18 - Ariosto - Orlando Furioso

Lodovico Ariosto Orlando Furioso Translated by William Stewart Rose CANTO I I Of loves and ladies, knights and arms, I sing, Of courtesies, and many a daring feat; And from those ancient days my story bring, When Moors from Afric passed in hostile fleet, And ravaged France, with Agramant their king, Flushed with his youthful rage and furious heat, Who on king Charles', the Roman emperor's head Had vowed due vengeance for Troyano dead. II

In the same strain of Roland will I tell Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme, On whom strange madness and rank fury fell, A man esteemed so wise in former time; If she, who to like cruel pass has well Nigh brought my feeble wit which fain would climb And hourly wastes my sense, concede me skill And strength my daring promise to fulfil. III Good seed of Hercules, give ear and deign, Thou that this age's grace and splendour art, Hippolitus, to smile upon his pain Who tenders what he has with humble heart. For though all hope to quit the score were vain, My pen and pages may pay the debt in part; Then, with no jealous eye my offering scan, Nor scorn my gifts who give thee all I can. IV And me, amid the worthiest shalt thou hear, Whom I with fitting praise prepare to grace, Record the good Rogero, valiant peer, The ancient root of thine illustrious race. Of him, if thou wilt lend a willing ear, The worth and warlike feats I shall retrace; So thou thy graver cares some little time Postponing, lend thy leisure to my rhyme. V Roland, who long the lady of Catay, Angelica, had loved, and with his brand Raised countless trophies to that damsel gay, In India, Median, and Tartarian land, Westward with her had measured back his way; Where, nigh the Pyrenees, with many a band Of Germany and France, King Charlemagne Had camped his faithful host upon the plain. VI To make King Agramant, for penance, smite His cheek, and rash Marsilius rue the hour; This, when all trained with lance and sword to fight, He led from Africa to swell his power; That other when he pushed, in fell despite, Against the realm of France Spain's martial flower.

'Twas thus Orlando came where Charles was tented In evil hour, and soon the deed repented. VII For here was seized his dame of peerless charms, (How often human judgment wanders wide)! Whom in long warfare he had kept from harms, From western climes to eastern shores her guide In his own land, 'mid friends and kindred arms, Now without contest severed from his side. Fearing the mischief kindled by her eyes, From him the prudent emperor reft the prize. VIII For bold Orlando and his cousin, free Rinaldo, late contended for the maid, Enamored of that beauty rare; since she Alike the glowing breast of either swayed. But Charles, who little liked such rivalry, And drew an omen thence of feebler aid, To abate the cause of quarrel, seized the fair, And placed her in Bavarian Namus' care. IX Vowing with her the warrior to content, Who in that conflict, on that fatal day, With his good hand most gainful succour lent, And slew most paynims in the martial fray. But counter to his hopes the battle went, And his thinned squadrons fled in disarray; Namus, with other Christian captains taken, And his pavilion in the rout forsaken. X There, lodged by Charles, that gentle bonnibel, Ordained to be the valiant victor's meed, Before the event had sprung into her sell, And from the combat turned in time of need; Presaging wisely Fortune would rebel That fatal day against the Christian creed: And, entering a thick wood, discovered near, In a close path, a horseless cavalier. XI With shield upon his arm, in knightly wise, Belted and mailed, his helmet on his head;

The knight more lightly through the forest hies Than half-clothed churl to win the cloth of red. But not from cruel snake more swiftly flies The timid shepherdess, with startled tread, Than poor Angelica the bridle turns When she the approaching knight on foot discerns. XII This was that Paladin, good Aymon's seed, Who Mount Albano had in his command; And late Baiardo lost, his gallant steed, Escaped by strange adventure from his hand. As soon as seen, the maid who rode at speed The warrior knew, and, while yet distant, scanned The angelic features and the gentle air Which long had held him fast in Cupid's snare. XIII The affrighted damsel turns her palfrey round, And shakes the floating bridle in the wind; Nor in her panic seeks to choose her ground, Nor open grove prefers to thicket blind. But reckless, pale and trembling, and astound, Leaves to her horse the devious way to find. He up and down the forest bore the dame, Till to a sylvan river's bank he came. XIV Here stood the fierce Ferrau in grisly plight, Begrimed with dust, and bathed with sweat and blood Who lately had withdrawn him from the fight, To rest and drink at that refreshing flood: But there had tarried in his own despite, Since bending from the bank, in hasty mood, He dropped his helmet in the crystal tide, And vainly to regain the treasure tried. XV Thither at speed she drives, and evermore In her wild panic utters fearful cries; And at the voice, upleaping on the shore, The Saracen her lovely visage spies. And, pale as is her cheek, and troubled sore, Arriving, quickly to the warrior's eyes (Though many days no news of her had shown) The beautiful Angelica is known.

XVI Courteous, and haply gifted with a breast As warm as either of the cousins two; As bold, as if his brows in steel were dressed, The succour which she sought he lent, and drew His faulchion, and against Rinaldo pressed, Who saw with little fear the champion true. Not only each to each was known by sight, But each had proved in arms his foeman's might. XVII Thus, as they are, on foot the warriors vie In cruel strife, and blade to blade oppose; No marvel plate or brittle mail should fly, When anvils had not stood the deafening blows. It now behoves the palfrey swift to ply His feet; for while the knights in combat close, Him vexed to utmost speed, with goading spurs, By waste or wood the frighted damsel stirs. XVIII After the two had struggled long to throw Each other in the strife, and vainly still; Since neither valiant warrior was below His opposite in force and knightly skill: The first to parley with his Spanish foe Was the good master of Albano's hill (As one within whose raging breast was pent A reckless fire which struggled for a vent). XIX "Thou think'st," he said, "to injure me alone, But know thou wilt thyself as much molest: For if we fight because yon rising sun This raging heat has kindled in thy breast. What were thy gain, and what the guerdon won, Though I should yield my life, or stoop my crest; If she shall never be thy glorious meed, Who flies, while vainly we in battle bleed? XX "Then how much better, since our stake's the same, Thou, loving like myself, should'st mount and stay To wait this battle's end, the lovely dame, Before she fly yet further on her way. The lady taken, we repeat our claim

With naked faulchion to that peerless prey: Else by long toil I see not what we gain But simple loss and unrequited pain." XXI The peer's proposal pleased the paynim well. And so their hot contention was foregone; And such fair truce replaced that discord fell, So mutual wrongs forgot and mischief done; That for departure seated in his sell, On foot the Spaniard left not Aymon's son; But him to mount his courser's crupper prayed; And both united chased the royal maid. XXII Oh! goodly truth in cavaliers of old! Rivals they were, to different faith were bred. Not yet the weary warriors' wounds were cold -Still smarting from those strokes so fell and dread. Yet they together ride by waste and wold, And, unsuspecting, devious dingle thread. Them, while four spurs infest his foaming sides, Their courser brings to where the way divides. XXIII And now the warlike pair at fault, for they Knew not by which she might her palfrey goad, (Since both, without distinction, there survey The recent print of hoofs on either road), Commit the chase to fortune. By this way The paynim pricked, by that Rinaldo strode. But fierce Ferrau, bewildered in the wood, Found himself once again where late he stood. ...........................

CANTO XXIII ............................ C The course in pathless woods, which, without rein, The Tartar's charger had pursued astray, Made Roland for two days, with fruitless pain,

Follow him, without tidings of his way. Orlando reached a rill of crystal vein, On either bank of which a meadow lay; Which, stained with native hues and rich, he sees, And dotted o'er with fair and many trees. CI The mid-day fervour made the shelter sweet To hardy herd as well as naked swain; So that Orlando, well beneath the heat Some deal might wince, opprest with plate and chain. He entered, for repose, the cool retreat, And found it the abode of grief and pain; And place of sojourn more accursed and fell, On that unhappy day, than tongue can tell. CII Turning him round, he there, on many a tree, Beheld engraved, upon the woody shore, What as the writing of his deity He knew, as soon as he had marked the lore. This was a place of those described by me, Whither ofttimes, attended by Medore, From the near shepherd's cot had wont to stray The beauteous lady, sovereign of Catay. CIII In a hundred knots, amid those green abodes, In a hundred parts, their cyphered names are dight; Whose many letters are so many goads, Which Love has in his bleeding hear-core pight. He would discredit in a thousand modes, That which he credits in his own despite; And would parforce persuade himself, that rhind Other Angelica than his had signed. CIV "And yet I know these characters," he cried, "Of which I have so many read and seen; By her may this Medoro be belied, And me, she, figured in the name, may mean." Feeding on such like phantasies, beside The real truth, did sad Orlando lean Upon the empty hope, though ill contented, Which he by self-illusions had fomented. CV

But stirred and aye rekindled it, the more That he to quench the ill suspicion wrought, Like the incautious bird, by fowler's lore, Hampered in net or line; which, in the thought To free its tangled pinions and to soar, By struggling, is but more securely caught. Orlando passes thither, where a mountain O'erhangs in guise of arch the crystal fountain. CVI Splay-footed ivy, with its mantling spray, And gadding vine, the cavern's entry case; Where often in the hottest noon of day The pair had rested, locked in fond embrace. Within the grotto, and without it, they Had oftener than in any other place With charcoal or with chalk their names pourtrayed, Or flourished with the knife's indenting blade. CVII Here from his horse the sorrowing County lit, And at the entrance of the grot surveyed A cloud of words, which seemed but newly writ, And which the young Medoro's hand had made. On the great pleasure he had known in it, The sentence he in verses had arrayed; Which in his tongue, I deem, might make pretence To polished phrase; and such in ours the sense. CVIII "Gay plants, green herbage, rill of limpid vein, And, grateful with cool shade, thou gloomy cave, Where oft, by many wooed with fruitless pain, Beauteous Angelica, the child of grave King Galaphron, within my arms has lain; For the convenient harbourage you gave, I, poor Medoro, can but in my lays, As recompence, for ever sing your praise. CIX "And any loving lord devoutly pray, Damsel and cavalier, and every one, Whom choice or fortune hither shall convey, Stranger or native, -- to this crystal run, Shade, caverned rock, and grass, and plants, to say, Benignant be to you the fostering sun

And moon, and may the choir of nymphs provide, That never swain his flock may hither guide!" CX In Arabic was writ the blessing said, Known to Orlando like the Latin tongue, Who, versed in many languages, best read Was in this speech; which oftentimes from wrong, And injury, and shame, had saved his head, What time he roved the Saracens among. But let him boast not of its former boot, O'erbalanced by the present bitter fruit. CXI Three times, and four, and six, the lines imprest Upon the stone that wretch perused, in vain Seeking another sense than was exprest, And ever saw the thing more clear and plain; And all the while, within his troubled breast, He felt an icy hand his heart-core strain. With mind and eyes close fastened on the block, At length he stood, not differing from the rock. CXII Then well-nigh lost all feeling; so a prey Wholly was he to that o'ermastering woe. This is a pang, believe the experienced say Of him who speaks, which does all griefs outgo. His pride had from his forehead passed away, His chin had fallen upon his breast below; Nor found he, so grief barred each natural vent, Moisture for tears, or utterance for lament. CXIII Stiffed within, the impetuous sorrow stays, Which would too quickly issue; so to abide Water is seen, imprisoned in the vase, Whose neck is narrow and whose swell is wide; What time, when one turns up the inverted base, Towards the mouth, so hastes the hurrying tide, And in the streight encounters such a stop, It scarcely works a passage, drop by drop. CXIV He somewhat to himself returned, and thought How possibly the thing might be untrue:

The some one (so he hoped, desired, and sought To think) his lady would with shame pursue; Or with such weight of jealously had wrought To whelm his reason, as should him undo; And that he, whosoe'er the thing had planned, Had counterfeited passing well her hand. CXV With such vain hope he sought himself to cheat, And manned some deal his spirits and awoke; Then prest the faithful Brigliadoro's seat, As on the sun's retreat his sister broke. Nor far the warrior had pursued his beat, Ere eddying from a roof he saw the smoke; Heard noise of dog and kine, a farm espied, And thitherward in quest of lodging hied. CXVI Languid, he lit, and left his Brigliador To a discreet attendant: one undrest His limbs, one doffed the golden spurs he wore, And one bore off, to clean, his iron vest. This was the homestead where the young Medore Lay wounded, and was here supremely blest. Orlando here, with other food unfed, Having supt full of sorrow, sought his bed. CXVII The more the wretched sufferer seeks for ease, He finds but so much more distress and pain; Who every where the loathed hand-writing sees, On wall, and door, and window: he would fain Question his host of this, but holds his peace, Because, in sooth, he dreads too clear, too plain To make the thing, and this would rather shrowd, That it may less offend him, with a cloud. CXVIII Little availed the count his self-deceit; For there was one who spake of it unsought; The sheperd-swain, who to allay the heat, With which he saw his guest so troubled, thought: The tale which he was wonted to repeat -- Of the two lovers -- to each listener taught, A history which many loved to hear, He now, without reserve, 'gan tell the peer. CXIX

How at Angelica's persuasive prayer, He to his farm had carried young Medore, Grievously wounded with an arrow; where, In little space she healed the angry sore. But while she exercised this pious care, Love in her heart the lady wounded more, And kindled from small spark so fierce a fire, She burnt all over, restless with desire: CXX Nor thinking she of mightiest king was born, Who ruled in the east, nor of her heritage, Forced by too puissant love, had thought no scorn To be the consort of a poor foot-page. -- His story done, to them in proof was borne The gem, which, in reward for harbourage, To her extended in that kind abode, Angelica, at parting, had bestowed. CXXI A deadly axe was this unhappy close, Which, at a single stroke, lopt off the head; When, satiate with innumerable blows, That cruel hangman Love his hate had fed. Orlando studied to conceal his woes; And yet the mischief gathered force and spread, And would break out parforce in tears and sighs, Would he, or would be not, from mouth and eyes. CXXII When he can give the rein to raging woe, Alone, by other's presence unreprest, From his full eyes the tears descending flow, In a wide stream, and flood his troubled breast. 'Mid sob and groan, he tosses to and fro About his weary bed, in search of rest; And vainly shifting, harder than a rock And sharper than a nettle found its flock. CXXIII Amid the pressure of such cruel pain, It past into the wretched sufferer's head, That oft the ungrateful lady must have lain, Together with her leman, on that bed: Nor less he loathed the couch in his disdain, Nor from the down upstarted with less dread,

Than churl, who, when about to close his eyes, Springs from the turf, if he a serpent spies. CXXIV In him, forthwith, such deadly hatred breed That bed, that house, that swain, he will not stay Till the morn break, or till the dawn succeed, Whose twilight goes before approaching day. In haste, Orlando takes his arms and steed, And to the deepest greenwood wends his way. And, when assured that he is there alone, Gives utterance to his grief in shriek and groan. CXXV Never from tears, never from sorrowing, He paused; nor found he peace by night and day: He fled from town, in forest harbouring, And in the open air on hard earth lay. He marvelled at himself, how such a spring Of water from his eyes could stream away, And breath was for so many sobs supplied; And thus ofttimes, amid his mourning, cried. CXXVI "These are no longer real tears which rise, And which I scatter from so full a vein. Of tears my ceaseless sorrow lacked supplies; They stopt when to mid-height scarce rose my pain. The vital moisture rushing to my eyes, Driven by the fire within me, now would gain A vent; and it is this which I expend, And which my sorrows and my life will end. CXXVII "No; these, which are the index of my woes, These are not sighs, nor sighs are such; they fail At times, and have their season of repose: I feel, my breast can never less exhale Its sorrow: Love, who with his pinions blows The fire about my heart, creates this gale. Love, by what miracle does thou contrive, It wastes not in the fire thou keep'st alive? CXXVIII "I am not -- am not what I seem to sight: What Roland was is dead and under ground,

Slain by that most ungrateful lady's spite, Whose faithlessness inflicted such a wound. Divided from the flesh, I am his sprite, Which in this hell, tormented, walks its round, To be, but in its shadow left above, A warning to all such as thrust in love." CXXIX All night about the forest roved the count, And, at the break of daily light, was brought By his unhappy fortune to the fount, Where his inscription young Medoro wrought. To see his wrongs inscribed upon that mount, Inflamed his fury so, in him was nought But turned to hatred, phrensy, rage, and spite; Nor paused he more, but bared his faulchion bright; CXXX Cleft through the writing; and the solid block, Into the sky, in tiny fragments sped. Wo worth each sapling and the caverned rock, Where Medore and Angelica were read! So scathed, that they to shepherd or to flock Thenceforth shall never furnish shade or bed. And that sweet fountain, late so clear and pure, From such tempestuous wrath was ill secure. CXXXI For he turf, stone, and trunk, and shoot, and lop, Cast without cease into the beauteous source; Till, turbid from the bottom to the top, Never again was clear the troubled course. At length, for lack of breath, compelled to stop, (When he is bathed in sweat, and wasted force, Serves not his fury more) he falls, and lies Upon the mead, and, gazing upward, sighs. CXXXII Wearied and woe-begone, he fell to ground, And turned his eyes toward heaven; nor spake he aught. Nor ate, nor slept, till in his daily round The golden sun had broken thrice, and sought His rest anew; nor ever ceased his wound To rankle, till it marred his sober thought. At length, impelled by phrensy, the fourth day, He from his limbs tore plate and mail away.

CXXXIII Here was his helmet, there his shield bestowed; His arms far off; and, farther than the rest, His cuirass; through the greenwood wide was strowed All his good gear, in fine; and next his vest He rent; and, in his fury, naked showed His shaggy paunch, and all his back and breast. And 'gan that phrensy act, so passing dread, Of stranger folly never shall be said. CXXXIV So fierce his rage, so fierce his fury grew, That all obscured remained the warrior's sprite; Nor, for forgetfulness, his sword he drew, Or wonderous deeds, I trow, had wrought the knight: But neither this, nor bill, nor axe to hew, Was needed by Orlando's peerless might. He of his prowess gave high proofs and full, Who a tall pine uprooted at a pull. CXXXV He many others, with as little let As fennel, wall-wort-stem, or dill, up-tore; And ilex, knotted oak, and fir upset, And beech, and mountain-ash, and elm-tree hoar. He did what fowler, ere he spreads his net, Does, to prepare the champaigne for his lore, By stubble, rush, and nettle-stalk; and broke, Like these, old sturdy trees and stems of oak. CXXXVI The shepherd swains, who hear the tumult nigh, Leaving their flocks beneath the greenwood tree, Some here some there across the forest hie, And hurry thither, all, the cause to see. -- But I have reached such point, my history, If I o'erpass this bound, may irksome be; And I my story will delay to end, Rather than by my tediousness offend.