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Canto 17

Argument

Charles goes, with his, against King Rodomont.

Gryphon in Norandini’s tournament

Does mighty deeds; Martano turns his front,

Showing how recreant is his natural bent;

And next, on Gryphon to bring down affront,

Stole from the knight the arms in which he went;

Hence by the kindly monarch much esteemed,

And, Gryphon scorned, whom he Martano deemed.

God, outraged by our rank iniquity,

Whenever crimes have past remission’s bound,

That mercy may with justice mingled be,

Has monstrous and destructive tyrants crowned;

And gifted them with force and subtlety,

A sinful world to punish and confound.

Marius and Sylla to this end were nursed,

Rome with two Neros and a Caius cursed;

Domitian and the latter Antonine;

And, lifted from the lowest rabble’s lees,

To imperial place and puissance, Maximine:

Hence Thebes to cruel Creon bent her knees,

Mezentius ruled the subject Agiline,

Fattening his fields with blood. To pests like these

Our Italy was given in later day,

To Lombard, Goth, and Hun a bleeding prey.

What shall I of fierce Attila, what say

Of wicked Ezzeline, and hundreds more?

Whom, because men still trod the crooked way,

God sent them for their pain and torment sore.

Of this ourselves have made a clear assay,

As well as those who lived in days of yore;

Consigned to ravening wolves, ordained to keep

Us, his ill-nurtured and unuseful sheep;

Who, as if having more than served to fill

Their hungry maw, invite from foreign wood

Beyond the mountain, wolves of greedier will,

With them to be partakers of their food.

The bones which Thrasymene and Trebbia fill,

And Cannæ, seem but few to what are strewed

On fattened field and bank, where on their way

Adda and Mella, Ronco and Tarro stray.

Now God permits that we should feel the spite

Of people, who are haply worse than we,

For errors multiplied and infinite,

And foul and pestilent iniquity.

The time will come we may such ill requite

Upon their shores, if we shall better be,

And their transgressions ever prove above

The long endurance of eternal love.

The Christian people then God’s placid front

Must have disturbed with their excesses sore;

Since them with slaughter, rape, and rapine hunt,

Through all their quarters, plundering Turk and Moor:

But the unsparing rage of Rodomont

Proves worse than all the ills endured before.

I said that Charlemagne had made repair

In search of him towards the city square.

Charles, by the way, his people’s butchery

Beholds—burnt palaces and ruined fanes—

And sees large portion of the city lie

In unexampled wreck.—“Ye coward trains,

“Whither in heartless panic would ye fly?

“Will none his loss contemplate? what remains

“To you,—what place of refuge, say, is left,

“If this from you so shamefully be reft?

“Then shall one man alone, a prisoned foe,

“Who cannot scale the walls which round him spread,

“Unscaithed, unquestioned, from your city go,

“When all are by his vengeful arm laid dead?”

Thus Charlemagne, whose veins with anger glow,

And shame, too strong to brook, in fury said;

And to the spacious square made good his way,

Where he beheld the foe his people slay.

Thither large portion of the populace,

Climbing the palace roof, had made resort;

For strongly walled, and furnished was the place

With ammunition, for their long support.

Rodomont, mad with pride, had, in his chace

Of the scared burghers, singly cleared the court;

He with one daring hand, which scorned the world,

Brandished the sword;—his other wildfire hurled;

And smote and thundered, ’mid a fearful shower,

At the sublime and royal house’s gate.

To their life’s peril, crumbling roof and tower

Is tost by them that on the summit wait:

Nor any fears to ruin hall or bower;

But wood and stone endure one common fate,

And marble column, slab, and gilded beam,

By sire and grandsire held in high esteem.

Rodomont stands before the portal, bright

With steel, his head and bust secured in mail,

Like to a serpent, issued into light,

Having cast off his slough, diseased and stale:

Who more than ever joying in his might,

Renewed in youth, and proud of polished scale,

Darts his three tongues, fire flashing from his eyes;

While every frighted beast before him flies.

Nor bulwark, stone, nor arbalest, nor bow,

Nor what upon the paynim smote beside,

Sufficed to arrest the sanguinary foe;

Who broke and hewed, and shook that portal wide,

And in his fury let such day-light through,

’Twas easy to espy—and might be spied—

In visages o’ercast in death-like sort,

That full of people was the palace court.

Through those fair chambers echoed shouts of dread,

And feminine lament from dame distrest;

And grieving, through the house, pale women fled,

Who wept, afflicted sore, and beat their breast.

And hugged the door-post and the genial bed,

Too soon to be by stranger lords possest.

The matter in this state of peril hung

When thither came the king, his peers among.

Charles turned him round to these, of vigorous hand,

Whom he had found in former peril true.

“Are you not those that erst with me did stand

“’Gainst Agolant in Aspramont? In you

“Is vigour now so spent, (he said) the band,

“Who him, Troyano, and Almontes slew,

“With hundreds more, that you now fear to face

“One of that very blood, that very race?

“Why should I now in contest with the foe

“Less strength in you behold than then? Your might

“Upon this hound (pursued the monarch) show;

“This hound who preys on man.—A generous sprite

“The thought of death—approach lie fast or slow—

“So that he dies but well, holds cheap and light.

“But where you are, I doubt my fortune ill,

“For by your succour, have I conquered still.”

This said, he spurred his courser, couched his spear,

And charged the paynim; nor of life less free,

Sir Ogier joined the king in his career;

Namus and Oliver; and, with the three,

Avino, Avolio, Otho, and Berlinghier;

(For one without the rest I never see)

And on the bosom, flanks, and on the front,

All smote together at King Rodomont.

But let us, sir, for love of Heaven, forego

Of anger and of death the noisome lore;

And be it deemed that I have said enow,

For this while, of that Saracen, not more

Cruel than strong; ’tis time in trace to go

Of Gryphon, left with Origille, before

Damascus’ gate, and him who with her came,

The adulterer, not the brother of the dame.

Of all the cities under eastern skies,

Most wealthy, populous, and fairly dight,

’Tis said, Damascus is; which distant lies

From Salem seven days’ journey; its fair site,

A fertile plain, abundant fruits supplies,

Winter and summer, sojourn of delight.

Shading the city from the dawning day,

A mountain intercepts its early ray.

Two crystal streams the wealthy city scower;

Whose currents, parted into many a rill,

Infinite gardens, never bare of flower,

Or stript of leaf, with grateful murmur fill:

’Tis said the perfumed waters are of power

(So plenteously they swell) to turn a mill;

And that whoever wander through the streets,

Scent, issuing from each house, a cloud of sweets.

Then the high-street gay signs of triumph wore,

Covered with showy cloths of different dye,

Which deck the walls, while sylvan leaves in store,

And scented herbs upon the pavement lie.

Adorned is every window, every door,

With carpeting and finest drapery;

But more with ladies fair, and richly drest,

In costly jewels and in gorgeous vest.

Within the city-gates in frolic sport,

Many are seen to ply the festive dance;

And here the burghers of the better sort

Upon their gay and well-trapt coursers prance.

A fairer show remains; the sumptuous court

Of barons bold and vassals, who advance,

Garnished with what could be procured, of ore

And pearl, from Ind and Erythraean shore.

Forward Sir Gryphon pricked, with his array,

Surveying, here and there, the whole at ease;

When them a knight arrested by the way,

And (such his wont and natural courtesies)

Obliged beneath his palace-roof to stay;

Where he let nought be wanting which might please;

And chearfully the guests, with bath restored,

Next welcomed at his costly supper-board;

And told “how he, who, Norandino hight,

“Damascus and all Syria’s kingdom swayed,

“Native and foreigner had bade invite,

“On whom the sword of knighthood had been laid,

“To a fair joust, which at the morrow’s light,

“Ensuing, in the square was to be made.

“Where they might show, and without further faring,

“If they had valour equal to their bearing.”

Gryphon, though he came not that joust to see,

Accepts the challenge of the cavalier;

For when occasion serves, it cannot be

An evil use to make our worth appear:

Then questioned more of that solemnity;

—‘If ’twere a wonted feast, held every year,

‘Or new emprise; by which, in martial course,

‘The monarch would assay his warriors’ force.’—

“The gorgeous feast our monarch will display

“Each fourth succeeding moon,” the baron said;

“This is the first that you will now survey;

“None have been held beside. The cause which bred

“The solemn usage is, that on such day

“The king from sovereign peril saved his head,

“After four months, consumed in doleful wise,

“’Mid tears and groans, with death before his eyes.

“Our monarch, who is named king Norandine

“(Fully to you the matter to recite),

“Through many and many a year for her did pine,

“Above all other damsels fair and bright,

“The king of Cyprus’ daughter; whom, in fine,

“Espoused, he, with his bride, and dame, and knight,

“To wait upon her home, a fair array,

“Towards his Syrian realm had shaped his way.

“But as we scoured the fell Carpathian sea,

“With flowing sheet, at distance from the shore,

“A storm assailed us, of such cruelty,

“The tempest even scared our pilot hoar.

“Drifting three days and nights at random, we

“Our devious course ’mid threatening waves explore;

“Then, wet and weary, land ’mid verdant hills,

“Between well-shaded and refreshing rills.

“We our pavilions pitch, and, ’mid those groves,

“Joyfully strain our awnings overhead;

“And kitchens there construct, and rustic stoves,

“And carpets for the intended banquet spread.

“Meanwhile through neighbouring vale the monarch roves,

“And secret wood, scarce pervious to the tread,

“Seeking red deer, goat, fallow-buck, and doe;

“And, following him, two servants bear his bow.

“While, with much solace, seated in a round,

“We from the chace expect our lord’s return,

“Approaching us along the shore, astound,

“The orc, that fearful monster, we discern.

“God grant, fair sir, he never may confound

“Your eyesight with his semblance foul and stern!

“Better it is of him by fame to hear,

“Than to behold him by approaching near.

“To calculate the griesly monster’s height,

“(So measureless is he) exceeds all skill;

“Of fungus-hue, in place of orbs of sight,

“Their sockets two small bones like berries fill.

“Towards us, as I say, he speeds outright

“Along the shore, and seems a moving hill.

“Tusks jutting out like savage swine he shows,

“A breast with drivel foul, and pointed nose.

“Running, the monster comes, and bears his snout

“In guise of brach, who enters on the trail.

“We who behold him fly (a helpless rout),

“Wherever terror drives, with visage pale.

“’Tis little comfort, that he is without

“Eye-sight, who winds his plunder in the gale,

“Better than aught possest of scent and sight:

“And wing and plume were needed for our flight.

“Some here, some there make off, but little gain

“By flying him; for swifter is the pest

“Than the south wind. Of forty, ten, with pain,

“Swimming aboard the bark in safety rest.

“Under his arm some wretches of our train

“He packed, nor empty left his lap or breast:

“And loaded a capacious scrip beside,

“Which, like a shepherd’s, to his waist was tied.

“Us to his den the sightless monster carried,

“Hollowed within a rock, upon the shore;

“Of snowy marble was that cavern quarried,

“As white as leaf, unstained by inky score.

“With him within the cave a matron tarried,

“Who marked by grief and pain a visage wore.

“With her were wife and maid, a numerous court,

“Both fair and foul, of every age and sort.

“Large as the other, and that grotto near,

“Almost upon the summit of the rock,

“Another cavern was contrived, to rear,

“And from the weather fend his woolly flock,

“Which he still herded through the changeful year;

“So numerous, it were hard to count his stock:

“Wont in due season these to pen or loose,

“And play the shepherd more for sport than use.

“The flesh of man he savoured more than sheep,

“And this, before he reached the cave, was seen.

“Three youths of ours, ere yet he climbed the steep,

“He ate alive, or rather swallowed clean;

“Then moved the stone, which closed that cavern deep,

“And lodged us there. With that, to pasture green

“His flock he led, as wont, the meads among,

“Sounding the pipe which at his neck was hung.

“Our lord, meanwhile, returning to the strand,

“The loss which he had suffered comprehends;

“For in deep silence, upon every hand,

“Through empty tent and hut the monarch wends:

“Nor who has robbed him can he understand;

“And full of terror to the beach descends;

“Whence he his sailors in the offing sees

“Unmoor and spread their canvas to the breeze.

“As soon as Norandino was in view,

“They launched and sent their pinnace to convey

“The monarch thence: but he no sooner knew

“Of the fell orc, and those he made his prey,

“Than he, without more thought, would him pursue

“And follow, wheresoe’er he bent his way.

“To lose Lucina is such cruel pain,

“That life is loathsome save he her regain.

“When on the newly printed sand his eyes

“Norandine fixt, he with the swiftness sped

“With which the rage of love a man supplies,

“Until he reached the cave of which I said,

“Where we, enduring greater agonies

“Than e’er were suffered, there await in dread

“The orc, and deem at every sound we hear,

“The famished brute about to re-appear.

“The monarch to the cave did Fortune guide,

“When the orc’s wife alone was in the lair.

“Seeing the king; ‘Fly! Woe to thee!’ (she cried)

‘Should the orc take thee!’—‘Woeful every where

‘I cannot choose but be,’ (the king replied)

‘Whether he take or miss me, kill or spare.

‘Not hither I by chance have wandered, I

‘Come with desire beside my wife to die.’

“He afterwards the dame for tidings pressed

“Of those the orc had taken on the shore;

“And of Lucina above all the rest;

“If slain or prisoner kept. With kindly lore,

“She Norandino, in return, addressed;

“And said, ‘Lucina lived, nor need he more

‘Have of her future safety any dread,

‘For the orc on flesh of woman never fed.

‘Of this you may behold the proof in me,

‘And all these other dames who with me dwell;

‘Nor me, nor them the orc offends, so we

‘Depart not ever from this caverned cell.

‘But vainly who would from her prison flee,

‘Hopes peace or pardon from our tyrant fell:

‘Buried alive, or bound with griding band,

‘Or, in the sun, stript naked on the sand.

‘When hither he to-day conveyed your crew,

‘The females from the males he severed not;

‘But, as he took them, in confusion threw

‘All he had captive made, into that grot.

‘He will scent out their sex; nor tremble, you,

‘Lest he the women slay: the others’ lot

‘Is fixt; and, of four men or six a-day,

‘Be sure the greedy orc will make his prey.

‘I have no counsel for you how to free

‘The lady; but content thyself to hear,

‘She in no danger of her life will be,

‘Who will our lot, in good or evil, share.

‘But go, for love of Heaven, my son, lest thee

‘The monster smell, and on thy body fare;

‘For when arrived, he sniffs about the house,

‘And, such his subtle scent, can wind a mouse.’

“To her the amorous monarch made reply,

‘That he the cave would not abandon, ere

‘He saw Lucina, and near her to die,

‘Than to live far from her, esteemed more dear.’

—“Seeing that she can nothing more supply

“Fitted to shake the purpose of the peer,

“Upon a new design the matron hits,

Pursued with all her pains, with all her wits.

“With slaughtered sheep and goat was evermore

“The cavern filled, the numerous flock’s increase,

“Which served her and her household as a store;

“And from the ceiling dangled many a fleece.

“The dame made Norandino from a hoar

“And huge he-goat’s fat bowels take the grease,

“And with the suet all his members pay,

“Until he drove his natural scent away.

“And when she thought he had imbibed the smell

“Which the rank goat exhales, she took the hide,

“Arid made him creep into the shaggy fell;

“Who was well covered by that mantle wide.

“Him in this strange disguise she from the cell

“Crawling (for such was her command) did guide,

“Where, prisoned by a stone, in her retreat,

“Was hid his beauteous lady’s visage sweet.

“King Norandine, as bid, took up his ground

“Before the cavern, on the greensward laid,

“That he might enter with the flock who wound

“Homeward; and longing sore, till evening stayed.

“At eve he hears the hollow elder’s sound,

“Upon whose pipes the wonted tune was played,

“Calling his sheep from pasture to their rock,

“By the fell swain who stalked behind his flock.

“Think if his heart is trembling at its core,

“When Norandino hears the approaching strains;

“And now advancing to the cavern door,

“The sight of that terrific face sustains!

“But if fear shook him, pity moved him more:

“You see if he loves well or only feigns!

“The orc removed the stone, unbarred the cote,

“And the king entered, amid sheep and goat.

“His flock so housed, to us the orc descended,

“But first had care the cavern door to close:

“Then scented all about, and having ended

“His quest, two wretches for his supper chose.

“So is remembrance by this meal offended,

“It makes me tremble yet: this done, he goes;

“And being gone, the king his goatish vest

“Casts off, and folds his lady to his breast.

“Whereas she him with pleasure should descry,

“She, seeing him, but suffers grief and pain.

“She sees him thither but arrived to die,

“Who cannot hinder her from being slain.

‘’Twas no small joy ’mid all the woes, that I,’

“To him exclaimed Lucina, ‘here sustain,

‘That thou wert not among us found to-day,

‘When hither I was brought, the monster’s prey.

‘For though to find myself about to leave

‘This life, be bitter and afflict me sore,

‘Such is our common instinct, I should grieve

‘But for myself; but whether thee, before

‘Or after me, the orc of life bereave,

‘Assure thyself thy death will pain me more

‘Than mine.’ “And thus the dame persists to moan

“More Norandino’s danger than her own.”

‘A hope conducts me here,’ the monarch said,

‘To save thee and thy followers every one;

‘And, if I cannot, I were better dead,

‘Than living without light of thee, my sun!

‘I trust to scape, as hither I have sped;

‘As ye shall all, if, as ourselves have done,

‘To compass our design, you do not shrink

‘To imbue your bodies with the loathsome stink.’

“The trick he told, wherewith the monster’s smell

“To cheat, as first to him the wife had told:

“In any case to cloathe us in the fell,

“That he may feel it issuing from the fold.

“As many men as women in the cell,

“We slay (persuaded by the monarch bold)

“As many goats as with our number square,

“Of those which stink the most and oldest are.

“We smeared our bodies with the fruitful grease

“Which round about the fat intestines lay,

“And cloathed our bodies with the shaggy fleece:

“This while from golden dwelling broke the day.

“And now, his flock returning to release,

“We viewed the shepherd, with the dawning ray;

“Who, giving breath to the sonorous reeds,

“Piped forth his prisoned flock to hill and meads.

“He held his hand before the opened lair,

“Lest with the herd we issued from the den,

“And stopt us short; but feeling wool or hair

“Upon our bodies, let us go again.

“By such a strange device we rescued were,

“Cloathed in our shaggy fleeces, dames and men:

“Nor any issuing thence the monster kept,

“Till thither, sore alarmed, Lucina crept.

“Lucina—whether she abhorred the scent,

“And, like us others, loathed herself to smear,

“—Or whether with a slower gait she went

“Than might like the pretended beast’s appear,

“—Or whether, when the orc her body hent,

“Her dread so mastered her, she screamed for fear,

“—Or that her hair escaped from neck or brow,

“Was known; nor can I well inform you how.

“So were we all intent on our own case,

“We for another’s danger had no eyes:

“Him, turning at the scream, I saw uncase

“Already her whom he had made his prize,

“And force her to the cavern to retrace

“Her steps: we, couching in our quaint disguise,

“Wend with the flock, where us the shepherd leads,

“Through verdant mountains, into pleasant meads.

“There we awaited, till beneath the shade

“Secure, we saw the beaked orc asleep;

“When one along the shore of ocean made,

“And one betook him to the mountain steep.

“King Norandine his love alone delayed;

“Who would return disguised among the sheep,

“Nor from the place depart, while life remained,

“Unless his faithful consort he regained.

“For when before, on the flock issuing out,

“He saw her prisoned in the cave alone,

“Into the orc’s wide throat he was about

“To spring; so grief had reason overthrown,

“And he advanced even to the monster’s snout,

“And, but by little, scaped the grinding stone:

“Yet him the hope detained amid the flock,

“Trusting to bear Lucina from the rock.

“The orc, at eve, when to the cave again

“He brings the herd, nor finds us in the stall,

“And knows that he must supperless remain,

“Lucina guilty of the whole does call,

“Condemned to stand, fast girded with a chain,

“In open air, upon the summit tall.

“The king who caused her woes, with pitying eye

“Looks on, and pines, and only cannot die.

“Morning and evening, her, lamenting sore,

“Ever the unhappy lover might survey;

“What time he grieving went afield before

“The issuing flock, or homeward took his way.

“She, with sad face, and suppliant evermore,

“Signed that for love of Heaven he would not stay;

“Since there he tarried at great risk of life,

“Nor could in any thing assist his wife.

“So the orc’s wife, as well upon her side,

“Implored him to depart, but moved him nought;

“To go without Lucina he denied,

“And but remained more constant in his thought.

“In this sad servitude he long was tried,

“By Love and Pity bound: till Fortune brought

“A pair of warriors to the rocky won,

“Gradasso, and Agrican’s redoubted son:

“Where, with their arms so wrought the champions brave,

“They freed Lucina from the chains she wore,

“(Though her Wit less than Fortune served to save)

“And running to the sea their burden bore:

“Her to her father, who was there, they gave.

“This was at morn, when in the cavern hoar,

“Mixt with the goats, king Norandino stood,

“Which ruminating, chewed their grassy food:

“But when, at day-light, ’twas unbarred, and now

“He was instructed that his wife was gone;

“For the orc’s consort told the tale, and how,

“In every point, the thing rehearsed was done;

“He thanked his God, and begged, with promised vow,

“That, since ’twas granted her such ill to shun,

“He would direct his wife to some repair,

“Whence he might free her, by arms, gold, or prayer.

“Together with the flat-nosed herd his way

“He took, and for green meads rejoicing made.

“He here expected, till the monster lay

“Extended, underneath the gloomy shade:

“Then journeyed all the night and all the day;

“Till, of the cruel orc no more afraid,

“He climbed a bark on Satalia’s strand,

“And, three days past, arrived on Syrian land.

“In Cyprus, and in Rhodes, by tower and town,

“Which in near Egypt, Turkey, or Afric lay,

“The king bade seek Lucina up and down,

“Nor could hear news of her till the other day.

“The other day, his father-in-law made known,

“He had her safe with him. What caused her stay

“In Nicosia, was a cruel gale

“Which had long time been adverse to her sail.

“The king, for pleasure of the tidings true,

“Prepares the costly feast in solemn state;

“And will on each fourth moon that shall ensue

“Make one, resembling this we celebrate.

“Pleased of that time the memory to renew,

“That he, in the orc’s cavern, had to wait,

“—For four months and a day—which is to-morrow;

“When he was rescued from such cruel sorrow.

“The things related I in part descried,

“And from him, present at the whole, heard more;

“From Norandine, through calend and through ide,

“Pent, till he changed to smiles his anguish sore:

“And if from other you hear aught beside,

“Say, he is ill instructed in his lore.”

The Syrian gentleman did thus display

The occasion of that feast and fair array.

Large portion of the night, in like discourse,

Was by those cavaliers together spent,

Who deemed that Love and Pity’s mickle force

Was proved in that so dread experiment;

Then rising, when the supper’s sumptuous course

Was cleared, to good and pleasant lodgings went;

And, as the ensuing morning fairly broke,

To sounds of triumph and rejoicing woke.

The circling drums’ and trumpets’ echoing strain

Assemble all the town within the square;

And now, when mixt with sound of horse and wain,

Loud outcries through the streets repeated are,

Sir Gryphon dons his glittering arms again,

A panoply of those esteemed most rare;

Whose mail, impassable by spear or brand,

She, the white fay, had tempered with her hand.

The man of Antioch in his company,

Armed him (a recreant worse than he was none),

Provided by their landlord’s courtesy

With sturdy spears and good, the course to run;

Who with his kindred, a fair chivalry,

To bring the warriors to the square is gone;

With squires afoot and mounted upon steeds,

Whom he bestowed, as aptest for their needs.

They in the square arrived and stood aside,

Nor of themselves awhile would make display;

Better to see the martial gallants ride

By twos and threes, or singly, to the fray.

One told, by colours cunningly allied,

His joy or sorrow to his lady gay;

One, with a painted Love on crest or shield,

If she were cruel or were kind, revealed.

It was the Syrians’ practice in that age

To arm them in this fashion of the west.

Haply this sprung out of their vicinage

And constant commerce with the Franks, possest

In those days of the sacred heritage,

That God incarnate with his presence blest;

Which now, to them abandoned by the train

Of wretched Christians, heathen hounds profane.

God’s worshippers, where they should couch the lance,

For furtherance of his holy faith and true,

Against each other’s breast the spear advance,

To the destruction of the faithful few.

You men of Spain, and you, ye men of France,

And Switzers, turn your steps elsewhere, and you,

Ye Germans, worthier empire to acquire;

For that is won for Christ, which you desire.

If verily most Christian you would be,

—I speak to you, that catholic are hight—

Why slain by you Christ’s people do I see?

Wherefore are they despoiled of their right?

Why seek you not Jerusalem to free

From renegades? By Turkish Moslemite

Impure, why is Byzantium, with the best

And fairest portion of the world, possest?

Thou Spain, hast thou not fruitful Afric nigh?

And has she not in sooth offended more

Than Italy? yet her to scathe, that high,

And noble, enterprize wilt thou give o’er.

Alas! thou sleepest, drunken Italy,

Of every vice and crime the fetid sewer!

Nor grievest, as a hand-maid, to obey,

In turn, the nations that have owned thy sway.

If fear of famishing within thy cave,

Switzer, does thee to Lombardy convey,

And thou, among our people, dost but crave

A hand to give thee daily bread, or slay,

The Turk has ready wealth; across the wave,

Drive him from Europe or from Greece away:

So shalt thou in those parts have wherewithal

To feed thy hunger, or more nobly fall.

I to the German neighbour of thy lair

Say what I say to thee; the wealth o’ the west,

Which Constantine brought off from Rome, is there—

Brought off the choicest, gave away the rest—

There golden Hermus and Pactolus are,

Mygdonia and Lydia: nor that country blest,

Which many tales for many praises note,

If thou wouldst thither wend, is too remote.

Thou mighty Lion, that art charged to keep

The keys of Paradise, a weighty care,

Oh! let not Italy lie plunged in sleep,

If thy strong hand is planted in her hair.

To thee, his shepherd, God, to guide his sheep,

Has given that wand and furious name to bear;

That thou may’st roar, and wide thine arms extend,

And so from greedy wolves thy flock defend.

But whither have I roved! who evermore

So from one topic to the other stray?

Yet think not I the road I kept before

To have missed so far, but I can find my way.

I said, the Syrians then observed the lore

Of arming like the Christians of that day.

So that Damascus’ crowded square was bright

With corslet, plate, and helm of belted knight.

The lovely ladies from their scaffolds throw

Upon the jousters yellow flowers and red;

While these, as loud the brazen trumpets blow,

Make their steeds leap and wheel and proudly tread.

Each, rode he well or ill, his art would show,

And with the goring spur his courser bled.

Hence this good cavalier earns fame and praise,

While others scornful hoots and laughter raise.

A suit of arms was prize of the assay,

Presented to the king some days before;

Which late a merchant found upon the way

Returning from Armenia; this the more

To grace, a vest, with noblest tissue gay,

The Syrian king subjoined, so powdered o’er

With jewels, gold, and pearls in rich device,

They made the meed a thing of passing price.

If the good king had known the panoply,

This he had held above all others dear;

Nor this had given, as full of courtesy,

To be contended for with sword and spear.

’Twere long to tell who so unworthily

Had erst mistreated thus the goodly gear,

That by the way the harness had been strowed,

A prey to whosoever past the road.

Of this you more in other place shall hear.

Of Gryphon now I tell, who at the just

Arrived, saw broken many a knightly spear,

And more than one good stroke and one good thrust.

Eight were there who made league together, dear

To Norandine, and held in sovereign trust;

Youths quick in arms and practised in the shock:

All lords, or scions of illustrious stock.

At open barriers, one by one, the place

They kept against all comers for a day;

At first with lance, and next with sword or mace,

While them the king delighted to survey.

Ofttimes they pierce the corslet’s iron case,

And every thing in fine perform in play,

Which foemen do that deadly weapons measure,

Save that the king may part them at his pleasure.

That witless Antiochite, who, worthily,

By name was cowardly Martano hight,

Thinking, because his comrade, he must be

Partaker of the noble Gryphon’s might,

Into the martial press rides valiantly,

Then stops; and the issue of a furious fight,

Which had begun between two cavaliers,

To wait, retiring from the strife, appears.

Seleucia’s lord, of those companions one,

Combined in that emprize to keep the place,

Who then a course with bold Ombruno run,

Wounded the unhappy warrior in mid-face,

So that he slew him; mourned by every one,

Who as a worthy knight the warrior grace,

And over and above his worth, before

All others, hold him for his courteous lore.

When vile Martano from his place discerned

The fate which might be his with fearful eye,

Into his craven nature he returned,

And straight began to think how he might fly:

But him from flight the watchful Gryphon turned,

And, after much ado, with act and cry,

Urged him against a knight upon the ground,

As at the ravening wolf men slip the hound;

Who will pursue the brindled beast for ten,

Or twenty yards, and, after, stop to bay;

When he beholds his flashing eyes, and when

He sees the griesly beast his teeth display.

’Twas thus, before those valiant gentlemen

And princes, present there in fair array,

Fearful Martano, seized with panic dread,

Turned to the right his courser’s rein and head.

Yet he who would excuse the sudden wheel,

Upon his courser might the blame bestow:

But, after, he so ill his strokes did deal,

Demosthenes his cause might well forego.

With paper armed he seems, and not with steel,

So shrinks he at the wind of every blow:

At length he breaks the ordered champions through,

Amid loud laughter from the circling crew.

Clapping of hands, and cries, at every turn,

Were heard from all that rabble widely spread.

As a wolf sorely hunted makes return

To earth, to his retreat Martano fled.

Gryphon remained, and sullied with the scorn

Esteemed himself, which on his mate was shed;

And rather than be there, he, in his ire,

Would gladly find himself i’ the midst of fire.

With burning heart, and visage red with shame,

He thinks the knight’s disgrace is all his own,

Because by deeds like his with whom he came,

He weens the mob expects to see him known.

So that it now behoves his valour flame

More clear than light, or they, to censure prone,

—Errs he a finger’s breadth—an inch—will swell

His fault, and of that inch will make an ell.

Already he the lance upon his thigh

Has rested, little used to miss the foe:

Then makes with flowing rein his courser fly,

And next, somedeal advanced, directs the blow;

And, smiting, puts to the last agony

Sidonia’s youthful lord, by him laid low.

O’ercome with wonder each assistant rises,

Whom sore the unexpected deed surprises.

Gryphon returned, and did the weapon wield,

Whole and recovered, which he couched before,

And in three pieces broke it on the shield

Which bold Laodicèa’s baron bore.

Thrice or four times about to press the field

He seemed, and lay along the crupper, sore

Astound; yet rose at length, unsheathed his blade,

Wheeled his good courser, and at Gryphon made.

Gryphon, who in his saddle sees the peer

Advancing towards him, nor unseated by

The encounter, says; “The failure of the spear

“In a few strokes the sabre shall supply;”

And on his temples smote a stroke so shear,

It seemed that it descended from the sky;

And matched it with another, and again

Another, till he stretched him on the plain.

Here two good brothers of Apamia were,

In tourney wont to have the upper hand:

Corimbo named and Thyrsis was the pair;

Both overturned by Gryphon on the land.

One at the encounter left his saddle bare,

On the other Gryphon used his trenchant brand:

This valiant knight was, in the common trust,

Sure to obtain the honours of the just.

Bold Salinterno, mid the warlike train,

Was in the lists, vizier and marshal hight,

Who had the government of all that reign,

And was, withal, a puissant man of might:

The tourney’s prize he sees, with much disdain,

About to be borne off by foreign knight.

A lance he snatches, and to Gryphon cries,

And him with many menaces defies.

But he makes answer with a massy spear,

Out of ten others chosen as the best;

And levelling at the buckler of the peer,

For greater surety, pierces plate and breast.

’Twixt rib and rib, it bored the cavalier,

Issuing a palm behind. To all the rest,

The king excepted, welcome was the blow:

For each was greedy Salinterno’s foe.

Two of Damascus next Sir Gryphon sped,

Hermophilo and Carmondo. This, arraid

Under his flag, the king’s militia led;

That was as lord high admiral obeyed.

This lightly at the shock on earth was shed,

And that, reversed, upon the ground o’erlaid

By his weak horse, too feeble to withstand

Sir Gryphon’s mighty push and puissant hand.

Yet in the field remained Seleucia’s knight,

The best of all the other seven at need;

And one who well accompanied his might

With perfect armour and a gallant steed.

Both at the helmet, where it locks, take sight,

And with their spears to the encounter speed:

But Gryphon hardest smote, whose paynim foe

Lost his left stirrup, staggered by the blow.

They cast the truncheons down, their coursers wheel,

And, full of daring, with drawn falchions close.

Sir Gryphon was the first a stroke to deal,

Which might have split an anvil; at the blow’s

Descent, the shield is splintered—bone and steel—

This had its lord mid thousand others chose;

And, but ’twas double, and the coat as well,

The sword had cleft the thigh on which it fell.

He of Seleucia at Sir Gryphon’s casque,

At the same time, so fell a blow addrest,

It would have rent and torn the iron mask,

Had it not been enchanted like the rest.

The paynim’s labour is a fruitless task,

Of arms so hard Sir Gryphon is possest;

Who has the foe’s already cleft and broke

In many parts, nor thrown away a stroke.

Each one might see how much Seleucia’s lord

Was overmatched by Gryphon, and that day,

The worsted man had perished by the sword,

Had not the monarch quickly stopt the fray.

To his guard king Norandino spake the word,

And bade them enter, and the duel stay:

They part the knights, whom they asunder bear,

And much the king is lauded for his care.

The eight, who had to keep the field pretended

From all the world, nor yet their part had done

On a sole knight,—their quarrel ill defended,—

Had vanished from the tilt-yard one by one.

The others, who with them should have contended,

Stood idle; for to answer them was none.

Since Gryphon had forestalled, in the debate,

What they should all have done against those eight;

And, for such little time endured the play,

Less than an hour sufficed to finish all.

But Norandine, the pastime to delay,

And to continue it till even-fall,

Descending from his place, bade clear the way;

And the huge squad divided, at his call,

Into two troops, whom, ranked by blood and might,

The monarch formed, and matched for other fight.

Sir Gryphon, during this, had made return

Homeward, with anger and with fury stung;

Less thinking of his honours than the scorn

Which on the vile Martano had been flung.

Hence, from himself the opprobrious shame to turn,

Martano now employs his lying tongue;

And she, the false and cunning courtezan,

Assists him in his scheme as best she can.

Whether the youth believed the tale or no,

He the excuse received, like one discreet;

And deemed it best for them at once to go,

And secretly and silently retreat,

For fear, that if the populace should know

Martano base, they him might ill entreat.

So, by short ways and close, they quit the abode,

And issue from the gates upon their road.

Sir Gryphon, was he or his horse foredone

With toil, or was it sleep his eyes down-weighed,

Ere yet the troop beyond two miles had gone,

At the first inn upon the highway stayed.

He doffed his armour all, and morion,

And had the steeds of trappings disarrayed;

And next alone he to a chamber sped,

Locked himself in, undrest, and went to bed.

No sooner he his head had rested there,

Than, with deep sleep opprest, he closed his eye:

So heavily, no badgers in their lair,

Or dormice, overcome with slumber, lie.

Martano and Origille, to take the air,

Entered this while a garden which was nigh;

And there the strangest fraud together bred,

Which ever entered into mortal head.

Martano schemed to take away the steed

And gear, in which Sir Gryphon had been dight,

And stand before the monarch, in the weed

Of him who had in joust so proved his might.

As he had shaped in thought, he did the deed:

He took away the warrior’s horse, more white

Than milk, his buckler, surcoat, arms, and crest;

In all Sir Gryphon’s knightly ensigns drest.

He, who was clad in trappings not his own,

Like the ass mantled in the lion’s hide,

As he expected, to the king, unknown,

Was called in place of Gryphon: when descried

Of Norandine, he rising from his throne,

Embraced and kissed, and placed him by his side:

Nor deems enough to praise and hold him dear,

But wills that all around his praise should hear:

And bids them the sonorous metal blow,

Proclaiming him the conqueror of that day:

And round about loud voices, high and low,

The unworthy name throughout the lists convey.

He wills that, side by side, with him shall go

The knight, when homeward he shall take his way;

And him such favour shows, intent to please,

As might have honoured Mars or Hercules.

Him lodgings fair he gave, wherein to dwell

At court; and she who with the peer did ride

Was honoured by the courteous king as well,

False Origille, with knight and page supplied.

But it is time that I of Gryphon tell;

Who unsuspecting, she, or wight beside,

Him would with treacherous stratagem deceive,

Had fallen asleep, nor ever waked till eve.

When he how late it was, awaking, knew,

With speed he from the chamber did withdraw;

And hastened where he, with the other crew,

Left Origille and her false brother-in-law:

And when, nor these, nor, upon better view,

His armour nor his wonted clothes he saw,

Suspicious waxed; and more suspicion breed

The ensigns of his comrade left instead.

The host, arriving, him at full possest

Of every thing, and how, in white array,

That warrior, with the lady and the rest,

Had to the city measured back their way.

By little and by little, Gryphon guessed

What love from him had hidden till that day;

And knew, to his great sorrow, in the other

Origille’s paramour, and not her brother.

Now he lamenting for his folly stood,

That having heard the truths the pilgrim said,

He should have let her story change his mood,

Who him before so often had betrayed.

He might have venged himself, nor did;—now wou’d,

Too late, inflict the punishment delaid;

Constrained (a crying error!) in his need

To take that wily treachour’s arms and steed.

He better would have gone like naked man,

Than braced the unworthy cuirass on his breast;

Or hastened the detested shield to span,

Or place upon his helm the scorned crest.

But of the lover, and that courtezan,

He, passion mastering reason, took the quest:

And bending to Damascus’ gate his way,

Arrived an hour before the close of day.

On the left hand a castle richly dight

Stood nigh the gate, to which Sir Gryphon rode.

Besides, that it was strong and armed for fight,

Filled with rare chambers was the rich abode.

The first of Syria, king, and lord, and knight,

And lady, in a gentle group bestowed,

There in an open gallery fairly met,

Were at their glad and costly supper set.

With the high tower the beauteous gallery, clear

Beyond the city-wall, projected out,

From whence might be discovered, far and near,

The spacious fields and different roads about.

When Gryphon now, in his opprobrious gear,

And arms, dishonoured by the rabble’s flout,

Makes, by ill fortune, to the gate resort,

He by the king is seen, and all his court;

And, taken for the man whose crest he wears,

In dame and knight moves laughter, through the ring.

The vile Martano, as a man who shares

The royal grace, sits next below the king;

And next, she, whom her love so fitly pairs;

Whom Norandino gaily questioning,

Demands of them, who is the coward knight,

That of his honour makes so passing light;

Who, after feat so base and foul, anew

Approaches, with such front and shameless cheer,

—And cries, “It seems a thing unheard, that you,

“An excellent and worthy cavalier,

“Should take this man for your companion, who

“Has not in all our wide Levant his peer.

“Did you with him for contrast-sake combine,

“That so your valour might more brightly shine?

“—But did not love for you my will restrain,

“By the eternal gods, I truly swear,

“He should endure such ignominious stain,

“As I am wont to make his fellows share:

“Him would I make of my long-nursed disdain

“Of cowardice perpetual record bear.

“To you, by whom he hither was conveyed,

“If now unpunished, let his thanks be paid.

That vessel of all filthy vices, he,

Made answer; “Mighty sir, I cannot say

“Who is the stranger, that fell in with me

“Journeying from Antioch hither, by the way:

“But him I worthy of my company

“Deemed, by his warlike semblance led astray.

“I nothing of his deeds have heard or seen,

“Save what ill feats to-day have witnessed been;

“Which moved me so, it little lacked but I,

“For punishment of his unworthy fear,

“Had put him out of case again to ply,

“In martial tournament, the sword or spear;

“And, but in reverence to your majesty

“And presence, I forbore my hand to rear,

“Not for his sake:—nor be thy mercy showed

“On him, as my companion on the road;

“Whose former fellowship appears a stain;

“And ever ’twill sit heavy at my heart,

“If I, uninjured, see the wretch again

“’Scape, to the scandal of the warlike art.

“’Twere better he from tower, a worthy pain,

“Were gibbeted, than suffered to depart:

“Hung as a beacon for the coward’s gaze.

“Such were a princely deed, and worthy praise.”

A voucher he in Origilla had,

Who well, without a sign, his purpose read.

“I deem not,” cried the king, “his works so bad,

“That they should cost the stranger knight his head:

“Enough that he again the people glad,

“For penance of his weighty sin.” This said,

He quickly called a baron of his crew,

And him enjoined the deed he was to do.

With many armed men that baron fares,

And to the city-gate descending, here

Collects his troop, and for the attempt prepares,

Waiting the coming of the cavalier;

And him surprises so at unawares,

He, softly, ’twixt two bridges, takes the peer;

And him detains, with mockery and scorn,

In a dark chamber, till returning morn.

The early sun had scarce his golden hair

Uplifted from his ancient nurse’s breast,

Beginning, upon Alpine regions bare,

To chase the shades and gild the mountain-crest,

When Martan’, fearing Gryphon might declare

His wrong, and to the king the truth attest,

Retorting upon him the slander cast,

Took leave, and thence upon his journey past.

His ready wit a fit excuse supplies

Why he stays not, to see the recreant shown.

He is with other gifts, beside the prize,

Rewarded for the victory, not his own,

And letters patent, drawn in ample wise,

Wherein his lofty honours wide are blown.

Let him depart; I promise he shall meet

A guerdon worthy of his treacherous feat.

Gryphon is brought with shame into the square,

When it is fully thronged with gazing wight,

Whom they of cuirass and of helmet bare,

And leave in simple cassock, meanly dight;

And, as to slaughter he conducted were,

Place on a wain, conspicuous to the sight;

Harnessed to which two sluggish cows are seen,

Weary and weak, and with long hunger lean.

Thronging about the ignoble car, appear

Brazen-faced boy and girl of evil fame,

Who, each in turn, will play the charioteer,

And all assail the knight with bitter blame.

The boys might be a cause of greater fear,

For, joined to mocks and mows, and words of shame,

The warrior they with volleyed stones would slay,

But that the wiser few their fury stay.

That which of his disgrace had been the ground,

Though no true evidence of guilt, his mail

And plate, are dragged in due dishonour round,

Suspended at the shameful waggon’s tail.

The wain is stopt, and to the trumpet’s sound,

Heralds, in front of a tribunal’s pale,

His shame, before his eyes, amid the crowd,

(Another’s evil deed) proclaim aloud.

They take their prisoner thence, and so repair

In front of temple, dwelling-house, and store;

Nor any cruel name of mockery spare,

Nor leave unsaid a word of filthy lore;

And him at last without the city bear:

The foolish rabble, trusting evermore

Their thrall to banish to the sound of blows,

Who passing little of its prisoner knows.

The warrior’s gyves no sooner they undo,

And from their manacles free either hand,

Than Gryphon seizes shield and sword, and, through

The rabble, makes long furrows with his brand.

With pike and spear unfurnished was the crew,

Who without weapons came, a witless band.

The rest for other canto I suspend,

For, sir, ’tis time this song should have an end.

Orlando furioso. Ludovico Ariosto. London. 1823–1831.

Current edition Experimental

Orlando Furioso (OCR draft) (English) (Orlando Furioso. Translated by William Stewart Rose. London: John Murray, 1823–1831.)

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (1)

Orlando furioso (OCR draft) Experimental (Orlando furioso. Edited by Santorre Debenedetti. Bari: Giuseppe Laterza & Figli, 1928.) — 17 focus

Canto 17

Il giusto Dio, quando i peccati nostri

hanno di remission passato il segno,

acciò che la giustizia sua dimostri

uguale alla pietá, spesso dá regno

a tiranni atrocissimi et a mostri,

e dá lor forza e di mal fare ingegno.

Per questo Mario e Silla pose al mondo,

e duo Neroni e Caio furibondo,

Domizïano e l’ultimo Antonino;

e tolse da la immonda e bassa plebe,

et esaltò all’imperio Massimino;

e nascer prima fe’ Creonte a Tebe;

e diè Mezenzio al populo Agilino,

che fe’ di sangue uman grasse le glebe;

e diede Italia a tempi men remoti

in preda agli Unni, ai Longobardi, ai Goti.

Che d’Atila dirò? che de l’iniquo

Ezzellin da Roman? che d’altri cento?

che dopo un lungo andar sempre in obliquo,

ne manda Dio per pena e per tormento.

Di questo abbián non pur al tempo antiquo,

ma ancora al nostro, chiaro esperimento,

quando a noi, greggi inutili e malnati,

ha dato per guardian lupi arrabbiati:

a cui non par ch’abbi a bastar lor fame,

ch’abbi il lor ventre a capir tanta carne;

e chiaman lupi di piú ingorde brame

da boschi oltramontani a divorarne.

Di Trasimeno l’insepulto ossame

e di Canne e di Trebia poco parne

verso quel che le ripe e i campi ingrassa,

dov’Ada e Mella e Ronco e Tarro passa.

Or Dio consente che noi sián puniti

da populi di noi forse peggiori,

per li multiplicati et infiniti

nostri nefandi, obbrobriosi errori.

Tempo verrá ch’a depredar lor liti

andremo noi, se mai saren migliori,

e che i peccati lor giungano al segno,

che l’eterna Bontá muovano a sdegno.

Doveano allora aver gli eccessi loro

di Dio turbata la serena fronte,

che scórse ogni lor luogo il Turco e ’l Moro

con stupri, uccisïon, rapine et onte:

ma piú di tutti gli altri danni, fôro

gravati dal furor di Rodomonte.

Dissi ch’ebbe di lui la nuova Carlo,

e che ’n piazza venía per ritrovarlo.

Vede tra via la gente sua troncata,

arsi i palazzi, e ruinati i templi,

gran parte de la terra desolata:

mai non si vider sí crudeli esempli.

— Dove fuggite, turba spaventata?

Non è tra voi chi ’l danno suo contempli?

Che cittá, che refugio piú vi resta,

quando si perda sí vilmente questa?

Dunque un uom solo in vostra terra preso,

cinto di mura onde non può fuggire,

si partirá che non l’avrete offeso,

quando tutti v’avrá fatto morire? —

Cosí Carlo dicea, che d’ira acceso

tanta vergogna non potea patire.

E giunse dove inanti alla gran corte

vide il pagan por la sua gente a morte.

Quivi gran parte era del populazzo,

sperandovi trovare aiuto, ascesa;

perché forte di mura era il palazzo,

con munizion da far lunga difesa.

Rodomonte, d’orgoglio e d'ira pazzo,

solo s’avea tutta la piazza presa:

e l’una man, che prezza il mondo poco,

ruota la spada, e l’altra getta il fuoco.

E de la regal casa, alta e sublime,

percuote e risuonar fa le gran porte.

Gettan le turbe da le eccelse cime

e merli e torri, e si metton per morte.

Guastare i tetti non è alcun che stime;

e legne e pietre vanno ad una sorte,

lastre e colonne, e le dorate travi

che furo in prezzo agli lor padri e agli avi.

Sta su la porta il re d’Algier, lucente

di chiaro acciar che ’l capo gli arma e ’l busto,

come uscito di tenebre serpente,

poi c’ha lasciato ogni squalor vetusto,

del nuovo scoglio altiero, e che si sente

ringiovenito e piú che mai robusto:

tre lingue vibra, et ha negli occhi foco;

dovunque passa, ogn’animal dá loco.

Non sasso, merlo, trave, arco o balestra,

né ciò che sopra il Saracin percuote,

ponno allentar la sanguinosa destra

che la gran porta taglia, spezza e scuote:

e dentro fatto v’ha tanta finestra,

che ben vedere e veduto esser puote

dai visi impressi di color di morte,

che tutta piena quivi hanno la corte.

Suonar per gli alti e spazïosi tetti

s’odono gridi e feminil lamenti:

l’afflitte donne, percotendo i petti,

corron per casa pallide e dolenti;

e abbracciati gli usci e i genïali letti

che tosto hanno a lasciare a strane genti.

Tratta la cosa era in periglio tanto,

quando ’l re giunse, e suoi baroni accanto.

Carlo si volse a quelle man robuste

ch’ebbe altre volte a gran bisogni pronte.

— Non sète quelli voi, che meco fuste

contra Agolante (disse) in Aspramonte?

Sono le forze vostre ora sí fruste,

che, s’uccideste lui, Troiano e Almonte

con centomila, or ne temete un solo

pur di quel sangue e pur di quello stuolo?

Perché debbo vedere in voi fortezza

ora minor ch’io la vedessi allora?

Mostrate a questo can vostra prodezza,

a questo can che gli uomini devora.

Un magnanimo cor morte non prezza,

presta o tarda che sia, pur che ben muora.

Ma dubitar non posso ove voi sète,

che fatto sempre vincitor m’avete. —

Al fin de le parole urta il destriero,

con l’asta bassa, al Saracino adosso.

Mossesi a un tratto il paladino Ugiero,

a un tempo Namo et Ulivier si è mosso,

Avino, Avolio, Otone e Berlingiero,

ch’un senza l’altro mai veder non posso:

e ferir tutti sopra a Rodomonte

e nel petto e nei fianchi e ne la fronte.

Ma lasciamo, per Dio, Signore, ormai

di parlar d’ira e di cantar di morte;

e sia per questa volta detto assai

del Saracin non men crudel che forte:

che tempo è ritornar dov’io lasciai

Grifon, giunto a Damasco in su le porte

con Orrigille perfida, e con quello

ch’adulter era, e non di lei fratello.

De le piú ricche terre di Levante,

de le piú populose e meglio ornate

si dice esser Damasco, che distante

siede a Ierusalem sette giornate,

in un piano fruttifero e abondante,

non men giocondo il verno, che l’estate.

A questa terra il primo raggio tolle

de la nascente aurora un vicin colle.

Per la cittá duo fiumi cristallini

vanno inaffiando per diversi rivi

un numero infinito di giardini,

non mai di fior, non mai di fronde privi.

Dicesi ancor, che macinar molini

potrian far l’acque lanfe che son quivi;

e chi va per le vie vi sente, fuore

di tutte quelle case, uscire odore.

Tutta coperta è la strada maestra

di panni di diversi color lieti;

e d’odorifera erba, e di silvestra

fronda la terra e tutte le pareti.

Adorna era ogni porta, ogni finestra

di finissimi drappi e di tapeti,

ma piú di belle e ben ornate donne

di ricche gemme e di superbe gonne.

Vedeasi celebrar dentr’alle porte,

in molti lochi, solazzevol balli;

il popul, per le vie, di miglior sorte

maneggiar ben guarniti e bei cavalli:

facea piú bel veder la ricca corte

de’ signor, de’ baroni e de’ vasalli,

con ciò che d’India e d’eritree maremme

di perle aver si può, d’oro e di gemme.

Venía Grifone e la sua compagnia

mirando e quinci e quindi il tutto ad agio,

quando fermolli un cavalliero in via,

e gli fece smontare a un suo palagio;

e per l’usanza e per sua cortesia

di nulla lasciò lor patir disagio.

Li fe’ nel bagno entrar, poi con serena

fronte gli accolse a sontuosa cena.

E narrò lor come il re Norandino,

re di Damasco e di tutta Soria,

fatto avea il paesano e ’l peregrino

ch’ordine avesse di cavalleria,

alla giostra invitar, ch’al matutino

del dí sequente in piazza si faria;

e che s’avean valor pari al sembiante,

potrian mostrarlo senza andar piú inante.

Ancor che quivi non venne Grifone

a questo effetto, pur lo ’nvito tenne;

che qual volta se n’abbia occasione,

mostrar virtude mai non disconvenne.

Interrogollo poi de la cagione

di quella festa, e s’ella era solenne

usata ogn’anno, o pure impresa nuova

del re ch’i suoi veder volesse in pruova.

Rispose il cavallier: — La bella festa

s’ha da far sempre ad ogni quarta luna:

de l’altre che verran, la prima è questa:

ancora non se n’è fatta piú alcuna.

Sará in memoria che salvò la testa

il re in tal giorno da una gran fortuna,

dopo che quattro mesi in doglie e ’n pianti

sempre era stato, e con la morte inanti.

Ma per dirvi la cosa pienamente,

il nostro re, che Norandin s’appella,

molti e molt’anni ha avuto il core ardente

de la leggiadra e sopra ogn’altra bella

figlia del re di Cipro: e finalmente

avutala per moglie, iva con quella,

con cavallieri e donne in compagnia;

e dritto avea il camin verso Soria.

Ma poi che fummo tratti a piene vele

lungi dal porto nel Carpazio iniquo,

la tempesta saltò tanto crudele,

che sbigottí sin al padrone antiquo.

Tre dí e tre notti andammo errando ne le

minacciose onde per camino obliquo.

Uscimo al fin nel lito stanchi e molli,

tra freschi rivi, ombrosi e verdi colli.

Piantare i padiglioni, e le cortine

fra gli arbori tirar facemo lieti.

S’apparechiano i fuochi e le cucine;

le mense d’altra parte in su tapeti.

Intanto il re cercando alle vicine

valli era andato e a’ boschi piú secreti,

se ritrovasse capre o daini o cervi;

e l’arco gli portâr dietro duo servi.

Mentre aspettamo, in gran piacer sedendo,

che da cacciar ritorni il signor nostro,

vedemo l’Orco a noi venir correndo

lungo il lito del mar, terribil mostro.

Dio vi guardi, signor, che ’l viso orrendo

de l’Orco agli occhi mai vi sia dimostro:

meglio è per fama aver notizia d’esso,

ch’andargli, sí che lo veggiate, appresso.

Non gli può comparir quanto sia lungo,

sí smisuratamente è tutto grosso.

In luogo d’occhi, di color di fungo

sotto la fronte ha duo coccole d’osso.

Verso noi vien (come vi dico) lungo

il lito, e par ch’un monticel sia mosso.

Mostra le zanne fuor, come fa il porco;

ha lungo il naso, il sen bavoso e sporco.

Correndo viene, e ’l muso a guisa porta

che ’l bracco suol, quando entra in su la traccia.

Tutti che lo veggiam, con faccia smorta

in fuga andamo ove il timor ne caccia.

Poco il veder lui cieco ne conforta,

quando, fiutando sol, par che piú faccia,

ch’altri non fa, ch’abbia odorato e lume:

e bisogno al fuggire eran le piume.

Corron chi qua chi lá; ma poco lece

da lui fuggir, veloce piú che ’l Noto.

Di quaranta persone, a pena diece

sopra il navilio si salvaro a nuoto.

Sotto il braccio un fastel d’alcuni fece,

né il grembio si lasciò né il seno vòto;

un suo capace zaino empissene anco,

che gli pendea, come a pastor, dal fianco.

Portòci alla sua tana il mostro cieco,

cavata in lito al mar dentr’uno scoglio.

Di marmo cosí bianco è quello speco,

come esser soglia ancor non scritto foglio.

Quivi abitava una matrona seco,

di dolor piena in vista e di cordoglio;

et avea in compagnia donne e donzelle

d’ogni etá, d’ogni sorte, e brutte e belle.

Era presso alla grotta in ch’egli stava,

quasi alla cima del giogo superno,

un’altra non minor di quella cava,

dove del gregge suo facea governo.

Tanto n’avea, che non si numerava;

e n’era egli il pastor l’estate e ’l verno.

Ai tempi suoi gli apriva e tenea chiuso,

per spasso che n’avea, piú che per uso.

L’umana carne meglio gli sapeva:

e prima il fa veder ch’all’antro arrivi;

che tre de’ nostri giovini ch’aveva,

tutti li mangia, anzi trangugia vivi.

Viene alla stalla, e un gran sasso ne leva:

ne caccia il gregge, e noi riserra quivi.

Con quel sen va dove il suol far satollo,

sonando una zampogna ch’avea in collo.

Il signor nostro intanto ritornato

alla marina, il suo danno comprende;

che truova gran silenzio in ogni lato,

vòti frascati, padiglioni e tende.

Né sa pensar chi sí l’abbia rubato;

e pien di gran timore al lito scende,

onde i nocchieri suoi vede in disparte

sarpar lor ferri e in opra por le sarte.

Tosto ch’essi lui veggiono sul lito,

il palischermo mandano a levarlo:

ma non sí tosto ha Norandino udito

de l’Orco che venuto era a rubarlo,

che, senza piú pensar, piglia partito,

dovunque andato sia, di seguitarlo.

Vedersi tor Lucina sí gli duole,

ch’o racquistarla, o non piú viver vuole.

Dove vede apparir lungo la sabbia

la fresca orma, ne va con quella fretta

con che lo spinge l’amorosa rabbia,

fin che giunge alla tana ch’io v’ho detta:

ove con tema la maggior che s’abbia

a patir mai, l’Orco da noi s’aspetta:

ad ogni suono di sentirlo parci,

ch’affamato ritorni a divorarci.

Quivi Fortuna il re da tempo guida,

che senza l’Orco in casa era la moglie.

Come ella ’l vede: — Fuggine! (gli grida)

misero te, se l’Orco ti ci coglie! —

— Coglia (disse) o non coglia, o salvi o uccida,

che miserrimo i’ sia non mi si toglie.

Disir mi mena, e non error di via,

c’ho di morir presso alla moglie mia.—

Poi seguí, dimandandole novella

di quei che prese l’Orco in su la riva;

prima degli altri, di Lucina bella,

se l’avea morta, o la tenea captiva.

La donna umanamente gli favella,

e lo conforta, che Lucina è viva,

e che non è alcun dubbio ch’ella muora;

che mai femina l’Orco non divora.

— Esser di ciò argumento ti poss’io,

e tutte queste donne che son meco:

né a me né a lor mai l’Orco è stato rio,

pur che non ci scostian da questo speco.

A chi cerca fuggir, pon grave fio;

né pace mai puon ritrovar piú seco:

o le sotterra vive, o l’incatena,

o fa star nude al sol sopra l’arena.

Quando oggi egli portò qui la tua gente,

le femine dai maschi non divise;

ma, sí come gli avea, confusamente

dentro a quella spelonca tutti mise.

Sentirá a naso il sesso differente.

Le donne non temer che sieno uccise:

gli uomini, siene certo; et empieranne

di quattro, il giorno, o sei, l’avide canne.

Di levar lei di qui non ho consiglio

che dar ti possa; e contentar ti puoi

che ne la vita sua non è periglio:

stará qui al ben e al mal ch’avremo noi.

Ma vattene, per Dio, vattene, figlio,

che l’Orco non ti senta e non t’ingoi.

Tosto che giunge, d’ogn’intorno annasa,

e sente sin a un topo che sia in casa. —

Rispose il re, non si voler partire,

se non vedea la sua Lucina prima;

e che piú tosto appresso a lei morire,

che viverne lontan, faceva stima.

Quando vede ella non potergli dire

cosa che ’l muova da la voglia prima,

per aiutarlo fa nuovo disegno,

e ponvi ogni sua industria, ogni suo ingegno.

Morte avea in casa, e d’ogni tempo appese,

con lor mariti, assai capre et agnelle,

onde a sé et alle sue facea le spese;

e dal tetto pendea piú d’una pelle.

Le donna fe’ che ’l re del grasso prese,

ch’avea un gran becco intorno alle budelle,

e che se n’unse dal capo alle piante,

fin che l’odor cacciò ch’egli ebbe inante.

E poi che ’l tristo puzzo aver le parve,

di che il fetido becco ognora sape,

piglia l’irsuta pelle, e tutto entrarve

lo fe’; ch’ella è sí grande che lo cape.

Coperto sotto a cosí strane larve,

facendol gir carpon, seco lo rape

lá dove chiuso era d’un sasso grave

de la sua donna il bel viso soave.

Norandino ubidisce; et alla buca

de la spelonca ad aspettar si mette,

acciò col gregge dentro si conduca;

e fin a sera disïando stette.

Ode la sera il suon de la sambuca,

con che ’nvita a lassar l’umide erbette,

e ritornar le pecore all’albergo

il fier pastor che lor venía da tergo.

Pensate voi se gli tremava il core,

quando l’Orco sentí che ritornava,

e che ’l viso crudel pieno d’orrore

vide appressare all’uscio de la cava;

ma potè la pietá piú che ’l timore:

s’ardea, vedete, o se fingendo amava.

Vien l’Orco inanzi, e leva il sasso, et apre:

Norandino entra fra pecore e capre.

Entrato il gregge, l’Orco a noi descende;

ma prima sopra sé l’uscio si chiude.

Tutti ne va fiutando: al fin duo prende;

che vuol cenar de le lor carni crude.

Al rimembrar di quelle zanne orrende,

non posso far ch’ancor non trieme e sude.

Partito l’Orco, il re getta la gonna

ch’avea di becco, e abbraccia la sua donna.

Dove averne piacer deve e conforto,

vedendol quivi, ella n’ha affanno e noia:

lo vede giunto ov’ha da restar morto;

e non può far però ch’essa non muoia.

— Con tutto’l mal (diceagli) ch’io supporto,

signor, sentia non medïocre gioia,

che ritrovato non t’eri con nui

quando da l’Orco oggi qui tratta fui.

Che se ben il trovarmi ora in procinto

d’uscir di vita m’era acerbo e forte;

pur mi sarei, come è commune instinto,

dogliuta sol de la mia trista sorte:

ma ora, o prima o poi che tu sia estinto,

piú mi dorrá la tua che la mia morte. —

E seguitò, mostrando assai piú affanno

di quel di Norandin, che del suo danno.

— La speme (disse il re) mi fa venire,

c’ho di salvarti, e tutti questi teco:

e s’io nol posso far, meglio è morire,

che senza te, mio sol, viver poi cieco.

Come io ci venni, mi potrò partire;

e voi tutt’altri ne verrete meco,

se non avrete, come io non ho avuto,

schivo a pigliare odor d’animal bruto. —

La fraude insegnò a noi, che contra il naso

de l’Orco insegnò a-llui la moglie d’esso;

di vestirci le pelli, in ogni caso

ch’egli ne palpi ne l’uscir del fesso.

Poi che di questo ognun fu persuaso;

quanti de l’un, quanti de l’altro sesso

ci ritroviamo, uccidian tanti becchi,

quelli che piú fetean, ch’eran piú vecchi.

Ci ungemo i corpi di quel grasso opimo

che ritroviamo all’intestina intorno,

e de l’orride pelli ci vestimo.

Intanto uscí da l’aureo albergo il giorno.

Alla spelonca, come apparve il primo

raggio del sol, fece il pastor ritorno;

e dando spirto alle sonore canne,

chiamò il suo gregge fuor de le capanne.

Tenea la mano al buco de la tana,

acciò col gregge non uscissin noi:

ci prendea al varco; e quando pelo o lana

sentia sul dosso, ne lasciava poi.

Uomini e donne uscimmo per sí strana

strada, coperti dagl’irsuti cuoi:

e l’Orco alcun di noi mai non ritenne,

fin che con gran timor Lucina venne.

Lucina, o fosse perch’ella non volle

ungersi come noi, che schivo n’ebbe;

o ch’avesse l’andar piú lento e molle,

che l’imitata bestia non avrebbe;

o quando l’Orco la groppa toccolle,

gridasse per la tema che le accrebbe;

o che se le sciogliessero le chiome;

sentita fu, né ben so dirvi come.

Tutti eravam sí intenti al caso nostro,

che non avemmo gli occhi agli altrui fatti.

Io mi rivolsi al grido; e vidi il mostro

che giá gl’irsuti spogli le avea tratti,

e fattola tornar nel cavo chiostro.

Noi altri dentro a nostre gonne piatti

col gregge andamo ove ’l pastor ci mena,

tra verdi colli in una piaggia amena.

Quivi attendiamo infin che steso all’ombra

d’un bosco opaco il nasuto Orco dorma.

Chi lungo il mar, chi verso ’l monte sgombra:

sol Norandin non vuol seguir nostr’orma.

L’amor de la sua donna sí lo ’ngombra,

ch’alla grotta tornar vuol fra la torma,

né partirsene mai sin alla morte,

se non racquista la fedel consorte:

che quando dianzi avea all’uscir del chiuso

vedutala restar captiva sola,

fu per gittarsi, dal dolor confuso,

spontaneamente al vorace Orco in gola;

e si mosse, e gli corse infino al muso,

né fu lontano a gir sotto la mola:

ma pur lo tenne in mandra la speranza

ch’avea di trarla ancor di quella stanza.

La sera, quando alla spelonca mena

il gregge l’Orco, e noi fuggiti sente,

e c’ha da rimaner privo di cena,

chiama Lucina d’ogni mal nocente,

e la condanna a star sempre in catena

allo scoperto in sul sasso eminente.

Vedela il re per sua cagion patire,

e si distrugge, e sol non può morire.

Matina e sera l’infelice amante

la può veder come s’affliga e piagna;

che le va misto fra le capre avante,

torni alla stalla o torni alla campagna.

Ella con viso mesto e supplicante

gli accenna che per Dio non vi rimagna,

perché vi sta a gran rischio de la vita,

né però a-llei può dare alcuna aita.

Così la moglie ancor de l’Orco priega

il re che se ne vada, ma non giova;

che d’andar mai senza Lucina niega,

e sempre piú constante si ritruova.

In questa servitude, in che lo lega

Pietate e Amor, stette con lunga pruova

tanto, ch’a capitar venne a quel sasso

il figlio d’Agricane e ’l re Gradasso.

Dove con loro audacia tanto fenno,

che liberaron la bella Lucina;

ben che vi fu aventura piú che senno:

e la portar correndo alla marina;

e al padre suo, che quivi era, la denno:

e questo fu ne l’ora matutina,

che Norandin con l’altro gregge stava

a ruminar ne la montana cava.

Ma poi che ’l giorno aperta fu la sbarra,

e seppe il re la donna esser partita

(che la moglie de l’Orco gli lo narra),

e come a punto era la cosa gita;

grazie a Dio rende, e con voto n’inarra,

ch’essendo fuor di tal miseria uscita,

faccia che giunga onde per arme possa,

per prieghi o per tesoro, esser riscossa.

Pien di letizia va con l’altra schiera

del simo gregge, e viene ai verdi paschi;

e quivi aspetta fin ch’all’ombra nera

il mostro per dormir ne l’erba caschi.

Poi ne vien tutto il giorno e tutta sera;

e al fin sicur che l’Orco non lo ’ntaschi,

sopra un navilio monta in Satalia;

e son tre mesi ch’arrivò in Soria.

In Rodi, in Cipro, e per cittá e castella

e d’Africa e d’Egitto e di Turchia,

il re cercar fe’ di Lucina bella;

né fin l’altr’ieri aver ne poté spia.

L’altr’ier n’ebbe dal suocero novella,

che seco l’avea salva in Nicosia,

dopo che molti dí vento crudele

era stato contrario alle sue vele.

Per allegrezza de la buona nuova

prepara il nostro re la ricca festa;

e vuol ch’ad ogni quarta luna nuova,

una se n’abbia a far simile a questa:

che la memoria rifrescar gli giova

dei quattro mesi che ’n irsuta vesta

fu tra il gregge de l’Orco; e un giorno, quale

sará dimane, uscí di tanto male.

Questo ch’io v’ho narrato, in parte vidi,

in parte udi’ da chi trovossi al tutto;

dal re, vi dico, che calende et idi

vi stette, fin che volse in riso il lutto:

e se n’udite mai far altri gridi,

direte a chi gli fa, che mal n’è instrutto. —

Il gentiluomo in tal modo a Grifone

de la festa narrò l’alta cagione.

Un gran pezzo di notte si dispensa

dai cavallieri in tal ragionamento;

e conchiudon ch’amore e pietá immensa

mostrò quel re con grande esperimento.

Andaron, poi che si levâr da mensa,

ove ebbon grato e buono alloggiamento.

Nel seguente matin sereno e chiaro,

al suon de l’allegrezze si destaro.

Vanno scorrendo timpani e trombette,

e ragunando in piazza la cittade.

Or, poi che de cavalli e de carrette

e ribombar de gridi odon le strade,

Grifon le lucide arme si rimette,

che son di quelle che si trovan rade;

che l’avea impenetrabili e incantate

la Fata bianca di sua man temprate.

Quel d’Antïochia, piú d’ogn’altro vile,

armossi seco, e compagnia gli tenne.

Preparate avea lor l’oste gentile

nerbose lance, e salde e grosse antenne,

e del suo parentado non umíle

compagnia tolta; e seco in piazza venne;

e scudieri a cavallo, e alcuni a piede,

a tal servigi attissimi, lor diede.

Giunsero in piazza, e trassonsi in disparte,

né pel campo curar far di sé mostra,

per veder meglio il bel popul di Marte,

ch’ad uno, o a dua, o a tre, veniano in giostra.

Chi con colori accompagnati ad arte

letizia o doglia alla sua donna mostra;

chi nel cimier, chi nel dipinto scudo

disegna Amor, se l’ha benigno o crudo.

Sorïani in quel tempo aveano usanza

d’armarsi a questa guisa di Ponente.

Forse ve gli inducea la vicinanza

che de’ Franceschi avean continuamente,

che quivi allor reggean la sacra stanza

dove in carne abitò Dio onnipotente;

ch’ora i superbi e miseri cristiani,

con biasmi lor, lasciano in man de’ cani.

Dove abbassar dovrebbono la lancia

in augumento de la santa fede,

tra lor si dan nel petto e ne la pancia

a destruzion del poco che si crede.

Voi, gente ispana, e voi, gente di Francia,

volgete altrove, e voi, Svizzeri, il piede,

e voi, Tedeschi, a far piú degno acquisto;

che quanto qui cercate è giá di Cristo.

Se Cristianissimi esser voi volete,

e voi altri Catolici nomati,

perché di Cristo gli uomini uccidete?

perché de’ beni lor son dispogliati?

Perché Ierusalem non rïavete,

che tolto è stato a voi da’ rinegati?

Perché Constantinopoli e del mondo

la miglior parte occupa il Turco immondo?

Non hai tu, Spagna, l’Africa vicina,

che t’ha via piú di questa Italia offesa?

E pur, per dar travaglio alla meschina,

lasci la prima tua sí bella impresa.

O d’ogni vizio fetida sentina,

dormi, Italia imbrïaca, e non ti pesa

ch’ora di questa gente, ora di quella

che giá serva ti fu, sei fatta ancella?

Se ’l dubbio di morir ne le tue tane,

Svizzer, di fame, in Lombardia ti guida,

e tra noi cerchi o chi ti dia del pane,

o, per uscir d’inopia, chi t’uccida;

le richezze del Turco hai non lontane:

caccial d’Europa, o almen di Grecia snida:

cosí potrai o del digiuno trarti,

o cader con piú merto in quelle parti.

Quel ch’a te dico, io dico al tuo vicino

tedesco ancor: lá le richezze sono,

che vi portò da Roma Constantino:

portonne il meglio, e fe’ del resto dono.

Pattolo et Ermo, onde si tra’ l’or fino,

Migdonia e Lidia, e quel paese buono

per tante laudi in tante istorie noto,

non è, s’andar vi vuoi, troppo remoto.

Tu, gran Leone, a cui premon le terga

de le chiavi del ciel le gravi some,

non lasciar che nel sonno si sommerga

Italia, se la man l’hai ne le chiome.

Tu sei Pastore; e Dio t’ha quella verga

data a portare, e scelto il fiero nome,

perché tu ruggi, e che le braccia stenda,

sí che dai lupi il grege tuo difenda.

Ma d’un parlar ne l’altro, ove sono ito

sí lungi dal camin ch’io faceva ora?

Non lo credo però sí aver smarrito,

ch’io non lo sappia ritrovare ancora.

Io dicea ch’in Soria si tenea il rito

d’armarsi, che i Franceschi aveano allora:

sí che bella in Damasco era la piazza

di gente armata d’elmo e di corazza.

Le vaghe donne gettano dai palchi

sopra i giostranti fior vermigli e gialli,

mentre essi fanno a suon degli oricalchi

levare a salti et aggirar cavalli.

Ciascuno, o bene o mal ch’egli cavalchi,

vuol far quivi vedersi, e sprona e dálli:

di ch’altri ne riporta pregio e lode;

muove altri a riso, e gridar dietro s’ode.

De la giostra era il prezzo un’armatura

che fu donata al re pochi dí inante,

che su la strada ritrovò a ventura,

ritornando d’Armenia, un mercatante.

Il re di nobilissima testura

le sopraveste all’arme aggiunse, e tante

perle vi pose intorno e gemme et oro,

che la fece valer molto tesoro.

Se conosciute il re quell’arme avesse,

care avute l’avria sopra ogni arnese;

né in premio de la giostra l’avria messe,

come che liberal fosse e cortese.

Lungo saria chi raccontar volesse

chi l’avea sí sprezzate e vilipese,

che ’n mezzo de la strada le lasciasse,

preda a chiunque o inanzi o indietro andasse.

Di questo ho da contarvi piú di sotto:

or dirò di Grifon, ch’alla sua giunta

un paio e piú di lancie trovò rotto,

menato piú d’un taglio e d’una punta.

Dei piú cari e piú fidi al re fur otto

che quivi insieme avean lega congiunta;

gioveni, in arme pratichi et industri,

tutti o signori o di famiglie illustri.

Quei rispondean ne la sbarrata piazza

per un dí, ad uno ad uno, a tutto ’l mondo,

prima con lancia, e poi con spada o mazza,

fin ch’al re di guardarli era giocondo;

e si foravan spesso la corazza:

per giuoco in somma qui facean, secondo

fan gli nimici capitali, eccetto

che potea il re partirli a suo diletto.

Quel d’Antïochia, un uom senza ragione,

che Martano il codardo nominosse,

come se de la forza di Grifone,

poi ch’era seco, participe fosse,

audace entrò nel marzïale agone;

e poi da canto ad aspettar fermosse,

sin che finisce una battaglia fiera

che tra duo cavallier cominciata era.

Il signor di Seleucia, di quell’uno,

ch’a sostener l’impresa aveano tolto,

combattendo in quel tempo con Ombruno,

lo feri d’una punta in mezzo ’l volto,

sí che l’uccise: e pietá n’ebbe ognuno,

perché buon cavallier lo tenean molto;

et oltra la bontade, il piú cortese

non era stato in tutto quel paese.

Veduto ciò, Martano ebbe paura

che parimente a sé non avvenisse;

e ritornando ne la sua natura,

a pensar cominciò come fugisse.

Grifon, che gli era appresso e n’avea cura,

lo spinse pur, poi ch’assai fece e disse,

contra un gentil guerrier che s’era mosso,

come si spinge il cane al lupo adosso;

che dieci passi gli va dietro o venti,

e poi si ferma, et abbaiando guarda

come digrigni i minacciosi denti,

come negli occhi orribil fuoco gli arda.

Quivi ov’erano e principi presenti

e tanta gente nobile e gagliarda,

fuggí lo ’ncontro il timido Martano,

e torse ’l freno e ’l capo a destra mano.

Pur la colpa potea dar al cavallo,

chi di scusarlo avesse tolto il peso;

ma con la spada poi fe’ sí gran fallo,

che non l’avria Demostene difeso.

Di carta armato par, non di metallo;

sí teme da ogni colpo essere offeso.

Fuggesi al fine, e gli ordini disturba,

ridendo intorno a-llui tutta la turba.

Il batter de le mani, il grido intorno

se gli levò del populazzo tutto.

Come lupo cacciato, fe’ ritorno

Martano in molta fretta al suo ridutto.

Resta Grifone; e gli par de lo scorno

del suo compagno esser macchiato e brutto:

esser vorrebbe stato in mezzo il foco,

piú tosto che trovarsi in questo loco.

Arde nel core, e fuor nel viso avampa,

come sia tutta sua quella vergogna;

perché l’opere sue di quella stampa

vedere aspetta il populo et agogna:

sí che rifulga chiara piú che lampa

sua virtú, questa volta gli bisogna;

ch’un’oncia, un dito sol d’error che faccia,

per la mala impression parrá sei braccia.

Giá la lancia avea tolta su la coscia

Grifon, ch’errare in arme era poco uso:

spinse il cavallo a tutta briglia, e poscia

ch’alquanto andato fu, la messe suso,

e portò nel ferire estrema angoscia

al baron di Sidonia, ch’andò giuso.

Ognun maravigliando in piè si leva;

che ’l contrario di ciò tutto attendeva.

Tornò Grifon con la medesma antenna,

che ’ntiera e ferma ricovrata avea,

et in tre pezzi la roppe alla penna

de lo scudo al signor di Lodicea.

Quel per cader tre volte e quattro accenna,

che tutto steso alla groppa giacea:

pur rilevato al fin la spada strinse,

voltò il cavallo, e vêr Grifon si spinse.

Grifon, che ’l vede in sella, e che non basta

sí fiero incontro perché a terra vada,

dice fra sé: — Quel che non poté l’asta,

in cinque colpi o ’n sei fará la spada. —

E su la tempia subito l’attasta

d’un dritto tal, che par che dal ciel cada;

e un altro gli accompagna e un altro appresso,

tanto che l’ha stordito e in terra messo.

Quivi erano d’Apamia duo germani,

soliti in giostra rimaner di sopra,

Tirse e Corimbo; et ambo per le mani

del figlio d’Uliver cadêr sozzopra.

L’uno gli arcion lascia allo scontro vani;

con l’altro messa fu la spada in opra.

Giá per commun giudicio si tien certo

che di costui fia de la giostra il merto.

Ne la lizza era entrato Salinterno,

gran dïodarro e maliscalco regio,

e che di tutto ’l regno avea il governo,

e di sua mano era guerriero egregio.

Costui, sdegnoso ch’un guerriero esterno

debba portar di quella giostra il pregio,

piglia una lancia, e verso Grifon grida,

e molto minacciandolo lo sfida.

Ma quel con un lancion gli fa risposta,

ch’avea per lo miglior fra dieci eletto,

e per non far error, lo scudo apposta,

e via lo passa e la corazza e ’l petto:

passa il ferro crudel tra costa e costa,

e fuor pel tergo un palmo esce di netto.

Il colpo, eccetto al re, fu a tutti caro;

ch’ognuno odiava Salinterno avaro.

Grifone, appresso a questi, in terra getta

duo di Damasco, Ermofilo e Carmondo.

La milizia del re dal primo è retta;

del mar grande almiraglio è quel secondo.

Lascia allo scontro l’un la sella in fretta:

adosso all’altro si riversa il pondo

del rio destrier, che sostener non puote

l’alto valor con che Grifon percuote.

Il signor di Seleucia ancor restava,

miglior guerrier di tutti gli altri sette;

e ben la sua possanza accompagnava

con destrier buono e con arme perfette.

Dove de l’elmo la vista si chiava,

l’asta allo scontro l’uno e l’altro mette:

pur Grifon maggior colpo al pagan diede,

che lo fe’ staffeggiar dal manco piede.

Gittaro i tronchi, e si tornaro adosso

pieni di molto ardir coi brandi nudi.

Fu il pagan prima da Grifon percosso

d’un colpo che spezzato avria gl’incudi.

Con quel fender si vide e ferro et osso

d’un ch’eletto s’avea tra mille scudi;

e se non era doppio e fin l’arnese,

fería la coscia ove cadendo scese.

Ferí quel di Seleucia alla visera

Grifone a un tempo; e fu quel colpo tanto,

che l’avria aperta e rotta, se non era

fatta, come l’altr’arme, per incanto.

Gli è un perder tempo che ’l pagan piú fera;

cosí son l’arme dure in ogni canto:

e ’n piú parti Grifon giá fessa e rotta

ha l’armatura a lui, né perde botta.

Ognun potea veder quanto di sotto

il signor di Seleucia era a Grifone;

e se partir non li fa il re di botto,

quel che sta peggio, la vita vi pone.

Fe’ Norandino alla sua guardia motto

ch’entrasse a distaccar l’aspra tenzone.

Quindi fu l’uno, e quindi l’altro tratto;

e fu lodato il re di sí buon atto.

Gli otto che dianzi avean col mondo impresa,

e non potuto durar poi contra uno,

avendo mal la parte lor difesa,

usciti eran del campo ad uno ad uno.

Gli altri ch’eran venuti a-llor contesa,

quivi restâr senza contrasto alcuno,

avendo lor Grifon, solo, interrotto

quel che tutti essi avean da far contra otto.

E durò quella festa cosí poco,

ch’in men d’un’ora il tutto fatto s’era:

ma Norandin, per far piú lungo il giuoco

e per continuarlo infino a sera,

dal palco scese, e fe’ sgombrare il loco;

e poi divise in due la grossa schiera;

indi, secondo il sangue e la lor prova,

gli andò accoppiando, e fe’ una giostra nova.

Grifone intanto avea fatto ritorno

alla sua stanza, pien d’ira e di rabbia:

e piú gli preme di Martan lo scorno,

che non giova l’onor ch’esso vinto abbia.

Quivi, per tor l’obbrobrio ch’avea intorno,

Martano adopra le mendaci labbia:

e l’astuta e bugiarda meretrice,

come meglio sapea, gli era adiutrice.

O sí o no che ’l giovin gli credesse,

pur la scusa accettò, come discreto;

e pel suo meglio allora allora elesse

quindi levarsi tacito e secreto,

per tema che, se ’l populo vedesse

Martano comparir, non stesse cheto.

Cosí per una via nascosa e corta

usciro al camin lor fuor de la porta.

Grifone, o ch’egli o che ’l cavallo fosse

stanco, o gravasse il sonno pur le ciglia,

al primo albergo che trovâr, fermosse,

che non erano andati oltre a dua miglia.

Si trasse l’elmo, e tutto disarmosse,

e trar fece a’ cavalli e sella e briglia;

e poi serrossi in camera soletto,

e nudo per dormire entrò nel letto.

Non ebbe cosí tosto il capo basso,

che chiuse gli occhi, e fu dal sonno oppresso

cosí profondamente, che mai tasso

né ghiro mai s’addormentò quanto esso.

Martano intanto et Orrigille a spasso

entraro in un giardin ch’era lí appresso;

et un inganno ordîr, che fu il piú strano

che mai cadesse in sentimento umano.

Martano disegnò tôrre il destriero,

i panni e l’arme che Grifon s’ha tratte;

e andare inanzi al re pel cavalliero

che tante pruove avea giostrando fatte.

L’effetto ne seguí, fatto il pensiero:

tolle il destrier piú candido che latte,

scudo e cimiero et arme e sopraveste,

e tutte di Grifon l’insegne veste.

Con gli scudieri e con la donna, dove

era il popolo ancora, in piazza venne;

e giunse a tempo che finian le pruove

di girar spade e d’arrestare antenne.

Commanda il re che ’l cavallier si truove,

che per cimier avea le bianche penne,

bianche le vesti e bianco il corridore;

che ’l nome non sapea del vincitore.

Colui ch’indosso il non suo cuoio aveva,

come l’asino giá quel del leone,

chiamato, se n’andò, come attendeva,

a Norandino, in loco di Grifone.

Quel re cortese incontro se gli leva,

l’abbraccia e bacia, e allato se lo pone:

né gli basta onorarlo e dargli loda,

che vuol che ’l suo valor per tutto s’oda.

E fa gridarlo al suon degli oricalchi

vincitor de la giostra di quel giorno.

L’alta voce ne va per tutti i palchi,

che ’l nome indegno udir fa d’ogn’intorno.

Seco il re vuol ch’a par a par cavalchi,

quando al palazzo suo poi fa ritorno;

e di sua grazia tanto gli comparte,

che basteria, se fosse Ercole o Marte.

Bello et ornato allogamento dielli

in corte, et onorar fece con lui

Orrigille anco; e nobili donzelli

mandò con essa, e cavallieri sui.

Ma tempo è ch’anco di Grifon favelli,

il qual né dal compagno né d’altrui

temendo inganno, addormentato s’era,

né mai si risvegliò fin alla sera.

Poi che fu desto, e che de l’ora tarda

s’accorse, uscí di camera con fretta,

dove il falso cognato e la bugiarda

Orrigille lasciò con l’altra setta;

e quando non gli truova, e che riguarda

non v’esser l’arme né i panni, sospetta;

ma il veder poi piú sospettoso il fece

l’insegne del compagno in quella vece.

Sopravien l’oste, e di colui l’informa

che giá gran pezzo, di bianch’arme adorno,

con la donna e col resto de la torma

avea ne la cittá fatto ritorno.

Truova Grifone a poco a poco l’orma

ch’ascosa gli avea Amor fin a quel giorno;

e con suo gran dolor vede esser quello

adulter d’Orrigille, e non fratello.

Di sua sciochezza indarno ora si duole,

ch’avendo il ver dal peregrino udito,

lasciato mutar s’abbia alle parole

di chi l’avea piú volte giá tradito.

Vendicar si potea, né seppe: or vuole

l’inimico punir, che gli è fuggito;

et è constretto con troppo gran fallo

a tor di quel vil uom l’arme e ’l cavallo.

Eragli meglio andar senz’arme e nudo,

che porsi indosso la corazza indegna,

o ch’imbracciar l’abominato scudo,

o por su l’elmo la beffata insegna;

ma per seguir la meretrice e ’l drudo,

ragione in lui pari al disio non regna.

A tempo venne alla cittá, ch’ancora

il giorno avea quasi di vivo un’ora.

Presso alla porta ove Grifon venía,

siede a sinistra un splendido castello,

che, piú che forte e ch’a guerre atto sia,

di ricche stanze è accommodato e bello.

I re, i signori, i primi di Soria

con alte donne in un gentil drappello

celebravano quivi in loggia amena

la real sontuosa e lieta cena.

La bella loggia sopra ’l muro usciva

con l’alta ròcca fuor de la cittade;

e lungo tratto di lontan scopriva

i larghi campi e le diverse strade.

Or che Grifon verso la porta arriva

con quell’arme d’obbrobrio e di viltade,

fu con non troppa aventurosa sorte

dal re veduto e da tutta la corte:

e riputato quel di ch’avea insegna,

mosse le donne e i cavallieri a riso.

Il vil Martano, come quel che regna

in gran favor, dopo ’l re è ’l primo assiso,

e presso a-llui la donna di sé degna;

dai quali Norandin con lieto viso

volse saper chi fosse quel codardo

che cosí avea al suo onor poco riguardo;

che dopo una sí trista e brutta pruova,

con tanta fronte or gli tornava inante.

Dicea: — Questa mi par cosa assai nuova,

ch’essendo voi guerrier degno e prestante,

costui compagno abbiate, che non truova,

di viltá, pari in terra di Levante.

Il fate forse per mostrar maggiore,

per tal contrario, il vostro alto valore.

Ma ben vi giuro per gli eterni dèi,

che se non fosse ch’io riguardo a vui,

la publica ignominia gli farei,

ch’io soglio fare agli altri pari a lui.

Perpetua ricordanza gli darei,

come ognor di viltá nimico fui.

Ma sappia, s’impunito se ne parte,

grado a voi che ’l menaste in questa parte. —

Colui che fu de tutti i vizii il vaso,

rispose: — Alto signor, dir non sapria

chi sia costui: ch’io l’ho trovato a caso,

venendo d’Antïochia, in su la via.

Il suo sembiante m’avea persuaso

che fosse degno di mia compagnia;

ch’intesa non n’avea pruova né vista,

se non quella che fece oggi assai trista.

La qual mi spiacque sí, che restò poco,

che per punir l’estrema sua viltade,

non gli facessi allora allora un gioco,

che non toccasse piú lance né spade:

ma ebbi, piú ch’a-llui, rispetto al loco,

e riverenzia a vostra maestade.

Né per me voglio che gli sia guadagno

l’essermi stato un giorno o dua compagno:

di che contaminato anco esser parme;

e sopra il cor mi sará eterno peso,

se, con vergogna del mestier de l’arme,

io lo vedrò da noi partire illeso:

e meglio che lasciarlo, satisfarme

potrete, se sará d’un merlo impeso;

e fia lodevol opra e signorile,

perch’el sia esempio e specchio ad ogni vile. —

Al detto suo Martano Orrigille have,

senza accennar, confermatrice presta.

— Non son (rispose il re) l’opre sí prave,

ch’al mio parer v’abbia d’andar la testa.

Voglio per pena del peccato grave,

che sol rinuovi al populo la festa. —

E tosto a un suo baron, che fe’ venire,

impose quanto avesse ad esequire.

Quel baron molti armati seco tolse,

et alla porta della terra scese;

e quivi con silenzio li raccolse,

e la venuta di Grifone attese:

e ne l’entrar sí d’improviso il colse,

che fra i duo ponti a salvamento il prese;

e lo ritenne con beffe e con scorno

in una oscura stanza insin al giorno.

Il Sole a pena avea il dorato crine

tolto di grembio alla nutrice antica,

e cominciava da le piagge alpine

a cacciar l’ombre e far la cima aprica;

quando temendo il vil Martan ch’al fine

Grifone ardito la sua causa dica,

e ritorni la colpa ond’era uscita,

tolse licenzia, e fece indi partita,

trovando idonia scusa al priego regio,

che non stia allo spettacolo ordinato.

Altri doni gli avea fatto, col pregio

de la non sua vittoria, il signor grato;

e sopra tutto un ampio privilegio,

dov’era d’alti onori al sommo ornato.

Lasciánlo andar; ch’io vi prometto certo,

che la mercede avrá secondo il merto.

Fu Grifon tratto a gran vergogna in piazza,

quando piú si trovò piena di gente.

Gli avean levato l’elmo e la corazza,

e lasciato in farsetto assai vilmente;

e come il conducessero alla mazza,

posto l’avean sopra un carro eminente,

che lento lento tiravan due vacche

da lunga fame attenuate e fiacche.

Venian d’intorno alla ignobil quadriga

vecchie sfacciate e disoneste putte,

di che n’era una et or un’altra auriga,

e con gran biasmo lo mordeano tutte.

Lo poneano i fanciulli in maggior briga,

che, oltre le parole infami e brutte,

l’avrian coi sassi insino a morte offeso,

se dai piú saggi non era difeso.

L’arme che del suo male erano state

cagion, che di lui fêr non vero indicio,

da la coda del carro strascinate

patian nel fango debito supplicio.

Le ruote inanzi a un tribunal fermate

gli fêro udir de l’altrui maleficio

la sua ignominia, che ’n sugli occhi detta

gli fu, gridando un publico trombetta.

Lo levâr quindi, e lo mostrâr per tutto

dinanzi a templi, ad officine e a case,

dove alcun nome scelerato e brutto,

che non gli fosse detto, non rimase.

Fuor de la terra all’ultimo condutto

fu da la turba, che si persuase

bandirlo e cacciare indi a suon di busse,

non conoscendo ben ch’egli si fusse.

Sí tosto a pena gli sferraro i piedi

e liberârgli l’una e l’altra mano,

che tor lo scudo et impugnar gli vedi

la spada, che rigò gran pezzo il piano.

Non ebbe contra sé lance né spiedi;

che senz’arme venía il populo insano.

Ne l’altro canto diferisco il resto;

che tempo è omai, Signor, di finir questo.

Notes on the current edition

Orlando Furioso

1. Wikisource stanza-heading corrections (sequential stanza: displayed numeral): 112: 111; 113: 112; 114: 113; 115: 114; 116: 115; 117: 116; 118: 117; 119: 118; 120: 119; 121: 120; 122: 121; 123: 122; 124: 123; 125: 124; 126: 125; 127: 126; 128: 127; 129: 128; 130: 129; 131: 130; 132: 131; 133: 132; 134: 133; 135: 134

Ludovico Ariosto Orlando furioso 17

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Canto 17

Argument

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Canto 17

Notes on the current edition

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