{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35161/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35161","id":"gutenberg_35161","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35161","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's stories","Chivalry -- Juvenile fiction","Knights and knighthood -- Juvenile fiction","Magic -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                          TALES FROM SPENSER\n                     CHOSEN FROM THE FAERIE QUEENE\n\n                         BY SOPHIA H MACLEHOSE\n\n\n    PUBLISHED BY\n    JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW,\n    Publishers to the University.\n\n    MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK.\n\n    _London,        Simpkin, Hamilton and Co._\n    _Cambridge,     Macmillan and Bowes._\n    _Edinburgh,     Douglas and Foulis._\n\n    MDCCCXCII.\n\n       TO MY NEPHEWS\n    HAMISH AND CRAWFORD.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn writing these Tales from \"The Faerie Queene,\" no attempt has been\nmade to interpret their allegorical or explain their historic bearing.\nIntended for children, the stories are related simply as stories, and\ntherefore only those episodes in the poem most interesting and most\ncomplete in themselves have been chosen. In no case do the Tales pretend\nto relate the whole that Spenser tells of their heroes and heroines.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nUna and the Lion\n\nPrince Arthur helps Una to find the Red-cross Knight\n\nHow the Red-cross Knight slew the Dragon\n\nBritomart and the Magic Mirror\n\nBritomart and Amoret\n\nThe Story of Marinell and Florimell\n\nBraggadochio\n\nHow Britomart found Artegal\n\nCambello and Triamond\n\nThe Story of Timias\n\nCalidore and Pastorella\n\n\n\n\nTALES FROM SPENSER.\n\n\n\n\nUNA AND THE LION.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book I. Cantos I., III., VI.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, while fairies and goblins still lingered in the\nforests of Merry England, a great queen named Gloriana reigned over\nFaeryland. The subjects over whom she ruled were not tiny creatures like\nOberon and Titania, but brave knights who went out from her court\nendowed with magic powers to redress wrongs and help those in trouble.\n\nNow there lived at this time a king and queen of very ancient lineage,\nwhose dominions stretched from east to west, and who had once held all\nthe world in subjection. But a cruel enemy had arisen against them, and\ndestroyed their rich lands, and killed the inhabitants, and forced the\nking and queen to take refuge in a strong castle, guarded by a mighty\nwall of brass. This enemy was no other than a huge and fearful dragon.\nFrom every quarter of the globe knights came to fight the accursed\nbeast, but only those whose faith was strong and conscience clear could\nprevail; and thus knight after knight fell before the dragon, who grew\nstronger and more cruel in his success.\n\nThe king and queen had one child, a daughter, whose name was Una. She\nloved her parents dearly, and hearing of the knights of queen Gloriana,\nshe resolved to go to the Faerie Court and pray for assistance for her\nparents who had now been four years prisoners, and were in great\ndistress. She set out upon her journey, dressed in a long black robe\ncovered by a deep veil; she rode an ass as white as snow, and led by a\nline a milk-white lamb, a symbol of innocence. Behind her followed a\ndwarf, bearing a spear in his hand, and leading a war-like steed, on\nwhose back was laid a suit of armour. Thus accoutred, Una appeared at\nthe court of Gloriana.\n\nShortly before, a young man, tall and powerful, but clownish in\nappearance, had arrived at the Faerie Court and had prayed to be sent on\nthe first adventure that should arise. When, therefore, Una came and\npreferred her request, the young man claimed the enterprise as his\nright. Gloriana wondered at his boldness, for he had not a knightly air,\nand Una herself objected, but he only urged his suit the more, and at\nlength Una said he might try on the armour she had brought, but that,\nunless it fitted him perfectly, it was impossible he could succeed in so\ndangerous an enterprise.\n\nNow, the armour which Una had was that of a Christian knight; and when\nit was tried on, lo! the clownish youth changed into the noblest of all\nthe company. And Queen Gloriana conferred knighthood upon him; and he,\nmounting the steed led by the dwarf, went forth with Una to vanquish her\nfoe. Henceforth the youth is called the Red-cross knight, for on his\nsilver shield, and on the breast-plate of his armour, was a blood-red\ncross, the symbol of the Christian faith. And the knight proved right\nworthy of his cross: he was true and faithful both in word and deed, and\nhis countenance was grave and sober, befitting one who dreaded no\ndanger, but was himself held in dread; so Una loved him well.\n\nNow, it happened that, shortly after Una and her knight had left the\ncourt of Gloriana, they met a grave old man dressed in long black weeds;\nhe had bare feet, and a hoary head, and a book hung from his side; and\nas he walked, he prayed and smote upon his breast in the manner of a\nhermit. But he was, instead, a wicked enchanter named Archimago, who, by\nmeans of the most cunning tricks, deceived the Red-cross knight, made\nhim think Una an impostor, and beguiled him and also the dwarf away from\nher. This made the lady very sad, for not only was she lonely and\nhelpless in the strange land through which she was passing, but, unless\nshe could find the knight, she must give up the hope of seeing the cruel\ndragon subdued and her dear parents set free. So Una, brave as she was\ngood, put away her fears, and travelled on through vast forests and\ndesolate moors, seeking for her knight.\n\nOne day, when almost wearied out, Una alighted from her slow-footed\nsteed, and, taking off her robe and unbinding the band which confined\nher hair, lay down to rest; and so fair and lovely was she that her\nsweet countenance made sunshine in the shady place in which she lay.\nNow, while she rested, there suddenly burst out from the forest a lion,\nhungry and greedy, who, seeing the maiden, ran towards her with jaws\nwide-open, ready to devour his prey. But, as the lion drew nearer to the\nmaiden, his rage changed into pity, and, amazed at the fair sight before\nhim, he forgot his savage fury and licked her lily hands and kissed her\nweary feet. And Una, unable at first to cease from the fear of death,\nwatched him, hardly believing her eyes, and then her heart began to melt\nin gratitude and her tears to flow, as she thought how this fierce lord\nof beasts pitied her, while her own lord, whom she loved as her very\nlife, had forsaken her.\n\nAt length Una checked her tears, and, trying to put away her grief,\narose, and, remounting her humble steed, set out again to seek her\nknight. But she was no longer a defenceless maiden, for with her went\nthe lion--a strong guardian and faithful comrade--who, while she slept,\nkept both watch and ward, and, while she waked, waited on her will,\ntaking direction from his lady's eye.\n\nOne day, as the damsel and the lion travelled thus through untrodden\ndeserts, they unexpectedly came upon a beaten path. Following this path,\nwhich led under the brow of a steep mountain, Una observed a young girl\nwalking slowly before them, bearing on her shoulder a water-pot. To her\nUna called, and asked if there were any dwelling-place near at hand. But\nthe girl was rude, and did not reply; indeed, she seemed neither to hear\nnor understand, and when she saw the lion fear seized upon her, and,\nthrowing down her pitcher, she fled. She dared not once look back, but\nran as if her life depended on her speed, until she reached her home,\nwhere sat her mother old and blind. This was Corceca, a wicked woman and\na hypocrite, who was wont daily to fast and pray and do painful penance.\nWith trembling hands, the girl caught hold of the old woman, and\nexhibited such signs of terror that her mother rose in great alarm and\nhastened to close the door just as Una and her strange page arrived. Una\nprayed hard for admittance, but in vain; and at this the lion lifted his\ngreat paws, and, tearing down the wicket door, let his lady in. She\nfound the two women almost dead with fright, crouching in the darkest\ncorner of the hovel. Una tried to calm their fears by gentle words and\nlooks, and after a time succeeded so far as to receive permission to\nrest there for the night. She was very weary and laid herself down on\nthe floor--the lion at her feet--but she was too sad for the loss of the\nRed-cross knight to sleep, and so spent the long hours in sighs and\ngroans and bitter tears.\n\nAt length morning approached, and with it came some one knocking at the\ndoor. He knocked loud and repeatedly, and was heard to curse and swear\nbecause the door was not more readily opened to him. Now, he who knocked\nwas a wicked thief, who robbed churches and stole money from the poor\nmen's box. At this very moment he had on his back a heavy load of stolen\ngoods, for all that he got, whether by lawful means or unlawful, he\nbrought to this old woman's house and bestowed upon her daughter Abessa,\nwho was as wicked as herself. There he stood knocking at the door, but\nneither Abessa nor Corceca dared pass by the lion to open. At length,\nKirk-rapine, for such was his name, became quite furious and would wait\nno longer, but burst open the door. Alas! for Kirk-rapine; the moment he\nentered, the lion rose from Una's feet, and, outstretching his lordly\npaws, laid the robber low. The wretched man was powerless to resist, nor\ndid Abessa or Corceca dare to go to his assistance, and very soon\nKirk-rapine lay quite dead--his body torn in pieces, and his blood\nflowing into the earth.\n\nNow, when the broad daylight returned, Una arose, and with her the lion,\nand once more set out together to seek the knight. As soon as she was\ngone, the women came out from their dark corner, to see whether or not\ntheir worst fears were realized. When they saw that Kirk-rapine was\nindeed slain, they tore their hair, and beat their breasts, and, half\nmad with malice and revenge, rushed forth in pursuit of Una. As soon as\nthey got near her, they began to shout and cry after her, calling her\nall sorts of bad names and praying that every kind of evil might befall\nher. At length, tired out with their own curses, they turned back, and\non the way met one clad in armour as became a knight.\n\nThis was, however, no knight, but Archimago, the wicked enchanter, who,\nnot content with having separated Una from her champion, sought to lead\nher into further distress. He stopped the old woman, and, describing\nUna, asked if she had seen any such lady. Thereupon Corceca's passion\nbecame renewed, and, crying and cursing, she declared she knew her but\ntoo well, and told him which way to take.\n\nBefore long, Archimago came where \"Una travelled slow,\" her fierce\nguardian treading by her side. The sight of the lion alarmed the\nenchanter, and he turned aside, not daring to approach too near. Now\nArchimago had taken care to disguise himself as Una's own Red-cross\nknight. When, therefore, she recognized the well-known shield, she\nturned and rode towards him, and, as she approached more near, became\nassured in her own mind that this was indeed her lost lord. Hastening\non, in much humility and with tears in her eyes, she exclaimed: \"Ah! my\nlong-lost lord, where have you been so long hidden from my sight?\" The\npretended knight replied \"that his absence had been enforced in that a\ncertain Archimago had sent him on an adventure, from which he had now\nreturned successful, and ready henceforth to abide by her and defend her\nby land and sea.\" His words made Una very happy. In her new-found joy,\nshe forgot the pains and toils she had encountered and journeyed on,\ndiscoursing happily of all that had befallen her.\n\nThey had not, however, travelled far when they saw an armed horseman\nriding towards them at full speed. Although his horse was covered with\nfoam, the warrior kept spurring it from time to time, and looked as if\nhe were breathing forth dread threats of vengeance on some unknown\nvictim. On his shield his name Sansloy was written in red letters. Now,\nthis Sansloy was a Saracen knight, and was brother of another knight\nnamed Sansfoy, but this brother had encountered the Red-cross knight\nshortly after he and Una left the Faerie Court, and had been slain by\nhim. The moment, therefore, that Sansloy had seen the cross on\nArchimago's armour, he had determined to avenge his brother's death, and\nbore down thus fiercely on the enchanter and the lady. But Archimago had\nno mind to fight; he grew faint and fearful when he saw the warrior, and\nit was only when Una cheered him on that he ventured to couch his spear\nor put spurs to his horse. Sansloy showed no mercy, but came on with\nsuch force and fierceness that his spear went right through Archimago's\nshield and hurled his antagonist from his charger, so that he fell\nheavily to the ground, while the blood gushed from his wound.\nImmediately Sansloy leapt from his steed and hastened toward his\nprostrate foe exclaiming, \"Lo! there the worthy meed of him who slew\nSansfoy with bloody knife,\" and thereupon began to unlace Archimago's\nhelmet, thinking to sever his head at one stroke. But Una saw his\npurport, and cried out, beseeching him to hold \"that heavy hand,\" urging\nthat surely Sansloy's revenge was enough when he saw his foe lie\nvanquished at his feet. To her piteous words the cruel Saracen paid no\nattention, but tore off the other's helmet, and would have given the\nfatal blow had he not perceived before him, instead of the Red-cross\nknight, the hoary head of Archimago the enchanter. He stayed his hand,\nand gazed on the old man in amazement, for he knew him well, and knew\nthat, skilful as Archimago was in charms and magic, he was but little\nused to war.\n\n\"Why, Archimago,\" he exclaimed, \"what do I see? What hard mishap is\nthis?\"\n\nThe enchanter answered him never a word, but lay in a trance, apparently\ndying, and Sansloy, who had no compassion in his soul, made no attempt\nto render him assistance.\n\nHe turned instead to Una, who, poor damsel, was in sore amazement to see\nthat he whom she had believed her own true knight was the cruel\nenchanter who had caused all her distress. Her wonder soon changed into\nterror, for Sansloy proceeded to seize hold of her white veil and pluck\nher rudely from her steed and gaze boldly in her face. But now arose the\nlion, her fierce servant, and, full of kingly rage at seeing his lady\nthus maltreated, sprang upon the Saracen, and with sharp-rending claws\nstrove to tear away his shield. But Sansloy was very strong and wary,\nand, redeeming the shield from the lion's paws, he drew his sword. Alas!\nthe power of the wild beast was all too weak to withstand a foe armed at\nevery point and so mighty in strength and in skill as Sansloy. Very soon\nthe deadly steel pierced the lion's heart, and he roared aloud, and life\nforsook him. Una was left alone in the hands of a cruel warrior, bereft\nof hope, for her faithful guardian was slain. She knew not where to look\nfor help, and indeed help seemed very far away.\n\nThe Saracen would listen to no entreaty, but lifted her on to his own\nsteed and bore her off, while the lowly ass, who would not forsake his\nlady, followed as best he could. With piteous words, she wept and begged\nfor freedom, but all in vain; her words only increased the hardness of\nher captor's heart.\n\nAfter a time, Una found herself borne into a wild forest. Here the\ndamsel's terror became extreme, and she cried aloud in her distress. She\nhad no hope of succour, but succour came.\n\n    \"Eternal providence, exceeding thought,\n    Where none appears, can make herself a way.\"\n\nAnd a wondrous way in this case it proved.\n\nFar off in the wood, a troop of Fauns and Satyrs, wild, untamed\ninhabitants of deepest forests, were dancing, whilst old Sylvanus, their\ngod, lay sleeping. These, hearing Una's cry, left their sport, and,\nrunning towards the spot from which the cry had come, appeared suddenly\non the scene.\n\nThey were a rude, misshapen, even frightful-looking crowd, and Sansloy,\nlike the wicked knight that he was, seized with superstitious fears,\ntook fright and fled. But, when the Satyrs beheld Una all alone, sad and\ndesolate, her fair face stained with tears, they stood still before her,\nastonished at her beauty, and pitiful of her distress. And she, more\namazed than they, began to fear and tremble afresh, for wild stories\nwere told of the Satyrs and of their lawless deeds. And it seemed to her\nthat a worse lot than ever before had now befallen her. So fearful was\nshe that she dared neither speak nor move.\n\nThe wild people read Una's sorrow in her sad countenance, and, laying\naside the rough, frowning looks they usually wore, began to grin and\nsmile and bend their knees before her, trying thus to comfort her.\nUncertain whether or not she dare trust herself to them, Una stood\nirresolute. They, as they watched her, were overcome by pity of her\ntender youth and wonder at her sovereign beauty, and prostrating\nthemselves on the ground, kissed her feet and fawned upon her with their\nmost kindly looks.\n\nThen Una, guessing their hearts aright, gave herself up to their care,\nand, rising, went fearlessly among them. Glad as birds in the joyous\nspring-time, they led her forth dancing, shouting, singing, and strewing\ngreen branches before her. All the way they played on their merry pipes,\nuntil the woods rang with their echo; and, worshipping the lady as a\nqueen, they crowned her with an olive garland and led her to Sylvanus,\ntheir god.\n\nHe had wondered at the sounds of rejoicing which had roused him from his\nsleep, but when, leaning on his cypress staff, he came forth from his\nbower and saw Una, he stood amazed and wondered not when his wood-born\nsubjects fell prostrate before her.\n\nAnd then came tree-nymphs and light-footed Naiads, flocking to see the\nnew-comer. But when they saw how fair and good she was, sharp envy\nseized upon them, and they fled away lest the Satyrs, in their new-born\nreverence for Una, should scorn their ancient playmates.\n\nSo Una, thankful for the favour she found and the respect shown to her,\nremained a long time among this forest people, and rested from her\nweariness. In return for their hospitality, she tried to teach them\nsomething of truth, and to prevent their worship of herself, but it was\nin vain, for when they found they might not worship the lady, they\nturned to the milk-white ass, her lowly steed, and worshipped it in her\nstead.\n\nOne day there came to the forest a certain Sir Satyrane, a noble knight\nwho had been born in these woods, and who was in the habit of revisiting\nthem from time to time. Now, when he came unexpectedly on this fair lady\nsitting among the Satyrs and endeavouring to teach them true sacred\nlore, he wondered at her heavenly wisdom, the like of which he had never\nbefore seen in woman. And when he watched her courteous deeds and heard\nthe story of her sad misfortunes, his wonder changed into admiration,\nand he became her scholar and learned of her \"the discipline of truth\nand faith.\"\n\nThus Una and Sir Satyrane grew close friends, and at length she told him\nher most secret grief, how deeply she longed to find the Red-cross\nknight, and how all her secret thoughts were spent in contriving an\nescape from her kind but rude guardians. So Sir Satyrane began to devise\nhow he might help her, and one day while the Satyrs had all gone to pay\nhomage to Sylvanus, the strong knight led away the gentle virgin, and\nafter further adventures, of which you shall hear in the next tale, Una\ndid at last rejoin her long-lost knight to the great comfort of them\nboth.\n\n\n\n\nPRINCE ARTHUR HELPS UNA TO FIND THE RED-CROSS KNIGHT.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book I. Cantos VIII., X.\n\n\nUna and the good Sir Satyrane travelled together for some time, seeking\nher knight. In the course of their search Sir Satyrane became separated\nfrom Una, who must have gone on alone had not her long-lost dwarf\nunexpectedly appeared.\n\nThis was a most welcome sight, and yet Una's heart sank within her as\nshe looked at the dwarf, for he travelled alone and carried with him the\nsilver shield, the mighty spear and ancient armour of the Red-cross\nKnight. Seeing these, she fell helpless to the ground, for she knew some\nterrible misfortune must have happened to her lord.\n\nThe dwarf, as he drew near and beheld his lady in such distress, became\nas sorrowful as she; for he bore heavy tidings and feared greatly to\nimpart them. His heart sank within him, but he made a show of\nhopefulness and set about to rub and chafe the poor damsel's temples\nuntil she began to give signs of life, and to moan and groan aloud. She\nwas very weary, and she thought her effort to save her parents was all\nin vain. Loathing the very sunshine she cried out for death, and,\nbelieving her prayers about to be answered, once more sank upon the\nground.\n\nThree times she sank and three times the dwarf raised and revived her\nwith busy care and pains. When at length life fairly won the victory,\nwith trembling limbs and failing tongue Una prayed him to tell her what\nwoful tragedy had befallen her knight. \"Thou canst not,\" she said, \"tell\na more heavy tale than that I already know to be true.\"\n\nThen the dwarf began to relate all the adventures which had happened to\nhim and the knight from the time that Archimago, the wicked enchanter,\nhad parted them from Una until now. These were many, but at present I\ncan only tell you of that in which the Red-cross Knight lost his armour.\n\nFirst, you must know that the knight ought never to have left Una. In\nleaving her he followed a false imagination put into his mind by\nArchimago, instead of remaining strictly true to the charge given him by\nGloriana, Queen of Faeryland, and this one false step led him into much\nmisfortune.\n\nIt was thus he came to trust in Duessa, a wicked witch, who one day led\nhim to rest by a stream whose waters had the fatal effect of rendering\nevery one who drank of them weak and powerless against all attacks of\nevil. The knight, then, resting by the stream, drank of its waters, and\nimmediately his strength gave way, his blood ran slow, and a chill\nstruck at the very root of his courage.\n\nWhile lying in this feeble condition, a dreadful sound was heard, that\nseemed to shake the earth and cause the trees to tremble. Starting up,\nthe knight began to collect his weapons and to don his armour in great\nhaste. But before he could do so, before he had even got his shield in\nhis hand, a hideous giant, more than three times the height of any\nmortal man, and so huge that the earth groaned under his weight, came\nstalking into sight. In his hand the giant Orgoglio bore a gnarled oak\ntorn up from the forest, which he used both as staff and weapon, and\nwhen he saw the knight he raised this formidable cudgel and bore down\nupon him in a fury.\n\nAlas! the Red-cross Knight was little able to sustain the combat.\nUnarmed, disgraced and inwardly dismayed by the power of the fatal\nwaters, he could hardly wield his single blade.\n\nThe giant struck with a force that might overthrow a tower of stone,\nmuch more a defenceless man: but the knight watched carefully where the\nblows fell, and skilfully leapt out of their way, and thus for a time\nevaded them. But not for long: so furious were the blows that the wind\nthey raised presently overthrew him and flung him stunned upon the\nground.\n\nThe giant was not slow to see his advantage. He uplifted his powerful\narm, and with one stroke would have made an end of his opponent had not\nDuessa interfered. She besought Orgoglio to spare the life of the\nRed-cross Knight and take only his liberty: and to this the giant\nconsented on condition that Duessa would become his lady-love. He then\nraised the knight in his cruel arms and carried him in haste to his\nstrong castle, where he threw him into its darkest dungeon.\n\nSuch was the tale the dwarf had to tell.\n\nUna heard him patiently to the end, and strove to master her sorrow, but\nit only grew stronger the more she contended against it. At length, when\nthe first passion of grief had worn itself out, she rose, and, attended\nby the dwarf, resolved to find her knight, alive or dead. But ever as\nshe wandered through low dales, and over high hills and among thick\nwoods, her grief broke forth from time to time as if from a wound that\nhad not healed.\n\nAfter a time Una and her dwarf chanced to meet a very noble-looking\nknight attended by a single follower.\n\nThese were none other than the great and good Prince Arthur and Timias\nhis much loved squire. The armour of the Prince glittered from afar, and\non his breast he wore a bauldric beset with precious stones, in the\nmidst of which shone one shaped like a lady's head, which was of\nwondrous worth and was possessed of magic powers. By the bauldric hung\nthe Prince's sword: its sheath was of ivory curiously wrought. The hilt\nand the buckle were of burnished gold and the handle was of\nmother-of-pearl. His helmet was also of gold and had a dragon for its\ncrest: the wings of the dragon spread wide apart, while its head couched\nclose upon the Prince's beaver, and its tail stretched low upon his\nback, and on the top of all was a tuft of divers coloured hair sprinkled\nwith gold and pearls, and quivering in the sunlight. His shield was\nclosely covered and might not be seen of mortal eyes, for it was made of\npure and perfect diamond:--one massive piece cut solid from the rock,\nand no spear could pierce it nor any sword divide its substance.\n\nAnd never did Prince Arthur reveal its brightness to any single foe, but\nif he wished to dismay huge monsters or daunt whole armies, then would\nhe discover its exceeding brightness, and so discomfit them. No magic\nart or enchanter's word had power over it, and all things that were not\nwhat they seemed, faded away before its brightness. By it the Prince\ncould blind the proud, turn men into stones, stones to dust, and dust to\nnought.\n\nThis wondrous shield, with the rich sword and armour, had been made for\nPrince Arthur by Merlin, the great and good magician.\n\nTimias, the Prince's squire, was a gentle youth. He bore a spear of\nebony, with a square pike head, which had been three times heated in the\nfurnace; and he rode a proud and stubborn steed that chafed under its\nrider, but was kept well in hand.\n\nAs Prince Arthur approached the lady, he spoke courteously to her, and\nwhen he perceived that his words drew forth slow and unwilling answers,\nhe guessed that a secret sorrow rent her heart. He then tried to draw\nfrom her the cause of her distress, until, moved by his kind words, Una\nspoke.\n\n\"What happiness,\" she asked, \"could reach a heart plunged in a sea of\nsorrow, and heaped with huge misfortunes?\" As soon as she thought of her\ndistress a cold chill crept over her, and she felt as if stung by an\niron arrow. Griefs which could not be cured were best not spoken\nof,--she could only weep and wail.\n\nThen said the Prince--\"Ah! dear lady, well do I believe that your grief\nis a heavy one, for only to hear you speak fills my soul with sadness;\nbut let me entreat of you to unfold it, for counsel eases the worst\nsorrow.\"\n\n\"But great grief,\" said Una, \"will not bear to be spoken of; it is easy\nto think about, but hard to utter.\"\n\n\"True,\" replied the Prince, \"but he that wills not, can do nothing.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" pleaded Una, \"but grief that is spoken, and finds no relief, grows\nstill heavier, and leads to despair.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" said the Prince, \"when there is trust and faith.\"\n\nAnd thus was Una at length persuaded to disclose her secret sorrow.\n\nShe told the Prince the story you already know: how her dear parents\nwere imprisoned by a huge dragon, and how the Red-cross Knight, who was\nto have rescued them, had been betrayed into the hands of a cruel giant,\nin whose dungeons he lay, disarmed and helpless.\n\nBefore she had quite ended her tale, the poor damsel grew faint from\ngrief and dread, but the Prince comforted her with cheering words.\n\n\"Truly,\" he said, \"you have great cause of sorrow; but take comfort and\ncourage, for until I have rescued your captive knight be assured that I\nwill not leave you.\"\n\nSo the whole party went on together, until they reached a great castle.\nHere, said the dwarf, lay his luckless lord, and here the Prince must\ntry his prowess. Whereupon the Prince alighted from his steed, and\nbidding Una remain where she was and watch the issue of the fight, took\nTimias, his squire, and strode up to the castle wall. He found the gates\nfast closed, and no one to keep guard or answer to his call. At this,\nthe squire blew a small bugle, which hung by his side, adorned with\ntwisted gold and gay tassels, and writ all over with the wonders of its\nvirtue.\n\nNone ever heard its shrill call who did not tremble before it. There was\nno gate however strong, or lock however firm, that did not burst open at\nits summons. And now, as the squire blew the magic horn, the grim castle\nquaked, every door flew open, and the giant himself rushed forth with an\nangry stare on his cruel countenance, eager to learn who or what this\nmight be that had dared his dreaded power. After him appeared Duessa,\nriding a many-headed monster, with a fiery, flaming tongue in every one\nof its many heads.\n\nAt once the Prince began a furious attack on the monster. Thereupon the\ngiant buckled to the fight, and lifting up his dreadful club, all armed\nwith ragged knobs and gnarled knots, thought to have slain the Prince at\na single blow. But he, wise and wary, leapt swiftly aside, and the great\nweapon fell so heavily, that it sank three yards deep into the ground,\nmaking the earth tremble. Now, Orgoglio could not easily uplift his\nclub, and as he strove to drag it from the deep cleft, the Prince smote\noff his left arm, which fell to the ground, a senseless block, while\nstreams of blood gushed from the wound. Dismayed by the pain, Orgoglio\nroared aloud, and Duessa hastened to draw up her many-headed charger to\nhis aid. But the squire soon forced the horrid beast to retreat, and at\nthis Duessa in her pride rebelled and urged the monster afresh; but in\nvain, for Timias dealt mighty strokes, and stood firmly to his post.\n\nThen Duessa resorted to her witch ways, and taking out a golden cup,\nmurmured enchantments over it, and sprinkled some of its contents upon\nTimias. His courage immediately faded away, and his senses became dull\nand numb, and he fell helpless before the monster.\n\nThe dreadful beast laid its claws upon Timias' neck, and kept him pinned\nto the ground, until his life was nearly crushed out: then it left him\nwith neither power nor will to rise.\n\nBut when Prince Arthur beheld the sad plight into which his well-loved\nsquire had fallen, he left off fighting with Orgoglio, and turned upon\nthe beast, and struck off one of its monster heads.\n\nThereupon Orgoglio went to Duessa's aid, and putting all his force into\nhis remaining arm, he let drive his oaken club with such terrible fury,\nthat falling on the Prince's shield, it bore him to the ground.\n\nBut as Prince Arthur fell, his shield became uncovered, and suddenly\nthere blazed forth a light of such dazzling brightness, that no eye\ncould bear it. The giant let his arm drop to his side, and the\nmany-headed beast turned blind and staggered so that Duessa cried out\nwildly, \"O! help, Orgoglio, help, or we perish all!\"\n\nThe giant was moved by her piteous cry, and strove to wield his weapon\nin her aid, but all in vain, for the bright shield had sapped his\npowers.\n\nAnd now Prince Arthur struck at him, smiting off his right leg, and\nwhile he lay prostrate and helpless, leapt lightly upon him, and smote\noff his head. Lo! Orgoglio's body shrank away, and nothing was left but\nan empty dried-up skin--such is the end of pride.\n\nWhen Duessa saw the grievous fate of Orgoglio, she cast away her golden\ncup, and fled fleetly from the bloody scene; but the squire, light of\nfoot as she, speedily brought her back captive.\n\nAnd now Una, who had watched the fight from afar, came forward with\nsober and modest gladness, hardly able to find words with which to greet\nand thank the victor, declaring that heaven, not she, must requite him\nthe service he had done. She then went on to pray that since heaven and\nhis prowess had made him master of the field, he would end that he had\nso fair begun, and would rescue her Red-cross Knight from the deep\ndungeon in which he lay.\n\nThereupon the Prince gave Duessa into the charge of Timias, while he\nhimself proceeded to make forcible entrance into the castle. No living\ncreature did he see, and when he called aloud, no man answered to his\ncry; but a solemn silence reigned in hall and bower.\n\nAt length there came forth an old, old man, with a beard as white as\nsnow, who walked along with a creeping, crooked pace, and leant his\nfeeble steps on a staff, groping his way, for his eyesight had failed\nhim long ago. On his arm hung a bunch of keys, overgrown with rust:\nthese were the keys of the inner doors, but he could not use them, and\nonly kept them by him from ancient custom. It was a strange sight to\nwatch his feeble pace, for as he moved slowly forward his face was seen\nto be turned backward. He was the ancient keeper of the place,\nfoster-father to the slain Orgoglio, and his name, Ignaro, betrayed his\ntrue nature.\n\nBut the Prince honoured his grave and reverend appearance, and asked him\ngently where were all the dwellers in the castle, to which he replied in\na quiet voice that he could not tell. Again the Prince asked where the\nknight whom Orgoglio had vanquished lay captive, and Ignaro replied he\ncould not tell. Then the Prince inquired by which way he might pass into\nthe castle, and still the old man said he could not tell; whereupon the\nPrince, courteous as he ever was, grew displeased, and thinking that\nIgnaro mocked at his questions, upbraided him, and demanded an answer\nbefitting the gravity of the old man's years, but the reply was ever the\nsame, he could not tell.\n\nAt this the Prince looked attentively at the aged sire, and, guessing\nthat he was indeed ignorant, stayed his wrath in pity for his\nimbecility, and, stepping up to him, took the bunch of keys from his\nunresisting hand, and made free entrance for himself. He opened all the\ndoors, and neither bar nor foeman presented any hindrance. He found all\nwithin furnished with great richness and splendour, but everywhere he\nbeheld traces of the giant's cruelty. He sought through every room and\nevery bower, but nowhere could he find the Red-cross Knight.\n\nAt length, Prince Arthur came upon an iron door, which was fast locked.\nHe searched among the keys, but in all the bunch there was not one to\nopen it. Presently he espied a small grating in the door, and through\nthis he called with all his strength that he might discover whether any\nliving wight were imprisoned there.\n\nBy-and-bye he heard a hollow, dreary, murmuring voice. It asked who this\nmight be that brought tidings so welcome as the news of death to one who\nhad lain dying for three weary months, but yet lived on.\n\nWhen the Prince heard this sad plaint, his heart thrilled with pity and\nindignation, and he rent open the iron door in fierce fury; but when the\niron door was open, there was nothing before him but a deep descent,\ndank, dark, and foul. However, neither the darkness nor the foulness\ncould stay the strong purpose of the Prince, and after long labour and\ngreat perseverance, he succeeded in finding means whereby to rescue the\nprisoner from the dismal hole.\n\nBut alas! when the knight was lifted out, he presented a sad spectacle\nof ghastly suffering. His feeble limbs could scarce support his body,\nhis eyes were dull and sunken, and could ill bear the light, his cheeks\nwere thin and hollow, his once powerful arms wasted away, and his whole\nappearance was withered and shrivelled.\n\nWhen Una saw him she ran towards him, tears in her eyes, and joy and\nsadness mingled in her feelings, and as soon as she could speak for her\ntears, she exclaimed, \"Ah, dearest Lord, what evil power hath thus\nrobbed you of yourself, and marred your manly countenance? But welcome\nnow, whether in weal or in woe.\"\n\nThe knight was too feeble to answer, and the Prince replied for him,\nsaying that nothing was gained in recounting woes, since the only good\nto be had from past peril is to be wise and ware of like again.\n\nHe then asked Una what he should do with Duessa, the false witch. Una\ndeclared that to have her die would be too spiteful an act, and,\ntherefore, having despoiled her of the scarlet and purple robes, and\nrich ornaments, with which she imposed upon men, they let her go, and\nUna and the knights remained in the castle to rest a while.\n\nBut this rest was not sufficient to fit the Red-cross Knight for his\napproaching conflict with the dragon, and so Una, seeing that his limbs\nwere weak, and his spirit damped by the long and miserable imprisonment,\nconducted him to an ancient house, called the House of Holiness, in\nwhich she knew they would have a kind welcome and good food.\n\nIn this house they remained for some time, and here the knight met an\naged sire, who told him many curious things concerning his origin. The\nknight rejoiced greatly as he heard that he was descended from ancient\nSaxon kings, and was destined to do great deeds for his native land.\n\nInspired with fresh courage he returned to Una, who had been resting\nwith the good lady Charity, and her women, in their side of the great\nHouse of Holiness. After many thanks rendered and many blessings\nbestowed, they once more set out to find the Dragon.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE RED-CROSS KNIGHT SLEW THE DRAGON.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book I. Cantos XI., XII.\n\n\nAs Una and the Red-cross Knight rode on their way they came near her\nfather's wasted lands and the brazen tower in which her parents were\nimprisoned.\n\n\"Dear Knight,\" said Una, \"we are now come where our peril must begin,\"\nand warning him that they might encounter the dragon at any moment she\nprayed him to be constantly on his guard.\n\nAs she spoke, the maiden pointed out the tower, and at the same time a\nhideous roar filled the air with horror. They looked up and beheld the\ndragon stretched out on the sunny side of a hill. The moment that the\nmonster saw the knight's shining armour, he raised his great frame and\nhastened towards them as if delighting at the prospect of fresh prey.\n\nThen the knight bade Una leave him and withdraw to a hill at a little\ndistance, where she could watch the fight and yet be secure from danger.\n\nThe dreadful beast came on steadily, half walking, half flying in his\nhaste. He covered the ground quickly, and as he went, cast a huge shadow\nover the wasted land.\n\nAs the dragon approached the knight, he reared his monstrous body on\nhigh, which looked the more horrible that it was swollen with wrath and\nvenom. It was covered with brazen scales, so closely placed, that\nnothing could pierce them, and the dragon shook the scales until they\nsounded like the clashing of armour. He had wings which he spread out\nlike great sails, and when these smote the air, the clouds fled in\nterror before them, and the heavens stood still in astonishment. His\ntail was twisted in a hundred folds, and lay over his scaly back, and\nwhen he unfolded its coils and displayed its full length, it swept the\nland behind him for three furlongs. At its extremity were inserted two\ndeadly stings, sharper than the sharpest steel. And still sharper and\nmore cruel were his claws; so cruel and ravenous, that all they touched,\nand all they drew within their reach, suffered certain destruction.\n\nBut most fearful of all was the dragon's head. It had deep-set eyes,\nthat burned with rage, and shone forth like shining shields; and gaping\njaws, in which were set three rows of iron teeth. From these trickled\nthe blood of the creatures he had lately devoured, while from between\nhis jaws issued clouds of smoke that filled the air with sulphurous\nstench.\n\nSuch was the foe the Red-cross Knight must face and conquer.\n\nOn came the dragon, raising his haughty crest, shaking his scales, and\nhastening so joyously to the combat, that the knight inwardly quaked for\nfear.\n\nAnd now began the first of three days' mortal strife.\n\nThe Red-cross Knight couched his spear, and ran fiercely at his foe. The\nspear did not wound, but it annoyed the dragon: he turned aside, and as\nhe turned, swept both the horse and its rider to the ground. In a moment\nthe knight had risen, and renewed the attack. Never before, although\nmany a knight had fought with him, had the dragon felt such force in the\narm of a foe, and yet the deadly thrusts glanced back from his\nwell-armed breast, leaving him unhurt.\n\nBut the knight's persistent attacks roused the monster's rage. He spread\nhis great wings, and lifting himself into the air, swooped down upon his\nfoe, and seized both horse and man in his cruel claws. He carried them\nan arrow's shot, when their fierce struggles obliged him to let them\nfall; and the knight, putting the force of three men into a single blow,\nonce more aimed his spear at the impenetrable scales. Again the blow\nglanced aside, but this time it glided close under the dragon's upraised\nwing, and there inflicted so sore a wound, that the monster,\nunaccustomed to pain, roared aloud with a noise like that of the ocean\nin a wintry storm.\n\nThe weapon stuck in the dragon's flesh, until he contrived to tear it\nout with his claws, whereupon black blood streamed forth from his wound,\nand flames of fire from his nostrils. In his rage, he flung his great\ntail about: it twisted round the horse's legs, and the steed in its\neffort to get free, only became the more entangled, and at length was\nforced to throw the knight. Quickly he arose, and laying hold of his\npowerful sword, struck the dragon a stroke that seemed as if it must\nprove fatal. But the hardened iron took little effect upon the still\nmore hardened crest, although it fell with a force that made the dragon\ncareful to avoid its blows.\n\nThe knight grew angry when he saw his strokes of no avail, and struck\nagain with greater might, but the steel recoiled, leaving no mark where\nit had fallen.\n\nNow the dragon was suffering from the wound under his wing, and\nimpatient of the pain, tried again to rise into the air. But the injured\nwing impeded his effort, and full of rage and disappointment, he uttered\na roar such as had never before been heard, and once more sent out\nflames of fire. These came right into the face of the knight, and making\ntheir way through his armour, burned him so sorely that he could hardly\nendure its weight. Faint and weary, burned, and sore with his wounds,\nworn out with heat and toil, and the very arms he bore, death seemed to\nhim much easier than life. \"But death will never come when needs\nrequire,\" and his despair well nigh cost him dear.\n\nThe dragon, seeing his discomfiture, turned upon him, and smiting him\nwith his tail, felled him to the ground. Very near, then, was the knight\nto the death he coveted.\n\nHowever, it so happened that, unknown to him, a well of rare virtue lay\nclose by. Its waters could cure sicknesses, make the aged young, wash\nsinful crimes away, and even restore the dead to life. In the happy days\nbefore the accursed dragon had brought ruin to the land, it had been\ncalled the Well of Life; and though he had denied its sacred waters with\ninnocent blood, it still retained many of its ancient virtues. Into this\nspring the knight fell.\n\nAnd now the sun began to set, and Una, watching from her hill, saw her\nchampion fall, and saw, too, that the monster swelled out his proud\nbreast, and clapped his great wings as if in victory. Little knowing the\nboon that had befallen her knight, the maiden grew very sad at heart,\nthinking all was lost. No sleep was possible to her. With folded hands,\non lowly knees, she spent the long anxious hours in earnest prayer.\n\nWhen morning came, Una arose and looked anxiously around to see if,\nhaply, she might discover the warrior still alive, for with the morning\nnew hopes frequently arise. By-and-bye, to her great joy, she saw him\nstart up, all fresh and invigorated by the powers of the wondrous well.\nThe dragon was confounded at the sight, and knew not whether this was\nhis foe of yesterday, or another come to take his place, when the knight\nuplifted his bright blade, and struck the monster a blow upon the skull,\nwhich wounded him in right earnest.\n\nWhether the sword had received some secret virtue from the waters of the\nwell, or whether they had only increased the strength of the knight's\nright arm, none can tell, but never before had a blow taken such effect\non the cruel monster. He yelled aloud as if he were a hundred lions all\nin one; he tossed his great tail aloft, and scourged the air into a\ntempest, and flung about its mighty length, so that it overthrew high\ntrees, and tore rocks into pieces. Then advancing his tail high above\nhis head, the dragon struck the knight and smote him to the ground. The\ncruel sting pierced through his shield and fixed itself in his shoulder.\nThere it remained, causing him very severe pain.\n\nThe knight was nearly overcome, but more mindful of the issues involved\nin the combat than of his own suffering, he rose and tried to free\nhimself. Unable to loose the sting, and inflamed with wrath and anguish,\nhe struck the dragon on the tail, and at one blow cut off five of the\nmighty joints. Deeply enraged, the creature thought to avenge himself\nonce for all, and gathering himself up, fell fiercely on the knight's\nshield, and kept fast hold of it.\n\nAnd now was the Red-cross Knight terribly encumbered. Three times he\nstrove to release his shield from the dragon's clutch, and three times\nfailed. In despair he summoned his trusty sword to his aid, and laid\nabout with it so ruthlessly that at length the creature was forced to\nwithdraw one foot in order to defend himself. Then the knight directed\nall his blows against the other foot, still fast fixed on the shield,\nuntil, by happy fortune, the sword fell upon the ankle-joint, and\nsevered it.\n\nUpon this there burst forth from the beast such smoke and flames and\nbrimstone as to dim the light of heaven itself and force the warrior to\nretreat, lest he should be scorched alive. As he did so, his weary feet\nslipped, and he fell down, sore terrified with the dread of shame.\n\nNow it chanced that close by where he fell, there grew a goodly tree,\nladen with apples. Great virtue had belonged to this tree, and even now\nthere trickled forth from it a stream of balm that fell on the ground\nand watered it as if with dew. This little stream imparted life and long\nhealth to all whom it benefited, and into its soothing power the knight\nfell, on this, the close of the second day's fight.\n\nOnce more his life was saved, for the dragon, who was of death and\ndarkness, dared not approach aught life-giving. And now the daylight\nbegan to fade, and Una, seeing her lord again fall and lie motionless,\nknowing not that he lay in the healing balm, was once more stricken with\nsore affright, and watched and prayed for him all through the weary\ndarkness.\n\nWhen morning again dawned Una saw her knight arise, healed and\nrefreshed, ready for renewed combat. And the dragon, who had lain\nwaiting for the day that he might destroy him, grew afraid when he\nbeheld his foe as fresh as if he had not fought at all. Nevertheless, he\nadvanced, full of his wonted pride and rage, with jaws wide open,\nthinking to devour his foe at the first encounter.\n\nBut the knight was prepared to meet him; thrusting his keen weapon\nbetween the monster's open jaws, he ran it through his mouth, and\nwounded him with a mortal wound. Then the dragon fell, and as he fell\nthe earth groaned as if unable to support his weight. And the valiant\nknight himself trembled, so huge and hideous did the slain dragon look.\n\nUna, who had seen all from her hill, dared not at first approach; but at\nlength finding that the huge mass made no movement, she shook off her\nterror, and, drawing near, saw that the terrible monster was indeed\ndead. Then praising God, she thanked her brave champion for the great\ndeliverance.\n\nThe sun had scarcely risen above the eastern horizon, when the watchman\nwho stood on the battlements of the brazen tower, saw the last breath of\nthe monster fade away, and knowing then that the dragon was dead,\nshouted out the glad tidings.\n\nThe king heard the shout, and rose in joyful haste, although for his\nfeebleness he could not make much speed, and looked forth to see if the\ntidings were indeed true. When he found that they were, he commanded the\nbrazen gate, long closed, to be thrown open, and peace and joy to be\nproclaimed throughout the land--for the dragon was slain! Then the\ntrumpets sounded the happy victory, and the people, with one accord,\nassembled as in solemn festival, to rejoice over the fall of the great\nand terrible beast.\n\nFrom the tower came forth the king and queen, clad in worn and sober\ngarments. Grave nobles attended them, and a band of young men, bearing\nlaurel boughs, followed in glad procession. Headed by the king these\nmade their way to the Red-cross Knight, and, prostrating themselves\nbefore him, loudly proclaimed him their lord and patron, casting the\nlaurels at his feet.\n\nAs they did so, there issued from the brazen gate maidens adorned with\ngarlands, bearing sweet-sounding timbrels, and dancing as they went;\nwhile with them were children who sang to the maidens' music.\n\nThis second procession wended its way until it came where Una stood, and\nthere they stayed and sang aloud her praises, and set a green garland on\nher head, crowning her \"'twixt earnest and 'twixt game.\"\n\nLast of all came the mob, hurrying to see the dragon-slayer, whom they\nlooked upon as sent from heaven, and at whom they stared with gaping\nwonder. But when they arrived where lay the dead dragon they were filled\nwith fear. Some, indeed, were so terrified that they fled away; others\npretended to conceal their fear, while one who wished to be thought\nwiser than all the rest, suggested that the dragon might not be really\ndead. At this another immediately declared that he could see fire\nsparkle in his eye, while a third was persuaded he had seen the monster\nwink. Others, more bold, stood near its carcase, in order to measure how\nmany acres it covered.\n\nThus the people flocked about the dead dragon, while the king and his\ntrain were entertaining the knight with gifts of ivory and gold. After\nthanking him a thousand times, and embracing their fair daughter Una,\nthe king and queen conducted them to the palace, while the people\nstrewed the way with their garments and shouted aloud for joy.\n\nNow when the Red-cross Knight had rested and been feasted, the king and\nqueen called upon him to relate the story of his adventures. Tears ran\ndown their cheeks as they listened, and when he had ended, the king\nagain welcomed him to the palace, and spoke of his resting there from\nall further toil.\n\nBut the knight declared that he might not rest yet, for he was bound by\nvow to Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, to return and serve her for the\nspace of six years. Then the king called for Una, his only daughter and\nsole heir, and with his own hands betrothed her to the knight.\n\nNever in all her loveliness had Una looked so fair as when her father\ncalled her forth. The toil of the journey over, she had put aside her\nsober mournful robe, and was arrayed in a dress of pure and shining\nwhite, while the brightness of her beautiful countenance astonished even\nher own true lord. There was great joy among both old and young at the\nmarriage, and a solemn feast was ordered throughout the land.\n\nThe Red-cross Knight held himself a thrice happy man, and ever as he\nlooked on his dear lady rejoiced anew. In great peace and happiness he\nremained with Una until his conscience and his vow compelled him to\nreturn for a time to the court of Gloriana, leaving her in her dear\nparent's care.\n\nAfter this he was no longer known as the Red-cross Knight, but as St.\nGeorge, the slayer of the dragon--the great Saint George whom England\nhas made her patron saint.\n\n\n\n\nBRITOMART AND THE MAGIC MIRROR.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book III. Cantos II., III.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived in Cambria a king whose name was Ryence.\nNow Ryence was a good king, and dealt justly with his people, and on\nthis account he won the approval of Merlin, the great magician. And\nMerlin gave King Ryence a boon.\n\nThis boon was a looking-glass, so wonderfully made, and possessed of\nsuch strange properties, that its fame spread throughout the wide world.\nThe glass was round, shaped like a ball, and hollow inside. He who\nlooked into it, saw not himself, but saw there portrayed anything that\nwas happening in any part of the world that might be of consequence to\nhim. If a foe were working him secret ill, or a friend feigning false\nkindness, this glass revealed their deeds. Such, then, was the boon\nwhich Merlin had given to King Ryence; and from it the king could learn\nthe approach of an enemy more surely and more quickly than from the\nswiftest messenger.\n\nNow the King of Cambria had one only child. This was Britomart, his\ndaughter and his heir. She was a noble damsel, tall and stately, with\nrich golden hair, which, when loosened from its silken bands, fell like\na sunny shower, reaching down to her feet. And she was brave as she was\nbeautiful: gentle towards the weak, and ready to help those in trouble;\none who scorned to take advantage of the misfortunes of others. A fit\ndaughter of a great king, from whom her father kept no secrets.\n\nIt chanced that one day, as Britomart was wandering over the palace, she\nfound herself in the small apartment where Ryence kept the mirror.\nForgetful of its strange virtues, the princess looked into it, and was\nsurprised that she did not see a reflection of herself. Then she\nremembered that Merlin's gift was no ordinary looking-glass, and as she\nrecalled its properties, she began to wonder what she might look for\nthere that was of importance to herself. Standing lingering by the\nmirror, her thoughts fell on love, and she wondered--as maidens\nwill--whom fortune would allot for her husband.\n\nNow Britomart was no foolish maiden, dwelling ever on her future, and in\nit forgetting the duties of the present; but she was a rich and lovely\nprincess, and it was only natural that she should expect to marry some\nday.\n\nBy-and-bye, as she gazed into the mirror, there appeared before her the\nimage of a knight, completely armed. His countenance was a right manly\none; a countenance to awe his foes, but to endear him to his friends.\nHis frame was large and strong, its natural strength increased by deeds\nof chivalry which he continually practised. His armour was massive, and\nseemed of some antique mould, as indeed it was, for in golden letters\nthere was written on it these words--\n\n    \"ACHILLES' ARMS WHICH ARTEGAL DID WIN.\"\n\nArtegal's crest was a hound couchant, and on his shield he bore the\nfigure of a crowned ermine on an azure field.\n\nAs Britomart looked on the image, she liked it, and having looked at it\nwell, she went her way, and little thought that Cupid, the false archer,\nhad shot an arrow into her heart. After a time, the stately Britomart\nbegan to droop. She no longer moved about with her customary princely\nbearing, but became sad, low-spirited, and full of foolish fears; nor\ncould she discover the cause of her discomfiture. At night when she lay\ndown to sleep, Glauce, the old nurse who still attended her, wondered at\nher wakefulness, and at the tears which Britomart tried in vain to\nconceal. And when sleep visited her weary eyes, it was only for a few\nminutes at a time, and she started in her sleep as if some ghastly dream\nhad affrighted her. She did not know that she loved, but her thoughts\never returned to the fair image she had seen.\n\nOne night when Britomart seemed more uneasy than usual, Glauce\ndetermined to inquire into the cause of her unrest. With loving words\nshe besought the princess to tell her how it was that her former\ncheerfulness had changed into this sad melancholy.\n\n\"Ah me,\" said the old nurse, \"how much I fear lest love it be;\" and\nadded--\n\n    \"But be it worthy of thy race and royal seed,\n    Then I avow by this most sacred head\n    Of my dear foster-child to ease thy grief\n    And win thy will.\"\n\nThe nurse was a powerful personage in the king's household, and praying\nBritomart to put away this melancholy humour, she promised that neither\ndeath nor danger should prevent her from relieving her sorrow. Then she\ntook her dear foster-child in her arms and fondled her tenderly, and\nchafed her cold limbs, and kissed and bathed her fair eyes, praying her\nall the time to take courage and disclose the secret trouble of her\nheart.\n\nBritomart did not answer at once; but at length she spoke, and begged\nGlauce to inquire no further, since there was no remedy for her\ndistress.\n\n\"Dear daughter,\" said the nurse, \"despair not; there never yet was a\nwound which something could not soothe.\"\n\n\"But mine,\" said Britomart, \"is like no other; for it, reason can find\nno remedy.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" replied Glauce, \"love can mount higher than reason, and\nhas oft done wondrous things.\"\n\n\"But,\" urged the poor princess, \"not even love can do that which is not\npossible to be done.\"\n\n\"Things often seem impossible,\" said Glauce, \"before they are\nattempted.\"\n\nThen Britomart broke out bitterly--\"These idle words,\" she said, \"do me\nno good; mine is no common grief, but, since you will know it, I shall\nno longer conceal my crime, if crime it be. Neither for prince nor peer\nis my heart pained, but only for the image and semblance of a knight,\naye, and the semblance of one I have not even seen.\"\n\nSo saying, she related to Glauce the adventure of the magic mirror, and\nadded that the image haunted her so that she almost longed for death\nitself.\n\n\"Daughter,\" replied Glauce, \"why be so dismayed? Thy love hath a strange\nbeginning, but there is nothing to be ashamed of in it, joy therefore\nhave thou, and eternal bliss;\" and stooping over the maiden she kissed\nher tenderly.\n\n\"Ah! nurse,\" said the Princess, \"what you say comforts me but little;\nfor what good is it although my love be worthy if it be fixed on nothing\nmore than a shadow?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Glauce, \"there never was a shadow that had not a substance,\nand one which could not by some means be discovered. Still, if thou\ncan'st conquer this evil before it grows more powerful, yield thee not,\nbut if it prove too great for thee, I promise that the beloved knight\nshall be found.\"\n\nCheered by her words, Britomart laid herself down to sleep. Glauce\ncovered her with tender care, and by-and-bye the damsel slept. Well\npleased, the nurse darkened the light of the rude oil lamp and sat down\nto watch her charge, and as she watched, tears fell from her aged eyes.\nWhen morning dawned Glauce roused Britomart, and together they went to\nthe church to pray. But even there Britomart could not command her\nthoughts--nor for that matter could Glauce--and as soon as they returned\nhome the old melancholy came back upon the Princess. When Glauce\nperceived this she called Britomart into her own bower, and there tried\nthe effect of spells much resorted to in those old fairy days. But the\nspells were of no avail, and Britomart grew worse, and became so thin\nand pale that Glauce was well nigh in despair. At length it occurred to\nher that it might be wise to consult Merlin, the great magician. She\ntherefore disguised herself and the Princess, and set out.\n\nNow Merlin dwelt in a dark cave which ran low underneath the ground. It\nwas entered from a rock which lay a little way from a fierce brawling\nstream that flowed amongst densely-wooded hills. It was a dismal spot,\nand when the travellers reached it they paused and feared to enter, and\nhalf repented their coming. But Britomart, whose nature was full of\nspirit, recovered courage, and entered, followed by her nurse.\n\nThey found the magician busied in his mysteries, writing strange\ncharacters on the ground. Their entrance did not surprise him, for by\nhis art he knew before-hand of their coming, and knew also the nature of\ntheir business; but feigning ignorance, he bade them tell their errand.\n\nThen Glauce spoke, humbly praying him not to be offended by their coming\nsince no light cause had brought them there. She paused, but he bade her\ngo on. Then she related how for the last three months the maiden before\nhim had been afflicted by a sore evil, but what it was she scarce could\ntell; of one thing only was she certain, that unless a remedy were found\nher nursling must die.\n\nOn hearing this Merlin began to smile, and knowing that she had not yet\ntold him the whole truth, said quietly, \"If this be all, the damsel hath\nneed of a physician rather than of me,\" and added these words,\n\n          \"Who help may have elsewhere\n    In vain seeks wonders out of magic spell.\"\n\nThis speech rather disconcerted Glauce, who wished to secure his help\nwithout confessing who they were or referring to the magic mirror, which\nwould at once reveal the maiden's parentage. \"Ah,\" she exclaimed, \"if\nphysicians' skill or any learned means could have relieved my dear\ndaughter, truly I should be loath to disturb thee; but this evil has\narisen from a source beyond nature.\"\n\nThereupon the wizard laughed outright.\n\n\"Glauce,\" he said, \"why try to cloak what is self-betrayed? And thou,\nfair Britomart,\" he continued, turning towards the Princess, \"art no\nmore hidden by thy disguise than is the sun when a passing cloud\nconceals him. Thy good fortune hath brought thee hither to ask my help,\nand it shall be granted thee.\"\n\nOn finding herself thus addressed, Britomart blushed deeply, but old\nGlauce took heart and replied, \"Since then thou knowest our grief, pity\nit, I pray thee, and relieve us.\"\n\nWhereupon Merlin sat silent for a time, and then spoke thus.\n\n\"Be not thou dismayed, most noble virgin, by the sharp pangs which have\nso sore oppressed thine heart, for so must all excellent things begin.\nNor was it idle chance that led thee to look into the charmed mirror;\nthine eyes were guided by eternal providence in order that heaven's\ndestiny be fulfilled. Thine is no evil fate, thus to love the noblest\namong knights. Therefore submit thyself to Heaven, and take all due\nmeans to fulfil thy destiny.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Glauce \"advise us, thou great magician, what means to take.\nHow shall she find this knight, or indeed why need she do aught since\nthe fates can of themselves fulfil their own purpose.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Merlin, \"true is it that naught can shake the heavenly\ndestiny, nevertheless men must use their own endeavour to work it out.\nKnow then that he whom Britomart loves, and is to marry, is the knight\nArtegal. He dwells in the Faeryland, and yet he is neither born of a\nfairy nor in any way related to one, but was by them stolen from his\ncradle, and to this day he is ignorant that he belongs not to their\nrace. But he is in truth a son of Gorlois, and a brother of Cador, the\ngreat Cornish king, whose deeds are renowned from east to west. And to\nthee, Britomart, is it given to bring Artegal back to his native soil.\nHe shall return to help his country to withstand the foreign invasion\nwhich now threatens thy father's territory. His great strength and his\ndreaded name shall render great assistance against the foe; and thy\nprowess shall be added unto his, and together ye shall wear arms and\nbear great command.\"\n\nThen the magician saw before him a vision of the future. In his vision\nhe beheld wars and desolation, a ruined church, and a king made captive.\nOvercome by the sorrows which lay before his people, the aged wizard\npassed into an ecstasy which much alarmed the two women, who stood\nsilent and confused. Presently it passed away, the natural colour\nreturned to his face, and the expression of horror gave way to one of\ncalm cheerfulness. He then instructed Britomart and her nurse as to what\nthey should do, and they, with lightened hearts, bade him farewell and\nreturned home. There they held secret counsel how best to carry out\ntheir difficult enterprise, proposing now one, and now a different plan.\nAt length Glauce hit upon a bold device.\n\n\"Daughter,\" she said, \"I think that plan is ever the wisest that takes\ninto consideration present advantages. Good King Uther is now making war\nupon the Saracens, and all Britain is in arms. Let us too wear arms and\nlearn to use the shield and spear; so shall we pass unrecognized where\nwe will throughout the land. Thou art tall and large of limb, and armour\nwill befit thee well, and practice will soon bring thee the needful\nskill in handling weapons. Truly,\" continued Glauce waxing eager in\npraise of her plan, \"it ought to inflame thy courage to remember how\nmany women of thy house--a house inferior to none--have done deeds to\nrival those of the bravest men. Remember bold Bundeca, brave Gwendolin,\nMartia, and Emmeline; and more than these, let the example of the Saxon\nVirgin incite thy courage.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Britomart, \"what is her name?\"\n\n\"Men call her fair Angela,\" replied the nurse, \"for she is as fair as\nshe is courageous in battle: she is more dreaded than all the Saxons by\nher foes, and so beloved by her people that they call themselves by her\nname. Therefore, fair child, take her example for thine, and equal her\nin courage.\"\n\nThese hearty words of Glauce sank deep into Britomart's heart, and\ninspired in her a great desire to excel in arms. She therefore resolved\nto undertake the perils of knighthood, and consulted with her nurse how\nto attire herself in suitable array.\n\nNow it chanced that only a few days previously a band of Cambrians who\nhad gone out against the Saxons had returned with much prey, and among\nother booty had carried back a complete suit of the armour worn by\nAngela, the Saxon Queen. It was a rich and beautiful suit, and fretted\nover with gold. This suit along with other spoils of war King Ryence had\ncaused to be hung up in his chief church as a lasting monument of his\nsuccess and victory.\n\nIn the same church was a famous and mighty spear. It had been fashioned\nin olden days by magic lore, and was preserved on account of its magic\npowers. No matter how well or firmly a warrior sat his charger, this\nspear bore him to the ground.\n\nGlauce remembered these things, and late in the evening she led\nBritomart to the church, and taking down Angela's armour from its place\non the wall, arrayed her fair nursling therein. She took also the spear,\nand with it a shield, and gave them to Britomart.\n\nWhen she had thus completed the Princess' attire, she took another suit\nof armour and put it on herself, that she might attend Britomart and act\nas her squire. And now, both being fully equipped, they mounted the\nhorses which Glauce had caused to be ready, and under cover of the\ndarkness escaped from the palace, nor did they rest until they reached\nthe Faeryland to which Merlin, the great magician, had directed them.\n\n\n\n\nBRITOMART AND AMORET.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book III. Cantos XI., XII.\n\n\nAfter Britomart and Glauce left the palace of King Ryence, many\nadventures befel them. In all her adventures Britomart's magic sword and\nmatchless prowess gained for her great renown, and she was spoken of far\nand wide as the Knight of the Heben Spear, while old Glauce, her nurse,\nwas believed to be her squire. They encountered many a famous knight,\nbut they had not yet found him whom they sought.\n\nOne day, as they were continuing in their search, they came suddenly\nupon a stranger knight, who lay with his face on the ground, his armour\nscattered near him, and who seemed either asleep or in great distress.\nLest he should be sleeping, Britomart did not speak, but stood waiting\npatiently. Presently the knight groaned as if his very heart were\nbreaking, and then burst forth into a piteous wail over the loss of\nAmoret, his wife.\n\nUnconscious that he was heard, the knight cried out against the cruelty\nof the wicked enchanter who had taken her prisoner, and kept her for the\nlast seven months cruelly tormented, and shut out from the light of day,\nin a stronghold guarded by thick smoke and magic fires. Then followed\nsuch an outburst of grief that Britomart thought his very life in\ndanger, and no longer able to forbear, stooped down and spoke to him.\n\nAt the sound of her voice, the knight raised himself, and looked up, but\nseeing a stranger, he hastily flung himself down, angry at being\ndisturbed. Britomart, however, was not to be easily daunted, and again\nspoke.\n\n\"Ah! gentle knight,\" she exclaimed, \"whose grief seems well-nigh past\nbearing, scorn not the relief which Providence may send you. To my hand\nit may be given to relieve your woe, and wreak vengeance on your enemy.\"\n\nHer brave words so touched the knight's heart that he poured out the\nwhole bitterness of his woe, telling her how hard it was to reach\nAmoret, since the tyrant had her in strong enchantment, and had guarded\nher dungeon with dreadful fiends.\n\nBritomart was greatly moved by his sad tale, and again offered her aid.\n\"Sir Knight,\" she said, \"if you will listen to me, I will either deliver\nher to you from thence or die with her.\"\n\nAt first the knight, whose name was Scudamour, would not accept so great\na boon, but Britomart at length succeeded in persuading him to arise and\naccompany her to the scene of Amoret's captivity.\n\nArrived at the tyrant's stronghold, they dismounted, and went boldly to\nits entrance. There they found neither gate nor porter, but a porch from\nwhich issued flames of fire, mingled with smoke and sulphurous stench.\nAt this Britomart was greatly dismayed, and turning to Scudamour,\nconsulted with him how best to overcome this dreadful obstacle, \"for,\"\nsaid she, \"to run into danger without care and thought is worthy only of\nthe beasts.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Scudamour, \"this is the worst cause of my distress, for the\nfire cannot be quenched by any wit or skill; what then is there left to\nme but ceaseless sorrowing. Leave me to my grief, let Amoret dwell in\nchains, and Scudamour die of misery.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied the noble maid, \"to abandon a brave deed for the mere\nshow of danger were a shameful thing; better run all risks than turn\naside for fear.\"\n\nThereupon, resolved to trust her weapons to the utmost, Britomart threw\nher great shield before her face, and pointing her magic sword straight\nin front, moved onward; when lo! the dread flames parted on either side\nof her, and she passed through scatheless.\n\nWhen Scudamour saw that she had passed beyond the fire and was\nuninjured, he, too, tried to force a way. But he was full of proud\npassions, and commanded the flames to yield to him, and being foolish\nenough to threaten them, increased their mighty rage so that with\nimperious sway they sent him back scorched and burned. Impatience and\ndisappointment raged in his bosom, and in a very madness of misery he\nagain flung himself on the ground and beat his head and breast, and\nwould take neither hope nor comfort.\n\nMeantime Britomart pursued her way, and going through the first door,\nentered an outer chamber. It was full of precious stores, and was hung\nround with rich arras, into which was woven many a fair scene,\nportraying the feats of Cupid, the blind god. At the upper end of the\nchamber stood an altar, built of gems of great beauty, and on the altar\nwas an image of massive gold with wings of divers colours, more varied\nand brilliant than the hues of the rainbow. This image represented Cupid\nwith the fatal bow and arrows in his hand, and at his feet a wounded\ndragon. Underneath were written these words--\"Unto the victor of the\ngods this be,\" and all the people that dwelt in the great castle paid it\nhomage.\n\nBritomart stood still for a while, gazing at the golden image,\nfascinated by its brightness; but at length she turned to look back and\ntake in the other wonders of the chamber. Then, for the first time, she\nnoticed the words \"Be bold\" written over a doorway. She puzzled over\ntheir meaning for some time, and could not find it, but no way dismayed\nby the apparent warning, she followed their advice, and advanced from\nthe first to a second chamber.\n\nThis chamber was still richer than the other. Its walls were overlaid\nwith gold wrought with figures of antique story, and all about were the\nspoils and arms and trophies of mighty conquerors, who had been taken\ncaptive by the cruel Cupid.\n\nFor a long time Britomart gazed around her, and the more she looked the\nmore she wondered, both at the richness of the room and at the wasteful\nemptiness and solemn silence that pervaded the place. As she continued\nher survey, she saw over the door through which she had just passed the\nsame words, three times written, \"Be bold.\" While trying to make out\ntheir import, her eye chanced to light upon an iron door at the other\nend of the room, on which was written, \"Be not too bold.\" This puzzled\nher still more; but no living creature appeared from whom she could ask\nan explanation. And now the shadows lengthened, and darkness fell, yet\nBritomart would not sleep, but sat in watchfulness, her armour on, and\nher weapons all about her.\n\nWhen night had quite set in, she was startled by the shrill sound of a\ntrumpet. After the trumpet blast, there arose a hideous storm of wind,\nwith thunder, lightning, and an earthquake, followed by a horrible\nstench of sulphur and smoke, which lasted from four in the morning until\nsix--yet Britomart remained steadfast in her watch. Then suddenly arose\na whirlwind throwing open the heavy iron door, and from an inner room\nthere entered a grave personage bearing a branch of laurel, and clad as\nif for the tragic stage. Before Britomart had time to recover from the\nsurprise of this apparition, a band of minstrels, followed by a troop of\nmasquers, issued also from the chamber. Sweet music and strange and gay\nfigures now filled the hitherto empty room. There were Fancy and Desire,\ndressed in silk and embroidery; Doubt and Danger in more sober garb;\nFear, armed from head to foot; Hope, with golden locks and samite robes;\nSuspicion and Deceit, Grief and Fury, Pleasure and Displeasure--six\ncouples in all. Behind these came a fair lady, led by Cruelty and\nDespight, who goaded and tormented her as she walked. After these rode\nthe winged god, mounted on a lion, and closely followed by Reproach,\nShame, and Repentance, while a confused rabble brought up the rear.\n\nThe procession marched three times round the chamber, and disappeared\ninto the inner room. As soon as it had passed through, the iron door was\nviolently closed by the same whirlwind which had opened it. Then\nBritomart came forth from the shady corner in which she had stood\nunnoticed, and tried to follow; but she could by no means pass the door,\nand was obliged to wait patiently for any opportunity that might arise.\n\nAll day the maiden waited, and when the next night came with its garment\nof darkness her hopes rose, and not in vain. About the second watch, the\ndoor flew open, and afraid neither of masques nor enchantments,\nBritomart walked boldly in. As soon as she entered, she looked round for\nthose persons whom she had seen the previous night. But of all the\nmotley crew only one was visible, and this was the fair lady who had\nbeen led by the cruel villains, and who indeed was Amoret. Her hands\nwere fast bound, and round her waist was an iron band that fastened her\nto a brass pillar. Before her was the wicked enchanter, drawing strange\ncharacters with Amoret's own heart's blood, which he drew from her by\nmeans of a cruel transfixed dart. By such strange spells, he sought to\ncharm her into loving him. But he had already tried a thousand charms,\nand had utterly failed to touch her love and loyalty to Scudamour, and\nindeed she was little likely to love one who wrought such cruel\nimprisonment.\n\nThe moment the enchanter saw Britomart in her knightly attire, he cast\naway his books of wicked magic, and drawing a murderous knife from his\npocket ran fiercely at poor Amoret, whom for very spite he was ready to\nkill rather than see her escape. Britomart leapt forward, seized his\narm, and stayed his murderous intent. In a moment the enchanter's rage\nturned upon her, and his sword inflicted a wound upon her snowy throat.\n\nThen Britomart drew forth her deadly spear, and struck him so dire a\nblow, that he fell on the ground half dead. Another stroke must have\nkilled him, and she was on the point of dealing it when Amoret made sign\nto her to hold her hand, telling Britomart that only he who had\nenchained could set her free.\n\nHearing this the noble maiden paused, and very unwilling to spare her\nwicked captive, addressed him thus, \"Thou wretched man, for whom no\npunishment can be too severe, be sure that nothing shall save thee from\ndeath, unless thou immediately restore this lady to health and freedom.\"\n\nGlad to secure his life on any terms, the enchanter at once yielded, and\nrising up, began to look over the leaves of his accursed books, that he\nmight learn how to reverse the charms he had wrought. Britomart stood\nover him with her sword drawn, and so dreadful were the things he read,\nthat her hair stood on end with horror. By and bye she perceived that\nthe house shook and the door rattled, but not for a moment did she\nslacken the grasp of her weapon. With steadfast eye and stout courage\nshe waited to see what these strange omens meant. At length she saw the\nchain that wound round the waist of Amoret fall slowly to the ground,\nand the brazen pillar to which she was bound break in pieces. The dart\nthat pierced her bosom fell out as of its own accord. The wound it had\nmade closed up as though it had never existed, and all the hurts and\nbruises caused by her long imprisonment were forthwith healed.\n\nWhen the fair dame found herself free, she fell on the ground before\nBritomart, thanking her out of the fulness of her heart, and begging to\nbe permitted to render her deliverer some service or reward.\n\nBritomart raised her, and replied courteously that her labour received\nmore than sufficient reward in seeing Amoret thus free and safe.\n\nShe then besought the lady to take comfort, and putting away the\nremembrance of her past cruel sufferings, think rather of what\nScudamour, her loving husband, had lately endured on her account. It\ncheered and comforted Amoret to hear Scudamour, whom of all living\nwights she loved best, thus spoken of by her deliverer.\n\nBut Britomart's work was not yet done. She turned to Busyran, the wicked\nenchanter, bound him firmly by the chain which had held Amoret captive,\nand thus secured, led him forth from his own stronghold.\n\nThen Britomart was amazed to find that the rooms which had so lately\nastonished her by their beauty and richness had completely vanished.\nStill more surprised was she to find the flames which had guarded the\nporch quenched, and the porch itself gone.\n\nBut now a sore disappointment befel both Britomart and the lady Amoret,\nfor when they reached the spot where Scudamour had been left, neither he\nnor old Glauce, the squire, were anywhere to be seen. Britomart's brave\nheart was sorely astonished, and poor Amoret, in whom hope had sprung\nup, was filled with alarm and misgiving lest she had been betrayed.\n\nScudamour's faint-heartedness was the cause of their grief and\ndisappointment.\n\nFor a time after the war-like maiden's disappearance within the castle,\nhe lay eagerly expecting her return. But she did not come back all that\nday, and Scudamour, who was not a very great and therefore not a very\npatient knight, gave way to despair, and made up his mind that Britomart\nhad been consumed by the flames. He took counsel with old Glauce, and\ntogether they resolved to leave their post, and go in search of further\nhelp; thus it was that Britomart and Amoret came forth to find\nthemselves deserted.\n\nAnd so Scudamour and Glauce and Britomart and Amoret sought each other\nfor many a long day in vain; how they met at last another tale must\ntell.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF MARINELL AND FLORIMELL.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book III., Cantos IV., VII., VIII.; Book IV., Canto XII.;\nBook V., Canto III.\n\n\nIn the days of Britomart there lived a famous knight named Marinell.\n\nNow this Marinell was a sea-nymph's son, and dwelt in a rocky cave by\nthe sea-shore. His mother had trained him to deeds of daring and a life\nof hardihood. Along the strand on which he dwelt no man durst pass\nwithout first doing battle with Marinell. He had subdued and made\nvassals of a hundred brave knights, and his renown had reached the Court\nof Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland.\n\nYet Cymoent, his mother, was not satisfied, but prayed the sea-god\nto make her son richer than the son of any of the mortals.\nThe sea-god granted her prayer, and bade the waves yield him their\ntreasure--treasure gained by the wreck of many a gallant craft.\n\nSo there were heaped upon his shores great riches--gold, amber, ivory,\npearls, jewels, rings, and all else that was precious, until Marinell\nbecame as great a lord as any that dwelt in the land. So powerful did he\ngrow that his mother began to fear lest his boldness and haughtiness\nmight cost him his life, and she counselled him to forbear further\nwarfare and be at rest.\n\nThat she might be the more secure of his welfare, Cymoent inquired of\nProteus, the sea-god, concerning her son's future. Proteus replied that\nMarinell must beware of all womankind, as one day a strange maiden would\ncause him much dismay, if not destroy his life. Now Cymoent supposed\nthis to mean that Marinell must not love any woman; she counselled her\nson accordingly, and he listened to her words and followed her advice.\n\nOne day as Marinell rode on the rich strand dressed in gay arms, looking\nhere and there, he descried a rider on the forbidden ground.\n\nThis was no other than Britomart, journeying in disguise. Marinell rode\nfiercely up to her, and haughtily bade her retire before he made retreat\nimpossible. She was filled with disdain at his proud threat, and\nreplying, \"Fly they that need to fly,\" thrust at him with her magic\nspear. Thereupon Marinell struck her on the breast; for a moment her\nhead bent low upon her horse's neck; then she raised herself and smote\nhim so hard a blow that her spear pierced his shield and hauberk, and\nglancing off, wounded his side.\n\nThus Britomart bore him down until he fell helpless on the sand. She did\nnot stay to lament his fall, but went on her way, passing by his\ntreasure, and caring nothing for it.\n\nThis then was the woman of whom Proteus, the sea-god, had given warning.\n\nNow, the sad tidings of Marinell's overthrow reached Cymoent as she and\nher sister-nymphs were disporting themselves by a pond gathering\ndaffodils to make garlands wherewith to shade their foreheads from the\nsun. When Cymoent heard the melancholy news, she flung away her flowers,\nand rending her hair, threw herself speechless on the ground. The nymphs\nlikewise tore off their garlands, and loudly lamented Marinell's fate.\n\nAt length Cymoent arose out of her swoon. She at once called for her\nchariot, while the sea-nymphs called for theirs, and set out with her on\ntheir mournful errand. The waves ceased to rage, and helped them on\ntheir way, while the dolphins which drew the chariots sped swiftly\nthrough the water, and brought Cymoent and her sisters to where Marinell\nlay.\n\nThey found him in a deadly faint. When his mother saw him lying thus,\nshe fell from one swoon into another, and when she at length recovered,\nmade such piteous moanings that the very rocks could scarce refrain from\ntears. She bewailed her son's fall, and wished that she too had been\nmortal to have shared his fate.\n\nAt length, after long sorrowing and great wailing, the sea-nymphs took\nMarinell's armour off, spread their silver-fringed garments on the\nstrand, and laid him upon them. They then examined his wound, washed the\nblood away, and poured in balm and nectar. Then Liagore, the\nlily-handed, trained by Apollo in the surgeon's lore, felt his pulse,\nand discovered that life still lingered in his frame. Whereupon his\nmother no longer despaired, but, aided by the sea-nymphs, bore him to\nher chariot. At her command the dolphin-team remained still while\nflowers were strewn over him as if he were already dead. The\nsister-nymphs then climbed into their chariots, and Marinell was borne\nswiftly to Cymoent's sea cave. It was far down at the bottom of the sea,\nand built up of hollow billows heaped high on all sides. Here, on the\nsoftest of couches, they laid him, while Cymoent sent for Tryphon, the\nbest esteemed among the sea-gods in the art of healing, and the nymphs\nsat round bemoaning his sad plight.\n\nNow, the news of Marinell's sad overthrow reached the court of Gloriana,\nQueen of Faeryland, where was the lady Florimell, who was famed for her\nrare goodness and great beauty, and was held in high repute throughout\nall Elfin-land. She was loved of many knights, but she herself loved\nonly Marinell, and when the news of his fall reached her, Florimell\nresolved to leave the court of Gloriana, and vowed that she would not\nreturn until she had found her love, alive or dead. She mounted a\nsnow-white palfrey, and attended by a trusty dwarf, set forth: she was\nclad in a dress of cloth of gold, and her fair locks were bound in a\njewelled circlet.\n\nSome days after, it happened that Prince Arthur, accompanied by Timias,\nhis squire, and one or two others whom they had encountered on their\nway, were riding leisurely through the woods that led to Marinell's\nabode, when the fair Florimell dashed suddenly across their path. She\nhad burst out from the brushwood, and rode as if for her life. Her hair\nstreamed behind her, and she constantly looked back as if fearing\npursuit. And sure enough, there appeared a rough forester, riding a\njaded steed, which he was urging over bush and bank until the blood\nflowed from its sides.\n\nNow, when the Prince saw this, he and a knight named Guyon hastened to\nFlorimell's rescue, while Timias, the Prince's squire, followed the\nforester. Through thick and thin, over hill and plain, the Prince and\nthe knight followed, but the poor damsel feared them as much as she\nfeared the forester, and fled from them so swiftly, that when they\nreached a double way she was out of sight, and they could not tell which\npath to take. Each took a separate one, and that chosen by the Prince\nproved right. At length he came in sight of Florimell. Urging afresh his\nfoaming steed, he approached the terrified damsel, and called on her to\nhave no fear. She looked back, but, not recognizing Prince Arthur's arms\nor shield, paid no attention to his call. And so it fell that darkness\ncame on, and the Prince was reluctantly obliged to give up all hope of\nhelping her. Little did she think from how great and good a deliverer\nshe fled, or into what miseries this flight would lead her.\n\nThus Florimell sped on, fearing every shadow and every sound, until when\ndarkness fell, she grew so weary that her palfrey wrested the reins from\nher slack hold, and went where he would. At length even he could go no\nfarther, and to her dismay, lay down. Florimell was now forced to alight\nand lead him.\n\nAfter travelling slowly for some time, she came to a hill-side, and here\nshe saw below her a little valley thickly clothed with wood. From\namongst its high trees there arose a wreath of thin blue smoke, and\nencouraged by this sign of habitation, the maiden went on her way more\nhopefully. But she was very weary and worn when she reached the place\nfrom which the smoke proceeded. It was a cottage built of sticks and\nreeds, walled round with sods, where dwelt a witch, dressed in poor and\ndirty rags, and living wilfully in want. She dwelt in these dark woods\nbecause her deeds were evil.\n\nHere poor Florimell entered, and found the hag seated on the ground,\napparently busied in magic arts; she started up when she saw Florimell,\nstared at her, but said nothing. Very soon her fear, for such it seemed,\nturned to anger, and she asked the damsel who she was, and what ill\nfortune had sent her there, unwelcome and uninvited.\n\nFlorimell replied that she had lost her way, and prayed her not to be\nangry with one who was unwilling to intrude on her, and only begged\nshelter and rest for a little space. As she spoke, tears dropped from\nher eyes, and she sighed so gently and sadly that the wicked old woman\ncould not help being sorry for her, and began in her rude way to show\nsome kindly feeling; wiping the tears from Florimell's eyes, she bade\nher sit down and rest. Florimell gladly obeyed; she sat down on the\ndusty ground, put her torn garments into better order, smoothed her fair\nhair, and fastened it into its golden circlet. When the hag saw the rich\nornaments in Florimell's hair, and beheld how beautiful she was, she\nwondered greatly, and feared lest a goddess had found her way to the\nhut.\n\nThis old witch had a son who was as wicked as herself. He was also lazy\nand good-for-nothing, loving to lounge in the sunshine, and sleep away\nhis time. When he returned home, and found a fair lady sitting by his\nmother, he was so astonished at the sight of beauty in such a place,\nthat he stood quite still, staring at Florimell, and saying never a\nword. At length he went up to his mother, and asked her in a whisper by\nwhat strange chance this vision had appeared. His mother only replied by\na scared look, as if her wits were gone, and the two gazed first at\nFlorimell, and then at one another.\n\nBy-and-bye, however, they grew accustomed to her presence. Her ways were\nso gentle that the witch's son became enamoured of her beauty, and\nbrought her young birds and garlands of flowers, and a wild squirrel\nwhich he tamed. Florimell received his gifts courteously, but she feared\nhim, and so, when an opportunity came, she saddled and bridled her\npalfrey, and early one morning made her escape. She went in great\ntrepidation, for she was afraid that she might be followed and\novertaken.\n\nNow when the witch and her son awoke and found her gone, their grief was\nvery great. Indeed, the son became almost frantic, and nothing his\nmother could do would pacify him. So she bethought herself of her wicked\narts, and retiring to her secret cave, called up a hideous beast,\nmonstrous and misshapen;--its back speckled with a thousand spots, and\nso swift that it could overtake the fleetest steed. Nothing like it had\never been seen, yet it more resembled a hyena than any other creature.\n\nThis monster the hag sent after Florimell, charging it not to pause\nuntil it found her, and either to bring her back or slay and devour her.\nThe moment she ceased speaking, it set off, and by the help of its keen\nsense, surely and swiftly traced the maiden. When Florimell saw the\ncruel monster, and perceived that it began to overtake her, her heart\nquaked with fear. Terror also seized her palfrey, who, as long as breath\nsupplied him with strength, fled onwards. At length his pace began to\nslacken fatally, and then indeed, Florimell believed herself at the last\nextremity. But just as her horse's strength gave way, she reached the\nshore, and slipping hastily to the ground, sped towards the water,\nthinking to drown herself rather than have the monster seize her. All\nunexpectedly she found a little boat, with an old fisherman asleep in\nit, drawn up at the water's edge. Leaping into the boat, she seized an\noar, and pushed it out from the land.\n\nHer escape was none too soon, for the monster was close upon her, and\nready to spring just as her boat left the shore. It gaped greedily at\nher, but durst not venture into the water, and turning back avenged its\nwicked spite upon the noble palfrey.\n\nBy-and-bye the good Sir Satyrane, who had delivered Una from the Satyrs,\nrode that way, and seeing the dead body of the horse, recognized it as\nbelonging to Florimell. He feared some ill must have befallen the\nmaiden, and his fears were confirmed when he found a golden girdle she\nwas wont to wear lying on the sand. Full of grief and rage, he fell upon\nthe speckled beast, and wounded it severely; but it managed to escape\nfrom him, and returned to the old hag, while Sir Satyrane was forced to\ngo on his way. When the old woman saw the beast return, she believed\nthat Florimell was dead, and rejoiced in her heart, but her son became\nmore wretched than ever, and to comfort him, his mother made an image,\nand calling a wicked spirit into it, gave it such a likeness to\nFlorimell that her son mistook it for her, and was comforted.\n\nMeanwhile the true Florimell was in fresh straits. For a long time the\nfisherman slept on, so that she had to steer the boat as best she could,\nbut this was an easy task, for the wind was light and the sky clear. But\nwhen the old man awoke, she discovered that he was rude and cruel, and\nwould have made a slave of her if he could. It chanced, however, that\nProteus, god of the seas, was abroad that day, and was roving over the\nfoamy waves, drawn by his finny steeds. He came upon the little boat,\nand when he saw that the fisherman behaved roughly to the damsel, he\nbeat the old man and took Florimell into his own chariot.\n\nNow Proteus was an aged god, whose hoary hair was frozen, and on whose\nlong beard icicles hung. He told the still affrighted Florimell who he\nwas, and bade her no longer fear, and spoke so kindly to her that she\nwas comforted and cheered. The sea-god bore her to his own dwelling, a\nhollow cave eaten out by the angry waves from under a mighty rock at the\nbottom of the sea. Here Proteus dwelt with no living being save an old\nnymph whose name was Panope, and whose care it was to keep the cavern\nclean. He was very pleased to have Florimell, and thought to keep her\nthere. But he soon discovered that she thought much more of Marinell\nthan of anyone else, and that nothing he could do would make her forget\nthe knight, or be content to remain in the ocean cave. At this he became\nvery angry, and at last let her down into a deep dungeon, where he\nthreatened to keep her until she died. And for seven long months the\npoor damsel was imprisoned there bound in chains, guarded by raging\nwaves and grizzly ocean monsters.\n\nMeantime Marinell still lingered in his mother's bower. By the aid of\nTryphon, the sea-god's surgeon, he had been cured of the wound inflicted\nby Britomart. But so fearful was his mother lest further ill should\nbefall her son, that sorely against his will she kept him in her cave\nalmost as closely confined as if he had been a prisoner.\n\nIt happened at this time that all the sea-gods met to celebrate the\nwedding of the Thames and the Medway. A solemn feast in honour of the\nevent was held at the abode of Proteus, and there Cymoent, with many\nothers, was summoned. With her went Marinell, but, as his father was\nonly a mortal, Marinell was not accounted a god, and might not banquet\nwith immortals or eat of their food. Therefore, while his mother was\nwithin, he wandered about examining the strange abode, and, as he did\nso, there befel to him a strange adventure. From under a hideous\noverhanging cliff he heard a sad voice uttering such piteous\nlamentations that the cruel rocks and raging billows seemed moved in\nsympathy. It was Florimell, who, believing herself alone, bewailed her\nfate aloud. Though none could hear, she nevertheless spoke out her grief\nin the hope that the very recital might yield her some comfort, for\n\n    Heaven, that unto all lends equal ear,\n    Is far from hearing of my heavy plight,\n    And lowest hell, to which I lie most near,\n      Cares not what evils hap to wretched wight,\n      And greedy seas do in the spoil of life delight.\n\nShe mourned that while the beating of the waves pierced the hardest\nrocks, her piteous plaints only hardened the tyrant's heart against her.\nThen she prayed all the sea-gods to release her, or else to let her die\nat once, and ended by the words, \"Know, Marinell, that all this is for\nthee.\" After this followed such an outburst of grief and weeping that it\nseemed as if poor Florimell's heart must break.\n\nOn hearing her sad complaint, Marinell, who had never yet been touched\nby pity for the misfortune of any, was filled with remorse and grief at\nthe thought of Florimell's condition.\n\nIn his sorrow began the dawning of his love, and he set himself to\ndevise the fair damsel's escape. He thought of suing Proteus for her\nrelease, but this he could not do without his mother's aid, and he\nremembered her charge against the love of women. For a moment he\ncontemplated rescuing her by force of arms, but Proteus was a god, while\nhe had only mortal's might. Then he bethought himself of carrying her\noff by stealth, but the damsel was surrounded by water, and he possessed\nno means of getting her to land. So he wandered sadly about the rock,\nblaming himself severely for not having acknowledged her goodness and\nbeauty long ago.\n\nAt length the feast was over, and Marinell was obliged to accompany his\nmother home, and, sore against his will, leave Florimell in her\nsea-walled dungeon. Thinking of nothing but her sad fate, he was silent\nand disinclined for companionship, and so brooded over his secret sorrow\nthat he could neither eat nor sleep. He pined and languished and wept\nuntil he grew so weak and ill that he could not stand upright, but was\nforced to lie upon his couch.\n\nWhen his mother saw his miserable state, she was greatly troubled, and\nknew not what to think, for she could not discover the source of his\nmalady. She fancied his old wound was the cause, and repaired to\nTryphon, whom she chid sharply because of her son's distress. He\nreturned with her and examined the wound, but said that Marinell's\npresent discomfiture must have some other source, perhaps an unknown\ngrief. At this Cymoent was more troubled than before, and went to her\nson, beseeching him to reveal to her what lay hidden in his heart, but\nhe would not. Then forsaking the sea-gods as of no avail, she hastened\nto the heavens, and thence brought Apollo, god of healing, to see her\nson. He declared the disease to be love.\n\nCymoent grieved and fretted greatly when she heard this, and went to her\nson and prayed him in gentle words to tell her which one of the\nsea-nymphs he loved. She felt sure it must be a sea-nymph, and was the\nless concerned since the god's warning had been only against a mortal\nmaid. She therefore promised, whoever it might be, to aid him in his\nsuit. Great was her dismay when Marinell replied that he loved\nFlorimell. But it was no time to indulge in fruitless grief, for her son\nlay in danger of his life. Cymoent therefore went straight to Neptune,\nand telling him of Proteus' cruelty towards Florimell, begged him to\norder her release. This Neptune at once did, and armed with his warrant\nshe went to Proteus' cave, and there saw the maiden whom her son loved.\nThe old sea-god read his monarch's mandate in moody silence, but was\nforced to obey, and therefore yielded his prisoner to Cymoent. She,\ncharmed by Florimell's grace and gentle loveliness, took her by the\nhand, and welcomed her lovingly, rejoicing that her son should have so\nfair a wife. Then Cymoent showed her son the fair maiden, and his heart\nand spirit were so cheered within him that his strength gradually\nreturned, and he became himself again. Nor was Florimell less glad.\n\nAfter a time Marinell took her back to Faeryland, where he married her,\nand there was a great banquet held in honour of the wedding, and after\nthe feast a tournament, in which Marinell did deeds of great renown, of\nwhich you shall hear more in the tale of Braggadochio.\n\n\n\n\nBRAGGADOCHIO.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book II., Canto III.; Book III., Canto VIII.;\nBook IV., Cantos IV., V.; Book V., Canto III.\n\n\nAmong the good and brave knights who fought in Faeryland was a false one\nnamed Braggadochio.\n\nWandering aimlessly about the forests, this man had one day come upon a\nnoble horse, fully caparisoned, and a spear lying by its side. Here was\nhis chance! He made no endeavour to find the owner of the steed, but\nstraightway appropriated both horse and spear.\n\nFinding himself thus armed and mounted, his ambition rose; he determined\nto call himself a knight, and to set out for the famous court of\nGloriana.\n\nHe had not gone far when he saw a man sitting idly on a sunny bank. At\nthis Braggadochio puffed himself out in order to look grand, pricked on\nhis horse, and ran at the man full tilt. In terror the man fell flat\nupon the ground, and lifting up his hands, cried out piteously for\nmercy. Thereupon Braggadochio thought himself a great warrior, and\nthundered at his victim in a loud voice, calling him all sorts of names,\nand commanding him to yield or die, adding that he might think himself\nhappy to be permitted a choice.\n\nThe man cried out that he yielded. Then Braggadochio told him, that if\nhe would prostrate himself on the earth and kiss his stirrups he would\naccept him as his thrall. Immediately the coward cringed at his feet,\nand did him homage as his liege lord.\n\nBy-and-bye this craven thrall became emboldened, for he found out\nBraggadochio's character, and being full of cunning, resolved to keep in\nhis master's favour by humouring his vanity.\n\nSo they went forth. Braggadochio the knight, and Trompart the squire, a\nfitting pair.\n\nVery soon after they had cast in their fortunes together, they met\nArchimago, the great and cruel wizard. Now Archimago had a secret grudge\nagainst certain knights, and was in search of some one to avenge his\nfancied wrong. Delighted to see so imposing a personage as Braggadochio,\nhe inquired of Trompart what mighty man this was that rode on a golden\nsaddle, yet carried no weapon save a single spear. Trompart replied that\nhis lord was a great adventurer, who had lost his sword in a hard fight,\nand had sworn never to wear another until he had avenged himself of his\nloss. His master's spear, he alleged, was weapon enough to make a\nthousand combatants quake.\n\nArchimago was much delighted, and he bowed low to Braggadochio, and told\nthe story of his wrongs.\n\nWhen Braggadochio heard it, he pretended to be very angry, and\nthreatened the offending knights with instant death if Archimago would\nonly tell him where to find them. This the enchanter at once did; but he\nwarned Braggadochio that his enemies were two of the mightiest knights\nthat lived, and begged him to arm himself with a sword as well as his\nspear.\n\nBut Braggadochio scorned his advice, laughed at the notion of measuring\nhis might by the arms he bore, and taunted the enchanter with the\nweakness of old age, declaring that Archimago little knew what his right\narm had done. At this the old man grew ashamed of his mistrust, yet\ncould not dismiss it from his mind.\n\nAs he hesitated whether to speak again Braggadochio broke out into a\nloud boast, declaring that he had once slain seven knights with a single\nblade, and had then sworn never again to wear a sword unless it were\nthat belonging to the noblest knight alive.\n\nBy this grand speech he thought to get rid of Archimago and his\ntroublesome request. But not so, for the enchanter at once promised to\nbring him by next day the flaming sword of Prince Arthur, \"noblest\nknight alive\"; and as he spoke he vanished, leaving no trace behind.\n\nAnd now the boaster began to fear, and to wonder who this strange man\nmight be. His wonder soon changed to panic, and the bold champions,\nTrompart and Braggadochio, fled from the spot as if the very ground\nArchimago had trod would rise and pursue them.\n\nThey did not once look back until they reached a green forest, and there\nthey concealed themselves. But their terror was by no means gone: every\nleaf that moved, every sound the wind made caused their valiant hearts\nto quake, while all the time they feigned that they were only pretending\nfear.\n\nAt length a shrill horn echoed through the wood, and some one was heard\nmoving quickly in the thicket. This new cause of fright so overcame\nBraggadochio that he tumbled hastily from his horse and crept into a\nbush. Trompart waited to see what would happen. Presently there issued\nfrom the brushwood a lady in hunting dress. She was very beautiful: her\nhabit was adorned with rich jewels, and her stately bearing showed her\nto be of princely birth. In her hand she carried a boar-spear, and at\nher back was slung a bow and a quiver full of steel headed darts.\n\nWhen Trompart saw the lady, fear seized upon him, and he could not tell\nwhether to flee away or to remain in hiding, but she soon spied him out,\nand asked whether he had seen a wounded hind pass by. Addressing her in\nmost respectful terms, Trompart replied that he had not, and then begged\nof her to tell him which of the goddesses she was. She was on the point\nof replying when something moved in the thicket. It was Braggadochio,\nbut the damsel thought it was her prey, and, bending her bow, would have\nmade a speedy end of the boaster had not Trompart stayed her hand, and\nexplained that his lord, far-famed for bold achievement, lay shrouded\nthere.\n\nAs he spoke Braggadochio crept forth on hands and knees; then, rising up\nboldly, shook his helmet fiercely, trying to appear as if he had just\nbeen awakened from deep slumber. The sight of her beauty restored him to\nself-confidence, and he was beginning to resume airs of vanity when a\nvision of the weapons she carried cowed him. Her manner, however, again\nreassured him. She addressed him as a companion-in-arms, and\nBraggadochio, taking up the strain, recounted the wondrous deeds he had\ndone, then boldly asked who she was that thus ranged the forest and did\nnot dwell at court. To this she replied, that honour was only truly to\nbe found in toil, and that he who idled at home need not hope to win it.\n\nWhile she spoke Braggadochio, presuming on her graciousness, grew more\nand more insolent in his demeanour. Indignant, the goddess bent her\njavelin threateningly, then turned and fled apace. Braggadochio was at\nfirst dismayed, but was far too great a coward to pursue. So, concluding\nthat he had better depart lest worse things should befall, he mounted\nhis steed and rode away in so clumsy and untrained a manner that the\nnoble animal chafed under him, and yearned to be eased of his burden.\n\nSome time after this, as Braggadochio and Trompart, who now also\npossessed a steed, were going on their way, they saw a rude rustic\nseated on the roadside by a beautiful lady, richly decked with jewels.\nNow, these were no other than the false Florimell and her lover, son of\nthe old witch who had sent the cruel beast after Florimell the true.\nBraggadochio thought a knight such as himself more suited to the fair\nlady than any rustic. He therefore couched his spear, rode up to the\nman, declaring that the damsel was his, and must be yielded to him on\npain of death.\n\nThe rustic, greatly alarmed, and not daring to fight against so\npowerful-looking an enemy, let his lady go, and Braggadochio mounted her\non Trompart's horse and led her off, a proud and happy man. As they\njourneyed he began to make love to her, but presently their love-making\ncame to an abrupt end, for they encountered an armed knight, who\nadvanced towards them on a heavy charger that trampled the ground with a\nsound like thunder.\n\nThe appearance of this knight greatly disconcerted Braggadochio, but he\nlooked as fierce as he could, and made a show of cheering his lady, who\nalso was afraid. The knight came on, fierce and powerful, and bade\nBraggadochio give up the lady or else do battle for her. This challenge\nmade the boaster quake with terror, but he put on the best appearance of\nbravery he could, and addressing the stranger declared that man to be\nvery foolish who sought to win with words what he had gained with blows.\nAt this the knight grew angry, and told Braggadochio to prepare to\nfight.\n\n\"Then,\" said Braggadochio, \"since die thou wilt, let us both turn our\nsteeds, ride back a certain distance, and meet in equal tilt.\" They did\nas he suggested, and retired one from the other about a furlong's space,\nwhen Braggadochio, whose last intention was to fight, rode away, and\nwithout looking back, left his lady-love to take her chance, caring only\nfor his own safety. Thus did his valour show itself!\n\nAfter several further adventures, Braggadochio one day encountered a\nparty of knights and ladies who were on their way to a great tournament.\nHe rode up to them and they treated him courteously, and allowed him to\naccompany them.\n\nNow, it happened that the fair but false Florimell whom Braggadochio had\nso basely deserted was of this company, and rode with a knight named\nBlandamour. No sooner did Braggadochio see her than he wished to have\nher back again. He therefore declared that he had before won her in\nbattle and that she was his by right. But Blandamour would not listen to\nhis claim, and taunting him with having lost his lady-love decreed that\nBraggadochio must fight for her once more if he wished to make good his\npretended right. He further proposed that the false Florimell should\nstand side by side with a wicked old witch named Ate, who was of their\ncompany, and that he who won the day should have the lady, and he who\nwas beaten, the witch. The company were all pleased with this proposal,\nand false Florimell and the hag were brought forward, whereupon all\nbegan to laugh. Then Braggadochio, glad of any excuse which saved him\nfrom fighting, declared that he would be no party to any such bargain;\nif Blandamour liked to offer another lady as fair as Florimell, he would\nagree to fight, but he would not risk his life on the chance of gaining\nso poor a prize as Ate. At this they all smiled, the false Florimell\nupbraided him with want of gallantry and Ate, the witch, tried to urge\nhim on, but he cared for none of them, and remained obstinate.\n\nIn order to keep the peace, a brave knight, Cambello, who chanced to\nride with them, reminded the company that they were on their way to a\ngreat tournament, and had better not waste their strength in quarrelling\non the way, but wait until they arrived where each could fight his fill\nand, if they wished, fight out this quarrel also. So they passed off\nBlandamour's proposal as a joke, and went on together; but all the way\nthey mocked at Braggadochio and made a laughingstock of him.\n\nNow, the tournament to which this company was going was one arranged by\nthe good knight Satyrane, he who had picked up the lost girdle of the\ntrue Florimell.\n\nIt was to be held in her honour, and to last for three days. To the\ncombatant who most distinguished himself the right was reserved of\nclaiming the hand of the fairest lady present, and to that lady Satyrane\nwould yield Florimell's golden girdle.\n\nOn the first day, Sir Satyrane himself was judged the victor. On the\nsecond, Braggadochio's opportunity arose; but when his turn came to\nfight, he looked so uncertain and fearful that the knight Triamond,\nindignant at his cowardly hesitation, stepped forward and took his\nplace. The third day was no more favourable to the braggart, for a\nstrange knight appeared within the lists, who bore all others down, and\nwon the honours of the tournament.\n\nThen followed a contest as to which was fairest of the many damsels who\nhad graced the combat. Knight after knight advanced his lady, but of\nthem all, Florimell the false was deemed most lovely, and to her the\ngirdle was awarded.\n\nNow, this girdle had been framed by magic skill, and could not be made\nto clasp upon falsehood of any kind. It would not therefore fasten on\nthe false Florimell, who, however, insisted upon wearing it, although\nshe was forced to tie it on.\n\nAnd here fortune favoured Braggadochio, for there arose a great quarrel\nas to whose Florimell should be. The knight who had rightfully won her\nwas no other than Britomart, who cared nothing for her prize. Then\nBraggadochio stepped forward and called Florimell to witness that he had\nbefore won her in battle. At his audacity the uproar grew more loud, for\nall the knights hated and despised Braggadochio. At length Sir Satyrane\nproposed that all should forego their claim, and that the false\nFlorimell should be placed in their midst, and of her own free will\nchoose her rightful lord. To this the knights agreed, and after looking\nlong at each one, as if she would fain have pleased them all, Florimell\nturned to Braggadochio. The knights were almost mad with disappointment\nand anger at her choice, so Braggadochio, feeling rather uncomfortable\nand not very safe among them, bore her off in the night, and left them\nto complain.\n\nSoon after this the true Florimell was married, as you have already\nheard, to Marinell. Immediately after the wedding, Marinell held a great\ntournament, in which he and six friendly knights maintained Florimell's\nbeauty against that of any lady all the world over.\n\nThe lists were open to all who cared to enter them, and many were the\nhonours lost and won, but when the third day dawned, Marinell still wore\nthe victor's laurel. This day was to end the tournament, and as the\nfight grew more and more fierce, Marinell became surrounded, and was in\nserious danger. At that moment the brave Sir Artegal, whom Britomart\nsought, entered the tilting-yard, and at the same time, Braggadochio,\nTrompart, and the lady. Sir Artegal saw Marinell's danger, and hastened\nto his aid, but not wishing to be recognized, he changed shields with\nBraggadochio before entering the lists. After a hard combat, he\nsucceeded in rescuing Marinell from the opposing knights, and together\nthey won every honour of the field.\n\nThe tournament ended, Sir Artegal returned his shield to Braggadochio,\nand the whole company repaired to the great hall, where the judges of\nthe tilting match were to announce the name of him who had won the\nprize. There also stood the true Florimell, ready to greet every knight\naccording to the deeds he had done. Then the judges called for the\nstranger knight who had rescued Marinell, but Artegal did not move, and\nin his stead Braggadochio advanced and showed his shield, which all\nrecognized as that belonging to the victor. The trumpets sounded three\ntimes in his honour, the judges awarded him the prize, and Florimell\ncame forth to greet him and to thank him for the honour he had done her\nname. But Braggadochio received her courteous words with scorn,\ndeclaring that what he had done had been for his own lady's sake, and\nnot for hers.\n\nAt these rude words, Florimell turned aside, and Braggadochio, who had\nkept his lady veiled until now, brought her boldly forth before all the\npeople, maintaining that she and not the other was Florimell the true.\nShe was indeed fair, and for a moment the assemblage was stupified, and\nagreed that if this were not the Florimell famed throughout Faeryland,\nshe was yet more beautiful. Even Marinell was dismayed, and knew not\nwhat to believe. Then arose Sir Artegal, and no longer able to contain\nhis anger against Braggadochio, plainly discovered himself, and charging\nthe boaster with utter falsehood, declared it was he and not\nBraggadochio who had rescued Marinell; for proof of which he pointed to\nthe false knight's unused sword. He next called for Florimell, and\nleading her up to the other, caused the two to stand side by side.\nBehold, the false could not abide the presence of the true, and the\nfalse Florimell faded away before their eyes, and no trace of her was\nleft but the empty girdle. The people were struck dumb with\nastonishment, and Braggadochio was seized with despair and remained as\nstill as if he were lifeless. Artegal broke the silence, for he stooped\nand lifted the girdle, and presented it to Florimell. She fastened it on\nher waist, and it fitted perfectly; and all were convinced that this was\nindeed Florimell, and crowded around her, giving her tokens of their\njoy.\n\nMeantime, a commotion arose in the hall. The knight Guyon, to whom the\nstolen horse belonged, had arrived, and seeing Braggadochio's horse\nrecognized it as his own. Seizing its reins with one hand and drawing\nhis sword with the other, he insisted on having it restored.\nBraggadochio refused, and a quarrel ensued, which bade fair to be a\nbloody one. Then Artegal came forward and asked Guyon whether he could\nprove the steed to be his own. Guyon replied that there was a mark\ninside the horse's mouth by which he could certainly recognize it. At\nthis several of those present tried to open its mouth, and were severely\nbitten for their pains. Then came Guyon himself, and called his steed by\nits name, at which the horse broke loose from its bonds in its joy and\nfollowed Guyon, opening its mouth so that all could see whose he was.\n\nNow Artegal was deemed the just, and all looked to him for judgment in\nthe quarrel. He decreed the proof sufficient, and condemned Braggadochio\nto go on foot until he could obtain a horse honestly. Braggadochio raged\nand raved in fury, and made Artegal at length so angry that he three\ntimes laid his hand on his sword to kill him, but Sir Guyon stayed his\nanger, saying that Braggadochio was unworthy the vengeance of a true\nknight.\n\nSo was Sir Artegal pacified, but Talus, his servant, seized\nBraggadochio, and, dragging him out of the hall, shaved off his beard,\nreversed his shield, blotted out his device, broke his sword, and\nscattered his armour. Then, rushing after Trompart, who had tried to\nmake away, he disarmed him also, and scourged him out of the court; and,\namidst the laughter and scorn of the knights and their ladies,\nBraggadochio and his follower finally disappeared.\n\n\n\n\nHOW BRITOMART FOUND ARTEGAL.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book IV. Cantos IV., V., VI.\n\n\nAfter leaving the abode of Busyran, the cruel enchanter, Britomart and\nAmoret met with many adventures, but in none of these did they encounter\neither Scudamour or Artegal. At length Britomart heard of Sir Satyrane's\nfamous tournament, and to it, accompanied by Amoret, she repaired.\n\nIt was the last day of the tournament when they arrived. Many brave\ncombats had already taken place, but for this day was reserved the most\neager display of valour. Full many a knightly deed was wrought, and when\nfortune seemed to forsake the side of Satyrane, he himself was ever\nready to assist his knights and uphold their honour, proving once again\nhis far-famed prowess. Nor was there one that day who did not put forth\nhis utmost strength, as might be well seen from the many wounds\nreceived, the shivered spears and broken swords, and horses that ran\nriderless. Still the knights of Sir Satyrane kept the ascendency. But\nwhen the day had dragged on a weary pace, there appeared from out the\nother side a stranger. Whence he came no man could say, nor could they\ndiscover aught from the arms which he bore. His steed was caparisoned\nwith oaken leaves, his armour looked like wild weeds decked with wood\nmosses, and on his ragged shield was the strange device, \"Salvagesse\nsans finesse.\" On entering the lists this new-comer levelled his spear\nat the first knight he met, and overthrew him at the first encounter.\nKnight after knight he vanquished, until his spear split, and then he\ndrew his sword, and with it hewed and slashed at helmets until everyone\nbegan to shun the very sight of him as of death itself. And now all men\nwondered who this was, and whence he came, inquiring one of another by\nwhat name he was called, and when they could learn nothing they dubbed\nhim the Savage Knight because of his wild appearance. He was, however,\nno knight of the woods, but Artegal, the brave and mighty.\n\nThus were Sir Satyrane and his knights dismayed by the sole power of\nArtegal, and none of them durst stand in the field before him, but were\nbeaten back and chased about all the day, until evening came, and the\nsun began to slant downwards in the heavens. Then, again, there rushed\nout from the thickest press, an unknown knight, who in turn put to shame\neven the glory of Sir Artegal.\n\nThis was Britomart, who, eager to restore the day to Sir Satyrane, bent\nher powerful spear towards Artegal's helmet, and smote him so sore a\nblow that he fell from his charger, and was for a time unable to arise.\nNor did others who crossed spears with the stranger fare better; and\nwhen the fighting was over, Britomart, content with having restored the\nglory of the field to Satyrane, went on her way with Amoret, ignorant\nthat she had, all unawares, seen and fought with Artegal her love.\n\nHe, however, was sore at heart, by reason of his defeat, and eager to\nhave his revenge on the unknown warrior.\n\nMeantime, Scudamour still sought his wife. He had, by this time, heard\nof her rescue, but instead of feeling grateful to Britomart, he was\njealous and suspicious of her, for the wicked hag Ate had spoken ill of\nthe noble maid, and tried to create enmity against her.\n\nFrom being suspicious, Scudamour became unjust, and in his wrath against\nBritomart, had nearly slain old Glauce, her faithful squire. In vain did\nthe aged dame try to pacify his wrath; the more calmly she spoke, the\nmore angry he grew, and yet their common interest held them together. At\nlength, after various wanderings, they one day encountered an armed\nknight, who, when he saw them approach, rode rapidly towards them as if\nbent on an attack. Scudamour, perceiving his purpose, rode forward,\nready for the combat, but, as the other knight came near and saw the\narms which Scudamour bore, he checked his charger, and riding quietly\nup, addressed him courteously, calling him by his name, and praying to\nbe pardoned for the offence against a friend which he had so nearly\ncommitted.\n\nTo this, Scudamour replied, that at worst it were a slight offence to\ntry his sword with any venturous knight, and begged to know who it was\nthat had thus called him by name.\n\n\"Call me the Savage Knight,\" said Artegal, \"as others do.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Scudamour, \"interpret your name; have you taken it for some\nsecret purpose, or only because your home is in the forest?\"\n\n\"The other day,\" Artegal replied, \"a stranger knight did me shame, and I\nwait to wreak revenge upon him when he shall pass this way.\"\n\nAt this answer, Scudamour asked who the stranger knight might be, and\nArtegal told him that he was one whose name was unknown, although his\nfame was far renowned. He was called the Knight of the Heben Spear, and\nhaving borne down all opponents in a great tournament lately held by Sir\nSatyrane, had departed, carrying with him the fairest lady ever seen.\n\nWhen Scudamour heard mention of the dread spear, he knew it must be\nBritomart of whom Artegal spoke, and his rage kindling afresh, he\nexclaimed in angry accents--\n\n\"This is not the first uncourtly deed of which that knight is guilty; he\nhath stolen from me my true love, and if this hand can aid in the\nrevenge you purpose, it shall not fail you when the time arrives.\"\n\nSo together they plotted vengeance on the unconscious and noble\nBritomart.\n\nWhile they were thus talking, they saw far off, a knight, dressed in\nforeign arms and strange accoutrements, whom on nearer approach, they\nrecognized as none other than this same Knight of the Heben Spear. Then\nScudamour prayed Sir Artegal to let him make the first attack. Artegal\ngranted the request, and Scudamour, preparing his spear for battle, ran\nfiercely against his foe. Britomart, seeing his intention, prepared to\nreceive the onset, and so entertained Sir Scudamour, that presently both\nhorse and rider were on the ground.\n\nAnd now Artegal, beholding Scudamour's mischance, advanced his lance,\nand full of rage and vengeance, rode against the maiden; but lo! all\nunawares, Artegal also left his saddle, and to his great amazement,\nfound himself on the ground. He leapt lightly up, and snatching his\ndeadly blade, sprang upon Britomart, assailing her with such vigour that\nalthough she was mounted and he on foot, she was forced to give way\nbefore him. Now, as they fought, it happened that Britomart wheeled\nsuddenly round, when Sir Artegal's sword struck a blow behind her crest,\nwhich falling backward, wounded her steed, and forced her to dismount.\n\nNot a whit dismayed, she cast from her the enchanted spear, and betook\nherself to her shield and sword. So furiously did she fight that\nArtegal, exhausted by his long combat, had to yield before her, and her\nsword pierced through his armour and wounded him so that his blood\nflowed freely on the green grass.\n\nBut now the tide of battle began to change, for Britomart grew weary,\nwhile Artegal, through very fighting, seemed to gain rather than to lose\nstrength. He showered blow after blow on his opponent as if he would\ntear her body from her soul, and then gathering together all his force,\nthe Savage Knight upraised his arm to deal a stroke from which it seemed\nimpossible that Britomart could escape with her life. Down came the\ncruel blow, and falling on her helmet, struck off the face-piece, then\nglancing aside, did no further hurt.\n\nAnd now appeared the maiden's beauteous countenance, shining like the\nruddy morn; and all around, her fair hair--loosened from its band by the\nstir of the fight--fell like a golden shower glistening as the shining\nsand. And as Sir Artegal once more raised his sword, thinking to deal\nthe last deadly blow, his arm was suddenly arrested; and benumbed with\nsecret fear, shrank from its revengeful purpose, while the cruel sword\nfell from his slackened fingers to the ground. Then Artegal, having\ngazed long on the fair and unexpected vision, fell humbly on his knee,\nthinking that she who stood before him was a heavenly goddess, and\nhorror-struck with what he had done, prayed for pardon.\n\nBut Britomart, full of wrath because of the stroke that had revealed her\nface, still held her arm uplifted, and standing sternly over the knight,\nthreatened to strike unless he would return to the combat, bidding him\narise or he should surely die. But Artegal only prayed the more\nearnestly for pardon, or if that were refused him, besought that she\nwould take her will and inflict on him what punishment she chose.\n\nAnd when Scudamour, who now quaked with fear, watched her as she stood\nresolute, and beheld how fair and heavenly her countenance appeared, he\ncrossed himself, and began to worship her as a celestial vision. And old\nGlauce seeing this, and knowing that now all jealousy of Britomart would\nbe at rest, was joyful at the thought of a good ending to her sore\ntrouble, and greeting her lost nursling, prayed her as she loved her\nfaithful squire to grant these warriors a truce. The maiden yielded to\nher request, and the knights raised their beavers to show who they were.\n\nWhen Britomart beheld the face of Artegal in all its manly beauty, she\nsaw that it was the countenance she had beheld in the magic mirror in\nher father's house; her angry courage gave way, her haughty spirit\nbecame subdued, and her upraised arm fell quietly by her side.\n\nBut the maiden was very proud, and cared not to show that she was\nconquered, so by-and-bye she tried to uplift her hand again, as if rage\nand revenge still remained in her soul, but it fell harmless, for she\ncaught sight of Sir Artegal's fair countenance. Then she tried to force\nbitter, angry words from her tongue, but it too refused to obey her\nwill, and instead of wrathful speeches, would utter only mild and gentle\nwords.\n\nAnd Scudamour, relieved from all his jealous fears by the vision of her\nloveliness, grew sportive in his speech, rallying Sir Artegal on his so\nsudden humble behaviour towards his late opponent.\n\n\"Indeed, Sir Artegal,\" he exclaimed, \"I delight to see you, who were\nwont to despise all fair dames, become so suddenly a lady's thrall.\"\n\nWhen Britomart heard the name of Artegal, she knew in very truth that\nthis was the knight whom Merlin had told her she should wed. Her heart\ngave a great leap. She trembled for sudden joy and secret fear, while\nthe blood rushed through her veins and mounted to her fair face. Then,\nfearful of betraying herself, she strove the harder to continue in her\nformer angry mood, trying thus to hide her newly-awakened feeling.\n\nAnd now old Glauce began to speak wise words.\n\n\"Ye gentle knights,\" she said, \"whom fortune hath brought to be\nspectators of the emotion which secret fate hath wrought in this fair\nlady, marvel not, and henceforth be not the prey of idle fears and\njealous thoughts. Nor may you, Sir Artegal, again disdain the might of\nwoman's arm, which hath twice conquered you, nor any longer be\nrebellious unto love, which is the crown of knighthood and the bond of\nnoble minds. And you, fair lady knight,\" continued the old woman,\n\"relent, and grant him your grace.\"\n\nBritomart blushed deeply at her nurse's words, but Artegal rejoiced in\nhis inmost heart, yet dared not make too sudden a change in his\ndemeanour, nor show openly the love which her beauty and quiet dignity\nof manner, so grave and full of princeliness, inspired within him. But\nhis passion grew the stronger from the very restraint imposed upon him.\n\nHere Scudamour, whose heart had all this time been racked with fear and\nhope, interposed, with a request for tidings of Amoret. This Britomart\nat once granted, and went on to relate a sad tale: how, after freeing\nher from the enchanter, and guarding her with tender care and love for\nmany a day, she had lost her in a wild desert, where from sheer\nweariness Britomart had fallen asleep.\n\nPoor Scudamour was terribly cast down by these melancholy tidings, and\nonly plucked up a faint hope when Britomart pledged herself to remain\nwith him until together they found the missing dame.\n\nMeantime the three combatants being thus reconciled one to another,\nmounted their steeds, and rode towards a certain resting-place known to\nSir Artegal, where they were well received and cared for. Here they\nremained until their wounds were healed, and their weary limbs\nthoroughly rested.\n\nAnd all the time they sojourned there, Sir Artegal served Britomart with\nmeek service, watching continually how he might best please her. Thus\nday by day he made progress in his suit; and though Britomart in her\nwomanly pride tried hard to conceal the love she bore him she could not\nquite succeed. So well did Artegal woo, so skilfully did he contrive,\nthat at length he brought the noble damsel to bay and forced her to lay\naside her seeming indifference and to hearken to his words. And as she\nlistened to the vows with which he swore to love and guard her,\nBritomart's reserve gave way, and she yielded a glad consent to love and\nown him for her lord until marriage should unite them for ever.\n\nBut their marriage might not be yet, for Sir Artegal had been sent out\nfrom the court of Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, on a hard adventure, and\nuntil it was achieved he might not turn aside from following after it.\nAnd now that his limbs were rested and his wounds were healed, the\nknight knew the time was come when he must leave Britomart and continue\non his way, so he told her of the adventure on which he was bound. She,\npoor maiden, having just begun to taste of the rest and comfort of his\npresence, was sorely grieved and exceeding loth to be so soon parted\nfrom her \"dearest love.\" But he, strong in the sense of duty, persuaded\nher to acquiesce, and with fresh vows of love and constancy, promised to\nreturn to her so soon as ever his enterprise was ended, which would not,\nhe thought, be longer than three months.\n\nEarly next morning, Sir Artegal rose and pursued his way unattended,\nsave by Britomart, who insisted on accompanying him a certain distance.\n\nAs they rode, she found first one, and then another excuse for delay,\nand talked of the perils he must encounter; perils of which the fearless\nmaiden would have thought little for herself. But it was of no avail;\nall her stratagems but served to wear away the day; evening came, when\nthey must part. Full often Britomart took leave of her lord, each time\nfinding some last injunction to give, until at length she had spent all\nher words and could find no further pretext for delay, and so with right\nheavy heart she left him, and returned to fulfil her promise to\nScudamour.\n\nHow Sir Artegal did at last return from his enterprise and marry the\nPrincess Britomart, Spenser does not say, for he did not live to end all\nthe tales he had begun. But we know that they were married and lived\nhappily, for Merlin prophesied this when Britomart and Glauce went\ntogether to his cave.\n\n\n\n\nCAMBELLO AND TRIAMOND.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book IV. Cantos II., III.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a knight named Cambello, who had a sister\ncalled Canacee. This sister was very beautiful, and was the most learned\nlady of her day. She was skilled in the works of nature and in magic\narts; she understood the virtues of herbs and the sounds of beasts and\nbirds, and was as good as she was learned.\n\nNow many lords and knights loved Canacee. She, however, showed favour to\nnone; but the more difficult she was to gain, the more was she sought\nafter. Then arose quarrels among her numerous wooers, who ofttimes\nfought for her in bloody combat.\n\nWhen Cambello saw this, he perceived it would cause much mischief, and\nhe set about to consider how to prevent these unseemly deeds.\n\nSo one day, when this bold and mighty company of knights were assembled\ntogether, and were quarrelling as usual, Cambello proposed that if they\nreally loved his sister they should choose three from among their number\nas champions. These three were to challenge and fight him for his\nsister's hand, and the bravest was to become her acknowledged suitor.\n\nThis was a bold offer on Cambello's part, but Canacee employed her skill\non his behalf. She sent him a ring, which, amongst its many virtues had\nthe strange power of staunching the bleeding of a mortal wound. The\nproperties of the ring were well-known, and when her lovers saw Cambello\nreceive it, they began to falter and to wonder whether it were worth\nwhile to risk life against such odds for a lady of whose favour they\nwere after all uncertain.\n\nAmongst the knights were three brothers, Priamond, Diamond, and\nTriamond. These three were born on the same day and loved one another\ndearly. Each had his own way of fighting. Priamond fought on foot, and\nfor weapons used a spear and cutlass, Triamond on horseback with spear\nand shield, while Diamond, who was equally at home on horse or foot,\nused only a cutlass. Bolder men never lived.\n\nNow their mother, Agape, was a fairy, and had the power of knowing\nsecret things, and as her sons grew up and showed a love of daring, she\nfeared lest they should thereby incur disaster. She therefore determined\nto visit the three sister Fates and to inquire of them concerning her\nsons. She had to leave the bright earth and go far underground to a deep\ndark abyss where was their dwelling.\n\nAgape found the sisters sitting round the fateful distaff, which Clotho\nheld while Lachesis span the threads that measured out men's lives, and\ncruel Atropos cut them in twain. Saluting the Fates she sat by, and as\nshe watched them spin and cut the threads, her heart grew sad, and she\ntrembled as she told them the cause of her coming.\n\nThey at once consented to reveal to her the fate of her sons, and\nproceeded to spin out their threads. Agape trembled still more to see\nhow short and thin these were. She besought that they might be drawn out\nlonger, but to this the sisters would not listen.\n\nThen she craved another boon, and asked that when the eldest, whose\nthread was shortest, died, his life might pass into the second son, and\nthat when the second died, both lives might pass into the third. This\nboon they granted, and Agape went home to find her sons arrayed in\narmour ready for fight. She did not tell them their destiny, but warned\nthem to beware of danger and exhorted them to love each other.\n\nNow these three brothers were the champions chosen by Canacee's wooers\nto challenge Cambello.\n\nThe day of combat was appointed, and as soon as it was dawn the knights\nassembled in the field clad in shining armour. The lists were enclosed\nwith rails to keep off the press of people; at one side sat six judges,\nwhile at the other, Canacee, beautifully dressed, was seated on a stage\nwhere she could both see and be seen by those who fought for her.\n\nThe first to enter the lists was Cambello, who walked with stately step\nand fearless countenance; soon after came the three brothers, bearing\ngilt shields and broad banners. They marched three times round the\nfield, bowing low to Canacee each time they passed her stage, while\ntrumpets sounded and clarions played.\n\nThis ceremony over, Cambello and Sir Priamond advanced from the opposite\nsides of the lists; a trumpet blew, and they met in fierce encounter.\nThey were a well-matched pair, and it was hard for the on-lookers to say\nwho was the better man.\n\nAt length Priamond struck so mighty a blow that it pierced Cambello's\nshoulder, and forced him to lower his shield. Yet no blood fell from the\nwound, and the pain of it only made Cambello fight the more fiercely.\nDriving his spear at Priamond, he smote him in the thigh so that the\nknight reeled in agony; then Cambello drove at him afresh, and this time\nfixed his spear so firmly that in drawing it out the head broke.\n\nMad with pain and rage, Priamond now charged, thrusting his spear\nthrough Cambello's beaver. The weapon broke in his hand, and Cambello,\ndragging out the broken head, flung it back with fury. It struck\nPriamond in the throat, and wounded him so that he died, whereupon his\nlife passed into Diamond, as the Fates had predicted.\n\nAt once Sir Diamond rushed forth into his brother's place, and,\naccepting Cambello's challenge, the trumpets sounded, and the fight\nbegan again. Fiercely they fought, while blood flowed freely, and their\nweapons flashed fire as stroke fell on stroke; but for a long time the\nissue was uncertain.\n\nAt length Diamond heaved his axe at Cambello with such force that it\nmust have killed him had he not seen it and swerved aside. Then Diamond,\nwho was bowed almost to the ground with the weight of his own blow,\nslipped. Seizing his opportunity, Cambello with one dread stroke severed\nhis opponent's head from his shoulders. And behold! his body remained\nupright for a time before it fell senseless to the earth. The spectators\nwere much astonished, for they did not know the Fates' decree, nor that\nthe lifeless trunk had been inhabited by a double soul, which lingered\nawhile before it passed to Triamond.\n\nThen Triamond, filled with the life and grief of two, leapt forth to\navenge his brothers' death. And, notwithstanding the hard fight and his\nmany wounds, Cambello met him as fresh as if he had not fought at all,\nfor the ring not only prevented his wounds from bleeding, but restored\nhis wearied spirits and revived his powers.\n\nBut Triamond was a fearless foe, and fought so desperately that Cambello\nwas forced to retreat, until from his very fury Triamond grew\nbreathless. Then Cambello attacked him in turn, compelling him to\nretire. And so the fight went on until both were sorely wounded, and\nTriamond's strength gave way from loss of blood. But Cambello, through\nthe virtue of the ring, grew ever stronger, and striking Triamond on the\nhauberk, pierced it through, and so wounded him that he fell, to all\nappearance, dead.\n\nBut only one of his three lives had gone from him, and, to the utter\nsurprise of all beholders, he suddenly arose and began again to assail\nCambello. Cambello was astounded at this strange sight, and in his\namazement stood still and off his guard, until Triamond's repeated\nthrusts compelled him to defend himself. He now fought more cautiously\nthan he had done before, as if his adversary were some uncanny thing, so\nthat Triamond imagined the knight was getting faint-hearted, and that\nvictory was at hand. So thinking, he upheaved his mighty blade and aimed\na terrible blow at Cambello. He, seeing it come, leapt skilfully aside,\nand pierced Triamond under the arm, wounding him right through to the\nshoulder. But Cambello did not altogether escape the heavy blow, which,\nfalling on his head, hurt him wofully. Both combatants fell to the\nground, seemingly dead. Thereupon the on-lookers thought the tournament\nended, and the judges rose from their seats. The field-marshals broke up\nthe lists, and went to remove the armour from the slain warriors, and\npoor Canacee wailed aloud for her brother. When, behold! both knights\nstarted lightly from the ground, and once more began the combat.\n\nFor a long time they fought fiercely, recklessly, as if caring only to\nend the contest. No one could say who would win, and all were watching\neagerly, yet sadly, for the death of one or both, when suddenly a great\nnoise was heard, so great that the champions themselves stood still. And\nlo! driving at a furious speed, there appeared a chariot, drawn by lions\nand decked with gold and precious ornaments, in which there sat a lady\nof wondrous beauty. She was bounteous as well as beautiful, and learned\nin all magic arts, for she was Cambina, the daughter of Agape, and\nsister of Triamond, to whose aid she came.\n\nThere was terrible confusion as she drove through the thick crowds, for\nthe people pressed to see her, and her unruly steeds grew restive, and\noverthrew many of the mob.\n\nIn one hand she held a rod of wondrous power, in the other a cup filled\nwith Nepenthe, a drink devised by the gods to take away anger from the\nhearts of men, and give peace in its stead. As she came up to the lists\nshe touched the rail with her wand, and it at once flew open. Then she\ndescended from her chariot, and bid \"All hail!\" first to her brother and\nthen to Cambello. But they were eager to return to the combat, and paid\nher scant attention. Seeing this, she flung herself on the bloody\nground, and with tears prayed them by all that was dear to them to\ncease. Her entreaty availing not, she touched them lightly with her\nwand, whereupon their swords fell from them, and as they stood doubtful\nwhether or not to resume them, she handed them the soothing draught, and\nthey being very thirsty, drank of it eagerly.\n\nThen was a wonder wrought, for the two fierce combatants ceased\nfighting, and kissed each other, and plighted hands as friends for\nevermore. When the on-lookers beheld this fair sight they shouted aloud\nfor joy, and Canacee descended in haste from her exalted seat, and came\nto see what the shout portended. When she found the fighting ended and\nthe foes at peace, she greeted Cambina, the strange lady, and offered\nher love and friendship.\n\nThe trumpets sounded, and they all arose to depart. Cambina took Canacee\nin her chariot, and Triamond and Cambello returned home together, and\nthe people rejoiced with great feasting in the land.\n\nAnd after a time Triamond took Canacee, and Cambello took Cambina to be\ntheir wives, and no such friends or lovers were anywhere to be found.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF TIMIAS.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book III., Canto V.; Book IV., Cantos VII., VIII.; Book\nVI., Canto V.\n\n\nYou may remember that the good Prince Arthur had a squire named Timias.\nHe it was who went in pursuit of the forester that so rudely followed\nFlorimell. He thus became separated from his lord and had many\nadventures before he again saw Prince Arthur, who grieved sorely over\nthe loss of his beloved squire.\n\nTimias' first adventure was an encounter with the forester. He chased\nhim through thick woods, a long and weary way, and more than once had\nnearly avenged the rude fellow's discourtesy towards Florimell. But the\nforester managed to escape, either because his horse was swifter or his\nknowledge of the woods better than that of Timias. He made his way to\nhis two brethren, who dwelt with him in the wilds. To them he complained\nof the ill done him by the squire, and so excited their wrath that they\ndetermined to set out forthwith and aid him in making an end of Timias.\n\nAll three therefore repaired to a hidden glade, close by a narrow ford,\ndifficult at any time to cross, and now swollen by recent rains. They\nknew that Timias must pass this ford, and here they lay in wait.\n\nThings fell out just as the brothers expected. All unaware of danger the\nsquire rode up, and began to cross the ford. The moment he did so, the\nforester stepped out upon the opposite bank, and daring Timias to move\nanother step, threw a dart at him, which struck his habergeon. The blow\ndid not harm him but it made him very angry, all the more so that the\nbank on which the forester stood was so high that Timias could not reach\nhis antagonist.\n\nAt this moment one of the brothers shot a poisoned arrow out of the\nthicket, which wounded the squire, and caused him exceeding pain. Still\nhe struggled on against all difficulties, and at length reached the\nopposite bank, where the third brother now attacked him with a\nbill-hook. Timias avoided the blow and killed the man with a thrust of\nhis spear.\n\nThis increased the rage of the surviving brothers, who made a fresh\nattack with renewed energy. Timias, however, singled out one, and\ndirecting his whole force against him, struck a blow which cleft his\nhead from skull to chin. Filled with rage and horror, the last brother\nshot an arrow at the squire, and immediately attempted flight, but\nTimias overtook him, and just as he entered the stream, struck off his\nhead.\n\nTimias was now freed from the three brothers, but his troubles were not\nover, for his poisoned wound bled so profusely that he soon fell from\nhis horse in a deadly faint. He was in a sad plight all alone in the\nforest, but--\n\n    Providence heavenly passeth living thought,\n    And doth for wretched man's relief make way.\n\nWhile he lay in the swoon, Belphoebe the huntress, she whom\nBraggadochio had seen, came where the squire lay. She found him lying in\na pool of blood, his hair matted and tangled, his eyes fixed and his\nlips pale. She recoiled with horror at the sight, but she was a good and\nbrave woman and looked again, and as she looked her heart grew pitiful,\nand stooping down she felt his pulse. Finding that it still beat she\nraised his head and rubbed his temples, and then unfastened his armour.\nThis done, she hastened to the woods, where she found herbs, which she\ncarefully prepared. The juice of the herbs she poured into the wound and\nthen bound it with her scarf. By-and-bye Timias opened his eyes and saw\nthe lady standing by him, her bow and golden quiver lying at her feet.\nHe thought her an angel or a goddess, and addressing her as such, asked\nwhat service he could render in return for her care. To this Belphoebe\nreplied that she was only the daughter of a wood-nymph and that she\ndesired nothing but his recovery for reward.\n\nBy this time the damsels of the huntress arrived and were despatched to\nrecover Timias' strayed steed. Having brought it back, they set him upon\nit and led him gently to their dwelling.\n\nIt lay in a pleasant glade, surrounded by mountains whose mighty woods\ncast great shadows, and in the midst of which a little stream murmured\nsoftly over a rocky bed. By the stream was a fair spot planted with\nmyrtles and laurels, and among these stood a rich pavilion. Here they\nlaid Timias on a soft couch, and here Belphoebe daily dressed his\nwounds until he became quite well and strong. And then, from gratitude\nfor Belphoebe's care and admiration of her rare virtues, Timias gave\nup all thought of returning to the Prince, and remained in the forest as\nher faithful attendant.\n\nOne day when hunting with Belphoebe and her damsels, Timias, as often\nhappens in the chase, got separated from his companions, and while\nwandering about in search of them, came suddenly upon a poor lady who\nwas being carried off by a cruel giant. He instantly went to her rescue,\nand succeeded in freeing the lady. But he was himself in great danger\nwhen Belphoebe, attracted by the noise of the fight, came to his aid,\nand bending her bow pursued the giant to the door of his den, where she\nslew him with an arrow.\n\nMeantime Timias, always kind and gentle, was filled with pity for the\nfair lady whom he had rescued. She had fainted from terror and was much\nbruised by the fray and the cruel grasp of the monster. The squire knelt\nby her side, examined her wounds with tender touch, wiped her dewy and\nunconscious eyes, and in his pitifulness kissed them. At that moment\nBelphoebe returned, and when she saw her faithful squire so tender\ntowards the lady, her heart swelled with proud disdain. In her sudden\npassion she was ready to have killed both squire and lady with the very\nbow which had already slain the monster. She however restrained herself,\nand drawing near to Timias, exclaimed, \"Is this the faith?\" then turned\nand fled.\n\nDistressed at her rebuke Timias instantly arose and followed her, but\never as he drew near she threatened him with her bow and would not\npermit him to approach her. After a long and fruitless pursuit the\nsquire was forced to turn back with a sad heart. Finding a solitary part\nof the forest he chose a glade made gloomy with mossy trees, and there\nbuilt a hut to live in. He broke his weapons and threw them away, vowing\nnever again to fight nor ever again speak to a woman, but to live alone\nand deplore his grief. The better to keep his foolish vow he cut and\nspoiled his clothes, let his hair grow until it fell untended over his\nshoulders, ate only wild fruits and drank only running water. Thus he\nweakened himself until he was unfit to carry arms, and disguised himself\nuntil no one could recognize him.\n\nIndeed it chanced that one day Prince Arthur came into that part of the\nforest and found Timias in this wretched plight. The Prince talked to\nhim and tried to make out who he was, but never guessed he was all the\ntime addressing his lost squire. Timias would not speak, but only bowed\nreverently, and the Prince was obliged to go away sad at heart. He\nthought the miserable man some love-lorn swain, for he saw the name of\nBelphoebe cut on many of the trees, and remarked how he brightened at\nthe sound of the name and even kissed the ground where it was written.\n\nThus Timias dwelt alone, wasting his youth in selfish solitude, until\none day, as he lay bemoaning himself, a turtle dove that had lately lost\nher mate happened to come that way. Seeing one so sad, she paused in her\nflight and began to mourn with Timias. She sat by his side and sang so\npitiful and so human a ditty that the squire fancied he heard in it his\nown name; and as he listened, he shed many tears and beat his breast and\ntore his hair in his sadness.\n\nDay by day the bird sat by him and sang; she showed no sign of fear and\nfor guerdon of her song, he never failed to share with her his scanty\nmeal.\n\nTimias grew to regard her as a companion, and one day when looking at\nsome mementoes given him by Belphoebe, he chose out a ruby, shaped\nlike a heart, and bound it on the dove's neck. He expected to find some\npleasure in gazing at it as he lay and listened to her song, but\nsuddenly the dove finding herself thus decked flew away. Timias was now\nmore sad than ever, for he had lost both the jewel which Belphoebe had\ngiven him and his companion.\n\nMeantime the bird flew right through the forest until she came where\nBelphoebe rested after the chase. There she alighted and straightway\nbegan her mournful ditty, hoping thus to attract the maiden's attention.\nShe succeeded, and after watching her for some time Belphoebe noticed\non the dove's neck the well-known jewel. Rising hastily she attempted to\ngrasp it, but the dove flew out of her reach, and when she saw that\nBelphoebe followed, lingered until the maid was near, when she again\nflew a little way forward, and thus flying and resting lured her far\ninto the forest. They at length arrived near to the abode of Timias,\nwhen the dove flew straight into his hand. There she began a most\npiteous plaint, as if to force Belphoebe to understand who this was.\nThe maiden, however, although sorry for this wretched-looking man, and\nwishful to do him any good she could did not recognize him. But Timias\nknew her: he said nothing, but fell humbly at her feet, and kissing the\nground on which she trod, washed it with his tears and looked at her\nwith wistful looks. She did not understand him, but wondered at his\ncourtly manners, and pitying his misery, asked him whether heaven or the\ncruelty of man or his own wilfulness were its cause. When she ended\nspeaking Timias broke his long silence and with it his vow, and replying\nthat his suffering arose from all three, added that she herself had done\nthe wrong.\n\nHe went on to pray her forgiveness and the sad words touched\nBelphoebe's proud heart when she found that it was Timias who thus\naddressed her.\n\nRelenting from her severity she received him into favour again. For a\nlong time he lived happily in the forest ever attending Belphoebe and\nforgetting the Prince, his rightful lord, who still sought for his lost\nsquire.\n\nBy-and-bye men grew envious of the high distinction Timias received from\nthe great Belphoebe, and said unjust and malicious things of him, but\nhe behaved wisely and continued in her favour.\n\nThere were three men more anxious than any others for the overthrow of\nTimias. These were Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto. They tried all sorts\nof mean tricks by which to work his ruin, but in vain.\n\nAt length they resolved to send the Blattant Beast to destroy him. This\nwas a horrid monster, treacherous and cruel, given to turn suddenly on\nits pursuer, and bite with poisonous fangs.\n\nOn a day when Timias was hunting, these bad men sent the Beast into the\nforest, hoping that he would give it chase and so be led to destruction.\nJust as they expected, Timias charged the monster as soon as he saw it,\nand with such fury that the Beast turned and fled. As it turned it bit\nhim; he, however, paid no attention to the wound, but hotly pursued the\nBeast, which led him into thick woods and rough places full of briers,\nand thus wore out his strength until it had him in a woody glade where\nhis three foes lay concealed.\n\nAll three sprang out and attacked him fiercely, so that it required his\nutmost skill to defend himself. They closed round him and rained blows\non every side and yet he contrived to withstand them all and even to\nmake them yield before him. But after a long fight his strength began to\nfail before the heavy odds, and he feared he must soon yield. Just then\nhe heard the trampling and neighing of a horse. The sound inspired him\nwith fresh hope, and the next moment he saw a knight in full armour\nriding hastily to his rescue. Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto saw this\nalso, and like the cowards that they were, fled precipitately into the\nthick brushwood whither the knight did not choose to follow. He turned\ninstead to Timias, and in the sorely bested combatant, Prince Arthur,\nfor he it was, recognized his long-lost squire. Exceedingly rejoiced the\nPrince took him in his arms and embraced him tenderly, and thus was\nTimias restored to his rightful lord.\n\n\n\n\nCALIDORE AND PASTORELLA.\n\nFaerie Queene. Book VI. Cantos I., IX., X., XI., XII.\n\n\nOf all the knights that lived at Gloriana's Faery Court, there was none\nmore gentle or more courteous than Sir Calidore. He was beloved by every\none, for to his natural gentleness of spirit and grace of manner was\nadded a manly bearing and courtesy of speech that stole men's hearts\naway. He was tall and strong, and much renowned for his bravery in\nbattle, and he never employed his great gifts for mean purposes or\nflattered any one, for he loved simple truth and steadfast honesty.\n\nNow about this time a very hideous monster was wandering about in\nFaeryland. This was the Blattant Beast, the same that attacked Timias,\nand so terrible a creature was it, that even the wicked race from which\nit sprang dreaded and hated it.\n\nThis monster had iron teeth, and within the iron teeth were a thousand\ntongues--of dogs, cats, bears, and tigers,--but the greatest number were\nhuman tongues, and these uttered cruel scandals, caring not when or\nwhere. There were also serpents' tongues, with three-forked stings,\nwhich spat out poison and said hateful things of any who interfered with\nthe Beast. Indeed the delight of this horrid creature was to annoy and\ninjure and destroy good men and women. It was the very plague and curse\nof mankind, whom it bit and wounded and tormented with its venomous\nteeth and wicked tongues.\n\nAgainst the Blattant Beast Sir Calidore was sent, and he was commanded\nto give it incessant chase until he overtook and subdued it.\n\nIt was a hard quest, for the Beast never remained in one place, and Sir\nCalidore, without guide or good direction, had to go forth in untried\nways, to unknown dangers, and to laborious effort.\n\nAt length after a weary search and many adventures, after permitting\nhimself little rest either by night or by day, after pursuing the Beast\nfrom the court to cities, and from cities to country places, Sir\nCalidore came into open pasture land where shepherds watched their\nflocks.\n\nHere he so nearly overtook the monster that he forced it to hide itself\nfrom him amongst empty sheds and huts. By the help of these it once more\nescaped the knight, who, as he still followed in pursuit, chanced to\nespy a group of shepherds singing and playing, whilst their sheep\nwandered among the fresh young plants, and nipped off their tender buds.\n\nAll tired and heated, Calidore went up to the shepherds, and asked them\nwhether they had seen a Beast such as he described. They replied that\nthey had neither seen it nor anything else to excite their alarm, and\nprayed God to deliver them from all such.\n\nThen one of the shepherds seeing that Calidore perspired from the heat,\noffered him a draught to quench his thirst, and food to relieve his\nhunger. The knight courteously accepted their kindness, and, sitting\ndown at their request, partook of their homely hospitality.\n\nAs he rested after the meal, Sir Calidore noticed at a little distance a\nfair damsel, dressed in home-spun, home-dyed green, with a crown of\nflowers tied with ribbon on her head. She sat on a little hillock higher\nthan the others, and around her was a circle of fair companions, while\nbeyond these the shepherds lay about, piping and singing her praises,\ndelighting in her beauty, and shouting aloud for very wonder that so\nbeautiful a maiden should be found amongst them. She was as good and\nmodest as she was lovely, and they treated her as if she were a goddess,\nsinging day and night of fairest Pastorella.\n\nMany of the shepherds loved Pastorella, but one named Coridon loved her\nbeyond all the others, and yet the maiden cared neither for him nor any\nof them. Now, while Sir Calidore looked at the fair damsel and noted the\ndifference in her mien from that of her companions, his heart, all\nunawares, became drawn towards her, and he stood gazing on her, quite\nforgetful of his quest, and that the Beast was all this time getting\nfarther and farther away from him. And after the repast was quite over,\nhe still stayed talking to the shepherds, hoping all the time that\nPastorella would overhear the adventures he recounted.\n\nThus the day wore on until night advanced, and the ground grew damp, so\nthat the shepherds knew that it was time to take their flocks to rest.\nThen there came out to them an old man with silver locks, carrying a\nshepherd's crook in his hand, and he told Pastorella to arise. The old\nman's name was Meliboae, and he was accounted by all, even by Pastorella\nherself, as her father, but he was only her adopted father, for he had\nfound her as an infant in the fields and had brought her up as his own.\n\nAt his bidding she arose and gathered together her little flock of\nsheep, and the shepherds who had sat round her gathered theirs also,\nwhile they vied one with another in helping Pastorella; yet Coridon gave\nher most help.\n\nWhen Meliboae found Sir Calidore left alone, and night so near, he\ninvited him to his cottage, which, though poor, was a better\nresting-place than the fields, and the knight accepted gladly. He was\nkindly welcomed both by Meliboae and his wife, who invited him to lay\naside his armour and to rest until supper was ready and Pastorella had\nreturned from tending her sheep. When the frugal meal was ended,\nPastorella removed the table, and Sir Calidore in his most courteous\nmanner gave thanks to his host and hostess for their kindness, and\npraised the simple life which shepherds led. Meliboae replied by dwelling\non the delights of a country life, adding that in his youth he had\nsought a prince's court and had worked as a gardener at the palace; ten\nyears spent there, however, made him return home more contented than\nbefore. Calidore listened much delighted, and anxious to stay on in the\nshepherd's hut, replied that the world's gay shows were but vanity, and\nthat he wished that his lot were that of Meliboae. \"But,\" said the old\nman, \"the mind is the true fortune, and happiness is in each man's\npower.\" \"Then,\" said Sir Calidore, \"let me make my happiness by staying\nhere and resting awhile from the storms of fortune.\" And lest the\nexpense of his stay should prove burdensome to the old man, he drew\nforth much gold with which to pay for his food. This offer Meliboae\nrefused but he granted Calidore permission to remain.\n\nSo he remained there, and saw Pastorella daily and offered her many\ncourtesies; but she, unaccustomed to courtly ways, loved the kindness of\nthe shepherds better than his. Calidore therefore laid aside his armour,\nand dressing as a shepherd, went out into the fields and helped\nPastorella with her flocks.\n\nAt this Coridon became jealous, and whenever Sir Calidore was present,\nlooked cross and angry; yet Sir Calidore was ever kind to Coridon, and\nwhen Coridon brought birds and squirrels from the wood to Pastorella,\nthe knight praised their beauty. But the maiden ceased to care for\nCoridon's gift, for her heart was beginning to turn towards Sir\nCalidore.\n\nOne day, when the shepherds were in a merry mood, they called for music\nand began to dance. They invited Sir Calidore to lead the ring, for he\nwas held to be first in Pastorella's favour. But Coridon frowned and bit\nhis lips in anger, and seeing this, Sir Calidore courteously yielded to\nhim the place of honour, and when Pastorella placed her garland on the\nknight's head, he put it instead upon Coridon.\n\nAnother day games were proposed by the shepherds, and Pastorella was\nchosen judge, and held the garland which was to be the victor's reward.\nCoridon, renowned for his skill in wrestling, challenged Calidore. But\nthe knight was much stronger than Coridon expected, and easily threw\nhim, whereupon the garland was awarded to Sir Calidore. In his\nnever-failing courtesy the knight gave it up to Coridon, declaring him\nwell worthy the honour.\n\nThus Calidore proved himself ever courteous, and won love and honour\neven from his rival, and Pastorella's heart was turned more and more\ntowards him, but he still forgot the Blattant Beast and his vow to\nfollow it without rest.\n\nOne day, as Sir Calidore, Coridon, and Pastorella were gathering\nstrawberries in a green wood, a tiger rushed suddenly out of the forest,\nand with cruel jaws and wide open mouth ran straight at Pastorella. It\nhappened that the others had wandered a little way from her, and the\npoor damsel, left defenceless, cried out for help. Coridon came running\nto her aid, but seeing the fierce beast, fled in terror, for his own\nlife was dearer to him than hers. But when Sir Calidore came up and saw\nthe tiger ready to tear Pastorella's limbs, rage, not fear, filled his\nsoul, and with no weapon but his shepherd's hook, he ran at the wild\nbeast and stunned it by his blow, and before it had time to recover he\nhad struck off its head, which he laid at the feet of the trembling\nPastorella. From that time she showed marked preference for Calidore,\nand a little after promised to be his bride.\n\nBut one dreadful day, whilst Calidore was hunting in the woods, a party\nof brigands came down upon the shepherds' dwellings, and spoiling their\nhomes, murdered many of the occupants and carried off the others to sell\nas slaves. Amongst those taken captive were Meliboae, Pastorella, and\nCoridon. They were carried off during the night, for the brigands wished\nno man to know where they dwelt. Now, their home was on an island,\ncovered with brushwood, but there was no appearance of dwellers on the\nisland, for the brigands lived in underground caves, dark and dreary,\nand lighted only by candles.\n\nHere they brought their captives, meaning to sell them to the first\nmerchants who passed that way. But they had not been long in the island\nbefore the captain of the brigands fell in love with Pastorella and\nwished her for his wife. Now Pastorella, being betrothed to Calidore,\ncould not listen to his wish, and this made him angry, and yet he loved\nher so much that he continued to try hard to gain her affection. All\nthis made her so unhappy that she became ill.\n\nWhile Pastorella lay ill, a band of free-booting merchants arrived in\nsearch of slaves. The brigands came and told the captain who was\nwatching near the sick maiden, and the news made him sorrowful, for he\nfeared that his men would insist on Pastorella's being sold with the\nothers. Yet he dared not refuse; so he showed the merchants old Meliboae\nand Coridon and others. But one of the merchants had heard of the\nshepherdess, and demanded to see her also. At this the captain grew\nangry and declared that the maiden was his prize, and that, moreover,\nshe lay sick; and to prove his words, he took them to see her. But the\nsight of her pale beauty only made the merchants still more desirous to\nhave her, and they declared that unless they might buy Pastorella they\nwould buy no one. Thereupon the brigands demanded her sale, but the\ncaptain stoutly refused and drew his sword, and a fierce fight began, in\nwhich blood was freely spilt.\n\nAnd first of all, the captives were slain, old Meliboae, his aged wife,\nand many others. But Coridon escaped in the darkness, thinking nothing\nof his friends. All this time Pastorella was defended by the captain who\nstood between her and the enemy. He was slain at length, and fell with\nPastorella in his arms, who fainted from fear and weakness. And as she\nlay there the fight continued, and those slain fell upon her, so that\nshe was nearly stifled to death.\n\nWhen the brigands found that their captain was gone, the fighting\nceased, and the combatants became as eager to make friends as they were\nbefore to quarrel; so having agreed among themselves, they lighted\ncandles and began the melancholy search for the dead. Their captain they\nfound cruelly slain, and by him the dying maid. Seeing that there was\nstill life in Pastorella, they used every means to restore her, and at\nlength succeeded. But when she was able to look round, and saw her\nfather and her friends lying dead, wringing her hands, she wept and\nwailed and wished herself of their number. However, as the brigands were\nvery anxious that she should get well, they took care of her in their\nrude way. When they went out to plunder, they left one of\nthemselves--the best, although all were bad--in charge of her, but he\nwas of little use, scarce giving her food or rest.\n\nMeantime Sir Calidore had returned from the chase and had found the\ndesolation caused by the brigands. He was almost mad with grief and\nrage, and his anguish was increased by the sad fact that there was no\none to whom he could speak, nor any of whom he could ask tidings. He\nsought everywhere, but in vain; the woods and the plain were alike\nsilent and empty. Roaming about restlessly in his despair, he at length\nsaw someone coming towards him. The new-comer was dressed in rags, his\nhair was standing on end, and he was running as if from great danger. As\nhe came near, Sir Calidore saw that it was Coridon. Hastening up to him\nthe knight asked where Pastorella and the others had been taken.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Coridon, sighing deeply, \"would that I had never lived to see\nthis day, but had died before I saw Pastorella dead.\"\n\n\"What,\" exclaimed Calidore, \"Pastorella dead? How dared death touch\nher?\" And then he persuaded Coridon to tell his sad tale; and Coridon\ntold how he had seen Meliboae die, and the captain defend Pastorella, but\nas he believed,--in vain.\n\nOn hearing these tidings, Sir Calidore's heart well-nigh broke; but\nafter a time he recovered spirit and determined to rescue Pastorella\nwere she still alive, or to avenge her, were she dead. He asked Coridon\nto show him the way to the Island, but he had great difficulty in\ninducing him to do so. At length Calidore prevailed upon him, and they\nwent forth dressed as shepherds, although the knight wore armour under\nhis peaceful garb.\n\nAs they neared the Island they came to a hill, on which they saw\nshepherds with their flocks. They determined to go and learn from them\nthe latest tidings. Great was their surprise when Coridon recognized the\nflocks as the very ones that had been stolen from them, and these\nshepherds no other than the thieves. This discovery alarmed him greatly,\nand his heart began to lose all courage, but Sir Calidore reassured him\nas best he could and prevailed upon him to advance upon the men, who\nwere all asleep. Coridon would have slain them, but Sir Calidore, who\nhad another plan, prevented him.\n\nSitting down by their side, he wakened them gently, told them the time\nof day, and beginning to talk, asked them questions which would, he\nhoped, reveal the truth as to Pastorella. And when the brigands in turn\nquestioned Sir Calidore and asked who he and his comrade might be, the\nknight replied that they were herdsmen who sought for hire. On hearing\nthis the thieves at once offered them wages to take care of their\nflocks. Sir Calidore accepted the offer, and when night came, he and\nCoridon returned with the outlaws as their hired servants. They quickly\nlearned all the secrets of the caverns, and to their great joy found\nthat Pastorella still lived.\n\nAfter a time of patient waiting Sir Calidore's opportunity came. The\nbrigands had returned from a fray and slept soundly. In the dead of\nnight Sir Calidore arose, and armed only with an old sword which he had\nfound, made his way to the new captain's cavern. Coridon, too cowardly\nto join boldly with him, too fearful to be left behind, followed\nfaltering. They found the doors fast closed, but Sir Calidore attacked\nthem with all his force and burst them open. The noise awoke the chief\nbrigand, who came rushing to the entrance, where in a few moments Sir\nCalidore slew him.\n\nMeantime the sound of the fray struck terror into the heart of\nPastorella, but when the well-known and much-loved voice of Sir Calidore\ncalled to her, joy and comfort took the place of misery and despair, and\nher spirit revived within her. His voice was to her as the sunshine to\nthe wintry earth, and she who had longed for death felt the spring of\nlife arise anew within her. Nor did Sir Calidore rejoice less: like one\ndistraught he rushed to her, and taking her in his strong arms kissed\nher a thousand times.\n\nBut now the alarm had roused all the brigand camp, who came flocking to\ntheir captain's cavern. Sir Calidore stood in the doorway, and as they\npressed forward, he slew them one by one until the entrance was fairly\nblocked by dead bodies. Then he rested until daylight dawned; and when\nthere was sufficient light to see his way, he arose, chose from among\nthe slain a trusty sword and went out into the open day. There a great\ncrowd awaited ready to attack him. Then began a terrible fight. On every\nside the brigands set upon him, and sorely they oppressed him, nor did\nany spare him; yet so skilled and powerful was Sir Calidore that by the\naid of his trusty brand he dispersed and scattered his enemies, slaying\nall that came into his way.\n\nThen Sir Calidore returned to Pastorella his betrothed, and brought her\nforth to the light of day, which she had not seen since she was taken\ncaptive, and did all he could to make her forget the sorrows she had\nsuffered. When he had thus comforted her he returned to the robbers'\ncaves and took away their treasure. Bestowing the flocks they had stolen\nfrom old Meliboae on Coridon, Sir Calidore went forth, taking with him\nPastorella.\n\nNow all this time the Blattant Beast was ranging at will, no one\nstopping or restraining his course. And Sir Calidore deemed it high time\nto follow his quest once more, although he must first secure the safety\nof his love. He therefore took her to the Castle Belgard, where dwelt\nthe good Sir Bellamour with Claribell, his wife, and there they were\nwarmly welcomed and hospitably entertained, for Sir Bellamour knew Sir\nCalidore right well, and had loved him for his prowess ever since they\nhad served together in the field. And Claribell was drawn towards the\nfair Pastorella, and tended her so lovingly that she soon grew strong\nand well. When Sir Calidore saw the maiden recover strength and health,\nhe resolved to leave her in Castle Belgard, and to return to his quest,\nfor he was ashamed to remember how long he had neglected the enterprise\nentrusted to him by Gloriana.\n\nWith ceaseless pains and toils Sir Calidore resumed his task. It was in\nsome respects easier than before, for the Beast had gradually waxed more\npowerful, and wherever it went left traces of its spoil.\n\nThe knight found that it had invaded the homes of men of all conditions\nof life and in all had done great damage; that at length it had reached\nthe clergy, and among them had wrought such spoil and havoc, and\ncommitted such thefts that to tell all would be impossible. And now Sir\nCalidore, who had followed its track with ceaseless care, came to a\nmonastery, where he found the Blattant Beast destroying and despoiling\nwith might and main. It had broken into the cloisters and scattered the\nmonks hither and thither; it had pursued them into their cells and had\nnot spared even the holy things of religion. For it broke into the\nchurch and robbed the chancel; threw down the desks and injured the\naltar, and cast everything into confusion.\n\nHere Sir Calidore found it; and the Blattant Beast, knowing his power of\nold, at once fled, but the knight pursued with great swiftness and got\nnearer and nearer to the monster, until at length he overtook it in a\nnarrow place. Attacking it fiercely, Sir Calidore forced the Beast to\nturn and face him. Then the knight struck it with his sharp steel, and\nin return it rushed savagely upon him, its ugly mouth wide open so as to\nexpose the double row of iron teeth, and the thousand yelling, barking,\nback-biting tongues therein. Not one whit afraid, Sir Calidore fell upon\nthe monster with such might that he obliged it to give way, and for a\nmoment so mastered it that all it could do was to spit forth poisonous\nvenom from its foaming, bloody jaws, threatening in vain to bite. Then\nrearing itself on its hind legs, it attacked him with its claws as if it\nwould have rent him in pieces. But Sir Calidore was on his guard, and\nthrust his shield before him; then putting out all his strength he\nforced the creature back until it fell. Quick as thought the knight\nflung his shield upon it, and with all his strength held it down.\n\nAt this the Beast raged and roared most horribly, and foamed out bloody\ngore, and strove in vain to rear itself upright. The more it strove, the\nfirmer the knight held it. It bit, and scratched, and threw out venom,\nand behaved like a very fiend, so mad was its rage that any should hold\nit under, and still Sir Calidore kept on, for the more its anger\nincreased the greater became his power.\n\nThen when the Beast felt it could do nothing against the knight, it\nbegan to reveal its deepest, most wicked nature, and used its tongue no\nlonger to spit out blood or venom, but to speak reproaches and to utter\nwicked lies of Sir Calidore. But even these could not cause this true\nknight so to forget himself as to grow angry and release his hold for a\nsingle moment. He held on tighter and tighter until the Beast was almost\nstrangled in his grasp. At length when he saw that the creature's power\nwas growing less, he drew forth a muzzle made of the strongest iron, and\nwith it closed its cruel mouth and shut in its blasphemous tongues. To\nthe muzzle he fastened a long chain, and by this drew forth the Blattant\nBeast, cowed and captive. Never before had any dared to curb its will or\nrestrain its tongues, and it greatly repined at its bondage, inwardly\nchafing under a restraint which nevertheless it did not dare to\nwithstand. It trembled under Sir Calidore's mighty hand, and like a\nbeaten dog followed him where he went. Thus was the once powerful Beast\nled through all Faeryland, its former victims thronging out of the towns\nto see it captive and to praise and admire its captor. Thus then did Sir\nCalidore rid the world during his lifetime of a scandalous pest,\nalthough after his days the Beast broke its chain and ranged once more\nat liberty.\n\nHis quest ended, the knight returned to Pastorella, to whom a strange\nfortune had befallen.\n\nSir Bellamour and Claribell had known troublous days in their youth. In\nthese days an infant daughter had been born to them, which, owing to the\nsad woes that had befallen them, Claribell was forced to send away from\nher. Her maid Melissa had borne the infant to the fields. With many\ntears she had laid it down and watched behind bushes until a shepherd\ncoming to the spot lifted the babe and carried it away.\n\nAnd now Melissa, who still lived with Claribell, recognized a certain\nmark on Pastorella's fair skin by which she was persuaded that the\ndamsel was none other than the long-lost babe. She ran to her mistress\nwith the glad tidings; at first Claribell could hardly believe her, and\ntrembling with uncertain joy, hurried to Pastorella and asked her many\nquestions. To all Pastorella gave satisfactory answers, and Claribell\novercome with the gladness of a mother's love, tenderly embraced her\nchild, and then went to tell her husband. Deeply rejoiced, he too\nacknowledged Pastorella as his daughter.\n\nThus was the fair shepherdess proved to be a right worthy bride for the\nmighty Sir Calidore by birth as well as by beauty and goodness, and we\nmay be very sure that they were, as the old story-books say, \"happy ever\nafter.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Tales from Spenser, Chosen from the Faerie Queene","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":31706}