Chapter 22

It was afternoon when the horn sounded, and half an hour after it when the emperor set out; and meantime Orlando had returned to the fight that he might do his duty, however hopeless, as long as he could sit his horse, and the Paladins were now reduced to four; and though the Saracens suffered themselves to be mowed down like grass by them and their little band, he found his end approaching for toil and fever, and so at length he withdrew out of the fight, and rode all alone to a fountain which he knew of, where he had before quenched his thirst.

His horse was wearier still than he, and no sooner had its master alighted, than the beast, kneeling down as if to take leave, and to say, "I have brought you to your place of rest," fell dead at his feet. Orlando cast water on him from the fountain, not wishing to believe him dead; but when he found it to no purpose, he grieved for him as if he had been a human being, and addressed him by name in tears, and asked forgiveness if ever he had done him wrong. They say, that the horse at these words once more opened his eyes a little, and looked kindly at his master, and so stirred never more.

They say also that Orlando then, summoning all his strength, smote a rock near him with his beautiful sword Durlindana, thinking to shiver the steel in pieces, and so prevent its falling into the hands of the enemy; but though the rock split like a slate, and a deep fissure remained ever after to astonish the eyes of pilgrims, the sword remained unhurt.

"O strong Durlindana," cried he, "O noble and worthy sword, had I known thee from the first, as I know thee now, never would I have been brought to this pass."

And now Rinaldo and Ricciardetto and Turpin came up, having given chase to the Saracens till they were weary, and Orlando gave joyful welcome to his cousin, and they told him how the battle was won, and then Orlando knelt before Turpin, his face all in tears, and begged remission of his sins and confessed them, and Turpin gave him absolution; and suddenly a light came down upon him from heaven like a rainbow, accompanied with a sound of music, and an angel stood in the air blessing him, and then disappeared; upon which Orlando fixed his eyes on the hilt of his sword as on a crucifix, and embraced it, and said, "Lord, vouchsafe that I may look on this poor instrument as on the symbol of the tree upon which Thou sufferedst thy unspeakable martyrdom!" and so adjusting the sword to his bosom, and embracing it closer, he raised his eyes, and appeared like a creature seraphical and transfigured; and in bowing his head he breathed out his pure soul. A thunder was then heard in the heavens, and the heavens opened and seemed to stoop to the earth, and a flock of angels was seen like a white cloud ascending with his spirit, who were known to be what they were by the trembling of their wings. The white cloud shot out golden fires, so that the whole air was full of them; and the voices of the angels mingled in song with the instruments of their brethren above, which made an inexpressible harmony, at once deep and dulcet. The priestly warrior Turpin, and the two Paladins, and the hero's squire Terigi, who were all on their knees, forgot their own beings, in following the miracle with their eyes.

It was now the office of that squire to take horse and ride off to the emperor at Saint John Pied de Port, and tell him of all that had occurred; but in spite of what he had just seen, he lay for a time overwhelmed with grief. He then rose, and mounted his steed, and left the Paladins and the archbishop with the dead body, who knelt about it, guarding it with weeping love.

The good squire Terigi met the emperor and his cavalcade coming towards Roncesvalles, and alighted and fell on his knees, telling him the miserable news, and how all his people were slain but two of his Paladins, and himself, and the good archbishop. Charles for anguish began tearing his white locks; but Terigi comforted him against so doing, by giving an account of the manner of Orlando's death, and how he had surely gone to heaven. Nevertheless, the squire himself was broken-hearted with grief and toil; and he had scarcely added a denouncement of the traitor Gan, and a hope that the emperor would appease Heaven finally by giving his body to the winds, than he said, "The cold of death is upon me;" and so he fell dead at the emperor's feet.

Charles was ready to drop from his saddle for wretchedness. He cried out, "Let nobody comfort me more. I will have no comfort. Cursed be Gan, and cursed this horrible day, and this place, and every thing. Let us go on, like blind miserable men that we are, into Roncesvalles; and have patience if we can, out of pure misery, like Job, till we do all that can be done."

So Charles rode on with his nobles; and they say, that for the sake of the champion of Christendom and the martyrs that died with him, the sun stood still in the sky till the emperor had seen Orlando, and till the dead were buried.

Horrible to his eyes was the sight of the field of Roncesvalles. The Saracens, indeed, had forsaken it, conquered; but all his Paladins but two were left on it dead, and the slaughtered heaps among which they lay made the whole valley like a great dumb slaughter-house, trampled up into blood and dirt, and reeking to the heat. The very trees were dropping with blood; and every thing, so to speak, seemed tired out, and gone to a horrible sleep.

Charles trembled to his heart's core for wonder and agony. After dumbly gazing on the place, he again cursed it with a solemn curse, and wished that never grass might grow within it again, nor seed of any kind, neither within it, nor on any of its mountains around with their proud shoulders; but the anger of Heaven abide over it for ever, as on a pit made by hell upon earth.

Then he rode on, and came up to where the body of Orlando awaited him with the Paladins, and the old man, weeping, threw himself as if he had been a reckless youth from his horse, and embraced and kissed the dead body, and said, "I bless thee, Orlando. I bless thy whole life, and all that thou wast, and all that thou ever didst, and thy mighty and holy valour, and the father that begot thee; and I ask pardon of thee for believing those who brought thee to thine end. They shall have their reward, O thou beloved one! But, indeed, it is thou that livest, and I that am worse than dead."

And now, behold a wonder. For the emperor, in the fervour of his heart and of the memory of what had passed between them, called to mind that Orlando had promised to give him his sword, should he die before him; and he lifted up his voice more bravely, and adjured him even now to return it to him gladly; and it pleased God that the dead body of Orlando should rise on its feet, and kneel as he was wont to do at the feet of his liege lord, and gladly, and with a smile on its face, return the sword to the Emperor Charles. As Orlando rose, the Paladins and Turpin knelt down out of fear and horror, especially seeing him look with a stern countenance; but when they saw that he knelt also, and smiled, and returned the sword, their hearts became re-assured, and Charles took the sword like his liege lord, though trembling with wonder and affection: and in truth he could hardly clench his fingers around it.

Orlando was buried in a great sepulchre in Aquisgrana, and the dead Paladins were all embalmed and sent with majestic cavalcades to their respective counties and principalities, and every Christian was honourably and reverently put in the earth, and recorded among the martyrs of the Church.

But meantime the flying Saracens, thinking to bury their own dead, and ignorant of what still awaited them, came back into the valley, and Rinaldo beheld them with a dreadful joy, and shewed them to Charles. Now the emperor's cavalcade had increased every moment; and they fell upon the Saracens with a new and unexpected battle, and the old emperor, addressing the sword of Orlando, exclaimed, "My strength is little, but do thou do thy duty to thy master, thou famous sword, seeing that he returned it to me smiling, and that his revenge is in my hands." And so saying, he met Balugante, the leader of the infidels, as he came borne along by his frightened horse; and the old man, raising the sword with both hands, cleaved him, with a delighted mind, to the chin.

O sacred Emperor Charles! O well-lived old man! Defender of the Faith! light and glory of the old time! thou hast cut off the other ear of Malchus, and shown how rightly thou wert born into the world, to save it a second time from the abyss.

Again fled the Saracens, never to come to Christendom more: but Charles went after them into Spain, he and Rinaldo and Ricciardetto and the good Turpin; and they took and fired Saragossa; and Marsilius was hung to the carob-tree under which he had planned his villany with Gan; and Gan was hung, and drawn and quartered, in Roncesvalles, amidst the execrations of the country.

And if you ask, how it happened that Charles ever put faith in such a wretch, I shall tell you that it was because the good old emperor, with all his faults, was a divine man, and believed in others out of the excellence of his own heart and truth. And such was the case with Orlando himself.

APPENDIX.

No. I.

STORY OF PAULO AND FRANCESCA.

Poscia ch' i' ebbi il mio dottore udito Nomar le donne antiche e i cavalieri, Pietà mi vinse, e fui quasi smarrito.

I' cominciai: Poeta, volentieri Parlerei a que' duo the 'nsieme vanno, E pajon sì al vento esser leggieri.

Ed egli a me: Vedrai, quando saranno Più presso a noi: e tu allor gli piega, Per quell' amor ch' ei mena; e quei verranno.

Si tosto come 'l vento a noi gli piega, Mossi la voce: O anime affannate, Venite a not parlar, s' altri nol niega.

Quali colombe dal disio chiamate, Con l' ali aperte e ferme, al dolce nido Volan per l' aer dal voter portate:

Cotali uscir de la schiera ov' è Dido, A noi venendo per l' aer maligno, Si forte fu l' affettuoso grido.

O animal grazioso e benigno, Che visitando vai per l' aer perso Noi che tignemmo it mondo di sanguigno; Se fosse amico il Re de l'Universo, Noi pregheremmo lui per la tua pace, Poich' hai pietà del nostro mal perverso.

Di quel ch'udire e che parlar ti piace, Noi udiremo, e parleremo a vui, Mentre che 'l vento, come fa, si tace.

Siede la terra, dove nata fui, Su la marina, dove 'l Pò discende, Per aver pace co' seguaci sui.

Amor ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende, Prese costui de la bella persona Che mi fu tolta, e 'l modo ancor m'offende

Amer ch'a null'amato amar perdona, Mi prese del costui piacer si forte, Che come vedi ancor non m'abbandona

Amor condusse noi ad una morte Caina attende chi 'n vita ci spense. Queste parole da lor ci fur porte.

Da ch'io 'ntesi quell'anime offense, Chinai 'l viso, e tanto 'l tenni basso, Finchè 'l poeta mi disse: Che pense?

Quando risposi, cominciai: O lasso, Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio Menò costoro al doloroso passo!

Po' mi rivolsi a loro, e parla' io, E cominciai: Francesca, i tuoi martiri A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pie.

Ma dimmi: al tempo de' dolci sospiri, A che, e come concedette amore Che conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?

Ed ella a me: Nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Ne la miseria; e ciò sa 'l tuo dottore. Ma s'a conoscer la prima radice Del nostro amor to hai cotanto affetto, Farò come colui the piange e dice.

Noi leggiavamo tin giorno per diletto Di Lancilotto, come amor to strinse Soli eravamo, e senza alcun sospetto.

Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse Quella lettura, e scolorocci 'l viso Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.

Quando leggemmo il disiato riso Esser baciato da cotanto amante, Questi che mai da me non sia diviso,

La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante: Galeotto fu il libro, e chi to scrisse: Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.

Mentre the l'uno spirto questo disse, L'altro piangeva si, che di pietade I' venni men cosi com' io morisse,

E caddi come corpo morto cade.

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_Translation in the terza rima of the original._

Scarce had I learnt the names of all that press Of knights and dames, than I beheld a sight Nigh reft my wits for very tenderness.

"O guide!" I said, "fain would I, if I might, Have speech with yonder pair, that hand in hand Seem borne before the dreadful wind so light."

"Wait," said my guide, "until then seest their band Sweep round. Then beg them, by that lose, to stay; And they will come, and hover where we stand."

Anon the whirlwind flung them round that way; And then I cried, "Oh, if I ask nought ill, Poor weary souls, have speech with me, I pray."

As doves, that leave some bevy circling still, Set firm their open wings, and through the air Sweep homewards, wafted by their pure good will;

So broke from Dido's flock that gentle pair, Cleaving, to where we stood, the air malign; Such strength to bring them had a loving prayer.

The female spoke. "O living soul benign!" She said, "thus, in this lost air, visiting Us who with blood stain'd the sweet earth divine;

Had we a friend in heaven's eternal King, We would beseech him keep thy conscience clear, Since to our anguish thou dost pity bring.

Of what it pleaseth thee to speak and hear, To that we also, till this lull be o'er That falleth now, will speak and will give ear.

The place where I was born is on the shore, Where Po brings all his rivers to depart In peace, and fuse them with the ocean floor.

Love, that soon kindleth in a gentle heart, Seized him thou look'st on for the form and face, Whose end still haunts me like a rankling dart.

Love, which by love will be denied no grace, Gave me a transport in my turn so true, That to! 'tis with me, even in this place.

Love brought us to one grave. The hand that slew Is doom'd to mourn us in the pit of Cain." Such were the words that told me of those two.

Downcast I stood, looking so full of pain To think how hard and sad a case it was, That my guide ask'd what held me in that vein.

His voiced aroused me; and I said, "Alas All their sweet thoughts then, all the steps that led To love, but brought them to this dolorous pass."

Then turning my sad eyes to theirs, I said, "Francesca, see--these human cheeks are wet-- Truer and sadder tears were never shed.

But tell me. At the time when sighs were sweet, What made thee strive no longer?--hurried thee To the last step where bliss and sorrow meet?"

"There is no greater sorrow," answered she, "And this thy teacher here knoweth full well, Than calling to mind joy in misery.

But since thy wish be great to hear us tell How we lost all but love, tell it I will, As well as tears will let me. It befel,

One day, we read how Lancelot gazed his fill At her he loved, and what his lady said. We were alone, thinking of nothing ill.

Oft were our eyes suspended as we read, And in our cheeks the colour went and came; Yet one sole passage struck resistance dead.

'Twas where the lover, moth-like in his flame, Drawn by her sweet smile, kiss'd it. O then, he Whose lot and mine are now for aye the same,

All in a tremble, on the mouth kiss'd _me_. The book did all. Our hearts within us burn'd Through that alone. That day no more read we."

While thus one spoke, the other spirit mourn'd With wail so woful, that at his remorse I felt as though I should have died. I turned

Stone-stiff; and to the ground fell like a corse.]

No. II.

ACCOUNTS GIVEN BY DIFFERENT WRITERS OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES RELATING TO PAULO AND FRANCESCA; CONCLUDING WITH THE ONLY FACTS ASCERTAINED.

BOCCACCIO'S ACCOUNT

Translated from his Commentary on the Passage.

"You must know, that this lady, Madonna Francesca, was daughter of Messer Guido the Elder, lord of Ravenna and of Cervia, and that a long and grievous war having been waged between him and the lords Malatesta of Rimini, a treaty of peace by certain mediators was at length concluded between them; the which, to the end that it might be the more firmly established, it pleased both parties to desire to fortify by relationship; and the matter of this relationship was so discoursed, that the said Messer Guido agreed to give his young and fair daughter in marriage to Gianciotto, the son of Messer Malatesta. Now, this being made known to certain of the friends of Messer Guido, one of them said to him, 'Take care what you do; for if you contrive not matters discreetly, such relationship will beget scandal. You know what manner of person your daughter is, and of how lofty a spirit; and if she see Gianciotto before the bond is tied, neither you nor any one else will have power to persuade her to marry him; therefore, if it so please you, it seems to me that it would be good to conduct the matter thus: namely, that Gianciotto should not come hither himself to marry her, but that a brother of his should come and espouse her in his name.'

"Gianciotto was a man of great spirit, and hoped, after his father's death, to become lord of Rimini; in the contemplation of which event, albeit he was rude in appearance and a cripple, Messer Guido desired him for a son-in-law above any one of his brothers. Discerning, therefore, the reasonableness of what his friend counselled, he secretly disposed matters according to his device; and a day being appointed, Polo, a brother of Gianciotto, came to Ravenna with full authority to espouse Madonna Francesca. Polo was a handsome man, very pleasant, and of a courteous breeding; and passing with other gentlemen over the court-yard of the palace of Messer Guido, a damsel who knew him pointed him out to Madonna Francesca through an opening in the casement, saying, 'That is he that is to be your husband;' and so indeed the poor lady believed, and incontinently placed in him her whole affection; and the ceremony of the marriage having been thus brought about, and the lady conveyed to Rimini, she became not aware of the deceit till the morning ensuing the marriage, when she beheld Gianciotto rise from her side; the which discovery moved her to such disdain, that she became not a whit the less rooted in her love for Polo. Nevertheless, that it grew to be unlawful I never heard, except in what is written by this author (Dante), and possibly it might so have become; albeit I take what he says to have been an invention framed on the possibility, rather than any thing which he knew of his own knowledge. Be this as it may, Polo and Madonna Francesca living in the same house, and Gianciotto being gone into a certain neighbouring district as governor, they fell into great companionship with one another, suspecting nothing; but a servant of Gianciotto's noting it, went to his master and told him how matters looked; with the which Gianciotto being fiercely moved, secretly returned to Rimini; and seeing Polo enter the room of Madonna Francesca the while he himself was arriving, went straight to the door, and finding it locked inside, called to his lady to come out; for, Madonna Francesca and Polo having descried him, Polo thought to escape suddenly through an opening in the wall, by means of which there was a descent into another room; and therefore, thinking to conceal his fault either wholly or in part, he threw himself into the opening, telling the lady to go and open the door. But his hope did not turn out as he expected; for the hem of a mantle which he had on caught upon a nail, and the lady opening the door meantime, in the belief that all would be well by reason of Polo's not being there, Gianciotto caught sight of Polo as he was detained by the hem of the mantle, and straightway ran with his dagger in his hand to kill him; whereupon the lady, to prevent it, ran between them; but Gianciotto having lifted the dagger, and put the whole force of his arm into the blow, there came to pass what he had not desired--namely, that he struck the dagger into the bosom of the lady before it could reach Polo; by which accident, being as one who had loved the lady better than himself, he withdrew the dagger, and again struck at Polo, and slew him; and so leaving them both dead, he hastily went his way and betook him to his wonted affairs; and the next morning the two lovers, with many tears, were buried together in the same grave."

The reader of this account will have observed, that while Dante assumes the guilt of all parties, and puts them into the infernal regions, the good-natured Boccaccio is for doubting it, and consequently for sending them all to heaven. He will ignore as much of the business as a gentleman can; boldly doubts any guilt in the case; says nothing of the circumstance of the book; and affirms that the husband loved his wife, and was miserable at having slain her. There is, however, one negative point in common between the two narrators; they both say nothing of certain particulars connected with the date of Francesca's marriage, and not a little qualifying the first romantic look of the story.

Now, it is the absence of these particulars, combined with the tradition of the father's artifice (omitted perhaps by Dante out of personal favour), and with that of the husband's ferocity of character (the belief in which Boccaccio did not succeed in displacing), that has left the prevailing impression on the minds of posterity, which is this:--that Francesca was beguiled by her father into the marriage with the deformed and unamiable Giovanni, and that the unconscious medium of the artifice was the amiable and handsome Paulo; that one or both of the victims of the artifice fell in love with the other; that their intercourse, whatever it was, took place not long after the marriage; and that when Paulo and Francesca were slain in consequence, they were young lovers, with no other ties to the world.

It is not pleasant in general to dispel the illusions of romance, though Dante's will bear the operation with less hurt to a reader's feelings than most; and I suspect, that if nine out of ten of all the implied conclusions of other narratives in his poem could be compared with the facts, he would be found to be one of the greatest of romancers in a new and not very desirable sense, however excusable he may have been in his party-prejudice. But a romance may be displaced, only to substitute perhaps matters of fact more really touching, by reason of their greater probability. The following is the whole of what modern inquirers have ascertained respecting Paulo and Francesca. Future enlargers on the story may suppress what they please, as Dante did; but if any one of them, like the writer of the present remarks, is anxious to speak nothing but the truth, I advise him (especially if he is for troubling himself with making changes in his story) not to think that he has seen all the authorities on the subject, or even remembered all he has seen, until he has searched every corner of his library and his memory. All the poems hitherto written upon this popular subject are indeed only to be regarded as so many probable pieces of fancy, that of Dante himself included.

* * * * *

THE ONLY PARTICULARS HITHERTO REALLY ASCERTAINED RESPECTING THE HISTORY OF PAULO AND FRANCESCA.

Francesca was daughter of Guido Novello da Polenta, lord of Ravenna.

She was married to Giovanni, surnamed the Lame, one of the sons of Malatesta da Verrucchio, lord of Rimini.

Giovanni the Lame had a brother named Paulo the Handsome, who was a widower, and left a son.

Twelve years after Francesca's marriage, by which time she had become mother of a son who died, and of a daughter who survived her, she and her brother-in-law Paulo were slain together by the husband, and buried in one grave.