Allows,) the truth, which the Almighty sees,
And Fortune also, who is wont to yield
The victory wherever she may please,
So aid me that the traitor scarce can wield
His lance against me; and I captive seize
The felon. When the king his crime had heard
He let me deal with him as I preferred.
27
‘I had no wish to sentence him untried,
But as you see, to bring him to you, chained.
It is for you to judge him and decide
If he deserves to die or be detained.
News that you rallied to King Charles’s side
Brought me from Spain to seek you in this land.
Now I thank God, who led me to this place,
Where I least hoped to meet you face to face.
28
‘I thank Him also that your Isabel
(I know not how) is safely in your care,
Of whom good tidings, after what befell,
And at whose hands, I never thought to hear.’
To everything Almonio has to tell
Zerbino listens, fixing with a stare
The villain, Odorico, less in hate
Than sorrow for their friendship, and regret.
29
And when Almonio his story ends,
Zerbino stands perplexed for a long while:
That one whom least of all his many friends
He would suspect of treachery and guile
Should have betrayed him for his lustful ends,
With what once was he fails to reconcile.
He sighs and, from his stupor coming to,
He asks the captive if these things are true.
30
The traitor fell at once upon his knees
And said these specious words in his defence:
‘My lord, each one of us a sinner is.
Between the good and bad the difference
Is only that the latter is with ease
Defeated by desire and then repents.
The other takes up arms against the foe,
But he too by one stronger is brought low.
31
‘If you had trusted me to guard a fort
And I had yielded at the first attack,
Hoisting, without defence of any sort,
The banners of the foe, you would not lack,
On hearing tidings of such ill report,
Terms of abuse to heap upon my back;
But if I long resisted, I am sure
My fame and glory would for long endure.
32
‘The more redoubtable the enemy,
The more acceptable is the excuse
Of him who has to cede the victory;
And like a fortress ringed about with foes,
I knew that I must guard my loyalty;
And so, with all the prudence I could use,
With heart and soul I tried, but to my shame
My passion my resistance overcame.’
33
Thus Odorico spoke, and added then
Still more which it were lengthy to relate,
Showing how sharp his sufferings had been,
How fierce the lash, how agonized his state.
If ever prayers the wrath of angry men,
If ever humble words the heart placate,
Then surely Odorico must succeed,
So skilfully and ably can he plead.
34
Revenge for such an injury to take –
’Twixt yes and no Zerbino’s will is hung,
And difficult he finds the choice to make:
Only the felon’s death would right the wrong,
And yet he hesitates for friendship’s sake,
That bond which had united them so long,
The water of compassion in his heart
Quenches his rage and counsels mercy’s part.
35
And while Zerbino hesitated still
Whether to take as captive or to free,
Whether to castigate, or yet to kill
The miscreant for his disloyalty,
The horse which Mandricardo, as you will
Recall, had left unbridled, rapidly
Approached, bearing the hag who not long since
Contrived to bring such peril to the prince.
36
The palfrey, hearing hoofs, had pricked its ears
And galloped at full speed across the plain
To join its kind; the harridan, in tears,
Shrieked all the while for help, but shrieked in vain.
Zerbino, when he sees her, offers prayers
Of thanks that Heaven so benign has been
As to deliver in his hands those two:
For them alone hatred from him was due.
37
Zerbino first detains the evil crone
Till he decides what he will do with her.
Cut off her nose and both her ears is one
Good method evil-doers to deter;
To let the vultures pick clean every bone
Would be another: which does he prefer?
On punishments of many kinds he muses
And one solution finally he chooses.
38
He turned to his companions and declared:
‘I am content to let the traitor live;
Although he does not merit to be spared,
Yet neither does he merit to receive
The final penalty; I am prepared
To let him be released – this boon I give.
I see his error was the fault of love
And this the guilt in great part must remove.
39
‘For love has many times turned upside down
A mind more stable and more sound than his.
Greater excess is laid to love’s renown
And greater outrage than our injuries.
Not Odorico is to blame; I own
I am the culprit, mine the error is.
I should be punished, having been so blind.
That fire burns straw I should have borne in mind.’
40
Then, fixing Odorico with his eye,
‘The penalty for your misdeed shall be
That for a year you shall be followed by
This agèd crone and on your company’
(He said) ‘both night and day she shall rely,
At every hour, wherever you may be;
And with your very life you must defend her
Against whoever threatens to offend her.
41
‘And I decree that you shall undertake,
At her command, with whomso’er may chance,
To engage in mortal strife; and you shall make
From town to town this quest throughout all France.’
Such was Zerbino’s judgement; for the sake
Of mercy he had spared the miscreant’s
Unworthy life, but dug a ditch too deep.
Across it (save by luck) he’d never leap.
42
The evil crone had injured and betrayed
So many men and women in her time,
Whoever at her side a journey made
Would meet with challengers in every clime.
Thus equally they both would be repaid,
She for her evil deeds, he for the crime
Of having pledged to champion the wrong,
Whence he was bound to meet his death ere long.
43
Then Prince Zerbino made the traitor swear
A sacred oath that he would keep the pact;
But if he should break faith, let him beware,
For if by any chance Zerbino tracked
Him down, no pleas this time would make him spare
His life: a cruel death let him expect.
Then to Corebo and Almonio
Zerbino turned, and bade them let him go.
44
Reluctantly obeying, they untied
The traitor finally, but not in haste,
For both of them were vexed and mortified
So sweet a moment of revenge to waste.
Then through the forest the two villains ride,
Passing together from the scene at last.
What next befell them, Turpin does not say;
I read it in another book one day.
45
I will not tell you who the author is.
He writes that ere a single day went by,
Breaking his oath, to rid himself of his
Encumbrance, quickly managing to tie
A rope about her neck with expertise,
He left her dangling from an elm near by;
And a year thence (the place I do not know)
He met the same death from Almonio.
46
Zerbino, who was following the track
Of great Orlando, which he must not lose,
Now saw the chance to send a message back
To reassure his troops; for this he chose
Almonio and gave him too (I lack
The time to quote his words) the latest news.
Corebo with Almonio he sends
And thus he parts with both his faithful friends.
47
His love for the brave paladin was great
And Isabella loved him too no less,
And for this reason he resolved to wait,
Eager to hear the tale of his success
Against the Tartar knight, whom soon or late
He would be bound to meet; he’d soon redress
The outrage of being hoisted off his horse
Zerbino lets the three days run their course
48
During this time for which Orlando bade
Zerbino wait till Mandricard should come,
Along no pathway and along no glade
The Count had travelled did he fail to roam,
And he arrived at last beneath the shade
Of trees on which the faithless damsel, whom
Orlando loved, inscribed Medoro’s name,
And to the broken cave and fount he came.
49
Glimpsing an object shining on the ground,
He recognized it as the Count’s cuirass;
And next, a little farther off, he found
A helmet (not Almonte’s, but of brass).
Then, startled by an unexpected sound
Of whinnying, he sees, cropping the grass,
Its bridle from its saddle hanging loose,
The famous Brigliadoro he well knows.
50
He searched for Durindana through the wood.
He found it lying there, without its sheath;
And next he saw Orlando’s surcoat, strewed
In countless pieces; both the lovers, with
Their faces woebegone and pensive, stood
Amazed; these did not seem the signs of death.
Over all possibilities they ranged,
Save that Orlando’s wits had been deranged.
51
They might have thought Orlando had been slain
But for the fact that nowhere could they see
A drop of blood nor any gruesome stain.
Along the stream a shepherd hurriedly
Approached; pale and distraught, he had seen plain
The tokens of the victim’s malady:
How he had torn his clothing, strewn his arms,
Killed shepherds with their flocks, and ravaged farms.
52
Zerbino, who interrogates the man
Receives a true account of what has passed.
He tries to credit it, but scarcely can,
Though everywhere the signs are manifest.
Dismounting from his charger, he began,
Filled with compassion, tearful and downcast,
To gather up the remnants where they lay,
Scattered some here, some there, as best he may.
53
And Isabella leaves her palfrey too
And gathers all the weapons in one pile.
As they are thus engaged, a damsel who
Is tearful and forlorn draws near meanwhile.
If you should ask to what her grief is due,
And who it is who sorrows in such style,
Her name is Fiordiligi, I’d reply;
She searches for her loved one low and high.
54
When Brandimarte left the city gate
Without a word to Charles or to his love,
She waited for him some six months or eight.
Resolved, when he did not return, to rove
Through France from coast to coast to learn his fate,
The Alps, the Pyrenees, below, above,
She searched, looking in every place except
The one where as a captive he was kept.
55
If she had visited that hostelry
Created by Atlante’s magic spell,
She would have seen him wandering aimlessly,
Gradasso, Ferraù, the Maid as well,
Ruggiero and Orlando, even he;
But when Astolfo blew that terrible
Loud blast, to Paris Brandimart returned,
But this, fair Fiordiligi had not learned.
56
As I have said, she happened now by chance
On those two lovers in their deep distress.
She recognized Orlando’s arms at once
And Brigliadoro too, left riderless,
His bridle hanging free; and at one glance
She understands the signs, for she no less
Has heard the story from the shepherd lad
Of how he watched Orlando running mad.
57
Zerbino gathers all the weapons there
And hangs them up in order on a pine.
On the green bark this legend, brief and clear,
He writes: ‘Arms of Orlando, paladin’,
By this inscription meaning to deter
Whoever saw the splendid trophy shine,
As though to say: ‘Hands off, all who pass by,
Unless Orlando’s strength you wish to try.’
58
His pious labours being completed then,
Zerbino was preparing to remount
When Mandricardo came upon the scene.
He asks Zerbino for a full account:
What does the splendour on the pine-tree mean?
The Prince relates the truth about the Count.
The pagan monarch, wholly undeterred,
In joyful triumph takes Orlando’s sword.
59
He cried: ‘This, nobody can take away.
Here on this spot I seize it rightfully,
For I laid claim to it before today,
And will again, wherever it may be.
Orlando feigns his wits have gone astray,
Rather than stand and hold his ground with me.
If thus he thinks he can excuse his fright,
That is no reason to forgo my right.’
60
Zerbino shouted, ‘Do not touch that sword,
Or think that you can seize it undefied.
The blade of Hector does not well accord
With such a thief as you!’ At once they ride
Against each other with no further word,
Two paragons of prowess, each well-tried.
The wood already echoes with the din,
Almost the very moment they begin.
61
Twisting and turning like a living flame,
Zerbino dodged where Durindana fell.
As nimble as a doe his horse became,
Leaping now here, now there; and it is well
It yielded not one jot in such a game,
Else were the prince despatched at once to dwell
Among his fellow-sufferers in love
Whose mingling shadows haunt the myrtle-grove.
62
Just as a hound will rush towards the boar
Which in the fields has wandered from its herd,
And round it run in circles, ever more,
Until to a mistake the prey is lured,
So, as the weapon flashed above him or
Below him, Prince Zerbino never erred,
Striving his best to see, in all the strife,
How he might save both honour and his life.
63
But when the pagan plied his sword, the sound
With whining, whistling winds might well compare
Which through the mountain peaks in March resound,
Or seize the forest by its tangled hair,
Bending the tree-tops down to kiss the ground,
And whirling broken branches through the air.
Although the prince avoided many blows,
One finally was sure to come too close.
64
One mighty stroke at last achieved its aim.
Between his sword and shield it reached his breast.
His mail was thick, his corslet was the same,
His metal apron too was of the best,
Yet through them passed that sword of cruel fame.
They being unequal to this crucial test,
Nothing resisted the descending blow
Which slashed from mid-breast to the saddle-bow.
65
If Mandricardo’s stroke had fallen true,
It would have split Zerbino like a cane;
But as it scarcely penetrated to
The living flesh, the wound was in the main
Inflicted on the skin; a span or two
Perhaps in length, it caused a shallow pain
And in a crimson stream the blood ran hot,
Streaking his shining armour to the foot.
66
Thus have I often seen a scarlet band
Of ribbon on a silver dress, with art
By such device divided by that hand,
Whiter than alabaster, which my heart,
Alas! divides. Zerbino’s courage and
His skill in war play now but little part.
That Tartar monarch, as his strokes evince,
In strength, as well as sword, outdoes the prince.
67
This blow of Mandricardo’s had appeared
More deadly than it was in its effect
And Isabella, looking on, had feared
The worst (nor could she otherwise suspect).
It froze her bosom and with horror seared
Her heart. Zerbino’s daring is unchecked.
Enraged, he takes his sword in both his hands
And on the Tartar’s head a blow he lands.
68
Down to his charger’s neck the Saracen,
For all his pride, was bowed by such a stroke.
Only his magic helmet saved him then;
So mighty was the crash it almost broke
His skull; not waiting to count up to ten,
Or to defer revenge, the pagan took
His sword and raised it high above the crest,
Hoping to split Zerbino to his breast.
69
Zerbino called both eye and mind to aid
And turned his charger quickly to the right,
But not so fast as to escape the blade,
Which caught his shield and through the centre, quite
From top to bottom, two half portions made.
The thong beneath was severed, and the knight
Received upon his arm the blow, which passed,
Piercing his armour, to his thigh at last.
70
Now here, now there, Zerbino tries to break,
But all in vain, through his opponent’s guard,
For not one blemish all his blows can make
Upon the armour of King Mandricard;
But he can now a good advantage take,
And presses back his enemy so hard
(Whose shield and helm are broken) that his blade
Has seven or eight relentless gashes made.
71
But though the prince was weak from loss of blood,
Of his condition he was unaware.
His vigorous and valiant heart withstood
The strain and he was able still to bear
His body upright; meanwhile in the wood,
His lady, pale with terror, to the fair
Young Doralice turns, and begs her end
The deadly strife in which the two contend.
72
Being courteous as well as beautiful
(And being uncertain who will win the fight),
She gladly now persuades her love to call
A truce; and Isabella, too, her knight
Beseeches so successfully that all
His anger from his heart is put to flight.
Letting her choose the path, he rides away
And unconcluded leaves the bitter fray.
73
And Fiordiligi, who has also seen
The trusty sword of the unhappy Count
Plied to such ill effect, feels woe as keen.
She weeps and strikes her brow at this affront.
Ah, would that Brandimart had present been!
And if she ever finds him, she’ll recount
The whole, and when he learns what has occurred
Not long will Mandricardo flaunt that sword!
74
She went on searching night and day in vain
For Brandimart, for whose embrace she yearned,
But he, who could have healed her grief and pain,
Unknown to her to Paris had returned.
She wandered over hill and over plain,
Till, as she crossed a river, she discerned
And recognized the frenzied paladin.
But let us say what happened to Zerbin.
75
To leave the sword so shames him as a knight,
It pains him more than any other ill,
Though he can barely sit his horse upright
For all the blood he’s lost, and loses still.
Heat, by his anger kindled, has now quite
Departed, while his grief increases till
It rushes through his veins and, as it grows,
He feels his life-force ebbing to its close.
76
Too weak to travel farther, with a sigh
He stopped beside a stream and down he lay.
To help him Isabella longs to try.
She knows not what to do, nor what to say
And, failing proper care, she sees him die.
All habitations are too far away
Where to a doctor she might find access,
Invoking pity or his worldliness.
77
So she can only call upon the skies,
Reproaching Fortune and her fate in vain:
‘Ah, why was I not drowned, alas!’ she cries,
‘When first my ship set out upon the main?’
On her Zerbino turns his languid eyes.
Her lamentations cause him greater pain
Than all his wounds, which no respite allow
And to the point of death have brought him now.
78
‘My only grief, dear heart,’ Zerbino said,
‘Is that I leave you helpless and alone.
If you will love me after I am dead,
I’ll have no vain regrets when I am gone.
If in some safer place my life were shed,
These few last moments had serenely flown:
Contented, happy and entirely blest
That, dying, in your loving arms I rest.
79
‘But since I am condemned to leave you here,
A victim of whoever first goes past,
By this sweet mouth, by these sweet eyes, I swear,
And by these tresses which have bound me fast,
Though I go down to Hell in my despair,
Yet every punishment will be surpassed
When thoughts of you arise whom I have left
Abandoned here without me and bereft.’
80
And Isabella, infinitely sad,
Bending a tearful countenance to his
And touchin with her own his mouth, which had
The languor of a rose whose season is
Gone by, whose beauty, paling in the shade,
No passer-by has plucked and no one sees,
She answered thus: ‘My life, do not believe
Your spirit shall without me take its leave.
81
‘Of this, I do beseech, my love, doubt not:
I’ll follow you to Heaven or to Hell.
Our souls, from one same bow together shot,
Still fly as one and thus will ever dwell.
As soon as I have seen those dear eyes shut,
My grief all suffering will so excel
That I will die, or else, I give my word,
Into my breast today I’ll plunge this sword.
82
‘And for our bodies I at least have hope
That better dead than living they may fare,
For someone passing by perchance may stop
And in one sepulchre, with pious care,
May bury them.’ Her welling tears now drop
Where with her lips, ere Death the Plunderer
Has done his worst, his fleeting breath she drains
While yet some vital sign of it remains.
83
Exerting his now faltering voice, he spoke:
‘Belovèd, I entreat you by that love
You showed me when for me you once forsook
Your father’s shores, live out your life enough
To reach the time allotted in the book
Of destiny, as God has willed above.
This I command you, if command I may.
How deep my love was, ne’er forget, I pray.
84
‘God may perhaps provide a means to save
You from all villainous attack, as when
He sent Orlando to the pirates’ cave
To rescue you from those rapacious men.
Thanks also to His aid, the ocean wave
Did not engulf you; by His help again
You managed Odorico to defy.
But if all fails, then be content to die.’
85
I do not think this final utterance
Could be distinctly heard; as fading light,
For lack of wax or other sustenance
Subsides and is extinguished, so the knight
Expired. Who can the sorrowing desolance
Of Isabella in her wretched plight
Convey, as pale her dear love lies, and cold
As ice the form which now her arms enfold?
86
Uon his blood-stained body she then flings
Her own, and bathes him with her streaming tears.
Her shrieks awaken distant echoings.
Neither her bosom nor her cheeks she spares,
But rends the tender flesh, the curling rings
Of her gold tresses, in her frenzy, tears
Unjustly from her head, while in her pain
She cries, unceasing, the loved name in vain.
87
So deep her rage, so wild her ravings seem,
Which sorrow has induced, the maid might well
Have plunged the sword into her breast, I deem
Thus disobeying her Zerbino’s will,
But that a hermit, who the crystal stream
Was wont to visit from his near-by cell,
Arriving at that instant, her intent
Was able, by persuasion, to prevent,
88
This venerable hermit goodness joined
To natural prudence and was well endowed
With charitable feeling; every kind
Of precept he could quote, if time allowed.
On the afflicted damsel he enjoined
Patient endurance, and good reasons showed,
And many virtuous women instanced too
From the Old Testament and from the New.
89
And then he showed her that true happiness
In life was to be found in God alone.
All other hopes, all other earthly bliss,
Were transitory, fluid and soon flown.
He urged so justly, from her pitiless
Intention he dissuaded her quite soon,
And she resolved, so well she understood,
To dedicate her life henceforth to God.
90
But she has no intention to abjure
Her love, or to neglect her lord’s remains,
For, to protect the body and ensure
Its safe interment in due course, she plans
To keep it by her, night and day; the pure
And holy man, still strong in back and reins,
Helps her to lay the prince upon his horse,
Which stands dejected, and they take their course.
91
The prudent hermit did not deem it wise
To take the young and lovely Isabel
To the wild mountain-cave, wherein there lies,
Not far away, his solitary cell.
He thinks: ‘A conflagration will arise
If in one hand I bear a torch as well
As straw.’ He does not trust either his age
Or prudence in such trial to engage.
92
So he resolves to take her to Provence.
Close to Marseilles, he knows a castle where
A sisterhood, in holy, abstinence,
A convent has established, rich and fair.
And at another castle, which by chance
They come upon, for the dead cavalier
Is made, at their request, a coffin which
Is long, capacious and well sealed with pitch.
93
They travel many miles for many days.
Since war is raging everywhere they turn,
They choose the rough and least frequented ways,
For to be unobserved is their concern.
At last a knight obstructs their path and says
Ignoble words of insult; you shall learn
His name when later I return to him;
But now King Mandricardo is my theme.
94
When he had ceased from battle, the young king
Sat down to rest a while in cooling shade,
Taking his ease beside the crystal spring,
And from his charger reins and saddle had
Removed,letting it go meandering
To graze at will. Not long like this he stayed,
Ere his attention was aroused again
On seeing a knight descending to the plain.
95
As soon as Doralice raised her brow,
She recognized the cavalier and to
The king she said, ‘Proud Rodomonte now
Approaches down the hill to challenge you,
Unless my eyes deceive me; and I vow
All valour and resolve you must renew.
He holds the loss of me, his bride, a great
Outrage; his claim he comes to vindicate.’
96
As when a well-trained hawk a duck or quail
Or dove or partridge or like bird has seen
Winging towards it from some distant trail
And its bright head has reared, alert and keen,
So now the king, like one who could not fail
To slaughter Rodomonte, and has been
Awaiting this encounter, with delight
And confidence remounted for the fight.
97
They rode towards each other and from where
The haughty interchanges could be heard
Waving his trusty weapon in the air
The monarch of Algiers, by fury stirred,
Tossing his head in menace, cried: ‘Beware!’,
And vowed, his frenzy mounting with each word,
His rival would repent the outrage shown
To him, and the rash deed which he had done.
98
And Mandricard replied: ‘He tries in vain
Who tries to frighten or to threaten me.
Children or women take alarm, or men
Who never battle know or weapons see:
Not I, who love all combat and would fain
Spend day and night in strife, whether it be
On foot, on horse, unarmed, in arms arrayed,
In fields of battle, or in the stockade.’
99
They pass to oaths, with insults interspersed,
To swords unsheathed, to clash of blade on blade,
As when a wind, which softly blew at first,
The ash and oak-tree back and forward swayed,
And day, by clouds of dust, to night reversed,
Uprooted trees, and houses flattened laid,
Vessels submerged at sea, and in the wood
The scattered sheep destroyed by storm or flood.
100
The pagans, who no equals have on earth,
With their last ounce of strength, from their brave
To fearful blows and battle now give birth, [hearts,
Befitting foes of such ferocious parts.
The globe reverberates in all its girth
Soon as the clamour of the combat starts.
Sparks from the clashing blades to heaven rise,
Lighting a thousand lanterns in the skies.
101
Taking no rest, nor stopping to take breath,
The kings no respite have in their travail.
Now on this side, now that, above, beneath,
They try to pierce the armour and the mail.
Though they pursue the battle to the death,
In gaining terrain neither can prevail
(Perhaps the ground there costs too much an inch),
Nor stir beyond the compass of a trench.
102
Among a thousand blows, the Tartar king
One blow now deals on Rodomonte’s head,
Both hands upon the sword, such as to bring
A myriad of lights, whirling at speed
Before his eyes, more than the stars that ring
The world; then backwards on his startled steed
He bends and from his saddle, all strength gone,
He dangles, with his lady looking on.
103
As when a sturdy and well-fashioned bow,
With finely tempered metal reinforced,
By winches and by levers is bent low,
The heavier the weight by which it’s forced,
The greater is the fury it will show
On its release, nor does it come off worst,
So Rodomonte rises instantly
With doubled strength to strike his enemy.
104
And where he had been struck, in that same place
He likewise hit the son of Agrican,
And yet the weapon failed to cleave his face,
His helm protects him as none other can.
The Tartar was so stunned he lost all trace
Of what o’clock it was; the African,
Who now was so enraged that he saw red,
Brought down a second blow upon his head.
105
The charger, flinching from the deadly sword,
Which whistles as it menaces on high,
Now, to its own undoing, saves its lord,
As, backing a few steps, it means to try
To leap well out of range, but in reward
Receives the impact on its skull, which by
No Trojan helm (unlike its master’s crown)
Defended was; stone dead it tumbles down.
106
No longer stunned, the king leaps to his feet
And brandishes his blade, burning inside
And out with fury that his horse should meet
Its death. The African intends to ride
Him down and spurs his charger; no retreat
The Tartar makes, nor does he turn aside.
A rock does not withdraw before the flood:
The charger fell and Mandricardo stood.
107
Feeling his charger sink beneath his thighs,
The African has grasped the saddle-bow.
Letting his stirrups dangle, he relies
On his dexterity and leaps below.
On equal footing now, and in no wise
Placated, they resume; with every blow
Their hatred, pride and anger are increased:
But suddenly an envoy comes in haste.
108
This envoy was among the messengers
Sent by King Agramant throughout all France
To rally all the private cavaliers
And captains, for, with deadly arrogance,
The fleurs-de-lis, inflicting dire reverse,
Had ravaged all the camp; and if at once
Help is not mustered and despatched, says he,
The slaughter of the Moors will certain be.
109
He recognized the foemen straight away,
Not by their surcoats or their crests, as much
As by the swordsmanship which they display;
No other hands were capable of such.
He does not dare to intervene that day,
Nor as an envoy with his baton touch
Their blades; though he’s a king’s ambassador,
He does not trust immunity so far.
110
Approaching Doralice in their stead,
He says King Agramant and Stordilan
And King Marsilio, with few to aid,
In their encampment by the Christian clan
Are sorely pressed; he begs her to persuade
The valiant warriors, as best she can,
From their ferocious combat to desist
And hasten back to Paris to assist,
111
The lady, with great courage, stands between
The combatants and says: ‘Stop, I command!
If you both love me, let it now be seen.
Put up your swords; save them to put an end
To the great peril which the Saracen
Now faces; ringed by foes on every hand,
Our people, lacking all defences, wait
For help – or ruin, if help comes too late.’
112
And then the fate to which they’d all succumb
The ambassador outlined; when he had done,
He duly handed letters-patent from
Troiano’s son to Ulieno’s son.
The warriors cannot refuse to come.
On this decision they agree as one:
To call a truce to last until the day
When the besiegers have been chased away.
113
And they resolved that without more ado,
Once they secured the safety of their side,
Their former enmity they would renew,
Forgetting comradeship, and then decide,
By cruel tests of arms, which of the two
The more deserved the lady as his bride.
Upon her hands this oath they swore, and she
For their good faith as knights stood guarantee.
114
Dame Discord by this plan is much put out,
Being a sworn enemy of truce and peace.
And Pride likewise begins to sulk and pout.
She cannot bear such rivalry to cease;
But Love is also present, who can flout
Them both and put an end to their caprice.
All-conquering, his arrows are enough
To drive Dame Discord and her ally off.
115
The truce was duly sworn, as I have said,
As she desired who had command of them.
They lacked one horse, for Mandricard’s lay dead
And nothing further could be hoped of him.
But Brigliadoro came to meet their need,
From where he cropped the grasses by the stream.
My lord, this canto is concluded now,
So I will make a pause, if you’ll allow.