Orlando Furioso

CANTO 38

AR­GU­MENT To Ar­les the Child, to Charles Marphisa wends, To be bap­tized, with Bradamant for guide. As­tolpho from the holy realm de­scends; Through whom with sight the Nu­bian is sup­plied: Agra­mant’s land he with his troop of­fends; But he is of his Africk realm so wide, With Charles he bar­gains, that, on ei­ther side, Two knights by strife their quar­rel should de­cide.

I Ye cour­te­ous ladies, who un­to my strain Kind au­di­ence lend — I read it in your cheer — That good Rogero should de­part again So sud­den­ly, from her that held him dear, Dis­pleas­es ye, and scarce in­flicts less pain Than that which Bradamant en­dured whilere: I read you al­so ar­gue, to his shame, That fee­bly burned in him the amorous flame.

II If from her side for oth­er cause had gone, Against that la­dy’s will, the youth­ful lord; Though in the hope more trea­sure to have won Than swelled rich Croe­sus’ or rich Cras­sus’ hoard, I too should deem the dart, by Cu­pid thrown, Had not the heart-​core of Rogero gored. For such a sovereign joy, a prize so high No sil­ver and no gold could ev­er buy.

III Yet to pre­serve our hon­our not alone De­serves ex­cuse, it al­so mer­its praise: This to pre­serve, I say, when to have done In oth­er wise, might shame and scan­dal raise; And had fair Bradamant re­luc­tance shown, And ob­sti­nate­ly in­ter­posed de­lays, This, as a cer­tain sign, had served to prove That la­dy’s lit­tle wit or lit­tle love.

IV For if his life, whom gen­tle wom­an loves, As her own life she val­ues, or be­fore; (I speak of one at whom young Cu­pid roves With ar­rows which be­neath the man­tle gore) His hon­our to his plea­sure it be­hoves That wom­an to pre­fer, by so much more, As man be­yond his life his hon­our trea­sures, Es­teemed by him above all oth­er plea­sures.

V His du­ty good Rogero sat­is­fied, Fol­low­ing the roy­al lord with whom he came; For hav­ing no fair cause to quit his side, He could not leave the Payn­im with­out shame; And, if his sire had by Al­montes died, In this, King Agra­mant was not to blame; Who for his par­ents’ ev­ery past of­fence Had made Rogero mighty rec­om­pense.

VI He will per­form his du­ty to re­pair To his liege-​lord; so did that mar­tial maid; Who had not with re­it­er­at­ed prayer (As so she might have done) Rogero stayed. The stripling may ap­pay the war­like fair In oth­er sea­son, if not now ap­paid; But twice two hun­dred years will not atone The cry­ing sin of hon­our once fore­gone.

VII To Ar­les-​town whith­er had his king con­veyed His rem­nant of a host, he pricked anew; While they that, since their kin­dred was dis­played, Had a close friend­ship formed — the damsels two — Thith­er to­geth­er go where Charles had made His might­iest ef­fort, with the Chris­tian crew; Hop­ing by siege or fight to break the foe, And free his king­dom form so long a woe.

VI­II Bradamant, when she in the camp ap­peared, Was greet­ed with a wel­come warm and kind. On all sides was she hailed, by all was cheered; And she in this or that her head in­clined. Ri­nal­do, when he of her com­ing heard, Met her; nor young Richar­do stayed be­hind; Nor Richard­et; nor oth­ers of her race; And all re­ceived the maid with joy­ful face.

IX When next ’tis known, the sec­ond of the twain Is that Marphisa, so in arms renowned, Who from Catay un­to the bounds of Spain Had jour­neyed, with a thou­sand lau­rels crowned, Nor rich nor poor with­in their tents re­main: The cu­ri­ous crowd, en­com­pass­ing them round, Press, harm, and heave each oth­er here and there, In the sole wish to see so bright a pair.

X By them was Charles salut­ed rev­er­ent­ly, And the first day was this (has Turpin shown) Marphisa had been seen to bend her knee: For Pepin’s roy­al son to her, alone, De­serv­ing of such du­ty seemed to be, Mid em­per­ors or kings that filled a throne, Bap­tized or in­fi­del, of all those named For mighty rich­es, or for val­our famed.

XI Her kind­ly Charle­magne re­ceived, and wide Of the pavil­ions met, in open view; And, above king, and prince, and peer, be­side Him­self the monarch placed that damsel true. Who go not, are dis­mist; so none abide In lit­tle time, ex­cept the good and few. The Pal­adins and lords re­main; with­out, Is left the un­re­spect­ed rab­ble-​rout.

XII Marphisa first be­gan in grate­ful strain: “Un­con­quered Cae­sar, glo­ri­ous and au­gust, Who, to Al­cides’ strait from In­di­an main, Mak’st Scythi­an’s pale and Aethiop’s race adust Re­vere thy Chris­tian cross of snowy grain, — Of earth­ly monar­chs thou most sage and just — Hith­er thy glo­ry, which no lim­its bound, Has brought me from the world’s ex­tremest ground;

XI­II “And (to avow the truth) in jeal­ous mood Alone I came, alone with thee to fight; Be­cause I grudged that king so puis­sant shou’d Ex­ist on earth, save he ob­served my rite. Hence reek they rav­aged fields with Chris­tian blood; And yet with greater ran­cour and de­spite, Like cru­el foe, I pur­posed to of­fend, But that it chanced, one changed me to a friend.

XIV “When to worst harm and scaith thy bands I doom, I find (as at my leisure I will show) Rogero of Risa was my fa­ther, whom An evil broth­er traitorous­ly laid low. Me my sad moth­er car­ried in her womb Be­yond the sea, and bore in want and woe. Till my sev­enth year by wiz­ard nour­ished, I Was stolen from him by thieves of Ara­by.

XV “They to a king in Per­sia vend­ed me, That af­ter died be­neath my faul­chion, who Would fain have tak­en my vir­gin­ity. When grown, that king and all his court I slew; Chased his ill race, and seized his roy­al­ty; And — such my for­tune — by a month or two, I ei­th­teen years had not o’er­past, be­fore I added to my realm six king­doms more;

XVI “And, moved by en­vy of thy glo­ri­ous fame I in my heart re­solved (as thou hast heard) To abate the grandeur of they mighty name: I hap­ly so had done; I hap­ly erred. But now a chance has served that will to tame, And clip my fury’s wings; the hav­ing heard Since I ar­rived in Chris­ten­dom, how we Are bound by ties of con­san­guin­ity;

XVII “And, for my fa­ther thee, as kins­man, served, So thou a kin and ser­vant hast in me; And I that en­vy, that fierce hate, which nerved Mine arm whilere, now blot from mem­ory. Nay, these for evil Agra­mant re­served, And for his sire’s and un­cle’s kin shall be; They who were whilom guilty of the death Of that un­hap­py pair, who gave me breath.”

XVI­II She adds, the Chris­tian faith she will re­ceive, And, af­ter hav­ing spent king Agra­mant, Will home re­turn, with roy­al Charles’s leave, Her king­dom to bap­tize in the Lev­ant, And war up­on what­ev­er na­tion cleave To cheat­ing Ma­hound or to Ter­ma­gant; Promis­ing that whate’er her arms ob­tain Shall be the Chris­tian faith’s and em­pire’s gain.

XIX Charles, no less elo­quent up­on his side, Than bold in deed and pru­dent in de­sign, Much that il­lus­tri­ous la­dy mag­ni­fied, And much her fa­ther, much her no­ble line: He cour­te­ous­ly to ev­ery point replied; And of his heart his open front was sign. As his last words, that he re­ceived the maid As kinswom­an and child, the monarch said.

XX Then rose and locked her in a new em­brace, And kissed her, like a daugh­ter, on the brow. Mor­gana and Cler­mont’s kin, with joy­ful face, All thith­er troop; ’twere te­dious to tell how Ri­nal­do did the gen­tle damsel grace; For he had of­ten­times es­pied ere now Her mar­tial prowess, tried by good­ly test, When they with gird­ing siege Al­brac­ca pressed.

XXI ‘Twere long to tell how, with those wor­thies met, Gui­do re­joiced to see Marphisa there; Gryphon and Aquilant, and San­sonet, That with her in the cru­el city were; Vi­vian, and Malagi­gi, and Richard­et; Who, when Ma­ga­nza’s traitors made re­pair, With those ill pur­chasers of Spain to trade, Found such a faith­ful com­rade in the maid.

XXII They deck the ground for the en­su­ing day; And Charle­magne takes care him­self to see That they the place shall sump­tu­ous­ly ar­ray, Where­in Marphisa’s bap­tism is to be. Bish­ops are gath­ered, learned clerks, and they Who ken the laws of Chris­tian­ity; That taught in all its doc­trine by their care And holy skill may be that mar­tial fair.

XXI­II In sa­cred stole, pon­tif­ical, ar­raid, Her the arch­bish­op Turpin did bap­tize; Charle­magne from the health­ful font the maid Up­lift­ed with be­fit­ting cer­emonies. But it is time the wit­less head to aid With that, which trea­sured in the phial lies, Where­with As­tolpho, from the low­est star, De­scend­ed in Elias’ fiery car.

XXIV The duke de­scend­ed from the lu­cid round, On this our earth­ly plan­et’s lofti­est height. With­er he with that blessed vase was bound, Which was the mighty cham­pi­on’s brain to right. A herb of sovereign virtue on that ground The apos­tle shows, and with it bids the knight The Nu­bian’s eye­balls touch, when him anew He vis­its, and re­store that sovereign’s view.

XXV That he, for this and for his first desert, May give him bands, Bis­er­ta to as­sail; And shows him how that peo­ple in­ex­pert He may to bat­tle train, in plate and mail; And how to pass the deserts, with­out hurt, Where men are daz­zled by the sandy gale. The or­der that through­out should be main­tained From point to point, the saint­ed sire ex­plained;

XXVI Then made him that plumed beast again be­stride, Rogero’s and At­lantes’ steed whilere. By saint­ed John dis­mist, his rev­erend guide, Those holy re­gions left the cav­alier; And coast­ing Nile, on one or the oth­er side, Saw Nu­bia’s realm be­fore him soon ap­pear; And there, in its chief city, to the ground De­scend­ed, and anew Sena­pus found.

XXVII Great was the joy, and great was the de­light, Where­with that king re­ceived the En­glish lord; Who well re­mem­bered how the gen­tle knight Had from the loath­some harpies freed his board. But when the hu­mour, that ob­scured his sight, Valiant As­tolpho scaled, and now re­stored Was the blind sovereign’s eye­sight as be­fore, He would that war­rior as a god adore.

XXVI­II So that not on­ly those whom he de­mands For the Bis­er­tine war, he gives in aid; But adds a hun­dred thou­sand from his bands, And of­fer of his roy­al per­son made. Scarce on the open plain em­bat­tled stands, — All foot — the Nu­bian host, for war ar­raid. For few the hors­es which that re­gion bore; Of ele­phants and camels a large store.

XXIX The night be­fore the day, when on its road The Nu­bian force should march, As­tolpho rose, And his winged hip­pogryph again be­strode: Then, hur­ry­ing ev­er south, in fury goes To a high hill, the south­ern wind’s abode; Whence he to­wards the Bears in fury blows: There finds a cave, through whose strait en­trance breaks The fell and fu­ri­ous Auster, when he wakes.

XXX He, as his mas­ter erst in­struc­tion gave, With him an emp­ty blad­der had con­veyed; Which, at the vent of that dim Alpine cave, Where­in re­posed the wea­ried wind, was laid Quaint­ly and soft­ly by the baron brave; And so un­looked for was the am­bus­cade, That, is­su­ing forth at morn, to sweep the plains, Auster im­pris­oned in the skin re­mains.

XXXI To Nu­bia he, re­joic­ing in his prey, Re­turns; and with that very light the peer, With the black host, sets out up­on his way, And lets the vict­ual fol­low in his rear. To­wards Mount At­las with his whole ar­ray In safe­ty goes the glo­ri­ous cav­alier. Through shift­ing plains of pow­dery sand he past, Nor dread­ed dan­ger from the sul­try blast;

XXXII And hav­ing gained the moun­tain’s hith­er side, Whence are dis­cerned the plain, and dis­tant brine, He choos­es from the swarm he has to guide The no­blest and most fit for dis­ci­pline; And makes them, here and there, in troops di­vide, At a hill’s foot, where­with the plains con­fine; Then leaves his host and climbs the hill’s as­cent, Like one that is on lofty thoughts in­tent.

XXXI­II Af­ter he, low­ly kneel­ing in the dust, His holy mas­ter had im­plored, in true As­sur­ance he was heard, he down­ward thrust A heap of stones. O what things may he do That in the Saviour whol­ly puts his trust! The stones be­yond the use of na­ture grew; Which rolling to the sandy plain be­low, Next, neck and muz­zle, legs and bel­ly show.

XXXIV They, neigh­ing shrill, down nar­row paths re­pair, With lusty leaps; and light­ing on the plain, Up­lift the croup, like cours­ers as they are, Some bay, some roan, and some of dap­ple stain. The crowds that wait­ing in the val­leys were, Layed hands on them, and seized them by the rein. Thus in a thought each sol­dier had his horse, Born ready reined and sad­dled for the course.

XXXV He fourscore thou­sand of his Nu­bian pow­er, One hun­dred and two foot­men, in a day To horse­men changes, who wide Afric scour, And, up­on ev­ery side, sack, burn, and slay. Agra­mant had in­trust­ed town and tow­er, Till his re­turn, to king Bran­zar­do’s sway, To Fer­sa’s king, and him of the Al­gaziers; And these against As­tolpho lead their spears.

XXXVI Erewhile a nim­ble bark, with sail and oar, They had dis­patched, which, stir­ring feet and wings, News of the Nu­bian monarch’s out­rage bore To Agra­mant from his vicegerent kings, That rests not, night nor day, till to the shore Of Provence she her dole­ful tid­ing brings; And finds her monarch half sub­dued in Ar­les, For camped with­in a mile was con­quer­ing Charles.

XXXVII Agra­mant, hear­ing in what per­il lies His realm, through his at­tack on Pepin’s reign, Him in this press­ing per­il to ad­vise, Calls kings and princes of the payn­im train; And when he once or twice has turned his eyes On sage So­bri­no and the king of Spain, — El­dest and wis­est they those lords among — The monarch so be­speaks the as­sem­bled throng:

XXXVI­II “Al­beit if fits not cap­tain, as I know, To say, `on this I thought not,’ this I say; Be­cause when from a quar­ter comes the blow, From ev­ery hu­man fore­thought far away, ‘Tis for such fault a fair ex­cuse, I trow; And here all hinges; I did ill to lay Un­fur­nished Africk open to at­tack, If there was ground to fear the Nu­bian sack.

XXXIX “But who could think, save on­ly God on high Pre­scient of all which is to be be­low, That, from land, be­neath such dis­tant sky, Such mighty host would come, to work us woe? ‘Twixt shift­ing sands, which rest­less whirl­winds blow: Yet they their camp have round Bis­er­ta placed, And laid the bet­ter part of Africk waste.

XL “I now on this, O peers! your coun­sel crave. If, boot­less, home­ward I should wend my way, Or should not such a fair ad­ven­ture wave, Till Charles with me a pris­on­er I con­vey; Or how I may as well our Africk save, And ru­in this re­doubt­ed em­pire, say. Who can ad­vise, is prayed his lore to shew, That we may learn the best, and that pur­sue.”

XLI He said; and on Mar­sil­ius seat­ed nigh Next turned his eyes, who in the sig­nal read, That it be­longed to him to make re­ply To what the king of Africa had said. The Spaniard rose, and bend­ing rev­er­ent­ly To Agra­mant the knee as well as head, Again his hon­oured seat in coun­cil prest, And in these words the Moor­ish king ad­drest:

XLII “My liege, does Ru­mour good or ill re­port, It still in­creas­es them; hence shall I ne’er, Un­der de­spon­dence, lack for due sup­port, Nor bold­er course than is be­fit­ting steer, For what may chance, of good or evil sort; Weigh­ing in even bal­ance hope and fear, O’er­rat­ed still; and which we should not mete By what I hear so many tongues re­peat;

XLI­II “Which should so much more doubt­ful­ly be viewed, As it seems less with like­li­hood to stand. Now it is seen, if there be like­li­hood, That king who reigns in so re­mote a land, Fol­lowed by such a mighty mul­ti­tude, Should set his foot on war­like Africk’s strand; Travers­ing sands, to which in evil hour Cam­by­ses trust­ed his ill-​omened pow­er.

XLIV “I well be­lieve, that from some neigh­bour­ing hill The Arabs have poured down, to waste the plain; Who, for the coun­try was de­fend­ed ill, Have tak­en, burnt, de­stroyed and sacked and slain; And that Bran­zar­do, who your place doth fill, As viceroy and lieu­tenant of the reign, Has set down thou­sands, where he tens should write; The bet­ter to ex­cuse him in your sight.

XLV “The Nu­bian squadrons, I will even yield, Have been rained down on Africk from the skies; Or hap­ly they have come, in clouds con­cealed, In that their march was hid­den from all eyes: Think you, be­cause un­aid­ed in the field, Your Africk from such host in per­il lies? Your gar­risons were sure of cow­ard vein, If they were scared by such a craven train.

XLVI “But will you send some frigates, al­beit few, (Pro­vid­ed that un­furled your stan­dards be) No soon­er shall they loose from hence, that crew Of spoil­ers shall with­in their con­fines flee; — Nu­bians are they, or idle Arabs — who, Know­ing that you are sev­ered by the sea From your own realm, and war­ring with our band, Have tak­en courage to as­sail your land.

XLVII “Now take your time for vengeance, when the son Of Pepin is with­out his nephew’s aid. Since bold Or­lan­do is away, by none Of the hos­tile sect re­sis­tance can be made. If, through ne­glect or blind­ness, be fore­gone The glo­ri­ous For­tune, which for you has stayed, She her bald front, as now her hair, will show, To our long in­famy and mighty woe.”

XLVI­II Thus war­ily the Span­ish king replied, Prov­ing by this and oth­er ar­gu­ment, The Moor­ish squadrons should in France abide, Till Charle­magne was in­to ex­ile sent. But King So­bri­no, he that plain­ly spied The scope where­on Mar­sil­ius was in­tent, To pub­lic good pre­fer­ring pri­vate gain, So spake in an­swer to the king of Spain:

XLIX “My liege, when I to peace ex­hort­ed you, Would that my prophe­cy had proved less just! Of, if I was to prove a prophet true, Ye in So­bri­no had re­posed more trust, Than in King Rodomont and in that crew, Alzir­do, Mar­ta­sine and Mar­balust! Whom I would here see glad­ly, front to front; But see most glad­ly boast­ful Rodomont.

L “To twit that war­rior with his threat to do By France, what by the brit­tle glass is done; And through­out heav­en and hell your course pur­sue, Yea (as the monarch said) your course out­run. Yet lapt in foul and loath­some ease, while you So need his help, lies Ulien’s lazy son; And I, that as a cow­ard was de­cried For my true prophe­cy, am at your side;

LI “And ev­er will be while this life I bear; Which, al­beit ’tis with yours sore laden, still Dai­ly for you is risked with them that are The best of France; and — be he who he will — There is not mor­tal liv­ing, who will dare To say So­bri­no’s deeds were ev­er ill: Yea, many who vaunt more, amid your host, Have not so much, nay lighter, cause for boast.

LII “I speak, these words to show that what whilere I said and say again, has nei­ther sprung From evil heart, nor is the fruit of fear; But that true love and du­ty move my tongue. You home­ward with what haste you may to steer, I coun­sel, your as­sem­bled bands among; For lit­tle is the wis­dom of that wight, Who risks his own to gain an­oth­er’s right.

LI­II “If there be gain, ye know, Late thir­ty-​two, Your vas­sal kings, with you our sails we spread; Now, if we pause to sum the ac­count anew, Hard­ly a third sur­vives; the rest are dead. May it please Heav­en no fur­ther loss en­sue! But if you will pur­sue your quest, I dread Lest not a fourth nor fifth will soon re­main; And whol­ly spent will be your wretched train.

LIV “Or­lan­do’s ab­sence so far aids, that where Our troops are few, there hap­ly none would be; But not through this re­moved our per­ils are, Though it pro­longs our evil des­tiny. Be­hold Ri­nal­do! whom his deeds de­clare No less than bold Or­lan­do; of his tree There are the shoots; with pal­adin and peer, Our baf­fled Sara­cens’ eter­nal fear;

LV “And the oth­er Mars (al­beit against my heart It goes to waste my praise up­on a foe); I speak of the re­doubt­ed Brandi­mart, Whose feats no less than fierce Or­lan­do’s show; Whose mighty prowess I have proved in part, In part, at oth­ers’ cost I see and know. Then many days Or­lan­do has been gone; Yet we have lost more fields than we have won.

LVI “I fear, if hereto­fore our band has lost, A heav­ier for­feit will hence­forth be paid. Blot­ted is Man­dri­car­do from our host; Mar­tial Gradas­so hath with­drawn his aid; Marphisa, at our worst, has left her post; So Argi­er’s lord; of whom it may be said, Where he as true as strong, we should not need Gradas­so and the Tar­tar king, to speed.

LVII “While aids like these are lost to our ar­ray, While on our side such slaugh­tered thou­sands lie, Those looked-​for are ar­rived, nor on her way Is any ves­sel fraught with new sup­ply — Charles has been joined by four, that, as they say, Might with Or­lan­do or Ri­nal­do vie; With rea­sons, for from hence to Bac­tri­an shore, Ill would you hope to find such oth­er four.

LVI­II “I know not if you know who Gui­do are, San­sonet, and the sons of Olivi­er. For these I more re­spect, more fear I bear, Than any war­like duke or cav­alier, Of Al­mayn’s or of oth­er lin­eage fair, Who for the Ro­man em­pire rests the spear, Though I mis­rate not those of new­er stamp, That, to our scathe, are gath­ered in their camp.

LIX “As of­ten as ye is­sue on the plain, Worsted so oft, or bro­ken, shall you be. If oft unit­ed Africa and Spain Were losers, when six­teen to eight were we, What will en­sue, when band­ed with Al­mayn Are Eng­land, Scot­land, France, and Italy? When with our six twice six their weapons cross, What else can we ex­pect but shame and loss?

LX “You lose your peo­ple here, and there your reign, If you in this em­prize are ob­sti­nate; — Re­turn­ing — us, the rem­nant of your train, You save, to­geth­er with your roy­al state. It were ill done to leave the king of Spain, Since all for this would hold you sore in­grate; Yet there’s a rem­edy in peace; which, so It pleas­es but your­self, will please the foe.

LXI “But, if, as first de­feat­ed, on your part It seems a shame to of­fer peace, and ye Have war and waste­ful bat­tle more at heart, Waged hith­er­to with what suc­cess you see, At least to gain the vic­to­ry use art, Which may be yours, if you are ruled by me. Lay all our quar­rel’s tri­al on one peer, And let Rogero be that cav­alier.

LXII “Such our Rogero is, ye know and I, That — pit­ted one to one in list­ed fight — Not Roland, not Ri­nal­do stands more high, Nor what­so­ev­er oth­er Chris­tian knight. But would ye kin­dle war­fare far and nigh, Though su­per­hu­man be that cham­pi­on’s might, The war­rior is but one mid many spears, Matched singly with a host of mar­tial peers.

LXI­II “Meseemeth, if to you it seemeth good, Ye should pro­pose to Charles the war to end; And that, to spare the con­stant waste of blood, Which his, and count­less of your war­riors spend, He — by a knight of yours to be with­stood — A cham­pi­on, cho­sen from his best should send; And those two all the war­fare wage alone, Till one pre­vails, and one is over­thrown;

LX­IV “On pact the king, whose cham­pi­on in the just Is los­er, trib­ute to that oth­er pay. Nor will this pact dis­please King Charles, I trust, Though his was the ad­van­tage in the fray. Then of his arms Rogero so ro­bust I deem, that he will sure­ly win the day; Who would pre­vail (so cer­tain is our right) Though Mars him­self should be his op­po­site.”

LXV With these and oth­er say­ings yet more sound, So wrought So­bri­no, he his end ob­tained; And on that day in­ter­preters were found, And they that day to Charles their charge ex­plained. Charles, whom such match­less cav­aliers sur­round. Be­lieves the bat­tle is al­ready gained; And choos­es good Ri­nal­do for the just, Next to Or­lan­do in his sovereign’s trust.

LXVI In this ac­cord like cause for plea­sure find, As well the Chris­tian as the payn­im foe: For, ha­rassed sore in body and in mind, Those war­riors all were weary, all were woe. Each in re­pose and qui­etude de­signed To pass what time re­mained to him be­low: Each cursed the sense­less anger and the hate Which stirred their hearts to dis­cord and de­bate.

LXVII Ri­nal­do felt him­self much mag­ni­fied, That Charles, for what in him so strong weighed, More trust­ed him than all his court be­side, And glad the hon­oured en­ter­prise as­sayed: Rogero he es­teemed not in his pride, And thought he ill could keep him from his blade. Nor deemed the Child could equal him in fight, Al­beit he slew in strife the Tar­tar knight.

LXVI­II Rogero, though much hon­oured, on his part, That him his king has cho­sen from the rest, To whom a trust so weighty to im­part, As of his many mar­tial lords the best, Yet shows a trou­bled face; not that the heart Of that good knight un­wor­thy fears mo­lest; Not on­ly none Ri­nal­do would have bred; Him, with Or­lan­do leagued, he would not dread –

LX­IX But be­cause sis­ter of the Chris­tian knight (He knows) is she, his con­sort true and dear; That to the stripling ev­er­more did write, As one sore in­jured by that cav­alier. Now, if to an­cient sins he should unite A mor­tal com­bat with Mon­tal­ban’s peer, Her, al­though lov­ing, will he anger so, Not light­ly she her ha­tred will forego.

LXX If silent­ly Rogero made lament That he in his de­spite must bat­tle do; In sobs his con­sort dear to hers gave vent, When short­ly to her ears the tid­ings flew. She beat her breast, her gold­en tress­es rent: Fast, scald­ing tears her in­no­cent cheeks be­dew: She tax­es young Rogero as in­grate, And aye cries out up­on her cru­el fate.

LXXI Nought can re­sult to Bradamant but pain, What­ev­er is the doubt­ful com­bat’s end. She will not think Rogero can be slain; For this, ‘twould seem, her very heart would rend; And should our Lord the fall of France or­dain, That king­dom for more sins than one to amend, The gen­tle maid, be­side a broth­er’s loss, Would have to weep a worse and bit­ter­er cross.

LXXII For, with­out shame and scorn, she nev­er may, Not with­out ha­tred of her kin com­bined, To her loved lord re­turn in such a way As that it may be known of all mankind; As, think­ing up­on this by night and day, She of­ten­times had pur­posed in her mind; And so by promise both were tied with­al, Room for re­pen­tance and re­treat was small.

LXXI­II But she, that ev­er, when things ad­verse were, With faith­ful suc­cour Bradamant had stayed, I say the weird Melis­sa, could not bear To hear the wail­ings of the woe­ful maid; She hur­ried to con­sole her in her care, And prof­fered suc­cour in due time and said, She would dis­turb that du­el ‘twixt the twain, The oc­ca­sion of such grief and cru­el pain.

LXXIV Mean­while their weapons for the fu­ture fray Rogero and Duke Ay­mon’s son pre­pared; The choice where­of with that good war­rior lay, The Ro­man em­pire’s knight by Charles de­clared; And he, like one that ev­er from the day He lost his good­ly steed afoot had fared, Made choice, afoot and fenced with plate and mail, His foe with axe and dag­ger to as­sail.

LXXV Whether Chance moved Moun­tal­ban’s mar­tial lord, Or Malagi­gi, prov­ident and sage, That knew how young Rogero’s charmed sword Cleft helm and hauberk in its greedy rage, One and the oth­er war­rior made ac­cord, (As said) with­out their faul­chions to en­gage. The place of com­bat cho­sen by that twain Was near old Ar­les, up­on a spa­cious plain.

LXXVI Watch­ful Au­ro­ra hard­ly from the bow­er Of old Tithonus hath put forth her head, To give be­gin­ning to the day and hour Pre­fixed and or­dered for that du­el dread, When deputies from ei­ther hos­tile pow­er, On this side and on that forth is­su­ing, spread Tents at each en­trance of the lists; and near The two pavil­lions, both, an al­tar rear.

LXXVII Af­ter short pause, was seen up­on the plain The payn­im host in dif­fer­ent squadrons dight. Rich in bar­bar­ick pomp, amid that train, Rode Africk’s monarch, ready armed for fight: Bay was the steed he backed, with sable mane; Two of his legs were pied, his fore­head white Fast be­side Agra­mant, Rogero came, And him to serve Mar­sil­ius thought no shame.

LXXVI­II The casque that he from Man­dri­car­do wrung In sin­gle com­bat with such trav­el sore, The casque that (as in lofti­er strain is sung) Cased Hec­tor’s head, a thou­sand years be­fore, Mar­sil­ius car­ried, by his side, among Princes and lords, that sev­er­al­ly bore The oth­er har­ness of Rogero bold, En­riched with pre­cious pearls and rough with gold.

LXXIX On the oth­er part, with­out his camp ap­pears Charles, with his men at arms in squadrons dight; Who in such or­der led his cav­aliers, As they would keep, if mar­shalled for the fight. Fenced is the monarch with his fa­mous peers, And with him wends, all armed, Mon­tal­ban’s knight, Armed, save his hel­met, erst Mam­bri­no’s casque; To car­ry which is Dan­ish Ogi­er’s task;

LXXX And, of two ax­es, hath Duke Na­mus one, King Sala­mon the oth­er: Charle­magne Is to this side, with all his fol­low­ing, gone, To that wend those of Africk and of Spain. In the mid space be­tween the hosts is none; Emp­ty re­mains large por­tion of the plain; For he is doomed to death who thith­er goes, By joint pro­claim, ex­cept the cho­sen foes.

LXXXI Af­ter the sec­ond choice of arms was made By him, the cham­pi­on of the payn­im clan, Thith­er two priests of ei­ther sect con­veyed Two books; that, car­ried by one holy man, — Him of our law — Christ’s per­fect life dis­played; Those oth­ers’ vol­ume was their Al­co­ran. The em­per­or in his hands the Gospel took, The king of Africa that oth­er book.

LXXXII Charle­magne, at his al­tar, to the sky Lift­ed his hands, “O God, that for our sake” (Ex­claimed the monarch) “wast con­tent to die, Thy­self a ran­som for our sins to make; — O thou that found such favour in his eye, That God from thee the flesh of man did take, Borne for nine months with­in thy holy womb, While aye thy vir­gin flow­er pre­served its bloom,

LXXXI­II “Hear, and be wit­ness­es of what I say, For me and those that af­ter me shall reign, To Agra­mant and those that heir his sway, I twen­ty loads of gold of per­fect grain Will ev­ery year de­liv­er, if to-​day My cham­pi­on van­quished in the lists re­main; And vow I will straight­way from war­fare cease, And from hence­forth main­tain per­pet­ual peace;

LXXXIV “And may your joint and fear­ful wrath de­scend On me forth­with, if I my word forego! And may it me and mine alone of­fend, And none be­side, amid this nu­mer­ous show! That all in briefest time may com­pre­hend, My breach of promise has brought down the woe.” So say­ing, in his hand the holy book Charles held, and fixed on heav­en his earnest look.

LXXXV This done, they seek that al­tar, sump­tu­ous­ly Decked for the pur­pose, by the pa­gan train; Where their king swears, that he will pass the sea, With all his army, to his Moor­ish reign, And to King Charles will trib­utary be; If van­quished, young Rogero shall re­main; And will ob­serve the truce for ev­er­more Up­on the pact de­clared by Charles be­fore;

LXXXVI And like him, nor in un­der tone, he swears, Call­ing on Ma­hound to at­test his oath; And on the vol­ume which his pon­tiff bears, To ob­serve what he has promised plights his troth. Then to his side each hasti­ly re­pairs; And mid their sev­er­al pow­ers are har­boured both. Next these, to swear ar­rive the cham­pi­ons twain; And this the promise which their oaths con­tain.

LXXXVII Rogero pledges first his knight­ly word, Should his king mar, or send to mar, the fray, He him no more as lead­er or as lord Will serve, but whol­ly Charle­magne obey. — Ri­nal­do — if in breach of their ac­cord, Him from the field King Charles would bear away, Till one or the oth­er is sub­dued in fight, That he will be the Moor­ish monarch’s knight.

LXXXVI­II When end­ed are the cer­emonies, here And there, to seek their camps the two di­vide. Nor long, there­in de­layed; when trum­pets clear The time for their en­counter sig­ni­fied: Now to the charge ad­vanced each cav­alier, Mea­sur­ing with cau­tious care his ev­ery stride. Lo! the as­sault be­gins; now low, now high, That pair the sound­ing steel in cir­cles ply.

LXXXIX Now with the axe’s blade, now with its heel Their strokes they at the head or foot ad­dress; And these so skil­ful­ly and nim­bly deal, As needs must shock all cre­dence to ex­press. The Child, that at her broth­er aims the steel, Who doth his mis­er­able soul pos­sess, Ev­er­more with such cau­tion strikes his blow, That he is deemed less vig­or­ous than his foe.

XC Rather to par­ry then to smite in­tent, He know not what to wish; that low should lie Ri­nal­do, would Rogero ill con­tent, Nor will­ing­ly the Child by him would die. But here I am at my full line’s ex­tent, Where I must needs de­fer my his­to­ry. In oth­er can­to shall the rest ap­pear, If you that oth­er can­to please to hear.