The liberation of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme liberata) 9780191567582, 0191567582 [PDF]

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THE LIBERATION OF JERUSALEM Torquato Tasso (1544 – 95), born at Sorrento, son of the Bergamasque courtier-poet Bernardo Tasso, spent his youth wandering in the wake of his father’s troubled career. At the age of 18, while still a student at Padua, he published Rinaldo, a chivalric epic in his father’s manner. In 1565 he entered the service of the powerful Este court at Ferrara, where he composed his masterpiece, The Liberation of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme liberata, 1581). His pastoral drama Aminta (1573) had meanwhile assured his fame, but soon his paranoid temperament goaded him into outbursts that caused his seven-year confinement in a hospital for the insane. After his release and a series of renewed wanderings, he settled in Rome. He devoted his final years to religious works, including a wholly rewritten version of his epic, The Conquest of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme conquistata, 1593), which had little success. Tasso also composed a verse tragedy, Torrismondo; some charming prose dialogues and letters; several significant critical essays; and the most impressive body of Italian lyric since Petrarch. The Liberation of Jerusalem was quickly translated into many European languages. For centuries it exerted a profound influence on writers (including Spenser, Lope de Vega, Milton, Corneille, Voltaire, Goethe, and Byron), artists (including Tintoretto, the Carracci, Guercino, Pietro da Cortona, Domenichino, Van Dyck, Poussin, Claude Lorrain, Tiepolo, Fragonard, and Delacroix), and composers (including Monteverdi, Lully, Vivaldi, Handel, Haydn, Rossini, and Dvorˇák). Max Wickert, born in Augsburg (Germany) and educated at Yale University and the Università per Stranieri in Perugia, has for many years been a member of the Department of English in the State University at Buffalo, New York. He is the author of two collections of poems, All the Weight of the Still Midnight and Pat Sonnets, and of critical articles on Spenser and early opera. He is currently preparing the first English translation of Andrea da Barberino’s Reali di Francia. Mark Davie has taught Italian at the Universities of Liverpool and Exeter, and has published studies on various aspects of Italian literature, mainly in the period from Dante to the Renaissance; he is particularly interested in the relations between vernacular and humanistic culture, and between religious and humorous writing, in Italy in the Renaissance. He is the Italian Editor of Modern Language Review.

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OXFORD WORLD’S CLASSICS

TORQUATO TASSO

The Liberation of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme liberata) Translated by MAX WICKERT With an Introduction and Notes by MARK DAVIE

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Great Clarendon Street, Oxford ox2 6dp Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York Translation, Chronology, Appendix, and Glossary © Max Wickert 2009 Introduction, Select Bibliography, and Explanatory Notes © Mark Davie 2009 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published as an Oxford World’s Classics paperback 2009 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Tasso, Torquato, 1544-1595. [Gerusalemme liberata. English] The liberation of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme liberata) / Torquato Tasso ; translated by Max Wickert ; with an introduction and notes by Mark Davie. p. cm.—(Oxford world’s classics) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–19–953535–4 (alk. paper) 1. Jerusalem—History—Latin Kingdom, 1099-1244—Poetry. 2. Epic poetry, Italian—Translations into English. 3. Godfrey, of Bouillon, ca. 1060-1100—Poetry. 4. Crusades, First, 1096-1099—Poetry. I. Wickert, Max. II. Title. PQ4642.E21W53 2009 851'.4—dc22 2008039121 Typeset by Cepha Imaging Private Ltd., Bangalore, India Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd., St Ives plc ISBN 978–0–19–953535–4 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

CONTENTS Introduction A Note on the Translation Select Bibliography A Chronology of Torquato Tasso

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THE LIBERATION OF JERUSALEM Canto One Canto Two Canto Three Canto Four Canto Five Canto Six Canto Seven Canto Eight Canto Nine Canto Ten Canto Eleven Canto Twelve Canto Thirteen Canto Fourteen Canto Fifteen Canto Sixteen Canto Seventeen Canto Eighteen Canto Nineteen Canto Twenty

3 22 42 58 78 97 120 145 163 183 199 217 239 256 272 286 302 322 344 371

Appendix: Tasso’s Liberation of Jerusalem in Literature, Art, and Music

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Explanatory Notes

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Glossary of Proper Names

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INTRODUCTION First impressions A reader who opens The Liberation of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme liberata) and reads the first few stanzas will pick up several divergent clues to the poem which they introduce. The opening lines stake its claim to be an epic poem, placing it in a tradition going back at least to Virgil’s Aeneid, whose opening words, ‘Arms and the man I sing . . .’, they echo. They specify its subject matter, the ‘holy war’ which ‘freed’ the site of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem as an object of Christian pilgrimage — the first, that is, of the European military campaigns in Palestine known as the Crusades, which culminated in the capture of Jerusalem in July 1099. And they leave no doubt that the poem will present this not just as a ‘clash of civilizations’ in which Asia and Libya (the latter a generic term for Africa) fight against the crusaders, but as a war extending even to Heaven and Hell. Yet if this suggests a stark, simplistic account of a battle between good and evil, the first stanza ends with a suggestion that things may not be quite so simple: the ‘Captain’ of the crusaders, Godfrey of Bouillon, had to deal not only with the alien occupiers of Jerusalem but also with ‘errant’ knights on his own side — opening up the possibility that the poem might deal not just with the crusade itself but also with whatever distractions kept the crusaders from their primary task. The same ambivalent notes continue in the next two stanzas. Stanza 2 begins with another standard piece of epic convention, the poet’s appeal to his Muse to give him inspiration to match his lofty theme — but then the stanza ends by acknowledging that he may not always follow the Muse’s guidance, but will sometimes ‘embroider the truth’ and embellish it with ‘pleasures other than your own’. The mere hint is enough to provoke a marked change of register in stanza 3, with a rash of words elaborating the theme of pleasure — ‘flattering sweets’, ‘delight’, ‘charming’, ‘mellifluous verse’ — and the stanza ends, via the familiar metaphor of a nurse making bitter medicine palatable by sugaring the rim of the cup, with a positive endorsement, not of truth but of deception: ‘So stealth | restores him, and delusion gives him health.’ Already we seem to have come a long way from the sternly historical theme announced in the first few lines, so it may not be too surprising when in stanza 4 another routine poetic procedure — the dedication of the work to the poet’s patron — proves to be not entirely straightforward. Tasso thanks Alfonso d’Este, duke of Ferrara, at whose court he

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lived between 1567 and 1576, not just for employing him but for taking him in as an ‘errant pilgrim, battered to and fro | by waves and rocks that made my spoil their sport’. Not just errant knights, then, but an errant poet to write about them. And even the dedication of the poem is qualified, for stanza 4 ends not by offering the poem which he has already written, but by suggesting that he might one day write another: Perhaps one day my prescient pen will try boldly to write what now mere hints imply.

Stanza 5 spells out what Tasso has in mind: to encourage Alfonso to renew the crusade against ‘the fierce Thracian’ — the Turks — in his own time. So his choice of the First Crusade as his theme is not fortuitous; Tasso expects his patron and his readers to relate it to the concerns of his own day, when the expanding Turkish empire posed an ever-present threat to western Europe, especially to Italy, whose coasts were always vulnerable to attack from marauding Turkish ships. As for the twenty-first-century reader, these first five stanzas will probably provoke several conflicting reactions. The Crusades are not an episode in European history which we are much inclined to celebrate, and the crusading ethos is one which we have come to view with suspicion, so we are unlikely to want to read the poem for the sake of its declared subject-matter. But even from these few stanzas it is clear that Tasso’s poem is not the unquestioning celebration of ‘holy war’ which its title might imply, but something much more complex. These stanzas also raise most of the issues which we need to confront if we are to understand and appreciate Tasso’s poem, and they can provide a convenient framework for a brief discussion of each of these issues here. Hopefully they will also have sufficiently intrigued us to persuade us that it is worth making the effort.1

Tasso and the First Crusade In a letter to his friend Orazio Capponi, Tasso wrote explaining how he had used his historical material in his poem: ‘In the first three cantos I follow history, not just in the overall outline of events but in every circumstance, not varying or adding anything, apart from a few additions about Clorinda and Erminia. Then, having laid this foundation of truth, [from canto 4 onwards] I start to mingle what is true with what is invented but plausible.’ Tasso’s main historical source was the twelfth-century Chronicle of William of Tyre, one of the most widely 1 These ‘figures of conflict’ in the opening stanzas have been pointed out by Sergio Zatti; see his The Quest for Epic: From Ariosto to Tasso (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006).

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read accounts of the crusade in the Middle Ages, of which an Italian translation was printed in Venice in 1562 (although Tasso could also have read it in Latin). In canto 1 he gives an account of the crusaders’ situation at the beginning of 1099, based on William of Tyre, which is broadly factual, although he admits to having, as he put it, ‘enlarged the truth’ by exaggerating the length of time they had already been on campaign. The army which had assembled piecemeal in Constantinople in response to Pope Urban II’s preaching of the crusade in 1095 finally crossed the Bosphorus into Asia Minor in the spring of 1097, and gained its first military success by capturing the Turkish capital of Nicea, about 90 miles south-east of Constantinople, in June. Between June and October the crusaders crossed the Anatolian plateau and reached Antioch, a few miles inland from the Mediterranean on the modern border between Turkey and Syria, in late October. They laid siege to the city, which held out through the winter of 1097 – 8. The deadlock was eventually broken the following June, when a disaffected Armenian official who commanded one of the watch-towers in the Turkish-ruled city made contact with Bohemond, one of the crusader leaders, and agreed to allow Bohemond’s men to scale the walls and open the gates. The crusaders occupied the city, only to find themselves almost immediately defending it against an army which the Turkish governor of Mosul, several hundred miles inland, had brought to the aid of his colleague in Antioch. The crusaders successfully repulsed the attack, but their battle-weariness after the long siege, combined with disagreements among themselves about who should govern the newly conquered territory around the city, meant that they spent the rest of 1098 in frustrating inactivity. Finally, at the end of the year, Count Raymond of Toulouse undertook to lead the crusade on to Jerusalem. Of the other leaders, Robert of Normandy and Tancred joined him immediately, with Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Flanders following about a month later, and in the early months of 1099 the army slowly made its way south towards Jerusalem. Two of the most prominent leaders of the early stages of the campaign stayed behind, taking the opportunity to establish personal states for themselves in places they had already occupied: Bohemond in Antioch, where his leading role in the siege had given him an unchallengeable position; and Godfrey’s ambitious younger brother Baldwin in Edessa, an Armenian Christian state some 150 miles to the east, which he had conquered by absenting himself from the siege of Antioch in the early months of 1098. This is recognizably the factual basis for the situation which Tasso describes in the first canto of his poem. Stanza 6 summarizes ‘the story

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so far’ with the conquest of Nicea and Antioch, while the short, sharp campaign against the relieving army from Mosul is amplified into ‘protracted wars | with Persia’s countless host’. In stanzas 8 – 10 he names the leading crusaders and their various distractions, including Baldwin’s ‘grasping soul’ and Bohemond’s decision to stay in Antioch, leaving Godfrey of Bouillon as the only one sufficiently single-minded to heed the divine call to press on to Jerusalem. By ignoring the leading role played by Raymond of Toulouse at this stage, Tasso has condensed the historical record: Godfrey emerged as the most popular leader during and after the siege of Jerusalem, and was chosen as the first ruler of the conquered city; Tasso has again sacrificed strict historical accuracy, this time in order to provide his poem with a single charismatic leader from the outset. Still in canto 1, Godfrey urges his fellow leaders not to delay the advance on Jerusalem on the grounds that a relieving army from Egypt can be imminently expected to come to the city’s defence. It is true that the Egyptian Caliph al-Mustali had an interest in defending Jerusalem, from which his army had expelled the Turkish governor only a few months earlier, taking advantage of the Turks’ weakness after their loss of Antioch; but again, this counter-attack came only later, when the crusaders were already laying siege to Jerusalem, prompting them to storm the city earlier than they would have liked. In fact, the initial Egyptian reaction to the crusaders’ presence in the region was friendly, seeing them as potential allies against their common enemy the Turks, and they had proposed a division of territory which would have allowed the crusaders to keep control of Antioch while the Caliph retained Jerusalem — an overture which is the basis for the embassy of Alethes to the crusaders’ camp in canto 2. In the early cantos of the poem the crusaders suffer a series of setbacks caused largely by their disputes among themselves. Such disputes were a historical fact — Tasso has already mentioned Baldwin’s territorial ambitions, and Bohemond’s opting out of the campaign in order to settle down in Antioch — but they are also a conventional feature of the epic, the classic example being the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles in the Iliad, which has to be resolved before the Greeks can conquer Troy. The equivalent quarrels in Tasso’s poem are not based on the historical tensions among the crusaders, but revolve around an invented character, Rinaldo, whose function in the poem is clearly modelled on that of Achilles, and around the complicated lovelife of another, Tancred, a historical figure to whom Tasso attaches some of his most colourful adventures. In his letter to Capponi Tasso admitted that, even in the supposedly historical first three cantos, he had permitted himself ‘a few additions about Clorinda and Erminia’.

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Rinaldo, Tancred, Clorinda, and Erminia (among others) introduce a series of new adventures which inevitably raise the question: what kind of poem did Tasso intend to write, if he felt that he had to apologize in advance to his epic Muse for the times when he would embellish his poem ‘with pleasures other than your own’?

What kind of poem? For an ambitious poet in sixteenth-century Italy — and Tasso was nothing if not ambitious — there was only one genre which could secure his place in history: the epic. In the increasingly rule-bound literary climate which prevailed after the rediscovery of Aristotle’s Poetics (published in a Latin translation in 1536) the epic was the most prestigious genre, but also the most problematic. Narrative poetry on military and chivalric themes had a long history in Italian, culminating in the work which dominated the literary scene in the years when Tasso was growing up: Ludovico Ariosto’s Orlando furioso, published in its definitive edition in 1532, which Ariosto had written at the court of Ferrara where Tasso would complete his poem in the 1570s. Ariosto’s poem provided a model which Tasso could not ignore, but it was very far from being a textbook example of epic according to Aristotelian norms; and the resulting tension goes a long way towards explaining Tasso’s difficulties in writing The Liberation of Jerusalem and accounting for its distinctive qualities. The Orlando furioso is set loosely against the background of Charlemagne’s campaigns against Muslim Spain, most famously the ill-fated expedition of ad 778 when his army advanced as far as Saragossa but was driven back over the Pyrenees, and was ambushed in the pass of Roncesvalles — the incident which formed the basis of the eleventh-century Old French epic, the Song of Roland. Whatever the reasons which led to an obscure incident in the Pyrenees in the eighth century becoming the subject of a heroic poem written in northern France some 300 years later, the Song of Roland itself was reproduced and elaborated at great length and in many forms throughout medieval Europe, from Icelandic sagas to Italian popular narrative (the latter still preserved in the plots of the Sicilian puppet theatre, together with the story of Tasso’s poem). In Italy, the stories associated with Charlemagne and Roland were retold alongside other narratives from a diverse range of sources — classical literature and mythology, Old French romances, the Arthurian legends — which included a substantial element of fantasy, folk-tale, and the supernatural; and in the course of the fifteenth century the two bodies of material merged,

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producing hybrid texts in which Orlando (Roland) and his companions meet with the kind of adventures — fighting with monsters, rescuing damsels in distress, and the like — more usually associated with the Arthurian stories. A logical outcome of this process was to introduce a love element, a step taken by Matteo Maria Boiardo in his Orlando innamorato, written at the court of Ferrara from 1476 onwards. A generation later, Ariosto’s poem is a direct continuation of Boiardo’s, which was left unfinished at the latter’s death in 1494; Ariosto goes a step further, showing Roland not just innamorato but furioso — driven out of his wits by jealousy. Roland in love, Roland gone mad: the titles tell us all we need to know about the distance which these Ferrarese poems have travelled from their epic roots in the Song of Roland. Ariosto’s poem was hugely successful, and it remains one of the most entertaining texts in the Italian literary canon. But its success flouted all the rules of the newly defined Aristotelian orthodoxy, according to which the epic should deal with a single historical theme in a uniformly elevated style: the Furioso indulged in constant romantic deviations from its main plot, which in any case was only loosely based on its supposedly historical setting, and its tone was teasingly elusive, always maintaining an ironic distance between the narrator and his subject-matter. It was not only literary orthodoxy which became more constricting between Ariosto’s generation and Tasso’s. The first thirty years of the sixteenth century, when Ariosto was writing the Orlando furioso, were a time of considerable freedom of expression, political, religious, and moral. Ariosto could criticize the Italian rulers of his day, including the papacy (though he was careful to make an exception for his patrons, the Este rulers of Ferrara), and introduce episodes into his poem which provocatively questioned conventional values, whether rational (the madness of the title is not confined to Orlando), social, or sexual, without worrying about the consequences. But the climate changed markedly in the 1540s. The church, under Pope Paul III, recovered enough from the initial shock of the Lutheran revolt to launch its counterattack: the Holy Office was established in 1542 as the ultimate authority for combating heresy; the Council of Trent, which reaffirmed the traditional doctrines which Luther had challenged, held its first session in 1545; the first Index of Prohibited Books was issued in 1557. So by the time Tasso began writing, in the late 1550s, an author had always to be aware of the censor who might be looking over his shoulder. All of this amounted to a heavy burden of expectation on a young poet trying to find his own voice. The ‘anxiety of influence’2 which was unavoidable given the massive presence of Ariosto was compounded 2 See Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry (New York: Oxford University Press, 1973).

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for Tasso by his own father, Bernardo, who was also a successful poet. In his most widely read work, Amadigi (1560), Bernardo anticipated his son’s aim of combining the diverse elements of romance with the elevated tone of the epic; but he was (even) less single-minded than his son in his pursuit of epic uniformity, and the Amadigi remained unambiguously a romance. It enjoyed considerable success, and the younger Tasso admired it greatly, while at the same time taking a more rigorous approach to the construction of his own poem. Tasso had drafted the first stanzas of a narrative poem about the crusade as early as 1559 – 60, when he was just 16. A mark of how seriously he took his preparation for the task was a set of three Discourses on the Art of Poetry, completed before 1570, in which he tried to formulate the principles of a genre which would meet the demands of the Aristotelian purists and still allow him to write the kind of poem he wanted to write. An epic, he says, should deal with characters of heroic stature, whether in virtue or in vice. Its subject should be historical, but remote enough from the poet’s own time to allow him to exercise his own invention — a right which we saw him exercising in his letter to Capponi. He asserts its right to include the ‘marvellous’, the supernatural element which played such a large part in the chivalric romances and (albeit tongue-in-cheek) in Ariosto, but he accepts that it should be compatible with Christianity: Christian miracles are acceptable, mere magic is not. And he insists that, for all its elevated status, epic shares with all poetry the overriding aim of giving the reader pleasure, diletto, and that the poet must be free to add ‘those digressions and other embellishments that are necessary for a poem’.3 It is a somewhat uneasy compromise, as the Liberation itself proved to be. The Discourses were an interlude in his ongoing work on the poem, which continued over more than twenty years. The literary pedigree which he aspired to is apparent from the authors whom he most often cites. Unsurprisingly, classical epic heads the list; Tasso’s allusions to Virgil are frequent and substantial, and he clearly expected his readers to recognize these and to make the appropriate connections between his story and the action of the Aeneid. Given the prominence of Virgil, inevitably Homer is present in the background as well, but references to the Iliad are mostly at the level of narrative structures rather than the detailed textual links which are apparent with the Aeneid. By comparison, other classical poets are relatively little cited, although Lucan’s Civil War is the main source for the dramatic episode of the enchanted wood in canto 13. Of the Italian classics, Dante is much the most prominent, which again is hardly surprising; the Divine Comedy, although 3 The Italian text of the Discourses (Discorsi) is in Tasso’s Prose, ed. E. Mazzali (Milan and Naples: Ricciardi, 1959); this quotation is on p. 363.

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anything but a conventional epic, was the one work in the Italian tradition which had enlisted a classical author, Virgil, as a model for an explicitly Christian poem. Finally, coming closer to Tasso’s own time, he could hardly avoid echoing Ariosto, and sometimes his predecessor Boiardo, both of whom would still have been read as a matter of course at the Este court. From the mid-1570s onwards Tasso sent passages of the poem to his friend and mentor Scipione Gonzaga, an influential prelate in Rome, who circulated them among a group of literary and ecclesiastical figures, asking for their comments and criticism. But when the comments came back, sometimes critical, often pedantic and obtuse, his reaction swung between indignation and despair. He was increasingly pessimistic about ever producing a version of the poem which would satisfy himself and his critics, and resisted authorizing publication, even though some of the passages he had circulated came into the hands of printers and were published without his consent in 1576. Eventually his hand was forced by the publication of a complete text which he had not approved, in Parma in 1581, and he had hastily to authorize a text for publication, even though he had not revised it as fully as he would have liked, in Ferrara later in the same year. But by this time he had more than just literary problems to worry about.

Tasso the ‘errant pilgrim’ When Tasso acknowledged his indebtedness to Duke Alfonso, as the one who would snatch me from fortune’s rage, who guide to port me, errant pilgrim, battered to and fro by waves and rocks that made my spoil their sport,

he was not exaggerating. From childhood on he had been under no illusions about the precariousness of depending on court patronage, which was realistically the only way that someone of modest means could live by writing poetry. Bernardo Tasso was in the service of the prince of Salerno, Ferrante Sanseverino, who for a few years when Torquato and his elder sister were young enabled the family to live in relative prosperity in Sorrento. But in 1553, when Torquato was 9 years old, Sanseverino fell out with the Spanish viceroy in Naples and was forced to leave the kingdom, together with his dependants. The Tasso family was split up, Bernardo taking his son to Rome while his Neapolitan wife remained in Naples with their daughter, pursuing a long-running dispute with her family over the payment of her dowry. She died in 1556, without seeing her son again. Two years later the family had

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first-hand experience of the Turkish threat to Italy when a pirate fleet raided Sorrento, and it was reported (wrongly, as it turned out) that Torquato’s sister and her husband had been carried off by the raiders. Bernardo found employment successively in Urbino, Venice, and finally with the Gonzaga rulers of Mantua, where he died in 1569. Torquato, by comparison, had a relatively easy start to his career. After a spell studying at Padua, he was taken into the service of Cardinal Luigi d’Este, the brother of Duke Alfonso, in 1565, moving permanently to Ferrara in 1567 and transferring to the employment of Alfonso himself in 1572, with a corresponding rise in his status and salary. But in the mid-1570s he began to show symptoms of a nervous illness which affected him, to a greater or lesser degree, for the rest of his life. He had probably always been sensitive to real or imagined slights, and the court, with its jealousies and rivalries, was not a place for the thin-skinned, but after 1575 this developed into full-scale paranoia. He was too distracted to finish his poem, and Alfonso was increasingly impatient for it to be published. It was at this time that Tasso began sending drafts to Scipione Gonzaga for approval, and was thrown into despair when the approval was less than unqualified. He began to fear that the work showed signs of doctrinal unorthodoxy, and that he had been or would be denounced to the Inquisition. He feared that he was being poisoned, that his servants were stealing from him, and that his writings were being circulated without his approval and others were profiting from printing them (this last fear, at least, was justified, as we have seen). When his anxieties led him to attack a servant with a knife in 1579, he was confined as a dangerous madman in the hospital of Sant’Anna in Ferrara, where he remained, though the strictness of his confinement varied depending on the severity of his symptoms, until 1586. Alfonso seems to have been remarkably patient with his gifted but difficult poet, evidently considering that the prestige of being associated with the Liberation was worth the inconvenience of keeping the poet in Ferrara, but he eventually agreed to allow Tasso to be released into the care of Vincenzo Gonzaga, the duke of the neighbouring state of Mantua. Tasso moved to Mantua and remained loosely attached to the Gonzaga court, but he never settled there, and he spent his last years wandering restlessly between various Italian cities. He died in Rome in 1595. Tasso’s was clearly a flawed character: he was insecure, touchy, quarrelsome, and boastful. (His tendency to boast helped to promote the rumour that he had an illicit relationship with the duke’s sister, Leonora d’Este, and that this was the real reason for his imprisonment, but there are no grounds for believing this.) But the eloquence of his voluminous letters complaining of his ailments and his treatment, combined with the fame which rapidly followed the publication of the

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Liberation in 1581, meant that this unpromising material gave rise to the legend of Tasso as the embodiment of the tormented, misunderstood genius, out of tune with his patron and with his times. In later centuries literary tourists were shown the gloomy cell at Sant’Anna where he had supposedly been confined. Goethe visited it in 1786 and, although he was unimpressed by the ‘woodshed or coal cellar’ which was presented to him as Tasso’s prison, represented the poet in his play Torquato Tasso as struggling to break free from the stifling social hierarchy of the court. Byron visited it in 1817 and was moved by the melancholy atmosphere of Ferrara, a pale shadow of what it had been in its Renaissance heyday, to write ‘The Lament of Tasso’, in which he contrasted the immortal fame of the poet with the transitory pomp of the society which had misunderstood and oppressed him. But this was to impose on Tasso’s generation the preoccupations of a later age.

Tasso’s contemporary readers When The Liberation of Jerusalem was finally published in an edition which Tasso had approved, albeit reluctantly, in 1581, it was already famous, and its success was immediate and far-reaching.4 Within ten years it was cited by Spenser as a model for his Faerie Queene (1590), and stanzas from it were set as madrigals by Monteverdi (the earliest in 1585); within twenty years a complete English translation of the poem was published (Edward Fairfax’s Godfrey of Bulloigne, 1600), and episodes were made the subject of paintings by Tintoretto (the baptism and death of Clorinda, 1593) and by the Carracci (Erminia as a shepherdess by Ludovico, 1603; Rinaldo and Armida by Ludovico, 1593, and by Annibale, 1601); within thirty it was imitated by Lope de Vega in Spain (Jerusalen Conquistada, 1609). But in the short term in Italy, given the literary climate which we noted above, it could not help but be controversial. Comparisons with the Orlando furioso were inevitable, and in 1584 an over-enthusiastic devotee of Tasso, Camillo Pellegrini, was rash enough to publish a dialogue asserting the superiority of Tasso’s poem over that of his predecessor. The challenge came at a moment when a group of Florentine writers had just formed the Accademia della Crusca to promote literary usage based on the classic Tuscan writers of the fourteenth century, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, and were eager for an opportunity to advance their cause. Ariosto, though not a 4 For the poem’s reception and the changes Tasso made in revising it as the Conquistata, see C. P. Brand, Torquato Tasso: A Study of the Poet and of his Contribution to English Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), 119 – 32.

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Tuscan, had carefully revised the final edition of the Orlando furioso along precisely the lines which the Crusca was now advocating, and a leading member of the group, Lionardo Salviati, picked up Pellegrini’s gauntlet and wrote a stinging response, defending Ariosto and enumerating all the shortcomings of Tasso’s poem. Tasso himself wrote an Apologia in reply, in which he rather weakly confessed that he had not been able to revise the poem to his satisfaction, and expressed the hope that he would have an opportunity to do so and to be judged on that. Perhaps sensing his weakness, the Crusca and their supporters pressed their advantage in further polemics, questioning everything from the poem’s lack of unity to its immorality (did it make sin seem too attractive?), but focusing especially on what they claimed were its excessively Latinate vocabulary and its needless obscurity of style. The upshot of the acrimonious debate, which raged for the next five years, was that Tasso largely conceded his opponents’ points, and in 1590 he set about rewriting the poem in a form which would take account of their criticisms. The result was virtually a new poem, with a new title, Gerusalemme conquistata (‘The Conquest of Jerusalem’), published in 1593. The changes which Tasso made in the Conquistata can best be summarized by saying that he did his best to resolve the tensions which we noted in the poem’s opening stanzas: the errant knights, the love interest, the episodes which are not strictly necessary for the development of the plot (Sophronia and Olindo in canto 2, Erminia’s refuge with the shepherds in canto 7, the journey in Fortune’s ship in canto 15) were all cut. So too were any shades of grey which might attenuate the black-and-white opposition between the two sides — any signs of moral laxity in the crusaders, or of nobility in the opposition. In their place were more preliminary phases in the fighting before the final battle, more historical detail, more explicit moralizing, and a more uniformly elevated style. It was a dispiriting exercise in stripping the poem of most of the qualities for which it has been most admired by readers at the time and since (although not everything was lost: surprisingly, Tasso still managed to keep the seductive charms of Armida’s garden in canto 16 under the eyes of his critics). Fortunately, by the time the Conquistata appeared the original poem was well established, and the Conquistata never seriously challenged the Liberata as the version the public preferred to read. None of this is of much interest to us now, or is likely to have much influence on how we read the poem. Much more critical, for us, is the parallel which Tasso drew between the crusade and his own time, when he urged Duke Alfonso in his opening stanzas to ‘attend my song

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and gird yourself for war’. What are we to make of a poem which so celebrates the crusading ethos, which casually equates the Muslim defenders of Jerusalem with ‘pagans’ or worse, and which encourages its readers to renew the ‘Holy War’ in their own time? We should first remind ourselves of some aspects of the context in which Tasso was writing. As we have seen, a high proportion of the centuries-long tradition of narrative poetry in Italian was set against the background of Christian – Saracen warfare in Spain, with Charlemagne and his paladins fighting against a stereotyped enemy indifferently labelled as Saracens, Moors, or pagans, as well as worshippers of ‘Mahound’, ‘Macon’, or other distortions of the name of Muhammad: this was simply a ‘given’ of the narrative. That said, at least as many conflicts in the Carolingian poems arose from internal enmities among the paladins themselves as from the wider background of the war, and there were plenty of examples of noble Saracen characters as well as villainous Christian ones. But we must also acknowledge that this depiction of the Muslim world as a stereotypical alien ‘other’ struck a chord in the experience of Tasso’s contemporaries. He was not alone in seeing parallels between the First Crusade and the political situation in his own time. The crusade was launched in response to the westward expansion of the Seljuk Turks into Anatolia (present-day Turkey east of the Bosphorus), Syria, and Palestine in the second half of the eleventh century. By Tasso’s time the Ottoman Turkish empire had continued its expansion westward from its European foothold in Constantinople, established in 1453, and was pressing on the borders of the Habsburg empire in Hungary and challenging Venetian naval dominance in the eastern Mediterranean. Marauding raids by Turkish ships were a constant threat to the Italian coast, as Tasso knew all too well after the raid on Sorrento in 1558. The newly assertive Catholicism of the Council of Trent responded by seeking to revive the crusading spirit, and indeed the counter-attack could be said to have begun when the combined navies of Venice, Genoa, and Spain, brought together in a ‘holy league’ by Pope Pius V, defeated the Turkish fleet at the battle of Lepanto, in the Gulf of Corinth, in 1571. So, by encouraging Alfonso to follow his crusading ancestor in fighting against the Turks, Tasso was giving voice to the prevailing political mood of the time. Given this background, the demonization of the crusaders’ opponents is perhaps less surprising than the relative even-handedness with which Tasso recounts the final battle for Jerusalem, and his recognition of the heroic qualities of the defenders who hold out almost to the end, Argant in canto 19 and Solyman in canto 20. But in any case, the final note of the poem is not one of triumphalism. If the poem ends

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with Godfrey, still in his bloodstained battledress, kneeling in prayer at the ‘liberated’ shrine of the Holy Sepulchre, the image which remains in the memory is Solyman, one of the crusaders’ fiercest opponents, contemplating the destruction of the city and his own impending defeat and death, and reflecting on the bitter tragedy of human life — horrors of death, attack, retreat, advance, and the great game of Destiny and Chance. (20.73)

The implication is clear: in ‘the great game of Destiny and Chance’ there could be only one winner, and it was Solyman’s misfortune, no more no less, that he found himself on the losing side. Needless to say, these lines were deleted in the Conquistata.

Tasso and the modern reader The Liberata, then, marks a brief moment of equilibrium in Tasso’s career between his poetic imagination and his literary and religious scruples. As such, its qualities were recognized by contemporary readers and its Europe-wide influence, not just on poetry but on music and painting as well, was immense for at least the next 250 years. What is most striking about the range of works based on the Liberata listed in the Appendix is that there is hardly a generation between 1600 and 1850 which did not produce at least one major work inspired by Tasso’s poem. Monteverdi’s involvement with the Liberata culminated in his extended dramatic setting, published in 1624, of the combat between Tancred and Clorinda in canto 12; almost contemporary with this was the series of scenes painted by Poussin in the late 1620s and 1630s. In Louis XIV’s France, the paintings of Claude Lorrain in the 1660s were followed in 1685 by Lully’s opera based on the Rinaldo and Armida episode in canto 16 — the first of a long series of operatic settings of the story throughout the eighteenth century, which included works by Handel (1711), Haydn (1784), Gluck (1786), and Rossini (1817). Prominent among eighteenth-century painters are the Guardi brothers (Erminia as a shepherdess, canto 7, of 1755), Giambattista Tiepolo (the Armida episode again, 1742 – 57), and Fragonard (Rinaldo in the enchanted wood, canto 18, of 1763). The popularity of Tasso’s themes continued into the Romantic era, with works such as Berlioz’s cantata on Erminia (1828), Delacroix’s painting of Sophronia and Olindo (1856), and Liszt’s tone poem Tasso: Lamentation and Triumph (1854) — though by this time the pathetic elements in the poem had become inseparable from the legend of the poet’s own emotional turmoil.

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The influence of the poem on the mainstream of European culture, at least until the mid-nineteenth century, is indisputable. But what are the qualities which can still make it a rewarding poem for a twentyfirst-century reader? In this last section I offer some suggestions, from the small-scale detail of single lines and stanzas to the overall structural composition of the poem. Tasso can write memorable one-liners, such as the often-quoted: ‘For God and country, all things are allowed’ (4.28). But such categorical certainty reflects the moral duplicity of the character who speaks it, Armida’s scheming uncle Hydraoth, and much more frequent are lines which recognize how seldom things are as black-and-white as this: For in a world so mutable and blind it’s often constancy to change one’s mind. (5.3) too dark the place and too inscrutable where mortal men their deepest thoughts control . . . (5.41)

Tasso has a revealing fondness for phrases like ‘I know not what’ and ‘I know not how’, which sound like an admission of failure on a poet’s part but which actually recognize how complex and resistant to analysis human emotions are. When the virtuous Sophronia puts the king of Jerusalem in a position where he has no choice but to condemn her to death, amid universal lamentation: Something almost — I know not what — prevailed in the king’s hard heart, like pity gone astray . . . (2.37)

Another character who is perplexed by the emotion which overtakes him is Tancred, in the instant before he recognizes his defeated opponent as Clorinda: These tremulous soft accents sink into his heart and there (he knows not how) make grow a strange new sense that calms all rage. (12.66)

It is the same for Erminia, as she describes the dawning realization of her love for Tancred: A sweetness then, I know not what, sank straight into my heart and lodged there, to ascend circling, I know not how, in spire on spire to make my troubled soul one wound, one fire. (19.94)

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Tasso can be equally succinct in lines which encapsulate the dramatic intensity of a moment in the narrative, as when Tancred makes the fateful discovery of the identity of the opponent he has just mortally wounded, in the stanza immediately following the one quoted above: He saw it, knew it, horror in his eyes. Ah woe! To see, to know, to recognize! (12.67)

Similarly, in a descriptive passage such as the extended evocation of the relentless stifling heat which saps the crusaders’energy in canto 13: From hateful day more hateful night is born till yet more hateful daybreak greets the morn. (13.53)

It is no accident that several of these examples are rhyming couplets, which are a distinctive feature of the ottava, the eight-line stanza which is the basic unit of Tasso’s verse. Once this form was established in Tuscan poetry in the fourteenth century (the earliest examples are in the narrative poems of Boccaccio, dating from the 1330s), it became the norm for the vast majority of narrative poems in Italian for the next 300 years. It formed a highly adaptable small unit within the larger structure of the canto, its rhyme-scheme abababcc — six lines of alternating rhymes with a final couplet — providing both a self-contained structure for the individual stanza and the means for each stanza to move the narrative forward. The final couplet, in particular, often determines the character of the stanza it concludes and serves as the launching-pad for the next. Some examples of Tasso’s skilful handling of the stanza form will emerge from the passages discussed below. A quality which has consistently been recognized by Tasso’s readers is his capacity for creating vivid, theatrical scenes which memorably dramatize the poem’s underlying tensions. Everyone will have their particular favourites, and the following selection is anything but original. It would have to include the episode of Sophronia and Olindo in canto 2, a curious blend of an incident from a contemporary chronicle with a classical source (see the note to 2.5), to which Tasso has added his own characteristic note of erotic pathos as the unrequited lover, Olindo, imagines embracing the fiercely chaste Sophronia as they are tied to the stake at which they were to be burnt. Stanza 53 neatly encapsulates the dramatic change of fortune which is the reward for Olindo’s devotion to Sophronia — ‘from lover to beloved’, ‘from criminal to husband’, and finally from death to life: So freed they were. Truly Olindo’s fate was fortunate, since through this deed at last

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Three more extended episodes are justly famous: the duel between Tancred and Clorinda in canto 12, the enchanted wood in canto 13, and Armida’s garden in cantos 15 and 16. Clorinda belongs to the category of female warriors, exemplified by Bradamante in the Orlando furioso, who conceal their gender beneath a suit of armour and thereby cause much confusion among their male counterparts. Tancred’s love for her was the subject of almost the first digression in the poem (1.45 – 9), and they met inconclusively in battle in canto 3, when Tancred had declared his love but they had been interrupted before she could reply. In canto 12 her daring expedition to the crusaders’ camp under cover of darkness to set fire to their siege tower ends with her being separated from her companions and trapped by Tancred, who, not recognizing her, challenges her to fight. The scene owes much of its intensity to the darkness which isolates the two combatants and prevents Tancred from recognizing his opponent until it is too late; and Tasso, whose predilection for night scenes we have already seen in cantos 6 (Erminia’s vain search for the wounded Tancred) and 9 (Solyman’s attack on the crusaders as they sleep), underlines this with his invocation to Night to inspire his verse: ‘Let their fame live; remembered in their story | your gloom will shine in their transcendent glory’ (12.54). They fight in close combat until Tancred’s sword fatally pierces Clorinda’s breast: His sword’s point he at her white bosom drives; greedy to drink her blood it plunges. Lo! the tender, gold-lace coverings it rives that clasp her lovely breasts, and a hot flow spreads on her shift. (12.64)

Her surrender in stanza 66 — ‘Friend, you have won’ — and her dying gesture in stanza 69 — ‘as if to embrace | the knight, she lifts her naked, cold hand high, | giving the pledge of peace’ — must surely have a strong claim to be the most erotically charged moment in the poem, a quality which Monteverdi’s musical setting of the episode makes very clear. Tasso excels, too, in conveying a sense of oppressiveness and menace, nowhere more so than in canto 13, where the sorcerer Ismen casts a spell on the forest from which the crusaders need to cut wood to

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rebuild their siege engines. Anyone who tries to enter the forest is met by a cacophony of hellish cries, described in a stanza modelled on a passage of Lucan (13.21): The lion’s roar, snake’s hiss, the wolf ’s mad howls, and wild bear’s rage seem mingled in that sound, and braying trumpets, and the thunder’s crash — such sounds, so many sounds, in one sound clash.

But there are further refinements of evil: intruders who brave this first onslaught of sound and penetrate into the wood are met with the illusion of hearing the person they most hold dear — so the gothic horror of this scene merges with the romantic pathos of the previous canto, as Tancred hears what appears to be Clorinda’s soul reproaching him for his cruelty when he tries to cut down a tree (13.41 – 4). No less menacing, even though not explicitly supernatural, is the long passage (13.52 – 64) describing the summer drought, and the equally vivid description of the storm in stanzas 71 – 8 — again with a specific and significant source, the biblical account of Moses striking water from the rock in the desert — which eventually releases the tension. Finally, the poem’s most explicitly erotic episode, the garden of the temptress Armida in cantos 15 – 16, is perhaps less effective than when the eroticism was half suppressed, as it was with Sophronia and Olindo or with Tancred and Clorinda. It spells out the fairly obvious sexual overtones of jousting, regularly used to comic effect by Ariosto but deadly serious, because of the temptation they represent, with Tasso: ‘and your sweet battlefield will be the bed | or the soft grass where you may joust at leisure’ (15.64). The glimpses of Rinaldo and Armida in their love-nest have a certain voyeuristic intensity (16.17 – 19), but what really brings the scene to life is Armida’s understandably furious response to Rinaldo’s insufferable priggishness when he has been shown the error of his ways and has resolved to leave her and return to the crusaders’ camp (16.53 – 60). Again, it is the build-up and the release of tension that brings out Tasso’s distinctive note, and again he brings a famous literary model into play at the critical moment: the fury of the abandoned Dido’s reproaches to Aeneas. For Tasso, as for most Renaissance poets, there is no inconsistency in drawing on a classic literary source at the moments when his poetry is most distinctively his own. But memorable as the individual scenes and episodes are, the poem has a cumulative effect which reveals itself only gradually, and which makes the whole much more than the sum of its parts. Far from giving the impression of being a tightly controlled structure from start to finish, the first few cantos develop at what appears to be an open-ended, leisurely pace. As we have seen, Tasso regarded cantos 1–3 as establishing

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the historical setting for his narrative, which begins a new phase with the infernal council which opens canto 4 and marks the beginning of the defenders’ counter-attack against the crusaders. In the next three cantos Tasso initiates the narrative threads which will eventually, after various complications, be disentangled at the end of the poem: the forces of the underworld resolve to spread discord through the crusaders’ camp, and enlist Armida as their secret weapon; as a result of her treacherous appeal, fifty of the strongest knights are enticed away from the camp, while a separate quarrel leads Rinaldo, too, to abandon the cause. Two incidents are launched in canto 6 which are then left unresolved until almost the end of the poem: Argant’s combat with Tancred, interrupted with honours even when night falls, and Erminia’s attempt to find Tancred in order to tend his wounds. But Erminia fails to find Tancred, and takes refuge with shepherds; Tancred fails to find Erminia (whom he has pursued thinking she is Clorinda), and falls into the clutches of Armida; Argant fails to finish his battle with Tancred, and continues it with Raymond. The result is that by the end of canto 7, while we have been treated to some absorbing adventures, the main narrative seems to have been deflected into a variety of side-issues and to be further than ever from being resolved. But it becomes clear in the course of cantos 7 to 10 that Tasso has in fact been systematically introducing the main themes and styles which will make up the work as a whole: if the whole poem is like a symphony, the first seven cantos are the exposition, in which the themes and their distinctive keys and textures are introduced. Cantos 7 to 10 then build on these themes in the first ‘development’ section, with a series of inconclusive clashes from which the defenders of Jerusalem emerge with the upper hand: Argant and Clorinda, aided by an infernally induced storm, launch a raid on the crusaders’ camp in canto 7; the crusaders are weakened by further quarrels, and learn of the destruction of the Danish army which was coming to their aid, in canto 8; Solyman leads a night attack on the crusaders’ camp in canto 9. Canto 10 concludes this phase of the poem with a pause in which each side regroups and is encouraged by a prophecy of future success: Ismen predicts Saladin’s reconquest of Jerusalem, and Solyman encourages the defenders of Jerusalem; Godfrey welcomes back the knights who had been imprisoned by Armida, and Peter the Hermit foretells the destiny of Rinaldo and his descendants. So at the poem’s midway point, although the crusaders have had the worst of the early clashes, the fortunes of war are finely balanced. Canto 11 leaves the reader in no doubt that the narrative has moved up a gear (in terms of the symphonic metaphor, perhaps, that the themes are now being restated in the tonic key), with the launch of the

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first full-scale assault on Jerusalem and the solemn mass which precedes it. From this point on there are no more digressions, but a series of large-scale episodes moves the story steadily towards its inexorable conclusion. We have already seen how Tancred’s conflict between love and duty is resolved in the high emotional drama of canto 12, and how Ismen’s black magic does its worst with the bewitched wood and the drought of canto 13. The parallel with Moses leading the Israelites into the promised land (see the note to 13.71) gives a strong hint that the crusaders’ triumph is predestined, and this is confirmed by Godfrey’s vision in canto 14 which gives instructions for the reintroduction of Rinaldo, whose participation is essential to their success. This, however, is an undertaking which will take up the best part of three cantos, with the introduction of a new character, the Sage of Ascalon, as a benign counterpart to the black arts of Ismen, and the head-on confrontation with sensual temptation in the person of Armida in canto 16. Canto 17 signals the start of the final phase of the narrative, beginning with another appeal to the poet’s Muse to raise his inspiration to a new level (stanza 3), and continuing with two conventional epic themes: the muster of the Egyptian army about to come to the aid of Jerusalem (paralleling the muster of the crusaders’ army in canto 1), and the long celebration of Rinaldo’s descendants in the Este family, through the Homeric device of describing figures carved on the hero’s shield. To most tastes, this canto marks a return to epic solemnity alltoo-effectively after the lush sensuality of the Armida cantos, and canto 17 is probably the most aridly conventional one in the whole poem; but fortunately the remaining cantos do not maintain this style. In canto 18 Rinaldo’s rehabilitation is completed and the city walls are breached for a second time. In canto 19 the battle between Argant and Tancred, begun in canto 6, is finally concluded, as is another piece of unfinished business from the same canto, with the reappearance of Erminia, who at last is able to fulfil her wish of caring for Tancred. The enemy has a last throw of the dice in canto 20 with the arrival of the relieving army; battle is joined, and as late as the mid-point of this canto (20.71), the outcome appears to hang in the balance. But in ‘the great game of Destiny and Chance’ which Solyman saw so clearsightedly (20.73), it was only a matter of time before ‘Fortune, fickle and wavering before, | now dared not put the victory in doubt’ (20.108) and Solyman finally acknowledges that fate is against him. The closing cantos are as diverse as any in the poem, and different readers will take away different impressions from them. There is the heroic end of the leading defenders of Jerusalem, not just Solyman but also Argant, whose burial Tancred orders with full military honours. There is Godfrey’s piety, refusing to exploit his victory but praying at

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the Sepulchre in fulfilment of his vow. But perhaps most unexpectedly, given the undercurrent of tension between love and war throughout the poem, are the lines vindicating and celebrating the transforming power of love. Not only is Erminia’s timid, undeclared love for Tancred finally rewarded (although her only words to him, in 19.114, are suitably understated and ambiguous); if we thought that the dangerous, passionate love embodied by Armida had been definitively rejected, canto 20 still has one more surprise in store. In the thick of the battle Armida finds herself face to face with Rinaldo, and she fits an arrow to her bow to carry out the vengeance with which she threatened him in canto 16. The final couplet of stanza 62 sums up the conflicting forces fighting it out in her: Wrath makes her fingers eager to attack, but Love assuages spite and holds her back.

At the beginning of stanza 63 her inner conflict produces a hesitation in her which is not lost on Rinaldo: Love rose against mad Wrath to make him know the fire that lived concealed within her heart.

She finally releases the bowstring at the midpoint of stanza 63, and for the next two stanzas the narrative switches back and forth between the arrow she has shot (and which she immediately wishes she could call back) and the metaphorical arrow which pierces her heart as sharply as ever: Fearing to wound, eager to wound, her eyes follow the speeding arrow as it flies. (20. 64)

Her arrow bounces harmlessly off his armour: and she, spurred on by sudden rage, lets flit dart after dart to wound his heart or head, but as she shoots, Love wounds her heart instead. (20.65)

She acknowledges defeat in both love and war: Armed, I am overthrown; unarmed, unprized: both as a lover and a foe, despised. (20.66)

With Armida in this abject state, the narrative attention moves elsewhere for the best part of fifty stanzas; when Rinaldo comes upon her again she faints, and the last words we hear from her could hardly be more unexpected: ‘Behold your handmaid,’ says she, ‘let your will dispose of her and be her master still.’ (20.136)

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From pagan enchantress to the handmaid of the lord is a transformation indeed. But the lines which Tasso himself chose to highlight as those which would be remembered by future generations are those commemorating the loyal husband-and-wife team Edward and Gildippe, who died fighting to defend each other as Solyman’s last victims before he in turn was killed by Rinaldo: O Edward and Gildippe, your hard fate and bitter death, your exploits, just and proud, I with your far-off laurels consecrate (if this be to my Tuscan pen allowed), that every age may know and contemplate the worth and love with which you were endowed, and all Love’s servants may in future times in tears recall your deaths and these my rhymes. (20.94)

They would probably not be the lines which most readers would choose, if only because of the relative obscurity of these two unassuming characters in the action of the poem; but in their celebration of the enduring power of love, faithfulness, and mutual help when tested to the limit, they are as good an example as any of the qualities of Tasso’s poem.

A NOTE ON THE TRANSLATION Tasso’s line is the standard Italian hendecasyllabic. It allows of three, perhaps four, variations of stresses, but it is in no sense an ‘iambic pentameter’, a metrical concept quite alien to the Italian ear. Still, English poets have, ever since Chaucer, considered iambic pentameter a reasonable equivalent, and I have followed suit. Tasso’s formal unit is, emphatically, the ottava rima stanza. Mine is the first English translation of Tasso’s masterpiece since Edward Fairfax’s to attempt strict adherence to this form. It is fortunately not without its own honourable history in English. I have sought to reflect not only the rhyme pattern, but also Tasso’s use of it to achieve internal, rhetorical balances. Like Tasso, I have been sparing in the use of enjambement, avoiding it altogether (with a very few telling exceptions) in transitions from stanza to stanza. I also have taken some care to shun ‘feminine’ rhymes, especially in the final couplet of the octave. In English these tend to create a comic effect, familiar to readers of Byron’s Don Juan and perhaps appropriate for Ariosto, but quite out of place for his great successor. But these are trivial considerations. I have, above all, sought to match Tasso’s exquisite and dignified formality. The compositional history of Gerusalemme liberata is complex. I have avoided controversial variant readings and based my version exclusively on the standard text established by Lanfranco Caretti (Turin: Einaudi, 1971). ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many people have been instrumental in furthering this project. Shortly before his death I sent a draft of my opening cantos to John Frederick Nims. But for his enthusiastic response, I might never have found the courage to tackle the rest of Tasso’s epic. His kindness was matched by that of George and Linda Levine, whose patience I taxed with subsequent segments. Other portions were completed while on vacation in Bergamo and on sabbatical leave in Perugia, where my Italian friends, Professors Gianfranco Bogliari and Stefano Ragni of the Università per Stranieri, were particularly helpful. (‘Performing’ portions of this translation with them to a bilingual audience proved a special incidental pleasure.) As my work neared its end I also had courteous replies and useful suggestions from Rachel Jacoff, Christopher Kleinhenz, Emanuele Licastro, Giuseppe Mazzotta, Leslie Zarker Morgan, Charles Stanley Ross, Lindsay Waters, and Garry Wills. Mario Mignone

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read much of the manuscript and published two excerpts in the journal Forum Italicum. My editor and readers at Oxford — Judith Luna, Mark Davie, Martin McLaughlin, and Jeff New — were punctilious in their attention and generous with their time. Finally, my friend and colleague, the poet Carl Dennis, methodically worked through the entire final draft with me. His discriminating ear, sense of linguistic nuance, and sharp eye for detail helped me catch and correct a great number of blemishes and infelicities. I am incalculably in his debt. This translation is dedicated to the memory of my father, Stephan P. Wickert (1911 – 2007). Max Wickert Buffalo, NY, 2008

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Tasso’s works Poesie, ed. F. Flora (Milan and Naples, 1952): contains the Liberata, selections from the Conquistata, Aminta, and selections from Tasso’s other verse; Prose, ed. E. Mazzali (Milan and Naples, 1959): contains the Discorsi and a selection from Tasso’s letters. Gerusalemme liberata Gerusalemme liberata, ed. L. Caretti (Turin, 1971). Fairfax, Edward, Godfrey of Bulloigne: A Critical Edition of Edward Fairfax’s Translation of Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, ed. Kathleen M. Lea and T. M. Gang (Oxford, 1981). Discourses Discourses on the Heroic Poem, ed. and trans. Mariella Cavalchini and Irene Samuel (Oxford, 1973). Discorsi dell’arte poetica e del poema eroico, ed. L. Poma (Bari, 1964).

Critical studies on Tasso In English Brand, C. P., Torquato Tasso: A Study of the Poet and his Contribution to English Literature (Cambridge, 1965). Günsberg, Maggie, The Epic Rhetoric of Tasso: Theory and Practice (Oxford, 1998). Kirkpatrick, Robin, English and Italian Literature from Dante to Shakespeare: A Study of Source, Analogue and Divergence (London, 1995). Zatti, Sergio, The Quest for Epic: From Ariosto to Tasso, ed. and trans. Dennis Looney (Toronto and London, 2006). In Italian Caretti, Lanfranco, Ariosto e Tasso (Turin, 1967). Getto, Giovanni, Interpretazione del Tasso (Naples, 1951). Raimondi, Ezio, Poesia come retorica (Florence, 1980). Venturi, G. (ed.), Torquato Tasso e la cultura estense, 3 vols. (Florence, 1999). Zatti, Sergio, L’ombra del Tasso: epica e romanzo nel Cinquecento (Milan, 1996).

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Studies on the Renaissance epic Burrow, Colin, Epic Romance: Homer to Milton (Oxford, 1993). Durling, Robert, The Figure of the Poet in Renaissance Epic (Cambridge, Mass., 1965). Fichter, Andrew, Poets Historical: Dynastic Epic in the Renaissance (New Haven and London, 1982). Giamatti, A. Bartlett, The Earthly Paradise and the Renaissance Epic (Princeton, 1966). Greene, Thomas, The Descent from Heaven: A Study in Epic Continuity (New Haven and London, 1963). Murrin, Michael, The Allegorical Epic: Essays in its Rise and Decline (Chicago and London, 1980). Quint, David, Epic and Empire: Politics and Generic Form from Virgil to Milton (Princeton, 1993). Treip, Mindele Anne, Allegorical Poetics and the Epic: The Renaissance Tradition to Paradise Lost (Lexington, Ky., 1994).

The theoretical debates Weinberg, Bernard, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance (Chicago and London, 1961).

Historical background Italy and Ferrara in the sixteenth century Bertelli, S., Cardini, F., and Garbero Zorzi, E., Italian Renaissance Courts (London, 1986). Campbell, Gordon, The Oxford Dictionary of the Renaissance (Oxford, 2003). Cochrane, Eric, Italy 1530 – 1630 (London, 1988). Gundersheimer, Werner L., Ferrara: The Style of a Renaissance Despotism (Princeton, 1973). Lanzoni, Ermanno, Ferrara: una città nella storia (Ferrara, 1984). Papagno, G., and Quondam, A. (eds.), La corte e lo spazio: Ferrara estense, 3 vols. (Rome, 1982). Salmons, June, and Moretti, Walter (eds.), The Renaissance in Ferrara and its European Horizons/Il rinascimento a Ferrara e i suoi orizzonti europei (Cardiff and Ravenna, 1984). The crusades Housley, Norman, The Later Crusades: From Lyon to Alcazar, 1274 – 1580 (Oxford, 1992). Runciman, Steven, The First Crusade (Cambridge, 1980). Tyerman, Christopher, The Invention of the Crusades (London, 1998). —— God’s War: A New History of the Crusades (London, 2006).

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select bibliography Further Reading in Oxford World’s Classics

Ariosto, Ludovico, Orlando Furioso, trans. Guido Waldman. Camões, Luis Vaz de, The Lusíads, trans. Landeg White. Dante, The Divine Comedy, trans. C. H. Sisson, ed. David H. Higgins. Homer, The Iliad, trans. Robert Fitzgerald, intro. G. S. Kirk. Lucan, Civil War [Pharsalia], trans. Susan H. Braund. Ovid, Metamorphoses, trans. A. D. Melville, ed. E. J. Kenney. Petrarch, Selections from the Canzoniere and Other Works, trans. Mark Musa. Virgil, Aeneid, trans. Frederick Ahl, intro. Elaine Fantham.

A CHRONOLOGY OF TORQUATO TASSO 1544 Torquato Tasso born 11 March at Sorrento. His father, the soldiercourtier-diplomat Bernardo Tasso, scion of an ancient Bergamo family and a well-regarded poet, is absent on military service under Ferrante Sanseverino in Piedmont. 1545 Bernardo Tasso returns to Sorrento, relocates family to Salerno. 1551 Family moves to Naples; Torquato enters a Jesuit school. 1552 Bernardo Tasso’s patron, Ferrante Sanseverino, is exiled from Naples by the Spanish authorities; Bernardo follows him to Paris. Torquato Tasso is returned to Sorrento with his mother and his sister Cornelia. 1554 Tasso’s father moves to Rome under the protection of Ippolito d’Este. Tasso is allowed to join him, tutored by his Bergamo cousin, Cristoforo Tasso. 1556 Sudden death of Tasso’s mother in Sorrento; his father moves to Urbino, in the service of Guidobaldo della Rovere. Tasso is sent to live with relatives in Bergamo. 1557 Tasso joins his father at Urbino, where he continues his schooling under distinguished humanist tutors, alongside the ducal heir, Francesco Maria della Rovere. 1558 Tasso’s sister Cornelia is married in Sorrento; onset of legal wrangling with her brothers-in-law over her dowry and maternal property. Later in the year she narrowly escapes capture during a Turkish raid on Sorrento. Tasso at Urbino hears a false report of her death. 1559 Tasso’s father moves to Venice. Tasso joins him, begins an epic on the First Crusade, but soon abandons it to write Rinaldo, a verse romance in the style of his father. 1560 Bernardo Tasso’s epic Amadis of Gaul (Amadigi) is published in Venice. Torquato begins the study of law at Padua. 1561 Abandons law for philosophy and eloquence, and begins intensive study of Aristotle’s Poetics; he visits the court of Eleanora d’Este at Abano, where he falls in love with Lucrezia Bendidio. 1562 Rinaldo published in Venice. Tasso composes love poems to Lucrezia, and resumes work on his crusader epic. He completes Discourses on the Art of Poetry (Discorsi dell’Arte Poetica), and moves to the University of Bologna. Bernardo Tasso enters service at the Gonzaga court in Mantua.

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1563 During a visit to his father, Torquato meets and falls in love with Laura Peperara. 1564 Accused of authoring a subversive satire, Torquato is forced to flee from Bologna to Padua under the protection of Luigi Gonzaga; he joins the Accademia degli Eteri under the name of ‘Pentito’, and composes love poems for Laura Peperara. 1565 Torquato enters the service of Cardinal Luigi d’Este, visits Ferrara, the court of Alfonso II d’Este, and his sisters Lucrezia and Leonora. 1567 Torquato publishes his first book of love poems, Rimi de gli Accademici Eteri (Padua), and moves permanently to Ferrara. 1569 Bernardo Tasso dies. 1570 Tasso writes Conclusioni amorose for the wedding of Lucrezia d’Este and Francesco Maria della Rovere; he visits Paris in the suite of Luigi d’Este, where he meets Ronsard. 1572 Tasso transfers service from Cardinal Luigi d’Este to Duke Alfonso II d’Este. 1573 Tasso visits Rome with Alfonso d’Este; his pastoral drama, Aminta, meets with resounding success; he is named Court Lector in Geometry; he begins Galeault, King of Norway (Galealto Re di Norvegia), a classical tragedy later reworked as Torrismondo. 1575 Tasso recites draft portions of Godfrey of Bouillon (Goffredo), soon retitled The Liberation of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme liberata), to Duke Alfonso d’Este and Lucrezia, duchess of Urbino; he is named Court Historiographer; he begins to have serious reservations about his epic, and formally submits it to the judgement of a panel of eminent critics and scholars in Rome; he increasingly feels real and imaginary friction with Alfonso d’Este. 1576 The Liberation of Jerusalem extensively revised; Tasso experiences growing dissatisfaction with the prevailing court atmosphere. Attacked and wounded in a quarrel with a fellow courtier, he flees to Modena, where he writes a number of lyric poems and prose dialogues. 1577 Allowed to return to Ferrara, Tasso suffers increasingly from nerves and persecution mania. Racked by fears of having strayed into heresy, he confesses himself to the Inquisition, but is absolved. Imagining a servant is spying on him, he attacks him with a dagger and is briefly imprisoned; upon his release his behaviour worsens; placed under house-arrest in a convent, he escapes, travelling in shepherd’s disguise to Sorrento. Upon arrival, he reports his own death to his sister Cornelia, only disclosing his identity when she faints. After a brief stay, he continues on to Rome.

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1578 Repeated shuffling of residences among Ferrara, Mantua, Padua, Venice, Pesaro, and Urbino; he finally moves to Turin, in the service of Duke Emanuele Filiberto. 1579 Tasso writes several further prose dialogues; at last he returns to Ferrara for the wedding of Alfonso d’Este and Margherita Gonzaga, where he soon suffers another, more severe, breakdown. He disrupts a meeting at the ducal palace, uttering wild accusations, and is arrested and confined as a madman in the Ospedale di Sant’Anna. 1580 Unauthorized partial edition of The Liberation of Jerusalem published in Venice. Tasso’s terms of imprisonment are somewhat softened. He is given permission to write and receive visitors, and composes numerous letters and several more dialogues. 1581 Pirated complete edition of The Liberation of Jerusalem printed in Parma; first authorized edition published in Ferrara. Venetian press of Aldo Manuzio issues a collected edition of Tasso’s lyrics and prose. 1582 Tasso experiences severe crisis of physical and mental health. 1583 The revised second edition of The Liberation of Jerusalem provokes an extended critical querelle over the respective merits of Ariosto and Tasso. 1586 Tasso released from Sant’Anna into the custody of Vicenzo Gonzaga in Mantua; he completes Torrismondo. 1587 He visits relatives in Bergamo; returns to Mantua, but flees upon the arrival of Alfonso d’Este; he reaches Rome by way of Loreto; his attempt to force his return to Mantua or Ferrara is foiled by papal intervention; he resumes a lengthy and unsuccessful lawsuit to regain his mother’s property, seized by his sister’s in-laws. 1588 Tasso briefly at Monastery of Monte Oliveto near Naples, where he writes the religious poem, The Mount of Olives (Il Oliveto). 1590 Tasso visits Florence, where he is honoured by the formerly hostile Accademia della Crusca, but his application for service under Ferdinando de’ Medici fails. He begins to rework The Liberation of Jerusalem from scratch into a completely new poem, The Conquest of Jerusalem (Gerusalemme conquistata). 1591 Reconciled to the Gonzaga family, he is allowed back in Mantua, but after an illness he returns to Rome. 1592 Tasso revisits Naples, befriends his future biographer, Giambattista Manso, as well as Giambattista Marino, his destined successor as court poet in Ferrara, and the composer Carlo Gesualdo; he begins a devotional short epic, The Creation of the World (Il Mondo Creato).

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1593 He completes a poem of religious piety, The Tears of Christ and the Virgin (Lagrime di Maria e Cristo). The Conquest of Jerusalem is published in Pavia. 1594 Tasso publishes Discourses on Heroic Poetry (Discorsi del poema eroica); he returns to Rome; he is promised the laureateship by the pope. 1595 After a sudden illness, he moves to the monastery of Sant’Onofrio in the Giannicolo outside Rome; he dies 25 April.

THE LIBERATION OF JERUSALEM

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Canto One 1 I sing of war,* of holy war, and him, Captain* who freed the Sepulchre of Christ. Greatly he wrought by force of mind and limb, and greatly suffered, nobly sacrificed. Vainly did Hell oppose him, Asia grim vainly combined with Libya,* Hell-enticed. Heaven favoured him and guided back, to fight under his sacred flag, each errant knight. 2 O Muse,* not you who upon Helicon garland your brow with long-since-faded bays, but you who among heavenly choirs don your golden crown of deathless stars always: breathe in my breast celestial fire, shed on my song your light, and pardon if my lays, embroidering the truth, seem overgrown at times with pleasures other than your own. 3 You know how, where Parnassus most proffers its flattering sweets, the world flocks in delight, yet how, by charming in mellifluous verse, Truth has disposed the most depraved to right — as sometimes, to a feverish child, the nurse holds out a glass with sugared rim. Her sleight tricks him to drain the bitter draught. So stealth restores him, and delusion gives him health. 4 And you, magnanimous Alfonso,* who snatch me from fortune’s rage, who guide to port me, errant pilgrim, battered to and fro by waves and rocks that made my spoil their sport: accept these sheaves with gracious eye. Of you and yours these votive offerings report. Perhaps one day my prescient pen will try boldly to write what now mere hints imply.

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canto one 5 It well accords with reason that, if at peace Christ’s holy folk should find itself some day, ready to make the fierce Thracian* release, by force of ships and steeds, his unjust prey, Earth’s sceptre should be yours or, if you please, yours on the seas the undisputed sway. Meanwhile, be you as Godfrey was of yore. Attend my song and gird yourself for war. 6 Five years had passed* since on their eastward course the Christian warriors launched their lofty quest. Nicea was already theirs, by force; great Antioch too, by stratagem possessed. This they defended in protracted wars with Persia’s countless host, even as they pressed onward and conquered Tartus* next. But here harsh winter made them to bide the coming year. 7 The winter rains were ceasing their control of the army’s power to resume the war, when from His lofty throne, beneath which roll unblemished spheres of holy bliss (as far as from Hell’s centre to the utmost pole, so far is Heaven beyond the highest star), the Eternal Father downward casts His eyes and in one flash sees all the earth and skies. 8 All things He saw, then cast, in the demesne of Syria upon Christian leaders that exact, gaze of His which will pierce the souls of men to their inmost wills. There He saw Godfrey, racked with a pure need to oust the Saracen from Salem’s hallowed ground, a man compact of faith and zeal, to whom the joys of earth — the fame, the sway, the spoils — were nothing worth. 9 But in Baldwin next He sees a grasping soul, intent on grandeurs of the human kind; sees Tancred* hold life cheap, in the control of a hopeless love, the torment of his mind; and sees how Bohemond makes it his goal to re-found Antioch, to him assigned, and in his new reign to establish law, good customs, arts, and true religion’s awe:

canto one 10 a task to which so ardently he turns, he can, it seems, remember nothing else. Rinaldo’s* warlike spirit He discerns, scorning repose; him neither gold impels nor empire — it is fame alone that burns in the boundless will with which his bosom swells. He sees him hang upon the lips of Guelf * and in his forebears’ glory seek himself. 11 After the world’s King had with piercing view laid bare the hearts of these and others, He called from his shining angel retinue Gabriel, second of the first degree,* who between God and His elected few is blithe interpreter and herald free, who brings heaven’s tidings earthward, and repairs skyward, bearing the zeal of mortal prayers. 12 Said God unto His messenger: ‘Go find Godfrey, and ask him in My name: What need for more delay? Why is the fight declined by which enslaved Jerusalem shall be freed? Let him call his chiefs to council and remind the truants of their task. For he shall lead: I elect him here; on earth, through their election, they, once his peers, shall fight by his direction.’ 13 He spoke. And eagerly did Gabriel speed to perform His bidding, and in air rendered his viewless spirit palpable with mortal limbs and shape, of an age somewhere between boyhood and youth. Such human shell (but charged with awe and splendour everywhere) he made his own and fixed upon his maze of golden curls a nimbus of white rays. 14 White wings he donned, with tips of gold, whose climb is indefatigably swift and sure, with which through winds and clouds he soared sublime above round earth’s and ocean’s curvature. So garbed, down from eternity to time, from purest regions to a world impure, he swept, and first upon Mount Lebanon paused, balanced on extended wings; then on

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canto one 15 toward Tortosa’s* coast he veered in flight precipitously down upon his embassy. Just then the sun was rising into sight, the face of dawn still half hid in the sea, while, offering up his customary rite, Godfrey was praying to the Deity, when, by a second sun the light increased and the angel rose before him from the east, 16 saying to him: ‘Godfrey, behold the day of battle is at hand; the seasons mend. Why then this interval? Wherefore delay to free captive Jerusalem? Go send for all your chiefs in council and inveigh the laggards to remember the great end. You hereby God ordains their leader, and freely they shall submit when you command. 17 ‘God sends me as His envoy, to reveal His purpose to you in His name. And oh! how firm your hope must be, how hot your zeal, entrusted with this force to crush His foe!’ He ceases and is gone; pure spheres conceal his form on high. Godfrey remains below. That blaze, those words, made his whole being start — his eyes in splendour lost, in awe his heart. 18 But once recovered and reflecting who had come, Who sent, what sense the words contained, he, if athirst before, now burned to do and finish the great feat for him ordained. No pride to be the first among the few so chosen puffed the thoughts he entertained. Rather, by God’s will his own will became one with God’s fire, a spark within a flame. 19 Then his heroic peers, dispersed nearby, he summons to assembly. Letter follows letter and envoy, envoy. Humble prayers fly, joined with high reasons, all designed to whet or inflame the generous spirit, or to cry, where goodness lay asleep: ‘Awake! grow better!’ Each word hits home, each phrase in his employ compels and makes compulsion seem a joy.

canto one 20 The leaders came, the others followed soon, and only Bohemond remained away. Some camped outside, to some Tortosa town opened its wall-girt lodgings for their stay. The army’s great ones gathered to commune (a glorious senate) on the solemn day. To them great Godfrey thus began to preach, fate on his face, and thunder in his speech: 21 ‘Warriors of God, whom Heaven’s King did decree healers of scars His faith has suffered here, whom safely He did lead on land and sea, through blood and treachery, year after year — and fewer years than looked for — so that we made every rebel province yield in fear and, having conquered them and made them tame, spread His victorious banners and His name: 22 ‘our dear ones and our nests we left behind, not (if this be no error I assert) to risk the treacherous oceans or to find in distant wars occasion to be hurt for some brief plaudits of a vulgar kind or the possession of barbarian dirt. Paltry the prize, and mean would be our goals, to spill our blood at peril of our souls. 23 ‘No, one far beacon guided all our minds: to storm Mount Zion’s* noble walls, to cure the scandal of the shameful yoke which binds Christians in slavery so vile and poor, to re-found Palestine, so that worship finds Religion’s throne renewed there and secure, and none forbids when pious pilgrims bow at the great Sepulchre to keep their vow. 24 ‘Well then: what we achieved was great in risk, greater in cost, if less in fame — and nothing to our purposes, if yet our force fail, or strike where we never came to strike. What use if we raise such a threat of Europe’s might and set Asia aflame, if our grand movement failed us after all and, rather than raise kingdoms, made them fall?

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canto one 25 ‘Foolish is he who builds his empire where the sole foundation is of worldly clay, to whom some few of foreign habits swear allegiance, at whom hordes of pagans bay, who trusts the Greeks* (of whom he should beware, with aid from the West a thousand leagues away) — a man like that builds only to his doom; the walls he shakes down will become his tomb. 26 ‘Turks, Persians, Antioch — a famous list, of feats as glorious as the names are brave: yet not our doing, if God did not assist our strength (though strong we were!) and save the palm for us, His gift. To balk or twist the goal the Giver aimed at when He gave will make Him take it back (I fear), till we strut as an idle tale through history. 27 ‘Let none be vile enough (God grant!) to lose or squander grace like His for tawdry gains! Let those to whom the thread is offered choose to weave what glory Fame holds in her skeins! Now that a clear path shines for us to use, now that the season smiles on us, what chains hold us from hastening to that city’s door, our destiny? What are we waiting for? 28 ‘Princes, I swear to you (and what I swear, the world will hear, and what I here adjure the future, yea, the saints in heaven will hear): Now is the time when all our plans mature. To bide a chance will make it disappear, make most uncertain what is now most sure. If we delay, this prophecy is mine: Egypt will come* in aid of Palestine.’ 29 He spoke, and a brief murmur went about, until the hermit Peter rose to view, who first preached the crusade and led it out, whose private voice princes in council knew: ‘I second Godfrey. There can be no doubt. Incontrovertibly as here thought through, truth is a thing impossible to miss. Therefore embrace it. I add only this:

canto one 30 ‘unless I’m blind, the quarrels and the blame that each of you puts in the other’s way, much like competitors in a foolish game — contrarious plans, slow deeds, mad disarray — don’t cause themselves. Rather (this is my claim) the cause of your disorder and delay is: rule hangs in a scale suspended still by many thoughts without a common will. 31 ‘Where one sole man does not control the law, in whom rewards and sanctions find their source, from whom all duties and all powers draw their being, government will veer off course. Ah, let one body knit your limbs in awe! Make one sole head lend them its light and force; to one sole man sceptre and power bring: grant him the place and image of a king.’ 32 Here the old man grew still. O Light, O Fire Divine! what mind, what breast is closed to You? You now the Hermit’s holy words inspire, etched in the hearts of all that chivalrous crew, raze all ingrained — no, all innate desire that covets privilege or honour’s due: William and Guelf, those two of royal seed the first, were first to cry: ‘Let Godfrey lead!’ 33 The rest concurred: above all others, he must be the one to choose and to command, to frame laws for the vanquished, to decree whom to oppose (and when) in battle, and to use his erstwhile peers, even as he saw fit, as tools for his imperial hand. Bearing the tale of what they thus decide, Fame, sped by human tongues, flew far and wide. 34 Displayed before his men he stands, and they in him find high command meetly disposed. Nodding to their salute and the display of martial pomp, face quiet and composed, pleased by the modest and affectionate way that showed their love, he their first task imposed: that in a great field, the tremendous crew muster next day before him in review.

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canto one 35 The orient sun returned and issued out with more than usual glory, clear and bright, when with the new day’s rays, in armour stout, splendid beneath the banners, every knight came to good Bouillon, rode or marched about the spacious meadow’s rim in Godfrey’s sight, who, standing firm, saw pass by him his force, well-ordered battle groups of foot and horse. 36 O Memory, Time’s foe, Oblivion’s shame, guardian and steward of all deeds of might, lend me your force of mind that I may name each leader and each company* aright, resound and illustrate their ancient fame, already dulled by years and dimmed by night: yield me your treasure, beautify my tongue, to keep them for all time forever young. 37 First issued forth the Franks,* once the command of Hugh; the brother of their king was he. In the Île-de-France, a great and pleasant land, amid four streams,* he chose this company. But ever since Hugh’s death, the stalwart band followed the reverend golden fleur-de-lis under Clothar, great chief who lacked no thing except (if this be lack) the name of king. 38 A thousand are they, armed in mail and plate. After them rides an equal troop of horse, much like the first in discipline and state, in outward looks and in well-armoured force, all Normans.* Robert, crown prince designate of their dominions, steers their course. Next two anointed shepherds* guide, not far behind, their hosts: William and Ademar. 39 Both one and the other (who in pious tasks once laboured with divine and reverend sway), their long locks gathered up beneath their casques, rehearse now war’s harsh uses and array. The first from Orange and its region asks four hundred knights. They follow in his way. The other leads to battle from Le Puy an equal number. No less warlike he.

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40 Next Baldwin brings to view those of Bouillon, both his and Godfrey’s, since his brother, who his captainship of captains has begun, now cedes to him his former retinue. The count of the Cornutians* follows, one with mind strong to persuade, hand to subdue. Four hundred ride with him. Three times as large the well-mailed cavalry in Baldwin’s charge. 41 Next in the muster, Guelf deploys in state, his merit high as is his lineage good. His father’s Latin house, of ancient date, is Este. German is his mother’s blood, his name and fiefs engrafted to the great Guelf dynasty. He rules where Ister’s flood and Rhine’s* Carinthia’s ample lands enfold, that Suebians and Rhaetians held of old. 42 To this realm, his by his mother’s testament, he added conquests glorious and grand. Thence he brings troops who think it merriment to march into their doom at his command. Winters in their well-heated homes they spent wassailing with glad guests throughout their land. Five thousand were they when he led them out; now scarce a third survive the Persian rout. 43 Fair-skinned and blond those who go next in line: bordering France and Germany and the sea, their land, where flows the Meuse, where flows the Rhine,* with corn and cattle teems for husbandry. Their islanders* too, whose high-piled dikes confine their homes amid Ocean’s voracity — Ocean that takes not merely ships in toll, but swallows cities and dominions whole. 44 These and the former make a thousand who under another Robert* march as one. Somewhat more numerous is the British crew, whom William leads, their monarch’s younger son. These English are all archers.* With them too a race that dwells nearer the pole. From dun forests they come, hair shaggy and uncurled, of Ireland,* farthest outpost of the world.

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canto one 45 Tancred comes next: no better swordsman came thither, except Rinaldo, and there’s none more handsome or more kind or who might claim a nobler heart or braver than his own; and if one shade of guilt beclouds his fame it is the foolishness of love alone — a war-born love, sprung from a fleeting sight, that, fed with woe, is gathering force and might. 46 Fame has it that the day the Franks uprose to rout the Persians (day of glorious name), when Tancred after its victorious close, weary of chasing those he overcame, grew ready to refresh and to repose his burning lips and his much-laboured frame, he found where beckoned from a summery dell, girdled with verdant turf, a living well. 47 There, all at once, appeared to him a maid, clad in full armour, all except her face. Pagan she was. She too had sought the shade to find, like him, refreshment in that place. He saw her. He admired. He surveyed her fair semblance. He burned for it apace. O marvellous! Love, scarcely born, takes wing, at once full grown, in arms, and triumphing! 48 She donned her helmet and prepared to fight, except that others rode up presently. The noble lady left her vanquished knight, by mere necessity constrained to flee; but he kept fresh the warrior virgin’s sight in his heart’s core. There all that lives is she: she and that meeting-place forever claim his mind, and fuel a perpetual flame. 49 And all who understand such things can con one message in his face: ‘This man’s on fire, a hopeless case.’ Sighing he walks, and wan, with eyes downcast and sad, Love’s new-won squire. Eight hundred mounted knights he leads, who on Campania’s pleasant seashore call him sire, those lovely hills, great Nature’s proudest boast, wooed by the waves, Tyrrhenia’s* fertile coast.

canto one 50 Two hundred ride behind them, Grecian-born, each armed so lightly that it seems he lacks all steel, with scimitars athwart their sashes worn, and bows and quivers rattling on their backs. Their wiry steeds, well fed on little corn, are tireless in long treks and swift attacks. Quick to maraud and quick to quit the fight, roving and scattered, they wage war by flight. 51 Tatinos* rules that band, the only Greek who joined the Latin armies. Oh, the shame! the crime! These wars — were they too far to seek, right at your doorstep, Greece? And yet you came to lounge, a lazy spectator and weak, who waits to see the outcome of the game? If you are now a slave,* your slavery is (don’t complain!) justice, not infamy. 52 Lo! now a band appears, the last in view, but first in honour, courage, skill in wars: these the Adventurers, invincible crew, terror of Asia, thunderbolts of Mars. Hush, Argo’s Minyans,* Arthur’s retinue of knights; hush, paper dreams* of errant stars: here are the ones next whom all ancient fame fades. Say, what duke deserves to lead the same? 53 Dudon of Kontz* that duke; for in that band valour or birth were moot to choose between, the rest had placed themselves at his command who more than all had done, and more had seen. Grave in his manly ripeness see him stand: white hair he shows, and yet his force is green; deep scars he shows as well, that tell the story in beauteous wounds of all his martial glory. 54 There’s Eustace next in front, of much renown himself, of more as Bouillon’s brother. There Gernand rides next, scion of Norway’s crown, vaunting the sceptred realm to which he’s heir. Roger of Balnaville old fame marks down as there, and Engerlan, and that double pair whose valour shines supreme in all regards: one Rambault, one Gentonio, two Gerards.

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canto one 55 Among these champions there are Hubald and Rosmond, the ducal heir of Lancaster. Tuscan Obbizzo’s name let not Time’s hand drag down and make his memory a blur, nor blot out the three Lombard brothers: grand Achilles, Sforza, Palamede; nor the stir made by great Otho, who by force did take that shield where a nude boy escapes a snake.* 56 Nor Gascon I, nor Rudolph, leave behind, nor one nor the other Guido, past compare, nor Everard nor Gernier leave consigned to dark oblivion’s ever-fading air. But you, to what heights will you lift my mind, O Edward and Gildippe, wedded pair and lovers? Even in war you breathe one breath; nothing will sunder you, not even death. 57 The schools of love, what can they not impart? In them she made herself a warrior wife, always beside him, ever next his heart. From one sole fate depends their either life. No blow can fall that gives a single smart: Both feel one pain at either’s hurts in strife, and often hurt is she, while he deplores and pours his soul forth as her life-blood pours. 58 But above these, see young Rinaldo, mid the whole parade the champion absolute, sweetly ferocious, darting looks that bid a king’s worship: him all eyes here salute. Age he outran, and hope, and scarcely did his flowers bud when he grew ripe with fruit. You’d think, when cased in glistening carapace, he’s Mars. (He’s Cupid when he bares his face.) 59 By Adige’s fair river* was he born, Sophia’s progeny by Bertold — fair Sophia, valiant Bertold — and was torn, scarce weaned, in boyhood, at Matilda’s prayer* from his mother’s breast. In all arts that adorn a prince Matilda nurtured him, and there he stayed till his young ardour stirred, released by the great trumpet calling from the East.

canto one 60 Then did he fly (who scarce three lustra* bore) alone to travel unknown roads. Then he crossed the Aegean, passed the Grecian shore, then joined the distant camp across the sea. Noblest of flights! a worthy precedent for deeds that await his great-souled progeny! Three years he’s been at war — with the soft down That sprouts upon his chin not yet full-grown. 61 Now, all the horsemen having passed, are seen the foot-soldiers, and Raymond leads them on. Toulouse he ruled, and chose his force between the Pyrenees and the seashores of Garonne. Well armed, well trained, inured to stress, and keen for more, four thousand form that echelon. Good troops these are, nor could they have relied upon a wiser or a braver guide. 62 Five thousand more Stephen of Amboise brings from Blois and Tours; but these are not a strong or hardy folk, though all their armour rings with steel and glitters as they march along. Mild is their land, gay, full of cheerful things; mild, cheerful, gay are those who there belong. Their battle at first charge is brave and stout, but quickly languishes and fizzles out. 63 Third comes Alcastus, haughty as of old at Thebes Capaneus,* menace in his face. From Alpine fortresses he has enrolled six thousand Swiss, a fierce and desperate race, who’ve forged the steel they used to plough the mould into new shapes, to wield in work less base. With herdsmen’s hands, once used for driving cattle, they care not now if kings should offer battle. 64 Next see unfurled the holy banner fly blazing the crown of Peter and his keys. The good Camillus leads that company, seven thousand strong, in shining cuirasses. Happy is he to be destined on high to wake his forebears’ fame or show (God please) that valour lodged in an Italian skin lacks nothing — at least, nothing but discipline.

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canto one 65 But now all regiments in splendid trim have passed in order, this one with the rest, when Godfrey calls the greater dukes to him and what his mind conceives makes manifest: ‘Soon as the new sun gilds the eastern rim, the host must leave, and swiftly. Haste is best. For as it toward the Holy City hies, the less delay, the greater the surprise. 66 ‘Therefore prepare to march at once. And plan on present battle. Plan on victory, too!’ These words of fire from so wise a man cheer and inspirit the entire crew. Eager to go, the eastern gate they scan, and wait, impatient, for the morning dew. But prudent Bouillon meditates apart: One fear is his, though hidden in his heart. 67 For he’s had certain news that Egypt’s king* toward Gaza was already making way, the mighty fort whose walls loom, threatening the Syrian realm. That prince, long bent on prey, was not a man, by Godfrey’s reckoning, to tame his hate now or the sluggard play. He’d prove a bitter foe. The duke therefore calls faithful Henry, his ambassador. 68 ‘Go board a light-sailed pinnace. Set your course for the Greek shore. For there soon will be found (I have this information from a source not often wrong) a royal youth, renowned for peerless courage and resistless force. To be in war our comrade he is bound. A prince of Denmark,* he commands a whole battalion from the lands beneath the pole. 69 ‘But since the treacherous emperor of the Greeks might, with his wonted cunning, turn him back or wrest his bold course from the goal he seeks, away from us onto some far-off track, let you, my trusted envoy, in whom speaks my very self, urge him not to grow slack, for both our goods, but to join us straight away, and not to stain his honour by delay.

canto one 70 ‘Yet, rather than return with him, do you stay with the Greek king, claim the aid that more than once he promised us, now overdue, though guaranteed by treaty long before.’ So speaks he, counselling his envoy, who, furnished with letters and credentials for his weighty mission, takes an instant leave; and Godfrey gives his fears a brief reprieve. 71 Next day, soon as the orient gateway flings in splendour open to let forth the sun, the noise of drumbeats joined with trumpets rings the summons to the march for everyone. A thunderclap in summer’s heat, which brings the hope of rain, less welcome falls upon the ear than fell upon these fierce men’s sense that haughty sound of warlike instruments. 72 At once each man, seized by stupendous zeal, flings on his well-worn armour and his gear and seems at once at all points sheathed in steel; at once each finds his captain, each his peer. Soon above serried ranks of soldiers reel the countless pennants, wind-tossed, fluttering clear, while the imperial flag billows on high, its Cross laid bare, triumphant, to the sky. 73 Meanwhile the sun, annexing more and more of heaven’s regions as he rises higher, strikes shields and helms with light and makes them pour showers of blinding gleams that flit and gyre. The whole air shimmers where these sparkles soar and shines as though infused with leaping fire. A mingled roar — steeds whinnying in their pride, steel clattering — deafens the countryside. 74 The Captain, wisely careful to protect his force against an ambush by the foe, deploys crowds of light horsemen to inspect and scour the region where his band must go, dispatches pioneers who can direct and smooth the road ahead of them, who know how to fill pits, level obstructing rocks, and clear whatever pathways fortune blocks.

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canto one 75 No infidel routs banded together, no ramparts engirt by ditches wide and deep, no streams in spate, no alps, no woods can throw them off the fated course they mean to keep. So sometimes when the king of rivers, Po,* swells past all measure proud, he’ll sweep across his banks upon his ruinous way — nothing whatever dares to bid him stay. 76 Tripoli’s* king alone, whose citadel stands, its people, wealth, and arms in strong walls pent, might haply have delayed the hosts of France, but dared not risk a war. In the event, he willingly received them in his lands, sent messengers with rich gifts to present such terms of peace as seemed, in every measure, imposed by pious Godfrey at his pleasure. 77 Here from Mount Seir, whose peak right royal soars nearby, east of the city, a great crowd of faithful pell-mell downward pours, of every age and either sex. They bowed gift-laden to the Christian conquerors, eager to see and speak with them, and loud with wonder at the foreign arms. And they, friendly and faithful, guided Godfrey’s way. 78 Ever in earshot of the sea-waves’ roar, by the directest route he led the host, knowing full well that never far off-shore the friendly navy sailed along the coast, which furnished to that host an ample store of food and gear, so that it seemed almost for them alone all Greek isles reaped their wheat, and rocky Chios sent its wines, and Crete. 79 The nearby sea labours beneath the weight of high-decked galleys and of lighter scows. No path to Saracen craft, however strait, this great Mediterranean force allows. Saint Mark’s armada and Saint George’s* fleet, Venice and Genoa, mass with allied prows. Some England sends, some France, and Holland some; others from Sicily the fertile come;

canto one 80 and all of them, bound by the strongest ties of zeal and love move with a single will, laden at various harbours with supplies for the land forces that, advancing still, reach the frontier at which no enemy lies in wait, its every pass unguarded, till they, pressing on with wondrous swiftness, gain the region where Christ suffered mortal pain. 81 But Fame, racing ahead of them, who carries both truthful tidings and deceitful tales, cries: ‘The all-conquering host has met, nor tarries but marches now!’, cries: ‘All resistance fails!’ She names the squads, she numbers them, and varies her roster of the greatest names with tales of what they’ve sworn, and in her words of gloom Zion’s usurpers glimpse the face of doom. 82 An evil looming in the future may seem a worse evil than an evil now. Each ear and mind, suspended in dismay, feels the uncertain breath of Rumour blow. Both in the doleful town and far away, in roads and fields, confused, the whisperings grow. But the old king, by gathering perils pressed, revolves fierce counsels in his doubtful breast. 83 Aladdin is his name. Newly made king* of this domain, he lives in constant care — a cruel man once, though now ripe years bring some mitigation to his violent air. Told that the Latins now are threatening to assail his city walls, he tears his hair as new doubts feed old fears within his head, his foes and subjects, both alike, his dread. 84 For in a single city sacrificed a mingled people for opposing creeds: the weak and lesser part believes in Christ, the strong and greater part Muhammad heeds. But Zion’s recent conquest had enticed the king to prop his throne by unjust deeds; he spared his pagans what they paid before, and taxed the wretched Christians all the more.

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canto one 85 In a fretful mood recalling this now, he shakes off the frigid torpor of his age, stung back to his innate brutality, which, starved for blood, erupts the more with rage. So will an asp grow fierce in summer, free of the cold languor of its dormant stage; so a tame lion will at once revert to native fury at the slightest hurt. 86 ‘I’ve seen’, said he, ‘some telling signs of joy among this mob of infidels of late. The general ruin seems their hope’s sole toy. They laugh while others wail the tottering state. Perhaps even now they’re planning to destroy my life by force or fraud, or in their hate are hatching plots how secretly to throw open the gates unto their kind, my foe. 87 ‘But they shall not! I’ll spoil their traitorous game, and shake their stifling weight quite off my chest. I’ll kill them all, I’ll make their doom their fame, slit baby throats even at their mothers’ breast, burn all their homes, their churches. (By that flame their duty to their dead shall be expressed.) But first, the very Tomb at which they pray, shall be turned altar where their priests I’ll slay.’ 88 Thus in his heart reasons the wicked man, yet hesitates, though not for qualms, to act. For where he pardons, nothing better than cowardice moves him, not pity, not fact of innocence. The fears that made him plan atrocities are by worse fears attacked: of shutting off from compromise his path, or of too far provoking enemy wrath. 89 His mad rage thus the villain must control, or rather elsewhere seek to give it vent. He wrecks and levels farms, makes ash and coal of tilled lands forfeit to the ravishment of flame, leaves not an acre sound or whole where Frank might graze his horse or pitch his tent, sullies the springs and rivers, and depraves with deadly poisons all their innocent waves.

canto one 90 Cautious as well as cruel, he is not neglectful of Jerusalem’s defence. Three sides are screened by wondrous strong walls, but the northern fourth of the circumference he, at the first faint rumours, spot by spot, strengthens with ramparts solid and immense, and there a huge troop he in haste emplaces of mercenaries and of subject races.

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Canto Two 1 While thus the tyrant readies for the fight, Ismen* one day in private interview seeks him — Ismen, that sorcerer whose might makes marble vaults yield up their corpses, who can charm new breath into them and new sight; Ismen whose murmured spells will fright Hell’s crew and Dis* himself, whose fiends he conjures still for cursed tasks, and chains or frees at will. 2 He now adores Muhammad, but he was a Christian once, nor utterly refuses his former rites, but mingles the two laws, ill-understood, in vile and impious uses. Now from deep caverns, whither he withdraws from crowds of men and on his dark art muses, he, braving public peril, comes before his lord, to a bad king a worse counsellor. 3 ‘Sire,’ said he, ‘now nears without delay the victor army that our people fear. But let us do whatever do we may: Heaven aids, the world aids those who strong appear. The roles of king, of leader well you play, wide-ranging your concern, your foresight clear. If all your officers like you behave, your foe will find this country but a grave. 4 ‘I for my part am here, your comrade in danger and toil, to help in good and ill. I pledge my all, be it the wit lodged in my aged head, be it my magic skill. I’ll make the rebel angels who have been banished from heaven parties to my will. But where my first enchantments I’ll assay, and by what means, I’ll tell you straight away.

canto two 5 ‘Within the Christians’ temple hidden lies an altar underground, where they have stowed her image* whom that rabble deifies as mother of their born and buried God. A veil conceals the simulacrum’s eyes and unquenched lamps make splendid its abode. Inside, the votive gifts hang, line on line, by credulous cultists carried to that shrine. 6 ‘Now this their effigy, snatched from its lair, I ask that you with your own hands transport into your mosque and re-erect it there. I’ll work a charm upon it of such sort that it shall always give, while kept with care, fatal protection to your town and fort. Behind impervious walls, your reign shall be secure through this profound, new mystery.’ 7 So spoke he, and prevailed. Incontinent, the king rushed to the House of God, struck down the priests, and seized with rude, irreverent hands the chaste image, dragged it through the town, and brought it to that fane of devilment whose foul and foolish cult makes Heaven frown. The sorcerer then, in that unholy place, hissed blasphemous whispers at the sacred face. 8 But when the new dawn rose into the sky, the unclean temple’s picked custodian found no sign of the image where it stood, and high and low searched vainly all the nearby ground. Straightway he told the king who, goaded by the news into a fury without bound, strongly imagined that some Christian may have been the thief and hidden it away. 9 Or pious soul that secret deed had planned, or outraged Heaven had come to intervene lest in so vile a place be forced to stand the image of its goddess and its queen. (Was miracle the cause, or mortal hand? Fame wavers still. Yet it has ever been true piety, where zeal and pious laws pass human limits, to deem Heaven the cause.)

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10 The king, pressing an inquest of the case, each church, each home has ransacked through and through, vows cruel torments or stupendous grace to who conceals or brings the thief to view. Without rest, too, by his dark arts and base, the sorcerer seeks the truth, without a clue. Heaven hides its role, or shields the culprit’s name, thus putting all his magic spells to shame. 11 But when the savage monarch, baffled, weens one Christian’s crime concealed from him, his whole spite for all Christians through his mind careens. His anger flares, his rage knows no control. Without compunction, come what will, he means to be avenged and ease his burning soul. ‘My wrath none shall for nothing rouse,’ he said. ‘Let all die, so the unknown thief fall dead. 12 ‘Lest the offending guilty one be spared, the guiltless and the just alike shall bleed. “Just,” did I say? None of them ever cared for our religion, each of that vile breed in his hostility sees his guilt declared. Believers, rise! He whom this new misdeed dooms not to this new purge, some old fault will. Rise! Rise! Take fire and sword! Go burn and kill!’ 13 Thus he harangues the mob. Rumour the news straightway among the timid faithful bore. They shook, aghast with terror, in their shoes. A present death seemed all they waited for. Defence or flight not one of them dared choose, nor seek excuse, nor mercy dared implore. And yet the people, panicked and dejected, find their salvation where they least expect it. 14 Among them lived a virgin, grown of late to ripest maidenhood, lofty as a queen in form and mind, though she did beauty rate worthless except as chastity’s fair screen. Her greatest merit is: she hides her great merit between the low walls of a mean abode and from admiring gaze or moan removes herself, uncourted and alone.

canto two 15 Yet there’s no guard quite able to conceal a beauty worth espousal and applause. You, Love, will not allow it, but reveal to one young man her glory and your laws. O Love! Now blind, now Argus-like,* who’ll seal our eyes one moment and the next will cause them to see all, you’ve shown a thousand lovers past thousand guards to pierce the chastest covers. 16 Sophronia she is named, Olindo he. Both hold one faith, and in one city dwell. Great as her beauty is his modesty: he sighs, he little hopes, nor can he tell his burning love, nor quench its flame; and she scorns him, or does not heed, or heeds not well. Thus the poor man till now has served and dreamed, unseen, or seen but ill, or ill esteemed. 17 Meanwhile the edict is proclaimed. They hear their people doomed to piteous massacre. She, great in spirit as in virtue clear, conceives a plan of saving them. The spur to her design is courage, though the fear of shame and maiden honour bridle her. But courage wins, or rather comes to save her shamefastness — a shamefastness made brave. 18 Right through the crowd that maid stepped forth alone, nor hid her beauties, nor made vain display. She walked with downcast eyes, a light veil thrown round her, all proud, yet modest in her way, adorned yet negligent. Whether she shone so fair by art or chance were hard to say. Her negligent airs the artifices are of nature, Love, and her auspicious star. 19 Admired by all, but giving none a glance, the proud maid makes her way before the king, nor does his fierce glare check her bold advance; she holds his eyes despite their threatening. ‘My lord, your wrath suspend, your people’s hands restrain,’ she said, ‘for I am here to bring captive to you the criminal you seek, on whom your vengeful ire you’ve sworn to wreak.’

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canto two 20 By that chaste boldness, that unlooked-for blaze of high and saintly charms pierced through and through, the king, like one defeated, in a daze, bridled his wrath, tempered his savage hue; and, had either his character or her gaze been softer, he would have begun to woo. But adamant beauty cannot strongly move an adamant heart. Sly wiles are baits to Love. 21 Amazement, yes, desire, delight — but not love made commotion in his villainous heart. ‘Go tell me all,’ he said, ‘I vow that what you speak won’t make your fellow Christians smart.’ And she: ‘Sir, I alone the theft did plot, I’m she who chose to play the felon’s part. With these my hands I took the image. See, it’s me you seek, and you must punish me.’ 22 Thus offered she, faced with the general doom, her proud head, took the blame herself alone. Oh noble lie! Did ever truth presume to claim with fairer title virtue’s throne? Here the fell tyrant hesitates, in whom yet ebbs the rage to which he’s all too prone. ‘Tell me,’ he asks, ‘whose counsel did you heed? and who was your accomplice in the deed?’ 23 ‘I had no wish to share my glory or to yield one jot of it,’ said she; ‘I led myself, was my sole friend and counsellor, and my sole agent.’ ‘Why then, your sole head shall to my dreadful vengeance answer for your deed,’ he countered. ‘It is just,’ she said. ‘If me alone such a high honour call, on me alone the punishment should fall.’ 24 At this afresh the tyrant’s rage is fanned. ‘Where have you hid the image?’ he enquires. ‘I did not hide, but burned it,’ says she, ‘and to burn it thus deemed worth all praise: those fires at least will from the unbeliever’s hand keep it inviolate from profane desires. Sir, on the plunder or the thief lay hands! One you’ll see never. Here the other stands.

canto two 25 ‘Yet I stole nothing, nor am I the thief: it’s only right to seize what’s wrongly taken.’ At this the tyrant’s rage beyond belief explodes, his fury past all measure shaken. Chaste heart, high mind, fair face — all come to grief, and every hope of pardon lies forsaken. Against his wrath, Love seeks in vain to wield her purity’s armour or her beauty’s shield. 26 They seize the lovely maid and, cruel grown, the king condemns her unto death by flame. They rend her veil, her cloak, her virgin zone, and her soft arms in cruel fetters frame. Silent, her brave heart undismayed, alone she stands, though somewhat inly moved by shame, her lovely face drained to a hue, not quite a mortal pallor, but a bashful white. 27 Where the great case was published far and wide, the crowd had gathered. There Olindo went. Known was the crime, the culprit undescried. He vaguely feared his lady might be meant. Now the fair captive came, not only tried, but doomed already; now henchmen intent on their fell task were hustling her along. He saw, and hurtled wildly through the throng. 28 He shouted to the king: ‘Not she! Not she performed the theft that her mad words avow! How could one woman plan, or dare, or see such a task through, unskilled, unaided? How could she deceive the guards? How secretly make fly the divine image? Ask her now! Not she, my lord, stole it, but I.’ So hot he loved (poor man!) his love who loved him not! 29 ‘High in your mosque,’ he added then, ‘a view opens to dawn and day. To that height come, climbing by night, I forced an entry through small nooks. Such daunting paths I dared. In sum, to me the honour, to me death is due. Let not this girl usurp my martyrdom. Mine are these chains, only for me this fire is kindled, and for me is heaped this pyre.’

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canto two 30 Sophronia lifts her face and looks at him, a sad humanity in her pitying gaze: ‘Why here, poor innocent? What frenzied whim or foolish plan showed or compelled these ways? Can I not then, without you, face the grim wrath by myself that one mere man displays? I also have a heart that dares to be alone in death and seeks no company.’ 31 In vain she speaks. Her lover will nowise unspeak his words or from his claim retreat. O mighty spectacle! brave enterprise! at which love and magnanimous virtue meet in strange contention — death the victor’s prize, and life the loathed condition of defeat. But now, the more each vies to take the blame, the more the king’s incensed with rage and shame. 32 He thinks they mock the pains he can decree, and disrepute upon his honour call. ‘Let both their tales be credited,’ says he. ‘Their struggle’s palm to whom it may let fall.’ He gives a nod. His sergeants instantly the youth in fetters to the scaffold haul. Thus both alike the single stake embrace, lashed back to back, and face away from face. 33 Already round them faggots are piled high, and bellows to the rising flames applied, when from the youth there burst a wrenching sigh and he to her thus tethered with him cried: ‘Is this the knot then that my hope did tie to bind us life-long at each other’s side? Is this the fire that would, I dreamt, ignite our conjoined hearts in ardour and delight? 34 ‘Not these the bonds Love promised, not this blaze, not these which Fate perforce makes us endure. Too well (woe’s me!) she once estranged our ways, but now in death makes our encounter sure. Yet I, though I must die so strangely, praise one fact: though on no bridal bed, I’m your spouse on this pyre. Your doom alone I rue, not mine, since I die side by side with you.

canto two 35 ‘And oh! how greatly would my lot be blest, my sweet and lucky torments made how whole, if it befell that, my breast on your breast, when on your mouth I have breathed out my soul, right then your last sighs, even as you lay pressed upon my lifeless body, from your bosom stole.’ So speaks he, sobbing as he speaks. She tries to counsel him, and in soft words replies: 36 ‘Not these the thoughts, my friend, not these laments but loftier themes the time requires. Your sins repent; recall the ample recompense, God’s promised kingdom, that each good soul wins. In His name suffer. Sweet those punishments will feel that bear you where high bliss begins. Look at the sky. How fair! Look at the sun. There shines our comfort, to that feast we run!’ 37 Now with one voice the mob of heathens wailed; the faithful, too, to softer tears gave way. Something almost — I know not what — prevailed in the king’s hard heart, like pity gone astray. He sensed it and it angered him, and failed, while he, his eyes averted, turned away. You alone stand, Sophronia, not in thrall to general weeping, though bewept by all. 38 While peril thus engulfs them, see! A knight (for such he seemed) appears, noble in guise, towering in shape, so armed and strangely dight that clearly from a distant land he hies. Atop his crest, a tigress burnished bright attracts the eyes of all, famous device, device known as Clorinda’s badge in war. They think this may be she; and right they are. 39 All womanly observances and skills she has disprized since her unripest years. Her proud hands scorned employment on all frills, Arachne’s toil, the needle, thread, and shears. Soft gowns and bowers she fled, for in the hills and fields, too, virtue can feel safe from fears. With noble pride her countenance she arms. She keeps it stern, and yet her sternness charms.

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canto two 40 While still a girl, with child’s hand she would dare to tense or ease the mighty courser’s bit. She mastered lance and sword, in the tilt-yard’s air made tough her limbs and for the race-course fit. Hard on the track of lion fierce or bear on mountain crags or in forests would she flit. War was her goal. When through the woods she ran, men feared her like a beast, beasts like a man. 41 From Persia she has come, once more to try her force against those Christians she did brave before this, scattering their hacked limbs by the shore, mingling their life-blood with the wave. Now, as she first arrives, there greets her eye this preparation for a fiery grave. Eager to see and know what criminal course condemns the culprits, she spurs on her horse. 42 The crowd gives way, and even as she nears the fettered couple, while her steed she checks, she sees how one is silent, one in tears, with greater strength shown by the weaker sex; yet sees his tears are not like his who fears his pains, but whom another’s torments vex. The silent other, eyes fixed on the sky, seems dead to this world, not about to die. 43 Touched by that sight, Clorinda sought relief in tears of pity for their shared distress. Yet most she grieves for her who shows no grief, more moved by silence, by lamenting less. But then she turned, keeping her sorrow brief, to a greybeard by her side among the press: ‘Tell me, good man, who are these two? What leads them to the torture, Fate or their ill deeds?’ 44 Thus she enquired, and he to her request made terse but full reply. She heard, intent, astonished, his account, and quickly guessed that both of them alike were innocent. At once their death she swears within her breast, be it by pleas or armed force, to prevent. She rushes to the fire, beats down the flames which rise already, and to the guards exclaims:

canto two 45 ‘O you who share this cruel office now, do not proceed — let no one be so bold! — until I’ve parleyed with the king. I vow your tardiness shall not cause him to scold.’ The officers obeyed her with a bow, by her great regal mien cowed and controlled. She turned, seeking the king, and moved to greet him as she saw him coming through the street. 46 ‘I am Clorinda,’ said she, ‘and my name is not, perhaps, unknown to you. To fight, by you, my lord, in the defence I came of our religion and your royal right. Command me to whatever goal you frame. Great tasks I fear not, nor contemn the slight. Deploy my arm in the open field or use me on your walls. There’s nothing I’ll refuse.’ 47 She said no more. The king replied: ‘What land so far from Asia or the highway of the sun, O glorious virgin, but that there your grand deeds are acclaimed and your high fame has run? Now that your sword is joined to mine, I stand consoled for troubles and afraid of none. If a vast army joined me now, my hope of victory would have no surer scope. 48 ‘Already Godfrey seems to me too long in coming here. “Use me,” you say? I draw but one conclusion: you shine best among deeds of high danger, acts of utmost awe. I say: let our whole garrison your strong sceptre obey; be your commands their law.’ So spoke he; she did courteously repay his praise with thanks, but then went on to say: 49 ‘It certainly may seem a novel thing for payment to precede the service, yet your goodness makes me hope. Give me, O king, these two condemned, in lieu of future debt. Make it a boon. Indeed, their suffering on such slight evidence seems hard. But let this pass; also let pass the vivid sense that moves me to maintain their innocence.

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canto two 50 ‘I only say the common story was that Christians took the image and that you agreed. Not so, I think — and not because I deem whatever I may think is true. It was a lack of reverence for our laws to do the deed the sorcerer urged you to. For we’re not free in temples to install idols, idols of others least of all. 51 ‘Therefore to great Muhammad I impute the miracle of this deed, to admonish us that it is most unlawful to pollute with alien practices his sacred house. Let Ismen conjure, let him substitute his wands for weapons. May he prosper thus! Let us be knights, with swords to cut and thrust; that is our art; that only should you trust.’ 52 This said, she spoke no more. The king, although he found scant pity in his wrathful heart, desired to please her. Reason prods him so; and she, the prayer’s source, has potent art. ‘Let them have life,’ he said, ‘and let them go, since such an intercessor takes their part. Call it my justice or my grace: I waive their guilt, or guilty give them you to save.’ 53 So freed they were. Truly Olindo’s fate was fortunate, since through this deed at last his love let love her generous heart dilate. He goes from stake to altar, having passed from lover to beloved, yea, changed state from criminal to husband. In the past he would have died with her. He does not die, nor scorns she now to live with him for aye. 54 But to the mind of the distrustful king such virtue joined so near him boded ill. Thus both went into exile, wandering far from Judaea’s borders, by his will. And he, in his hard mood continuing, casts others out; others his prisons fill. Torn from their small babes, their sad way they tread, from aged parents and sweet marriage bed.

canto two 55 Cruel division! He ousts only those in body sound and spirited in mind. But the mild sex and feeble age he chose, like hostages, in pledge to keep behind. Crowds lived as outcasts; some as rebels rose, and these in rage, not fear, new power find. They joined the Franks upon that very day when to Emmaus* they had made their way. 56 Emmaus is a town short distance parts from royal Salem. Anyone, if he please, who, walking slowly and at leisure, starts at sunrise, may by nones* reach it with ease. Oh, how to hear this stirs all Frankish hearts! how all the more their zeal and haste increase! But since, past noon, the sun declines from hence, the Captain bids them here to pitch the tents. 57 So pitched they were, post haste. And now almost the sun’s kind lamp had gained the ocean’s rim, when two great barons rode up to the host, foreign in bearing, decked with alien trim, though their pacific attitude disclosed to Godfrey that they came as friends to him. Legates they are from Egypt’s great domain, and throngs of squires and pages form their train. 58 One is Alethes,* who, base-born, began in the gross business of the common herd, but rose to be his king’s most honoured man, by fecund, sugared, cunning speech preferred, by flattering ways and by a mind that can beguile at will, and warp and twist each word: master of calumnies, who found strange ways to slander in the act of giving praise. 59 The other is Circassian Argant,* who as a stranger came to Egypt’s royal seat, but then to satrap of the empire grew to make the army’s high command complete; impatient, ruthless, savage he, who knew nor weariness in warfare nor defeat: spurner of all, holding no god in awe, the sword alone his reason and his law.

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canto two 60 These two request an audience, and they, led into pious Godfrey’s presence, find him seated with his dukes, in plain array, placed on a low chair of no special kind. But true worth, though neglectful of display, is in itself most splendidly enshrined. A trifling curtsy Argant makes to him, like a great man indulging some slight whim. 61 Alethes, though, with right hand on his breast, bowed low his head, his eyes upon the ground, and as great worship unto him addressed as might not to his people’s shame redound; and through his lips, when he began, there pressed a flood of eloquence, honey-sweet in sound. The Franks, who had by now well sped in learning Syrian, followed all he said: 62 ‘O you, whom worthily alone obey these many heroes worthy of their fame, who know that all their past palms, present sway from your great self and your great counsels came: Beyond Alcides’ guide-posts,* far away, as now among us here, resounds your name. In Egypt’s every nook report has sown bright tales of the high valour you have shown. 63 ‘Not one among the multitude who hear but hears as one might hear a miracle; yet to my king such miracles appear not wonders merely, but delights as well. What others envy you, or others fear, he loves in you, nor tires to hear them tell. He loves your valour, and would gladly sue in love, if not in law, to join with you. 64 ‘And by such pleasing sentiments spurred on, in peace and friendship he extends his hand. Seal them with yours, and may the bond upon joint honour, if not joint religion, stand. Yet since he learned that you had hither drawn to drive an ally from his throne and land, he bade us, lest more evil come behind, here to declare to you his royal mind.

canto two 65 ‘That mind is this: if you will be content with all that war has thus far made your gain; nor touch Judaea, nor with hostile bent seek other regions favoured by his reign, he in return will promise to augment your none-too-firm estate. And when you twain combine, will not the Turks and Persians groan, robbed of all hope to repossess their own? 66 ‘My lord, such great things in small time you’ve won, their fame for untold ages must endure: masses of warriors, cities, crushed, undone, hardships surmounted, strange roads and unsure. Fear and amazement from you crying run through nearby lands and provinces obscure; and if you had more conquests still to gain, you would seek more than is yours right now in vain. 67 ‘Now is your glory’s peak. In days to come, uncertain war is better to eschew, since, if you win, although your powers grow some, yet your renown you could nowise outdo, and power once gained may quickly fade. In sum, both fame and power might thus be lost to you. Foolish and proud who risks, gambling with fate, for small, uncertain gain, gains sure and great. 68 ‘But if so moved by counsellors (who perhaps repine when others long maintain their sway), your sense that your success has seen no lapse, and your innate desire (that ardent ray whose noblest fire the noblest hearts enwraps) to make whole nations serve and tribute pay perhaps tempt you to flee from peace as far as a less venturous man might flee from war. 69 ‘Such thoughts might plead with you to persevere along the way fate has wide open thrown, not to lay down that sword that all men fear (whose virtue augurs victory alone) till all Muhammad’s laws shall disappear, till through you Asia be a desert grown. Such words are sweet to hear, sweet are the lies from which too often dire disasters rise.

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canto two 70 ‘But if your courage does not blind your sight, nor darken reason’s light within your mind you’ll know that, if you undertake that fight, reasons for fear and not for hope you’ll find. For Fortune varies fickly on her height, now to our joy, now to our grief inclined. Where highest flights do most abruptly soar, precipitous falls are commonly in store. 71 ‘Tell me: if Egypt now* should strike a blow, potent in gold and arms and counsel, and if Persia’s armies and the Turk’s also, and Cassan’s son’s to boot, made a new stand, what strength to meet war’s fury raging so have you, to dodge once more disaster’s hand? To trust the wicked Greek perhaps you’ll try whom holy treaties bind as your ally? 72 ‘The faith of Greeks — who knows not how it fares? One treason shows all treasons they can do — no, thousands show it, since a thousand snares that faithless, greedy folk has laid for you. Do you think who blocked your passage once now dares to risk his life by aiding you, or who denied those roads that were the common good will make you now a present of his blood? 73 ‘But you your every hope perhaps repose in the battalions seated round you now. Foes whom you once beat piecemeal, you suppose you’ll lightly once more in one heap lay low, even if your ranks are thinner now by those whom war and hardship took, you best know how; and though a new foe massed against you works, the Egyptian host, with Persians joined, and Turks. 74 ‘Now if indeed you think your fate will be that you shall never perish by the sword (grant this be so and grant that the decree of Heaven with your unbent will accord), yet Famine will undo you, and when she strikes, what (by God!) shall save you then, or guard? Go shake your lance at her. Go and pursue her with your sword. Pretend that triumph too!

canto two 75 ‘The fields lie burnt and spoiled for miles around. The provident farmer’s hands have left them dead, and in high towers behind thick walls have bound their sheaves long days before you hither sped. You who, so bold, so far your way have found, how shall your steeds now, or your men, be fed? You’ll say: “We have the navy for that end.” Does then your life upon the winds depend? 76 ‘And does your luck perhaps command the winds and at your whim bind them, or set them free? The sea, deaf to all prayers and cries — it minds perhaps your voice alone and your decree? Moreover, since a league already binds Persians and Turks, what will befall if we join them and raise a huge fleet to repulse with that united power your wooden hulls? 77 ‘A double victory, my lord, you’ll need, to clinch the honours of this enterprise. Deep shame to you a single loss will breed, and from it damage deeper yet will rise. For if our naval force were to succeed in scattering yours, your camp of hunger dies; and if you are on land to perish, vain will be a victory on the bounding main. 78 ‘Now if in such a state you still refuse to Egypt’s great king terms of truce and peace, your mind (let truth have licence here) pursues a course that with your virtue ill agrees. But Heaven grant that the intent you choose, if bent on war, may change and let war cease, that Asia may once more breathe without tears, while you reap victory’s harvest with your peers. 79 ‘And all of you, in toil, in peril and in glory his companions, be not you so far misled by Fortune’s favouring hand as, duped by her, to urge the war anew; but, like a pilot who guides back to land from treacherous seas his vessel and his crew, trim your broad sails now, homeward-bound and free, nor ever more attempt the cruel sea.’

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canto two 80 Here ceased Alethes. A low murmur went about the room from the brave heroes’ throats. Their every gesture shows how they resent the thoughts which he insinuates and promotes. The Captain turned his eyes all round the tent three or four times, and every face he notes, then fixed his gaze full face upon the man awaiting his reply, and thus began: 81 ‘Sir messenger, you’ve pleasantly made clear, now courteously, now with veiled threats, your drift. If your king loves me or holds my exploits dear, that’s grace in him, his love a welcome gift. Those later headings where your threats appear, claiming united pagandom will lift swords to make war on us, I’ll now gainsay in words both frank and plain (as is my way). 82 ‘Know then that we’ve endured so much till now on sea, on land, in daylight or in gloom, solely to make an open road allow access to those great walls, that holy Tomb, and to gain grace in God’s eyes, studying how to free His folk from harsh enslavement’s doom. Nor feel we burdened when so great an aim makes us risk land or life or worldly fame. 83 ‘For not ambitious pride nor lust for gain spurred on or guided this our undertaking (and may Our Heavenly Father that foul stain, if any of us feel it inly waking, expunge, nor let contagion in him remain who eats those poisoned sweets to his unmaking). No, we are led by Him whose grace can steal into the stoniest heart and once more make it feel. 84 ‘This is what moved, what moves us, this our guide, this saves us from all danger and distress, levels the mountains, dries the rivers wide, cools summer’s heat, melts winter’s ice — and (yes) smoothes every storm-tossed billow of the tide, chains winds or sets them free, now more, now less; this lets high walls be breached, burned to the ground, and hosts be slain and scattered all around.

canto two 85 ‘From this our zeal, from this our hope is born, not from our frail strength wearied with alarms, nor from our fleet nor from the heaps of corn Greece may supply or not, nor from French arms. So long as His hand leaves us not forlorn, we have small fear of any other harms. He whom that hand protects, or strikes for, knows he needs no other aid to ward off blows. 86 ‘But say His hand from us withholds its aid, for sins of ours or His deep destiny, why should we repine to find our bodies laid where God’s own body once did buried lie? We’ll die, careless of life and unafraid; we’ll die, but unavenged we shall not die: our fate shall not be Asia’s merriment, nor we the ones our dying makes lament. 87 ‘Do not think, all the same, that we abhor all peace, or in mere deadly war-lust burn; for your king’s friendship gives us pleasure, nor are we averse his friendship to return. Judaea is, you know, not his. Therefore, why show about it such intense concern? Let him not grudge our conquest of a throne elsewhere, and let him calmly keep his own.’ 88 This was his answer, and the words did pierce bold Argant’s bosom with a sting of rage; nor did he hide it, but with grimace fierce fronted the Captain, saying: ‘There’s no age when strife had to be dragged in by the ears. Who fails his chance for peace, war let him wage; and well you’ve shown that you all peace refuse, turning deaf ears on the first words we use.’ 89 Then he snatched up his mantle by the seam, furled it and formed a sack with it; that sack he held aloft and so resumed his theme, with yet more spite pursuing his attack: ‘O you, to whom dread deeds so easy seem, this pouch holds peace or war, welfare or wrack: yours be the choice; take counsel in your breast at once, and pick what pleases you the best.’

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canto two 90 That savage gesture and the words he spoke moved all to shout ‘War!’ in a general cry, and even as their clamouring awoke, not pausing for great-souled Godfrey’s reply, the ruffian loosed his pouch, shook out his cloak. ‘To deadly war’, cried he, ‘I you defy!’ — his mien so fierce, his voice so full of hate that Janus’ temple* seemed to burst its gate. 91 In opening that pouch, it seemed he drew mad Rage from it and savage Discord, and blazing in his dread eyes it seemed there grew Alecto’s and Megaera’s* fire-brand. So looked perhaps that olden giant who made error’s tower against Heaven stand; like very Babel,* he too struts and jars, with looming frontage menacing the stars. 92 Then Godfrey added: ‘Go apprise your king that he may come. Let him make haste the while, for we accept the war you’re threatening. If not, let him await us by his Nile.’ Kindly and pleasant then, at leave-taking he honoured them with gifts of choicest style. A helmet brave he did Alethes yield, part of his rich spoil from Nicea’s field. 93 Argant received a sword. The ingenious smith had gemmed the golden heft and hilt so fair, so masterly, their rich substance grew with his workmanship to worth beyond compare. Viewing its temper, ornament, and pith with admiration and the utmost care, Argant told Bouillon: ‘Soon enough you’ll see the way your gift is put to use by me.’ 94 To his companion, once they’re out of view, he says: ‘Hence let us go our separate ways, I to Jerusalem, toward Egypt you, you with the dawn’s sun, I by night’s dim rays, for neither I nor my report can do much good where you go in the next few days. Do you take back their answer; I don’t mean to move far from this place, where war’s the scene.’

canto two 95 Thus from ambassador he turns to foe, as stormy haste or ripe occasion calls. The law of nations and old custom’s show he little recks, nor cares whom he appals. Awaiting no reply, he moves below the silent, friendly stars toward the walls, impatient of delay — and whom he leaves behind is of a scarcely less impatient mind. 96 Now it was night, when deep repose did hold the waves and winds. The world grew mute, until all weary creatures, whether those that rolled in waves of ocean, lake, or woodland rill, or those four-footed ones in den or fold, or bright-hued birds curled in their nests, grew still in the great calm that darkness held in keep, and soothed their fears and lulled their hearts with sleep. 97 But not the faithful army, not their lord go slumbering, nor even rest — so whole is their desire that the sky award glad dawn long hungered for by every soul to light their path and guide them to the adored city which is their crossing’s glorious goal. Time after time they look to see some ray break forth, or dark night brighten into day.

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Canto Three 1 The herald breeze, stirring betimes, now sped to hail Aurora’s coming, who did rise and decked herself, wreathing her golden head with rosy blossoms plucked in Paradise, when from the camp, leaping to arms, there spread a deep and sonorous murmur toward the skies, an eager prelude to the trumpets, till their peals rang out, more jubilant and shrill. 2 Wisely the Captain keeps the bridle slack, leads on his men by seconding their fire, for easier had it been to change the track of sea waves in Charybdis’* churning gyre, or to halt Boreas* rushing down the back of the Apennine, ships foundering in his ire. He ranks them, points their way, lets them proceed in quick-time, yes — though order rules their speed. 3 Wingèd are all men’s hearts, wingèd their feet, and in what haste they move they scarcely ween. But when the sun on high begins to beat the dusty fields with rays more hot and keen, behold! afar Jerusalem gleams, discreet; behold! Jerusalem is glimpsed, is seen; behold! from all one great salute rings out: ‘Jerusalem!’ a thousand voices shout. 4 So a bold band of navigators who set forth to seek a distant, alien shore, in untried seas, beneath strange stars and new, where faithless winds and treacherous breakers roar, if they at last the sought-for coastline view, will hail it from afar, make glad shouts pour, and point toward it together, and forget their voyage past, the hardship, and the fret.

canto three 5 The immense delight that this first glimpse imparts now sweetens every breast, but soon gives way to deep contrition, and in all their hearts stirs awe mingled with reverence, till they scarce dare to lift their eyes by fits and starts toward that city where Christ chose to live, where He died and was buried, and where He rose from the dead in glorious majesty. 6 Half-stifled words, unspoken vows, and heaves of broken sobs and sudden tear-choked sighs from a people that at once exults and grieves all through the air make a deep murmur rise, such as resounds from the dense forest leaves when a chance wind-gust through the branches flies, or as beneath a cliff or near the shore the churning seas through sliding gravel roar. 7 Barefooted each man treads the hard wayside (the chiefs by their example move the rest), silk trim or golden each man casts aside, plucks from his head his plume or glorious crest, while from his heart he tears the cloak of pride, eyes hot with tears, devotion in his breast. As though his way were barred unless he weeps, each man his self-accusing counsel keeps: 8 ‘Where you, Lord, with a thousand streams of blood sprinkled the earth, shall not I turn, this day at least, while this harsh memory comes to bud, into two bitter springs of grieving clay? My frozen heart (ah!), why will you not flood, molten, up through my eyes, and force your way? My stone heart, why not crack and break? For oh, woe fall on you if now you feel no woe!’ 9 From the great town meanwhile a sentinel high in his tower scans the hills and plains and sees the dust ascend from them and swell, till its huge cloud the whole horizon stains, a cloud that seems to glow and burn pell-mell, charged with the lightning fire it contains. At length the glinting of bright steel he heeds, and then makes out the heroes and their steeds.

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canto three 10 Then did he cry: ‘Oh, how the whole wide air fills with the dust I see! Oh, how it all appears to shine! Up, citizens, up! and bear your swords on high, arm swiftly, climb the wall! The foe is here!’ Once more he cried: ‘Beware! Let each man fly to arms and hear the call! See, here’s the foe! See, how the dust swirls high and in a gloomy cloud enfolds the sky.’ 11 The innocent children, feeble elders, and the throng of women, weak and terrified, unapt to offer buffets or withstand, grieving seek out the mosques to pray and hide. The others, stronger in both mind and hand, meanwhile snatch up their weaponry and stride, some to the gates, some to the walls. The king moves in their midst and sees to everything. 12 He gave commands, and then took up his station where between gates a tower rises high. Here he is near at need; from this location aloft he may the plains and hills descry. Erminia joins him, at his invitation, Erminia fair, who to his court did fly, by Christian armies ousted from her reign of Antioch, the king her father slain. 13 Clorinda meanwhile seeks the Franks apace. Many ride with her, in the van she rides, while at a postern in another place, prepared to reinforce her, Argant hides. Fire in her words and courage in her face, the spirited maid thus urges those she guides: ‘Be proud!’ she cried; ‘it lies within our scope to give to Asia now new grounds for hope.’ 14 Thus urging on her men, she nearby saw, hauling their rustic spoils, a Frankish force, who, riding forage, as is warfare’s law, with flocks and herds now back to camp set course. She saw, sees how athwart her path did draw their chief, who sees her pricking on her horse. Gardo that chief was called, a man of might, but not so mighty when she moves to smite.

canto three 15 Her fierce onslaught flings Gardo in the dirt in full view of the Franks and pagans, too, who loudly cheer. That combat, they assert, augured success — vain thought! Meanwhile she flew, spurred onward toward the rest and, to their hurt, her right hand did a hundred hands’ work do. Her men rushed after her, as through a ford cleared by her blows and opened by her sword. 16 Soon from the predator she wrests his prey. The Frankish troop gives place, higher and higher, till, rallying on a hilly summit, they, on ground that gives their weapons aid, retire. Then, as a whirlwind hurtles on its way and from its cloud flings bolts of airy fire, Tancred the brave, at Godfrey’s signal, pressed onward his squad, putting his lance in rest. 17 So well the youth held the huge lance, his ride was of such fierceness and such gallant art, the king from his high post at once descried in him, in that crack troop, a man apart. He thus asks her who, sitting by his side, now feels the sudden pounding of her heart: ‘By long acquaintance, sure you know on sight, though clad in armour, every Christian knight. 18 ‘Who then is this one, who so bravely steers into the fray, and seems so fierce to know?’ She makes no answer, and he sees and hears her lips form groans, her eyes grow moist with woe. But she keeps back her passion and her tears, though not so well that something will not show: A lovely darkness tints her brimming eye, and her breath breaks, ending midway in a sigh. 19 At last she speaks to him, the while she shields with a cloak of hatred a far different mood: ‘Ah! well I know him, clear remembrance yields him to my sight, though he with thousands stood; for often have I seen him drench the fields and the deep ditches with my people’s blood. Ah, cruelly he wounds! The wound he deals no herb assuages and no magic heals.

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canto three 20 ‘He is Prince Tancred. Would that he were mine one day, my captive — and not dead, for I want him alive that I may wreak a fine vengeance on him and slake my rage thereby.’ These words she speaks. Her hearer sensed a sign of truth in them, but turned it all awry; and mingled with her last words there again bursts forth a sigh, which she now checks in vain. 21 Clorinda, seeing Tancred’s swift advance, putting her lance at rest now toward him sped. They struck each other’s visors. Of each lance the shaft flew high, yet did she something shed: her helmet’s buckles snapped off by ill chance and (fateful blow!) he struck it from her head. Her golden tresses spreading in the breeze, a youthful maid amidst the field he sees. 22 Her eyes blaze and her lightning glances dart. So graced in rage — were she to smile, what grace! Tancred, what are your thoughts? Do you not start? Do you not recognize that noble face? See here the dear cause of your grievous smart. Etched in your heart you know its every trace. For this is she who did her forehead cool when once you gazed on her by the lone pool. 23 He, whom no sight of painted shield or crest ever turned pale, at her sight now turns stone. She, covering her bare head again as best as possible, attacks. He will not own her charge, but turns his fell sword on the rest. Nor will she therefore now leave him alone but follows, menacing. ‘Turn back!’ she cries, and him in one breath to two deaths defies. 24 The knight, being struck, does not strike back, and seeks less to keep on his guard against her steel than to gain sight of her fair eyes and cheeks that Cupid’s fatal archery conceal. ‘Vainly those blows’ (so inwardly he speaks) ‘may sometimes fall that her mailed hand can deal; but never in vain that shining face unveiled strikes through my eyes to leave my heart impaled.’

canto three 25 At last he thinks, though past all hope, to break the silence of his love, to make her know that the man she struck was trembling for her sake, long since disarmed, her captive, stooping low; wherefore he says: ‘O you, who seem to make me only, of so many knights, your foe, let both of us withdraw from this mêlée alone, that I may try you, and you me. 26 ‘So let us prove if valour I display can match your own.’ She granted his demand, and, careless of her helmet where it lay, stepped boldly forth; he followed her, unmanned. The warrior maid already stood at bay, and smote at him already with her hand, when ‘Stop!’ said he: ‘For surely it is right, before we fight, to fix the terms of fight.’ 27 She paused, and he, whom desperate love made free of fear, addressed her boldly by and by: ‘Let those terms be,’ he said, ‘since peace with me you spurn, that you tear out my heart. For I, whose heart’s no longer mine, should you decree it must not live, will gladly let it die: yours it was long ago; now take it, use it. Yours it must be, and I will not refuse it. 28 ‘Behold, my arms are down, my breast intent on wounds, defenceless. Why not strike it so? Or should I ease your task? I am content even now to strip my hauberk for your blow.’ The wretched Tancred haply now had meant with bitterer plaints to amplify his woe, but, checking him, an untimely crowd just then rushed up, of heathen troops and his own men. 29 From the Christian crush the Palestinian band in flight (by fear or art) their safety find. But one (oh wretch!) of the pursuers scanned her unbound ringlets tossing in the wind, and, speeding towards her, raised up his hand to smite her on her bare head from behind. But Tancred (for he saw him coming) cried and with his sword turned that great blow aside.

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canto three 30 Yet did it not fall quite in vain, but near her fair white neck wounded her lovely head. The merest graze — yet a few drops appear beneath her fair blonde hair, staining it bright red. So gold grows red when rubies, sparkling clear, by a great craftsman in its ground are spread. But then the furious prince went hurtling toward the villain and attacked him with his sword. 31 One flees; the other, wrath-enflamed, pursues, and like an airborne arrow’s is their speed. She stays suspended, and from far off views both men, nor cares to follow where they lead, but calls to order her back-scattering crews. The Franks behind she faces when there’s need — now tacks, now turns, now flees, now seeks the fight, astir in what seems neither chase nor flight. 32 So a huge bull at times in the broad ring, turning on baiting dogs his horns of dread, scatters the pack; but, his back turned, they fling themselves in the direction where he fled. Clorinda gives ground slowly, carrying her shield aloft behind, guarding her head. Just so, at Moors’ Tilt* jousting, those who try to flee the flung stones, hold their bucklers high. 33 Already the pursuers and pursued were drawing close to the high ramparts, when a horrid shout rose from the multitude of pagans, who turned swiftly round again and formed a living arc that wheeling skewed around the flanks and rear of the Frankish men, even as Argant from the hill descends and his armed band against their front rank sends. 34 The fierce Circassian from that band rode forth to be the first to strike, and to strike deep. Straightway the man he struck lay stretched on earth, his steed tumbled atop him in a heap, his lance in splinters, even as men of worth dropped dead in scores his company to keep. Then Argant draws his sword and with each blow kills or unseats, or at least wounds, a foe.

canto three 35 Clorinda, emulous of him, unsouled mighty Ardelion, ripe in years but hard in agèd courage, with two bold, strong sons to aid him, yet unsafe, ill-starred: a wound the elder, Alcander, controlled, unfitting him to be his father’s guard; and Polyphern beside him, arm to arm, could scarcely keep his life from grievous harm. 36 But Tancred, ever more distant on his ride, chasing that boor, who owns a swifter steed, looks back and, having all too clearly spied how too far forward his brave men proceed, sees them surrounded, pricks his courser’s side, and back to them, tugging the bit, makes speed. Nor all alone to aid them he now spurs, but joined by a band whom no peril deters, 37 Dudon’s great band, the Adventurers, that blest flower of heroes, pith of the army’s might. Rinaldo, greatest-souled and handsomest, rides in the van, swift as a flash of light. At once Erminia knows that eagle crest* so proudly borne by him, that blue and white, and to the king, who marks him, she exclaims: ‘See there the man who all proud natures tames! 38 ‘His swordplay few (or none) can match, although he’s still a stripling. To this paragon, had he six equals here among the foe, Syria would long have fallen, slavery’s pawn, and long ago would further south lie low more realms, and realms yet closer to the dawn; and even old Nile* perhaps would vainly cloak his distant head in mist to shun the yoke. 39 ‘Rinaldo is his name. These walls more fear his wrathful arm than any siege machine. Now turn your eyes where I am pointing, there, at him whose armour glistens gold and green: that man is Dudon, whose commandments steer this freelance band, on great adventures keen. A knight of noble blood he is and wise; age whets his wit and yet no strength denies.

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canto three 40 ‘See that huge man there, garbed in black: his name Gernand of Norway, brother to its king. Earth holds no haughtier man, and his bright fame this flaw alone can to the shadows bring. Those two who ride there, both attired the same, in white, white-trimmed, ever together cling, Gildippe and Edward, wedded lovers, both renowned for martial worth and changeless troth.’ 41 So spoke she, and they now saw how below the slaughter grew and grew, because by then Rinaldo and Tancred broke the ring, although it bristled thick with weaponry and men; and Dudon’s band, arriving now, also rush it and charge, again and yet again. Argant, Argant himself, stunned, prostrate lies. Struck by Rinaldo, he can hardly rise — 42 nor would perhaps have risen, but that here the battle-steed of Bertold’s offspring* falls. His foot, trapped underneath his horse and gear, needs makes him pause to pull out where he sprawls. The infidel troop the while, undone by fear, seek safety, fleeing to the city walls, while Argant and Clorinda dam and stem alone the furious flood that follows them. 43 They guard the rear, and the pursuers’ crush by them is somewhat weakened and dispersed, so that with lesser peril those now rush back into safety who in flight turned first. Dudon pursues, with victory a-flush, those fugitives. He rides down, in one burst, the savage Tigran: with one slash, one thrust he sends him crashing headless in the dust. 44 Algazar’s fine hauberk lends no escape, nor powerful Corban’s strongly tempered crest, for he so struck them on the back, the nape, the blow went on to pierce the face, the breast; his hand made Mehmed and Amurat gape, each soul departing from its pleasant nest, and fell Almanzor, too. Not even the great Circassian moved in safety from his hate.

canto three 45 Argant frets inwardly, shifts to and fro, stops, turns, now takes, now yields a stride. At last he leaps so swiftly at his foe with thrust so ruinous, aimed at his side, that the iron plunges in, and by that blow the Frankish chieftain finds his life denied. He falls; his eyes, their lids scarce open, keep a gaze of stern repose and iron sleep. 46 Three times he opened them and sought to mark, raised on one arm, the fair sky’s gracious light, and three times he fell back, the shadowing dark veiling his eyes. Then weariness closed them quite. His limbs fail and with deadly chill grow stark, sweat-soaked and stiff, and he is lost in night. Not the least heed does cruel Argant pay to the dead body, but rides on his way. 47 But without breaking pace, he turns to exclaim to the Frankish host: ‘O knights-at-arms, now see this bloodied sword I hold, the very same that only yesterday your lord gave me! Tell him to what good use today it came in my hands, for this news will surely be welcome to him. He should be pleased, impressed his gift has proved so potent on first test. 48 ‘And a yet surer proof of it he’ll find anon in his own guts. Tell him that too. And if he doesn’t hurry here, I’ll mind where he is, and unlooked-for brave his view.’ At this, the Christians all together, blind with rage at his wild words, toward him flew; but he has joined the others and they all have reached the shelter of the friendly wall. 49 Meanwhile the guardians of the walls address their efforts to rain stones down on their foes, and, drawn from quivers nearly numberless, fit just as many arrows to their bows. The Franks perforce with feebler vigour press and the Muslim force into the city goes. But now Rinaldo, who at last contrives to free his foot from his downed horse, arrives.

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canto three 50 On fallen Dudon’s barbarous killer he meant to wreak bitter vengeance. Now, his corps of friends regained, he shouts imperiously: ‘So why this pause? What are we waiting for? The lord is dead who led us. Why don’t we rush to avenge him? What could grieve us more? Since no sharp goad to noble rage we lack, is a frail wall the thing to hold us back? 51 ‘Not though in adamant and double steel this wall impenetrably reared its height, ought cruel Argant, hid within it, feel secure from your insuperable might. Let us assault it then!’ And in his zeal, even as he spoke, he leads them to the fight, for in his confident mind fear never forms, though rocks and arrows fly in clouds and storms. 52 Tossing his mighty head, he lifts his face, in which such terrifying looks appear, that even beyond the walls the guardians’ pace slows while their hearts freeze with uncommon fear. While he cheers some, to some with threats gives chase, a man to check his impetus draws near; for Godfrey sends good Sigier to this band, stern herald of his absolute command. 53 In his name he blames their too-ardent fire, and bids them their advance at once to quit. ‘Turn back from here,’ said he, ‘since for your ire the moment and the place are both unfit. Godfrey commands you so.’ These words require spurring Rinaldo to apply the bit, though more than one sign, as he frets within, shows outwardly his ill-concealed chagrin. 54 The troops fall back, and of their enemies none offers to disturb their homeward ride, nor in the least are holy obsequies to worthy Dudon’s lifeless corpse denied. In pious arms his comrade-devotees bear him, a dear load and a sanctified. Bouillon meanwhile stands on a height and thence surveys the great town’s station and defence.

canto three 55 Jerusalem is built upon two hills, unequal, rising in each other’s view. The middle space a cleaving valley fills between these heights, and cuts the town in two. Three sides of it defy the climber’s skills; the fourth slopes upward, scarcely seeming to, but for defence huge walls soar from their bases at the level part that toward Boreas faces. 56 Within the town are reservoirs to save rainfall, and pools where fresh, cool water plays. But round about the sere land is a grave, barren of fountains and of waterways, where there was never a spot that nurture gave to trees that shelter men from summer’s rays. Only some six miles off a forest grows whose noisome shadows dread and gloom enclose. 57 It ends, on that side where dawn mounts the skies, by blessed Jordan’s noble wave and strand; and spreading at its westward margin lies the Mediterranean Sea with shores of sand. Toward Boreas, Bethel then, where once did rise the Golden Calf, and then Samaria;* and, where Auster* sweeps the skies and readies them for rain, lies Christ’s great cradle, Bethlehem. 58 While Godfrey now the town’s high walls and site surveys with care, and its environs all, and ponders where to encamp, where best the might of an assault would gain the hostile wall, Erminia, pointing, having caught his sight, resumed and to the pagan king did call: ‘That man, in purple cloaked, is Godfrey. See how he embodies rule and majesty! 59 ‘Verily born to govern, he can tell by sheer skill how to rule, how to command. Yet is this great chief a great knight as well. In double strength do all his virtues stand. Not one man can I show who could excel his might or wisdom in that numerous band. Raymond alone may match his prudence, or Rinaldo and Tancred his great skill in war.’

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canto three 60 Replies the pagan king: ‘Indeed, I know him well. We met in the high court of France, where I came as Egypt’s envoy long ago. In noble lists I saw him wield his lance: although but green in years then, and although no down did yet upon his cheek advance, he truly gave, in act, in looks, in speech, great presage of the heights his fame might reach — 61 ‘presage now all too true, alas!’ And here his lids droop, troubled; then he lifts them and asks: ‘Tell me, who’s that man who seems his peer, like him in crimson cloak, at his right hand? Oh how alike they outwardly appear, though this one’s stature seems not quite so grand.’ ‘That’s Baldwin,’ she replies, ‘and truly he mirrors his mien, still more his bravery. 62 ‘Now look at him who stands, like one who plays the counsellor, by his other side, and heed: he is that Raymond whom you’ve heard me praise for prudence — white of beard, and shrewd indeed! Better than he none weaves a stratagem’s maze, be he of Latin or of Frankish breed. But over there, with gold casque on head, stands Britain’s king’s great son, William the Red. 63 ‘See, Guelf rides with him, who in deeds of fame rivals him, as in blood and high degree: Well do I know him by his square-cut frame, huge shoulders, deep chest. Yet I do not see if with this band my great foe also came. I cannot make him out. Where could he be? I speak of Bohemond, that murdering swine, destroyer of my blood and royal line.’ 64 So these two talked. The Captain, having quit his vantage-place, back to his own troop hies; and since he deems that higher ground least fit for an assault which soars in steepest wise, he on the plain that rises opposite Aquilo Gate causes their tents to rise; and bids the others pitch their own as far as the tower that is called the Angolar.*

canto three 65 He encloses in that great encirclement a third part of the city, more or less, for he could not (so vast is its extent) on all sides hem it in or quite oppress. But to all roads by which aid might be sent into the city Godfrey blocked access, and ordered all the passes occupied by which or from or toward it men might ride. 66 The tents he orders henceforth fortified with deep-delved ditches and with trenches broad, blocking escape by townsmen on one side, and on the other entry from abroad. These works ordained, he yearned to stand beside great Dudon’s body. To the bier he trod where lay the dead commander in his shroud, ringed by a sorrowing and tearful crowd. 67 With noble pomp the faithful friends bestrewed the fallen hero where, sublime, he lay. When Godfrey came to them, the multitude raised up yet more lamentable display. But pious Bouillon, in whose attitude neither distress nor quiet showed, made stay, and then, some moments in reflection passed, he lifted his fixed eyes, and spoke at last: 68 ‘Not yet should sorrow well up nor complaint, since you, dead to the world, to Heaven proceed, and, as you struggled, free of mortal taint, you left here glorious tokens of your meed. You lived, a Christian warrior and a saint, and died like one. Therefore rejoice now: feed, great soul, your eyes on God, blessed and calm, and seize of your good works the crown and palm. 69 ‘Live blest forever, for it is our fate, not your misfortune, which here asks for rue. Since you, so loved and brave, are gone, a great portion of us is gone forever, too. But if what vulgar men call death of late robbed us of one terrestrial helpmate, you can now celestial help for us require, since Heaven admits you to its chosen choir.

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canto three 70 ‘And since we’ve seen you wield, a mortal still, to our advantage mortal arms, we say, blest soul, that we will see your deathless skill wield the invincible arms of heaven one day. Hear then our vow, and let it be your will to ward off evil from us. This, I say, means victory: we, your votaries, in the House of God, triumphant, will discharge our vows.’ 71 So spoke he, and already darkening night had quenched all rays of daylight, and made truce, in mere oblivion of all care and fright, with tears and with laments. But it renews the Captain’s care, who knows there is no might except siege engines’ that such walls subdues. How to frame these he broods, and from what lumber they should be fashioned. Little does he slumber. 72 He rose together with the sun, to head the funeral procession. They have made of scented cypress-wood a coffin-bed for Dudon’s corpse, and now, within a shade not far from the camp’s palisades, where spread a towering palm’s broad fronds, is laid his body, while nearby the priests intone for his soul’s final rest their chanting moan. 73 And here and there, on twigs or branches hung, insignia and captured arms appear, seized in more fortunate campaigns among Syrians and Persians by that mighty peer. Midway upon the huge trunk’s bole are slung his breastplate and his other armoured gear. ‘Here Dudon’ (the inscription reads) ‘did fall: honour the noblest champion of us all.’ 74 But sorrowing Bouillon thereupon thought good, these sad and pious duties done, that day to send all the camp’s workmen to the wood with escort strong in soldierly array. Deep-hidden in a vale that forest stood (a Syrian to the Franks had shown the way) where now they went to hew siege armaments from which the city should have no defence.

canto three 75 Each man who brings a tree to earth provokes another to like outrage, cheers each fall. The sacred palms by the sharp iron’s strokes lie vanquished, and the sylvan ash trees sprawl, the funeral cypresses, the pines, the oaks, the leafy holms, the beech trees, fir trees tall, the married elms, at times engirdled by high vines, on gnarled feet groping for the sky. 76 One cuts down yews, the while another’s steel makes oaks, whose leaves changed for millennia, crash, though they, unmoved, a thousand times did feel, blunting and taming it, the wild storm’s lash. A third one piles, above the creaking wheel, sweet-smelling loads of cedar and wild ash. The clang of arms, mingling with shouts of men, startle each beast and bird from nest and den.

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Canto Four 1 While these men thus on good work are intent whose fruits they soon might profit by in war, mankind’s great adversary,* who had bent his envious gaze on the Christians long before, finding them now so cheerful and content, in fury bit his lips and gave a roar. Even like a wounded bull, the infernal chief bellowed and howled, venting his rage and grief. 2 At last he, having wholly fixed his thought on wreaking on the Christians utmost woe, orders his subject legions to be brought (a horrid council!) to his palace. — Oh! the fool! As though it were light work or naught in arms against the Will Divine to go! Fool! who would match his might with Heaven’s and recks not the bolt of wrath in God’s right hand. — 3 Now to the dwellers in eternal shade the piercing trumps of Tartarus resound. The huge black caverns shake and grow dismayed; the blind air thunders echoes all around. Less are the crashes that the ear invade when downward from the sky the lightnings bound, nor quakes the earth with greater sense of doom when vapours burst, locked in her pregnant womb. 4 Racing, the gods of the abysm go in myriad troops to seek Hell’s towering gates. How strange, how horrible their devilish show! What death, what terror every eye dilates! Some mark the ground with bestial tracks, or grow a mane of twisted snakes on human pates, or trail in back a monstrous tail whose tip, curling, uncurling, thrashes like a whip.

canto four 5 See here a thousand unclean Harpies, see of Centaurs, Sphinxes, Gorgons, thousands here, of howling Scyllas an infinity, and spitting Pythons, Hydras hissing fear, of Chimeras spewing black obscenity, of Polyphemoi, and of Geryons* drear. See countless uncouth shapes, to form some single unheard-of shape, confound themselves and mingle. 6 Some to the left, some to the right, this band before the cruel king squat on the mould. Great Pluto sits between them. His right hand has the immense, rude sceptre in its hold. No cliff at sea, no alpine crag on land, not Calpe skyward thrust, nor Atlas* bold, but next him seems a puny hill instead, so loom his giant horns and giant head. 7 A fearsome grandeur in his savage face augments his terror, and his pride advances. Red glow his eyes, infectious venoms race as from a fateful comet from his glances. Thick shags of beard, covering his chin, encase and mat his huge and hairy chest’s expanses, and like a bottomless whirlpool far from shore his mouth gapes wide, frothing with filthy gore. 8 Even as the sulphurous and fiery smoke from Mongibello* spurts, with roars and stenches, so the black fumes from his grim muzzle broke, with just such stinks and sparks. Cerberus blenches to hear it speak; its very first sounds choke his barks. Hydra’s uproar it quenches. The chasms quake. Cocytus* stills his shrieks. and these the words are that the great voice speaks: 9 ‘Tartarean gods, worthy to sit and share, above the sun, your birthplace in the skies, whom once with me from realms of blissful air the Great Mischance* hurled here in horrid wise: too well you know the ancient grudge up there, that Other’s wrath, and our high enterprise. Now, even as He wills, He rules the stars, and us, judged rebels, from all gladness bars.

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canto four 10 ‘Instead of the serene and spotless day of golden sunlight, of the stellar choir, He here in this dark pit locked us away, forbidden to the best place to aspire; and later (ah, how hard this is to say! this is what most fuels my torment’s fire) to our celestial thrones He destined man — vile man, earth-born, who in vile mud began. 11 ‘Nor deemed He this enough, for He, in hate of us, gave His own Son to death and toil, who came and beat down the Tartarean gate,* daring to set His foot upon our soil, to rob us of the souls owed us by Fate, and back to Heaven carried that rich spoil. There, in our spite, they now His triumphs tell and hang the banners of defeated Hell. 12 ‘But why do I with words renew my woes? Who’s here, but of our wrongs has ample sense? Who knows the region, or the time who knows, at which His customary scheming ends? Need we to mind what ancient history shows? No: we should mind how even now He offends. Ah, don’t you see? Even now He bends His might to call back all the nations to His rite. 13 ‘Shall we then idly waste our hours and days? Is there no worthy task to fire our hearts? Shall we endure His minions to find ways, daily more numerous, into Asian parts? that they subdue Judaea? That His praise from lips in ever-growing regions starts, intoned in new tongues, chanted in new tones, and daily etched anew in bronze and stones? 14 ‘That all our idols shatter on the ground? That to His faith from ours all altars move? That for Him trophies hang, censers abound, and gold and myrrh be offered for His love? That, where no temple kept us out, be found no highway open to our arts? That of so many souls the long-accustomed gain we lose, and Plutus rule a void domain?

canto four 15 ‘Ah, it shall not be so! Not yet all might or courage that we showed of old is lost, when armed with steel and fire from the height we fought that day against the heavenly host. Though He (I don’t deny it) won that fight, the spirit of our quest has not been crossed. Whatever made Him win, in us we find glories of the unconquerable mind. 16 ‘But why should I detain you longer? Go, my faithful consorts. Go, my strength, my power. Go swiftly, and oppress our wicked foe before their force with new allies can flower. And lest Judaea in one blaze should glow, their nascent flame extinguish and devour. Find them, and for their ultimate defeat use every means — now force, and now deceit. 17 ‘Let what I wish be Fate: let some around bare wastes stray, errant, others let be slain, and let still others in lewd love lie drowned, to worship a sweet look or smile in vain. Against their leader let the sword redound of a rebel army, faction-split in twain. Let their camp crash in ruins, and in that void let each last vestige of them lie destroyed.’ 18 The souls, rebel to God, scarce waiting for these words to reach their period, find, issuing out to see the stars once more,* Hell’s mouth and leave profoundest night behind, like deafening and turbulent storms that pour out of the caverns pregnant of their kind, darkening the sky and bringing war to birth in the wide realms of ocean and of earth. 19 At once a-wing, to diverse parts they streak, scattering throughout the world beneath the skies, and spew forth fabrications, strange to speak and horrible, and spread their sorceries. But say now, Muse, what harm did they first wreak upon the Christians, and whence did it arise? You know it, though across that gulf of years Fame’s feeble breath can hardly reach our ears.

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canto four 20 Lord of Damascus and the towns nearby was Hydraoth, royal warlock of great fame, who from his youth to the art of augury had vowed himself — and expert he became. (Yet with what gain, if he could not foresee of that uncertain war the end? No name or sign from wandering stars or fixed — forsooth! no oracle from Hell foretold the truth.) 21 This man now deemed — alas, blind human soul, how vain and warped your deemings are! — that the army of the West, whom no force could control, Heaven had doomed to death and ruin in war. Therefore, believing that at last the whole venture would fall to Egypt’s rising star, he wished his people, when that victory came, to have their share of booty and of fame. 22 Yet he eyes Frankish valour with respect, and fears a victory gained at bloody cost, so schemes for ways by which they might be checked and the whole Christian power be lamed or crossed, and thereby with more murderous effect be to his people, joined with Egypt, lost. Rapt in such thoughts the evil angels find that man and all the more spur on his mind. 23 They lend him counsel and an instrument to make his plotting prosper soon disclose. He has a niece, and all the Orient no beauty to outshine her beauty shows. Each darkest trick, each subtlest blandishment a woman or a witch can ply she knows. Her now he calls, to her confides his plan, that she might finish what his thought began. 24 Says he: ‘My darling girl, who know the art to make blond hair and sweet looks hide a wit sharp as a greybeard’s and a mannish heart. In sorcery you’re my better. Know I’ve hit upon a mighty plan, and my great start hopes for great issue if you second it. Weave you the ready web I have designed, bold agent for a cautious old man’s mind.

canto four 25 ‘Go hence into the foeman’s camp. There spend all feminine wiles designed to feed love’s fire. Your streaming tears with honeyed pleadings blend. Let your words falter or in sighs expire. (Beauty in tears and in distress will bend the most recalcitrant heart to your desire.) Your too-bold ardour veil in shamefast seeming, and in a cloak of truth disguise your scheming. 26 ‘And if you can, take Godfrey with the bait of sweet regards and speeches passing fair, so that, besotted, he may grow to hate his present quarrel and make war elsewhere. If you cannot, snare any who are great. Lead them to regions from which none repair.’ He sketched details, and then concluded, proud: ‘For God and country, all things are allowed.’ 27 Lovely Armida, of her beauty sure, and of her sex’s gifts, and her youth’s power, accepts the task, and leaves by an obscure and unknown path at the first evening hour. With a woman’s hair and gown she seeks to ensure that a great army, never cowed, shall cower. But for the vulgar why she ventures out false rumours cunningly are noised about. 28 Not many days thereafter she comes where the Franks have pitched their tents. Soon every eye, at this new beauty’s sight, begins to stare and a great murmur swells as she draws nigh, even as a comet or a star might flare, never before that day seen, in the sky. All crowd around who this might be to know, that lovely pilgrim, and who bids her go. 29 Never did Argos, Cyprus, Delos* see form of such fair deportment and address. Like gold her hair one moment gleams, lovely through veils, then unveiled glitters from each tress. So, when the sky is clearing, glad and free, now through a radiant cloud the sun shines less, now bursts that cloud and spreads its piercing ray more brightly and redoubles all the day.

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canto four 30 The breeze new-curls some errant tresses’ maze, the rest by nature curl like waves of light. But inward-gathered is her close-kept gaze and hides love’s treasures and her own from sight. A tint of roses in her fair face plays, sprinkled on ivory, mingling with the white; but on her mouth, warm with love’s breath, there glows alone in simple ruddiness the rose. 31 Her beauteous breast displays its naked snows that feed love’s flame that they themselves have brought. Partly her budding unsucked bosom shows, partly lies hid, in envious garments caught — envious, yes — but though all paths they close to sight, they cannot quite bar amorous thought, that, not content with outward beauties, traces an inward path to hidden, secret places. 32 As through clean water or clear glass, whose state parts not nor ruptures, rays dart from the sun, so Mind will in her daring penetrate the veiled, forbidden regions, and, these won, roam through them freely, there to contemplate the truth of countless marvels, one by one; then tell its pictured story to Desire, kindling in him an ever-livelier fire. 33 Praised, doted on, Armida walks inside the lustful crowd, aware of all, but then gives no sign how her heart laughs to abide her certain triumph and its spoils. And when, after a shy pause, she requests a guide to take her to the leader of these men, young Eustace hastened to her at that word, the brother of the army’s sovereign lord. 34 Like moth to lamplight, even so he flies toward her beauty, splendid and divine, longing to view up close those lovely eyes whose lids now in sweet modesty decline, and like dry straw that near a bonfire lies, takes, hoards the hot flame in his heart’s confine, then speaks to her, for youth and loving heat have rendered his audacity complete:

canto four 35 ‘O lady (if that term be fit indeed, since like no earthly creature you appear, nor is there daughter born of Adam’s seed in whom the light of Heaven shines so clear), what do you seek? and whence do you proceed? What fate of yours or ours now leads you here? Tell me your name. Highest respect (I feel) is due you here. Command me, and I kneel.’ 36 She answers: ‘Far too high your praises go. My merits are not so superlative. I’m mortal, sir. And not just mortal: no, dead to all joy, in merest grief I live. I’ve come, by mischance driven to and fro, a wandering maiden and a fugitive, in search of pious Godfrey. Him I trust. The whole world knows how good he is, how just. 37 ‘Do you unto that Captain show my way, if, as it seems, your soul is good and kind.’ And he: ‘It’s fitting that one brother play your guide to another, and your business mind. Beautiful maid, you shall not plead in vain, and me not powerless in his grace you’ll find. What boon you please you’ll gain, and without fail, to which his sceptre or my sword avail.’ 38 Silent, he leads where, champions all about, far from the crowd, great Bouillon sits apart. She made a reverent curtsey; then, in doubt, paused, shamefaced, while her lips seemed loath to part. But at that bashful blush, that timid pout, the great warrior’s mild cheer makes her take heart, and she her cunning tale at last unpens in tones whose sweetness chains up every sense. 39 ‘Invincible prince,’ she says, ‘whose great name has bedecked its wings with ornaments so clear, that the realms you crush and win in war surpass in fame all other realms that others fear, everywhere is your valour known; and as even in your foes it grows beloved and dear, so even your foes it renders unafraid to seek you out and to implore its aid.

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canto four 40 ‘And I — born to that foreign faith which you have caused to stoop and now seek to consume — to win my throne back for assistance sue, my parents’ royal sceptre to resume. And where another might ask kindred to beat back fierce aliens and prevent his doom, I here, since my own blood has ceased to feel all pity, must invoke a foeman’s steel. 41 ‘On you I call. In you I hope. The height from which I’m thrust you can alone restore. Your strong right hand is no less known for might to lift men up as cast them to the floor, nor less in fame for mercy takes delight than in its triumphs over foes. Before, from countless others you have seized the throne; be it your fame now to win back my own. 42 ‘But should our differing faith move you to pay less heed perhaps to this my honest prayer, my sure faith in your kindness is my stay. All truth must fail if I’m in error there. Now by that God who is Jove to all, I say: no cause more just could ever be your care. So hear me out, that you may know complete my own mishaps and other men’s deceit. 43 ‘I’m daughter to Arbillan, him who reigned in fair Damascus. Born to low degree, fair Chariclea’s hand he wooed and gained, who on him pleased to found her dynasty. She died, lay lifeless even as I strained to quit her womb at my nativity, and the same fateful day unto the earth returned her body that to mine gave birth. 44 ‘But scarcely had that day’s first lustral date since she laid down her fleshly veil been passed, when my dear father, yielding to his fate, perhaps in Heaven to join her, breathed his last, leaving all care of me and of the state to his brother,* whom he loved with zeal so vast that, if in mortal breast dwell piety, it should have guaranteed his loyalty.

canto four 45 ‘When that man did my guardianship begin, he seemed on all my good so wholly bent, in spotless faith, paternal love, and in a boundless piety pre-eminent — perhaps he hid malignity and sin under a cloak of opposite intent; perhaps all was as yet sincerely done, because he planned my marriage to his son. 46 ‘I grew. His son grew. But the noble ways of chivalry or its skills he never learned. Nothing refined or rare could draw his praise, and no aims lofty unto which he turned. The soul his foul shape hid was commonplace, and greedy longings in his proud heart burned. Vulgar his acts and crude were his devices, himself alone his equal in his vices. 47 ‘Now my good guardian to this paragon had planned to yoke me in the wedded state, to make him of my bed and of my throne a mate. He said so plainly. Early and late his words, his reasons, and his lies were sown to gain the bliss he dared anticipate. But I would yield no promise, and although he pressed me hard, was silent, or said no. 48 ‘At last he parted with a gloomy face through which his wicked heart shone all too plain, Too well my fancy on his brow could trace the history of all my future pain. From then on did my nightly slumbers race with troubled dreams and ghosts that on my brain, by fatal horror I could not oppose, impressed explicit omens of my woes. 49 ‘Often my mother’s shade appeared to me, pale image making sorrowful display, far different, ah! from hers I once did see depicted elsewhere on a happier day. “Flee, child,” she cried, “from wretched murder flee, that looms above you even now. Away! I see the poison mixed, I see the sword raised to undo you by the tyrant lord!”

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canto four 50 ‘Woe’s me! what boots it that within my heart such signs of present danger should appear, since in my tender youth I lacked the art to form a plan, uncertain and in fear? To flee, to take up willing exile, start naked, unfurnished from my native sphere, seemed woe enough to make me think it wise to close, where I first opened them, my eyes. 51 ‘I feared my death, but lacked the will to strive (who would believe it?) from that death to flee; yet feared to show my fear, lest I contrive thereby to speed the hour of death for me. Thus restless, I, distraught and scarce alive, dragged out my days in endless misery, like one who hears each ticking second call the axe that on his naked neck must fall. 52 ‘In this my state, be it some chance remained my friend, or saved me for what worse fate planned, one courtier, whom the king my father trained from earliest childhood, made me understand that the time of death the tyrant had ordained to rid himself of me was close at hand, whose cruelty he stood pledged now to obey, ordered to poison me that very day. 53 ‘He added that my life had so decayed that one thing only could prolong it: flight. And he, since nowhere else I hoped for aid, offered himself as my defending knight, and such warm comfort in his words displayed that the bit of fear no longer checked my sprite from trusting him to lead me through blind air, and fleeing home and uncle in his care. 54 ‘There came a night of more than common gloom, whose friendly shadows veiled us from the sky, when, by two handmaids tended, in my doom my picked companions, I set out to fly. My native city’s walls behind did loom, and I turned back my eyes, tears brimming high. That glimpse of home that they from thence did take in parting could not their great hunger slake.

canto four 55 ‘My eyes and mind sped back along the road, and yet my feet moved onward all the more, even as fierce and sudden wind-shocks goad a ship away from the beloved shore. All night, and all the following day we rode through trackless wastes where none had trod before. Then in a keep at last we found repose that at my kingdom’s farthest limit rose. 56 ‘Arontes’* castle this — Arontes he, who, plucking me from danger, was my guide. But now, no sooner did the vile king see that I had fled his deadly snares, beside himself with wrath, he issued a decree (his own misdeed the trumped-up charge supplied) outlawing both of us for that vile sin that he with me had meant to wallow in. 57 ‘He said I had won Arontes’ foul consent by bribes, to mingle poison in his drink, that I might know, after his life was spent, no law to check all I might act or think, and would, left free to my lascivious bent, my body with a thousand lovers link. (Ah, let God’s fire at once on me descend, blest Chastity, ere I your laws offend!) 58 ‘That beast’s voracious hunger for my gold joined with his yearning for my guiltless blood pained me indeed; but he dealt pain untold dragging my unstained honour through the mud. The wicked man then spun such artful lies, cajoled so well, nipped all resistance in the bud, that the town, confused by doubts and false alarms, in my defence dared not rise up in arms. 59 ‘Nor, though he now sits on my throne, his face resplendent ‘neath my regal crown, does he end my great wrongs therefore and my disgrace. So sharply goads him his ferocity, he threatens to burn Arontes in his place, unless of his own will he shackles me. To me, alas! and all who me espouse, not merely war but massacre he vows.

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canto four 60 ‘So must he act (says he), for so he will cleanse from his countenance the blush of shame, and make all well that my disgrace makes ill — the honour of my blood, the royal name. But fear is his true reason, for he still covets my sceptre and my rightful claim. His reign was founded on my fall alone; only my ruin firmly props his throne. 61 ‘That end, indeed, will crown his fell desire, the tyrant’s long-since firmly fixed intent, and then my blood will quench his raging fire, unquenched by all the tears of my lament, if you do not forbid it. Help me, Sire! me, wretched maiden, orphaned, innocent! Oh may, poured at your feet, these tears of sorrow move you, lest I pour forth my blood tomorrow. 62 ‘By these your feet that must tread down all spite and arrogance; this hand that must maintain justice; by your high triumphs; by that holy site, source of your strength and goal toward which you strain: grant my request (you only have that might) and save my life even as you save my reign. Have pity (though no pity can avail, with you, I know, if right and reason fail). 63 ‘You, whom Heaven grants — yea, made his fate — both to will justice and what’s just, to do: to save for me my life, for you my state (it’s yours if I regain it) lies in you. Give me out of this multitude so great of your mightiest heroes ten to lead. Those few, with my loyal people and the city’s best, will serve to lift me back into my nest. 64 ‘Indeed, one of my peers, whose trusted hand now holds the key of a secret postern, vows to open it by night and lead our band to the palace gates, if only I can rouse your aid. For him, that aid, you understand, however small, with greater hope endows than if from elsewhere a huge army came, so much he esteems your banners, your mere name.’

canto four 65 This said, she ceases, and awaits reply, her silence eloquent, itself a prayer. And Godfrey’s mind, torn between nay and aye, in dubious thought seems hovering in mid-air. Barbarian guile he fears, knows that to rely on faith in faithless pagans is a snare; and yet he feels the pitying passion start, for pity never sleeps in noble heart. 66 And not his wonted inborn ruth alone would gladly deem her worth his grace to gain; utility conspires to make him own that in Damascus’ realm someone should reign who might, obliged to him, prove the more prone to make the roads for his endeavours plain, keep him with troops and arms and gold supplied against the Egyptians and all upon their side. 67 While thus he hesitates, his keen gaze bent upon the earth, revolving each surmise, the lady fixes hers on him, intent, observes his features, hangs upon his eyes; and when she feels too much delay is spent in his reply, she fears it and she sighs. But he, at last refusing her request, these mild and courteous words to her addressed: 68 ‘If in God’s cause (for He it is who calls) our swords were not engaged here, well you might base hope on them, whatever else befalls, for help, and not mere pity, in your plight. But these His flocks, these His dishonoured walls we first must free, and it would not be right if now, by lessening a united force, we risked impeding our victory’s course. 69 ‘Firmly I promise (and for surety take here my solemn word and never fear): as soon as from their shameful yoke we free these walls so holy and to Heaven so dear, to render back your stolen sovereignty we’ll make, as pity prompts us, our first care. But pity now would piety undo, if first we did not give to God His due.’

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canto four 70 At this, the princess dropped her lids, and for a space stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the ground; then raised them, brimming dew, while her white face too well expressed the grief in which they drowned: ‘Was ever a wretch whom Heaven denied all grace to a life as harsh as miserably bound as mine? Behold great hearts and natures falter sooner than fate as hard as mine will alter. 71 ‘No hope remains. Vainly I grieve. Should I, since prayers to sway the human heart grow frail, chase hopes that, yours not heeding them, they’ll be against a wicked tyrant’s heart of more avail? Though I’ll not charge you with inclemency, to let my call for easy favour fail, yet I charge Heaven (for thence my woes proceed) with making you hard-hearted in your creed. 72 ‘And yet not you, Sir, not your generous will but Destiny denies my present aid. Cruel Doom! Pitiless fatal Doom! Go spill at once this hateful life you’ve made! Fate dealt to me — alack! — a lesser ill to make in youth’s first flower my parents fade than to make you look elsewhere while my life, my kingdom gone, falls victim to the knife. 73 ‘What then? Not Honour’s law nor my great zeal to safeguard mine lets me here tarry long. With whom should I seek shelter? Where conceal? Where refuge find against the tyrant strong? No place so dark that gold will not reveal — yea, open wide. Why linger in my wrong? I see my death. Vainly I flee it, and why should I not go meet it by my hand?’ 74 Here she falls silent. All men might perceive her face display the scorn of a great queen. Turning her foot, she makes as if to leave, anger and sorrow in her every mien. But sobs burst from her lips without reprieve, unchecked, as anger prompts or sorrow keen, and sunlit tears, that trickle on the girl’s fair face, seem crystal beads or pearls.

canto four 75 Her cheeks, down which these lively teardrops flow, sprinkling her gown’s fringe, make a glow as fair as crimson flowers with white buds mingled glow, when showers of dew refresh them: in the air of earliest dawn unto the merry breeze they open out, their secret bosoms bare, and, seeing them and pleased with them, the Morn readies the tresses that they shall adorn. 76 But the elixir from her brimming spheres makes precious her fair cheeks and bosom, and starts a mighty blaze that secretly appears in a thousand breasts and there its heat imparts. O wonder-worker Love, who extracts from tears hot sparks, and who with water kindles hearts! As nature’s master has he long been known: but in her nature he transcends his own. 77 This feigned lament makes many a bosom weak with unfeigned tears and opens hard hearts wide. Each in his soul hears her affliction speak: ‘If Godfrey’s grace to her be now denied, a rabid tigress nursed him, a harsh peak on cold Alps bore him, or some senseless tide that crashes into foam upon the main. Cruel to crush such beauty with disdain.’ 78 But Eustace in his youth, by more acute fires of pity and of love controlled, while all the others whisper or are mute, steps to the fore and speaks out loud and bold: ‘My brother and my lord, too resolute your thoughts to their original purpose hold, if, when we all united yearn and pray, they cannot bend a little or give way. 79 ‘I don’t say that the chiefs appointed here as the commanders of the rank and file should budge from the beleaguered wall, or veer from their appointed offices meanwhile; but from us, this war’s Adventurers, whose sphere knows no particular charge of rank or style, less bound by protocol than other men, you might well spare, to do me justice, ten.

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canto four 80 ‘Surely not truant to God’s service toils the man who champions maiden innocence, and dear to Heaven surely are those spoils he from slain tyrants to the altar sends. Even if I thought that, in our present broils, this quest might not much profit our defence, my duty moves me, chivalry’s express canon to aid all damsels in distress. 81 ‘Ah, God forbid it should be said in France, or wheresoever men praise courtesy, that risk or travail made us look askance at a just cause of such integrity. If so, here I lay down helmet and lance, here I ungird my sword, rather than be unworthy of my steed, unfit to fight, a mere usurper of the name of knight.’ 82 So speaks he, and in clear-voiced unison all of his company with him agrees, calls good and apt all he demands be done. They ring the Captain, pressing him with pleas. ‘I yield,’ he said at last, ‘and I am won to the course that your united will decrees. She here gains, if you deem fit, her entire boon by your words, though not by my desire. 83 ‘Yet, if to Godfrey you can still concede a little credit, moderate your heat.’ He says no more, and no more do they need, since what he grants has made their bliss complete. Beauty in tears — when will it not succeed? Or speech on an amorous tongue, meltingly sweet? For from her lovely lips fall golden chains with which she binds all hearers and constrains. 84 So Eustace calls her back, and tells her: ‘Now, fair damsel, you may end your sorrow, for soon shall such succour come from us, I vow, that only fear in you could ask for more.’ Then did Armida smooth her clouded brow and to her smile such splendour did restore, enamoured with it grew the very skies, while with her gossamer veil she dried her eyes.

canto four 85 She showered them, in dulcet tones and dear, with thanks for all the favours on their part. Forever, said she, would the world ensphere their fame, forever etched inside her heart. And what her tongue could not express, her cheer expressed with the mute eloquence of art. So well her mind her outward semblance feigned that none suspected what her thoughts contained. 86 And now, since she sees smiling Fortune greet this great commencement of her wiles, she starts, before her plot can weaken, to complete her criminal design upon their hearts, to gain by her fair looks and gestures sweet more than Medea or Circe* by their arts. Out of her siren throat such music creeps that the most watchful mind is lulled and sleeps. 87 She uses every female trick that might entangle a new lover in her net, but not to all, nor always, puts on quite the same face — now plays loose, now hard to get; now guards, turned inward modestly, her sight; now makes it wander, lecherous and wet; now pricks the spur, now pulls upon the bridle, as they in lust seem either quick or idle. 88 If she sees one who from her love draws back his soul, or who in shyness seeks defence, she smiles. A planet blazing in its track her eye with joy irradiates all his sense. So pricks she his desire by fear made slack, turns all his dubious hope to confidence, and by new kindling amorous longing’s glow quite melts the ice that fear and doubt made grow. 89 With another then, who boldly overreaches (led by that blind, foolhardy king) Love’s bound, she scants her fair gaze and her loving speeches, inspires fear and reverence profound. Yet in the scorn that her proud visage teaches a glimmering ray of pity, too, is found. Thus he becomes, not desperate, though in fears, the more enmeshed the prouder she appears.

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canto four 90 Sometimes a short way off from them she stands, and gathers all her features and her frown in one great mask of grief, while in her glance wild woe wells upward, quickly forced back down; and with her, by these weeping arts, she enchants many a simple soul in tears to drown, tempering her darts of love in pity’s flame. Weapons thus hardened put all hearts to shame. 91 Then, as if fleeing such thoughts, desperate to rouse new hope within herself, she guides back to her swains her steps and words, a great joy painted on her face, while nothing hides her eyes that, like a double sun, dilate in one bright glance, one heavenly smile that glides over those clouds of sorrow, dark and dense, that she herself has raised to wound their sense. 92 But as she sweetly speaks and sweetly smiles, and makes their spirits drunk with double pleasure, as if she tore their souls out, she beguiles men never used to joys so out of measure. Cruel Love! You bear our death in murderous vials, filled now with gall, now with your honeyed treasure — equally fatal all that you ensure, whether it be the sickness or the cure. 93 In such contrary humours, ice and fire, laughter and tears, ’twixt fear and hope, she makes all anxious where they stand and does not tire of her false game. If any undertakes, trembling and weak, to speak of pains — comes nigh her and dares hint she alone can soothe his aches — she, like a country lass in love untried, seems not to hear his whole soul open wide. 94 Or else, her eyes in modesty kept low, she decks herself with chastity’s pale scorn, and alters with a hint of frost or snow the roses that her lovely face adorn. Even as at first birth the new dawn will glow in the coolest hours of the earliest morn, so disdain’s blush in her fresh blush of shame confounds itself and mingles with the same.

canto four 95 But soon as by his acts she notes some man who of inflamed desire reveals a clue, she runs, she flees — anywhere rather than where he will speak — then bids him speak anew; and all day long she tires his every plan, then, dashing all his hopes, bids him adieu. So he remains the hunter doomed to lose at night the track of quarry he pursues. 96 Such were the arts by means of which untold thousands of souls she lures, and by such tools, or rather, by such weapons she gains hold of all the bond-slaves whom Love’s power rules. What marvel then if once Achilles bold and Hercules and Theseus proved Love’s fools, since now even he who girt on Jesus’ sword toils in the shackles of that wayward lord?

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Canto Five 1 While thus the treacherous Armida lures the knights to be her lovers, not content with the promised ten among her paramours, but of the thrall of others confident, Godfrey is weighing which of all these wooers should take the doubtful quest, and the dissent among so many Adventurers, all great, all equally eager, makes him hesitate. 2 But he with wise foresight at last decreed that they among themselves elect at will a leader great-souled Dudon to succeed, who then might pick, according to his skill, men for the task. Thus none of them could plead his prejudice in the choice and take it ill, and thus (as reason bade) he let them see how much he prized their splendid company. 3 Therefore he calls them to him and declares: ‘My views on this you have already heard, which, rather than to spurn the lady’s prayers, was in good time to aid and pledge our word. I once more urge this now. You would ease my cares if, after all, our wills at last concurred. For in a world so mutable and blind it’s often constancy to change one’s mind. 4 ‘But if you still think that it ill accords with your high worth to shun this peril (and your generous daring verily, my lords, scorns all too-cautious counsel) I’ll not stand against your will to make you sheathe your swords. Nor shall I what I’ve granted countermand; but let my power over you (as is right) be an easy one, my bridle loose and light.

canto five 5 ‘I therefore rest, whether you stay or go, content, even as your pleasure may decide. But first do you for your slain duke (I pray) choose a successor. Him appoint your guide to name ten from your number as he may. Yet let him by the number ten abide — for I reserve the last word touching this. In all else let the mastery be his.’ 6 So Godfrey said. His brother, with the rest in full agreement, made response: ‘Even as in you, O Captain, it seems best to move with slow, far-sighted puissance, so with quick vigour of both hand and breast, as to our duty, we must move at once. Another’s foresight and mature delay in us would surely be the coward’s way. 7 ‘Then, since the risk of damage is so low weighed against benefits so manifest, let the ten picked men, you permitting, go honour-bound with the lady on this quest.’ So he concludes, and with a quibble so seeks to another kind of zeal to wrest his inflamed mind. So, too, the others seem to dream of honour, though of love they dream. 8 But now young Bouillon* who thus high aspires jealously sees Sofia’s son, whose grace he, even as he envies it, admires (for it grew charming in that handsome face). Not wanting him along, distrust inspires his bosom with sharp craft. He finds a place to draw the rival he suspects apart, and thus engages him with flattering art. 9 ‘O you, your great forefathers’ greater son, who claim, still young, war’s most exalted spheres: say by whom should the elected power be won among the mighty band of these our peers? I, who to famous Dudon scarcely bowed but for the reverence due his many years — I, Godfrey’s brother, to whom should I be bound? I don’t see him, if you be not he.

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canto five 10 ‘It’s you I see, whose noble blood is met by your works’ great merit and your glorious name. For even the elder Bouillon would not fret to know you bested him in martial fame. You have my voice, since no great store you set by championing yourself this Syrian dame; and I scarce think you care much to procure honour by deeds nocturnal and obscure; 11 ‘nor, placed thus, are you likely to neglect the chance to make your valour shine out clear. Now I’ll arrange, if you do not object, that the rest you to the highest place shall cheer. Yet, since I dare not tell what to expect from my own wayward, wavering heart, I here ask you to leave to my will whether to chase afterwards Armida or stay with you.’ 12 Here Eustace paused, and these last accents he brought forth with a not-quite-unblushing brow. Ill-masked, his ardent thoughts were plain to see to the other, who faintly smiled. But he, for now, since love has struck him much less mightily, his heart sustaining a mere grazing blow, is not so irked by rivals, nor so eager the lady to pursue or to beleaguer. 13 Yet deep down his tenacious mind retains of Dudon’s bitter death the irksome sting. He thinks it shameful that Argant remains alive so long without a reckoning; nor is he greatly pained to hear the strains that speak of honour due to him and sing (while his young heart grateful attention pays) the pleasant melody of truthful praise. 14 Therefore he answers thus: ‘The first rank’s prize I seek to merit rather than acquire, nor yet, so long as I in virtue rise, ought I the height of sceptres to aspire; but since of honour due me in your eyes, you speak, I’ll claim that height, if you desire; and I must needs hold precious that you deem me worthy of such tokens of esteem.

canto five 15 ‘I neither ask, then, nor refuse; but should I be named chief, you shall be picked to go.’ Now Eustace leaves him, to explore what good opinion of this plan his peers might show. But there Prince Gernand in contention stood for the command, in whose proud heart, although Armida’s darts fly, woman’s love means less than greed for Honour, his supreme mistress. 16 Gernand descends from Norway’s mighty king who held the sway of regions vast and wide. The great heirloom his sire and forebears bring of crowns and royal sceptres puffs his pride. Proud is the other too, but venturing that worth by deeds, not pedigrees, be tried, though his own sires five centuries or more, have been acclaimed in peace and famed in war. 17 But the barbarian prince, who deems secure only those honours gold and force can own, and who considers every feat obscure unless a kingly title makes it known, cannot for anything he craves endure to admit the claim of knightly worth alone. The very notion goads him, quite insane, to spasms of distemper and disdain. 18 Now the malign infernal Fury* sees this broad highway of access to his soul, silently creeps into his breast to seize his throne of thought by flattery’s control, and thenceforth makes his bitter wrath increase, upon his hatred’s fire heaping coal and letting in his inmost soul resound one voice that rings with echoes all around: 19 ‘Rinaldo tilts at you: what can he do, boasting his list of champion knights of yore? Let him who seeks to match himself with you list servant peoples who their tribute pour. His sceptres let him show, and let him view your living crown next those his dead kin wore. How he presumes, this lord of low degree! this lordling, born in servile Italy!*

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canto five 20 ‘Whether he wins or loses now — for he did win until he dared against you stand — what will the world say? His best praise shall be: “This man was once a rival to Gernand!” The noble rank that Dudon held surely would give you glory. Yet to just as grand a glory your assuming it gives birth; but he, by seeking it, degrades its worth. 21 ‘And, granting one who breathes no more nor speaks may still sense something of our doings, how do you suppose that good old Dudon’s cheeks would flame with wrath in Heaven, should he look now on this proud fellow knowing that he seeks, presumptuous aspirant, to disendow both age and worth? A boy! A novice green, who as his would-be equal dares to preen! 22 ‘And yet he dares this and aspires, and reaps not chastisement for impudence but acclaim, for some here urge him on even as he leaps and give him odds (to our whole nation’s shame!). If Godfrey sees not, and his justice sleeps, how this man you of honour due defrauds, suffer it not, no, suffer not that far. Show now what you can do, and who you are.’ 23 These inward promptings his disdain ignite that like a shook torch flares out uncontrolled. His swollen heart cannot contain its spite; his eyes overflow with it; his tongue grows bold. Whatever word that may Rinaldo smite with foul dishonour he will not withhold. Falsely he makes him out as proud and vain, and calls his courage frantic and insane. 24 Bright as the other’s magnanimity, or dignity, or fame, or valour shines, clouding its truth with crafty evil, he, as if it were a vice, blames and maligns, and in such manner speaks that publicly the knight, his rival, can well read the signs. Nor is his wrath then quenched, nor checked his breath whose blind momentum beckons him toward death,

canto five 25 for the evil demon who supplants his sense now moves his tongue and mouths his every sound, hourly shows him new unjust offence to add new fuel to his burning wound. Within the camp a spacious field extends where a fair troop of the best are always found. Here they with tournaments and jousting drill their vigorous limbs for greater strength and skill. 26 Now here he still, when crowds were densest, slurred Rinaldo’s honour (so his doom ordained) and he his tongue like a sharp dart bestirred, with dripping venom of Avernus* stained. Rinaldo stands nearby and hears each word and can no longer keep his wrath contained. He shouts: ‘You lie!’ and rushes on that lord, his right hand clenched upon his naked sword. 27 His voice a thunder-peal! his sword a flash of lightning to announce some great bolt’s blow! The other quakes, yet sees no way to dash from sudden death or flee the destined woe. Still he, the whole camp witnessing the clash, of fearlessness and bravery makes a show, planting himself, with drawn steel, at some distance from his great foe, in posture of resistance. 28 Almost at once some thousand shining blades flash instantly together now. For here a varied crowd of witless knights invades the field from all sides, jostling ear to ear. Their confused cry wavers and swells and fades, drifting and rumbling in the atmosphere. With just such sound the surf the shoreline laves when the winds’ murmurs mingle with the waves’. 29 But all these other voices cannot still the impetuous rage of the insulted knight. He ignores all shouts, all threats, all checks that will blunt his impatience to avenge his slight. Past all men, past all arms he storms, until, swung by his arm in sweeping arcs, his bright sword cuts a path. Alone he breaks through and, shaming a thousand foes, assaults Gernand.

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canto five 30 With a hand his skill, even in hot wrath, can guide, he aims a thousand blows, inflicts a smart, now on the breast, now on the head, the side, now wounds one part, and now another part. His arm, with as much speed as power supplied, so greatly foils his foeman’s eye and art, that he makes lightning-quick and startling gashes where fear least fears them as he thrusts and slashes. 31 Nor did he cease till his remorseless sword plunged in his foe’s breast once, and plunged again. The wretch slumped forward on his wounds, and poured his soul and spirit forth through channels twain. Then sheathes the victor knight his arms engored, nor tarries long above the man he has slain, but leaves the place, and in a trice makes still his cruel spirit and his wrathful will. 32 Drawn meanwhile by the din, good Godfrey views the dreadful scene: there Gernand lies, his hair and cloak filthy with bloody ooze, his features rigid as he writhes and dies. He hears a great throng, reeling, greet the news of the knight’s fall with tears and moans and sighs. Appalled he asks: ‘Who dared this thing, who did this, here, where most the laws such deeds forbid?’ 33 One closest to the fallen prince, Arnaut, relates (and doing so, much weights the case) that the killer is Rinaldo, driven to the rash assault by a slight loss of face, and that the sword, girt on to fight Christ’s foe, he drew against Christ’s champions, in disgrace, flouting thereby the high command, as well as the recent edict of which all could tell; 34 that thus he, guilty unto death by law, could, by the edict’s terms, no mercy know, since the mere act, itself a grievous flaw, performed in such a place, was doubly so; and that, if such a crime could pardon draw, others by his case would emboldened grow, till all who take offence deem themselves fit for a vengeance only judges can permit;

canto five 35 that, this being sanctioned, strife and enmity on this side and on that would germinate. Then, minding all the dead man’s merits, he cried out for pity or indignant hate. But Tancred argues the opposing plea, showing just cause and provocation great. Godfrey attends, and in his rigid mien more cause for fear than hope for grace is seen. 36 Then Tancred added: ‘In your wisdom, sire, what man Rinaldo is please to recall, what honour for his own sake may require, for the sake of his great lineage,* and withal his uncle Guelf ’s sake. Perfect rule aims higher than at indifferent punishment for all. Diverse one fault in diverse ranks appears. Justice is equal only among peers.’ 37 The Captain answers: ‘From the loftiest must the humblest learn the reason to obey. You, Tancred, counsel ill, and are unjust if you urge me to yield the great ones way. What would my rule be if it proved august to none but slaves, a mere mob in my sway? An impotent sceptre and a shameful reign. A rule so offered is not worth my pain. 38 ‘But it was offered freely, worth respect — a rule I’ll suffer no man to despise. Well do I know it is sometimes correct diversely to reward or to chastise; but there are times when equity must reflect and here no scruple of high or low applies.’ So did he speak. The other, mastered by a sudden reverence, offered no reply. 39 Those words from Raymond, moved by the olden days’ austerest rigour, speech of high praise draw. ‘This is the art,’ said he, ‘and such the ways by which good rulers earn their subjects’ awe. No discipline is whole while one man strays who plans on pardon, not the lash of law. All government falls, and mildness must appear ruinous laxness if not based on fear.’

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canto five 40 These words he uttered. Tancred understood their tenor. Some more moments there he spent, then to Rinaldo with what haste he could on a steed that seemed endowed with wings he went. Rinaldo, after he had quenched in blood his fierce foe’s pride and soul, had sought his tent. There Tancred found him, and of the consultation, for and against, gave him a brief summation. 41 Thereto he added: ‘Though I know full well no outward action quite reveals the soul (too dark the place and too inscrutable where mortal men their deepest thoughts control), still I dare say, so far as I can tell, the Chief ’s not altogether unspoken goal is to subject you to the common course of criminal law and have you seized by force.’ 42 Rinaldo smiled at that, and in his face the light of scorn flickered behind his smile. ‘Let slaves defend their motives in a base prison,’ he said, ‘or slavish creatures; I’ll die — free-born, living freely — ere I’ll place my hand or foot in gyves or shackles vile. This hand well knows the sword’s use, and the use of the victor’s palm. Fetters it shall refuse. 43 ‘But if for my deservings Godfrey sends such thanks, and wishes to imprison me like a common criminal, if he intends to drag me chained to a vulgar gaol, then see: here stand I. Let him come or send his friends. Our justicer the chance of war shall be. A bloody tragedy he’ll thus ordain the armies of the foe to entertain.’ 44 This said, he calls for his arms. Forthwith his chest and head he adorns with finest steel, and freights his arm with his huge shield. In his sword-rest he thrusts the deadly blade. He incarnates magnificence and authority, so dressed, and as with lightning flashes scintillates. He seems like you, O Mars, who, steel-clad, break from the fifth sphere, with terror in your wake.

canto five 45 Tancred the while seeks ways to mollify his fierce mood and his haughty heart. ‘To your valour, invincible youth,’ he says, ‘no high and perilous enterprise can seem unsure. I know, though war the ultimate havoc cry, your noble courage would still feel secure. But God consents not that today it show itself so cruel as to wreak us woe. 46 ‘What do you purpose, say? To foul your hands with blood shed by your countrymen? To mar, by an unworthy butchery among Christian bands, Christ’s Self, Whose members and Whose parts they are? Can transitory honour’s vain demands, that like the sea-waves ever clash and jar, make stronger claims on you than faith and zeal for the endless glory Heaven alone can deal? 47 ‘For God’s sake, no! Conquer yourself. Subdue your fierce, proud spirit. Fight it down! It won’t be fear, but Holy Will in you that in this conflict holds out victory’s crown. And if for precedent to an other’s view my own green youth’s experience may be shown, I too was once provoked, yet did not wage war with the faithful, but controlled my rage. 48 ‘For when my arms had made Cilicia* mine, where I raised up Christ’s standards far and wide, Baldwin arrived and through a base design that realm in shameful conquest occupied. (My trusty seeming friend by every sign, he had shown no inkling of his greed and pride.) Yet to seize my own by force I deemed unfit, though I dare say my power was up to it. 49 ‘If now indeed you still refuse the shame of prison and chains, as a degrading load, if custom’s good opinion is your aim, and what the world approves by honour’s code, then let me make excuses in your name. Seek you at Antioch Bohemond’s abode — for I, too, fear the risk if you should meet good Godfrey’s doom in his first anger’s heat.

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canto five 50 ‘And before long, if hitherwards now move Egypt’s great host joined with its infidel band, he’ll prize your peerless honour better, love you when you’re gone far more, and understand how weak our whole force will without you prove, a torso that has lost an arm or hand.’ Here Guelf joins them, agrees in every way, and presses him to leave without delay. 51 By their good counsel the indignant mind of the bold youth is changed and yields, till he consents at once to leave the camp behind and to his allies far abroad to flee. A crowd of friends, who meanwhile came to find him there, now beg to keep him company. He thanks them all, but takes, to serve his need, two squires only and then mounts his steed. 52 He leaves, and a great mind’s whip and spur, desire for deathless, blessed fame within him grew. His soul for generous enterprise on fire, he is resolved unheard-of deeds to do: to move amidst the foe, and to acquire cypress or palm* on Christ’s behalf — yea, to ride into Egypt and to strike great blows where Nile springs from the source that no man knows. 53 But Guelf, as soon as, hurried on his way, the fiery youth had finished his good-byes, not lingering in that place, without delay where he expects to meet with Godfrey hies, who, seeing him, lifts up his voice to say: ‘Guelf, you are just the man to greet my eyes; even now I sent my heralds forth to scout hither and thitherward to search you out.’ 54 He then commands all others to retire, and in low tones resumes his grave discourse: ‘I tell you, Guelf, your famous nephew’s ire transgresses greatly when it runs full course. Implausible is what I now require: some cause to justify his act of force. Dear would I hold him who could name such cause, yet Godfrey must enforce impartial laws.

canto five 55 ‘And he must see both lawfulness and right in every instance watched for and defended, and guard his mind from every passion’s might with which the tyrant heart can be attended. Now if Rinaldo in the edict’s spite, in spite of martial discipline, offended with any justice (for some say they know it) let him submit to judgment here, and show it. 56 ‘Let him surrender free of all constraint — this much I grant his merit, as I can — but if he scorns and stays recalcitrant (I know the obstinate ardour of the man), use you your wit to bring him in, acquaint him that slow kindness has its span in law and rule, which must at last appear (as reason bids) avenging and severe.’ 57 This much he spoke, and Guelf to him replied: ‘Ill could his soul sustain vile slander’s sound nor voices of injurious scorn abide. Needs would he what he heard him speak confound. And if the jiber for his insult died, who can to righteous anger fix a bound? Who counts the blows, who has sufficient leisure, when the offence is hot, to weigh or measure? 58 ‘But for your hest that to your sovereign arbitrament the youth submit: that’s quite impossible, I regret to say. The swain out of our camp has taken sudden flight. Gladly I’ll lay my own gage to maintain, against that fellow’s false accusing bite (or any here of like malignant tooth) he justly chastised his unjust untruth. 59 ‘Puffed Gernand’s horns of haughty insolence he cropped — and cropped (I say) quite rightly too. If wrong, to break the ban was his offence — grave wrong, indeed; I won’t praise that to you.’ He ceased, and Godfrey said: ‘Let him go hence, errant, and carry discord elsewhere. Do not you here sow the seeds for yet more breach of peace. God grant that now these fits of wrath may cease!’

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canto five 60 And all this time, to fetch her promised aid, unflaggingly the loose enchantress pressed. By day she sued and cunningly assayed with all her art, wit, beauty at their best. But when the night its inky cloak displayed and shut the gates of daylight in the west, with two each of her guards and maids she went retiring to the shelter of her tent. 61 But though she was past mistress of deceit, knew gentle ways and courtly tricks galore, and though she walked in beauty so complete that none before or since was graced with more (by which she now had cast down in defeat the strongest chiefs to dote and to adore); yet to tempt the reverend Godfrey to love’s feast her flattering wiles availed not in the least. 62 In vain she tries to lure him, and to draw him on by carnal sweets to love’s delight. But, like a sated bird sensing a flaw when fowlers offering food call him to alight, he, full-fed, recks the world’s joys not a straw, but heavenward pursues his pilgrim flight, and though false love-snares ever and again lime his high path, he renders them all vain. 63 For no impediment turns his holy mind from a path blazed for him by his God. She tried a thousand arts, disguises of each kind — and like some modern Proteus* sought his side — and Love, where Love most coldly sleeps, would find himself awake, if touched by her or eyed. Yet he (by the grace of Heaven) seems exempt. Frustrated, she abandons the attempt. 64 She, gorgeous dame, who thinks each chastest heart must at one flutter of her eyelash burn — ah, how her haughtiness and pomp now smart! how rage and wonder in her breast now churn! Soon she resolves upon some other part of less stalwart defence her force to turn, Even as a general, battle-spent, will yield unconquerable ground, and shift the field.

canto five 65 But no less proof against her weapons’ fire was Tancred’s heart, for in his case his breast heaves with another dear desire, and no new flame can there command a space. (For as one poison causes to expire another, one love blocks another’s place.) Only these two escape her. Little or much, all the rest burn at her flame’s bewitching touch. 66 And she, though grieved that all her tricks and skill fall short of a complete success, somewhat consoles herself to think that at her will she such a crowd of noble knights has got. These now, ere anyone should think it ill, she means to lead off to a safer spot, and there to shackle them with other chains than those with which she now their souls constrains. 67 And since the term set by the Captain to provide the promised aid was up, she went humbly to him, once more to plead and sue. ‘My lord,’ she says, ‘the due date is now spent, and if by chance the wicked tyrant knew that to seek help from you was my intent, he soon would rally his defensive force, and not so smoothly then would run our course. 68 ‘Therefore, before Rumour’s uncertain tongue or the sure tongues of spies give all away, in pity choose those picked few from among your best men. Let them ride with me today. For unless Heaven winks at mortal wrong and sleeps when innocence is made a prey, I shall regain my crown, to place my land in peace and war forever at your command.’ 69 These were her words. The Captain to her plea concedes what he could scarce deny, although, she being so eager for departure, he knows that himself must choose her men — and oh! they all with wondrous importunity demand among the chosen ten to go, and competition which among them stirred makes each the more peremptory to be heard.

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canto five 70 She, well observing all their hearts laid bare, hits, seeing this, upon a novel tack, and rakes their sides up with the wicked fear of jealousy’s whips and pricks. Where such arts lack (she knows) love will become a tame affair, and in the end grow old and fat and slack, just as a courser runs with lagging speed in a track where none pursue him or precede. 71 And she so cunningly her speeches can wheedle, and glances and sweet smiles can steer, that each of them envies each other man, nor knows the difference between hope and fear. Besotted thus, her crew of lovers ran, goaded to madness by her lying cheer, helplessly after her; none thought it shame. In vain their Captain said they were to blame. 72 He, who in equal measure seeks to please all of the parties and to none inclines, though now with growing shame and wrath he sees his knights’ great folly and thereat repines, since he still hears them obstinate in their pleas, to guard the peace, a novel task assigns: ‘Mark all your names on lots,’ he says, ‘and place them in an urn. Let chance adjudge your case.’ 73 Soon everybody’s name is scribbled on a slip pitched in an urn and tossed. Somebody draws a lot at random, and the first thus drawn Artemidorus’, Count Pembroke’s, was. He heard them read out Gerard’s name anon, and after him the name of Wenceslas — Wenceslas who, so wise not long ago, now baby-talks, a balding greybeard beau. 74 How all their faces shone, how their eyes gleamed with their hearts’ overflowing happiness — those first three chosen ones, whom Fortune seemed in their great enterprise of love to bless! And all whose names the urn still held now dreamed with anxious, jealous hearts of their success, hanging with wild suspense upon the lips that read out names of others from the slips.

canto five 75 Guasco was fourth, Ridolfo next, and then, after Ridolfo, Olderic. Then chance pricked William of Roussillon from the men, Bavarian Everard, and Henry of France. Apostate Rambault* was last of the ten, who soon as foe to Jesus would advance. (Can Love do this?) Thus is the count complete, debarring all the others who compete. 76 Enflamed with jealous rage these others spew abuse at tyrant Fortune. They decry her, and blame you, Love, for thus consenting to her rule in things that you should rule entire. But since men, as by instinct, ever do whatever is most forbid to their desire, many in Fortune’s spite are at the mark at dusk to trail the lady after dark. 77 They swear to follow her in sun or shade, for aye to risk their lives to fight for her. Scant her reply, but in her brief words played (and her sweet sighs) a hint she might concur; and now to one she, now to another made moan that abroad she must without him stir. Meanwhile, the ten had finished arming and, awaiting Godfrey’s congé, took their stand. 78 He wisely warns each to be mindful of the fickle faith of pagans, the low price of pledges from them; and that to rise above their wiles and tricks only great skills suffice. But his words are scattered to the wind, for Love disdains to act on a sane man’s advice. At last he bids good-speed. Hot to be gone, the damsel will not even wait for dawn. 79 She leaves, a conqueror, and like captives brings these rivals in a triumph in her train, leaving her crowd of other loves, whom stings a sense of infinite distress and pain. But when night came, wafting beneath its wings silence and dreams that idly flit and feign, in secret, Love their guide, over hill and dale many of these pursued Armida’s trail.

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canto five 80 Eustace is first in chase, can hardly bide for the dark that night brings with her, and in haste he sets out on a path where a blind guide lures him to roam a blind and gloomy waste. All through the warm and still night did he ride, but when the kindly day dawned in the east, Armida and her convoy came in sight at a little town, their lodging for the night. 81 He rushes towards her, and by his device Rambault knows him at once and shouts to enquire what he is seeking there, and he replies: ‘Like you, to aid Armida I aspire. and I, if she disdains not, will suffice to serve no worse than you as her true squire.’ Retorts the other: ‘Pray, what power approves you for that honour?’ And he fires back: ‘Love’s! 82 ‘Love chose me. Fortune, you. Now, of us two whom think you chosen by a better chooser?’ Then Rambault said: ‘Such dubious claims won’t do, useless contrivances of a bad loser. You cannot mix with this legitimate crew who serve the royal maiden. You abuse her, you dastard knave.’ ‘And who’, replies the youth crossly, ‘is here to say me nay, forsooth?’ 83 ‘I say so to your face,’ the other cried and at these words made ready for attack. With equal heat his opposite defied his heat, lost in a hatred just as black. But their souls’ tyrant intervened to ride between them in their wrath and hold them back. To one she said: ‘For Heaven’s sake, don’t complain if I a champion, you a comrade gain. 84 ‘If you love me and wish my safety, why deprive me of new aid in my great need?’ To the other says she: ‘Timely you draw nigh, my life’s and honour’s welcome shield. Indeed, reason forbids, nor shall it be that I scorn such good company, and of rank so high.’ So says she. By and by along the way, a number of new knights catch up and stay.

canto five 85 This one joins her from here, that one from there, and neither knows the other. How they stare and scowl! She gladly greets all who appear, and makes them her great joy and comfort share. But soon as that night’s darkling shadows clear, Godfrey of their departure grows aware, and in his mind, prophetic of their bane, looms a great grief born of some future pain. 86 While he’s still pondering this, arrives a post, dust-covered, gasping, with a distraught cheer, one whose whole bearing bitter news disclosed, his brow engraved with sorrow and with fear. Said he: ‘My Lord, now sailing for this coast, soon Egypt’s huge armada will appear; William, lord admiral of Ligurian ships, sends you this news. I have it from his lips.’ 87 To this he added that, as from the fleet bound for the camp a convoy brought supplies, the weighed-down camels and pack-steeds did meet with ambush midway. Caught thus by surprise, all their defenders, cut off from retreat, assaulted front and rear, fell as a prize, either enslaved or massacred en masse by Arab brigands in a mountain pass; 88 and that crazed licence and ferocity in these barbarian nomads now outwent such bounds that like a new deluge or sea it deepened and spread, by nothing dammed or spent, wherefore, somewhat to check them, fittingly some squads of knights should right away be sent, to secure the road that leads up like a ramp from the seaside sands of Palestine to camp. 89 From one tongue to the other like a shot report of this passes around. The press of common soldiers grow pale at the thought that famine soon would all the camp distress. The prudent Captain, since he now does not find in them their accustomed hardiness, seeks with untroubled face and words of cheer to reassure them and allay their fear:

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canto five 90 ‘You who with me did, here and elsewhere, meet perils and troubles in a thousand forms, you, God’s avengers, born to inflict defeat on the foes of Christ’s Faith; you, who have faced swarms of Persians armed, who weathered Greek deceit, who mountains, seas, cold winters, and fierce storms and hunger’s and thirst’s miseries undismayed have overcome, will you now be afraid? 91 ‘Will then the Lord Who moves you, Who is your guide, Whom you’ve long known in direr straits, defraud you of His surety now, now turn aside His mild hand, cast His loving gaze abroad? Soon comes the day when you’ll recall with pride your past griefs, and fulfil your vows to God. Be now magnanimous: endure, and save yourselves for the blest event, I pray. Be brave.’ 92 So speaking, he consoles their troubled minds with calm and cheerful mien, but in his heart a thousand bitter and sorrowful cares he finds, though hidden in his bosom’s inmost part: how to feed people of such various kinds when penury and want begin to smart, how on the sea with that great fleet to deal, and how to bring those Arab hordes to heel.

Canto Six 1 But the besieged folk on the other side grow comforted, buoyed by a hope more bright, since, adding to their stores, they are supplied with new provisions in the dark of night, and since their northern walls are amplified, rigged out with arms and engines of great might. Upward they rise, solid and thick, and show no fear of what may pound or ram below. 2 And all the while their king, now there, now here, bids this part buttressed, that part piled more high. Whether the golden sun be shining clear, or moon and stars make pale the gloomy sky, ceaselessly forging weapons and new gear his weary, toiling blacksmiths sweat and ply; and while these preparations went ahead, impatient Argant sought him out and said: 3 ‘How long then do you mean to keep us pent in tedious, coward siege behind these walls? I hear the anvils ring, hear the noise sent skyward as each new sword, casque, breastplate falls, but see not to what end. That rabblement out there tread fields or towns as fancy calls, Not one of us stands up to bar their way, not even a trumpet warns them of the fray. 4 ‘All undisturbed they sit at mess and chew, no trouble makes their pleasant feasts less sweet; rather, their long days, and their long nights too, they spend in quietness, secure, replete, till, lessoned by distress and hunger, you must at long last give up in foul defeat, or both of us, like caitiffs, lose our lives, if, as it may, Egypt too late arrives.

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canto six 5 ‘I, for my part, repine that death so vile should shroud my life in dark forgetfulness, that by tomorrow’s blessed sunlight I’ll be seen shut up behind these town gates. Yes, may Fate of this my life make any trial, deal me, if doomed on high, my unsuccess; at least it shall not find me meanly gored before I’ve shown that I can use a sword. 6 ‘But if indeed not yet all sparks in you of your accustomed valour are snuffed out, not for mere death in fight with honour due, for life and victory let your hope be stout. No, let us sally, resolute and true, to face our foe, our fate. I have no doubt (it often happens) that in direst need the boldest plans of action best succeed. 7 ‘But if excess of daring you distrust, reluctant at one stroke to risk your best, at least allow your grievance great and just to be by single combat put to rest; and, so the Frankish general may trust more readily our challenge to this test, let him make choice of arms, take vantage-ground, and have me by what rules he please be bound. 8 ‘For if my foe have no more than two hands and but one soul, however fierce and bold, you need not worry that, by some mischance, the cause by me defended fail to hold. Fate I defy, or luck. In my power stands your total victory, by my arm controlled, that here I raise in pledge to you. Put your trust in it, and your kingdom is secure.’ 9 Silence. The king replied: ‘O bold young man, though heavy old age you may see in me, these hands are not yet slow to draw. They can still strike. Nor is this soul so dastardly that it would rather die obscurely than magnanimously, nobly cease to be — supposing that I felt the doubt or fear of dearth and famine that you speak of here.

canto six 10 ‘God forbid such disgrace! Now what by art I’ve kept from others, I’ll make plain to you. Nicean Solyman,* who yearns some part of his offences by revenge to undo, has gathered out of Libya’s barren heart scattered and roving bands of Arabs to assail the enemy when the day grows dim, and bring us help and new supplies from him. 11 ‘Soon he will here arrive. Now if meanwhile our country outposts are beset or fall, that is of little weight, so long as I’ll save my king’s mantle and my capital. Do you, for God’s sake, mitigate your bile somewhat, your all-too-ready heat forestall. Await some fitter opportunity of fame for you, and of revenge for me.’ 12 Deeply resentful the bold Saracen grew, for Solyman had his rival been of yore. It galled him sorely that the king now drew such hope from his royal competitor. ‘Even as your heart bids,’ he replied, ‘let you my Lord, make war or peace. Of this no more. Make stay then, wait for Solyman alone. Let him defend your crown, who lost his own. 13 ‘Like a heavenly angel let him come, reprieve the pagan world from bondage and from pain. But I, for my part, in myself believe and want no freedom that this hand can’t gain. Now, in this pause for others, give me leave to descend from here to battle on the plain, a private knight, not champion in your ranks, to fight in single combat with the Franks.’ 14 Replies the king: ‘Although you should withhold your wrath and sword to more germane effect, yet if it please you to defy some bold enemy warrior, I will not object.’ No whit delays the other man, so told. ‘Go down,’ he says to a herald, ‘and direct to the Frankish duke, in hearing of his host, these not unworthy terms by me proposed;

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canto six 15 ‘say, here’s a knight, who scorns to cower low behind these walls’ strong arc, who craves to teach the world, and by his mighty arms to show, how far beyond them his strong arm can reach; and he is ready on the field below, between their tents and the walls they seek to breach, to prove his valour, and challenge to fight what Frank so ever trusts in his own might. 16 ‘Say that not one or two merely, but three, or four — yea, five — he is prepared to call into the lists with him immediately, whether they be of great estate or small. Just let the field be free, and the loser be as is the wont of war, the victor’s thrall.’ At once the other threw, even as he spoke, over gilt arms his crimson herald’s cloak. 17 And forthwith, having reached the royal seat of princely Godfrey with his barons bold, he asked: ‘My lord, are heralds free to treat with you and say at large what they’ve been told?’ ‘They are,’ the Chief replied, ‘and in complete security you may your charge unfold.’ Resumed the other: ‘It will now be plain if my great embassy bring joy or pain.’ 18 Continuing thus, he shouted out a grand defiance in magnificent, noble phrase. The warrior bands were heard to mutter, and made known their fury at his words and ways, while worthy Bouillon answered out of hand: ‘A weighty enterprise the knight assays! It shall, I dare say, tire him out before there’s need of that fifth man to ride to war. 19 ‘But let him come to the proof with all his might. Fair field I grant him, free of force or fraud, and of my champions one shall with him fight, no vantage taken. This I swear, by God!’ He ceased. The herald-at-arms shot from sight and whence he came sped back along the road, nor slowed his hastening steps till, by and by, he brought the fierce Circassian that reply.

canto six 20 ‘Arm, noble lord,’ he cries, ‘without delay! The Christians take your challenge up. Its words cause even the humbler of them to display their zeal — and all the more their sovereign lords. A thousand faces saw I threatening — yea, a thousand hands grasping a thousand swords: Their leader grants you ground secure from harms.’ This said, the other straight calls for his arms 21 and girds himself. Impetuous to fly Into the lists, he hastens toward the plain. Said the king unto Clorinda, who stood nigh: ‘It is not right he go while you remain, so take a thousand of our men; stand by for surety and follow in his train. Yet in fair fight let him alone appear, and keep your troop some distance to the rear.’ 22 He said no more. No sooner armed, they made their way into the open from the keep. With Argant far in front, his horse arrayed in its accustomed trappings, on they sweep. There lay, between the walls and the stockade, a ground nowhere uneven, rough, or steep, ample and wide, as if by art designed to meet the standards of a warlike mind. 23 There by himself Argant descended, there stopped, fierce, in full view of his foemen’s line — huge heart, huge frame, and brawn beyond compare — and in his looks menace and pride combine Enceladus’* rage in Phlegra, with the glare in the low vale of the giant Philistine. Still, many fear him not. Little they know as yet how far his monstrous strength can go. 24 However, none of them as yet has been chosen by worthy Godfrey as the best. Now expectation, easy to be seen, on Tancred fixed the eyes of all the rest. For his preferment all of them grew keen; their favouring faces made it manifest, and in their whispers acclamation moved, while by his glance the Chief showed he approved.

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canto six 25 Already all made way for him, nor did good Godfrey longer from his choice refrain. ‘Go,’ said he to him, ‘I will not forbid you to ride out, this ruffian to restrain.’ And with his whole face bright and glad, amid these tokens of esteem, the fierce youth bid his squire to fetch helmet and horse, and then emerged from camp, followed by crowds of men. 26 And not yet near the plain (where Argant gazed expecting him) had he arrived, when lo! strangely upon his marvelling sight there blazed — her surcoat whiter than the driven snow upon an alpine slope, her visor raised above her face, her beauty all aglow — the noble warrior maid; and since upon a hill she stood, her splendour shone more splendid still. 27 Not yet where the Circassian lifts his face does Tancred see it threatening the skies, but, keeping at a trot his courser’s pace, fixes the hill she stands on with his eyes; At last, still as a stone, he stops in place, his skin like ice, while flames his heart surprise, and seems content to do nothing but stare, nor for the combat shows the slightest care. 28 And Argant, seeing no one give a sign of being in readiness to couch a spear, cries out: ‘I’ve come to fight! For war I pine! Is no man man enough to face me here?’ The other, while still his eyes aloft incline, like a man stunned or dazed, seems not to hear. At once then Otho spurred his horse, the first to charge. Into the waiting lists he burst, 29 for he was one of those whose noble mind the pagan’s challenge had incensed before, but who, yielding to Tancred, rode behind with those who made up his attendant corps. He, seeing now that heart elsewhere inclined seemingly listless in his quest for war, seized, bold, impatient stripling, avidly upon the offered opportunity.

canto six 30 No tiger cat or leopard racing through the forest swoops down on its prey so fast as he now swoops on the great Saracen who couches his lance in turn, huge as a mast. Here Tancred shakes himself, and coming to, as from a pensive dream, is roused at last and loudly shouts: ‘The quarrel’s mine! Stay back!’ too late to countermand Otho’s attack. 31 At this he halts, burning with rage and shame within and flushing red as flame without, for he deemed himself dishonoured and to blame that another to that joust should first ride out. By then, the strong youth in mid-charge takes aim and to the Saracen’s helmet gives a clout, who, meeting him, does his bare lance-head wield to cleave his hauberk, smashing through his shield. 32 The Christian falls. So violent is the blow That, as it strikes him, it unnerves him quite. Of greater force and brawn, the pagan, though, hardly nods in the saddle. Then, all spite and proud contempt, having unhorsed him so, this boast he vaunts above the fallen knight: ‘Yield, and sufficient glory let it be to have it said that you once fought with me.’ 33 ‘No,’ answers Otho, ‘it is not our way so soon our arms or warlike wills to quit. My fall some other may excuse. I say: I want to avenge it, or to die for it.’ Alecto’s mad fits, or Medusa’s,* play on the Circassian’s face, flames from the pit: ‘Know then by proof my utmost force,’ says he, ‘since you seem pleased to scorn my courtesy.’ 34 He spurs his courser then, and quite forgets the rules of chivalry. The Frank swerves wide from the head-on encounter, and as he lets the other’s horse pass by, gores his right side with a breach so deep and grievous that blood wets the blade. But though the sword be crimson dyed, what vantage comes if it does not abate the victor’s rage, but rather fuels his hate?

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canto six 35 Argant reins in his steed in mid-course, and veers round. So sudden is his turn, his foe scarcely has time enough to understand he has been dealt an unexpected blow. His legs grow shaky, feeble grows his hand, his soul quails and his face turns white, and low, struck thus, his body, with a sickening sound, falls sideways, battered, to the stony ground. 36 Argant turns felon in wrath. Atop the breast of his downed foe he spurs his charger’s course. and cries: ‘Even so let all vain boasters rest as he who here lies low beneath my horse.’ But forward now unvanquished Tancred pressed in outrage at the villain’s use of force, hoping by some intrepid deed to clear his own fault and redeem his honour here. 37 Shouting he makes for him: ‘Contemptible soul! Infamous even in victory! Will you be praised, think you, for knighthood after this? The whole world must abhor manners so foul and rude. Sure you were raised in some unsavoury hole of Arab thieves or such-like barbarous brood. Go, shun the light, and join the other beasts that scavenge in the hills or forest wastes.’ 38 He ceases, and the pagan, little used to sufferance, bites his lip, strives to reply in helpless rage. The sound comes out confused, as does a bellowing wild beast’s muffled cry, or like a sudden bolt of lightning, loosed, abruptly flashing, from a murky sky. So bursting forth, his every utterance seemed a peal of thunder as his bosom steamed. 39 But when with fierce threats each has goaded each to pride and rage in turn, they both hang fire, then swiftly, to gain space for an onslaught, reach for their steeds’ reins, some distance to retire. Here do thou now, O Muse,* strengthen my speech, my tongue to match their rage with rage inspire. Let not my lines sink worthless to the ground, but let my song with martial notes resound.

canto six 40 The two contestants put in rest and hold their thrusting, knot-hard masts high in the air. Never was race, never was fight so bold. No speed of flight, no violence can compare with that with which, in fury uncontrolled, Tancred from here, and Argant rushed from there. Upon their crests they broke their spears, and drew bright sparks the while a thousand splinters flew. 41 Around them the mere echo of their blows moves moveless earth and echoes through the skies; yet the great crush and force with which they close nor bows their heads nor makes them flinch their eyes. Each of their steeds the other’s overthrows and neither, from that clash, is quick to rise. With drawn swords then, the master warriors bound out of their stirrups, feet fixed on the ground. 42 Cautious each motion then — of hand to thrust, of eyes to glance, of feet to dare a pace — each puts in varying postures, shifting wards his trust; darts forward now, now circles, now gives place, now feigns to strike here, but strikes there, and just where no blow is expected finds a space, or shows exposed his body in some part, attempting to disguise his art with art. 43 By sword or shield unguarded, Tancred’s side seems open to the pagan, who is rash enough to strike at it, but, striking wide, leaves his own left uncovered. In a flash Tancred with one blow parries, beats aside his foe’s sharp blade, and gives him a huge gash, nor slow to pull back, having him so marred, collects himself and once more stands on guard. 44 Fierce Argant, seeing himself splashed and stained with his own blood from a wound that Tancred made, heaves and roars out in horror unrestrained, maddened with grief, with sudden pain dismayed; and, by the impetus and his wrath sustained, he lifts his voice together with his blade, swerving to strike, yet in that chink or coign feels himself pricked where arm and shoulder join.

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45 As in an alpine wood a bear, who feels sharp spear-points pierce his side, in fury rears and hurls his bulk against the huntsmen’s steels and neither danger nor death’s horrors fears, so now the invincible Circassian reels — wound joined to wound, new shame’s to old shame’s tears — whom such huge thirst to be avenged incenses that he spurns every risk, nor minds defences. 46 And joining to his daring ardour now his matchless strength and tireless energy, he whirls his sword so fiercely that each blow makes the ground shake and flashes to the sky. Scarce time for counter-buffets finds his foe, to parry or to breathe scarce time has he. No guard he tries is proof against the shower of Argant’s strokes, or saps their speed and power. 47 Tancred, withdrawn into himself, awaits in vain the ebb of that great storm of blows, now blocks them with his shield, now hesitates and sidesteps nimbly rather than oppose. But since the pagan’s blast no whit abates, he is forced at last to equal it, to close with him in kind, and with a like outlandish frenzy and violence his sword to brandish. 48 Vanquished in both by rage are mind and art. Mere fury swells their force and feeds their pain. Their swords, wherever they fall, puncture or part plate, chain-mail, skin. Not one blow falls in vain. With armour bits, with blood, with sweat they start in their encounter to bestrew the plain. Flashing like lightning and crashing like thunder like Heaven’s bolts their swords hack them asunder. 49 On this side and on that the people stare, stunned and uncertain, at this cruel show, await the outcome, between hope and fear, see feats that cheer them now, now bring them woe. Nor in this huge throng could one see or hear the slightest gesture, the least outcry. No, all men stood silent, motionless, except as hearts in all their bosoms throbbed and leapt.

canto six 50 Now both grew weary. Now it might be said to an untimely end would both have passed, but that night falling such thick darkness spread that even nearby things seemed overcast. From this side and from that a courier sped to bid them part, and parted them at last — here French Arideus; there Pindor, who had brought the challenge, herald wise and true. 51 These two made bold their wands of peace to thrust between the opponents’ swords. (The age-old law of nations is the surety they trust.) Pindor spoke first: ‘Warriors, equal in awe you are, equal in prowess. It is just that both of you should equal honour draw. Therefore leave off the fight, and let no blows cancel Night’s proper dues and her repose. 52 ‘The time for work is while the sun’s light shines, but every living thing finds peace at night, and that heart is not generous which inclines to feats done hugger-mugger without light.’ Argant replied: ‘Think not my heart resigns, merely because some shadows fall, a fight, Dear as I hold the witness of the day. But let him swear to come back to the fray!’ 53 Rejoined the other: ‘Do you promise, too, to return and to bring back your prisoner; else shall I never wait until some new occasion for our trial should occur.’ Both swore to this; and then the heralds who had power to fix the date made them defer sufficient time to treat their wounds, and chose the sixth day’s morning for the combat’s close. 54 That terrible fight had etched in every breast of Saracen, and faithful too, a sense of deepest wonder and awe which found no rest but long continued. All their conference was only of the daring or the zest one or the other showed in his defence. But to what height of fame each should ascend the squabbling vulgar argue without end,

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canto six 55 and hang suspended, waiting for the close of the fierce test which will at last make plain whether blind fury courage overthrows, or valour will audacity restrain. But more than all, lost in such throes of doubt, the fair Erminia suffers pain, since she sees, chained in the fickle control of Mars, the better part of her own soul. 56 That lady was King Cassan’s daughter — he who had the rule of Antioch of old. At her realm’s fall, with other booty she fell to the Christian victor’s hold. But Tancred treated her so courteously that she received no harm where he controlled, but in her noble country’s ruins was seen seated secure, and honoured like a queen. 57 Honour, and aid, and freedom without gage the peerless champion gave; and everything she owned — gems, gold, whatever might assuage her need — gave back into her safe-keeping. She then, perceiving in his tender age and graceful mien the soul of a great king, was seized as prey by Love, who never wound a faster bond than that which then her bound. 58 Thus, though her body regained liberty, her soul was chained in slavery for aye. To leave her dear lord pained her dreadfully or, from the cage she’d grown to love, to fly. Yet sovereign honour, which must ever be the fixed mark of a noble woman’s eye, forced her to go with her old mother, and to seek for safety in an allied land. 59 She reached Jerusalem, and was well received by the tyrant of the Hebrews as his guest, where soon, in mourning garments wrapped, she grieved loss of her mother, doomed by death’s arrest. But neither sorrow to be thus bereaved, nor her own unhappy banishment, could wrest out of her heart its amorous desire nor quench the sparks of its consuming fire.

canto six 60 She loves, poor girl, and burns; and yet so slight her hope, deep in her bosom’s inmost seat she hides the cherished flame of her delight, by long-past, though unhoped-for, joy made sweet; but, the more secretly kept out of sight, the more that flame engenders power and heat. And now, her hope reviving, Tancred came among the host around Jerusalem. 61 Fright seized the others at the appearance of so many nations, so dauntless and grim; her troubled face grew calm and from above with joyful gaze the noble band did skim, and sought with avid eyes her cherished love amid these armoured bands, sought only him. Often in vain she looked, yet often she cried ‘There he is!’ and knew him instantly. 62 Looming above the royal palace rose an ancient tower very near the wall, from whose top could be seen the Christian foe’s whole force, and all the plain and mountains tall. There, from the hour that the sun first shows his rays until night’s darkness covers all, she sits, turns on the camp her watchful eyes, communing with her inmost thoughts, and sighs. 63 From there she watched the fight, and in her breast her heart began so violently to quake, it seemed to cry out: ‘All your joy and rest are there at mortal risk!’ Thus for his sake hot anguish and foreboding caused her smart, as she saw chance now make and now unmake; and every time the pagan shook his blade, she felt cold steel and shock her heart invade. 64 But when she learned the truth, but learned also that the harsh contest was to be fought twice, so strangely was she seized by fear and woe, she felt her very life-blood turn to ice. Now secret tears, now wayward groans, although at once repressed and hidden, flow and rise. Pale, bloodless, her whole figure seems half-dead, the very effigy of woe and dread.

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canto six 65 With horrid images her fancies keep her mind ever distraught; to her it seems that death holds far less cruelty than sleep, so dire the phantoms visiting her dreams. She seems to see her loved knight lie and weep, his slashed limbs soaked in blood, to hear his screams for help to her. Jarred waking by such fears, she finds her eyes and bosom wet with tears. 66 Not only fear of future wounds now shakes her agitated heart, but her distress at the great wounds he feels already takes all sense of quiet from her consciousness, for Rumour spreads deceitful tales (who makes doomsday of distant, dim events by guess), and she imagines the great champion lying helpless, struck by some fatal blow, and dying. 67 And since she by her mother had been taught the secret virtues in all growing things, and all that might through magic spells be wrought to close a wound and soothe the pangs it brings (lore which the custom of that country thought fit for the noble daughters of its kings), she now discovered in herself a zeal with her own hands her dear lord’s wounds to heal. 68 She yearns to nurse her lover, and to choose some condign way to serve his enemy — perhaps with noisome herb or cursed juice to sprinkle him and poison him thereby. Yet her pure maiden hand abhors the use of wicked arts, and she refrains, though she cannot help hoping that, if used, each spell, each herb might lose all power to make him well. 69 Fear had she none to go amid a race of enemies, since she was a fugitive, inured to seeing war’s and slaughter’s face, forced in uncertainty and pain to live. Hard use had taught her female soul to embrace daring beyond its kind, nor did she give easy access to fear or to dismay when lesser shapes of terror came her way.

canto six 70 But what drives, more than any other cause, fear from her breast is dauntless Love; when he commands, she trusts among the envenomed claws and fangs of Libyan beasts safely to fare, except that she, though death gives her no pause, for her good name must show some fear and care. So now two great foes in her heart debate, Honour and Love, her questionable state. 71 The first one says: ‘O maiden, who thus far have served my laws: when you by fate were placed a slave among your foes, I was the bar that kept your mind and body ever chaste. And will you now, being free (for free you are) lose the pure heart that you, while chained, kept fast? Who is it gives your timid heart such scope? Woe’s me, what aim misleads your mind? What hope? 72 ‘So little then do in your judgement weigh merit of honesty and spotless fame, that you would to hostile nations steal away, a love-bird in the night, to seek your shame? Well the proud victor then to you might say: “Lost with your kingdom is your kingly name; you are not worth my while,” and yield your beauty to others like some cheap and common booty.’ 73 On the other side, the cunning counsellor spreads pleasure’s lure in flatteries like these: ‘My girl, no ravenous she-bear bore you, nor insensate rock engendered you, to freeze with scorn at the dart and torch of Love, and to abhor and flee straightway when something seems to please; neither do steel nor adamant encase your heart, to make sweet love seem a disgrace. 74 ‘Therefore, where longing leads you, follow still. Indeed, what “cruel victor” wants your pain? Do you not know he feels all woes you feel, weeps as you weep, complains as you complain? You are the cruel one, whose sluggish will delays to bring your love to health again. Tancred lies dying, ungrateful girl! Ah woe! And you sit here to bring life to his foe!

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canto six 75 ‘Go then at once, heal Argant, do! So that deathward your liberator may be thrust: so will you have discharged your duty pat, and he will gain a prize both great and just. But is it possible you blanch not at so vile a ministry? Should not disgust and horror at the thought suffice to send you flying from this place to aid your friend? 76 ‘Sure, on the other hand, it must appear humane, and give you measureless delight, if your compassionate healing hand drew near his valiant breast. Then would your lord and knight, by you made well, regain that rosy cheer drained from his countenance now and faded quite, and all his charm, now ruined, you would view admiringly, restored — a gift from you. 77 ‘Then you would share, too, in his praise, and his exploits to come, exalted and renowned, after he clasps you and his lawful kiss makes you his own, in blessed wedlock bound. Then, pointed at, in honour and in bliss, among the Latin matrons you’d be found, and Latin wives, in Italy the blest, true valour’s home and true religion’s nest.’ 78 On such vain hopes she (foolish virgin!) founds her dream of highest happiness, but lo! her fancy soon with tangled doubt abounds: how she might safely from the city go, for vigilant are the guards who make the rounds outside the palace, on the walls, and no town gate, in such a battle-threatening season, is ever unlocked but for the gravest reason. 79 Erminia’s frequent custom was to spend long hours by the warrior-maiden’s side. The westering sun would see her with her friend, still with her friend the new dawn saw her bide; and when the lights were quenched at the day’s end, sometimes one bed received them, side by side; and never a thought (except the thought of love) one from the other made a secret of.

canto six 80 That single secret does Erminia keep, and if her sobs Clorinda sometimes hears, she feigns some other cause that makes her weep and blames her cruel fortune for her tears. Now she at will (their friendship is so deep) can come to her, and when she nears, no room is locked, even though Clorinda might be gone from it in counsel or the fight. 81 Clorinda being elsewhere, she one day, strayed to her room, her mind still brooding on what means or ruse might serve to steal away and quit the town in secret and alone. While her divided mind frets without stay and without rest from thought to thought is blown, hung high aloft Clorinda’s arms she spies and suit of mail. She sees them, and she sighs, 82 and, sighing still, utters these words: ‘Oh how that mightiest of maids is blest! How I envy her lot — not for her glory’s glow nor for her beauty (womanish vanity), but that no long gown clogs her steps and no envious bower cramps her heart, for she, girds on her arms when exploits are her aim, and rides out unrestrained by fear or shame. 83 ‘Ah! why did Nature and the heavens fail my limbs and heart as stoutly to inspire, to give me strength to change my gown and veil for a mail-shirt and helmet? Then nor fire nor icy flood could ever check, nor hail nor storm extinguish my inflamed desire, but I, in blazing sun or shimmering night, alone or not, would ride into the fight. 84 ‘Scarce you, despiteful Argant, then would trade your first blows with my dearest lord, before I would have sallied out to meet his blade; and even now, my prisoner-of-war, he might find sweet and light the yoke so laid upon him by a foe that loves him, or I, looking on his chains, would feel my own at once both lighter and more pleasing grown.

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canto six 85 ‘Or if, instead, his hand should pierce my side, thus cleaving for a second time my heart, at least that sword-blow would at last provide balm to the wound that Love so long made smart. Thus would my mind and body, sorely tried, find peace at last; while, on the victor’s part, my ashes and my bones perhaps would crave the honour of some tears and of a grave. 86 ‘But I dream things impossible, I know, tangling myself in foolish thoughts in vain; and I shall stay here, timid, full of woe, faceless among the common female train. No, I shall not. Be bold, my heart, to go! This once, why should not I, too, arms sustain? Why should not I, too, for a short while dare, weak though I be and soft, their weight to bear? 87 ‘Yes, I will dare it. Yes, though I feel weak, the tyrant Love will make my strength complete, who goads even the stags, peaceful and meek, to arm with rage and in fierce war to meet. And I won’t even offer war, but seek to use this armour merely for deceit, to act Clorinda, in whose warlike shape disguised I shall be certain of escape. 88 ‘The watchmen of the high gate would not be so bold as to resist her passage. Yea, on further thought, no other means I see. I know this way must be the only way. Let Fortune now and Love inspiring me favour this blameless ruse. I’ll not delay: Propitiously this hour my leave ordains, while still Clorinda with the king remains.’ 89 Thus she resolves; and spurred by and in thrall to furious Love, postponement knows she none, but from that bed-chamber makes haste to haul the stolen armour next door to her own. Do it she could, for at her coming, all others gave place, and she was left alone; and to her theft Night also lent its cover, who now descended, friend of thief and lover.

canto six 90 Seeing how night, already spangled here and there with stars, grew black, she summons now, without a moment’s pause, where none could hear, a faithful squire from her retinue and a loyal serving maid by her held dear, and bares in part her purpose to these two. She tells them that the aim is flight, but feigns another reason which that flight constrains. 91 The faithful squire at once makes ready all that he deems needful for their task. Meanwhile Erminia doffs her gown, whose rich folds fall down to her feet, and a shift of simpler style slips swiftly on; yet fair, and trim withal, though rudely garbed, her limbs all eyes beguile. nor does she, but for that one chosen maid, call any of her retinue to her aid. 92 With hardest proof she now oppresses and offends her tender neck and golden hair, and takes the shield into her soft, white hand, an all-too-unaccustomed load to bear. Shining, all sheathed in steel, she takes her stand and strives to swagger with a martial air. Love, who stands near, laughs inwardly, entranced, as when Alcides* wore a skirt and danced. 93 Ah, with what toil she strains beneath that new burden and moves with laboured pace, and leans upon her faithful helper’s shoulder who measures her slow steps alongside her queen’s. But Love and Hope her tired limbs imbue with vigour and fresh courage and the means to gain at last her faithful squire’s side and mount the ready saddle and to ride. 94 Disguised they ride, and by design seek out the most obscure and most forsaken street, Yet many cross their path and all about the blackness glints with steel; but none they meet dares to impede their passage. Locked in doubt, all give way, part before them, and retreat, since that white cloak and that device of doom are known and dreaded even in the gloom.

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canto six 95 Erminia, though her spirits somewhat mend at this, does not quite confidently go, since she still fears discovery in the end and feels her fear of too-much daring grow. Still, the gate reached, she now contrives to lend strength to her voice that fools the warder. ‘Ho! I am Clorinda!’ cried she. ‘Raise the gate! The king employs me on affairs of state.’ 96 Her girlish voice, like that of the warrior-maid, assists in the deception — indeed, who would think to see, mounted, in arms arrayed, one of the sex who never weapon drew? — so she, by the warden instantly obeyed, speeds through the portal with the other two; and, down through the ravines, for safety’s sake, a roundabout and winding road they take. 97 But now Erminia, finding herself placed deep in a vast, deserted valley, veers and checks her speed, for she thinks she has passed first danger and no more detention fears. But doubts, not weighed before, she now at last begins to ponder, for her goal appears harder of access than headlong desire had shown her earlier, now that she draws nigher. 98 She now recalls that who among fierce foes ventures in war-gear is a fool. Moreover, she is averse to strangers to expose the self she meant her master to discover. To him she wants to come, with her chaste rose intact, a secret, unexpected lover; so that she halts and, summoning better sense, holds with her squire cautious conference: 99 ‘It is now your task, my faithful lad, to ride ahead of me. (But stay on guard, be wise.) Go hence into the camp; ask them to guide and bring you to the tent where Tancred lies to whom say that a lady seeks his side who, bearing balm, to him for peace applies — yes, peace (since Love makes war on me) to bring his wound a cure, and mine a cooling spring;

canto six 100 ‘and that her trust in him is so complete she feels no shame to be his slave, no scorn. This only, to him only. Should he entreat more words, plead ignorance, and at once return. I (since this resting-place seems safe and meet) here in the interim will make sojourn.’ So spoke the lady, and that faithful squire sped off in haste as if on wings of fire. 101 And he so nicely worked it that he found a friendly welcome in the closed stockade, was brought to the knight who, prostrate on the ground, with glad face heard the message he conveyed; and forthwith leaving him, whose mind was wound in a thousand vague imaginings, he made his way back toward her with the sweet reply that she might come at once, in secrecy. 102 But she, impatient meanwhile, whom each kind of stay makes fret and places on a rack, counts off his every step within her mind thinking: ‘He’s there, he’s done, he’s long due back;’ till she persuades herself and grieves to find his wonted promptness has grown over-slack. At last she spurs ahead onto a height at which the tents come slowly into sight. 103 Night now unwound her star-embroidered veil, clear and without a single cloud, while soon there shone, sprinkling its rays and drops of pale frost as of living pearl, the rising moon. The love-struck girl moved with the night, her trail lit by her beacons, fading one by one, and all her secrets of old passion yields to the friendly silence and the voiceless fields. 104 Then, camp-ward looking, she declares her state: ‘O Latin tents, fair to my eyes! A breeze issues from you and brings refreshment straight; the nearer you, the more my heart’s at ease. So to my storm-tossed, wretched life may Fate waft me some honest rest, if Heaven please, which I seek in your only circuit, for it seems I only find my peace in war.

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canto six 105 ‘Receive me then, and let in you be found the pity that Love promised me, that I saw once already, while in prison bound, in my dear, gentle lord. I shall not try to gain your favour to be once more crowned with royal pomp. Since that can never be, I would be passing happy if you gave me leave to dwell among you as a slave.’ 106 So speaks the lady, who cannot foretell what doleful fate is hastening her way. For even where she stood, directly fell on her burnished arms the fair celestial ray, so that their gleam and the white chasuble that covered her were seen from far away, and the tigress on her silver shield displayed blazed to make all who saw cry out: ‘The Maid!’ 107 As luck would have it, close to her, bestowed in secret ambush, lay a warrior band; and at its head two Latin brothers rode, Alcander and Polyphern, charged with the command to block against the Saracen the road where flocks and herds were driven from inland. (Her squire had only passed them because he gave them a wide berth, riding furiously.) 108 Seen by young Polyphern (the same whose sire* before his very eyes was earlier slain even by Clorinda), that fair, white attire told him the noble warrior-maid was come again. He bade his hidden troop attack and, nigh her, his heart’s quick heat unable to restrain — rash as he was and in mad fury’s trance — he cried: ‘You die!’ and vainly hurled his lance. 109 Even as a doe who, thirsty, moves apace to reach betimes some sparkling, clear cascade where a fair fountain trickles down a face of rock, or a stream purls through a leafy glade, if she sees the hounds draw near the watering-place, her spent limbs’ haven in the summery shade, veers fleeing and, in terror’s sudden burst, forgets her weariness and burning thirst;

canto six 110 so she, who thought to quench the thirst of love, that makes her weak heart ever burn and fret, in a chaste, welcoming embrace, and strove to win repose, now seeing she is met by this assailant, hearing the rattling of his sword and armour, and his shouted threat, forgets herself and all her amorous need and, filled with terror, spurs her galloping steed. 111 Hapless Erminia flees. With lightning paces her swift-foot horse, his hoof-beats echoing, fled. The other maid fled also; on their traces that fierce knight with his mob of soldiers sped. This is the sight the trusty squire faces, back from the tents with too-late news. In dread he too flees, sharing in their panic, and fear makes all three go scattering through the land. 112 But the more prudent brother of the pair, though he had seen the false Clorinda too, being farther off, cared not to follow her, but stayed inside his ambush out of view; and to the camp dispatched a messenger with notice that his brother did pursue not cattle, horned or fleeced, or some such prey, but great Clorinda who had slipped away. 113 But wrote that he was doubtful. Why should she, a leader, no mere private champion, choose now, at so slight an opportunity, to sally out — and with so much to lose? But let good Bouillon judge of this, and he would act as he was ordered to. This news arrives at camp, and hints of it commence to circulate among the Latin tents. 114 Tancred, whose heart had been left hanging by the earlier message, hearing this, thinks: ‘Woe! If, by her courtesy, she came to me, her present peril is due to me also — ’ and thinks no more, but saddles quietly, and only lightly armed, before cock’s crow, finding fresh tracks and signs, now there, now here, rides galloping away in full career.

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Canto Seven 1 Meanwhile Erminia through the shadowy lanes of an ancient forest by her horse is sped. Her trembling fingers have let go the reins, and she appears half living and half dead. Racing at will, the steed that bears her gains such winding paths and flies so far ahead, that she at last quite vanishes from view, too distant far for others to pursue. 2 Even as after a long and tiring chase the dogs, downcast and winded, turn again, having lost track of a beast that hides someplace deep in the woods far from the open plain, so now, anger and shame on every face, the exhausted Christian knights their steps retrace. Yet she, distraught, still flees, nor finds the will to turn to see if she is followed still. 3 All night she fled, and all the next day she wandered with guideless steps and heedless eyes, and nothing did she hear and nothing see except her tears, except her echoing cries. But in the hour when, nestling in the sea, the sun his steeds from his gold car unties, she came where Jordan’s crystal waters pour and, there dismounting, rested on the shore. 4 Food takes she none, because she feeds alone on her own grief, and thirsts only for tears; but Sleep, whose blessing of oblivion silence and rest to wretched mortals bears, now, as he lulls her senses, stills her moan and with his placid wing her mind enspheres, though restless Love’s fantastic visions keep troubling her soul’s peace even in her sleep.

canto seven 5 She did not wake until she heard the birds with merry chirping greet the whitening dawn, and the river murmur and the bush-strewn swards, and a breeze play on the waves and flowery lawn. Rousing herself, with sad eyes she regards this desolate haunt of shepherds, whereupon, among the waves and leaves, she thinks she hears a voice that calls her back to sighs and tears. 6 She weeps, but suddenly breaks off, aware of a clear sound being toward her conveyed that seems (and is) a simple pastoral air mixed with rude notes on woodland whistles played. She rises, and directs her slow steps where she sees an old man in the pleasant shade, braiding (his flock close by) some basket thing and listening while three striplings play and sing. 7 They, struck with terror at the sudden view of unaccustomed arms, stare in surprise, but then Erminia greets them, kind and true, and heartens them, uncovering her eyes and golden hair. ‘Pursue,’ she says, ‘oh you, beloved by Heaven, your fair enterprise. These arms shall never urge a war to wrong your wholesome labour or your lovely song.’ 8 She then continued: ‘O good father, say, now that war’s ruthless fire has broken out, blazing all through the land, how do you stay unharmed in this fair dwelling-place, without fear of attack?’ ‘My son,’ said he, ‘from prey and spite my kin and flock are safe. No rout of soldiers ever comes here, nor has Mars as yet disturbed this far place with his jars. 9 ‘Be it that Heaven’s grace the low estate of simple hinds exalts and saves from ill, or rather that, as lightning will abate on the low plains but strike the high peaks still, so only are the crowned heads of the great bowed by the brunt of foreign swords, nor will the greedy troops be lured to plunder by our low and unregarded poverty —

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canto seven 10 ‘To others low and unregarded, yet to me dearer than wealth or royal seat. Worry and greed and wild ambition get no lodging in my bosom’s calm retreat. I quench my thirst at the clear spring, nor fret for fear lest I with mingled poison meet, and with this flock and garden-plot am able to stock with unbought fare my modest table. 11 ‘For modest are our wishes,* small our need, where life is nurtured by such humble cheer. These boys, my sons (behold them yonder) heed my little flock. There are no servants here. So in this lonely close, I live and feed, and watch the lithe goats gambol and the deer, and the fish dart in this stream, and the small birds fly, spreading their little pinions to the sky. 12 ‘There was a time once (for a man will chase in youth more folly), when I felt the sting of other dreams and, thinking herding base, leaving my native soil, away did fling, and lived in Memphis,* and there found a place even in the palace retinue of the king; and though my care was gardens, by report I found out the corruptions of the court. 13 ‘Still, flattered by presumptuous hope, long I endured the state most irksome to mankind; but as my flowering youth began to die, and with it boldness and false hope declined, I began for humble restfulness to sigh, daily bemoaning my lost peace of mind, till I said: “Farewell, court!” and found my way back to these dear woods and this happy day.’ 14 While thus he speaks, Erminia silently hangs on his eloquent lips, and in her breast receives his wise discourse, which presently lets the great tempest of her passion rest a little while. Then, after long thought, she takes counsel with herself and deems it best here in this secret waste to make sojourn, at least till Fortune favours her return.

canto seven 15 Hence she adjures the good old man: ‘O you, who once made trial of a fate unkind, as Heaven may never this your bliss undo, let pity of my sorrows move your mind: To join you in this pleasant place I sue, for in your ways I much contentment find. This shady bower may help to lift some part of the deadly weight now pressing on my heart. 16 ‘If gems or gold, which vulgar minds adore as idols, were your aim, I easily (so many are in my keep) could offer more than might content you to satiety.’ And presently, while lovely droplets pour in crystal floods from her fair eyelids, she recounts her fate in part. The shepherd hears, his tears of pity answering her tears. 17 He gently cheers and welcomes her, afire as with a father’s zeal, all loving-kind, and calls his aged consort to sit by her, with him, by God’s grace, ever of one mind. The royal maid soon walks in rude attire, her locks in a rustic kerchief lie confined; but if she moves her limbs and eyes — ah! then she scarcely seems a woodland denizen. 18 Her peasant garments cannot hide the light of noble soul, her nature high and grand, and all her queenly majesty shines bright in every act her humble chores demand. She leads the flock to pasture, and at night back to the fold drives them, with crook in hand. Her hands the milk from hairy udders squeeze and form the curds in compact rounds of cheese. 19 Often, while her young lambs lie stretched at ease in mottled shade beneath the hot sun’s blaze, into the bark of beech and laurel trees she carves her love’s name in a thousand ways, and the strange tale of her adversities cuts in a thousand tree-trunks, and, her gaze dimmed by the tears that wet her cheeks, once more runs through each word she has inscribed before,

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20 and weeping speaks: ‘Preserve, O friendly plants, in you this tale of woe; for if, indeed, one day some faithful lover here should chance and find your grateful shade, perhaps he’ll read and feel sweet pity in his heart advance for my misfortunes and my bitter need, and say: “Ah, what poor recompense have Fate and Love here rendered for a faith so great!” 21 ‘Perhaps (if gracious Heaven deign to hear a mortal’s fervent prayer) a time will be when he, too, in this forest will appear who now perhaps has never a thought of me, and, when he sees my lowly grave, draw near this weak and frail husk of mortality, and to my pangs belatedly supply the balm of a few teardrops and a sigh. 22 ‘Thus, though my heart while living lived in pain, at least in death my spirit may find grace, and the cold embers of its flames may gain the bliss I was forbidden to embrace.’ So speaks she to the deaf trunks, and again two streams distilled flow down her lovely face. Tancred the while, whom Fortune far away from her he follows drives, wanders astray. 23 He, following her tracks, has turned to scout a nearby forest thicket, whereupon so dense the windswept trees grow roundabout, so black and fathomless the shadows yawn, that soon he grows unable to make out more recent footprints, and, perplexed, rides on, but keeps his ears attentive all around, alert for hoof-beats or for martial sound. 24 Each time the faintest night-breeze rustles through the twigs of elm or beech with feeble force, or beast or bird disturbs a branch, straight to what seems its origin he spurs his horse. Opening at last, the forest drops from view, and through wild paths the moon’s beams guide his course in the direction of a distant hum, until he gains the place it issues from.

canto seven 25 He came where from a living rock there fell clear, lucid streams, cascading in great spouts that formed a river babbling down a dell, upon whose winding banks the green sedge sprouts. There pausing, he, feeling his grief up-well, calls out, but only Echo hears his shouts. Meanwhile he sees with serene forehead rise Aurora* in the white-and-crimson skies. 26 He weeps in his vexation, and he chides Heaven that it should make his valour stray. As for the maid, the least wrong she abides he vows with dire vengeance to repay. To return to camp he finally decides, although he feels unsure now of the way, remembering that the appointed day is near when he should battle his Egyptian peer. 27 He sets out on uncertain paths and long, and soon hears hoof-beats ever nearer, and at last out of a narrow pass there flung a man — a courier, by his look. His hand held a lithe whip, and from his shoulders hung a great horn, in the fashion of our land. Tancred enquired, hailing him, what track thence to the Christian camp would lead him back. 28 He answered in Italian: ‘Thither I, on quick dispatch from Bohemond, am bound.’ Tancred goes with him, thinking him sent by his famous uncle, and his false tale sound. Ere long a foul, unwholesome lake they nigh, with swamp-like moat girding a castle round, at the hour when the sun appears to leap down to a vasty den of night and sleep. 29 Arrived, the courier straight his horn does wind, and look! a drawbridge is let down apace: ‘If you’re a Latin, here you’ll lodging find,’ he says, ‘until the sun resumes his race. For the pagans, less than three days since, resigned to conquest by Cosenza’s count* this place.’ The knight surveys the pile, which site and art render impregnable in every part.

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canto seven 30 Though somewhat he suspects that such a strong castle might hide entrapment or betrayal, yet of all mortal peril he so long has lost all fear, he will not now grow pale, since where his will or fate leads him, no wrong against his strong arm can (he thinks) prevail, though care for the other combat he did vow makes him averse to face a new test now. 31 Hence, as he fronts the keep, in a meadow where the sweeping causeway opens out and ends, he somewhat slows his pace, sensing a snare in the welcome that his would-be guide extends. On the bridge meanwhile, with fierce and scornful air, an armoured knight appeared, and he from thence, his right fist brandishing a naked blade, with cruel menace this defiance made: 32 ‘O you, who (led by Fortune or your will) have set foot in Armida’s fatal lands, think not of flight, but straight your weapons spill and into shackles thrust your caitiff hands. Seek not to cross her guarded threshold till you bow to the law that binds her warrior-bands, nor ever hope to see the sky once more, though years roll past and all your locks turn hoar, 33 ‘unless you swear to join her men and ride against whoever fights in Jesus’ name.’ Tancred more closely then the speaker eyed. His accent and his shield’s device proclaim Gascon Rambault, who by Armida’s side had left the camp and for her sake became a pagan and now championed with his sword the region’s wicked custom and abhorred. 34 With holy anger crimsoning his face, the pious knight replied: ‘Foul felon, I am Tancred, ever ready to embrace the sword as Christ’s defender, to defy and to strike down His rebels, by His grace, as your own fate shall now exemplify, for to chastise you this hand has been sent, of Heaven’s wrath the chosen instrument.’

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35 All colour draining from his troubled brow, the impious warrior heard the glorious name; yet, pushing back his fear, he said: ‘How now, is it to leave a corpse behind you came? Wretch, here your might must fail, your proud head bow and fall beneath my sword; and I’ll make game to send it as a gift to your French kin — unless I’m not the man I’ve always been.’ 36 So said the renegade; and since day’s light was spent and almost nothing could be seen, at once a thousand torches, clear and bright, suffused the region with a golden sheen. The castle glows as on a festive night in a gilded theatre some lofty scene, and, perched on high, Armida sits at ease, hid where, though unseen, she both hears and sees. 37 The great-souled hero meanwhile ready made his arms and courage for the bitter fray, nor on his weary courser mounted stayed, seeing his foe on foot advance his way. Behind his shield that foe comes, helmeted, his naked falchion poised to strike and slay. Fiercely the prince to meet his blows sets out, threats in his eyes and terror in his shout. 38 The one in great sweeps turns his steps, alert, his sword now lunging, and now feigning blows; the other, though his limbs feel tired and hurt, all resolute, moves quickly to the close, and when Rambault steps back, in a sudden spurt of startling speed he hurtling forward goes, and charges and pursues, and often tries a lightning upthrust, aiming for the eyes. 39 But most of all he fiercely strikes those parts where nature’s vital powers most inhere, and a proud menace with each wound imparts, blows joined to threats, and injury to fear. With agile limbs the nimble Gascon darts from every blow, jumping now there, now here, and now his shield, and now his sword lifts high to turn the onslaught of his foe awry.

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canto seven 40 But he is not so quick in his defence that the other is not quicker in attack. His shield already split, that onslaught rends helmet and harness, with his gore splashed black, and no blow from his enemy descends but makes a wound — and he with fear grows slack, as his heart feels at once the sharp tooth of Fury, of Shame, of Conscience, and of Love. 41 He resolves at last upon one desperate chance to risk his all in battle and conclude. He hurls away his shield, and with both hands clutches his sword which still has drunk no blood, rushes his foe and, looming near him, lands a crashing blow. No plate could have withstood its impact and, with grievous injury, it wounds the left thigh just above the knee. 42 A second buffet smites his mighty brow, the helmet clanging with it like a bell. Though it can’t pierce the crest, it makes him bow and reel and shake as if beneath a spell. Crimson with rage the prince’s cheeks grow now, his eyes flash fire and, under veins that swell, his flaming glances issue, while beneath resounds the furious grinding of his teeth. 43 The pagan renegade cannot sustain even the gaze of that fierce countenance. He hears the whistling steel; his every vein freezes to feel it toward his heart advance. He avoids the stroke. It falls, but falls in vain on an abutment of the bridge, aglance. White sparks and bits of rubble skyward start, and icy chill invades the traitor’s heart. 44 To the bridge he ran then, and only in flight for any hope of safety he relied. But Tancred followed and, ready to smite, was at his back, pressing him stride for stride, when lo! (help from on high to the wretch) all light of torches ceased, and of all stars beside, and to blind night, beneath a sky bereft, no ray, not even the pale moon’s, was left.

canto seven 45 Through night’s abyss and through enchantment’s spell the victor cannot follow him nor see. What’s next him, or ahead, he cannot tell, and with slow steps proceeds, and doubtfully, but stumbles through a hidden door pell-mell, nor knows he has entered anywhere till he hears at his back a gate shut with a boom, and finds himself caged up in murk and gloom. 46 Even as an eel, where by Comacchio’s* side our sea creates a marsh, straining to win, escape from the resistless, cruel tide, some placid bay or shoal to shelter in, finds he himself has hurled himself inside a boggy jail nor can turn back, that gin by admirable skill being open ever to inward traffic but to parting, never; 47 so Tancred now, whoever had designed or raised up his uncanny prison, went willingly in and found himself confined in a den no man leaves by his own intent. Groping, he pounded at the gate, purblind, but all for nothing were his labours spent. Meanwhile he heard a voice that cried: ‘In vain, Armida’s prey, you seek to leave again. 48 ‘Here you — fear not to die yet! — shall drag out, entombed in living death, your days and years.’ Making no answer then, the warrior stout deep in his heart penned up his groans and tears, and Love and Fortune inwardly did flout, and his own folly, and that stranger’s snares; and sometimes in unspoken words says he: ‘An easy loss is loss of sun to me, 49 ‘but of a brighter, sweeter sun the sight I (wretch!) now lose, nor know if ever I regain the region where its amorous light brings peace to my poor soul before I die.’ Recalling Argant then, his mind grows quite distraught. ‘I have’, he says, ‘let Honour fly! And he with reason heaps on scorn and blame! Oh, my great guilt! Oh, my eternal shame!’

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canto seven 50 Thus biting care for love and honour gnaw on this side and on that the warrior’s soul. While thus he grieved, elsewhere fierce Argant saw no need on a soft feather-bed to loll. So much his savage breast hates peace and law, and lusts for blood, and covets praise, his whole nature, his wounds not healed yet, hungers for dawn to bring in the sixth day — and new war. 51 The night before, short sleep or none did bow the ruthless pagan’s head; he rose while all about the black sky still shielded from light the brow of even the highest peaks. Then, with a shout: ‘Bring me’, he bids his squire, ‘my weapons, now!’ and he had them all ready and laid out: not his accustomed ones, but royal treasure, the king’s own gift, and precious past all measure. 52 He dons them, hardly giving them a glance, nor is his frame encumbered by their weight, and at his flank his own old sword he plants, of finest temper and of ancient date. As a huge comet, whose bloody locks advance and stream through the parched air, bodes evil fate, collapse of kingdoms, war, and plague, and blight, to crimsoned tyrants an ill-omened light; 53 so flames he in his arms, and slant and grim he rolls his eyes drunken with blood and rage. With horrid death his savage movements brim and death and menace in his face rampage. None, how so sure or brave, could, facing him, without a tremor his mere glance engage. Unsheathed he holds his sword, shaking it high, and shouts, slashing in vain at air and sky. 54 ‘Soon’, cries he, ‘shall the Christian fool, who’d stand against me and to match me dared to trust, fall in the field, blood-covered and unmanned, his scattered locks bedraggled by the dust. He’ll feel, to his God’s shame, by this my hand, while he is still alive, his arms untrussed, nor will he stop me with his dying prayer from giving hungry dogs his limbs to tear.’

canto seven 55 Not otherwise a great bull, goaded by the stings which jealousy and love prepare, thunders and roars, and with his bellowing cry rouses his fire and makes his anger flare, and whets his horns on trees, and seems to try to joust with the wind by thrusting at the air, hooves whirling up the dust, and from afar defies his rival to remorseless war. 56 With just such fury moved, he calls straightway his herald, and gives brief command: ‘Go speed to the camp, and find this Jesus-champion. Say now is the appointed time to fight and bleed.’ This said, he mounts the saddle without delay, making his captive walk before his steed, and rides forth from the town, and, raging still, comes charging wildly headlong down the hill. 57 The herald meanwhile on his horn has wound a terrifying blast that echoes thence, and the mere bluster of its thunderous sound to every ear and heart gives huge offence. The Christian leaders come, assembled round in the prince’s tent, from all the other tents. There does the herald his defiance shout, names Tancred first, but rules no others out. 58 Now Godfrey hangs in doubt; his grave, slow eyes the gathered fighters in suspense survey. None seems a match for this great enterprise, much as he looks and broods. Moreover, they are absent on whose worth he most relies: Of Tancred nothing’s known, and far away Bohemond bides, and banished from the land is the peerless prince* who slew the fierce Gernand. 59 Moreover (the ten picked by lot apart) the best knights in the camp and the most famed followed the lure of false Armida’s art, by still night hidden and by love enflamed. The others, far less strong of hand and heart, shuffle around him, silent and ashamed. None to seek honour at such risk was here, where Shame lay cowering at the feet of Fear.

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canto seven 60 For by their silence, by their looks, and by all other signs the Captain knew they froze with fear. Then shone with generous scorn his eye, and from the place he sat in he arose and said: ‘Truly, not fit to live were I, if now, for fear of risking life, I chose to let a pagan in so vile a sort trample our people’s honour for his sport! 61 ‘Peace to the camp! At leisure let my peers watch from afar the dangers that I try. Quick, quick, bring me my armour now.’ One hears, and brings it in the twinkling of an eye. But good Count Raymond, to whose ripened years a mind as ripe lends weight and dignity, and with a body still as hale as that of any there, pressed to the fore thereat, 62 and facing him said: ‘Let it not come true that the sole head in such risks be employed. Our leader, no mere knight-at-arms, are you; and if you die, you leave a public void. You are Faith’s prop, and Holy Empire’s, too; by you will Babel’s kingdom be destroyed. Do you, our guide, only the sceptre wield; command the rest to work with sword and shield. 63 ‘And I? Though I walk somewhat bowed by scores of years, let this not serve as my excuse. Let others shirk the combat’s hazardous course; to shirk it pleading old age I refuse. Oh, had I still such youthful years and force, as yours are now, who shrink into your shoes for fear, unmoved by either rage or shame against this blustering heaper-up of blame, 64 ‘oh, were I what I once was, when, in view of all the German knights, the whole court, led by Conrad Second, I once thrust home through fierce Leopold’s* breast and smote him dead! More proof of might that was, of courage, too, that such a strong man’s spoils I harvested, than if unhelped, unarmed, a single knight this whole ignoble crowd here put to flight.

canto seven 65 ‘If that old sap, that blood were in me still, I would by now have scotched that ruffian’s pride; but what so I’ve become since, never will my heart, nor I, though old, be terrified. And if left dead on the field, I won’t die till the pagan victor by some pain be tried. Give me my armour! Let this day be mine and with new honour make my past deeds shine!’ 66 So speaks the grand old man, and his words sting, sharp goads to rouse dead virtue from its grave. They, who before stood mute and wavering, now find their tongues and suddenly are brave. None now hangs back — yea, many rivals spring to their feet and eagerly the combat crave. First Baldwin and Guelf Roger, then the pair of Guidos rise, and Stephen, and Gernier, 67 and Pyrrhus, who devised the famous ruse by which great Antioch fell in Bohemond’s hands; and many more, vying by threes or twos. Here Everard, Rudolph here, here Rosmond stands, one Scotch, one Irish, and one British, whose countries the ocean cuts off from our lands; and here rise, just as eager in their strife, Gildippe and Edward, lovers, man and wife. 68 But more than all the rest the fierce old knight himself is eager for the jousting place. He is armed already, in full gear bedight, but for a burnished helm to hide his face, when Godfrey speaks, saying: ‘On you, O bright mirror of pristine valour, all our race may look and know what true worth is. You still show Mars’s glory, discipline, and skill. 69 ‘Oh, had I but, among this greener band, ten with such valour as yours shows today, how I would burn to raze proud Babel, and from Thule to Bactria* the cross display. But now leave off; reserve yourself, your hand and sage old skill for greater tasks, I pray. Let an urn be brought and the names put inside, as is our custom, and let Chance decide;

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canto seven 70 ‘or rather, let God judge, to Whose great will Fortune and Fate are slavish ministers.’ But Raymond does not change his mind and still asks to be marked among the challengers. The gathered slips soon Godfrey’s helmet fill; he shakes it, he the tumbling markers stirs, and on the first slip that he came to choose one name stood written plain: Count of Toulouse. 71 With joyous shouts the crowd then cheered the name and no one there dared call the draw in doubt. His brow felt a fresh glow and through his frame fresh vigour spread and new youth seemed to sprout. So the fierce snake, its new gold scales aflame, flickers to meet the sun and issues out. But Godfrey greater joy than all displays, predicts his victory and gives him praise, 72 and, from his side his sword ungirding, he gave it to him, and said: ‘This is the blade which once the rebel Frank of Saxony* wielded upon the battlefield. I made him yield it me, and therewithal yield me his life, with which for countless crimes he paid. By this sword, all who have defied me fell. Take it, and may it make you thrive as well.’ 73 Meanwhile his foeman, vaunting in his place, puffed with impatience, scoffs and scorns, and cries: ‘O you invincible folk, O warlike race of Europe, whom this one man now defies: where’s that fierce Tancred? Let him show his face, if he’s a man and seeks this enterprise. Perhaps he means in his feather-bed to wait till night postpone a second time his fate? 74 ‘If so, let others take his place anon; come one, come all, on horse, on foot, pell-mell, since man to man to fight with me not one of all your thousands dares his will compel. Behold the Sepulchre where lay the son of Mary: why not hasten thither? Well, why not fulfil your vows? Look, there’s the path. Or does some easier task delay your wrath?’

canto seven 75 With scoffs like these the savage Saracen as with sharp lashes cuts them to the bone. But, more incensed than all the other men, for bitter shame of it, hear Raymond groan. Virtue provoked grows fierce, and fiercer when its edge is honed on anger’s flinty stone, so that he leaps at once upon his steed, called Aquiline, thus aptly named* for speed. 76 That horse was born on Tagus,* where one day the fertile mother of the martial herd, in that sweet tide when hearts beneath the sway of kindly force to loving acts are spurred, her open mouth turned to the wind at play, received like seed the gust with which it stirred, and its warm breath (oh rarest marvel!) stole into her teeming womb and sired this foal. 77 And you would say that from the swiftest wind in heaven this Aquiline derived his birth, whether you saw him run and leave behind no print of hoof upon the dusty earth, or watched him in his rapid circlings, twined now left, now right, curvetting back and forth. On such a steed the good count mounted high moves to attack, eyes lifted to the sky: 78 ‘Lord, Who of old against the infidel Goliath didst at Terebinth* employ weak arms to meet the bane of Israel, and quenched his life with one stone from a boy: grant a new portent now and let me quell this felon’s power and his life destroy. Let feeble age make humble here the proud as they of yore by feeble youth were bowed.’ 79 So prayed the good count, and his prayer sincere, winged by sure trust in God, sped on its flight aloft to the supreme celestial sphere, as fire by its nature seeks a height. The Eternal Father gave it gracious ear, and from His great host to protect the knight chose one, and to deliver him He commands victorious from the wild blasphemer’s hands.

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canto seven 80 That angel (whom High Providence long ago had named good Raymond’s guardian, from the day when first his infant soul was sent below into the world to find its pilgrim way), when Heaven’s King anew commands him so, resumes his weighty charge without delay, and on the wing to the high fortress posts that holds the arsenal of the heavenly hosts. 81 Here lie preserved the serpent-piercing spear* and the great thunderbolts; within these halls those unseen darts that in their swift career bring plague and other ills hang on the walls; and that huge trident raised aloft is here, chief terror to poor mortals when it falls, that makes earth’s bedrock with its shocks resound and topples towered cities to the ground. 82 Blazing amid the other gear is seen that diamond shield of dazzling brilliancy, of a span to shelter all the lands between far Caucasus* and the Atlantic Sea, that ever guards with adamantine screen just kings and cities holy, chaste, and free. This now the angel takes into his hands, and by his Raymond’s side unseen he stands. 83 Meanwhile a motley crowd spills all about the walls, and by the barbarian tyrant’s will Clorinda with an armed band issues out and halts when stationed halfway down the hill. On the other side a warlike guard of stout Christians draws up in order and stands still, and both the one side and the other yield to the two champions the wide open field. 84 Now Argant saw not Tancred’s but the new insignia of a challenger unknown. The count rode toward him then: ‘The man whom you are looking for’, he said, ‘has luckily gone (lucky for you) elsewhere. But be not too proud of his absence; I will take you on. For as his second I shall either thrive or fitly come in third, not left alive.’

canto seven 85 Then with a sneer the boastful knight replies: ‘Where’s Tancred then? Wherever might he be? He threatens with his mighty sword the skies, then hides and trusts his feet only to flee. But earth’s core or sea’s depth — wherever he flies, he’ll find no place that will be safe from me.’ ‘Liar!’ comes the retort: ‘A knight so true would never flee, for he’s worth ten of you.’ 86 The Circassian shakes with rage, saying: ‘Then take your ground, since I accept you in his stead, and we’ll soon see the amends you’ll have to make, presumptuous fool, for all you here have said.’ And so they charged, their horrid spears a-quake, both aiming in like manner at the head; and where he aimed stout Raymond struck, but failed to unseat his man, who not so much as quailed. 87 Fierce Argant, on the other hand, has run (rare flaw in him) the lists in vain, because the heavenly guardian takes the blow upon his great shield while the Christian knight withdraws. Biting his lips in rage, the wicked one, cursing, throws down his broken lance and draws. With sword aloft he makes for Raymond then impatient to engage with him again. 88 Point-blank at him he urges his huge horse, as a charging ram will butt with head held low. Raymond avoids the clash, swerving his course rightward, and strikes him, passing, on the brow. Again the Egyptian knight comes back full force, but he again swerves right, with another blow to his helm, though still in vain, since it is made of adamant temper, proof against the blade. 89 But the ferocious pagan, seeking to harass him hand to hand now, down upon him swoops. The other, who, in meeting that huge mass, fears, steed and all, to be knocked over, stoops, yields, then assails, as if on wings, each pass a curvetting turn, fighting in intricate loops; and his quick horse, responsive to his hands, the reins, with never a false step, understands.

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90 Like a siege captain who would storm great towers planted in swamps or high among the peaks, and, in a thousand ways, tries all his powers of skill and guile, the count an opening seeks; and when his sword can’t pierce those iron bowers that ward the heart, the proud brow, or the cheeks, he strikes the armour’s weaker links, and hacks, where plate joins plate, at rivets and at cracks. 91 Soon he has pierced the armour here and there and with warm red made blush his enemy’s mail, yet kept his own, to the very trim, still fair, his helm untouched from visor to ventail. Argant, in impotent fury, wounds the air and vents his wrath and force to no avail. Still, far from spent, he deals redoubled blows; as the other’s power wanes, his power grows. 92 After a thousand thrusts, the Saracen lets fall a swashing stroke, with the count so near that even fleet Aquiline might here have been too slow to avoid a crash in mid-career; but not far off a helper stood, unseen, and that supernal envoy in the rear reached out his arm and to the cruel blade the adamant of his Heaven-made shield displayed. 93 The steel turns fragile (for no charms of mortal temper forged on earth withstand the unalloyed and uncorrupted arms of the Heavenly Smith) and shatters in the sand. The sudden sight of fallen shards alarms the Circassian knight. Seeing his empty hand, at a loss he stands there stupefied, dejected to find his foe by such hard plate protected, 94 but then concludes his sword was brought to grief by the shield with which the other is defended. (Indeed, good Raymond holds the same belief, not knowing what help had here from Heaven descended.) But finding the sword-hand of the enemy chief unweaponed, he remains a while suspended, for to his mind vile are the spoils, and low the laurels, snatched at such odds from a foe.

canto seven 95 ‘Go take’, he almost says, ‘another sword,’ when in his heart a new thought gives him pause, that deeply is a people’s honour gored by a champion’s death in the communal cause. To risk such shame he can no more afford than a cheap triumph’s undeserved applause. While thus he hangs in doubt, Argant apace flings hilt and pommel at his foeman’s face, 96 and at the same time spurs his mount, to close with him and put his wrestler’s force to use. The well-aimed throw straight to the helmet goes, and the Toulousan’s face sustains a bruise, but he, undaunted, with quick parrying blows, avoids engagement with those monstrous thews and wounds the grappling hand whose iron clutch is fiercer far than a fierce talon’s touch. 97 Then in quick swerves from here to there to gall his foe, and back from there to here he rides, and each time that he comes or goes lets fall some shattering stroke to wound the pagan’s sides. All that his strength, all that his skill, and all the force that old scorn or new rage provides, he joins now the Circassian to undo, and Heaven takes his side, and Fortune, too. 98 The other, cased in fine steel and his pride, resists huge blows that he seems not to feel; and as when, drifting rudderless on the tide, a tall ship, sails and riggings rent, will reel but keep, although beset on every side, her ribs tenacious to her sturdy keel, not yet abandoning to the furious weather her gashed flanks, nor despairing altogether; 99 such, Argant, was your dire peril there, when Beelzebub determined on your aid. He from a dark cloud’s insubstantial air a human image (monstrous marvel!) made with proud Clorinda’s features falsely fair, and in her rich and lustrous arms arrayed: he gave it speech that mimed her voice well-known (though not her mind), and manners like her own.

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canto seven 100 That simulacrum now to Oradin, an archer skilled and famous, came and said: ‘Illustrious Oradin, you, who ever in the target where you please your shafts embed: ah! deep the shame if he, who still has been Judaea’s honoured guardian, should lie dead and, decked out with his spoils, his foe should ride blithe and unscathed back to the other side. 101 ‘Now prove your skill, and dye your arrows here in the Frank invader’s blood. That feat will cause (eternal fame apart) the king great cheer, who’ll match with generous bounty his applause.’ She said no more, nor did he doubt. His ear still ringing with her promises, he draws a shaft from his huge quiver, nothing slow, and, notching it securely, bends the bow. 102 The taut string sings and speeding from it flies the feathered barb and whistles through the air, and comes to strike a buckled link that ties the belt, cuts it, and pushes on to tear straight through the hauberk’s front, until it lies lodged, barely tinged with blood, skin deep. For there the heavenly warrior, who will not allow its piercing inroad, blunts its impact now. 103 The count pulls out the bolt and from its place sees blood seep through his hauberk. Furiously he turns and, crying menace and disgrace, berates the pagans for their treachery. The Captain,* who has never turned his face from his dear Raymond, now knows instantly that the truce is void; and since the wound appears a grievous one, he sighs at it and fears, 104 and by his manner and his speech makes clear to his champions that the wrong must be redressed. At once, dropping their visors, there appear, slacking the rein and putting lance in rest, all in an instant numerous bands, both here and there, and charge, riding abreast. The free field vanishes and dust flies high, rolling in spheres of powder to the sky.

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105 From helmets cracked, struck shields, and splintered spears a huge noise rises at the opening charge. Here sprawls a downed horse, there another veers and straggles, neighing riderless, at large; here a dead knight; there, gasping through his tears, still breathing, one leans groaning on his targe. Fierce is the fight, and the more packed ranks close, the fiercer and the deadlier it grows. 106 Into the midst leaps Argant, quick and grim, and from a warrior wrests an iron mace; breaks through the crush and, smashing limb on limb, whirls it about and clears an ample space. But he seeks only Raymond, only him with iron and crazed fury yearns to face, and like a ravenous wolf he seems, who howls to feed on him the hunger in his bowels. 107 But harsh checks bar his progress presently, and he must face them before breaking through. Here Orman stands, and with him Roger (he of Balnaville), one of the Guidi, and two Gerards. Yet his force and ferocity do not abate, but hemmed in, grow anew; as fire will, when pent up close, perforce flare out and scatter ruin in its course. 108 Orman he kills, wounds Guido, and casts down bold Roger, gashed and spent, among the dead, but finds the crowd that bars his progress grown, ringing him, mailed and thrusting, head to head. While thus the battle, by his strength alone, in equal balance hangs upon a thread, good Bouillon calls his brother* to side and says to him: ‘Now make your squadron ride, 109 ‘and where the fight most fiercely rages seek the left side of their line and strike their ranks.’ He moved off, and such havoc did he wreak in bearing down upon the enemy’s flanks, that the Asians seemed unfit for war and weak, nor could sustain the onslaught of the Franks, that broke them quite, and in a murderous sweep cast steeds and knights and banners in one heap.

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canto seven 110 By the mere concussion their right wing is thrown into wild panic; not a man withstands (Argant excepted), but by terror blown with loosened bridle flies the Franks’ advance. But he stands firm, face to the foe, alone. A giant with a hundred arms and hands, each hand with a sword, a shield on every arm, could not match Argant here, or wreak more harm. 111 Swords, maces, impact after fierce impact of spears and horses he sustains — indeed, he would not blench though by them all attacked — and turns on this man now, now that, his steed. His limbs all bruised, his armour rent and hacked, he streams with sweat and blood, but pays no heed, until the jostle and press of the dense throng overwhelms his strength and carries him along. 112 He turns at last, forced by that flood’s great might that snatches him relentlessly apart, but not, in gait or heart, like one in flight, if by the hands’ work one may judge the heart. Still from his eyes, blazing with horrid light, the threats of his accustomed anger start, and he tries with all his power to detain those of his men who flee, but tries in vain. 113 His great heart cannot even mend their cheer to retreat more slowly and in more ordered bands, for terror has nor discipline nor ear to listen to entreaties or commands. Good Bouillon, when he plainly sees that here Fortune was turning, to the swift advance of victory with ready mind attends, and fresh assistance to the victor sends. 114 And were it not that this was not the day eternally inscribed in God’s decree, the invincible host would now have made their way unto their holy labours’ goal and destiny. But Hell’s black hordes, who saw in that affray the threatened downfall of their tyranny, of a sudden (thus permitted) through the skies spread out thick clouds and made a great storm rise.

canto seven 115 A black veil snatches from each mortal eye daylight and sun, and darker than the pit a smouldering horror smothers all the sky where black flame rolls and dismal glimmers flit. Loud thunder roars, and rain and hailstones fly, beat down the pastures, flood the fields, and split branches from trees. The deluge downward spills and shakes, not oaks alone, but rocks and hills. 116 Water, hail, wind, with savage violence at once the eyes of all the Franks assail. Blind in their tracks, appalled in every sense, and almost dead with sudden fright they quail. Fewer than half remain, bunching in dense groups round their unseen banners in the gale. Now, further off, Clorinda sees her chance and, giving spur, makes her great steed advance. 117 She calls her men, shouting: ‘Companions, now God favours us and justice lends us aid. Free scope to us these angry blasts allow, leaving our arms and faces undismayed, even while their furious battering buffets cow our foes with terror at their fusillade, scattering their weapons, robbing them of light. Lo! Destiny leads us! let us go and fight!’ 118 Thus urging them, she, keeping at her back the onslaught of the hellish storm, is borne down on the Franks in a horrid attack, and holds their feeble counter-strokes in scorn. And at the same time, wheeling in his track, Argant now makes the erstwhile victors mourn, who to the sword and ruthless impact yield their turning backs and pell-mell fly the field. 119 And as they reel, upon their turned backs flying immortal fiends rage, swords of mortals rush, and gouts of blood, spilled to the tempest, dyeing the great rain’s torrents, make the roadways blush. There among great heaps of the dead and dying Pyrrhus and Rudolph perish in the crush: the fierce Circassian takes the soul of one, the other by Clorinda is undone.

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canto seven 120 So flee the Franks now, and in their pursuit neither the Syrians nor the demons rest. Alone against all threats, against all brute assaults of lightning, wind, or hail addressed, Godfrey with steadfast face stands resolute, rebukes his barons’ fear, and, though hard pressed, posting his huge horse near the gate, regroups behind the palisade his scattered troops. 121 Yet twice he wheeled his mighty steed about against fierce Argant, causing him to flee, and charged as often with his bare blade out at densest clusters of the enemy. At last together with the rest he sought the sheltering ramparts, ceding victory. The Saracens turn back then, and, dismayed, the spent Franks seek repose in their stockade. 122 Nor even there are they left scatheless by the terrifying tempest’s furious sway. Their fires, now here, now there, grow dim and die. Water streams everywhere, and wind and spray rip their soaked canvas, snap their posts, lift high entire tents and heave them far away. The rain, through cries and gales and thunder swirled, makes dreadful music, deafening all the world.

Canto Eight 1 Thunder and storm were growing calmer now. Auster and Corus* ceased to blow at last, and Dawn with golden feet and rosy brow shining from out her heavenly mansion passed. But those who first had made the tempests blow still to Hell’s treacherous arts were holding fast, and one of them, called Astragorr, now seeks Alecto out, her bosom friend, and speaks: 2 ‘Behold, Alecto, hastening toward this land that knight* (we cannot stop him) who of late escaped alive from the death-dealing hand of the great sovereign who defends our state, bound to divulge unto the Frankish band his bold chief ’s and companions’ bitter fate. By that great news they may, I fear, be won to cause their chief to call back Bertold’s son.* 3 ‘You know how much it profits us to spill such great beginnings by both force and guile. Go then among the Franks, and turn to ill all good his tale may tend to cause. Meanwhile the veins of Latins, Swiss, and Britons fill with fretful fire and jealous poisons vile; sow wrath and discord, and make all things bend to set the whole camp seething in the end. 4 ‘The task is worthy you, and noble boast you’ll make of it before our Lord one day.’ So says she. Her brief words suffice to post upon her task that demon beast of prey. Meanwhile there came among the Christian host that knight whom they had noticed make his way, who cried: ‘Pray, soldiers, I’m in haste to see your great chief. Take me to him instantly.’

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canto eight 5 Shown to the Captain by a numerous band, all eager for the traveller’s tidings, he bowing reached out to kiss the honoured hand that makes great Babel shake, and bent his knee. ‘My lord,’ he says, ‘whose fame through every land is only bounded by the stars and sea, I wish the news were happier that I bring.’ He stopped and sighed before continuing: 6 ‘Bold Sven, the king of Denmark’s only son, the boast and prop of his declining age, yearned to join those whom your wise counsels won in Jesus’ cause their great swords to engage. No dire toil, no peril would he shun; no joy of rule nor promptings to assuage his aged father’s fears could cool the fire fed in his generous breast by that desire. 7 ‘A burning wish to learn from you the art of harsh and taxing warfare was his aim, noblest of teachers; and he felt in part shame-vexed at his as yet inglorious name, even while Rinaldo’s, sung in every part, made green age early-ripe with splendid fame. But above all, his ardour for renown sought not a worldly but a Heavenly crown. 8 ‘Scorning delay, then, he set out apace with a select band of the fiercest sort, and reached, after a quick march across Thrace, the city where the emperor holds his court. Lodged by the Greek Augustus* in that place, he came to hear your messenger report how Antioch had been earlier seized, and then how stalwart had been its defence again, 9 ‘defence against great Persia’s monarch, who made such huge hordes besieging it advance, it seemed the vast realm they had come from grew empty of weapons and inhabitants. He spoke of you then, and of others, too; then comes he to Rinaldo and descants on his deeds — his bold flight, his every feat performed among you in the battle’s heat.

canto eight 10 ‘At last he added how the Frankish power even now was poised to storm these gates; and he urged him to share, during that fateful hour, at least some portion of the victory. Young Sven stood eager, seeming to devour that speech, stung by its words so bitterly, that he deemed each hour a lustrum* till he could imbrue his sword and hands in pagan blood. 11 ‘The other’s glory seems to make him prey to shame, as though reproached for coward fear. All who advise or beg him to make stay, he either does not heed or does not hear. He fears no risk, except that he might play no part in your great risks and praises here. That seems the sole grave danger; others he neither considers grave or will not see. 12 ‘He himself hastens to his fate, that fate which drags us with it, but which leads him on. To go to meet it he can scarcely wait till the first glimmering of the new day’s dawn. The shortest road seems best to him, and straight that road’s the road that we must march upon, nor cares he to avoid steep hills or crests, or regions that the enemy infests. 13 ‘Now lack of food, now toilsome roads we found, now skirmish and now ambush; but our plight seemed ever short, and enemies all around were now defeated and now put to flight. With easy triumphs over danger crowned, we all grew bold, mistaking luck for might, till we made camp upon a plain one day, with Palestine’s frontier not far away. 14 ‘There scouts sent word to us that there had been close by a warlike noise, dreadful to hear, and, by the signs and tokens they had seen, they thought that countless foemen might be near. Unmoved in quiet mind, in hue, in mien, with steady voice, our dauntless lord gives ear, though many present at the grim news feel a pallid chill over their faces steal.

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canto eight 15 ‘Then says he: “Oh, how close our garlands lie, whether of martyrdom or victory! One I do hope for, but no less do I desire the other, as glorious, but more free. This field, O brothers, if we live or die, shall be a shrine of deathless memory, where future men will celebrate this quarrel and wreathe our trophies or our tombs with laurel.” 16 ‘So speaks he. Then he posts the sentries, and assigns due ranks and tasks, and passes word that all should sleep in armour, sword in hand; nor did he his own mail or plate ungird. The night was still so deep that all the land, lulled in its friendly silence, scarcely stirred, when a great hubbub of barbaric howls burst through the heavens’ and the deep earth’s bowels. 17 ‘A call goes up: “To arms! to arms!” and Sven, encased in armour, spurs ahead of all, and his magnanimous eyes and forehead then ablaze with courage answer to the call. We are attacked, and in a dense ring, men, rushing from every side, upon us fall. Of spears and swords a thicket round us spreads, while clouds of arrows fly above our heads. 18 ‘In the unequal battle (for they gain in number over our side twenty to one) many of them are wounded, many slain, by blind thrusts in the pitch-dark air undone; but all those killed and falling so remain covered in gloom, their count discerned by none. Night hides our losses, but it hides as well what price our desperate valour can compel. 19 ‘But Sven thrusting before the rest lets shake his crest now, shining clear above them all; and all who watch him even in pitch dark quake to count his exploits as his great strokes fall. Rivers of blood and heaps of dead men make a moat of gore around him and a wall. He seems to carry wheresoe’er he flies, death in his hand and terror in his eyes.

canto eight 20 ‘Thus raged the fight, until the early dawn began to tint the sky with blushing light. But once the darkness of the night was gone, that kept death’s darkness hidden from our sight, those longed-for beams forced us to look upon a grim scene that intensified our fright; for in a field with corpses overspread, lay nearly all of us already dead. 21 ‘Two thousand we had been, and now were less than five score! If he, seeing so much blood, so many dead, felt anguish or distress in his fierce heart, I know not, for he stood; not showing it. Then, in a loud voice: “Yes,” cries he, “let us now join their brotherhood, who with their life-blood marked a noble way from Acheron and Styx* to Heaven this day.” 22 ‘He spoke, his heart as full (I have no doubt) of joy at death as his glad face expressed, and toward the mass of the barbaric rout he turned his constant and intrepid breast. No mail however fine, no temper stout of steel or even adamant could arrest that onslaught. Soon his blood overflows the ground, and his whole body is one single wound. 23 ‘No vital breath, but merest courage then that corpse indomitable and fierce sustains. The more he is struck, the more he strikes again, and, the more wounded, pays back pains with pains, When lo! a monstrous giant among men with savage face and mien against him strains; and, backed by many, after a bitter fray, brings him to earth and takes his life away. 24 ‘There falls the matchless youth (ah bitter fall!) and for revenge too weak is all our crew. O blood so nobly shed, on you I call to witness (and, my dear lord’s bones, on you) no craven love of life there made me pall, or shun the sword that slashed at me or slew. Had Heaven but granted then that I must needs die, how I would have won my death by deeds!

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canto eight 25 ‘I only of my fallen comrades fell alive, but hardly living seemed to be, my sense so numbed, I know not what to tell about the sequel or the enemy. But when returning light came to dispel the blackish haze through which I could not see, piercing the night toward my dim gaze came, slowly advancing, a small, flickering flame. 26 ‘No strength was left in me to understand or to distinguish things without mistaking; I saw as one who in some no-man’s-land now opes, now shuts his eyes, ’twixt sleep and waking; and with each moment I grew more unmanned by the fresh torments from my fresh wounds breaking, racked by night air and cold where I did lie on naked earth under an open sky. 27 ‘Little by little now that light drew near and with it a hushed, whispering refrain, until it came to rest close by my ear. I raised my feeble lids then, though in pain, and saw two shapes, clad in long robes, appear, bearing two torches, and one of these twain said: “O my son, in that Lord place your trust Whose grace will heed the prayers of the just.” 28 ‘This said, he paused, and with his hand stretched out above my head in silent blessing stood, then murmured in a soft voice and devout words scarcely heard and much less understood. “Rise up,” he said; then I, without a doubt, leapt to my feet, felt all my pangs subdued — O gracious miracle! — yea, seemed to feel through every limb new youthful vigour steal. 29 ‘I stare at them, astonished, and my mind fears to believe what is most sure and true. Then one said: “Now what vanities make blind your wavering soul? Why do you doubt, O you of little faith? We are of earthly kind, servants of Jesus, who have bid adieu forever to the flattering world’s embrace to dwell as hermits in this desert place.

canto eight 30 ‘ “And me that Lord Who everywhere does rule made minister unto your health today, for He will not disdain a humble tool in fashioning the high marvels of His way; nor does he wish that in oblivion’s pool a body lie where such a soul held sway, till, deathless and transfigured in the light, it with that soul forever reunite. 31 ‘ “Sven’s body is the one I speak of here, whose precious worth demands a fitting tomb that future generations will revere and point at proudly till the day of doom. But raise your eyes now to the starry sphere and see a brilliant sun of splendour loom that with its vivid beams will guide your eyes even where your noble leader’s body lies.” 32 ‘Then from that fair star I beheld a ray like light from a nocturnal sun decline, that, toward the place where a huge body lay, with golden brush stroke drew its lustrous line, and let such glorious light about him play as made his wounds like sparkling jewels shine. At once it strikes me that the man I see amid those piles of bloody limbs is he. 33 ‘He lay, not face-down, but, as if a place among the stars were held for him in trust. Straight to the sky he turned his peaceful face, ever aspiring, spurning still the dust. His right hand closed, clutching his sword-hilt’s base, extends the blade, as if about to thrust. His left all humbly on his breast did lie as if entreating mercy from on high. 34 ‘While with my tears I bathed his gashes, trying in vain to drown my sorrow as it swelled, the holy old man took his hand and, prying his clenched fist open, took the sword it held. “This sword,” he said, “still crimson with the dying blood of so many foes it here has felled, is, as you know, a perfect one; indeed, perhaps no other may its worth exceed.

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canto eight 35 ‘ “Therefore this sword, as pleases the High Will, which stern death from its first lord’s hand withdrew, must not lie idle here, but set forth till it finds the strong, bold hand of that man who shall wield its blade with equal force and skill, but longer, and with happier outcome, too. With it (for it awaits that hour) he’ll seek Sven’s slayer and a bitter vengeance wreak. 36 ‘ “By Solyman has Sven been murdered, and by Sven’s great sword shall Solyman be slain. Now take it up, and find the Christian band besieging the high wall, camped in the plain; and have no fear that in that alien land more dangers may cut off your path again: His Hand will guard you on your arduous way Whose infinite Power sends you forth today. 37 ‘ “It is His will that there the voice which He preserved alive in you make manifest the faith, the courage fierce, the piety you saw in your dear master’s deeds expressed; that, led by his example, others be to the Red Cross* converted and professed; and, then and ages hence, each noble mind, may, fired by his fate, its pattern find. 38 ‘ “Remains for you to know what man shall be as the inheritor of the sword revealed. He is Rinaldo, youthful prodigy, to whom in tests of strength all others yield. To him entrust it. Tell him: only he for God and man that vengeful blade must wield.” Intent I hear, but now before my eyes yet more miraculous apparitions rise. 39 ‘For where the corpse lay, of a sudden I saw that a noble sepulchre had appeared, which rising had enclosed his body, by whose hand or by what art I know not reared; and in terse words some hand had etched on high who lay there, and for what high worth revered. Tranced by the sight, I stood as if in fetters, admiring now the marble, now the letters.

canto eight 40 ‘ “Here,” said the old man, “near his faithful friends, this tomb your leader’s body shall enclose, while all their souls with love that never ends bask in the glory of the Heavenly Rose.* But you time beckons, now that night descends, your tears of duty tendered, to repose. Be you my guest until the dawn’s first ray wakes you to summon you upon your way.” 41 ‘Silent, now up, now down, on craggy stairs, he led me where I scarce could move for fright, until we came where wooded cliffs held lairs of hollow caverns carved into their height. There is his home. There among wolves and bears he dwelt in safety with his acolyte, for to the naked breast more sure defence than mail or shield is holy innocence. 42 ‘There woodland fare and a hard bed straightway my limbs with succour and repose supply; but soon as dawn had kindled its first ray, purple and golden in the eastern sky, one hermit and the other rose to say their early matin prayers, and with them I. Then to the good old man goodbye I bade and, as he urged, my journey hither made.’ 43 The German* ceased, and in reply to him great Bouillon spoke: ‘O knight of worth, the news you bring is sorrowful and grim, and with good cause might rob us of all mirth, since a brave troop so friendly and so trim was in such brief time swallowed by the earth, and like a lightning flash your leader shone that blazes for one instant and is gone. 44 ‘But what of this? Such death makes happier end than conquests of huge realms or infinite gold, nor could the Roman Capitoline* pretend to laurels of such noble glory of old. With deathless crowns, in triumph they ascend to hear their deeds in Heaven’s light extolled, where each to each (I trow) in bliss displays his glorious wounds amidst eternal praise.

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canto eight 45 ‘But you, who still through toil and danger run, and stay among the earthly host below, should revel in the triumphs they have won, and rid your faces of all marks of woe. As for your inquiry about Bertold’s son, he wanders far from us, I’ll have you know. Do not (I urge) set out on doubtful ways until you know more surely where he strays.’ 46 Their talk in the minds of all the others wakes renewed love for Rinaldo. Hear one cry: ‘Alas, among the pagans now he makes his errant sojourn, poor lost youth.’ All vie in praising him, and each heart aches to his remembered deeds to testify. Spread out before the Dane’s astonished eyes, his feats as on a giant canvas rise. 47 Even while remembrance of the lad instilled in all their hearts a melting tenderness, lo! a large band returned, who had gone a-field on foray in the enemy wilderness. And fleecy flocks and kine behind them milled, captured by force to fill the army’s mess. Grain, too, they brought (although not much) and feed to still sharp hunger in the warlike steed. 48 But of a dire disaster also they brought in what seemed an all-too-certain token: Rinaldo’s torn cloak, spattered with a spray of blood, and all his armour pierced and broken. Spreading all round, vague rumours made their way. (For who could keep such things from being spoken?) The common sort come running at the news, avid to see what arms these are, and whose. 49 Looking on them, at once they recognize the huge bulk of that hauberk and its gleam, and that bird’s flight, whose chicks must train their eyes* sunward and think their plumes an idle dream. For often had they seen it burst and rise, first or alone, through dangers most extreme; and full of ruth and anger now they stood to see it lie there, rent and soiled with blood.

canto eight 50 And now, while the whole camp is whispering and wherefore he died with vain conjecture stirs, good Bouillon summons pious Aldiprand, the leader of that band of foragers, a man of honour who could well command both mind and tongue, and thus with him confers: ‘How came you by these arms, and where? Be bold, speak out; nor good nor ill from me withhold.’ 51 He answers: ‘In a place a post might gain, from here departing, in two day-long rides, near Gaza’s borders lies a little plain, quite near the road, but ringed by steep hillsides; and purling through it from the high terrain between leaf-tangled banks a streamlet glides, hidden by trees and brush in densest shade, a spot well suited for an ambuscade. 52 ‘There came we, seeking cattle that might draw near the rich pasture of the leafy shore, and lying on the blood-soaked grass we saw a warrior, dead and all besmeared with gore. We soon made out, with mingled dread and awe, on his soiled armour the device he bore. I approached to see his face, but found instead that someone had cut off the poor knight’s head. 53 ‘His right hand too he lacked, and his broad chest from back to front with countless wounds was covered. His empty helm lay near, upon whose crest with outspread shining wings the eagle hovered. Looking about to see who might attest what had befallen here, I soon discovered a solitary peasant boy, but he, seeing us coming, wheeled about to flee. 54 ‘Pursued and taken, he at last replied to our enquiries, saying that the day before, he saw a crowd of soldiers ride forth from the woods and hid himself away. One of them made of a severed head, swung wide by blond and bloodied locks, a proud display, which at close look (he said) seemed to have been some lad’s with not a hair upon his chin.

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canto eight 55 ‘That same man not long after dropped the head in a silken sack that from his saddle hung. Moreover, by their dress, those knights (he said) to him seemed to our nation to belong. Ordering my men to strip the corpse, I shed harsh tears, with grief and dire forebodings wrung, and took the armour back with me, but gave orders that he should have a decent grave. 56 ‘But should that noble trunk be whose I fear, another grave and anthem are its dues.’ Aldiprand, taking leave, departed here, since he could not report more certain news. Godfrey remained behind, with heavy cheer. He fears, yet he mistrusts the doubtful clues, and broods on ways to see more clearly tried that mangled corpse and lawless homicide. 57 Night rose the while, and with her mighty quills covered the sky’s unbounded fields; and Sleep, leisure of souls, forgetfulness of ills, drowned cares and passions in her soothing deep. You only, Argillan, you, whom envy fills with pricking spite, toss on your bed, and heap thought upon thought, unable now to close your weary eyes in sleep or soft repose. 58 That man, fervid of speech and quick of hand, hot-tempered, rash, avid to have his way, was born on Tronto’s banks,* nursed in that land of civil strife with hatred day by day. Outlawed at last, he made the hills and strand run red with blood, roving the realm for prey, until to Asia to wage war he came and grew illustrious with a better fame. 59 Toward dawn he closed his fevered eyes at last, but not with calm and gentle slumber blessed, for, deep and heavy as death, a stupor passed, bred by Alecto’s poison, through his breast. Delusion holds his inward powers fast, and he lies sleeping, but he finds no rest, since the fell Fury makes his fancy start with shapes of horror that appal his heart.

canto eight 60 She makes a headless, huge trunk, with a red stump where its right arm hung, before him rise. Its left hand holds on high its cut-off head,* bloodied and ashy pale, with staring eyes. The dead face breathes, speaks breathing, and its dread words issue mingling with its blood and sighs: ‘Argillan, flee! Can you not see your grief ? Flee these disgraceful tents, that vicious chief. 61 ‘From savage Godfrey, from the treachery that slew me, who will save you now, my friends? Rancour consumes that traitor’s heart, and he for you that death he dealt to me intends. Yet, since your hands are strong enough and free to use their strength to more praiseworthy ends, flee not. No! Rather make the tyrant’s breast yield his foul blood to give my spirit rest. 62 ‘To minister to your sword and rage, my soul will go with you and steel your hand and heart.’ It speaks, it breathes, and its malign control makes all his being with strange frenzy start. He wakes at once; his eyes in horror roll; madness and poison from his glances dart. He arms and runs, with reckless haste atremble, and calls the Italian warriors to assemble. 63 He makes them gather where, suspended high, the arms of good Rinaldo hang in view, and with proud voice uncovers and lets fly his fury and his fantasies untrue: ‘Why should these Goths,* engorged in tyranny, who heed no reason, keep no faith, and who have never enough of blood, or gold, endeavour to curb our mouths and yoke our necks forever? 64 ‘Their harsh commands and scornful looks we bore, for seven years suffering our foul subject state. In Rome and Italy a thousand more will feed a burning shame, a burning hate. No matter that by Tancred’s skill in war and Tancred’s strength Cilicia fell of late; that now the Frank* by treachery holds its crown; that fraud usurps the fruit of brave renown;

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canto eight 65 ‘no matter that whenever chance and need quick hands, firm minds, or daring hearts require, one of us leaps up ever first to speed, though a thousand lie as corpses, sword or fire. Yet when the palms are, or the spoils, decreed, when peace returns, at leisure they conspire to leave us nothing, and alone they hold the praise, the lands, the glory, and the gold. 66 ‘There was a time perhaps when acts like these might have appalled and made all good men mourn; no matter, these are trifles now, they please, for now a crime too vile to think is born: They have killed Rinaldo! Not just man’s decrees, but highest justice have they held in scorn. Has Heaven no thunder? Has the earth no room to swallow them in everlasting gloom? 67 ‘Rinaldo they have killed — the sword, the shield of Holy Faith! And does revenge delay? Woe’s me! Revenge delays. In some dark field they have left him, gashed, unburied, by the way. And where, think you, the culprit lies concealed? The truth, O comrades, is as clear as day. Who does not know what envy and what spite Godfrey or Baldwin feel for Latin might? 68 ‘But why do I seek proof ? By Heaven I swear (Heaven who hears and cannot be deceived) that in the early morning’s brightening air, I saw his spirit, wandering and aggrieved— ah, woeful sight of sorrow and despair! — foretelling Godfrey’s crimes. What sighs he heaved! It was no dream. I saw — I see him rise, wherever I look, even now, before my eyes. 69 ‘What must we do? The hand that bears the stain of so unjust a murder — must its sway forever hold? Or shall we rather gain, far from its grasp, the shores where every day Euphrates* rears and nurtures in the plain town after town of feeble people — nay, why not us, too? For we’ll possess its banks, nor hold a realm in common with the Franks.

canto eight 70 ‘There let us go, and (should you wish it so) leave unavenged that noble blood and pure, though, if you made your virtue’s fading glow rekindle as it ought this day, I’m sure that the envenomed snake whose fang laid low our Latin nation’s flower and cynosure should with his death a fit memorial make at which all monsters yet to come will quake. 71 ‘I also, I myself could wish, should you dare stretch your courage as you wish and may, that this my hand should chastise and imbrue that heart, that nest of treachery, this day.’ So spoke he, frenzied, and his rage ran through the assembled ranks and carried them away. ‘Arm! arm!’ the madman cries, and at his shout ‘Arm! arm!’ the rabble of proud youth cries out. 72 Alecto’s hand among them whirls her flail, and dribbles poison on their inward fire. Hate, rage, and sinful lust for blood assail heart after heart until it bursts with ire. Spilling abroad beyond the Latin pale, the plague spreads outward like a pestilent mire, and finds the Swiss and seizes them, and thence spreads its infection to the English* tents. 73 The foreigners are not merely pricked on by their public outrage at the incident, but age-old grudges their new rage supply at once with matter and with nourishment. Each sleeping hatred reawakes. They cry: ‘The Franks are godless tyrants,’ and they vent in menaces of insolent disdain resentments they no longer can contain. 74 So, boiling in a brazen pot upon too hot a flame, broth gurgles up and steams, until, contained no more, it mounts to run over the cauldron’s rim in frothy streams. To curb that foolish crowd, too few or none were minds receptive to Truth’s steady beams. Far off were Tancred and Camillus, and William,* and others of the high command.

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canto eight 75 Now all in wild confusion hastening to snatch up arms incontinently swarm. Already with the song of battle ring seditious trumpets sounding fierce alarm. Meanwhile now here, now there swift couriers spring who beg good Bouillon speedily to arm. Baldwin, ahead of all, with rapid stride joins him and, clad in mail, stands by his side. 76 He, having heard the charge, gazed toward the skies and with his God, as ever, refuge found: ‘Lord, well Thou know’st how deeply I despise the sight of civil blood staining the ground. Rend Thou the veil from their deluded eyes, curb their mad rage that frets at every bound; and let my innocence, that on high is known, now to the blind world here on earth be shown.’ 77 He ceased, and felt his blood, by Heaven imbued, with fresh and more than usual ardour thrill. Full of calm strength, while hope and fortitude shine in his face and make him bolder still, he moves, girt by his men, to face that rude would-be redresser of Rinaldo’s ill; nor, though beleaguered all about the place by threats and weapons, does he slow his pace. 78 He wears his breastplate; from his back there streams a cloak with fair embroidery richly dight. His hands and face are bare. His whole form gleams with a strange majesty of heavenly light. He wields his golden sceptre, for he deems no other weapon fit to quell their spite. Thus he confronts them, thus he speaks his mind, nor seems his voice a voice of mortal kind: 79 ‘What threats misguided, what vain jars infect my ears with armed din? At whose provocation? For placed so high, in such great honours decked, known as he is, after such long probation, what men might still accuse, or still suspect Godfrey of fraud, and trust the accusation? Might you still hope that I would kneel to you, and plead my reasons and for justice sue?

canto eight 80 ‘Ah, God forbid that such indignity be bruited in a world full of my fame! This sceptre, yea, and Truth, and memory of my past deeds will fight for my good name; but now let justice yield to mercy’s plea, nor chastise everyone who shares the blame. For another’s merits, I these sins forgive, and you, for your Rinaldo’s sake, shall live. 81 ‘Let one man’s blood the common fault atone: Argillan dies, the causer of these ills, who, moved by trifling doubts, has with his own error infected all the others’ wills.’ He spoke, and from his regal features shone the gleam of terror majesty instils, and fierce Argillan, stunned and cowering, fears the wrath that in a single face appears. 82 The common sort, just now so rude of gaze, so raging with proud boasts and insults, and so quick to snatch sword, lance, or torch ablaze that the attendant Fury placed at hand, dare not (they hear him and fall silent) raise their eyes. Caught between fear and shame they stand, and let Argillan, whom their spears surround, be taken by the officers and bound. 83 A lion thus, whom pride and wrath provoke to roar and toss his rugged mane, when he beholds the tamer drawing near who broke his savage heart’s innate ferocity, submits to the vile burden of the yoke, fearing his threats and his harsh mastery, and, with huge mane, huge teeth and claws endowed, by nature powerful, is no longer proud. 84 It is famed that there, his face with terror rayed, awesome and menacing in attitude, a wingèd warrior, with his shield displayed, hovered aloft where reverent Bouillon stood, and brandished lightning-like his naked blade still ruddy with bright streaks of dripping blood — the blood of cities and of realms (belike) that prompted Heaven’s slow-roused wrath to strike.

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canto eight 85 The uproar stilled, all put their arms aside, and many, with their arms, their ill intent. Back in his quarters Godfrey, open-eyed, ponders great matters, on new hazards bent, intending that the town’s assault be tried before the second day or third is spent; and he goes to view felled tree-trunks that now loom in massive siege machines that threaten doom.

Canto Nine 1 But Hell’s great monster, seeing those hearts grown still that lately were so wild, their anger spent, knowing she cannot hinder Destiny’s will nor change unchanging Intellect’s fixed intent, departs, and everywhere she goes, her chill shrivels glad fields and fades the firmament. Now she, abetting other Furies and all things malign, towards new-hatched mischief speeds her wings. 2 She knew that, from the Christian army won by the wiles of her allies, alone, abject, far from their tents now wandered Bertold’s son, and Tancred, and the rest of most respect, and said: ‘Why wait? Why should not Solyman come now to war, while none of them suspect? Sure triumph (I dare hope) will not be slow over a quarrelling and diminished foe.’ 3 This said, she flies where among nomad bands, late made their chieftain, Solyman did flee — Solyman who, of all who raised their hands against God’s cause, showed most ferocity; nor would earth’s giants, reborn to advance and wreak new ruin, prove more fierce than he. This man, king of the Turks, did erstwhile reign, from great Nicea’s throne, a vast domain, 4 whose bounds all lands facing the Grecian shore from Sangar’s to Meander’s stream* embrace, where Mysians, Phrygians, Lydians* dwelt of yore, and those of Pontus and Bithynian Thrace. But when the outlanders* in Asia’s war with Turks and infidels came face to face, his lands were conquered, and he, twice laid low, in general conflict met his overthrow.

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canto nine 5 Then, having tried his luck once more in vain, and forced at last to quit his native skies, he fled to Egypt’s king, who in his train admitted him in generous, courteous wise, and joyed to have a knight so strong remain among his friends in the high enterprise; for he had long proposed that they combine to keep Christ’s troops from seizing Palestine. 6 But before daring them in open style to war, he urged that other means be tried, and Solyman seek Arabian aid the while, whom to that end he with much gold supplied. Now, as he massed by Tigris and by Nile his host, Solyman went, and on his side the greedy Arabs easily enrolled, who are ever prone to steal, or kill for gold. 7 Thus made their chieftain, he from place to place sacking and wasting through Judaea flies, and blocks in both directions every base that Frankish access to the sea supplies, while nagging memories of his late disgrace and of his realm’s deep ruin cause to rise yet blacker projects in his burning breast, though dim and not quite ready for the test. 8 To him Alecto comes and she appears, in an old man’s shape with dry and wrinkled skin, his face drained of all blood, and little smears of hair on his upper lip and shaven chin. He stands, his turban swathed above his ears, down to his feet a flowing gabardine, at his side a sabre and on his back (slung low) a quiver, and in his hand a polished bow. 9 ‘We here’, that shape now tells him, ‘vainly run through sterile sands on vacant desert ways, a waste where neither pillage can be won nor any victory that merits praise. Godfrey’s siege towers meanwhile pound upon the city’s walls, breach them, set roofs ablaze. and soon we’ll see, if still we stay so tame, even from here the ruins and the flame.

canto nine 10 ‘Shall burning hovels then, and flocks and cows, be Solyman’s glorious trophies at the last? Shall you regain your kingdom thus? Thus rouse revenge for insults and for losses past? Be bold, be bold! By night in his own house strike the barbarian tyrant hard and fast. Trust old Araspes,* whose advice to you, in power or exile, never proved untrue. 11 ‘He expects us not. He fears us not. Indeed, he scorns the naked, coward Arab kind, nor would believe that they, who trust in speed to raid and flee, could show so bold a mind. But, made fierce by your fierceness, they’ll make bleed a camp unarmed, whom night and sleep make blind.’ And with these words she breathed into his bare breast burning rage, then melted into air. 12 Raising his hand to heaven, the warrior cried: ‘Thou who hast made my heart with fury shake — no man thou, though with human shape supplied thou seemest — Lo! at thy great call I wake! I go. I shall raise mountains if thou guide, mountains of killed and wounded. I shall make rivers of blood. Be thou with me tonight, and through blind air conduct my troops aright.’ 13 He is silent, and at once collects his bands, heartens with speech the cowardly and slow, and with his own desires, like firebrands, kindles them all, until they burn to go. Alecto sounds her trump and in her hands, wind-tossed, the huge flag flutters to and fro. Swift is the army’s march — yea, towards its aim its flight is swifter than the flight of fame. 14 Alecto marches with him, but then steers, like a courier shaped and garbed, another way; and at the hour when amid the spheres the earth hangs doubtful between night and day, she in Jerusalem thronged with crowds in tears comes to the king and makes report straightway of the huge force at hand, the great plot laid, and the hour and sign for the nocturnal raid.

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canto nine 15 Already shadows stretched a pitch-black veil, mottled and smeared with reddish mist on high. The earth, that felt its nightly coolness fail, bathed in a bloodshot, tepid dew did lie. Ill spirits roamed the air to groan and wail, and prodigies and monsters filled the sky. The abyss was emptied and, through Pluto’s might, the caves of Tartarus* spewed forth dark night. 16 Through such deep horrors the fierce Sultan’s force marches with quick steps toward the enemy tents; but when the night has climbed its halfway course, to begin its swifter downward path from thence, less than a mile from where repose restores the Franks who sleep in guileless innocence, he halts, makes his troops eat, and from a hill, flattering their hopes, thus goads them to the kill: 17 ‘Ah, do you see, filled with a thousand thieves a camp more known for fame than strength of hand, whose greedy bosom like an ocean heaves gorged with the riches of our Asian strand? All this to us now favouring fortune leaves — and with less danger than you might demand! Weapons and steeds, with gold and purple freighted, to be your spoil, not their defence, are fated. 18 ‘Nor is this host the same that once laid low the Persians and for whom Nicea bled, for in a war begun so long ago, and so dispersed, its greater part lies dead. Even if they were still whole, they’ll now be slow, sleep-drugged, ungirt by arms, to leap from bed. He’s quickly felled who, fallen in sleep, draws breath, for but a short road severs sleep from death. 19 ‘Rise! Rise and follow! I will blaze the way through fallen men to their most guarded ground. My sword will teach you how to strike. Obey its cruel lessons: let their screams resound. Christ’s kingdom shall be overthrown today. Today makes Asia free, and you renowned.’ So he inflames them for the coming fight, then in grim silence leads them through the night.

canto nine 20 Lo, in his path the sentinels, outlined against the gloom by a vague glimmer, rise, nor does he find (as he had vainly deemed) their prudent chief unwary of surprise. They, seeing him with a huge crowd behind his back approaching, turn and with loud cries alert the squadrons set to guard the van, who scramble up and arm as best they can. 21 The Arabs, sure now they are heard, let fly great blasts from barbarous horns of brass and tin. Blood-curdling howls ascend to fill the sky, with neighs and thunderous trampling mingling in. The valleys roar, the mountains roar on high, and chasms echo roaring with their din, and Alecto lifting Phlegethon’s* torch of hate signals to those who on the mountain wait. 22 Meanwhile the Sultan rushes on, and falls on the still dazed, confused guard with a shock so rapid, a tornado’s whirling squalls issue more slowly from their caves of rock. A flash flood that through trees and houses sprawls, a fire-bolt shattering towers block on block, earthquakes that panic all the wicked world, are trifles to the fury he unfurled. 23 No blow falls from his blade but finds its mark, nor finds its mark but makes a wound thereby, nor wounds but sends a soul down to the dark. More would I say, but truth would seem a lie. He notes not, or feigns not to, or is stark senseless of wounds received on arm or thigh, though his cracked helmet from a myriad blows rings like a bell and wildly sparks and glows. 24 When singly he had all but turned to flight that first file of the Frankish host, down heaves, like a vast cataract spilling from a height in a thousand streams, the mob of Arab thieves. The Franks give rein and flee in sudden fright, and the victor, mingling with the fugitives, enters with them as they the gateway gain — then all is grief and horror, ruin and pain.

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canto nine 25 Huge, horrid, on the Sultan’s helmet sits, with neck outstretched, a dragon coiled to spring; and rearing on its claws, it flaps and flits huge wings, its forked tail arching toward a sting. Three tongues it seems to flicker, and it spits forth livid froth — a monstrous, hissing thing: and kindled by the battle’s blaze, its frame like racing fire disgorges smoke and flame. 26 And by that light they see the Sultan race, charged with such fatal and appalling might as glimpsed by lightning shows the ocean’s face heaving through darkness in the sailors’ sight. Some yield their trembling feet to flight, some place their hands to the intrepid steel, while night ever more densely mingling friend and foe, by hiding peril, makes their peril grow. 27 Now from the boldest-hearted left alive stepped forth Latinus, born by Tiber’s tide, whom neither hardship could of will deprive nor years subdue or tame in strength and pride. His five sons* — nearly of an age, all five — wherever he fought were always by his side, bearing more arms than years, of tender youth, their limbs still growing, chins and cheeks still smooth. 28 Excited by their father’s spirit, they whetted on blood their eager swords and ire. To them he says: ‘Let us do what we may to stop that ruffian who makes all retire, nor let the butchery that he wreaks today among the rest cool your accustomed fire. For honour is cheap, my sons, and to be scorned, when it is not with horrors passed adorned.’ 29 So the fierce lioness her cubs — no manes yet hang about their necks, no savage claws their years have grown, no blood yet stains the half-grown weapons in their horrid maws — goads to the prey and danger; so she trains their cruelty by precept as she draws them toward the hunter in their native glade, while beasts of lesser boldness flee dismayed.

canto nine 30 Their brave sire leading them, these rash five run, ring Solyman and look him in the eye, and in one instant, with one mind, and one soul (as it were) they let six lances fly. But, his lance thrown, the too-bold oldest son comes rushing at the felon with a cry, and thrusting with his sword attempts in vain to make him fall beneath his dead steed, slain. 31 But as a crag, bare to the withering blast, battered by surf, above the sea looms high, deaf to the thundering insults from the vast waves and the winds, and from the raging sky, so the fierce Sultan with bold face stands fast, whatever harm their swords and spears may try, and him who is thrusting at his thoroughbred he splits between his brow and cheek the head. 32 To his falling brother Aramant extends a pitying arm to hold him up. O vain, and foolish pity! Since what he intends for the other’s succour joins him in his bane. For on that arm the pagan’s sword descends and he, and he who grasps it, both lie slain, both fall: one fainting on the other lies, mingling his blood with his, his dying sighs. 33 Then, as Sabinus’ spear, at arm’s length, stole some glancing hits, he shatters it, and plies the massive warhorse under his control to knock him down, and tread him where he lies. Out of his tender body wrenched, his soul, after a grievous struggle, sadly flies from life’s fair breezes and the halcyon time that wove the garlands of his youthful prime. 34 Picus yet lives and Laurence lives also, two who enriched their sire at one birth: whose likeness oftentimes not long ago made error seem a pleasant cause of mirth. But though alike by kind, their unkind foe makes each unlike the other fall to earth: a hard distinction that divides the chest and neck of one, and cleaves the other’s breast.

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canto nine 35 Their father — ah, no father now! Alas, cruel Fate, to take at once so many sons! — in their five deaths now sees, as in a glass, his own and all his noble line’s at once. Was his old age so strong that in that mass of miseries, unbowed by such affronts, he could still breathe, still fight? But perhaps he his slain sons’ deeds and faces did not see, 36 and kindly darkness with her shadowing hood kept some of that dread vision from his eyes. Even so, unless he too were lost, all would seem lost to him, a triumph to despise. Prodigal of his own, for his foe’s blood he with the greed of greediest miser vies, and it is moot what more would mollify his grief and rage: to kill him or to die. 37 But thus he taunts his foe: ‘Seems this my hand so much to be despised, so feeble that with all its strength it cannot make you stand to turn on me the fierceness of your hate?’ And strikes him with a stroke so bitter and so deadly that it tears through mail and plate, and finds his side and makes a huge wound there, while warm blood spurts and spreads along the tear. 38 And at that taunt, that blow, the savage lord turns blade and rage against him straight, and mauls his cuirass (having smashed his shield, that board wound tight in seven toughened oxhide cauls) and in his bowels plunges his great sword. With a choking sob, wretched Latinus falls, and spills forth in an intermittent flood, now from the wound, now from his mouth, his blood. 39 As on the Apennine a sturdy tree that scorns hot Eurus and harsh Aquilo,* if a huge wind-gust cracks it finally, makes nearby trees partake its overthrow, so he falls, and with such great fury he makes all who dare come close to him lie low. For a man so fierce, a worthy end it is that, though he dies, he wreaks a ruin like this.

canto nine 40 While Solyman thus, whose blood-starved bowels burn to break his fast, over human corpses stands, the Christian warriors to their sorrow learn harsh lessons from his heartened Arab bands: Henry of York, Bavarian Holifern, both die, O fierce Draguttis, by your hands. From Gilbert and from Philip, born on Rhine the lives are torn by savage Ariodine. 41 Here Albazzar fells Ernest with his mace, there Otho falls beneath Algazel’s blade. But who could count the time, the way, the place that death the myriad common sort unmade? Yet at that first alarm, with ready face, Godfrey awoke and not a whit delayed. He arms at once, at once a mighty troop forms all about him, and at once they swoop. 42 He, when that cry was followed by a roar, moment by moment of more dreadful sound, perceived full well that Arab thieves now tore on a sudden raid into his camping ground. Indeed, the Captain had learned long before how they despoiled the regions all around, but little thought so fugitive a pack would ever find the courage to attack. 43 Now, riding towards them, at once he hears ‘Arm! arm!’ from the opposed direction cried, even as there burst, as if to fright the spheres, barbaric ululation far and wide. This is Clorinda with Aladdin’s peers leading the charge, with Argant by her side. On noble Guelf, his chief lieutenant there, the Captain turns his eye then to declare: 44 ‘Hear what new clamour of dread Mars proceeds now toward us from the city and the hill. To check that foe’s first onset you must needs call upon all your valour, all your skill. See to it. Go. The time has come for deeds. Take some of my men here, your ranks to fill; I with the rest will on the other side do what I may against this hostile tide.’

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canto nine 45 Concluding thus among them, both are led through different pathways by an equal fate. Hillward goes Guelf; the Captain moves ahead where the Arabs rage and all help seems too late. But as he rides, his troop, by new men fed, with each step at each moment gathers weight till he, his force now huge and mighty, sights the fierce Turk making blood spread where he fights. 46 So from his native mount running his course the humble Po scarce fills his narrow bound, but evermore, the farther from his source, grows huge, new-fed with powers from all around; till like a bull he, over shattered shores, lifts his horned head, and floods the conquered ground, and, armed with more horns, making Hadria* flee, seems to bring war, not tribute, to the sea. 47 Godfrey, wherever he sees his men stare in fright and flee, rides up and cries disgrace: ‘What fear’, he shouts, ‘is this? Why flee, and where? Look at least who is holding you in chase. A coward mob it is, who would not dare either to take or give wounds face to face. Turn but around and see your faces make by the mere fear of looks their weapons shake.’ 48 This said, he spurs his steed where he has just seen Solyman like a flaming demon wheel. He rides through pools of blood and clouds of dust, through dangers, piles of corpses, walls of steel; he hews his way with buffet, blow, and thrust through crowds and ranks till they dissolve and reel, and on each side, in great heaps, one and all, horsemen and horses, arms and armed men fall. 49 Then, leap by leap, over mingled dead men, he comes on through carnage and ferocious din. The intrepid Sultan is not slow to see his charge, nor flees, nor falters to begin, but turns to encounter him unflinchingly, his sword raised high to strike, and closes in. Ah! what a pair of knights does Fortune lead here from the world’s extremes to meet and bleed!

canto nine 50 Fury with Virtue now disputes the sway of mighty Asia on this patch of ground. How grim, how swift their swords are, who can say? For such a savage fight, can words be found? I leave untold the horrors of that fray — but here were done, covered by night profound, deeds worthy of the brightest sun, and worth the assembled witness of all men on earth. 51 The knights of Jesus, led by such a guide, grow bold, and hurtling on their enemies fall; and thronging to the murderous Sultan’s side a dense crowd of his best men heed his call. Neither the faithful nor the infidel dyed the ground more deeply red, but one and all, victors and vanquished, equally enjoyed destroying foes and were themselves destroyed. 52 Even as, alike in force and enmity, here Aquilo, there Auster* battle proud, and neither yields the other sky or sea, opposing wave to wave, and cloud to cloud; so now, nor ceasing nor dissolving, see one huge crowd crash against the other crowd, so shield with shield now, helm with helm, and sword with sword collide in horrible discord. 53 Nor in another region is the struggle less ferocious, for in the fields of air a pack of Stygian angels* by the thousands press through the unmeasured darkness their attack. They, strengthening thus the infidels, repress in all the slightest thought of turning back; and with the brand of Hell itself ignite Argant, whose own fire burns already bright. 54 He too on his side put to flight the guard and with a leap the palisade he gained, and filled with mangled limbs of those who barred his path the moat, and thus the charge sustained; and in his wake the others, pressing hard, soon the first tents with bloody splotches stained. Clorinda with him, or not far behind, stormed in, for to be second she repined.

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canto nine 55 Already were the Franks in full flight when, in good time, Guelf came with his troop, and he made all the runaways face about again, and took the brunt of pagan savagery. So went the fight, and blood in rivers ran on this side and on that side equally. Heaven’s King now from His throne above the skies on that atrocious carnage turned His eyes. 56 He sat where He gives laws both good and just to all, and all creates, and all sets right, above the low bounds of this world of dust, beyond the reach of sense or reason’s might; enthroned upon Eternity, august, He shines with three lights in a single light.* At His feet Fate and Nature humbly sit, and Motion, and the Power that measures it,* 57 and Space, and Fate who like a powder will all fame and gold and kingdoms here below, as pleases Him on high, disperse or spill, nor, goddess, cares she for our wrath or woe. There He, enwrapped in His own splendour, still blinds even worthiest vision with His glow. All round Him throng immortals numberless, unequally equal* in their happiness. 58 In a great harmony their blessed song of joy re-echoes through the heavenly shrine. He to Himself calls Michael,* champion strong, whose arms with lucid adamant burn and shine, and says: ‘Do you not see Hell’s demon throng against my chosen faithful flock combine in war, and from their depths of death arise to darken and to trouble earthly skies? 59 ‘Go, tell them now that they must leave all care of the war to warriors, as is fit; nor vent on the realms of living men, or in the fair fields of the sky their spite and devilment. To Acheron’s* dark night let them repair, fit dwelling for them, to just punishment; in that pit let them rack each other and the souls accursed. This is my fixed command.’

canto nine 60 He ceased. The captain of the winged host in reverence bows before His sacred feet; then spreads abroad his golden wings, to post away so fast that thought is not so fleet. He skirts the flaming radiance* where the just have evermore their blessed, glorious seat, then views the Crystalline, and then that bound where rightward rolls the star-bespangled round. 61 Leftward beyond it, of diverse aspect and influence, Saturn wheels, and Jupiter, and the other five, whom angel powers protect and guide (hence none can be a wanderer). Then, from those blissful fields without defect, he gains the sphere where rain and thunder stir* a world that, self-consumed, self-fed, and torn by inward warfare, dies and is reborn. 62 He came on ageless pinions by whose might he swept dense dust and horror from his way. The night grew golden with the heavenly light that from his shining face sent forth its ray. So after rains the sun once more makes bright the dappled clouds with lovely hues of day; so will a star, through liquid skies and wide, into the mighty mother’s bosom glide. 63 But coming where the wicked hellish crew kindles the pagans’ rage and makes it grow, high on his wings he hovers in their view, and shakes his lance, and speaks his message so: ‘Surely you know what the World’s King can do when thundering He appals the world below, O you, who in your torments and disgrace and hopeless woe still show so proud a face. 64 ‘Heaven has fixed that to the sacred sign* the wall shall fall, Zion shall raise its gate. Why then provoke the anger of Divine Justice with further spite? Why fight with Fate? Depart, accurst ones, to your own confine, kingdom of pain and endless death and hate; and in those cloisters barred to all remorse pursue your triumphs and conduct your wars.

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canto nine 65 ‘There practice cruelty, there exercise on sinners all your might, in the domains of endless wails, of gnashing teeth and sighs and sounds of iron and of clanking chains.’ He spoke, and all who leave in grudging wise he piercing with his fatal lance constrains. Groaning they flee the lovely realms of light and golden stars suspended in the night, 66 and speed on dark wings to the boundless deep to augment the torments of the wicked lost. In flocks less numberless the thronged birds sweep to warm climes over ocean tempest-tossed, nor ever autumn was when, heap on heap, so many dry leaves fell at the first frost. Freed from their wrath, earth’s face, so black before, gladly puts on its former cheer once more. 67 But not for that within his spiteful breast does Argant now abate his rage and heat, no matter that Alecto’s flames now rest and on his flanks Hell’s whips no longer beat. His fell steel whirls wherever most compressed the Frankish crowds his furious onslaught meet; he scythes down commoners and men of worth, and makes the proud and humble equals on the earth. 68 Not far away Clorinda seems no less eager to strew with severed limbs the field. At Berlingher’s breast she drives her blade to press right through the heart, where warm life lies concealed, and her stroke continues through so effortless, that the bloodstained point is at his back revealed. She then impales Albinus in that place where men first feed,* and then splits Gallus’ face; 69 Gernier’s right hand, from which she has a wound, she sends dissevered to the earth; though dead, it grasps the sword still, and upon the ground lies quivering, fingers twitching and outspread. So will a serpent’s riven tail squirm round and seek in vain to join once more its head. Leaving him there thus maimed, the warrior maid turns on Achilles, and beats down his blade,

canto nine 70 and thrusts between his neck and spine her own. His sinews cracking and his windpipe slit, his head already fell and tumbled, thrown face-first to earth, defiled with dust and grit, before his trunk could fall; that trunk alone see (piteous monster!) in the saddle sit, till, freed of the rein, his steed, pawing the air, with a thousand rearings hurls it down from there. 71 While thus the matchless warrior maid lays bare and scourges all the packed ranks of the West, mighty Gildippe moving toward her there the Saracens with no less slaughter pressed. Their sex the same (it is idle to compare their ardour and their valour — both were best), these two were fated not to come to blows: Fortune reserved them both for greater foes.* 72 Here one and there the other thrusts and strains, and finds no opening through the thick mêlée. But noble Guelf now near Clorinda gains and closes with her, sword held high, and he strikes her a slashing blow that somewhat stains his fierce blade from her lovely side; yet she with a quick stab so cruelly replies that between rib and rib the sharp point pries. 73 Guelf now redoubles strokes, but fails his aim, since Palestinian Osmid chanced to pass, and took a wound not meant for him to claim, that split his skull and stretched him in the grass. Meanwhile near Guelf great crowds of those who came led there by him have gathered in a mass; and on the other side, too, new throngs toil and blur the fight to a chaotic broil. 74 Already now with lovely crimson face on her high balcony Aurora stands. And now to join the tumult in that place Argillan* comes, released from prison bands. He girds himself in untried arms apace, that by good chance or ill came to his hands, and hopes atonement for his still-fresh sin by merits fresh and fresh acclaim to win.

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canto nine 75 As a steed who from the royal stalls, where long reserved for warlike use he has stood bound, bursts free at last and roams at large among the herds or by his stream or pasture ground — his mane is tossing on his neck, his strong and noble nape arches at every bound; on thunderous hooves he runs as if ablaze, and fills the wide fields with resounding neighs — 76 so now Argillan runs: his furious eyes shine and his face glows unafraid and proud. Lightly he leaps and swift of foot he flies, scarce leaving tracks in dust, and with a loud voice, rushing toward his foes, he them defies as one who scorns the world, by nothing bowed: ‘You offal of the earth! you worthless Arabs! Who has nurtured this effrontery in you? 77 ‘Too feeble for the weight of helm and sword or armour upon chest and back, you fight, half-naked weaklings, who entrust your hard blows to the winds and seek safety in flight. Your grand heroics, stealthy and abhorred, night covered, and you had no guard but night. Now she has fled, who now will take your part? Needs must he be sounder of arm and heart.’ 78 Having said this, straight in the throat he deals so cruel a thrusting blow to Algazill that it rips right through his jaw, so that he feels cut short the answer he was forming still; out of that wretch at once the darkness steals the light, and through his bones runs a harsh chill. He falls and, at his last breath, with his teeth tears in his rage the hated earth beneath. 79 In diverse ways the other then lays low Saladin,* Agricalt, Muleasse; divides the next in line and with a single blow his sword from flank to flank cuts through both sides. In Ariodine’s chest he sinks his point and so tumbles him and with bitter mocks derides. He at the boastful speech lifts up his eyes, heavy with coming death, and thus replies:

canto nine 80 ‘You will not at my death, whoever you be, for long make boast of your victorious deed. A stronger hand than mine, in a destiny like mine, will lay you at my side to bleed.’ ‘Of my fate’, with a bitter smile says he ‘let Heaven take care; meanwhile you die to feed the birds and dogs;’ then treads him under heel, and draws his soul out as he draws the steel. 81 A page of the Sultan’s stood among the crowd of archers and of slingshot men, in whom the springtime of his youth not yet endowed the tender chin with its first spray of bloom. Warm beads of sweat on his fair cheek shine proud like pearls or dewdrops that his skin illume. To his ruffled locks the very dust lends grace, and anger’s scowl is lovely on his face. 82 In whiteness the fine stallion he bestrides rivals the Apennine’s new-fallen snow; a flame that flits, a wind that whirls and glides, are, in the measure of its motion, slow. Held at mid-shaft, a javelin he guides, and at his belt a short, curved sword hangs low. Glittering he moves, in barbarous pomp arrayed with gold-and-purple intricate brocade. 83 Now while this boy, whose breast the strange delight of glory fills with falsely pleasing cheer, frets here and there the squadrons where they fight, and not a man can catch him, or get near, watchful Argillan waits, till mid his light curvettings, he can aim and thrust his spear, then stabs his steed and, as it falls and dies, pounces on him where, dazed, he seeks to rise, 84 and on his suppliant face, that, clad in all of pity’s armour, vainly sought defence, he (cruel!) his remorseless hand let fall, and on great Nature’s prize did vile offence. His blade, more human than he, seemed to stall and turn aside, as if endowed with sense, but with what profit, since a fierce blow burst a second time where the edge had failed the first?

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85 Now Solyman, not far away, who strives to beat down the resistance Godfrey made, seeing the lad beset, gives spur and drives his steed toward him at once and, with his blade slashing through every obstacle, arrives in time — for vengeance, yes, but not for aid, for there he sees lie slain (ah woeful hour!) his Lesbin, cut down like a lovely flower. 86 So light he lay, eyes trembling, on the floor, so gently from his arched neck drooped his head, so fair the pallor that his features wore, so piteous-sweet his look as he lay dead, that the heart grows soft that was like stone before, and showers of tears amid its rage are shed. You, Solyman, do you weep, whose lids were dry when you saw all your realm in ruin lie? 87 But when he sees the hated blade nearby still reeking with the lad’s blood whom it slew, his pity ends, and flaming in his eye, staunching his tears, his rage flares up anew. He leaps upon Argillan, sword held high, cleaves his raised shield, his helmet, and cleaves through his head, and through his throat. That dread blow’s path gave worthy witness of great Solyman’s wrath. 88 Not yet content, on the dead corpse he wages, dismounted from his courser, furious war, even as a mastiff, by a stone struck, rages and seeks to maul the rock that made his sore. (Oh boundless woe, that vainly thus assuages with war on senseless clay the grief it bore!) Meanwhile the Captain of the Franks well knows how never in vain to waste his wrath or blows. 89 A thousand Turks here fought, with shirts of mail, with helmets and with targes well supplied, their bodies steeled to hardship and travail, daring of heart, in warlike arts well tried; and these were palace guardsmen* who set sail with Solyman, and when through deserts wide he, wandering exile, reached Arabian ground, were still his friends, though adverse Fortune frowned.

canto nine 90 These, drawn up in strict order here, concede little or nothing to Frank bravery. Then Godfrey rushed them, and at once made bleed fierce Korkutt’s face and opened Rustum’s thigh, from off his shoulders severed Selim’s head, lopped Rossan’s right hand, and his left; nor by such wounds alone, but even as he willed he wounded many others, many killed. 91 While thus upon the Saracen host he rains blows and unmoved their every blow repays, and the barbarian side, for all his pains, neither in fortune nor in hope decays, look! A new cloud of dust rolls over the plains in whose womb war with smouldering lightning plays. Look how its glints of unsuspected steel make all the infidels in confusion reel! 92 They are fifty knights* and lo, the crimson prongs of the Cross glow proudly on each silver coat! nor, though I had a hundred mouths and tongues and a breath of iron and an iron throat, could I recount the innumerable throngs whom that fierce band at its first onrush smote. The unwarlike Arab falls; the fierce Turk, who charges, resisting, also falls, run through. 93 Horror, and Cruelty, and Grief, and Fear run havoc through the field; in countless guises victorious Death is roaming everywhere, and blood in weltering pools spreads out and rises. Already the king with some troops is seen near a gate, as if he guessed the enterprise’s sad end, and from the great wall’s height looked down on the dubious battle far below the town. 94 He has hardly seen the main force giving way, when he sounds the recall, fearing a defeat, and sends repeated, urgent posts to pray Argant and brave Clorinda to retreat. The fierce pair are reluctant to obey, both drunk with blood, blinded by wrathful heat. At length they yield, but seek at least to place the ranks in order and slow their panicked race.

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canto nine 95 But who can give laws to a mob, or guide vile Cowardice and Fear? Flight has begun. His shield one casts, another his sword aside: dead weight and no protection on the run. The steep slopes of a deep ravine divide city and plain from south to setting sun. That way they flee, and helter-skelter thrust toward the town walls in a cloud of dust. 96 While down the first incline they rush headlong, the Christians with huge slaughter rake their rear; but when, reaching the other slope, they throng upward, the pagan tyrant’s aid is near. Guelf has no wish to expose himself along a path of such slight vantage and so sheer. He halts his men; and the king pens up his crew — despite the ill-starred battle, not a few. 97 Meanwhile the Sultan what harm earthly ire could wreak has wrought, and now his powers fade. He is all blood and sweat; ceaseless and dire gasps rack his chest and shake his withers; weighed down by his shield his arm begins to tire; in slowing arcs his right hand wheels his blade: he hews, but does not cut; and, blunt and scored, his sword has lost the function of a sword. 98 And feeling this, he stood awhile like one between two doubts, and pondered if his aim should be to die there and, that brave deed done, take with his own from others’ hands that fame, or, though his army lay in ruin, live on and find where he might safe asylum claim. ‘Let Fate’, he said at last, ‘be victor; be my flight the trophy of her victory. 99 ‘And let the enemy see my turned back, and mock at our unjust exile once again, if thus he once again may see me stand armed to disturb his peace and short-lived reign. I yield not. Endless thoughts of wrong demand my wrath should be unending as my pain. I’ll rise once more, a yet more cruel foe, though burnt to ash now, like a ghost I go.’

Canto Ten 1 Even as he spoke these words, he saw nearby a steed that toward him veered on a random track. At once he seized its loose rein on the fly, and leapt, though sore and weary, on its back. Now droops that horrid crest which rose so high, leaving the helm dishonoured, bare, burnt black; and on his surcoat, tattered, fouled with stains, no shred of its proud, regal pomp remains. 2 As sometimes, from the barred sheepfold pursued, a wolf flees to his hiding-place and howls for more, though he has just now crammed with food the winding whorls of his enormous bowels, yet lolls his tongue, still hungry for more blood, and licks the droplets from his spattered jowls; so he out of that bloody slaughter came still famished and with greedy rage aflame. 3 And, as his luck wills, from all bolts that fall whistling from clouds of shafts all round him, from as many swords, as many spears, from all death’s instruments he steals away — in sum, unrecognized he goes and takes withal a lonely desert road where few men come; and as he broods what to resolve on next, his mind by a great storm of thoughts is vexed. 4 He at last decides to turn toward Egypt, where the king is mustering such a mighty host, and join with him his arms, and thus to dare Fortune anew to try her uttermost. Having determined thus, he does not spare an instant’s rest, but rides straight for the coast, for he knows the roads, and needs no guide to find where ancient Gaza’s sandy beaches wind.

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canto ten 5 Nor, though he feels his wounds with sharper pains pierce him, and every limb grow sore and slack, stops he to take his armour off, but strains all day long onward on his southward track. At last, when darkness from the whole world drains its varied hues and tints them all with black, he dismounts and binds up his wounds, and makes some dates drop from a high palm that he shakes; 6 and having dined on them, on the bare ground some rest for his spent frame he sought to find and, with his head propped on his hard shield’s round, to still the throbbing of his weary mind. But now his wounds with frequent spasms pound in new pangs, and with pangs yet more unkind his breast is bitten and his heart is torn by those internal vultures, Grief and Scorn. 7 In the end, when long since hidden in the nest of darkness all things blended with the skies, he drowned, by weariness at last oppressed, in Lethe’s* flood his heart’s perplexities, composing in a brief and languid rest his pain-racked members and his fevered eyes. Anon, while still asleep, he seemed to hear a stern voice thus resounding in his ear: 8 ‘Solyman, Solyman, for some seemlier day such sluggard rest as here you loll in save, for, yoked and chained, to alien powers a prey, the fatherland you ruled remains a slave. Can you sleep on this ground, and not straightway hear your unburied men cry for a grave? Where such a token of your shame lives on, would you lie lounging here and wait for dawn?’ 9 Waking, the Sultan lifts his gaze to see a man who, bowed (it seems) by countless years, with a bent staff his old feet tremblingly along their wavering tracks supports and steers. ‘And who’, he proudly asks him, ‘may you be, unwelcome ghost, who thus rob sojourners of their brief slumbers? What have you to do with shame of mine? What’s my revenge to you?’

canto ten 10 ‘I’m one’, the old man* answers then, ‘to whom your new-formed purpose is in some part known; and even as one who more than you assume cares for your cause, I’ve sought you here alone. Nor is my biting speech mere froth and spume: for shame is ever virtue’s whetting-stone. Take it in good part, sir, that my address should spur and lash your eager hardiness. 11 ‘Now since, as I divine, your steps must be directed toward Egypt’s mighty king, a bitter journey taken needlessly you’ll find it after: I predict this thing. For, whether you go or go not, presently the Saracen camp will move and this way fling, nor will the place they now hold let you show all that your strength can do against our foe. 12 ‘But if you let me guide you, right behind those walls* by Latin arms encircled now you shall by me quite safely be consigned — without your even drawing a sword, I vow. There amid war and hard toil you will find trials to please your soul and wreathe your brow. You will be the land’s defender till the might of Egypt draws up to renew the fight.’ 13 Even as the old man speaks, his voice and eye the savage Turk with growing wonder fill, who in his face and fierce soul by and by bids all his pride and raging wrath be still. ‘Father, I’m ready and quick,’ is his reply, ‘to follow you: direct me where you will. To me that plan will ever seem most fit that brings most hardship and most risk with it.’ 14 The old man lauds his words; and since the cold night air has made his wounds more cruelly smart, he pours a balm upon them, which controlled both blood and wounds, and strengthened every part. Then, since Apollo already touched with gold the roses painted by Aurora’s art: ‘It is time to go,’ said he; ‘See! the sun’s ray that sets all men to work shows us our way;’

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canto ten 15 and on his nearby chariot takes his stand, placing the fierce Nicean at his heel, shakes loose the bridles and with mastering hand lashes both steeds in turn. Away they reel, and fly in such a wise, the dusty land retains no print of either hoof or wheel. See how the great steeds steam and pant in flight, champing the bits on which the foam shines white! 16 I shall speak marvels here: the air between them and all else in a thick cloud is rolled and round the mighty chariot forms a screen; yet no one else could that strange cloud behold, nor could a rock hurled by a siege machine have rent that covering or pierced its fold; but clearly from its concave womb the two had both the cloud and the calm sky in view. 17 The knight, dumbfounded, lifts his eyebrows and wrinkles his forehead, and with transfixed eyes sees cloud and chariot hurtling overland so rapidly, it seems to him he flies. The other, seeing him astonished stand, his rigid face the picture of surprise, breaks on his silence with a sudden shout, whereat he shakes himself and thus calls out: 18 ‘O you, whoe’er you be, who strangely force Nature to such unheard-of high effect, and spy her mysteries, and freely course through ways most hid from human intellect: if your great wisdom can the lofty source of things remote and far away inspect, oh say, what rest or else what ruinous evils has Heaven decreed for Asia’s great upheavals? 19 ‘But tell me first your name, and by what art you have learned to work in this uncanny way, for while amazement seizes thus my heart, how can I heed the other words you say?’ The old man smiled, and answered: ‘In one part I readily can grant the thing you pray: Ismen’s my name; by Syrians called magician for I have made the unknown arts my mission.

canto ten 20 ‘But to foretell the future and unknit the tangled annals of eternal day, too bold that wish, too high that prayer, unfit such heavenly knowledge is for mortal clay. Let every mortal use his strength and wit to deal with doom and evil as he may, for often will a man of sense and pith be to himself his own good fortune’s smith. 21 ‘Do you prepare this your invincible hand, that may with ease make Frankish power quail, not merely to defend or guard the land that these fierce people hem in and assail from murderous sword or deadly fire-brand. Dare all! Bear all! Trust me, you cannot fail. Moreover, to your joy let now be told what I as through a darkening mist behold. 22 ‘I see or seem to see, before the great deathless day-star makes many lustra turn, a man whose feats* Asia shall celebrate and who lush Egypt’s sovereignty shall earn. His leisure’s fruits I will not here relate nor can I all his countless gifts discern. Let this one thing suffice you: he shall make the Christian potentates not only shake, 23 ‘but from its base rip up and shatter quite their usurped rule in war’s extremity and thrust their harried remnants from that fight in walls sheltered by nothing but the sea.* And he’ll be of your blood.’ Here ceased the flight of the old mage’s speech to him, and he exclaimed: ‘O blest man! Destined to such glory!’ (part envious at, part solaced by, the story) 24 and added then: ‘Let Fortune turn her wheel for good or ill, as is ordained on high. Over my soul her sway shall never steal. I’ll never let her see me bowed, not I! Sooner she’ll cause the moon or stars to reel out of their orbs, than from the strait path wry one step of mine.’ And at these words, his eyes blazed with the flames of daring enterprise.

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canto ten 25 Thus they conversed, until at last they came where they discerned the great tents nearby loom. Ah, what a show was here of woe and shame! What countless shapes of horror and of doom! Wet with his grief, the Sultan’s face became etched with deep sorrow and suffused by gloom. Ah! how unprized he here beheld downthrust his once-feared noble standards in the dust! 26 The bustling Franks, exultant, trampling down the breasts and faces of his closest friends, spoiling each still-unburied corpse of gown and luckless armour with proud insolence. While in long files some sing of the renown of their own cherished dead with last laments, he sees that others burn his rank and file, Turks, Arabs, pell-mell in one smouldering pile. 27 He sighed from deep within, and drew his blade, and from the car lunged with a headlong bound, but the old enchanter with a sharp cry stayed his desperate onrush, made him turn around, and, bidding him to mount again, conveyed him hence, steering his course for higher ground. Thus for some space they sped, till rearward far they saw recede the Frankish camp of war. 28 Out from their chariot then dismounted they, which vanished suddenly, while they addressed, on foot, still hidden in their cloud, their way, and leftward down into a valley pressed, until they came where in the fading day Mount Zion’s rearmost bluff loomed, facing west. Here halts the sorcerer and, like one in hope of finding something, nears the breakneck slope. 29 A hollow cave gaped in the cliff ’s hard stone, dug many ages since, but, having been unused, its access now was overgrown with weeds and shrubs that block it like a screen. The sorcerer parts that brush, and, nearly prone, ducks low into a narrow path between. One hand precedes him as gropes and squints, the other he extends to guide the prince.

canto ten 30 Then says the Sultan: ‘What a furtive hole is this you show me, unfit for attack? Sure, had you left the way in my control, another, better path my sword might hack.’ ‘Disdain not,’ he replies, ‘O scornful soul, to print on this dark road your mighty track. Even great Herod used it once, who still shines bright in fame for feats of martial skill. 31 ‘This cave,* to curb the subjects in his power, the king I speak of delved out to this end: that passing through it he might, from the tower called Antonine, after his famous friend, unseen by anyone, at any hour, to the ancient temple’s vestibule ascend, or leave the town in secret, or convey his covert agents in or out this way. 32 ‘But now this dark, deserted path is known among all men alive to none but me. Through it we’ll pass where, gathered by his throne, his wisest and most powerful company meet with the king, who now perhaps has grown too fearful of the threats of destiny. Yea, at great need you’ll come! Attend, keep still, and bide your time — then boldly speak your will.’ 33 So he addressed him, and at once the knight filled the low fissure with his giant frame, and through that cavern of perpetual night onward where his guide beckoned him he came. He bends down low at first, but the cave’s height increases as they pierce along the same, and their ascent grows easy, quick, and sure to almost midway up that path obscure. 34 Ismen at last unlatched a little door, through which they turned up a neglected stair where fitful rays of dim light evermore swirled downward from some high vent through the air. At last they gained a subterranean floor, with doors into a chamber bright and fair. There sat, sceptred and crowned, amid his ring of downcast followers, the downcast king.

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canto ten 35 The fierce Turk from his hollow cloud, unseen, sees all and looks about with sharpened senses, and hears the king the while, who, to convene the consult, from his rich throne thus commences: ‘Truly, my trusty men, the day we’ve seen was ruinous to our kingdom’s best defences. Now we, of all our highest hopes bereft, have only hope of help from Egypt left. 36 ‘And yet, how faint and distant such a hope seems in our present peril well you know. Therefore I’ve gathered you to give full scope to every counsel you may here bestow.’ Silence ensues and, as a breeze may ope soft rustles in a copse, all whisper low. But Argant, with a bold and cheerful face, hushes their buzz and rises in his place. 37 ‘O great-souled king,’ resounded the reply of that unflinching and ferocious knight, ‘why test us in such obvious matters? Why ask for our needless voices to do right? Yet I will speak. One hope can never die: ourselves. Since nothing can harm Virtue’s might, let us go armed with her, trust in her aid, nor love our lives where she is not obeyed. 38 ‘I say this here, not that I now despair that Egypt’s certain aid will come about — for where my king has pledged, I neither dare, nor deem it right to feel the slightest doubt — but say it only wishing we might bear within us (some of us) a mind more stout, alike prepared for all fates, at each breath assured of triumph and contemning death.’ 39 This and no more did spirited Argant say, like one who speaks of certitudes long tried. Then rose in an authoritative way Orcan, renowned for high birth far and wide, and worth some praise in arms another day, but yoked not long since to a fair young bride, and blessed already with offspring, which made the spouse and father faint-heart and afraid.

canto ten 40 This man said: ‘Surely, Sire, I will not blame this fervour of magnificent eloquence, that, unconfined and unconfineable, came straight from a heart bursting with confidence; for if the good Circassian’s words now flame, in their wonted way, too fervently intense, let him have leave, since all too soon he needs must show that selfsame fervour in his deeds. 41 ‘But you it now behoves, you, whom the course of time and great events have made so wise, to curb him, if too ardently he soars, with your cool counsel in his enterprise; to balance hoped-for aid from a far-off force with near — nay, instant — perils that here rise, and what our enemies’ force and arms may do to walls so old and garrison so new. 42 ‘We may (let me be frank) be seated here in a town strong by position and by skill, yet vast and violent siege machines appear prepared on the other side to wreak us ill. What will be, I know not. I hope, but fear the chance of Mars and Fortune’s fickle will, and tremble lest, cramped tighter day by day, we may at last lack food and waste away. 43 ‘For the grain and flocks that some contrived to bring inside your walls not quite a day ago — while he was only intent on bloodying swords in the field (great were his feats, I know) — are merest morsels for the hungering of this vast town if the siege continues so — and needs it will, even if Egypt’s host on the appointed day should hither post. 44 ‘Still, say it comes more slowly? But, no mind! Grant it outspeed promise and hope: I see, my liege, no victory for all that, nor find that therefore these embattled walls are free. It is Godfrey’s might we face, great king, combined with that of those great knights and infantry who have so often made such cruel work of Arab, Persian, Syrian, and Turk.

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canto ten 45 ‘You, valiant Argant, know what they can do, you who so often ceded them the ground, so often turned your back on them and grew glad above all your legs were swift and sound. Clorinda knows as well; so do I, too — for none in this can boast here, I’ll be bound! Nor do I speak in blame, since we did show the utmost valour valiant hearts can know. 46 ‘What’s more, I say (though this man’s scowls proclaim death and his scorn for truth) I see by signs infallible that our enemy came led by inevitable Destiny, and that no arms, no strong wall you can name can stop him, for he’ll conquer finally. To speak thus (Heaven hear me!) I feel bound by my love and zeal for king and native ground. 47 ‘Wise was the king of Tripoli,* who sped to make the Franks grant him both peace and crown! But the headstrong Sultan* now lies fallen or dead, or drags his feet, by slavish chains weighed down, or exiled, fugitive, and filled with dread, preserves a life that wretchedness will drown. Yet, yielding some, he might have, at small cost of tribute, salvaged some of all he lost.’ 48 So said he, wrapping spurious likelihood in winding speech uncertain and oblique, for of a peace by stooping low made good he dared not yet without concealment speak. But furious at his words, the Sultan could no longer suffer to play hide-and-seek, whereat the sorcerer said: ‘My lord, would you let him speak on thus without more ado?’ 49 ‘I, for my part,’ he answered, ‘here deplore to stand concealed. I burn with shame and rage.’ He had hardly said so, when the cloud’s veil tore that wrapped itself around him and the mage and melted into air and was no more, and he in clearest daylight takes the stage, right in their midst, magnificently fierce, his face ablaze, and thus astounds their ears:

canto ten 50 ‘I, whom you speak of, stand here even now. No fugitive Sultan I, nor filled with dread, and that this coward lies I hereby vow to prove with this my hand upon his head. I — who made blood in ample rivers flow, who on the plain raised mountains of the dead, alone in the foe’s camp, when none did live of all my comrades — I, a fugitive? 51 ‘But if this man or any else make bold, false to his country and his faith, to plot more schemes of craven treaties bought and sold, Sire, by your leave, I’ll kill him on the spot. For lambs and wolves* shall share a single fold and doves and snakes nest in a single grot, before a single patch, however small, harbours both Franks and us without a brawl.’ 52 His savage right hand holds his sword on high while thus he speaks, with menace in his stride. At his words all fall mute, astonished by the terror in his face and stupefied. Then with less fearsome horror in his eye he to the king turned courteously aside, saying: ‘Take hope, great sovereign, for I can help, nor help feebly: here stands Solyman.’ 53 Aladdin, rising toward him, replies: ‘Oh, how your coming makes me celebrate, dear friend! Now of my countless casualties I feel no loss — and I feared far worse fate. You can make safe my throne and in a trice raise up your own again, so fallen of late, if Heaven permits.’ This said, he with his right hand clasped the other’s neck and held him tight. 54 This welcome done, the king gave up his own chair to the great Nicean in his pride, and at his left upon a gorgeous throne seated himself, with Ismen by his side; and while he with the sorcerer talked alone to ask about their flight, and he replied, the noble maid* came up first to salute great Solyman; the rest all followed suit.

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canto ten 55 Among these others Ormuz entered, who had of that Arab crew assumed command, and, while the battle raged most fiercely, through abandoned paths had wound his passage and, silence and dark air aiding, brought into the city, without scathe, his Bedouin band, who with their loot of plundered flocks and grain now made the famished townsfolk breathe again. 56 Only the fierce Circassian never rose, but with a terrible and scornful face sat silent, like a lion in repose, rolling his eyes and moving not one pace. But Orcan now dares not his gaze oppose to Solyman’s fierce glance, but cowers in place. Thus Palestine’s tyrant and the Turkish king confer, their nobles round them in a ring. 57 But worthy Godfrey had used victory well, harried the vanquished, cleared the roads, and paid those of his men who in that struggle fell due holy last rites where they lay displayed. He now commands that on the citadel in two days’ time the main assault be made, threatening the pent barbarians with a more dismal and horror-bristling front of war. 58 And since he soon had recognized that crew* who had helped him thus to stem the heathen tide as that of those most valued warriors who had earlier chased after their treacherous guide — Tancred among them, who, a prisoner too, in false Armida’s fortress had been tied — he calls them, in the Hermit’s sight alone and of a few wise men, before his throne, 59 and asks them: ‘Pray, can someone here impart to me the ways of your brief wandering course, and how you later, to relieve our smart in such great need could bring such welcome force?’ Ashamed they hung their heads, for in each heart the slightest fault wrought bitterest remorse. At last the illustrious son of Britain’s king* looked up and broke their silence, sorrowing:

canto ten 60 ‘Finding our lots left luckless in the ewer, we stole away, each on his own, to chase (I don’t deny it) the deceitful lure of Love and of a lovely, treacherous face. She drew us on through twisted paths obscure, squabbling, each jealous of the other’s place. Each little word from her, each glance — too late I see it now! — but nursed our lust and hate. 61 ‘At last we came where long ago the fire* in flakes of swelling flame fell from the sky, and crimes unnatural, offences dire of a folk grown hard in sin, avenged thereby. The land was fertile once, a kindly shire, but now it forms a tepid, sulphurous sty, a sterile lake. All shores its slow waves drench exude through thickening air a dreadful stench. 62 ‘Nothing, however heavy, in this still swamp finds its bottom if upon it thrown. Like ash-wood and light pine, a body will bob on its waves — yea, iron and hard stone. In it a castle stands upon a hill, with access by one narrow bridge alone. There she brought us, and by uncanny art that place is fair and smiles in every part. 63 ‘And there the breeze is soft, pure is the sky, glad are the trees and meadows, sweet the waves, and in a pleasant myrtle bower nearby a little stream a fountain’s margins laves. Over the lap of leaves soft murmurs ply, raining repose into its verdant caves, and the sweet birds sing. (I shall leave untold the wonders there in marble and in gold.) 64 ‘Upon the grassy bank, in densest shade, close to the sound of crystal waters, we a table proud with ornate bowls saw laid, crowded with cates of dearest rarity. All that each season yields was here displayed, all fruit of earth and foison of the sea, and all that art decocts; and with lithe grace a hundred fair maids vied to serve each place.

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canto ten 65 ‘With lovely smiles and dulcet speeches she sweetens a food else fatal and malign. Then, while placed round her table, all made free to quaff in long draughts long oblivion’s wine, she rose and cried, “Now wait!” and presently came back with a face less tranquil and benign. A slim wand in her right hand, she proceeds to raise a book with her left, and softly reads. 66 ‘The sorceress reads. I feel my thought and will change, change my life, my home, and all the rest. New modes of thought (strange power!) seize me till I leap into the waves, dive down, possessed. Both legs (I know not how) draw in and fill, then one arm, then the other one, my breast, I stretch and shrink, scales cover me, I swish lithe fins; and of a man I’m made a fish. 67 ‘Soon each of all the others slithered too, transformed like me, to a quicksilver crowd. What then became of me, what then I knew, seems now a phantom in a flickering cloud. At last it pleased her to restore us to our own forms but, by fear and wonder cowed, we stood struck dumb and grieving, while she thus, black gloom in all her glances, spoke to us: 68 ‘ “Lo! now you know my power,” she says, “and know how wholly in my hands your fortunes lie. My whim determines which of you, laid low, lose in eternal chains his gracious sky, which will turn bird, and which take root below to sprout in earth’s womb, or to petrify into a rock, or melt into a spring, or, shaggy-browed, become some beastly thing. 69 ‘ “But know you can escape my bitter hate, if to my sovereign pleasure you will yield, turn pagan, and in service to our state against foul Bouillon use both sword and shield.” One sole man, Rambault, takes her vile pact’s bait; all else refused, with horror unconcealed. Us (since no least defence availed) she cast chained in a hole where never sun’s ray passed.

canto ten 70 ‘At that same castle then by chance arrives Tancred, and he too is a prisoner made. Yet the false sorceress kept us there in gyves but briefly. Soon (as I surmise) an aide sent by Damascus’ tyrant lord* contrives to make that foul dame yield us. She obeyed, and he, with a hundred armed guards, moved to bring us — helpless, chained — a gift to Egypt’s king. 71 ‘Thus we were journeying thence; and, as Heaven’s high Providence ever will the world’s jars settle, the good Rinaldo, he who far and nigh exalts his glory with surpassing fettle, meets us there and assaults our guards to try their might and prove on them his wonted mettle. He slays them, triumphs, and soon makes us don their armour, which had earlier been our own. 72 ‘I saw him. These men saw him. Yea, his hand it was reached out for ours, his voice we heard. He lives. The tale that terrifies this land is a false rumour and an idle word. Three days before this day he left us and, escorted only by a pilgrim, spurred away from us toward Antioch, having first cast off his arms, all blood-stained, hacked, and burst.’ 73 So said he, and the Hermit* meanwhile turns and, both eyes shining, stands entranced in place. Oh, with what more-than-wonted zeal he burns! How much more holy and reverend his face! Filled with his God, inspired, he discerns as with an angel’s sight the whole world’s race: he sees the future open, and he gauges the timeless process of the years and ages, 74 and freely from his tongue resounding wells prophetic lore with future deeds replete. All turn to him, his awesome voice compels them, and his face, to give him ear complete. ‘He lives,’ says he, ‘Rinaldo lives, all else is woman’s wile and trickery and deceit. He lives. Heaven keeps his life, still young and green, for riper glories than these times have seen.

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canto ten 75 ‘Mere foretastes, boyish feats are these that now make Asia know him and repeat his name. To him (I clearly see)* in time will bow wicked Augustus, by his will made tame. Under his silver eagle’s wings, oh how the Church and Rome his glory will proclaim, by his hands from the Great Beast’s talons torn! And sons well worth him will in time be born — 76 ‘and sons of sons, and who from them descend, will keep their memorable deeds in view. Mitres and holy temples they’ll defend from unjust Caesars, and from rebels too; humble the proud, relieve the weak, and end crime’s reign and raise up innocence anew. These are the arts they’ll use. Thus far and high beyond the sun shall Este’s eagle fly. 77 ‘And meetly she, gazing on truth and light, wields in Saint Peter’s cause her bolts of dread. Wherever war for Christ is fought, her bright, invincible, triumphant wings shall spread. For Heaven, by fatal doom, grants her this right, even for the noble issue she has bred. So now the Powers on High please to ordain that he be called back to his task again.’ 78 Here, conquered by his theme, sage Peter, stricken, stands in rapt stillness. Thoughts that have their birth in his heart exalting Este’s prince so quicken his reverent face, all else seems of no worth. Meanwhile Night falls, her sable shadows thicken the air, and in her veils she swathes the earth. The rest depart and soon their eyelids close; but one man, deep in cares, finds no repose.

Canto Eleven 1 The Captain of Christ’s host, his every sense fixed upon ways to breach the city’s walls, broods how to launch his fierce siege instruments, when solitary Peter on him calls, draws him aside, and thus in confidence, solemn and grave, his ready mind enthrals: ‘You rouse, O Captain, your terrestrial might, but your beginning is not framed aright. 2 ‘Let Heaven our beginning be: invoke, before all else, with public and devout prayers, the angel host, the saints, whose stroke alone can bring our victory about. Let first, in sacred vestments, all your clergy folk with holy song their suppliant notes ring out; and let the vulgar learn devotion, too, from their grand chieftains as they go with you.’ 3 So said the rigorous pilgrim to him, and his wisdom on good Godfrey was not lost: ‘God’s servant true,’ said he, ‘I understand, and gladly will I act as you’ve proposed. Now, while to the great dukes I give command, go you to find the pastors of the host, William and Ademar,* and be your care the sacred, pious ritual to prepare.’ 4 The following dawn, at the old man’s behest, the two high priests come with the lesser ones to that part of the camp, hallowed and blessed, reserved for sacred rites and orisons. There his gold-heavy cope, while all the rest don snowy albs, each greater Shepherd dons, hasps it in front, makes both halves drape his smock’s white linen, and with his mitre crowns his locks.

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canto eleven 5 Peter goes first, alone, proud to display to the breeze the Sign adored in Paradise. With grave, slow steps the choir make their way in two long files behind it as it flies. In antiphons they lift their double lay of suppliant chant, and pace with lowered eyes; and, following their grave ranks, side by side, the princes Ademar and William stride. 6 Next Bouillon came, alone too, as is meet for a captain by the law of precedence; next, two by two, the dukes, in order neat, then all the host, all armed for their defence. These marched in front, and from their tents’ retreat the masses thronged behind them through the fence. No martial notes ring out, no trumpets blare, but humble piety pervades the air. 7 Thee, Father; Thee, Thy Father’s equal, Son; and Thee, who lovingly from both proceed; thee, Virgin, Mother of God and Man in one, they now invoke to aid them in their need; ye, flaming choirs, who wheeling with the sun in threefold ranks* the starry courses lead; and thee, Divine, who by thy fountain’s flow once humbly washed* the God-Man’s spotless brow, 8 they called upon; and thee, thou Rock,* thou sure foundation of that fortress of God’s will where Thy successor now, worthy and pure, opens the gates of grace and pardon still; ye, too, whose hallowed writings* aye endure to make us know death’s triumph over ill, and ye, who for the sake of things to come witnessed the truth* by blood and martyrdom; 9 ye, too, whose pen,* whose word yet lights the lost way unto true felicity; and thee, Christ’s loyal handmaid,* whose delights were in the nobler choice of life; and ye, espoused by God* in sacred nuptial rites, cloistered and clean in chaste virginity; and ye, great-souled mid torments and privations,* who scorned the pride of rulers and of nations.

canto eleven 10 With chants like these, the populace devout in ever widening circles spreads and moves, and slowly toward Mount Olivet sets out — that mount named for its spreading olive groves, the holy Mount of Olives famed throughout the world, that fronts the easternmost redoubt of the walls, kept from them only by the screen of deep Jehoshaphat* which lies between. 11 There now they all ascend and pray and sing, while the deep valleys echo with their song, and back from hills and caves those echoes ring a thousandfold redoubled, clear and strong. It almost seems that wood nymphs carolling throughout the caverns and the leafage throng, so clearly, so unceasingly there came pealing, now Christ’s, now Mary’s glorious name. 12 From their high walls meanwhile the pagans gazed, struck dumb with wonderment to hear and see that slow procession and humble chant, amazed by its strange pomp and alien liturgy. But all too soon the profane wretches raised, when the sacred rite had lost its novelty, rude cries that made the stream and vale and mound with insults and with blasphemies resound. 13 But Jesus’ hosts, despite them, do not end their chaste and gentle harmony, but spurn their shrieks and howls, nor any more attend them than some swarm of chattering birds that churn the sky, nor fear that far-off arrows will offend their holy peace (though arrows fly), but turn their backs upon them till their rites are done, and sing the sacred songs they have begun. 14 Upon the summit then an altar they, the board for the Great Banquet’s priest, prepare, and on each side a holy flame display on stands of gold that glisten in the air. There, freshly garbed in precious new array, William remains a while in silent prayer, then in a clear voice makes confession of his sins, and thanks and praises God above.

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canto eleven 15 Humbly in front the foremost chieftains stand; those farther off look on with fervent eyes. ‘Go forth!’ he said at last, ending the grand Mysterium* of the Blameless Sacrifice, and lifting high above the warrior band his priestly hand, blessed them and bade them rise. Then the meek squadrons traced their steps once more along the paths that they had trod before. 16 At camp, disbanding the processional, Godfrey sought his pavilion. With him went a thick and trampling press of men who all throng to the very threshold of his tent. He turns, dismissing all the rest, to call to attend on him the most pre-eminent, and at his table bids them sit and eat, with aged Raymond* opposite his seat. 17 Then, after nature’s need for sustenance met requital, and thirst’s grievance was redressed, the Captain said unto his captains: ‘Let the new dawn find you all prompt for the test. That day will be our day of battle and sweat. Today let us prepare and get some rest. Rest, each of you then for a while, and then make ready your equipment and your men.’ 18 They take their leave, and, to the trumpet’s blare, the heralds soon proclaim that every man at dawn’s first light shall be in arms and yare for the onset of battle. Thus the day began. All day some exercise, and some prepare, toiling, their gear, while others think and plan, till labour halts once more, brought to its close by quiet night, companion of repose. 19 Still doubtful hung the dawn and immature the day’s birth lingered eastward. Nothing stirred. No ploughshare through the sod yet cleft a spoor; no shepherd back to pasture led his herd; upon their twigs the small birds sat secure, and in the woods nor hound nor horn was heard, when reveille of trumps rang the alarm: ‘Arm! Arm!’ and all the heavens answered: ‘Arm!’

canto eleven 20 ‘To arms! To arms!’ the universal cry of a hundred squadrons echoes through the dawn. Up springs great Godfrey then, and passes by the huge cuirass and greaves he’s wont to don, but seizes a mere soldier’s panoply, for speed and lightness framed, and throws it on. His back that easy weight already bore, when trusty Raymond entered at the door. 21 He, finding his great Captain meet his eye thus armed, at once imagined his intents. ‘Where’, said he, ‘is your mighty hauberk? Why are you not mailed in steel? Will you go hence partly unarmed? No word of praise have I for any who will trust such weak defence. In you, this can but mean that I here find you bent on glory of a lower kind. 22 ‘Is a private palm your goal? Will you tempt fate, scaling the walls? Oh, let some other dare to expose a soul less vital to the state, and climb, whose duty it is such risks to bear. Put on again, my Lord, the wonted weight, and for our good have of yourself some care. Keep your own soul, the army’s mind and life, for God’s sake, wisely guarded in this strife.’ 23 He is silent, and the other speaks: ‘Know now that when great Urban* at Clermont-Ferrand girt on this sword of mine, and I did bow, a consecrated knight, to his great hand, I silently to God swore a firm vow to serve not only as I might command, but also, when the time came, to appear in nothing but a private soldier’s gear. 24 ‘Therefore, when, ranged against the enemy, my host assembles, ready for the test, and I have done what is required of me as their commander, and have done my best, it is most proper (can you disagree?) that I too climb the wall, fight with the rest, and keep my troth to Heaven as I must. Heaven will guard me, and in Heaven I trust.’

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canto eleven 25 So he concluded, and the French knights all arm like him, and the younger Bouillons* twain. The other dukes, too, for light armour call and march like infantry out on the plain. But the heathens meanwhile gathered near the wall that fronts the seven cold stars* of the Wain and there curves west, a place where its contour, surmounting easier ground, is least secure. 26 For elsewhere round the city there is no fear that hostile battery may bear them down, therefore the infidel tyrant gathers here not only the militia of the town and mercenaries, but old men and mere boys for hard toil to brave hard fortune’s frown, and these haul up for use by stronger souls quicklime and pitch, rocks, darts, and red-hot coals. 27 Atop that cirque of walls, their bristling ring of arms and engines dominates the land. On one side looms the Sultan, glowering, a giant glimpsed from the waist upward, and seen from afar on the other, a dreadful thing. Betwixt two piers huge Argant takes his stand, while on the Angolar turret’s * topmost crest appears Clorinda, high above the rest. 28 Strung to her back, her quiver with its freight of sharp darts hangs, while, eager for the storm, she bends her bow already and draws straight an arrow on the cord with her strong arm. At a loophole, the fair archer stands in wait for enemies, eager to wreak them harm. So once the Delian maid,* in days gone by, high in the clouds hailed arrows from the sky. 29 Pacing the walls beneath, on foot, there hies from one gate to the next the white-haired king, sees his commands obeyed with his own eyes, cheers the defenders’ hearts, and here makes bring the needed reinforcements, there supplies more weapons, and takes heed of everything. But to the mosque the afflicted matrons flee to implore their impious, false divinity:

canto eleven 30 ‘Smash Thou, O Lord, the Frankish pirate’s spear with righteous hand and strong, and do not spare; and them who at Thy great name taunt and leer scatter beneath the gates and break them there.’ (So they intoned, but none below could hear, among Hell’s wails of endless death, their prayer.) While thus the city folk prepare and pray, good Bouillon gets his forces under way. 31 He makes his host of infantry advance, and foresight with transcendent skill combines, for he divides it for the assault, askance and sloping toward the walls, in two great lines. Between, in front, his catapults he plants and all the rest of Mars’ grim machines, from which, rapid as lightning bolts, great flights of stones and pikes batter the merloned heights. 32 His armoured knights to guard his footmen’s back he posts, deploying light horse in between, then gives the sign for battle. Now the attack from countless bows and slings that whir and spin and of stones from engines makes the air so black that at the loopholes the defence grows thin. Some flee their stations; others die and fall, and sparser grow the spikes that crown the wall. 33 The Frankish infantry with eager speed fast as it can advances to the test; and some by locking shields with shields proceed to make a cover for their heads; the rest, crouching beneath the war machines, take heed to guard against the hail of rocks. Hard-pressed the wide and vacant moat at last they gain and seek to fill it level with the plain. 34 The moat contained no water or slime (too steep its site and quite unsuitable the land); they therefore heap in it, though large and deep, stones, bales, sods, beams — whatever comes to hand. Dauntless Alcastus meanwhile in one sweep dashes from cover, lifts a ladder, and, unslowed by the hard hail or by the shower of boiling pitch, climbs up with all his power.

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35 See that fierce Switzer, having scaled on high, midway upon his aerial quest, the aim of myriad arrows, nor so wounded by these as to halt his course or quench his flame; when a round stone of huge weight on the fly, swift as a cannon shot, buffets his frame, striking his helmet’s crest, and lays him low; and the Circassian* heaved that mighty throw. 36 Not mortal is the blow (though grave), his fall so hard, he swoons, dead weight, and drops from view. Then Argant with loud threats is heard to call: ‘The first has fallen. Who’ll be number two? Why not charge openly — come one, come all — you creeping warriors? I don’t hide from you. You won’t be safe in your ingenious caves, but die in them like cattle in their traves.’ 37 So said he, and his words delay no whit the hidden troops, who in their sheltering dens and under raised shields joined and closely knit against huge weights and arrows find defence. Then to the walls the battering-rams they fit, of ponderous timbers made, engines immense, with butting heads of hard and tempered steel, beneath whose knocks the gates and high walls reel. 38 A massive boulder meanwhile from the heights, by a hundred desperate hands with thongs and lashes launched toward the turtle-shell most packed with knights, rolls down like a great mountain slide and crashes so hard, the joined shields scatter as it smites. More than one helm, more than one head it smashes. Strewn on the earth dabbled with reddish stains lie weapons, blood, bones, skulls, and spattered brains. 39 Now the besiegers will no longer keep sheltered beneath their engines’ canopy, but into open risk decide to leap forward from perils blind, to do or die. Some set up ladders there and upwards sweep; the wall’s base others hack in rivalry. It sways already, and its flinty flanks show ruinous at this onrush of the Franks.

canto eleven 40 It would, indeed, have fallen to the knocks redoubled on it by the battering-ram, but that the pagans guard against its shocks with warlike skill and prudence, for they cram whenever the great beam approaches, blocks of wool, dropped from on high, between. Each slam, absorbed, is dampened thus; the yielding stuff receives the blows hard stone cannot rebuff. 41 Now while that daring struggle makes a blur of the stout bands near the wall in the mêlée, Clorinda seven times bends her bow, lets whir seven times its cord to set swift arrows free. As many times as darts fly down from her, so many times their plumes and iron she with choicest blood, never with vulgar, stains. (For common targets the proud maid disdains.) 42 The first knight whom she wounded there was young William, that prince of England, brave and splendid. Scarce had he, head exposed, from shelter sprung, when down on him the deadly shaft descended, and his raised right hand, piercing through it, stung, its iron gauntlet useless to defend it. Maimed and unfit for war, he quits the stage, groaning aloud, less out of pain than rage. 43 Then good Count Amboise* near the moat fell slack, and on his ladder next Clothar the Frank: one died with trunk transfixed from breast to back; the other dropped, impaled from flank to flank. The Flemish lord* who led the ram’s attack is on his left arm struck. He slows to yank the sharp shaft from the wound with iron grip, but lodged in flesh remains the iron tip. 44 Incautious Ademar has turned to view the savage conflict from a far-off place, when a fatal reed pierces his forehead through. Wildly his right hand reaches up to trace the spot where he is hit, when lo! a new bolt finds the hand and pins it to his face; He falls, and thick streams of his sacred blood baptize a woman’s weapons with their flood.

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canto eleven 45 On Palamede, who now neared the battlement, and, boldly scorning danger, clambered high and on the steep rungs nimbly upward went, the seventh iron plunged in his right eye, and, thrusting through the hollow socket, rent the optic nerve to exit, crimsoned, by the nape below his skull. Headlong he falls dead at the base of the assaulted walls. 46 Thus does she shoot. Meanwhile Godfrey lets fall fresh bolts on the defenders in the fight. Next to one gate he bids his soldiers haul the engine of his most destructive might. This is a tower of wood so huge and tall, her top rears rivalling the wall’s great height — a tower, packed with arms and men, that steals slowly alongside, hauled on cumbrous wheels. 47 The vast mass looms, bristling with darts and spears, and swiftly as she can moves in, and now makes for the foemen’s wall. As she appears, like a warship plunging at an enemy prow, to stop her progress, the wall’s halberdiers strike at this flank or that, or at her brow, and push her back with poles, and pelt with peals of clattering rocks her battlements and wheels. 48 Countless now hither, countless thither fly the darts and stones, so that the heavens turn black. Two arrow clouds clash head-on in mid-sky and sometimes whence it came a spear speeds back. As twigs are stripped of leaves when pelted by raindrops congealed to ice, and split and crack, while the yet unripe apples drop pell-mell, so from their walls the Saracen soldiers fell, 49 for on them ruin works more woe, since they are less well furnished with defensive steel. Moreover, some left living run away, appalled by the huge engine’s thunder-peal. But Nicea’s erstwhile tyrant* makes a stay, and stops the cowards who are turning heel; while savage Argant, mustering all his power, runs, snatching up a timber, at the tower,

canto eleven 50 and thrusts it, far as the great beam extends and his arm’s mighty force prevails, away. And thither, too, the lofty maid* descends to share with him the peril of the fray. The Franks meanwhile slashed at the hawser-ends and straps from which the hanging wool-bales sway with long, sharp hooks, until they tumbled down and left exposed the rampart of the town. 51 Thus the great tower above, and down below the bitter ram relentlessly applied, begin to crack the wall’s stones and to show through gaps the secret tunnels in its side. Toward that trembling barrier, shaken so, see now the Captain of the Faithful stride, hid head to foot behind the giant shield that it has seldom been his wont to wield. 52 He, glancing round him warily from there, sees Solyman descending from the height to take up a defensive station where the perilous breach yawned, open to the fight; and sees on guard on high the other pair, Clorinda and the bold Circassian knight. Beholding them, he felt within his heart the sudden flames of generous ardour start, 53 so that he says, turning to good Sigier, who bore his other buckler and his bow: ‘Now hand me, O my trusty squire, that gear less burdensome and cumbrous. I will go and sally forth to be the first to clear the doubtful path through the rubble and the foe. At last our time has come and it is meet we show our virtue by some noble feat.’ 54 Even while, at change of shields, these quick words start from him, an arrow, by an ill wind blown, catches his leg and stings it in that part where pain is sharpest, piercing to the bone. That your hand, O Clorinda, aimed this dart, Fame sings, the glory of it yours alone; and if this day your pagan nation stays from death and slavery, yours is the praise.

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canto eleven 55 But the champion Chief, as though he did not feel the wound’s remorseless agony, ascends unchecked along his chosen path uphill, over the rubble, urging on his friends, yet soon knows that his leg no longer will hold firm, too badly hurt, while his intense anguish is by his efforts made still worse, so that at last he leaves the assault perforce; 56 and, beckoning good Guelf with his right hand, he said to him: ‘I leave under duress. Do you assume the office of command and make the defect of my absence less. Brief time will I be gone from where we stand. I go. I will return.’ Thus from the press he, mounting a swift steed, retired and made, not unobserved, his way to the stockade. 57 At the Captain’s parting, Fortune and the stars frown on the Franks and yield them to their foes. The enemy ranks recover from their scars, their souls grow joyful as their fair hope grows; and for the faithful, as the favour of Mars departs and impetus and daring slows, all blades more sluggishly the red blood seek. Their very trumpets languish and sound weak. 58 Now on the battlements soon reappear those fleeing throngs whom fear had chased away, and seeing the brave maiden standing here, true love of home bids even the women stay. Look! how they bustle, banishing all fear, with scattered locks and gowns tucked up, while they hurl darts, and undismayed upon the wall defy the foe with bosoms bared and fists raised high. 59 But what most fills the Franks with fear, what most takes fear from the defenders of the town is that great Guelf (nor is the notice lost on this side or on that) falls senseless down. From afar, a rock, one of a thousand tossed, his fate has found and marked him as her own. At that same instant too a similar blow bruises good Raymond’s head and lays him low.

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60 Moreover, at the moat’s brink, quite run through, bold Eustace fell and writhed in grievous pain. From that point, fateful for the Franks, no new blow by the foe (and blows came hard, again and yet again) but managed to undo body from soul, or open at least some vein. At this good fortune, waxing yet more wild, the fierce Circassian thus the host reviled: 61 ‘This is not Antioch,* this not the night friendly to Christian fraud and trickeries. Look, now the sun shines clear; we now will fight a different war by different means from these. Is there no spark left in you to relight your love of prey or praise, that you now cease so quickly, worn out by a few brief whirls, you Frankish men — or rather, Frankish girls?’* 62 So says he, and the bold knight grows so hot with flames of fury that his heart consume that the huge city he defends seems not spacious enough to give his ardour room. He hurls himself with huge leaps toward the spot where the breach cleaves the great wall’s stony gloom and blocks that outlet, shouting meanwhile to Solyman just then coming into view: 63 ‘Solyman, now behold the place, behold the hour to prove the valour we’ve professed. Why pause? Are you afraid? Charge and be bold. He gains the garland who desires it best.’ This said, both one and the other, uncontrolled, sally out headlong to the gruesome test, one by his wrath, one by his honour spurred and the fierce goading of the other’s word. 64 They pounced unlooked for, without warning, on the enemy, and like fierce rivals showed. Such crowds of warriors were by them undone — shields, helmets, scattered, crushed; limbs lopped and mowed; long ladders cropped; rams battered — that anon a mountain seemed to heave up where they strode, and in the stead of mounds of fallen stones they heaped a mole of armaments and bones.

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canto eleven 65 Those who before were keen to climb and win the mural diadem’s exalted prize,* far from aspiring now to enter in, seem powerless in their own defence to rise. They fall back feebly and, to their chagrin, prey to the fierce pair’s frenzy, leave likewise the siege-towers, which those two so badly tore and smashed, they seemed unfit for future war. 66 Both pagan knights, by their momentum hurled to yet more savage and destructive power, now called for fire from the town, then whirled, each with a blazing pine, back toward the tower. Just so, intent to overturn the world, from the Tartarean gate in evil hour the baneful sisters,* Pluto’s minions, fly, brandishing snakes and torches in the sky. 67 But undefeated Tancred, who elsewhere on his slow Latin troops was crying shame, soon as he sees the marvels these two dare, and the two great pine trees, and the double flame, halts in mid-shout, and moves as swift as air the fury of the Saracens to tame; and of his worth he makes such harsh display, winners turn losers now, and beasts turn prey. 68 Thus with the change of fortune does the tide of battle alter and the foe gives ground. Meanwhile the wounded Captain on his ride his way back to the waiting tent has found. Good Sigier, Baldwin too, stand by his side, and a great press of grieving friends crowds round. He tugs, in haste, impatient, at the dart inside his wound and breaks the shaft apart, 69 then urges that the nearest, readiest way be taken for his cure, be it to burn or cut the wound, or trim it, or to lay each fibre bare. Let them feel no concern. ‘Just send me back to fight. Let not the day set on this battle unless I return,’ he says, grips a huge lance, and undismayed offers his leg to pincer and to blade.

canto eleven 70 Now old Eròtimo, born on banks of Po,* busies himself to treat the wounded part. Of all herbs, and all sovereign balms also, he knew each use, each quality by heart. Dear to the Muse, he was content to sow the lesser glories of a silent art, his only care to wrest from death frail frames, though skilled as well to blazon deathless names. 71 The Captain stands propped up, his face (though strong pain chafes his very core) unmoved by sighs. In a tucked-up gown, his sleeves slung back along his arm, the other gently, deftly tries, now with some potent herb, now with a prong, vainly to draw the dart from where it lies; and, with his finger on the wound, he sought to grip it at the steel, but all for naught. 72 His arts are useless, his designs are vain. Fortune withholds her smile, do what he will; and in the wounded hero once again the throes grow almost strong enough to kill. His guardian angel then, moved by his pain, flew to pluck dittany* on Ida’s hill, a herb with downy fronds and purple flowers, that in its young leaves bears miraculous powers. 73 Well Mistress Nature to the mountain goat* imparts the secret of its healing sprays when she is wounded through her shaggy coat and in her flank the wingèd arrow stays. This plant, though from a region far remote, in a trice the angel hither now conveys and all unseen into a nearby cruse of soothing balm squeezes the potent juice, 74 making the fragrant panacea flow with dews from Lydia’s* sacred fountain poured. The old man dabs the wound with this, and lo! out glides the barb, as by its own accord. The blood is staunched, and in a trice each throe abates and the leg’s vigour is restored. Eròtimo cries: ‘Not science (I am sure) nor my poor mortal hands here work your cure.

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canto eleven 75 ‘A greater power saves you. Verily, an angel, turned physician, has descended! Clear signs of a celestial hand I see! Arm, then. Why linger? Has the day’s fight ended?’ Great Godfrey has already eagerly in purple swathed his legs and there appended his greaves and seized his great lance. Now he grasps his cast-off shield, and ties his helmet’s clasps. 76 He burst from the enclosed stockade, and turned to the stricken town, backed by a thousand men. Above, the sky in a mighty dust-cloud churned; beneath earth trembled with the shock; and when from afar on high the enemy troops discerned his charge, fear chilled their bones, and once again, fear made their blood congeal, as to the sky he thrice raised his tremendous battle-cry. 77 His own men know his ringing voice and heed the shout that spurs them into combat and, regaining their momentum and their speed, fly back to combat, fighting hand-to-hand. But now the two fierce infidels proceed to occupy the breach and make a stand, blocking the cleft like beasts that guard their den against good Tancred and his Latin men. 78 Here, full of scorn and menace, with his host, the Frankish chief in iron armour came, and, soon as he saw savage Argant, tossed his steel-tipped spear, swift as the lightning’s flame. No siege machine or catapult could boast to speed a dart with more force to its aim. The knotty shaft whistles across the field, and Argant, fearless, meets it with his shield. 79 But by the stabbing ash the shield is split, nor does the tempered breastplate hold the tip. It jabs through chain and mail, and makes a slit into his flesh, his pagan blood to sip. But Argant (senseless of the pain of it) uproots it, though his very sinews rip, and hurls it back at Godfrey. ‘Look’, cries he, ‘how shafts and weapons get returned by me!’

canto eleven 80 Offender first, avenger now, the spear whizzes and by the same route back is sped, but does not wound whom it is aimed at here, who ducks the blow and sideways bends his head; yet finds his faithful squire-at-arms Sigier, who takes the iron in his throat instead. Nor does he grieve, thus singled out for death in his master’s place, to lose both light and breath. 81 At nearly the same instant Solyman smites with a rock the Norman captain’s* brow. He reels, bends double, and with face all wan falls like a spinning-top beneath the blow. But Godfrey’s wrath at these offences can no longer be kept bridled, and he now climbs, sword in hand, up the heaped rubble, and near the centre of the conflict takes his stand. 82 And truly, wonders he would there have done, with harsh and fatal struggles following, but out came Night and chased away the sun and hid the world beneath her cloudy wing; and bade peace-making gloom descend upon the wrath of wretched mortals quarrelling. Hence, sounding the retreat, Godfrey made stay. such was the ending of this bloody day. 83 But before mindful Bouillon quit the field, he had the sick and maimed borne to the rear, nor would he as a prey to foemen yield the siege machines with their surviving gear. Even the huge tower is to safety wheeled (for the enemy the foremost cause of fear), although the battle’s dreadful surge and tide has ripped and battered her on every side. 84 Escaped from peril, she is hauled at last to safety in the Frankish camp’s enclaves. But as a ship in full sail bounding fast across the sea as if to scorn the waves is sometimes within sight of harbour cast on shoals or treacherous rocks that burst her staves, or as a steed on dubious roads may roam and slip and fall when he is almost home,

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canto eleven 85 so now the tower sags, and on the side that was exposed to the barrage of rocks leans ruinously on two wheels cracked and wryed, sticking in ruts, lurching with sudden shocks. Yet those who are conducting her provide levers to prop her up and steadying blocks, until the ready craftsmen come to heal her of the wounds that make her droop and reel. 86 Godfrey ordains the mighty task and binds the craftsmen to complete their work by dawn, and stations guards along each path that winds toward the great mass they are working on. The city-dwellers heard with troubled minds their tools and words resound till night was gone, and clearly light, by countless torches lent, showed what they laboured on, and what it meant.

Canto Twelve 1 Now night has come, yet no repose in sleep the wearied people seek, wherever they be. On this side, vigilant stand the Franks and keep guard as the carpenters toil busily; on that, the pagans prop up walls, or heap new stones against the tottering masonry, and seek their crumbling ramparts to repair; and on both sides the wounded call for care. 2 At last the wounds were dressed, and soon at least some of the night’s tasks done or put aside, or slowed, while stillness and deep shade increased and sleep’s strong summons made men heavy-eyed. But the bold warrior maiden’s soul is seized by a thirst for honour all unsatisfied. While others rest, she longs to act. Thus she, on watch with Argant, ponders inwardly: 3 ‘Indeed, good Argant and the Turkish king have done unheard-of deeds and strange today, charging alone such countless throngs, to bring harm to the Christian engines and get away. And I, sheltered on high — a splendid thing to boast of! — from a distance joined the fray, an archeress — with (I grant) the luck to score. But is this all a woman may do, no more? 4 ‘Better for me on crags or in a wood at beasts my darts and bolts to shower, than here to seem, where virile hardihood shines forth, a mere girl amid men of power! Why not resume a woman’s gown and snood, if that is all I’m worth, and keep some bower?’ Thus saying to herself, she broods, and yearns for noble things, and to the warrior turns:

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canto twelve 5 ‘For some time now, my lord, in a restless fit and dreams of feats unheard-of my desire has fretted — be it God inspires it, or men make gods of where their wills aspire. Outside the foe’s stockade, do you see lit these torches? I’ll go forth with sword and fire and set their tower ablaze. This, I declare, is my firm will; let the rest be Heaven’s care. 6 ‘But should it pass that my ill fortune prove to block the path of the return I plan, for him who is like a father in my love and my dear serving-maids do what you can. Give means back home to Egypt to remove those friendless ladies and that tired old man.* Do it for God’s sake, sir; you know that true compassion to their sex and age is due.’ 7 Argant is thunderstruck, and feels his heart by agonizing goads of glory spurred: ‘Will you go hence?’ he cried; ‘Will you depart and leave me here among the common herd? Can I, from some safe spot, without a smart behold the smoke and sparks that you have stirred? No, no! Comrades in arms we’ve been, and I must share your glory too, or with you die. 8 ‘Mine too, a heart that scorns death; I too know that life’s a price well paid where honour lures.’ ‘Eternal proof of this’, said she, ‘you show in that so generous sallying out of yours. However, if I, who am a woman, go to death, small harm our threatened town endures; but (Heaven prevent the omen) if you fall, who will be left who can keep safe the wall?’ 9 The knight replied: ‘In vain you broach such long, specious objections to my settled will. I’ll follow you, if you’ll take me along; but I’ll go first, if you refuse me still.’ Agreed, they sought the king, sitting among the peers and sages of his commonweal. Clorinda thus commenced: ‘My liege, attend and favour with your grace what we intend.

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10 ‘Argant here (and his boast will not be vain) has vowed to set that high siege-tower on fire. I shall be with him, and we only refrain till sleep’s charms make the enemy nod or tire.’ The king lifts up his palms, while great tears stain with dew the white cheeks of the royal sire; and, ‘Praised be Thou,’ he cries, ‘Who turn’st Thine eyes upon thy servant and bidd’st my kingdom rise. 11 ‘Nor will it quickly fall, while such as they who stand before me their brave standards raise. How can I, honoured pair, fitly repay your high deserts, whether in gifts or praise? Let fame praise you with her immortal lay: the glorious song will all the world amaze. The deed itself is your reward, but for your pain a not small portion of my realm you’ll gain.’ 12 So speaks the white-haired king, and warmly presses now her, now him, against his grateful breast. But the nearby Sultan by his mien confesses that generous envy gives his soul no rest. He cries: ‘Are your swords ready? Mine no less is. I too will go, or come behind at least.’ ‘What!’ said Clorinda; ‘Shall we all give way to this one task? If you come, who will stay?’ 13 So she replied; and Argant then alone with haughty front rose to dismiss the plan; but the king spoke first, and from the throne to Solyman with mild face thus began: ‘Verily, you, magnanimous knight, have shown yourself to be yourself, ever a man whom no aspect of danger whatsoever could daunt or weary of warlike endeavour. 14 ‘I know a worthy outcome would betide were you to go. But I am not prepared you all should sally, and none stay inside of those who most excel and most have dared. Nor of this pair would I the risk abide (since their blood is most worthy to be spared) if their great task were a less useful one or could by lesser men than these be done.

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canto twelve 15 ‘But since such crowds of sentinels to guard the mighty tower are posted all about, so that attack, if by a few, is barred, and ill-advised if many sally out, these two who now claim this great task and hard, who have often run like risks with never a doubt, let them go gladly, for indeed they are worth more than thousands by themselves, by far. 16 ‘You, as befits your royal honour more, stay with the rest, I pray you, near the gate; and after they have set the fire (for I trust they will) and flee the enemy’s hate, if a hostile force pursues them to the door, to beat it back and save them lie in wait.’ So spoke the one king, and the other fell silent, though all within him was not well. 17 Then Ismen added: ‘May it please you two before you sally out to wait an hour while I concoct a charmed compound for you whose clinging flame that engine will devour? Perhaps by then, too, some of the great crew that ring and guard it sleep may overpower.’ Agreed on this, to quarters all proceed, biding the proper time for the great deed. 18 Clorinda doffs her silver-threaded cloak, her golden casque and breastplate burnished bright, and dons a rusty armour, black as smoke (unlucky omen!), plumeless, plain, and light, thinking she thus will among hostile folk move unperceived and safely through the night. Close by her side her eunuch Arseth stands, her mentor since she lay in swaddling-bands, 19 who in her tracks had moved his withered thews throughout the world, and who attends her still. He sees her change of armour, and construes the insane dangers courted by her will, and grieves, and pleads with her, as someone whose locks in her service have grown white, to feel pity and for dear love’s sake to abort the mission; but Clorinda cuts him short.

canto twelve 20 At last he said: ‘Since then your stubborn mind persists to court ill fortune, since you heed neither my tired old age nor loving-kind good-will, nor prayers, nor tears, I will proceed to tell you something more, and you shall find things yet unknown about the life you lead. Afterwards hear my plea, or go your ways.’ And he continues as she lifts her gaze: 21 ‘There ruled of old in Ethiopia (and perhaps rules still) prosperous Senapo,* who worshipped by the Son of Mary’s law, and all his dark-skinned subjects worship so. There I, a pagan slave who oversaw a crowd of maids at woman’s work, below his royal consort served with faithful duty. She too was dark-skinned, yes — but bright in beauty. 22 ‘Her husband burns for her, and with love’s fire matches the ice of monstrous jealousy. Little by little it grows, till his entire bosom so writhes with that crazed passion, he shuts her away where no man’s gaze can spy her and heaven’s countless eyes can scarcely see. She, wise and meek, in her dear lord’s intent and pleasure finds her peace and her content. 23 ‘Figures, from holy legend drawn, appear painted and haloed on her chamber walls: A lovely maid* with blushing cheeks stands here, chained near a dragon who the sight appals. A knight pierces the monster with his spear. Dead in its blood the beastly carcass sprawls. She kneels before that image every day to own her secret sins and weep and pray. 24 ‘Grown pregnant meanwhile, she brings forth a white girl-child at nine months’ end (and you were she). Your unexpected hue fills her with fright; she wonders as at some monstrosity. But knowing the king’s rages, from his sight, she hides the birth, for surely he would in the whiteness of your skin have seen cause to suspect her virtue was not clean.

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canto twelve 25 ‘Therefore a black-skinned girl-child, born just then, she plans to show her husband in your stead. And since her tower prison held no men, only her maids and me, as I have said, to me, her slave who dearly loved her, then she gave you, still unbaptized, to be bred. (Nor could she there have baptized you, because custom forbade it* and the region’s laws.) 26 ‘Weeping she gave you, with the charge that I should take you to be raised up far away. Who can describe her woe, her wild outcry, her oft-repeated last embraces, nay, her kisses drowned in tears, wails broken by sob after sob? At last, she turned to pray, lifting her eyes: “God, Thou who knowest well all hidden deeds, and in my heart dost dwell: 27 ‘ “If this my heart be spotless, if intact these limbs remain, my marriage-bed unmarred, not for myself I pray, in thought and act else sinful (I am vile in Thy regard): save Thou this babe, whose innocent mouth has lacked even mother’s milk, from my own breast debarred. Oh, let her live, and chastely live, like me, but unlike mine let all her fortunes be. 28 ‘ “And thou, O heavenly warrior, who didst free the virgin from the wicked dragon’s hold, if ever I burned a votive light for thee, or at thy shrine placed incense or bright gold, pray thou for her, that as thy true maid she may in all fortunes through thy aid be bold.” She ceased; her whole heart failed her, her whole breath, and she seemed painted with the hues of death. 29 ‘Weeping I carried you then, hidden fast in a basket beneath flowers and leaves, and these so well deceived all eyes that I at last went unsuspected by the guards with ease. Unseen I issued out; and as I passed through a gloomy wood shaded by swaying trees, I saw approach a tigress of huge size, menace and fury burning in her eyes.

canto twelve 30 ‘I climbed into a tree and left you lying upon the grass, my heart convulsed with fear. The horrid beast then turned her proud head, eyeing your helpless form as she drew slowly near. Then her harsh gaze grew softer as though trying to greet you with more placid, courteous cheer. She finds you, and you fondle without guile her visage, and she licks you as you smile, 31 ‘and to her beastly muzzle playfully you raise your tiny hand as her fierce gaze you meet. She moves her dugs toward you, and in the ways of wet-nurses lies down. You take the teat, while I look on, my senses in a maze, chilled like a man whom uncouth wonders greet. Then, when the beast deems you have sucked enough, back into the dark thicket she runs off. 32 ‘I soon climb down, gather you up, and, bound along my earlier path, set out again. Lodging at last near a small town, I found a nurse who reared you in a hidden den. I stayed there till the sun had wheeled around to bring ten months and six to mortal men. You with milk tongue were babbling words already and venturing first steps, wavering and unsteady. 33 ‘But, having come where ripening years begin to mark the quick descent to old age, I, rich with the ample gold the bounteous queen gave with a queen’s largesse at our goodbye, after that errant, pilgrim life grew keen to see my native land before I die, in the dear homestead with old friends to dwell, and winter’s frost at my own hearth to quell. 34 ‘Toward Egypt thus with you I took the road, to seek the place of my nativity. Soon, at a torrent’s banks, I find its flood blocks my advance while bandits follow me, What should I do? You, my sweet, precious load, I cannot leave there, yet I needs must flee. I leap to swim, and with my one hand ply the swift waves while the other holds you high.

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canto twelve 35 ‘With furious speed the eddies rush and turn, at mid-stream doubling on the current’s flow; and at the deepest point where most they churn, they whirl me round and pull me down below. I let you go, but you are buoyed and borne by the waves while a fair wind begins to blow and lands you safely on the soft sands, where I join you, drenched, exhausted, gasping air. 36 ‘With joy I lift you up. Later that night, when a deep silence covered all the land, I dreamt I saw a threatening warrior knight. Toward my face he points his naked brand, and says in a voice of awe: “Hear, mortal wight! Perform now this girl’s mother’s first command: baptize the babe; for Heaven holds her dear, and to my care she is entrusted here. 37 ‘ “I guard her; I defend her; to the stream I lent an aim, and to the beasts, good-will. Ah, woe betide you if you scorn this dream, for it is sent by Heaven.” Here he grew still. I woke and rose, and at the dawn’s first gleam came from that place. Since then, for good or ill, deeming my own creed true, the vision false, I ignored the baptism for which it calls, 38 ‘and which your mother prayed for. You were reared a pagan, and I hid the truth from you. You grew, valiant in arms and greatly feared, subduing your weak sex, yea, nature, too. Both fame and lands you earned. What since appeared you know yourself, and no less know how through both thick and thin I’ve served you evermore, your squire and father among men of war. 39 ‘Then, yesterday at first dawn, while the power of stillness numbed me like a deadly weight, that dream returned, but now with a dreadful glower his face was dark and his voice rang out: “Ingrate and wretch!” he cried; “Lo! the predestined hour nears when Clorinda must change life and fate. Mine she shall be despite you, yours the pain.” And speaking thus, he vanished once again.

canto twelve 40 ‘Hear then how Heaven threatens you, my sweet, with strange vicissitudes. Perhaps (who knows?) it is repugnant to it if we treat lightly the faith of parents, or oppose. Perhaps it is the true faith. I repeat: let go these arms, this wild feat you propose.’ Weeping, he stops. She, pensive, gives a start, for similar dreams have visited her heart. 41 At last she says, smoothing her troubled brow: ‘That faith I’ll heed that now seems true to me, that you fed me with nurse’s milk, though now you seek to make me doubt. However it be, I will not (nor will knighthood’s law) allow fear to disarm me or to make me flee, not even if Death in the most dreadful guise that mortals shrink from looked me in the eyes.’ 42 She calms him thus; but now the hour is near when she must put her boast into effect. She leaves him, and rejoins her warlike peer who with her braves the huge risks they expect. Ismen comes up to them, full of warm cheer, striving their perfect virtue to perfect. Two balls of sulphur and pitch he gives the two, and a hollow pot with torches hid from view. 43 They slip into the night, and down the hill they run abreast with long and rapid strides, furtive and shrouded by the darkness till they near the place where the foe’s engine hides. Their souls flame out, hearts boil; they scarce can still the tumult of the pulse that shakes their sides. ‘Blood! Fire!’ is their fierce hatred’s sole command. The guard calls for the password and cries: ‘Stand!’ 44 Wordless they pass, and now the sentry’s yell ‘To arms! To arms!’ re-echoes, and they know concealment is no longer possible. The dauntless pair’s reaction is not slow. As cannon or as lightning in one fell instant will flash and thunder, even so for them to charge, to meet, to pierce the packed ranks, and to smash them, seems a single act.

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45 Such power they wield, a thousand men fall dead, a thousand weapons break. The plan succeeds. Out came the hidden torches; quick sparks sped through glimmering tinder from the smouldering gleeds. and flames seized on the timbered frame and spread. Who can describe how slithering fire feeds fire on every side? How thick smoke mars with clouds the face of night and the pure stars? 46 See balls of flame ascend the sky, their course obscured by wheeling smoke and mingled haze. The wind blows, fans the fire, lends it force, massing the swarms of sparks in one huge blaze. The terrified Franks, while that inferno roars, rearm in haste, and look on in a daze as, crashing down, their once so fearsome tower annuls long hours of toil in one brief hour. 47 Two squads of Christians where the fire burns have rushed up in a hurry. Argant cries: ‘I’ll douse that fire with your blood,’ and turns to face their ranks with menace in his eyes, but, staying by Clorinda, soon discerns that step by step they’re forced back up the rise. Like a stream by long rains swollen, swelling still, the crowd comes on and pushes them uphill. 48 The Golden Gate* is open, where the king waits, ringed by an armed concourse of his men, to take the warrior pair beneath his wing, should their good fortune lead them back again. Swiftly the two toward the threshold spring, the Frankish mob right at their backs, but then a charge by Solyman beats back that rout, and the gate shuts, but Clorinda is shut out. 49 Shut out she was alone, since, even as the gate was being closed, she moved away, afire with cruel rage to make a pass at Arimon, some vile blow to repay. She did repay him, and fierce Argant was oblivious of her unforeseen delay, for the struggle, press and darkness of the skies deprived his heart of heed, of sight his eyes.

canto twelve 50 But having cooled her wrathful spirit in her adversary’s blood, with sudden dread she sees the gate close and the foe begin to press around, and seems as good as dead. Yet by a ruse she plans to save her skin since no one notes her as they plunge ahead. Posing as one of them, she slips among the common sort, unnoticed in the throng. 51 Then, like a silent wolf who seeks his lair after some deed of blood and slinks aside, she, favoured by the tumult and dark air, contrives a way to leave them, unespied. Only from Tancred, who had earlier sped up beside the gate, she cannot hide. Arrived just as she Arimon subdued, he saw it all and marked her and pursued. 52 He wants to try her, thinking her a man worthily matched with him in martial skill. Now by another gate it is her plan to enter and she winds steeply uphill. While he is following closely as he can, his weapons rattle in his haste, until she turns and cries: ‘You there, so out of breath, what do you bring?’ He answers: ‘War and death!’ 53 ‘War, then, and death you’ll have. I’ll not refuse your wishes,’ she replies and stands, cold-eyed. Tancred, averse (since she is on foot) to use his horse, dismounts, and drives the steed aside. They grasp their sharp blades; each the other views, whetting keen wrath and kindling warlike pride; and now not otherwise these two engage than two great bulls who burn with jealous rage. 54 Well worth the clearest sunshine would have been such marvellous deeds, well worth the highest stage. O Night,* you who would keep that mighty scene forgotten in your womb’s unfathomed cage, grant that I now draw forth and in serene daylight display it to a future age. Let their fame live; remembered in their story, your gloom will shine in their transcendent glory.

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canto twelve 55 No feints, no parries, no quick shifts of ground they deign to use. Here deftness plays no part. They give no feigned blows as they hack and pound. Darkness and rage forbid the use of art. Hear their blades fall with a dread grinding sound upon the armoured plates that guard the heart. Their feet are fixed, their hands ever employed; no slash is vain, no thrust stabs in the void. 56 Shame goads on Hatred to Revenge and, Hate being sated, Vengeance reawakens Shame; so that their blows and haste, however great, spur ever greater force and deadlier aim. At last, thus tangled in their fierce debate, they draw too close for sword-strokes. All the same, they strike out with their pommels, crazed and rash, and butt with shields, and make their helmets clash. 57 Three times the warrior has embraced the maid in his huge arms; and from that clinging grasp as many times she has burst free, dismayed to know no lover’s, but a fierce foe’s clasp. Then each of them, returning to the blade, dyes it in wounds, till, wearied and a-gasp, both she and he, pausing at last, retire from their relentless struggle to respire. 58 Each looks at the other, leaning, blood-bespread, heavily on the sword-hilts in their clutch. The last stars fade behind them. Up ahead the east already glows at dawn’s first touch. Now Tancred sees his enemy has shed more blood than he, himself not hurt as much. He exults and glories. (Oh mad mortal mind, puffed up at every gust of Fortune’s wind! 59 Ah, wretched man! what makes you glad? Ah, bleak will be your triumph, sad your vaunts and jeers! Your eyes — if you survive — will waste your cheek for that blood’s every drop with seas of tears.) Thus, wary, these two stand and do not speak for a long time while the new day appears. At last, breaking the silence, Tancred thought to make her name the enemy he fought:

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60 ‘Unhappy is the chance, indeed, that where silence conceals it such great prowess reigns. But since our ill luck must make us despair of praise or witness worthy of our pains, I pray (if one who fights may pray), declare your name, degree, your titles and domains, that (win or lose) it may be known to me who gives me honour in death or victory.’ 61 Replies the fierce maid: ‘Vainly you demand what never was my custom to make known. But whosoever I be, here you see stand one of that pair who burned the great tower down.’ Hearing this, Tancred flamed with anger and replied: ‘You’ll rue those words, that deed you own. Your silence and your foolish words alike urge vengeance, you uncivil boor, to strike.’ 62 Their rage returns and hurls them, though much bled and weakened, back to combat. Savage fight — where Skill is banned, where Strength lies all but dead, and in their place mad Frenzy rules outright! Ah what huge gates, wide open and blood-red, their swords make gape, wherever they alight, in armour or in flesh! And only Hate arrests Life that would else flee through them from their breasts. 63 Even as the Aegean Sea, when Aquilo and Notus* cease to blow and churn and pound, does not fall still, but in the heave and throe of waves retains the motion and the sound, so, though that strength which once impelled each blow ebbs with their loss of blood, they found in their first impetus sufficient force to add wound upon wound without remorse. 64 But now (behold!) the fatal hour arrives that at its end Clorinda’s life will owe. His sword’s point he at her white bosom drives; greedy to drink her blood it plunges. Lo! the tender, gold-lace coverings it rives that clasp her lovely breasts, and a hot flow spreads on her shift. She knows she’s dying and, feeling her feet grow weak, can scarcely stand.

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canto twelve 65 He follows up his victory, intent to quite bear down the transfixed maid, and she, even as she fell, in accents faint and spent, was forming her last words, her dying plea — words by a new soul to her spirit lent, new soul of Faith, of Hope, of Charity, grace poured by God, Who at her final breath grants, after a rebel’s life, a handmaid’s death. 66 ‘Friend, you have won. I pardon you. Do you pardon me also — not my body, no — it fears naught — but my soul, yes. Make it new. Pray for it and baptize me ere I go.’ These tremulous soft accents sink into his heart and there (he knows not how) make grow a strange new sense that calms all rage. He hears and feels his eyes well up with sudden tears. 67 Not far, a little rill was murmuring from its cool source, hid by the mountain’s height. He ran there, filled his helmet at the spring, and came back sadly for the solemn rite. Raising her visor with his hands, trembling, he bared the unknown brow unto the light. He saw it, knew it, horror in his eyes. Ah woe! To see, to know, to recognize! 68 He did not die outright, but set guards so strong on his heart, his woe was forced beneath. Numb to his grief, he hastened to make flow life-giving water where his steel gave death. He spoke the holy text. She smiled. A glow of bliss transformed her face, while her last breath seemed to proclaim, at life’s joyful release: ‘The heavens open; I depart in peace.’ 69 A lovely pallor overspreads her face, like violets mixed with lilies. On the sky she fixes her fair gaze, and from that place the sun seems to gaze back with pitying eye. She does not speak, but, as if to embrace the knight, she lifts her naked, cold hand high, giving the pledge of peace. And in this wise, resting as if in sleep, the fair maid dies.

canto twelve 70 When he knows her gentle soul has fled, ah! vain is all his gathered strength; it will not hold, and he to pent-up sorrow yields the reign of all himself. It bursts the narrow fold of his heart, crazed, uncontrollable, while pain floods all his senses and his face grows cold. Down like a corpse the living man is hurled — colourless, bloodless, mute, dead to the world. 71 Indeed, his life, disdainful of control, would, breaking its frail cage, that very day, in chase of the bright, liberated soul that spread its wings before, have flown away. But here by chance arrives a French patrol in search of water or some such thing, and they take up the maid and the knight by her side — he scarce alive, and dead for her who died. 72 Their leader from afar has seen displayed the Christian prince’s arms and knows him well. He hurries up, and finds the lovely maid and sorrowfully wonders how she fell. Unwilling that her fair limbs should be preyed upon by wolves, though she be infidel, he made the rest lift both of them, and went with them along the way to Tancred’s tent. 73 Not yet, while thither gently they progress, the wounded knight awakes, but in his throes groans feebly, and his heaving sides confess his life’s race has not yet attained its close. But the other body, silent, motionless, the spirit’s absence all too clearly shows. Thus carried, side by side they are conveyed, but finally in separate chambers laid. 74 There, ministering unto the prostrate knight, his squires gather round in pitying bands, and slowly to his languid eyes the light returns and he can sense their healing hands and voices, though his dazed mind cannot quite grasp what they are and scarcely understands. He glares at the place, at them, but in due course knows them, and speaks in accents weak and hoarse:

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canto twelve 75 ‘Am I alive? Do I still breathe? Still see your hateful beams of light, accursed day? Day that in witness of night’s infamy rebukes my guilt with your accusing ray? Ah, coward hand! Why dare not use on me — you expert in all means that wound and slay, you heinous minister of death — the knife and cut the threads of this felonious life? 76 ‘Pierce this breast also, and fierce havoc wreak with your remorseless steel upon my heart. Yet you perhaps, since crime seems all you seek, will deem it mercy thus to end my smart. Then must I live, a miserable freak, a monstrous wretch of love-destroying art, a monstrous wretch, for whose colossal blame one doom alone fits: a base life of shame. 77 ‘Alive amid my torments and my cares, my justly vengeful Furies, crazed, astray, trembling I’ll haunt the gloomy desert lairs where memories of my first crime crowd my way. With horror marked, ashamed that sunlight bares its wretchedness, my face will shun the day. I will fear myself; and from myself will fly forever, and ever find myself nearby. 78 ‘But where, alas! abandoned, far or near now lies her body, once so fair and chaste? For what my madness has not marred, I fear, the rage of some wild animal lays waste. Ah, prey too noble! Ah, too sweet, too dear and far too precious feast for earthly taste! Ah, hapless limbs! Must dark woods against you enrage first me, and then the wild beasts too? 79 ‘Yet I shall go, beloved spoils, and twine my arms about your form, if it endures. But should your lovely body and divine have fed the appetites of wolves or curs, let those same muzzles glut themselves on mine and the same belly bolt my flesh as yours. Blest is that tomb, a bed of joy for me, in which I lie with you, wherever it be.’

canto twelve 80 So spoke the wretched man; then he was told that the corpse he grieved for had been carried there, and over his gloomy face a brightness rolled like lightning flickering in cloudy air. Out of his bed’s repose he heaves the cold, reluctant weight his limbs can scarcely bear, and hauling with great pain his weary thighs, he turns with faltering steps to where she lies. 81 But when he came and saw that lovely breast, pierced by the ghastly wound his own hand made, saw, like a serene starless night, at rest, with all its splendour lost, that face displayed, he all but fell down, trembling and distressed, had not a faithful nearby hand lent aid. ‘O face,’ he cried, ‘wherein Death can create sweets that can never sweeten my harsh fate! 82 ‘O beauteous hand, that proffered unto me the tender pledge of friendship and of peace! How do I find you now? And in what misery? And you, O tender limbs, who here bid cease all vengeful rage and beastly villainy, yet of my beastly rage are vestiges? O eyes of mine, O ruthless as my hand — For what it stabbed, you stare at where I stand. 83 ‘Do you stay dry and see this? Flow then, flow, my blood, when tears refuse to flow!’ And there, abruptly he breaks off, reeling below his desperate wish for death, and starts to tear madly at bandages and wounds till, lo! blood streams from the galled gashes he lays bare. He would have killed himself, but bitter pain, making him swoon, brings him to life again. 84 Back on his couch, his fugitive soul and proud is once more to its hateful duties bound. But meanwhile garrulous Rumour’s lips aloud his bitter woe and hapless fate resound. Compassionate Godfrey comes, and a great crowd of faithful dearest friends run gathering round. But neither stern admonishments nor kind prayers can mollify his obdurate mind.

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canto twelve 85 As in a sore wound’s tenderest spot a touch exasperates the torment’s maddening thrill, so their kind comforts for his torments clutch at his sick heart and make it bitterer still. But reverend Peter, loving him as much as a good shepherd loves a lamb fallen ill, in words exceeding grave speaks to upbraid his obstinate rage and promise heavenly aid: 86 ‘O Tancred, Tancred! Too far off the mark of your true self and your first aim you stray! Who deafens thus your ears? What sudden dark so blinds your eyes you cannot see the day? This trial of yours is Heaven’s envoy. Hark! Do you not hear, not see him point the way? How he rebukes you, leads you back upon that first road you have lost, and cheers you on? 87 ‘To the deeds of your first duty, to the path worthy a knight of Christ he calls you back, that you have left to your exceeding scathe, drudge to a godless girl (sad change, alack!). With fortunate misfortune, kindly wrath, Heaven’s light lash now punishes your black and foolish sin, and makes of your soul’s weal yourself the minister. And do you take it ill? 88 ‘Do you (ah, ignorant man!) refuse the life Heaven makes a gift of here, and take offence? Whither, O wretch, abandoned to the strife of hasty agonies and unbridled sense? You hang above the eternal precipice, the knife is poised to cut you down. See, it descends! See it, I beg you! Recollect yourself, take hold of a grief that lures you toward a death twofold.’ 89 He is silent, and the fear of soul’s death makes Tancred his wish for body’s death restrain. His heart finds comfort in those words and takes hold of the fierce force of his inward pain — though now and then, while all his body shakes, he moves his tongue to cry out or complain, babbling now to himself, now to that saint in Heaven* who (he dreams) hears his complaint.

canto twelve 90 To her from sunset to sunrise his moan he lifts in prayers tirelessly renewed, like a nightingale when some rude peasant’s stone kills in their nest her still unfeathered brood, who sings all night afflicted and alone and fills with wails the forest solitude. At dawn at last he shuts his weary eyes, and through his tears sleep’s vapours wreathe and rise. 91 Lo! in a starry vestment, while he dreams, his mourned-for friend rises before his gaze; fairer by far, though the celestial beams adorn, not hide, her old shape with their blaze. Looking on him with tender ruth, she seems to bid him dry his streaming eyes and says: ‘See, I am happy now, I am at peace, my faithful lover; let your sorrow cease. 92 ‘What now I am I owe to you. You, by your error, took me from mortality; you, by your pity, wafted me on high into God’s lap and blest eternity. Here I, adoring Him, rejoice; here I trust that a place waits where you too shall see in everlasting day the great Sun shine and gaze upon that loveliness and mine. 93 ‘If you do not grudge your soul its heavenly weal, nor are beguiled by vanities of sense, live! Know I love you (this I won’t conceal) as much as a soul may love without offence.’ So said she, and her great eyes blazed with zeal beyond all mortal wont bright and intense. Then she into her depth of rays withdrew* and vanished, filling him with comforts new. 94 Consoled, he wakes and to the prudent care submits himself of the physician band, and meanwhile orders burial for the fair limbs that once held her noble spirit, and, although her tomb is not of rich and rare marble nor sculpted by a Daedal hand,* yet is the stone (and the craftsman who endows it with a form) as choice as time allows.

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canto twelve 95 Thither, with torches lit along the line, he ordered her with noble pomp conveyed. Her armour, hanging from a naked pine, in sign of trophy he had high displayed. But when his wounds the knight no more confine to his couch and his healed limbs his will obeyed, next dawn he seeks her grave with pious moans to pay due honour to her buried bones. 96 Arriving at the tomb that Heaven ordained for a prison where his living soul must lie, he paused, pale, cold, and mute, and long remained stock still, and on the marble fixed his eye. At last, amid a rush of tears, a pained ‘Ay me!’ burst from him and this desolate cry: ‘O stone, so loved, so honoured, that you make my flame in you, my tears all round you wake, 97 ‘you hold, not death, but living ash, where bliss, yea love itself lies buried, but not dead. That same torch feeds you that (though now it is less sweet, if no less hot) my heart has fed. Ah! take these sighs, these kisses, and take this sorrowful moisture by my eyes here shed. Do you (since I cannot) these offerings give to those dear spoils that in your bosom live. 98 ‘Take them. If that fair soul should ever cast eyes on her lovely corpse beneath your stone, your pity and my daring she’ll look past, for hate and spite up yonder are unknown. She will forgive my sin, and she at last will breathe hope in the heart here left alone. She knows only my hand sinned; nor will sigh if I, who loving lived, should loving die. 99 ‘Die loving her I shall. O happy day, whenever it may come! Day still more blest if, even as now I near your precincts stray, I then be gathered with her in your breast. Let our two loving souls in God’s light play, and in one tomb let both our ashes rest. Let death have what life lost, or found too late. If I may hope for this — ah, glorious fate!’

canto twelve 100 But in the meantime muddled whispers spread through the pent city the appalling news. Confirmed and public grown, from head to head the rumour runs and grievous anguish strews, while women’s wails ring out and cries of dread as if all lay in ruins and, turned loose, fire and cruel foes flew through the town and bore its houses and its temples down. 101 But Arseth, all eyes turned on him, appears, groaning with misery, aghast, alone. Unlike the rest he cannot vent in tears his grief, pain turns his very heart to stone; he tears his white locks and with filth besmears his head and beats his bosom to the bone. But where he stands, surrounded by the crowd, Argant comes in their midst and cries aloud: 102 ‘Truly I wished, when first I learned that she, our champion, had remained outside the wall, to run and follow her immediately and share her fate wherever it might call. What did I not do? What not say? What plea to the king omit to let the drawbridge fall? He, while in vain I pleaded and demurred, restrained me with his sovereign, royal word. 103 ‘Ah! Had I gone then, either by surprise the way back with the maid would I have gained, or spilled, on ground her crimson blood now dyes, in a brave death what life in me remained. But what more could I do? All otherwise have the decrees of men and gods ordained. The maid has died her fated death, and I know what behoves me now: the Frank must die. 104 ‘Hear, O Jerusalem! Hear Argant’s vow! Hear it, O Heaven! And if I fail of this with lightning strike my head! Hear me! I now swear to wreak vengeance on the Frank; he is her murderer, and her death will teach me how. This blade I now draw will not be at peace until in Tancred’s heart I sink its blows and leave his stinking carcass to the crows.’

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canto twelve 105 So said he, and applause like thunder rolled at his last words; and the imagined scope of his foretaste of the revenge controlled the grief and gall that made his spirit droop. Oh vanity of oaths! Far else (behold!) was the event! Contrary to his hope, he’ll fall in equal fight,* who now in vain deems that man doomed by whom he shall be slain.

Canto Thirteen 1 But scarce has that immense war-engine caught flame while the walls it battered at endure, when Ismen’s brain grows busy with fresh thought to make his city rest the more secure. Therefore he plots how he might bring to naught Frankish attempts fresh lumber to procure, lest from the woods toward Zion should be sent some new siege-tower to shake a battlement. 2 Not far from where the Christian tents rise grows amid deserted glens a lofty grove, where loom, in dense-packed crowds, huge, age-old trees that close their tops and round about cast shades of doom. There, even at noon, when sun shines brightest, glows so feeble a light, dun, fitful, thick with gloom, as when one doubts, while skies with clouds turn grey, if day be born of night, or night of day. 3 But when the sun departs, over it all spread blackness, clouds, vapours, and horrors drear, so devilish to the view that they appal the eye with blindness and the heart with fear. No cowherd and no shepherd dares to call his kine or flock to graze in the shadows here; and, unless lost, all wanderers halt and stare thither, aghast, and hasten otherwhere. 4 Here witches gather, each of them to meet by night the incubus on whom she dotes. Riding the clouds they come, some on the feet of dragons fierce, some like misshapen goats — revolting coven, whom the dim conceit of vainly fancied benefits devotes to filthy festivals, rites vile and fell, blasphemous trysts, and spousals sealed in Hell.

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canto thirteen 5 (So ran the tale.) No native of the land from that fierce wood dared cull the merest bough, but the Franks despoiled it, since it stood at hand for building their high engines. Hither now the magus came, choosing for what he planned propitious night’s profoundly silent shroud, the very next night’s. Here his magic round and arcane signs he traced upon the ground. 6 Ungirt, one foot unshod, in that charmed maze he stood and muttered spells of Acheron.* Thrice eastward now he turned his wicked gaze, thrice toward the realms where sinks the setting sun, thrice shook his charmed wand that had power to raise corpses from tombs and make them walk or run, and thrice he with his bare foot stamped the earth, then with a loud cry to this speech gave birth: 7 ‘Hear me! Oh hear, ye who once from the stars by thunderbolts were hurtled headlong down; and ye, who in storms and whirlwinds stir up wars; ye who,* exiled, through sightless air are blown; and ye, whose toil for felon souls unbars portals that close on everlasting moan. Ye, citizens of Styx, I here require, and thee, Lord of the heinous realms* of fire. 8 ‘Possess this wood, take of these trees control that one by one I here consign to you. Even as the body holds and garbs the soul, so let each trunk* enfold one of your crew, that the Frank may flee or, hacking at your bole, may fear at first stroke what your wrath may do.’ He spoke, adding revolting oaths to which no tongue without blaspheming can give speech. 9 At this, the stars grow dim by which the sky’s expanse is decked. Dark silence covers all. The moon is troubled, hiding from all eyes, and sheathes her horns within a cloudy pall. Enraged, he endeavours to renew his cries: ‘Do you still not come, ye spirits whom I call? Why this delay? Perchance you are waiting till spells yet more dread resound, more secret still?

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10 ‘Not yet forgotten after long disuse lies the most potent aid of cruel art. Still can my gore-stained tongue speak, if I choose, the fearful name* that makes all nature start, to which Dis not is deaf nor free to refuse fealty, nor Pluto’s self can grudge his part. What’s this? What’s this?...’ Ready to say more, he senses that now his charms are working potently. 11 They come, shades numberless and infinite: some that are lost and dwell in air, and some out of the dark, unfathomable pit of deep earth’s fog and gloom. They come slowly, still lamed by the Almighty’s writ* that banned their bearing arms in war. But from this place they are not banned, and in the dark they lurk in leaves and lodge beneath the bark. 12 The mage, now feeling nothing can impair his aims, returns to his monarch,* full of joy: ‘My lord, make free your heart, dismiss all care. No storms now can your royal throne annoy. Now nevermore shall Frankish power repair those lofty engines it meant to employ.’ So says he, and he one by one recites the exploits of his necromantic rites. 13 Then he continued: ‘Now to these my deeds I will add tidings no less apt to please: know that even now Mars in the skies proceeds to join the sun in Leo,* and when these meet, the foul heat that their conjunction breeds no wind, no cloud, no drop of dew will ease. For all the heavenly signs that I make out presage a blistering and most baleful drought. 14 ‘There will be heat such as is scarcely known to Nasamon or Garamant* the Black. Still, we’ll be the less burdened in this town, where we no water, shade, or shelter lack. But the Franks, on hostile ground, burnt dry and brown, will scarcely bear it, but grow wan and slack, and, thus sapped by the heavens, will be lost, struck down with ease by the Egyptian host.*

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canto thirteen 15 ‘You’ll win by sitting still. I scarcely think that to tempt Fortune now will profit you. But should the proud Circassian (who’ll not drink or rest when war or glory are in view) baulk, as his wont is, keep him from the brink of combat, find him other things to do, for all too soon the favouring heavens will show peace unto you, and war unto your foe.’ 16 Now at these words, the tyrant’s mien grows fair, so much the less he fears the enemy’s might. Already he has managed some repair in walls that battering-rams shook in the fight; yet for all that, he slackens not his care to mend what’s smashed or fallen. Day and night his folk, both slaves and citizens, so toil that the work seethes at a continuous boil. 17 But meanwhile pious Bouillon will not let so strong a town be battered at in vain, till first that giant mole of his, with yet other siege engines, be reared up again. He bids his workmen seek the woods to get the apt materials they alone contain. At first dawn to the forest they repair, but, glimpsing it, freeze at strange horrors there. 18 As a young child dares not direct his sight where he believes unwonted phantoms lurk, or trembles when the shadows fall at night, guessing at fiends and monsters in the murk, so they grow fearful, without knowing quite what thing such boundless fright in them might work, except that, blind with terror, each man thinks freaks, grimmer than Chimeras, lour, or Sphinx.* 19 These men, returning, cowed and in dismay, so jumble truth with fiction, so distort, that all seems ludicrous that they would say and none believes the wonders they report. The Captain then dispatches on their way a bold, strong squad of picked knights, to escort the first group back and help them to feel brave enough to heed the orders that he gave.

canto thirteen 20 These, coming near where the fell demons sat ensconced within that forest dark and drear, glimpsed the dark shadows from afar, whereat their hearts quailed, turned to ice. Still they drew near and nearer, looking out this way and that, under bold faces hiding coward fear, and so continued onward till they stood but little distant from the enchanted wood. 21 Then suddenly out of the forest’s bowels* a noise reverberates through the trembling ground, and in that noise the whirlwind Auster* growls and crashing breakers that on crags rebound. The lion’s roar, snake’s hiss, the wolf ’s mad howls, and wild bear’s rage seem mingled in that sound, and braying trumpets, and the thunder’s crash — such sounds, so many sounds, in one sound clash. 22 At this the cheeks of all who heard grew pale, their fear by countless signs made manifest. No discipline or reason might avail; none dared to stand his ground, none onward pressed, for when they sensed such arcane power assail their strength, defence seemed vain. They failed the test, and fled pell-mell; and one, with this excuse, came to apprise good Bouillon of the news: 23 ‘My lord, not one of us would boast to dare to cut that wood, guarded by such black art. To those plants I believe (yea, I will swear) Pluto has moved his seat, never to part. A man who lifts his gaze to what moves there — thrice girt with adamant must be his heart, and he must lack all feeling who confronts what there spits, roars, and thunders, all at once.’ 24 So spoke that man. And there, among the crowd who heard his words, Alcastus chanced to be, a man recklessly bold and fierce, and proud, spurner of mortals and mortality; who would face the most appalling beast unbowed, or even a monster that made strong men flee, or earthquake, lightning, storm, or what else more frightful a thing the world might hold in store.

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canto thirteen 25 He tossed his head and, laughing loudly, cried: ‘Where this man dares not, I’ll direct my quest. Alone I’ll go to crop that grove, where hide such troubled dreams as in a serpent’s nest. No horrid ghost shall find me terrified, no wood-howl or bird-screech shall shake my breast, not if those haunts where such huge horrors dwell show me the gateway on the road to Hell.’ 26 So boasts he to the Captain. Given leave to go, that knight departs upon his way. He comes in view of the forest, hears it heave with that strange roaring, but without dismay, presses on boldly; nothing he can conceive, defiant as before, will make him stay. But then, about on the charmed ground to tread, he sees (or thinks he sees) huge flames ahead. 27 The great blaze grows, the turbid, reeking fire sweeps up and out to form a lofty wall, and rings and girds the forest so entire that none might cut its trees or make them fall. The tallest flames above that wall soar higher to take the shapes of castles proud and tall, while warlike engines loom atop of this tower-studded bastion of a second Dis.* 28 Ah, what a crowd of weaponed monsters rise to guard these battlements! How fierce and grim! One glares at him out of malignant eyes, with clashing arms another threatens him. At length he turns and flees, though in slow wise, as lion from the hunter, limb by limb; yet does he flee; fear shakes him to the bone, a feeling until then to him unknown. 29 At first he knew not that he feared, but truth struck him anon, and all too clearly, too. Chagrin and stupor seized him; the sharp tooth of bitter conscience gnawed his heart in two. Flushed and cast down with sudden shame and ruth, he like a man dumbfounded slunk from view, nor dared his once so-haughty face to raise in answer to his comrades’ curious gaze.

canto thirteen 30 Summoned by Godfrey, he delays and makes excuses for delay, ashamed to show himself, but comes at last, slowly, and breaks, close-lipped, into a dreamlike tale of woe. His unaccustomed shame the Captain takes for sure sign that he failed and fled the foe, then says: ‘What’s to be done? Who knows if these are magic sleights or natural prodigies? 31 ‘But if one here yearns for high honour, whom desire inflames to try those sylvan tracts, let him go venture out and risk his doom, if only to report some clearer facts.’ So said he, and the mighty forest’s gloom during the three days following attracts the most renowned; and yet there was not one who at its menace did not turn and run. 32 Meanwhile Prince Tancred has arisen to wail and bury his dear love, and, cheeks still wet, body still languishing, face weak and pale, ill able to bear helm or armour, yet, discovering their need, he does not fail or shrink to face the peril and the fret, for a great heart will on its limbs bestow vigour enough to make them seem aglow. 33 Away he rides, in secret and alone, silent and wary, toward the threatening shade, and meets the menace by the dark wood shown, the thunders and the earthquakes undismayed. Nothing can daunt him, though his heart must own, a little tremor, quickly checked and stayed. He passes on, and all at once, behold! those walls of flame the sylvan place enfold. 34 Then he recoils, and in some doubt makes pause, telling himself: ‘What use are weapons here? Shall I hurl myself into these flaming maws or in the throats of monsters disappear? No life should be withheld when the great laws of common good that call for it are clear; but it ill befits a worthy man to throw away a great soul — as mine is, I know.

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canto thirteen 35 ‘Yet what will men say if in vain I go? What other forest can we hope to hew? Will Godfrey leave this path unventured? No, never; and if some other pushed on through that blaze I here see rise with such a glow may prove more fancied in his sight than true. Let come what may,’ he cried, and at that same instant leapt in. Ah, deed of deathless fame! 36 Now through his armour he felt no offence from that consuming blaze of heat or glare; indeed, he hardly had the time to sense whether true flames or phantoms hung in air, for, hardly touched, that semblance ceased, and dense clouds rushed in where it blazed and left him there in night and storm. That storm and darkness, too, at the next instant vanished from his view. 37 Stunned for a moment, but intrepid, stands Tancred; then, seeing all calm, he with firm foot across the cursèd threshold makes advance, piercing the secrets of branch, bark, and root. No further monstrous guardian or mischance to halt or check him in his way is put, except as of themselves the woods hold back his sight and steps with tangles dense and black. 38 At last a spacious clearing greets his eye, shaped like an amphitheatre, quite without all trees, but that amidst it, soaring high, one cypress like an obelisk stands stout. There he directs his way, and by and by sees various symbols mark its trunk about, like those which once in place of written signs were used in ancient Egypt’s mystic shrines.* 39 Some words among these uncouth signs he read in the Syrian tongue, which he well understood: ‘O thou, who in these cloisters of the dead hast placed thy foot with daring hardihood, be not as cruel as thou art strong. Ah, dread to trouble this our secret solitude! Have pity on the souls deprived of light. No living hand against the dead should smite.’

canto thirteen 40 So the inscription ran. He stood alone, brooding on what the cryptic words might mean, and heard the wind continuously moan through fronds and brush behind the forest’s screen, as if a grieving choir rose to intone funereal sighs, and sobs, and cries of teen, that moved his mind he knew not how, and fed his heart with mingled pity, grief, and dread. 41 At last he draws his sword, and with great force hacks the high plant. Oh wonder! At each bound, great gouts of blood out of the cut bark course and stain the earth vermilion all around. He is filled with horror, yet without remorse redoubles strokes, and waits, and stands his ground, and hears the gashed wood, like a tomb, exhale a dolorous and a muffled groan or wail, 42 then words distinct: ‘Alas! Too much’, it cried, ‘have you, O Tancred, wronged me! Now let be! From limbs that to me, through me, once supplied a glad home, you’ve already driven me. Would you now maul the trunk where I abide wretchedly fixed by ruthless destiny? Would you assail (ah, cruel and perverse!) your dead foes in their very sepulchres? 43 ‘I was Clorinda, not the only soul lodged here in rough, hard plants. No, one and all, Frankish or pagan knights, the great war’s toll, whose human shapes lie fallen by the wall, these new and strange enchantments here control, held by these shapes — should I say tombs? — in thrall. These branches and these trunks can feel. If you hew down their wood, you murder what you hew.’ 44 As sometimes a sick man who meets in dreams a dragon or Chimera girt with fire, though he suspects or partly knows what seems so real is mere semblance, will retire in panic, so much fear breeds what he deems a simulacrum horrible and dire; even so the terrified lover does not trust the fierce illusion’s truth, yet flee he must.

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canto thirteen 45 The heart within his breast is so unmanned by warring thoughts, it turns to ice and reels. At the rage of sudden passions, from his hand his sword drops; fear is the least thing he feels. Crazed and distraught, he sees before him stand, his wounded love, in tears, at whose appeals he cannot bear to see that quick blood flow or hear that languid sufferer’s sighs of woe. 46 And so his heart, that boldly would have passed the gates of death, that at no horror quails, weakened by love, falls credulous prey at last to lying shows and insubstantial wails. His fallen sword meanwhile a sudden blast of wind flings from the wood. His courage fails and he leaves, defeated. Later, by his way, he found the sword and took it where it lay. 47 Yet did he not turn back, dared not anew spy out the cause by which he was deceived. Returned to tell his general what he knew, he, when his mind had some control retrieved, spoke thus: ‘My lord, I come to bring to you tidings that will not, cannot be believed. What men report about that savage sight and terrifying rumbling is quite right. 48 ‘There an uncanny fire appeared to me. It sprang, unfed by fuel, high and far, and rose and spread, and spreading seemed to be a wall, guarded by monsters armed for war. Yet I passed on; for, though the flame blazed free, it burned me not; no sword my path did bar. Then storm and night enclosed me, but the sky grew clear and all fell quiet, by and by. 49 ‘There is more: each of these trees a human soul makes feel and speak and live. I know it, for I’ve proved its truth: I heard its voice make dole that in my heart re-echoes evermore. Blood is distilled out of each wounded bole, as if soft flesh were pulsing at its core. No, I have lost. I nevermore can bear to pluck a bough or pierce a tree-bark there.’

canto thirteen 50 So said he. For some time the Captain’s face shows a great storm of thoughts shaking his mind. He ponders if himself should seek to chase what he suspects is sorcery from its blind, or else if other wood, hid in some place more distant, less forbidding, he might find. But from his thoughts’ depths now the Hermit seeks to call him back, and thus the prophet speaks: 51 ‘Leave off your bold thought: by another’s hands the forest’s leaves must fall. Fate will not fail. Even now the destined ship on lonely sands beaches her prow and furls her golden sail. Even now he breaks his shameful captive bands. The hoped-for knight weighs anchor now. All hail the warrior, the appointed hour! Know: Zion shall fall and all her host lie low.’ 52 So says he, and like flame his visage burns, and more than human sound rings on his tongue. For fresh endeavours then good Godfrey yearns, since idleness can never hold him long. But now the heavenly Crab* more fiercely burns, joined with Sun, with heat so wondrous strong that, hostile to his plans, and to his men, it turns all tasks to agony and pain. 53 Drained is all wholesome virtue from the skies; cruel signs only rule now, and combine to rain down power that stamps and mortifies the air with influence wicked and malign. Ever more noxious grows the heat and dries with parching death each lodging and confine. From hateful day more hateful night is born till yet more hateful daybreak greets the morn. 54 No sun comes up but bloody vapours stain his face and ring it with a baleful haze, a grievous sign and omen all too plain of a new day of lingering malaise; no sun now sets but through red streaks again threatens more injury in coming days, embittering present pain, harsh though it be, with certain fear of future misery.

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canto thirteen 55 While thus the sunrays pierce their murky veil, the mortal eye, whatever way it turns, sees flowers grow sere and verdant leaves grow pale. The parched grass languishes and dries and burns. Earth cracks and splits. The pools and fountains fail. The welkin’s wrath all living creatures spurns, and sterile cloud-wracks, scattered on the air, seem flaming shapes that from the heavens glare. 56 Like a black furnace seems the sky, whose fires nothing that may refresh the eye withstands. Struck silent, Zephyrus* to his caves retires, and bids his playful breezes quit the lands. But one wind, hot as torch-heat, never tires — the blast that rises from the Moorish sands, and, heavy and noisome, hour by hour, cleaves breast and throat with its breath-stopping power. 57 When night comes, it bestows no cool shade’s boon, but, stamped by the sun’s burning heat, entwines in her veil’s web, with streaks of fire bestrewn, comets and other darkly blazing signs. Your thirst, O wretched earth, even the moon utterly spurns and, miser-like, declines her beads of dew, while herbs and flowers strain for vital moisture’s healing drops in vain. 58 From nights without all rest sweet Sleep is banned; no mortal’s desperate plea or blandishing can his return into the camp command. Yet thirst is the worst evil, for the king and wicked lord of the Judaean land makes filthy and envenoms every spring with baneful juice more bitter and more fell than flows from Styx and Acheron in Hell. 59 And little Siloa brook,* that, pure and clean, once to the Franks did her kind treasure pour, now that her tepid waters scarcely screen her arid bed, has scant relief in store. Now Po would not, even in spate, have been sufficient to their need, nor Ganges, nor Nile, when it chokes* its seven ducts to make of all green Egypt one enormous lake.

canto thirteen 60 If any man through leafy banks has seen the liquid silver glimmer, or again quick waters between soaring peaks careen headlong, or slowly roll through a green plain, his vain desire shapes now of that scene a picture and feeds occasion to his pain: the cool, moist image heats him and makes dry his fancy, till he boils the more thereby. 61 Stout soldiers’ limbs that once would not allow journeys on roughest ground to slow their gait, that iron-laden bodies could not bow, nor steel that threatened death could subjugate, sapped by the heat, unmanned, behold them now, sink prostrate, useless to themselves, dead weight, while in their veins a hidden fire is lit that feeds on them and wastes them, bit by bit. 62 There languishes the once-fierce warhorse, cowed, loathing the grass on which he gladly fed; his weak foot staggers and, no longer proud, he bends his drooping neck and hangs his head. His triumphs’ memories have turned to cloud, glory’s bright sparks within his heart fall dead; and from rich trappings, victory’s fair spoil, he seems, like a base pack-horse, to recoil. 63 There languishes the faithful dog, his care for his dear home and master all forgot, stretched at full length, breathing quick pants of air to cool the inward parts that heave so hot; but now whatever nature offers there to temper his heart’s heat, tempers it not, and its relief is faint or wholly fails, so thick and heavy is all he inhales. 64 So all earth languished, and in such a wise the needy, wretched mortals were laid low. The faithful folk, long hopeless of the prize of victory, now feared the final woe. From every side resounding to the skies a universal wail was heard to grow: ‘What more can Godfrey hope for? Will he wait till his whole army is laid low by Fate?

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canto thirteen 65 ‘Ah! By what strength can he now hope to scale the lofty ramparts of the enemy? Where will his engines come from? Without fail, this bodes the wrath of Heaven. Does only he not read its clear disfavour in this trail of a thousand signs and wonders, and not see it is so incensed against us that less hope for cool an Indian feels, or Ethiop? 66 ‘Does this man then consider us beneath contempt, a worthless rabble to be tossed neglectfully away, dismissed to death, so long as his imperial sceptre be not lost? So dearly prized, then, is his own life’s breath by him who rules as subjects all this host, that he now, feeling no compunction, strives to save it at the price of subjects’ lives? 67 ‘And this man styles himself “the Pious”? See his humane spirit now, his tender care! He scants his own men’s welfare utterly to swell his vain and ruinous honour’s glare. He knows streams, springs for us run dry — but he fresh draughts of Jordan for himself lets bear and, gaily seated with some few to dine, mingles cool water with his Cretan wine.’ 68 So spoke the Franks; but the Greek leader,* who had tired of the long march long ago, cried out: ‘Why die here? Ah! Why should I too grow feeble here with my armed followers? No! If Godfrey is blind with folly, let him do harm to himself and to his Franks. We’ll go. What harm to us?’ Not asking leave, he then in the still of night made off with all his men. 69 His flight caused a great stir, when at night’s close it became known. Others soon followed suit. Clothar’s and Ademar’s erstwhile men, and those of other peers now dust and bones, think moot their oaths of fealty, because they suppose what uproots ventures voids all venture’s root, and so consider flight; some in the dark have gone already while few men could mark.

canto thirteen 70 But Godfrey clearly hears and sees the wrong, and though harsh means to right it are at hand, he is loath to use them, but with faith so strong that it makes mountains move, bids rivers stand implores the King of All with fervent tongue to let grace flow at His divine command. He joins his palms, and lifts both voice and eye, afire with zeal, in prayer to Heaven on high: 71 ‘Our Lord and Father, if Thou once didst shower Thy folk with sweet dews in the wilderness, if to a mortal hand* Thou once gav’st power to open rocks and from the crags to press a living stream: renew Thou now in our need these examples; and if we possess too little merit for it, let Thy grace for those who are called Thy soldiers plead the case.’ 72 Not tardy were these orisons to rise, that sprang from a desire both just and meek, but flew up quickly, lightly to the skies, like feathered birds, the throne of God to seek. The Eternal Father heard them, and with eyes of pity saw His faithful growing weak and for their toils and dangers, long endured, heeded him and with kind speech reassured: 73 ‘Let this hour end the perils and alarms suffered by my beloved host, whose might all Hell opposed with weapons and dark charms and whom the whole world has conspired to fight. Now let a new world order end their harms and bless their deeds and make their prospects bright. Let rain fall. Let their matchless knight* come back, and, for their glory, let Egypt’s hordes attack.’ 74 This said, He nods His head. The ample skies quake, and the planets and the firmament. A reverent tremor moves the air and flies over seas and peaks and in the depths is spent. From His left side, the gleaming lighting flies and sudden thunder through the spheres is sent, and at that flash and thunder, a great shout of joy from the celestial host rings out.

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canto thirteen 75 Lo! instant clouds (not those that heat distils upward from earth by the sun’s force, but drawn downward from Heaven that opens up and spills grace from all gates) come swooping down anon. Lo! instant night shuts up the day and fills with shadow all the precincts of the dawn. Rain falls in streams and, gathering to a head, the river swells until it leaves its bed. 76 As sometimes in a season of hot sun, when Heaven lets a longed-for shower descend, flocks of loud ducks on withered banks will run with raucous gabble and greet it like a friend, and spread their wings to the cool wet, and none refrains from bathing in it, and in the end each, where it gathers deepest, dives to slake its thirst and thus to soothe desire’s ache; 77 so these greet, shouting joyfully, the rain that Heaven’s pitying right hand sends below. Each man is pleased to bathe in it, again and yet again, his cloak, his locks, his brow. Some drink from cups, and some their helmets drain, or dangle hands in the refreshing flow. Here one his neck, his face one sprinkles there; a wiser third fills his canteen with care. 78 Nor does mankind alone rejoice now or feel restoration of the health it lacked, but earth, that lately showed, diseased and poor, a skin by countless fissures crazed and cracked, now gathers rain that seals up every sore, finds her most secret veins again intact, and freely pours forth moisture’s healing power to nurse the lives of tree and grass and flower. 79 So a sick woman whom some balsam frees from what her inward parts consumes and sears, and, casting out the cause of her disease to which her limbs are food and tinder, cheers their blood and fills them out again, till she’s as she appeared in greener, fresher years, and once again, forgetting past distress, puts on her garlands and her festive dress.

canto thirteen 80 The rain ceases at last; the sun returns, but now diffuses temperate rays and fair, of masculine vigour and such warmth as burns when April days to early May-time wear. Ah, noble faith of him who rightly earns God’s favour, that from death can purge the air, can change the seasons’ order and estate, and overcome the rage of stars and Fate!

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Canto Fourteen 1 From the cool, soft womb of the Great Mother now dark Night came issuing forth, and as she flew, mild airs and ample clouds adorned her brow, distilling thence her pure and precious dew. Shaking her veil’s damp fringe, on every bough she sprinkled fronds and flowerets, while her crew of gentle breezes, borne on tender wings, soothed mortal sleepers with their flutterings, 2 and every care that day brings on they quite drowned in oblivion’s deep and pleasant haze. But keeping watch in His eternal light throned sat the King Whom all the world obeys. Down on the Frankish leader from His height He looked with kindly and auspicious gaze and sent to him a secret dream, that he might see revealed in it His high decree. 3 Not far from the golden portals where the sun bursts forth, there is an eastward aperture with crystal gates* that never are undone till a new day’s nativity is sure. Hence issue dreams by God’s grace sent to run into the thoughts of spirits chaste and pure. From this gate now toward pious Bouillon springs that dream and towards him spreads his golden wings. 4 No other dream-born vision ever gave to any man such sight as now unbars to him, in shapes so pleasing, fair, and brave, the secrets of high Heaven and the stars. Mirrored he saw, as in a glass concave, what those on high know as Truth’s exemplars. He seemed rapt up in a hushed sphere that rolled, translucent, decked with crowds of flames of gold;

canto fourteen 5 and while he scanned this high place to admire its vast size, motion, lights, and harmony, behold! Ringed round with rays, ringed round with fire, a knight approached, and in a voice so free, so kindly that it seemed to hold entire all gentleness on earth, said smilingly: ‘Godfrey, will you not welcome me? Will you not speak to your true friend? not know your Hugh?’* 6 Godfrey replied: ‘Your new and wondrous face,* by such a wondrous blaze of glory lit, so made my reason stray from its old place that I but slowly now return to it.’ Then three times in a loving, sweet embrace about his neck his hands he strove to fit, and three times from that futile grasp the fair shape slipped like a light dream or fleeting air. 7 The other smiled. ‘No longer I’, said he, ‘walk pent in earthly garb, as you suppose. My naked soul and essence here you see. Heaven is the city where I now repose, God’s temple. Here, enthroned by His decree, His soldiers reign. You shall be one of those.’ ‘When will that be?’ he answered. ‘Right away let my flesh melt, if it prevents my stay.’ 8 ‘Ah, soon indeed’, Hugh answered him, ‘will you among His glorious hosts in triumph go. But first there is much soldiering to do and blood and sweat to spill by you below. First you must take back from the heathen crew rule of the holy lands that now lie low, and over them a Christian court ordain in which your brother* shall thereafter reign. 9 ‘But now, that you may quicken your desires in love of realms above, more keenly eye those radiant mansions and those living fires with which the Eternal Mind makes wheel the sky. Attend the angel concord of the lyres that these celestial sirens tune on high; then look,’ he, pointing earthward, said, ‘and know all that this lowest of the spheres can show.

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canto fourteen 10 ‘How wretchedly* you humans scheme and plot for vain rewards upon this nether ground! In what a narrow circuit, among what abandoned solitudes your fame lies bound! Amid vast seas your island earth is shut, though “vast” or “ocean”, or what words resound to name that sea, are idle names and fond, for what it is: a shallow bog, a pond.’ 11 So spoke the one; the other, as in disdain, gazed down and smiled, for everything that seems so varied in our world he now saw wane and shrink to one small point — seas, lands, and streams. He marvelled that on smoke and shades our vain humanity pins all its aims and dreams of slavish empire, glories mute and dumb, while blind to Heaven that beckons us to come, 12 so that he answered: ‘Since not yet my God is pleased to free me from my earthly jail, I beg of you to make me know what road is through the world’s blind maze the surest trail?’ ‘It is’, said Hugh, ‘Truth’s road — that you have trod and tread even now. Keep on it, without fail. I’ll urge only one other thing: recall Bertold’s young son* from exile; that is all. 13 ‘For if you’re chosen by High Providence chief of this venture and its high command, he too is chosen, and of your intents as the supreme executor must stand: yours the prime role, his second; hence you are the army’s head, but its fighting hand is he alone. None other has the grace, not even you, to fill his destined place. 14 ‘He only shall defy the forest’s law and fell its wood despite its magic charms. From him your army, which of late you saw, shrivelled in size, enfeebled by its harms, and now perforce quite likely to withdraw, shall gain for a new onslaught strength in arms, and smash the strengthened walls at last, and smite the Orient legions’ overweening might.’

canto fourteen 15 He ceased; whereupon Bouillon answered: ‘Oh, what joy if once again that knight came here! You, who can see each hidden thought, must know I speak but truth to say I hold him dear. Yet say where should I bid my envoy go to find him, what to tell him? Should the peer be entreated or commanded? And say how can law or honour such a course allow?’ 16 The other then resumed: ‘The Eternal King, Who honours you with such abundant grace, wills that all those He sets you governing should never without awe look on your face. Therefore do not entreat (pleading might bring some loss of dignity to your high place), but deign to heed entreaty, and concede swift pardon when you hear another plead. 17 ‘For Guelf * (God will inspire him) will pray that you absolve the fierce lad of that blame that fell on him when his great wrath held sway, provided he come back to arms and fame. And though the boy now wallows far away in sloth, and toys with passion’s idle flame, doubt not he will return, and shortly too, and in your great need act the man for you. 18 ‘For your own Peter, in whose prophet heart Heaven’s deepest secrets lie revealed, shall know where to send messengers, into what part of the earth for certain news of him to go; and they by grace shall find the means and art to set him free and bring him to you; so your errant peer, led back through Heaven’s might, once more beneath your sacred flag shall fight. 19 ‘Now I shall add some brief words that you’ll find a pleasing codicil:* after he dies, your blood shall blend with his, and from your kind a glorious, famous progeny shall rise.’ He ceased then and was gone, like smoke in wind, or like a mist that sunlight melts and dries, while sleep fled Bouillon’s breast, who, with a start, sensed joy and wonder mingling in his heart.

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canto fourteen 20 His eyes now open, pious Bouillon finds the new day born, already grown, wherefore he sleeps no more, but his steel armour binds about his tireless limbs, while to the door of his pavilion all the leading minds of his great army come to gather for the wonted council, to determine on whatever actions must elsewhere be done. 21 And there he heard good Guelf, whose honest soul had been inspired with fresh thought, begin, saying: ‘You only, clement prince, control the strings of grace and pardon, and to win your pardon is my prayer; yet my goal is pardon for an all-too-recent sin, wherefore my suit will strike you, I am sure, as both importunate and premature. 22 ‘But since I plead to pious Godfrey, and on behalf of brave Rinaldo, for such grace, and since I, who so plead, assume I stand in a not quite inconsequential place, I trust I may obtain from your kind hand what all men here will as a boon embrace: Let him return, and, for the common good, atone his fault by shedding of his blood. 23 ‘Who, if not he, should be the man of might with pluck enough to fell those fearsome trees? Who, if not he, will be so bold in fight, so constant against fatal menaces? He (you will see) will breach the walls, will smite those gates down, and first scale the height. Ah, please, restore him to your men; for God’s sake, sire, restore him, their last hope and their desire. 24 ‘To me restore my nephew, and restore to your own self so brave and quick a thrall (nor let vile sloth make him a dullard or a sot). To him, restore his fame withal. He will follow your victorious flag once more. Let his high mettle stand revealed to all. In clear day, let him worthily use his sword, with eyes on you, his captain and his lord.’

canto fourteen 25 So pleaded he, and from all else his plea a chorus of assenting murmurs drew. Whereupon Godfrey answered, as if he had not already thought the matter through: ‘What prayer could I be deaf to, if it be for a boon requested and desired by you? Let rigour cease, for reasoned law abides by what unanimous assent decides: 26 ‘Rinaldo may return, but let him tame with moderation’s bridle his wild ire, and let him satisfy with deeds of fame the high hopes placed on him, and fond desire. But to make him come, dear Guelf, must be your aim, and your call, surely, will his haste inspire. Choose you the messenger to seek the ground on which you think the fierce youth may be found.’ 27 Silence. And now the Danish warrior * rose, crying: ‘I pray, make me your messenger. To bring the gift of that great sword, all blows, all risks, all distances I’ll gladly bear.’ Most strong of heart and hand is he, Guelf knows. The offer pleases, and he picks a pair of envoys: him and Hubald, man most fit for prudence, foresight and for subtle wit. 28 In youth, this Hubald had sought out and seen various customs, various countries, and roamed the whole world through all the zones between the frozen north and Ethiop’s sunburnt land, schooled in discretion and valour, ever keen their speech, their rites, their laws to understand. In riper age, Guelf chose him for his train and much esteemed his mettle and his brain. 29 Such were the messengers whom honour calls to bring the great knight back. Immediately, good Guelf dispatched them to seek out those walls where Bohemond kept his seat of monarchy,* for confident rumour has it that those halls were those he sought and where he still might be. But the good Hermit, knowing that suspicion as vain, comes up, and countermands the mission,

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canto fourteen 30 saying: ‘O knights, by following the cry of vulgar and fallacious hearsay, you follow a rash and faithless guide, who’ll try to make you turn and stray, whatever you do. No, seek the shore near Ascalon.* Close by, a mighty river’s mouth will come in view. There you will find a man who is our friend. Trust him. What he enjoins, I too intend. 31 ‘Much does he see, sage as he is, and he much knows from me of your foreseen high quest (and foreseen long ago). I know he’ll be gracious as he is wise. That course is best.’ So said he. Charles and the other legatee stayed no more question, but at once addressed the task he counselled, knowing that control of Heaven’s dictates echoed in his soul. 32 They took quick leave; and fervour spurred them on so fast that, setting forth without delay, they found the shortest way to Ascalon, close to the shore where breakers burst in spray. They had not yet heard the nearby surf ’s long-drawn and muffled roar ring in their ears, when they came to a stream that recent shower on shower had swollen to huge amplitude and power, 33 so that, forced from their bed, its waters fierce with speed more than an arrow’s hurtled down. And while they stand in wonder, there appears a good old man * of reverent mien, a crown fashioned of beech-leaves set above his ears, and simply clad in a white linen gown. Wielding a wand, he walks upon the waves and with dry feet the rushing current braves. 34 As in the regions near the arctic line, when streams grow hard in winter’s frosty glare, the peasant girls in crowds run on the Rhine and glide in long, sure strides with never a care, so came he over waves that shift and twine with waters uncongealed by freezing air, and swiftly toward the pair of warriors sped, whose eyes were fixed upon his form, and said:

canto fourteen 35 ‘My friends, a hard and toilsome quest you face, and truly you have need of one who guides! For the warrior whom you seek, far from this place, in regions infidel and unknown bides. How myriad are the paths you yet must trace! How many shores yet pass! How many tides! Indeed, the venture into which you’re hurled extends beyond the confines of our world. 36 ‘Be not displeased to enter like a guest the hidden caves that hold my secret cell, for there of things of no mean interest, most needful for your knowledge, will I tell.’ He spoke, and lo! the waves at his behest at once withdraw and stop to form a well around whose sides their curving waters lift like a mountain cloven midway by a rift. 37 He takes them by the hand, and bids them go toward the inmost depths below the stream, whence emanates a wan and feeble glow as when through branches Cynthia’s * dim rays gleam; yet they discern gigantic caves where grow all channels that surge up to us and teem in a bubbling spring, or riverbed, or break in a cascade, or spread out in a lake. 38 They see where Po is born;* know, at their sources, Hydaspes, Ganges, and Euphrates too; where Don, where Ister rises; where Nile courses from hidden springs not hidden from their view; and lower down they find a stream,* that forces its sulphurous froth and liquid silver through the earth’s crust till refining sunbeams mould its flux in blocks and nuggets of bright gold. 39 And all around that rich flood they descry the strand adorned with stones of precious hue; whence, as from countless torches held on high, through the black murk a shining splendour flew. There glimmering, with a light as of the sky, the hyacinth and the sapphire shine out blue, the carbuncle flames out, and with hard rays the diamond glints, and the fair emerald plays.

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canto fourteen 40 Amazed, the knights proceed, their thoughts so fast by these unheard-of marvels occupied, they do not speak a word. Hubald at last regains his voice and turns to ask their guide: ‘Father, pray tell us: which way have we passed? Where are you leading us? I can’t decide if what I see are dreams, or truth, or shades, for the great wonder that my heart invades.’ 41 He answers: ‘You are now in the immense womb of the earth, from which all things proceed. Nor could you this day penetrate this dense maze of her bowels without me to lead. I lead you now toward my mansion, whence you soon will see a marvellous light proceed. I was born pagan, but by God’s grace then was in His sacred waters born again. 42 ‘Not by the power of Stygian angels* these my marvellous and cunning works are done (God forbid I by spells or fumes should seize powers of Cocytus and of Phlegethon!), But I search out, by their causalities, what virtue can from herbs or springs be won and brood on other secrets Nature bars from men, and scan the changes of the stars. 43 ‘For I not always thus far from the sky in subterranean cloisters make my home, but often on Mount Lebanon or nearby lodge on Mount Carmel in an airy dome. There I can see, bright and unveiled on high, Venus and Mars through all their aspects roam and all the others as they turn and shine, swiftly or slowly, baneful or benign. 44 ‘Beneath my feet I see, now thick, now thin, the clouds, now black, now brushed with Iris* hues; and I observe what makes winds breathe and spin, the generation of the rains and dews, how thunderbolts are kindled and begin, once launched, to trace the flickering paths they choose; and I find comets and new stars so well that self-pride used to hold me like a spell.

canto fourteen 45 ‘I grew so pleased with my own powers that I came to deem my knowledge held the sure norm of all things the Maker of all begat in all of nature, or could make endure, till your good Peter bathed my head and at the sacred fountain made my spirit pure. He bade me gaze on greater heights and mark how my gaze in itself was dull and dark. 46 ‘I saw then that, like night-birds in the sun, our intellects fly in Truth’s primordial rays and smiled at all the empty tales I had spun to bolster my conceit in former days. Yet, as God wishes,* I still follow on my wonted science and my earlier ways, but feel I am a new man now, and yearn to begin with Him and to Him to return 47 and in Him find my peace. He masters me, my supreme Teacher and my sovereign Lord, nor does He sometimes deem it ill if we by our own handiwork effect His word. My task is now from his strange chains to free your champion and to arms have him restored. Thus God commands; and long ago I knew, by Him forewarned, that I should wait for you.’ 48 While thus he speaks to them, they reach the place in which he has his dwelling and repose. Shaped like a grotto, it holds ample space for rooms and halls that high above them rose. Whatever beauty, preciousness, and grace the rich veins of our mother Earth enclose here shines; and all the trappings that adorn that wondrous cavern are not made, but born. 49 Nor was there lack of servants; hundreds vied with nimbleness and speed to serve each guest nor meanly was the opulent board supplied in gold and crystal vessels of the best. But when their hunger had been satisfied their thirst allayed, and nature’s need redressed, ‘Now it is time, dear warriors,’ said the mage, ‘that I at last your greater thirst assuage.’

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canto fourteen 50 Then he resumed: ‘The works and treacheries wrought by false Armida you both know in part:* how she came to the camp, and how she brought so many knights to stray, led by her art. You know too how the faithless hostess caught these knights and in hard fetters made them smart, and sent them under guard to Gaza then, when on their way they were set free again. 51 ‘Now I’ll relate to you what next occurred, a true account you have not heard before. After the wicked sorceress had word her prey, seized with such art, was free once more, she bit both hands for grief and cried out, stirred by furious rage burning in every pore: “Ah, never shall he boast that he could free so many of my prisoners from me! 52 ‘ “Though he freed the rest, let him now be my slave, and in their stead suffer long grief and pain. No, even that is not enough: I crave that they should all feel universal bane.” Discoursing thus within her mind, she gave rein to the treacherous scheme hatched in her brain. She hastened where Rinaldo’s victor hand smote and in part destroyed her warrior band. 53 ‘He, having left his armour in that spot, upon his back a pagan’s arms had placed, meaning perhaps to go disguised, and not to blazon gear so famous and so graced. That armour now the witch snatched up and brought where a dead man lay and in its mail encased the corpse, and laid it by a river’s side where, she foresaw, a troop of Franks would ride. 54 ‘Such foresight she could easily command whose thousand spies were roaming all about and from the camp of the crusader band brought news of who rode in and who rode out; and she, moreover, often hand in hand conversed with demons of the hellish rout. The spot, then, where she puts that body will be opportune, she knows, to her false skill.

canto fourteen 55 ‘A very cunning squire not far away she bade to wait, in shepherd’s garb arrayed, and gave him orders what to do and say — all lies and utter sham — and he obeyed. He talked with your men,* and from his mouth they received suspicion’s seed that, ripening, stayed lodged in their bosoms, fed by hate, and bore the fruit of mutiny and civil war. 56 ‘For, as had been her plan, it was believed that Bouillon somehow had Rinaldo killed, though that suspicion was so ill-conceived that by the first true tidings it was stilled. Even so, by false Armida’s guile deceived, all thought as I now say, just as she willed. Now you shall also hear how she pursued Rinaldo afterwards, and what ensued. 57 ‘Like a sly huntress now Armida lurks for Rinaldo at the ford. That man of war comes where a small branch of Orontes* forks to form an isle, then joins the stream once more, and finds a column rising there that marks the landing where a boat rides near the shore. Eyes fixed upon its marble, white and rare, he reads the golden letters graven there: 58 ‘ “O thou, whoever thou be, whose wandering way desire or chance guides to this riverside, nor West nor East more marvels can display than those that on this little island hide. Cross over then, and see!” Without delay, the heedless youth decides to cross the tide; and since the boat holds no weight but his own, leaves his two squires and rows across alone. 59 ‘Arrived, avid and fancy-free, he takes a closer view, but nothing meets his sight save caverns, fountains, flowers, trees, and brakes. He fears he is mocked by some mischievous sprite; yet seems the place so pleasant that it makes him pause and sit, till, yielding to delight, unhelmeting his brow, he takes his ease in the sweet breathing of the placid breeze.

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canto fourteen 60 ‘Meanwhile he hears the river murmuring with a new sound; his eyes roam to the place, and in midstream make out a wavelike thing, turning, returning on itself with watery grace, and in it, strands of blond hair eddying. And there a maiden rises up — first face, then shoulders, then white breasts — till she reveals her whole shape, to the place that shame conceals. 61 ‘So on a stage * at night, stately and slow, some nymph or goddess floats above the scene. This girl, though a mere magic wraith, and no siren, yet seems like those in old days seen making their home on seaside rocks that grow far out into the treacherous Tyrrhene;* and, no less fair to either ear or eye, she sings her song, and calms the winds and sky: 62 ‘ “O young men, now, while April vies with May to deck you in the spoils of leaf and flower, ah! let not Fame’s or Virtue’s wisps betray your tender minds to their delusive power! He only is wise who follows Pleasure’s way, and reaps betimes the ripe fruit of each hour. So Nature cries. Would you, in this fair season, harden your hearts against her words of reason? 63 ‘ “Fools, would you cast away, brief as it is, fresh youth, most precious of the gems you wear? Mere names, mere idols, baseless fantasies are Worth and Honour by which worldlings swear. Fame, whose sweet voice whispers of phantom bliss to you proud mortals, and who seems so fair, is a mere echo, dream, dream lost in shade, at every wind-puff scattered and unmade. 64 ‘ “Let souls untroubled bodies’ pleasures try, and feed with joy your fragile senses still. Forget the troubles of the past, nor by anticipation hasten future ill. Leave God to Heaven; let Him shake His sky and scowl, and blaze His arrows as He will. This is true wisdom. This is happiness. Thus Nature teaches. Thus her works confess.”

canto fourteen 65 ‘So sings the wicked sprite, and lulls the boy with soft and cunning harmonies to sleep. Writhing into him bit by bit, they cloy his senses in a charm both strong and deep. Thunder could not now wake him or annoy death’s silent looks that over his features creep. Now from her ambush the false sorceress flies, and looms above him, vengeance in her eyes. 66 ‘But when she fixed those eyes on him to see his calm face as he drew breath, soft and light, his eyes that seemed to smile so charmingly, though closed (if they now opened, what delight!), she halts, transfixed, and next him presently sits down to gaze, feeling her rage and spite stilled as she hangs above him, marvelling, as once Narcissus * hung above his spring. 67 ‘From off his brow the trembling drops of sweat she with her veil daubed quickly, and assayed by gentle fanning movements to defeat the scorching summer skies with soothing shade. Thus (who would credit it?) the slumbering heat hid in his eyes melted the ice that made her heart harder than adamant, and lo! she has turned lover who was once his foe. 68 ‘Lily, and rose, and clustering meadowsweet, that bloomed along that stream’s enchanting rim, she now begins with marvellous art to pleat in chains which bind, though soft, the strongest limb, and wreathes them round his neck, his arms, his feet. Thus did she conquer and imprison him. Thence, as he sleeps, upon her car nearby she places him, and soars up through the sky. 69 ‘Not toward Damascus’ royal seat she now, nor toward her wave-girt keep, urges her steeds, but, jealous of so dear a pledge, her brow a-flush with shame and ardour, she proceeds to hide in boundless Ocean, whither prow from our shores never, or but rarely, speeds — far from all lands. There, her lone domicile hid from the world’s sight, lies a little isle,

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canto fourteen 70 ‘a little isle that, with the isles nearby, from Fortune takes its name.* Arriving there, she flies up to a mountain wondrous high, unpeopled, dark, its peak swathed in brown air, and makes huge snowdrifts by enchantment lie along its flanks and verges, but leaves bare the summit, decking it in leaf and flower, and there makes rise a sumptuous lakeside bower, 71 ‘where now her lover stays to bill and coo in a soft April season without end. Now from this far and secret prison, you must seek to extricate your youthful friend, and foil the jealous lady’s guardians who her magic mountain and her roof defend. You will not lack a guide in this great deed, who’ll furnish you with weapons at your need. 72 ‘Scarce having left this river, you will find a lady young of face, ancient in years. You’ll know her by the forelock* you’ll see bind her brow, and by the motley that she wears. She’ll help you leave the high sea’s surge behind swifter than eagle’s wing can cleave the air’s, swifter than lightning’s flash; nor need you learn to trust her guidance less at your return. 73 ‘Below the mountain where the witch abides, you’ll see strange pythons, writhing, all their jaws hissing; and rough-backed boars with bristling hides; and bears and lions opening giant maws. But shake a wand I’ll give, whatever betides: its whistle through the air will give them pause. Yet will you find (if truth be truth to speak) a peril far more grievous near the peak. 74 ‘On it a fountain springs,* so fair and pure that it makes thirsty all who look on it; but hidden in its crystal, cooling cheer the secret evils of strange poison sit; for one mere sip from its bright waves and clear at once makes drunk the soul, giddies the wit, then moves a man to laughter, and that laughter grows till he laughs no more, forever after.

canto fourteen 75 ‘Avert your mouths from it, scorn and abhor its baleful, murderous waters, and eschew the food placed after on their verdant shore; and heed not the perfidious damsels who with fair, lascivious speech set it before your eyes, with looks and smiles that flatter you. Spurn all their glances and their subtle play, and through the high gates pass without delay. 76 ‘Within the walls a labyrinth winds its ways whose thousand turns all hope of flight confound; but I’ll give you a scroll that well displays Truth’s path, lest error make you wander round. A garden lies amidst this daunting maze whose every leaf breathes Love upon that ground. Embowered there in fresh and verdant grass you’ll find the knight reclining with his lass. 77 ‘But soon as she has risen from that field, and left her sweetheart, do as I advise: show yourselves to him,* lift the diamond shield, that I shall give you, right before his eyes, that in it he may see his face revealed and the effeminate garb in which he lies; and at that sight, shame and disdain may start to chase unworthy love out of his heart. 78 ‘Now nothing more remains for me to tell except that in all safety you shall go and penetrate each inmost, hidden cell of that dark place, and all its secrets know. The witch shall have no power to conjure Hell to bar your passage or to make it slow; nor (such power guides you) shall Armida be prescient enough your coming to foresee. 79 ‘Nor with less safety shall you then pursue, having escaped her haunts, your homeward flight. But now the hour for sleep has come, and you must rise tomorrow by the dawn’s first light.’ So spoke he, and escorted them into the chamber that would lodge them for the night. Leaving them glad and thoughtful there, he rose, the good old man, and sought his own repose.

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Canto Fifteen 1 The fair ray blazed now, newborn, to prepare all creatures for the tasks their fates require, when, bringing with him to the knightly pair scroll, shield and golden wand, the sage old sire exhorted them: ‘Gird for your quest, be yare, before the sun now rising rises higher! Behold, I bring you, as I promised, arms with power to thwart the witch’s demon charms.’ 2 Both had already risen, and each had placed his heavy gear upon his mighty frame. So now on paths where no day shines they paced behind the old man, and along the same windings by which they had thither come retraced their former steps, returning whence they came. But at the bed where the stream’s waters swell, ‘My friends,’ says he, ‘I bid you leave. Farewell.’ 3 The river folds them in his bosom, and the waves drive softly on and lift them high (as light leaves borne up by the air withstand the force that pulls them down, and seek the sky), and gently wafts them toward the spongy strand. The promised escort they then saw nearby, saw her small skiff, and on its poop saw ride the fateful damsel destined as their guide. 4 She wears a long lock on her forehead and her glance is courteous, gracious, tranquil, debonair; and like an angel’s is her countenance, such splendour seems to blaze and glitter there. Now azure shadows, now vermilion, dance dappling her gown, by countless dyes made fair, so that to one who looked on her before she is not her former self when seen once more.

canto fifteen 5 Just so, beneath an amorous ring-dove’s head, circling her neck a feathery band may show that never twice with the same tint is spread, glowing in sunlight with still-changing glow. Now like a ruby necklace it flames red, now glitters decked in emerald green, and so, mingling them all, all lovely hues displays to charm the gazer in a hundred ways. 6 ‘Come,’ says she, ‘fortunate mortals, step aboard. I’ll safely steer* this ship through ocean’s wrack, I to whom all storms yield, all winds afford passage, I, whom no burden can make slack. For His executor and your guide my Lord has named me: of His grace I never lack.’ So said the maid, and closer to the strand brought up the curved pine with her pilot hand. 7 Having received the noble pair inside, she thrusts from shore and gives her craft free rein. Letting the breezes fill the sail full wide, she takes the tiller and makes for the main. So swollen is the river where they glide it could upon its back great ships sustain. (But any stream with ease would keep afloat, though not so gorged by rain, her little boat.) 8 Now swifter than is nature’s wont, the wind thrusts the sail toward the coast. The waves grow white with hoary froth and babble from behind, parted and shivered by the keel’s swift flight. But they rejoin and their swift eddies find calm in a larger bed where they unite, or, scattered, merging with immensity, are nothing, or seem nothing, in the sea. 9 The wondrous boat has scarcely reached the rim of the still-vexèd sea, when every cloud dissolves and noxious Notus* flags, whose grim blasts were amassed just then in a threatening crowd. Mild breezes level mountainous waves and skim their rippling azure, while the sky, endowed with utmost calm and sweet refreshing cheer, smiles to have never seen itself so clear.

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canto fifteen 10 The little skiff passed Ascalon, then veered leftward and west, and on her watery path soon past the fortress town of Gaza steered, that was in olden days the port of Gath,* but later, from another’s ruin reared, grew populous in size and strong in wrath. And now the beaches fronting it were manned with people numerous as grains of sand 11 The sailors, gazing landward, there descried a huge encampment* standing, tent on tent; saw infantry and cavalry march or ride, from town to shore, from shore to city sent, while laden elephants and camels plied the sandy roadways, trampling where they went; saw in the port great ships at anchor sway or harbour moored in many a hollow quay; 12 saw others spread their sails, and saw yet more cleaving with swift and pliant oar the swells, while struck by spray and froth from prow and oar the sea’s soft bosom billows and upwells. Then said the damozel: ‘Crammed as the shore and sea are even now with infidels, still has the tyrant not yet made complete the muster of the bands who here will meet. 13 ‘Those he has here assembled only hail from Egypt and its neighbours; he awaits more distant troops, for far beyond the pale of east and south extend his vast estates; so that, I trust, we will back hither sail long ere this great encampment relocates at his command,* or his who in his stead will of this army be the sovereign head.’ 14 While thus she spoke, even as an eagle through gaggles of lesser fowl soars skyward where no mortal eye can keep his shape in view, so near the sun he hovers in the air, so did her skiff seem while it safely flew ’twixt prow and prow, with never a fear or care that any there should follow or stay its flight, and speeded past, and vanished out of sight.

canto fifteen 15 In scarce an instant, Raffia* is in view, first Syrian port in sight of him who roams eastward from Egypt; then their ship close to Rhinocolura’s* barren coastline comes. Not long thereafter, as she westward flew, with proud head seaward a huge mountain* looms that bathes its feet in the unstable tide and in whose womb the bones of Pompey hide. 16 Damietta* next they see, and how nearby Nile through his seven famous floodgates* brings seaward his tribute moisture from the sky, and through a hundred lesser openings. Their ship then skirts the city founded by the great Greek* for his Greek colonial kings; then passes Pharos,* isle in days of yore far out to sea, but now joined to the shore. 17 Unseen are Rhodes and Crete, which pole-ward hide,* while she sails on near Africa, whose strand makes a green, fruitful marge, though its inside teems with fell monsters and with sterile sand. She skirts Marmarica,* skirts the fortified five peaks* where once Cyrene used to stand, and skirts the beach where Ptolemais lies and fabled Lethe’s waves* in silence rise. 18 To Greater Syrtis, bane of sailing men,* she gives wide berth, swerving far out to sea, leaves in her wake Judecca’s cape,* and then crosses past Magra’s inlet. Tripoli next rises on its sands, while out of ken Malta lies low in the waves’ immensity. Soon, borne through Syrtis Minor,* she beheld Djerba,* where once the Lotus Eaters dwelled. 19 Tunis she next sees on its curving shore, mountains on either side of a wide bay: Tunis, that rich and honoured seat — none more of note in Libya,* nor of mightier sway. Slantways across from here in Sicily soar the bluffs of Lilybaeum far away; and here to the two knights the maid displays the site where Carthage* rose in ancient days.

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canto fifteen 20 Exalted Carthage* lies full low. The signs of her great ruin fade upon the strand. So dies each city, so each realm declines, its pomp and glory lost in scrub and sand, and mortal man to see it sighs and pines. (Ah, greed and pride! when will you understand?) They reached Bizerta* then, and lost the sight of the isle of the Sardinians to their right. 21 They sped past plains where the Numidian shepherds of old long plied their nomad trade. Bugía,* and then Algiers, and then Oran, notorious nests of pirates, they surveyed, and coasted by the shores of Tingitan,* the nurse of lions and elephants, now swayed by Fez’s and Morocco’s king. At last Granada on the opposing side they passed. 22 They now come where, between two lands, the sea, by a breach men say Alcides* made, breaks through — and well those shores may have been formerly one shore till ancient ruin made them two. There did the Ocean’s waves impetuously push Abyla here, and Calpe* there from view, split Spain from Libya with a narrow sluice — such change can waste of ancient time produce! 23 Four times the sun had risen* in the East since first their skiff had pushed away from shore, nor once (there was no need) made port, nor ceased its progress till but little lay in store. She now enters the Straits, now is released to be engulfed where boundless waters roar. If vast the sea girt by our far-flung strands, how vast a sea must circle all those lands? 24 Now vanish, as the unfathomed currents spread, fertile Cadiz* and the twin isles nearby. Fled are all continents, all shores are fled, and sky meets wave, and wave meets only sky. Then Hubald said: ‘O lady, who have led us to this sea without a bound, reply! Have others ever come where we are hurled? And are there human dwellers in that world?’

canto fifteen 25 She answers: ‘Hercules, after he slew the monster brood* of Libya and of Spain and passed and conquered all the shores in view, dared not attempt the waters of the main. He placed a sign, meaning in confines new the boldness of too-bold men to restrain; but then Ulysses* came, who scorned his stern markers — Ulysses, keen to see and learn. 26 ‘Passing the Pillars, on the open Sea he loosed his oars on their audacious flight; but in these infinite waters even he, was unskilled and the waves engulfed him quite, his corpse unburied, his last odyssey, as yet unsung among you, lost from sight. If others, driven by storms, have sailed this track, they either perished or did not come back. 27 ‘Unknown, therefore, is the great sea you plough. A thousand isles, a thousand realms it hides; nor are these lands without all dwellers now, but like your own hold fertile countrysides. Most apt to bear are these; no leaf or bough is sterile where the generous sun provides.’ ‘Tell me,’ said Hubald then, after a pause, ‘what faith rules* in that hidden world? What laws?’ 28 She answered: ‘Disparate groups have disparate manners and language and attire from yours. Some worship forms of beasts, and some the great Mother of All, and some the sun and stars. One loads the tables of disgust and hate with nutriment the human tongue abhors.* In sum, all who from there to Calpe dwell have customs barbarous and infidel.’ 29 ‘Does then that God,’ the knight to her replied, ‘Who came from Heaven to make bright the page of time, command all rays of Truth to hide from that world’s huge domains age after age?’ ‘By no means. Peter’s faith’, she then replied, ‘them too will find, and civil arts assuage; nor is it fated that long journeys sever from where you live those commonwealths forever.

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canto fifteen 30 ‘Time comes when the two signs of Hercules to mariners will seem mere myths of yore, when realms unknown, and distant, nameless seas, will gather fame with you, from shore to shore. Yea, then the boldest of all argosies will sail the whole round of the sea,* explore and mark off all the earth, that immense mass, and, emulous of the sun, the sun surpass. 31 ‘A native of Liguria* first will dare on that uncharted course to risk his life. Not howling whirlwind threatening from the air, nor hostile waves, nor dubious climes, nor strife, nor any menace that may now appear more grave yet, or with greater dangers rife, will make this high-souled man’s aspiring mind in Abyla’s narrow limits* rest confined. 32 ‘You, O Columbus, toward an unknown pole will spread your fortunate sails so far away, that even Fame scarce sees or knows your goal, whose thousand wings and eyes the world survey. Let her sing of Alcides, Bacchus,* but extol you by mere hints unto your heirs someday: such hints suffice to give all future ages fit themes for poetry’s and history’s pages.’ 33 So saying, through the great flood’s watery bed westward she flies, then southward veers, sees how the sun is sinking up ahead, and in their wake the reborn day appears. Then, at the hour when round about are shed Aurora’s rays and dewy drops, there nears, still dimly seen, a mountain peak that shrouds its mighty brow amid the highest clouds. 34 And soon thereafter, as they closer slid, and every cloud had melted from its sides, they saw it loom like a sharp pyramid, thin near the peak, thick where it met the tides, and here and there by smoke and vapours hid, hot as the mount where huge Enceladus hides,* that with its fumes by day obscures all sight and lights up all the sky with flame by night.

canto fifteen 35 Lo! near it other islands, other peaks they see at last, not quite so steep or high. These were the Fortunate Islands, by the Greeks given that name in ages long gone by, deemed so beloved by Heaven that it makes their untilled soil all by itself supply, untilled, abundant crops and vines that bear choicest of fruit without the vintner’s care. 36 Here (said they) olives never sprout false flower; from oak tree hollows drips the honeycomb; here from high crags the mountain wellsprings shower fresh waters, softly whispering as they foam. Zephyrs and dews in every nook and bower temper the heat. Here is the hallowed home (they said) called the Elysian Fields,* where blest spirits of heroes find perpetual rest. 37 Toward these the lady steered. ‘The goal is near,’ she cried, ‘now is your journey near its ending. These are the Fortunate Isles, of which men hear such wonders, though with doubtful ears attending — fruitful, indeed, and blest and fair; though here Truth ever finds herself with Falsehood blending.’ She spoke, and brought them hard within the ken of the island that lay first among the ten. 38 Charles then begins: ‘Lady, if by the grand enterprise that you lead us on it be permitted, let me now set foot on land and view the shores of this uncharted sea, their people and their forms of worship, and all sights that learned men will envy me when I shall boast to others of the rare wonders I’ve seen and tell them: “I was there!” ’ 39 She answered: ‘Worthy of your mind indeed is that request, but what is all my might if Heaven’s inviolable doom impede, noble though all your efforts be, your right? Not yet is spent the term by God decreed to bring the great discovery to light. Not yours the task from ocean’s depths to bring back to your world a truthful reckoning.

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canto fifteen 40 ‘To you by a grace beyond the lore and skill of sailors it is given to pass this tide, to find the champion manacled so ill and bring him back to the world’s hither side. This must suffice; to venture further still and strain at destiny, would be mere pride.’ Here she grew silent, while before their eyes the first isle seemed to shrink, the next to rise. 41 She pointed eastward then, where isle on isle rises along a chain, discreet and orderly, and sundered pair by pair along their file by broad and almost equal tracts of sea. Dwellings of natives they make out meanwhile on seven — fields and other signs; while three deserted lie, in which the wild beasts roam, safe in their forest dens and mountain home. 42 On one of these deserted isles, the shore swerved round a bend quite hidden between two great horns of land that, like an ample door, opened upon a gulf and brought in view a port, backed by a cliff that evermore repelled the surge that back to seaward drew. Towering on either side, two rocky spurs rose like a landmark set for mariners. 43 Below, the waves lie peaceful, still and clear; above, black forests make a gloomy scene; and in between, a cavern’s depths appear, moist with cool springs, with fronds of ivy green. To curb the weary ships, no hawsers here need be employed, no anchors cast. Serene the sea rests in this quiet, lonely place; and here the maid furled up her sails apace. 44 ‘Behold,’ she said to them, ‘that massive pile that rises on yon lofty mountain peak. There amid folly, sports, and feasts meanwhile Christ’s champion* lolls in pleasure, soft and weak. Him, when the skies with morning sunlight smile, you must in that steep mountain fastness seek. Don’t linger, for that realm, except at first dawn’s light, is at all hours malign and curst.

canto fifteen 45 ‘Yet by the waning light still left today you on your own may seek the mountain’s base.’ Bidding their noble guide farewell, soon they set foot on the desired shore. They race with so much ease along the upward way, that they with feet unwearied reach the place. Arrived, they note that Phoebus’ chariot* sped westward, though far still from the ocean’s bed. 46 They see, past giant crags and rocky screes, toward a high, proud peak, a winding pass. Up to the summit’s margin all paths freeze with snow and ice, but it bears flowers and grass. Close by its white beard sprouts a verdant frieze, and the ice makes truce with lilies and a mass of tender roses: magic art here wields a power so great that even Nature yields. 47 At the mountain’s bottom, the two knights descry a shady nook and make camp for the night; but when the sky is once more brightened by the sun, eternal source of golden light, ‘Up! Up! The quest is beckoning,’ they cry, ardent and eager to ascend the height. Then, from I know not where, a thing of wrath,* writhing and loathsome, blocks their onward path. 48 Its crest and front scaled with pale gold, it strode, neck swollen thick with rage and eyes aflame, breathed smoke and blight, and covered all the road beneath its bloated belly as it came. Now it withdraws into itself, now node on node uncoils, dragging its monstrous frame. Thus to its wonted place of watch it slides but does not slow the warriors’ rapid strides. 49 Already Charles has drawn to strike the drake, when the other shouts: ‘What’s this? And do you mean by strength of hand or weaponry to make the reptile guardian vanish from the scene?’ The charmed gold wand* he then begins to shake; the monster hears its whistling, shrill and keen, and fearful at the sound, and swift to flee, it slithers off and leaves that passage free.

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canto fifteen 50 A little further up, a lion braves their path, roaring, his eyes a-glare and grim, his great mane bristling, and the horrid caves of his maw agape. Rage shakes his every limb, his tail lashes his huge bulk as he raves. But hardly has the wand been shown to him, when secret fear within his heart makes freeze his wrath and native pride, and he too flees. 51 The pair haste on, but now against them come thousands of monsters armed, that glare and cry havoc. Their myriad shrieks and bellows numb the ear; their myriad shapes confound the eye. All creatures monstrous and ferocious from Nile unto Atlas* and all lands nearby seem gathered here — as many beasts as roam Hercynia’s or Hyrcania’s forest gloam.* 52 No army has the courage or the might to halt or hinder them in their advance, yet are they thrown (strange wonder!) into flight by a soft whistling and a fleeting glance. Soon the two heroes reach the mountain’s height, meeting no more resistance or mischance, except as steepness of their upward way and ice beneath their footsteps cause delay. 53 But having crossed the snows and climbed up high above the rugged path and steep terrain, they found a balmy, pleasant summer sky, and near the peak an ample, open plain. Forever fresh and sweet, there breezes ply* a constant, steady flow, so that the twain do not, as elsewhere, feel the wheeling sun hurry their breaths or slow them as they run. 54 Nor does the weather here vary the frost with heat, or clouds with limpid sky by turns, but Heaven’s vault, its splendour never lost, shines with delight and neither chills nor burns, nurturing meadow-green, with flowers embossed, perfumes in flowers, and shade in trees and ferns. By a lake there, on a proud height that commands mountain and seas, the gorgeous palace stands.

canto fifteen 55 The knights now, feeling out of breath and spent by the high, arduous climb, make frequent stay, strolling the verdant fields with bloom besprent now moving on, now stopping on their way. And lo! a fountain from the steep rocks sent invites their lips to bathe, and its fine spray, through a broad conduit forced in countless gushes, sprinkles with droplets all the grass and rushes. 56 But then the waters, gathered up between high grassy sides, in a deep duct appear, and under shade of branches ever green flow murmuring, cool and dark, and yet so clear that nothing that is lovely hides unseen even in their utmost depths, but must appear; while on the high banks foliage lush and sweet spreads out to form a cool and soft retreat. 57 ‘Behold the Laughing Spring,’* they cried, ‘behold the stream where peril spreads a deadly gin. Now must we keep wills bridled and controlled, and be most watchful how we venture in. Let us shut up our ears, nor be cajoled by these false Sirens’ songs of joy and sin. So shall we come where the stream’s windings make a wider bed and spread to form a lake.’ 58 Here, decked with viands precious, rich, and rare, a table lies prepared upon the shore, and sporting in the crystal water there two wanton damsels wage a merry war. They chatter, splash each other’s faces, dare each other to explore the fountain’s floor, then dive, and heads and shoulders one by one discover when their game at last is done. 59 The loveliness of these nude swimmers tests somewhat the armoured heart of either knight and makes him stop to watch, while in their jests and sports the maids continue to delight. One then dips up, and upward from her breasts shows everything that most allures the sight, quite open to the sky, while through the veil of the pond her other limbs glow white and pale.

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canto fifteen 60 As the morning star out of the sea’s great womb ascends, dripping with dew, or as of old at her great birth from Ocean’s fecund spume Love’s goddess* rose in loveliness untold, so she appeared, so did her hair assume a crystal gloss of moisture on its gold. She turned her gaze then, making as if she saw them just then, and shrank back modestly, 61 and suddenly her tresses, that she kept knotted atop her head, she moved to untie, so that, cascading in long strands, they draped in a golden cloak her skin of ivory. Ah, what fair sights here from their eyes escaped! but no less fair what they were hidden by. Thus hidden by her hair and by the spring, she turned to them, a bashful, radiant thing. 62 She smiled the while, and then she blushed a while, and blushing made her smile more lovely still, while yet more blushes, lovelier for her smile, on tender cheeks and chin their roses spill. She lifts her voice then in so sweet a style that, matched with it, the sweetest voice seems shrill: ‘O fortunate pilgrims, who have gained the grace of reaching this abundant, blessed place! 63 ‘This is the haven of the world. You’ll find respite here from all toil, and the delight known in that Golden Age when all mankind lived innocent, unbridled, free of spite. Now you may safely leave those arms behind that once you needed to sustain the fight. Vow them to Silence in these shady dells. Here you’ll be knights of love, and nothing else, 64 ‘and your sweet battlefield will be the bed or the soft grass where you may joust at leisure. By us to the great presence you’ll be led of her whose subjects bless her without measure. For you are chosen to be named and bred among the men she destines to her pleasure. But first (please you) wash off in this pure flood your dust, and from this board partake of food.’

canto fifteen 65 So one speaks, while the other caprioles, matching her words with gestures and with glances. Just so a strain from well-tuned strings controls the pace, now quick, now slow, of stately dances. But the knights harden and make deaf their souls to these perfidious and false advances. The flattering looks and sweet words only touch them outwardly, nor move their feelings much. 66 If of that sweetness some part pierces in the region where desire’s seedlings lie, Reason at once, all armoured against sin, cuts down the burgeoning will to make it die. One couple stays* there, baffled, in chagrin, the other leaves, with never a goodbye. Two to the splendid palace found their way; the other two dived back in sad dismay

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Canto Sixteen 1 Round is the splendid pile; its inmost womb, the seeming centre of its circling bound, a garden close, lusher with lavish bloom than any else throughout all time renowned, And, on the way there, room by gloomy room, its demon wrights ranged corridors all round, so that it lies, athwart their criss-cross ways, by winding paths confined in a false maze. 2 Through the main entry (for a hundred gates gave access to that huge abode) they went. The portal, all embossed with silver, grates on golden hinges bright with ornament. They fix their gaze upon the sculptured plates, where rich art the rich metal quite outwent. It lacks but speech, but lacks in life nowise, nor lacks even speech if you but trust your eyes. 3 See here* among Maeonian maidens lie Alcides with his distaff, glib and trim. He conquered Hell once, held up stars and sky, now twirls a spindle while Love laughs at him. See Iöle with unwarlike hand nearby make sport to wield his weapons huge and grim, his lion’s skin draped on her back in game — too rough a robe for such a tender frame. 4 On the other side* see the white wavelets spire in froth-capped crests upon the sea’s green field; see in their midst in double ranks draw nigher warships and men, gleaming from prow and shield. The waves flame gold, it seems their martial fire keeps all Leucadia in one blaze concealed. Here Caesar’s Rome, and Anthony’s Orient there — Egypt, Arabia, India — seaward fare.

canto sixteen 5 You would say the Cyclades,* uprooted, flee their shores, that mountains with great shocks collide — so great the force when galleys on that sea come to encounter, towering side by side. Now torches fly, now darts; now tragedy strews ocean with strange slaughter far and wide. Yet look! (while neither way the scales yet lean) look there! She flees, the great barbarian queen! 6 And Anthony, does he flee too? Being so near world dominance, dares he leave that hope behind? He does not flee, no, feels not fear — not fear, but the lure of her who flees and draws his mind. See how he groans to know that he is here at once by love, by shame, by wrath made blind, gazing in turn, now at the cruel fight that hangs in doubt, now at the sails in flight. 7 Then, sheltered in the channels of the Nile he waits for death,* upon her lap prostrate; delighting in her lovely face, his smile showing him reconciled to his hard fate. With such designs the sculptor’s burr and file made rich the metal on the royal gate. The warrior pair, having withdrawn their gaze from this fair show, entered the treacherous maze. 8 As the Meander,* with digressive flow now sinks, now climbs with still redoubling tack, now rolls his waters toward his wellsprings, now to sea, and, coming, sees himself come back, so wildly, wilder still, weave to and fro these windings; yet the scroll plots every track (the scroll, gift of the sage), and by its art resolves their doubts and makes all tangles part. 9 And as they leave behind these mazy spells, a garden opens in a blithe expanse. Still ponds and crystal fountains, mossy cells, bright varied blooms and sundry trees, green plants of all kinds, sunlit hillocks, shady dells, forests and caves it offers at one glance; and (what perfects the pleasure in each part) the art that makes it never seems like art.*

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canto sixteen 10 You would think (so mixed is negligence with care) mere nature wrought both ground and broideries. All seems art made by Nature, everywhere miming what mimes her but herself to please. The breeze whereby the sorceress moves the air, the breeze engenders flowers in the trees. Near deathless fruit undying blossoms ride, here budding, and there ripening, side by side. 11 On the same tree, where the same branches twine, the plump fig near the budding fig grows old. On the same bough bright apples glow and shine, some new and green, some ripening to gold. Aloft, laden with fruit, the twisted vine, luxuriant in the sun, writhes uncontrolled. Here grapes sprout green amid the flowers, and here drip nectar, gilt and garnet, sphere on sphere. 12 Among the green fronds charming birds intone in tuneful counterpoint their wanton lays. The green leaves whisper and the soft waves moan, struck by the murmuring wind in varying ways. When birds are still, the air descants alone, and when they sing again, more gently plays; the tuneful breeze, by chance or art, now sighs in concert, now in antiphon replies. 13 Among the other birds, one floats and glides with multicoloured plumes and purple beak, who moves his tongue in fluent wise and guides its sounds in language like the one we speak. So artfully he sings, his speech provides a prodigy, exotic and unique. Intent to hear, the rest no longer trill, and, in mid-air, the whispering winds fall still. 14 ‘Ah, see,’ he sang, ‘the shamefast, virgin rose* first bursting her green bud so timidly, half hidden and half bare: the less she shows herself, the lovelier she seems to be. Now see her bosom, budding still, unclose and look! She droops, and seems no longer she — not she who in her morning set afire a thousand lads and maidens with desire.

canto sixteen 15 ‘So passes in the passing of a day the leaf and flower from our mortal scene, nor will, though April come again, display its bloom again, nor evermore grow green. Ah, let us pluck the rosebud while we may. It all too soon fades from its morning sheen. Let us pluck the rose today, to love and burn while we can love, and be loved in return.’ 16 Then he is still, and the whole choiring band of birds, as in assent, once more begin. The doves kiss with redoubled kisses, and each beast takes thought some loving mate to win. It seems the hard oak and chaste laurel* stand entranced amid their spreading, leafy kin. It seems all earth and waves and skies above breathe the sweet scents and the sweet sighs of love. 17 Amid such tender music, past delights so false to heed, so flattering to see, unmoved and constant, wander the two knights hardened to pleasure’s lure and fancy-free. Lo! between branch and branch meanwhile their sights pierce through the gloam and see, or seem to see, then clearly see the lover and his lass, he lying in her lap, she on the grass. 18 Her veil parts at her bosom, and her hair, loosed to the warm breeze, lets its ringlets dance. She swoons in his caress, cheeks flushed and bare, while silver beads of sweat their charms enhance. Like sunlight on a wave, a smile plays there and trembles glistening in her wanton glance. She hangs over him, and from his resting-place in her soft lap he looks up at her face, 19 and feeds on it with ravenous surmise, consumed and quite undone by that fair sight. She leans down, now drinks kisses from his eyes, now with her lips sucks up their sweet delight, and at that moment he so deeply sighs you would think: ‘Now is his whole soul taking flight, a pilgrim to her heart.’ Hidden away, the champion pair observe this amorous play.

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canto sixteen 20 There hung (strange armour!), shining in its frame, a crystal mirror by the lover’s knee, and now he lifts it to his rising dame, her chosen servant in Love’s mystery. With laughing eyes she, he with eyes aflame, one object both in diverse objects see. For her the glass displays herself; for him her limpid eyes with Love’s own image brim. 21 In slavery one, the other in mastery glories, she in herself, and he in her. ‘Turn,’ said the knight, ‘ah! turn,’ he said, ‘on me those eyes that bliss on other men confer! For though you know it not, my fires shall be of all your beauties the true portraiture. Their form and all their marvels in my breast better than in your mirror lie expressed. 22 ‘If you disdain me, ah! at least behold your own face where all joys and graces reign. For your gaze, though to other objects cold, will take delight, turned on itself again. No mirror can so sweet a sight enfold, nor a small glass all paradise contain. The only mirror worth you is the sky, whose stars reflect your loveliness on high.’ 23 Armida smiles to hear, but keeps her gaze fixed on herself, love’s labours to behold. Her locks she braided and their wanton ways in lovely order marshalled and controlled. She wound the curls of her fine strands with sprays of flowers, like enamel worked on gold, and made the stranger rose join with her pale breast’s native lily, and composed her veil. 24 No peacock in his pride so bravely shows his pomp of plumes in myriad-eyed display. No rainbow in such purple, gold, and rose with arched and dew-wet bosom greets the day. But more than all her trim her girdle* glows, that even when nude she never puts away. Girt in it, she makes shapes where there are none, and blends what no man else may blend in one.

canto sixteen 25 Kind scorns, placid repulses, tranquil change, glad reconciliations, jest and game, eloquent smiles, sweet outbreaks, the whole range of tears, soft kisses, sighs that went and came — all these she fused in compounds rare and strange, and tempered them in a slow fire’s flame, and formed of them that magic zone* she placed and ever kept around her lovely waist. 26 At last she breaks her contemplation, asks leave of him, kisses him, and soon departs. So every day she leaves for her own tasks and pores upon her book of magic arts. He stays, since from the realm where now he basks he is not free to visit other parts. He strolls, alone with beasts and trees, all day — a hermit lover while she stays away. 27 But when the dark with friendly silences calls wary love to stolen bliss once more, they spend their glad nocturnal hours in these gardens beneath one roof, even as before. But now when, bent on graver offices, Armida closed her blissful bower’s door, the pair, hid in the brush till then, stepped out, to face him, armoured proudly, bold and stout. 28 As the fierce courser, who from war’s ordeal has been removed victorious, and is found, a stud in vile repose and down-at-heel, ambling ungirt through herds and pasture ground, when roused by trumpet blast or glint of steel, at once veers, loudly neighing, toward the sound, longs for the lists and a rider on his back, to meet once more the shock of the attack; 29 even so the youth responded when the gleam of weapons of a sudden struck his eyes. His warlike soul, where ardour ruled supreme, that glimmer all at once now caused to rise, long though it languished in its drunken dream of pampered ease in pleasure’s paradise. Hubald meanwhile stands facing him to wield, raising it toward his face, the adamant shield.*

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canto sixteen 30 He on the bright escutcheon turns his gaze, that shows what kind of man he has become and how finely decked out. Sweet perfume plays the wanton in his hair and cloak. Struck dumb, he sees his sword, his very sword, ablaze with womanish gauds, to luxury succumb. Adornment makes it seem a useless toy, not the fierce tool a soldier might employ. 31 Like one whom dismal and protracted sleep from manic ravings to himself returns, so he returned to see himself so deep in sin that, mirrored in that glass, he learns to drop his gaze, feeling repentance creep through his whole frame while shame within him burns. He would have hid himself beneath the seas, or in a fire, or at earth’s core found ease. 32 And now Hubald began to speak: ‘At war all Asia now and all of Europe stand. All who seek glory, all who Christ adore labour in arms now in the Syrian land. You only, you, great Bertold’s son, here snore, far from the world, chained on a petty strand. The call that calls the whole world does not call (staunch champion of a wench!) to you at all. 33 ‘What slumber or what sloth has so snuffed out your worth, what vile compunction so unmanned? Up! Up! Hear Godfrey’s and the army’s shout! Fortune and Victory await your hand. Come, destined warrior, bring the end about to a task so well begun. Make that vile band, whom you shook once before, fall down, abhorred, swept from the earth by your relentless sword.’ 34 He said no more. The noble youth remained stock-still a moment, stunned, as in defeat. But then, as shame gave way, his anger gained (Anger, fierce warrior guarding Reason’s seat), till all his face, by that new fire stained, blushed redder yet and seethed with yet more heat. He ripped his robes, his vain gauds, and the rest of slavery’s wretched badges from his breast;

canto sixteen 35 and, hasty to be gone, he struggled free of the labyrinth’s tortuous passages and fled. Armida had by this time come to see the royal gate’s fierce guardian beast lie dead. She now surmised (and soon knew certainly) that her dear love was fleeing, or had fled, then saw him, where (ah bitter sight!) he strode, a fugitive hurrying from their sweet abode. 36 She tried to cry out: ‘Will you, cruel man, leave me alone here?’ Pain choked off her cry, and in her heart the plaintive words began to echo in a yet more bitter sigh. Ah, wretched girl! A Wisdom greater than her wisdom* robs her now of all her joy. She sees it, yet endeavours to detain him by her magic arts, but all in vain. 37 As many spells as ever, bent on ill, Thessalian witch* with unclean mouth might hiss, potent to make the wheeling heavens fall still or to unfetter shades from deepest Dis — she knew them all, but now they baulk her skill, and silence answers her from Hell’s abyss. She leaves her demon charms, and tries to press the mightier charms of beauty in distress. 38 She runs, all honour lost, all decency. Ah! Where are all her boasts and triumphs now? Love’s reign, however powerful he might be, she made or unmade with nods of her brow, her scorn so equal to her pride that she loved to be loved, but spurned the lover’s vow. She pleased herself alone; others she knew only as proofs of what her eyes could do. 39 Cast off now, scorned, neglected, see her go in chase of him who flees and spurns her sight, as though intent to make her tears of woe adorn the gift of beauty he did slight. She speeds, heedless of mountain crags and snow, that bruise her tender footsoles, from her height, and makes her cries like heralds go before, nor reaches him till he has gained the shore.

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40 Distraught, she cried to him: ‘Oh you, who take part of me with you, and leave part behind, take one or give the other back, or make both die. Hold! hold your steps, at least to mind the last fond words of her whom you forsake — I will not say last kisses — may you find a worthier mouth. Why, faithless, fear to stay? You had strength to flee; you have strength to say me nay.’ 41 And Hubald said then: ‘It would not seem wrong, my lord, to await her final overtures. She comes now, armed with beauty and a tongue of sweet wail for the harsh fate she endures. What strength but yours could hear the Sirens’ song and, listening to it, overcome their lures, thus crowning Reason the pacific queen over all your sense, to grow more fine and keen?’ 42 The knight makes pause then, and she joins him, weak, gasping, and tearful, with so sad an air none sadder could be pictured, none more bleak. With a look as dolorous as she is fair, she fixes him; she stares and does not speak, or scorns to speak, or thinks, or does not dare. He does not look; or looks at her as though with furtive gazes, or ashamed, or slow. 43 As a fine singer, before lifting high his voice to vent a powerful melody, leads up to it and charms the standers-by with a sweet prelude in a milder key, so she does not, for all her soul’s outcry, wholly forget her craft and witchery, but first prepares the ground by tuneful art for what the voice imprints within the heart. 44 And then she spoke: ‘Think not, cruel man, that I will speak as lover speaks to lover, though such we once were; and if you now deny that memory or find it full of woe, at least attend me as your enemy. A foe at times hears pleas even from a foe; surely to hear me now will be an act that leaves your indignation quite intact.

canto sixteen 45 ‘If you, in hating me, feel pleasure, sate your hatred now — I’ll not object — be glad! You think it just? Then just it is. I hate all Christians, yes, and hated you, dear lad. I was born pagan, and laid traps to abate your power by such devices as I had. I hounded you and snatched you up to change your field of war to realms unknown and strange. 46 ‘Add to this what you deem your greatest shame, your worst, your most injurious defeat: I lied, I lured you till love overcame. Vile flattery, sure! Iniquitous deceit! To let one’s virgin flower be plucked, to tame a man to kneel at beauty’s tyrant feet, to make a prize, withheld with so much thrift from a thousand others, one new lover’s gift! 47 ‘Let this then be a lie of mine, to assoil my crimes, that make you feel so wrought-upon as to depart and quite detest the soil that gave you such delight in days bygone. Go then, traverse the ocean, fight and toil, destroy our faith: myself will urge you on. What have I said? Our faith? Ah! mine no more! You are the cruel idol I adore. 48 ‘But let me follow; do not banish me. You are the raptor, do not leave your prey — a small request, even to an enemy. When victors go, their captives do not stay. Make whole your triumph, let your army see one final trophy on your glorious way. To scorn your scorner, bid me be displayed, pointing your finger, your despised handmaid. 49 ‘Despised handmaid, for whom shall I now save these curls, since they are worthless in your eyes? I’ll crop them and so make the name of slave with slavish looks conform and sympathize. Where fires of battle hottest blaze, I crave to be with you when war or havoc cries. I have the courage, have sufficient force to bear your lance for you, or lead your horse.

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canto sixteen 50 ‘I shall be what you like: shield-bearer, shield — to guard you, I’ll not spare myself, nor rest. This bosom, and this soft, bare neck shall yield to piercing weapons pointed at your breast. Perhaps, to keep me living on the field, some cruel infidel will deem it best to spare you, leaving sweet revenge for this abandoned beauty’s sake, such as it is. 51 ‘Ah, wretch! Still I presume, still flaunt my dreams of disprized beauty, profitless to me...’ He motions her to say no more, while streams course down her cheek as from a mountain scree. She seeks to grasp his hand, his cloak, and seems a suppliant maiden. Pulling backward, he struggles a while, then conquers every doubt, his tears locked in his heart, and Love locked out. 52 Love is locked out, nor lights the ancient flame* in him again (for Reason thwarts its lure), yet gentle Pity enters all the same, who ever attends on Love, though chaste and pure, and stirs him so that he can scarcely tame the sobs that threaten his discomfiture; but he curbs the tender urge, and by sheer will controls his bearing and makes his face grow still. 53 Then he replies: ‘Armida, your distress grieves me. Ah, that I might assuage your woe and ease the unwise ardour you confess! I feel no hatred, do not scorn you, no! I seek no vengeance, bear no grudge; much less wish that you were either my slave or foe. You strayed, yes, overstepped the mark of late, by revelling now in love, and now in hate. 54 ‘What of it? Those are common, human flaws: your race, your sex, your youth excuse them all. I partly failed too. As I wish my cause to meet with grace, let me not judge your fall. You’ll be with me, whenever I shall pause, in joy or care, at honoured memory’s call. I am your knight and champion, insofar as honour and faith permit, and Asia’s war.

canto sixteen 55 ‘Ah! Let our sin end here, so that no tongue by publishing our shame give you offence; and let its memory lie entombed among these wastes, far from the world’s experience. Of all my deeds, let this deed stay unsung in Europe and its neighbour continents. Ah! Ask not that a blot both base and lewd should stain your beauty, worth, and royal blood. 56 ‘Stay here in peace. It is not fit you may come with me, for my guide forbids it quite. Stay here, or freely go some other way, and calm your counsels in your wisdom’s light.’ She, while the warrior speaks, can scarcely stay still but reels, turbid, restless in his sight. For a good while she scowls at him, aghast, then, glowering, cursing, she explodes at last: 57 ‘Sophia* did not bear you, you were not sprung from that ancient bloodline. You the crazed sea-surge and ice of Caucasus begot, or some Hyrcanian tigress* nursed and raised. Why then should I dissemble more? No jot of human warmth shows here. He stands unfazed. Does he change colour? No. Or at my woe at least shed tears? Or heave one quick sigh? No. 58 ‘Should I speak then? Or silently endure? He says he is mine, but leaves me in good time. The generous victor, of his foe quite sure, forgets offences, pardons grievous crime. Hear how he speaks! Hear how this chaste, this pure Xenocrates* makes love with reason rhyme! O Heaven! O gods! Why let such brutes assail your towers with thunder and deem your temples frail? 59 ‘Well, go then, cruel man, in as much peace as that you leave me here! Go, wretch! Go now! Soon shall you find my naked spirit seize upon your track, a vengeful ghost, I vow. I’ll haunt you as I loved, without surcease, a blazing Fury crowned with serpent brow. And should you chance to escape the sea nor yield your corpse to wrack, but reach the battlefield,

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canto sixteen 60 ‘there, sprawling in your gore among the slain, you’ll pay, false knight, for all the wrongs I bear. You’ll call Armida’s name, again and again, with your last gasps: that’s what I hope to hear.’ Breath failed the doleful woman, and in vain she strove to finish all she would declare, but swooned away, feeling a cold sweat rise all over her, and fell, and closed her eyes. 61 You closed your eyes, Armida. Destiny envied all ease to your tormented soul. Open your eyes, poor girl! Do you not see your enemy shed tears without control? Ah! Could you hear them now, how dear would be the sighs he breathes, how they might make you whole! He gives you what he can (though you deny), a pitying gaze, and looks his last goodbye. 62 What will he do now? Should he on these bare sands leave her between life and death or stay? His courtesy, his pity hold him there, but hard necessity bears him away. He turns, and gentle zephyrs fill the hair of the escort* who awaits him in the bay. Over the deep her golden sail speeds on. She gazes shoreward, and the shore is gone. 63 When, coming to, Armida came to know the desert waste and silence all about, ‘Is he gone then,’ she said, ‘and could he go and thus forsake me with my life in doubt? No moment’s stay, not one brief aid bestow, traitor, in my extremity? Not hear me out? And yet, do I still love him? Should I keep this shore and, unavenged, sit down and weep? 64 ‘What more have tears to do with me? Have I no other arts, no other weapons then? I will pursue him; no place, neither sky nor the abyss, shall see him safe again. Ah! Now I find him, seize him, rip his heart, hang high his scattered limbs to caution cruel men. He excels in cruelty? I too can play that game. But where am I ? What’s this I say?

canto sixteen 65 ‘Wretched Armida, you should not have waited to afflict (as he deserved) that cruel knight. while he was in your chains; but now belated hatred inflames your laggard wrath and spite. Yet unless beauty and craft are unrelated, I am not weak, if wit and will unite. The task, O my spurned beauty, calls for you: yours is the injury; the revenge, your due. 66 ‘That beauty is the prize I shall bestow on him who severs the detested head. Come then, O all my famous lovers! Lo! hard is the task, but glory lies ahead. Come, share my throne: a single vengeful blow will make you partner of my wealth and bed. If I’m not worth the purchase or the pain, Nature bestowed my beauty’s gift in vain. 67 ‘Unhappy gift, I spurn you. I detest my crown, my life, my birth, my very will to stay alive — all dross. Only the quest for sweet revenge can keep me living still.’ Her wrath in broken phrases thus expressed, she leaves the abandoned beach and turns uphill, a Fury crazed, shaking in all her frame, with hair blown loose, eyes blazing, face aflame. 68 Back in her lodgings, with a horrid spell she conjured up three hundred gods of Dis.* Black clouds obscure the sky at once and swell. Day’s great undying star grows pale at this. Storms smite and smother the high crags, while Hell begins to mutter at her feet and hiss. Throughout the palace, you can plainly hear snarls, howls, groans, bellows raging far and near. 69 Shades blacker than black night, in which no ray of light is mixed, come surging everywhere, except where brief and glimmering flashes play in the profound gloom with a fitful glare. At last the darkness ends and pallid day returns; but gone now is the balmy air, the palace gone, with not a trace to cause a man to say: ‘Yes, this is where it was.’

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canto sixteen 70 As in mid-air a huge cloud-shape is shown at times, but not for very long displayed, melted by sunlight, or by swift winds blown, or as dreams by a sick man fashioned fade, those buildings vanished. There remained alone the mountains and the frosts that nature made. Then on her chariot, ever standing by, she takes her seat and rises to the sky. 71 She treads the clouds and parts the winds in flight, while storms and roaring whirlwinds round her shake, then skirts the distant realms of polar night, leaving their unknown dwellers in her wake, passes Alcides’ Straits, keeps out of sight both Spain’s and Mauritania’s gates, to take on high above the sea’s expanse her course until she comes at last to Syria’s shores. 72 From there she neither seeks Damascus* nor the sight of her once-cherished homeland craves, but guides her chariot to the barren shore where her great palace* stands amid the waves. Arrived, she finds a covert, shuts the door, forbids her presence to her maids and slaves, and walks in fitful thought from path to path; but soon her sense of shame gives way to wrath. 73 ‘I, too, shall go,’ says she. ‘Before the king of Egypt moves the armies of the East, I’ll use all arts, transform to anything uncouth that suits my purpose, man or beast, wield bow or sword, be the hireling of kings to make them quarrel. Thus at least I shall exact what poor revenge I may. Nor Honour, nor Respect shall bar my way. 74 ‘As for my guardian uncle,* let him blame himself, whose high will made me acquiesce. Through him my great soul and my frail sex came in tawdry roles to posture and transgress. He spurred my ardour, he drowned out my shame, and made me act the damsel in distress. On his account be all that I of late did out of love, and now do out of hate.’

canto sixteen 75 And, pondering thus, she gathers hastily her knights, maids, pages, sergeants everyone, and in their robes and gorgeous pageantry displays her art and royal state. This done, she sets out on her way precipitately, and never sleeps or rests by moon or sun till she arrives where gathering hordes of war cover the sands of Gaza’s sunlit shore.

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Canto Seventeen 1 Great Gaza’s city* rises where the way bends toward Pelusium* from Judaea, and all round it by the sea the shores display interminable solitudes of sand, where, even as Auster* spins the ocean spray, swift whirlwinds so stir up the shifting land that pilgrims scarce know where to rest or hide from storms in that unstable countryside. 2 That city guards the Egyptian king’s frontier, seized by him from the Turks* in times long past; and finding it conveniently near to the great work his mind now holds so fast, from Egypt and his capital he here had transferred his high throne, and here amassed from sundry provinces in order due his countless hosts for muster and review. 3 O Muse,* what times those were, and what the state of matters was, recall now to my mind: what arms, what forces the great potentate, what subject troops with what allies combined, possessed when from the south he moved in hate armies, and kings, and far-off Asia’s kind. You only now can count the crowds then hurled in arms assembled against half the world. 4 When rebel Egypt from Greek rule withdrew and changed its true faith to a faith of shame, a warrior of Muhammad’s bloodline* grew great by his tyranny its realm to claim. They called him Caliph, and since him all who assumed the sceptre also took this name, even as old Nile down through long centuries saw pass the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies.

canto seventeen 5 As the years turned, his reign, secure, grew more and ever more till, swallowing all between Asia and Libya, it touched Syria’s shore* from far Marmarica curving toward Cyrene, and inland where Nile’s endless waters pour, extending down to Syena’s* demesne, bound in the west by wastes of desert sand and in the east by wide Euphrates’ strand.* 6 Rightward and leftward it within its bound holds redolent marshes and rich seas, spreading far beyond faraway Eritrea’s ground* to where at dawn the newborn sunrays spring. Its hosts are huge, and are the more renowned and held in honour for their present king,* their lord by blood, and still more by his parts, well skilled in royal and in martial arts. 7 By turns with Persians and with Turks at war, sometimes provoking them, sometimes harassed, he had both lost and won, and, though he bore reverses, all in triumph quite surpassed. Then, when his heavy years could bear no more the weight of arms, he sheathed his sword at last, but did not dull his warlike soul, nor tame his boundless lust for power and for fame. 8 He still makes wars now, though by deputy, and in his vigour of mind and speech appears to find the heavy load of monarchy a burden not excessive for his years. Split in small fiefs, all Africa bends the knee to hear his name; him distant Indus fears. All gladly offer, to increase his hold, levies of soldiers, or tribute of gold. 9 Such and so great a king now readies all his hosts, or rather, finds them ready to be hurled against the Franks who stand so tall, by victories made strong, and lucky too. Armida comes just as the trumpets call at the appointed hour for the review. Outside the walls on a wide plain she spies the assembled powers pass before his eyes.

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10 Proudly he sits* upon a throne on high to which ascend a hundred ivory stairs, and in the shade of a great silver sky treads braided gold and purple as he glares. Barbaric ornaments of richest dye blaze out from the regalia that he wears. White linens in a thousand pleats weigh down his locks beneath a strangely shapen crown. 11 He grips the sceptre in his right, and shows a greybeard countenance, severe and sage. In his eyes, undimmed by years and ancient woes, the strength and ardour of his prime still rage; and well his every act and gesture shows the majesty of kingship and of age. Apelles thus, or Phidias,* might shape Jove — a Jove who threatens thunder from above. 12 Near him two satraps stand, to left and right, his greatest nobles; and the noblest bears a naked sword (grim tool) raised high to smite; the other the great seal of office wears. Privy to the king’s mind, his oversight includes all civil power in state affairs. But the other rules in war, and may dispense with full authority all punishments. 13 Beneath the throne, like a dense wreath, the proud, picked guards of his Circassian lancers* throng, with cuirasses and massive pikes endowed, and curved swords sharp-honed at one edge, and strong. So sat the tyrant. So, as from a cloud, he watched his gathered forces pass along. Below his feet, troop after troop appears and dips, as to a god, banners and spears. 14 The hosts of Egypt in the first rank go by four commanders led in fourfold file, two from the highlands, and two from the low, these last the work and gift of heaven-born Nile. (Usurping the sea’s bed, the mudflats grow all dry and yield to tillage, mile by mile. Thus Egypt grew, and ever inland grew what once was shoreline to the sailor’s view.)

canto seventeen 15 In the first squadron march the folk who dwell on Alexandria’s abundant plain, on shores that westward turn along the swell of waves that border Africa’s terrain. Araspes leads them, leader known full well, though less for force of arms than strength of brain. A connoisseur of ambush, sly and quick, he is master of each Moorish battle-trick. 16 In second rank come those who dawn-ward dwell on coasts that skirt the Asian side, and these Aronteus leads, not noted to excel in worth, though well known for both fiefs and fees. He never sweated in a helmet’s shell nor for a morning trumpet broke his ease, yet from the cool shade of his leisured life ill-timed ambition lures him into strife. 17 No squadron seems the third group that comes now, but an immense host, covering fields and shore. You’d think all Egypt could not reap or plough for such a horde, yet from one town they pour. That town, like a whole province, holds somehow thousands of populations in, or more — Cairo I mean. Its huge mob thence proceeds, huge mob unapt for arms, whom Campson leads. 18 Here Gazel leads the men who reap the corn on the fertile plains expanding all around and upstream too, whither the Nile’s waves, torn across his second cataract, rebound. By this crowd only bows and swords are worn (they cannot fight in helms or armour-bound), and in their foes their glamorous array inspires, not fear of death, but lust for prey. 19 Then those of Barca,* naked and almost weaponless, march past under Alarcon, whose starved subsistence on their arid coast has long made life by piracy their own. Next Zumra’s* king, less fell, since less disposed to stand in combat hand-to-hand, is shown; then he of Tripoli — both skilled in how to beat their foes by craft while feigning a retreat.

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canto seventeen 20 Behind them tillers came from Araby of the Rocks,* as well as Araby the Blest, which never yet, if Fame speak true, can be by too much cold or too much heat oppressed; whence rise incense and other spicery, and where the immortal phoenix* comes to nest for birth and burial in the same rich room, finding at once her cradle and her tomb. 21 Their garments are less lavish, but they bear arms like the ones that the Egyptians show. Lo! other Arabs follow, who nowhere a fixed abode or steady dwelling know, but pitch, perpetual wanderers, here or there their tents and mobile townships as they go. They have women’s voices, bodies short and thin, and long, black locks of hair, and swarthy skin. 22 They arm long Indian reeds with tips of steel, and when they ride their racing steeds, you’d say they rush as whirlwinds rush, and turn, and reel, if winds can whirl in such a breakneck way. The first were led by Syphax and behind them wheel the chariot bands who Aldin’s power obey. Then come the third, who for Albiazar fight, a savage thief and killer, and no knight. 23 A crowd goes next them that had left behind the isles* round which Arabia’s salt wave curls, where diving fishermen are wont to find great conches pregnant with their priceless pearls. With them, from the flat banks that leftward wind by Eritrea’s sea,* are black-skinned churls. Agricalt rules these, Osmid those, both sworn to hold all faiths and every law in scorn. 24 The Ethiops of Meroë* followed then: Meroë, whom on one side Nile confines, on the other Astraborra, whose wide ken gives two faiths scope and three great realms combines. (Two kings, Canario and Assimir, led the men from there, Muhammadans both, and tied by lines of tribute to the Caliph. But the third, adhering to the Holy Faith,* demurred.)

canto seventeen 25 Then two more subject kings came, leading nigh squads armed with bows and quarrels, crew on crew: One, Sultan of Ormuz — land girdled by Persia’s Great Gulf, noble and fair to view; the other of Boekhan,* that, when tides run high, swims in great ocean’s stream, an island too, but whence, when ebbing waves draw back once more, the traveller can cross dry-shod to the shore. 26 Nor could you, Altamor,* be kept at rest in her chaste bed by your beloved bride. She wept and tore her blond hair and her breast to avert your fated absence from her side. ‘Ah! do you, cruel man,’ she said, ‘detest my face, to woo war’s visage, bleary-eyed? Shall weight of weapons hold a dearer charm than does your infant toying on your arm?’ 27 He is king of Samarkand, nor is his crown of sovereign state his greatest mark of praise, so skilled is he in war, of such renown for supreme strength and daring are his ways. This (he foretells) shall soon be clearly shown to the Franks, whom now he threatens with affrays. His men bear cuirasses, and swords low-slung; and war-clubs to their saddle-bows are strung. 28 Next from the Indies and the house of Dawn* see fierce Adrastus in his turn proceed, with a dragon’s hide, greenish and black-patched, drawn across his back, a man of giant breed, in weight so monstrous that he sits upon an elephant as though upon a steed. He leads on folk from Ganges’ hither side* where the mouths of Indus sea-washed shores divide. 29 The squad that follows them is the elite of the king’s own army, hand-picked men who know what royal pay to their high rank is meet, and why, in war or peace, they’re honoured so. For terror and defence armoured complete, in ordered ranks on mighty steeds they go. Their great cloaks, flushing crimson, gleaming bright with steel and gold, give back the morning light.

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canto seventeen 30 Here goes fierce Alarkos; there Odemar, the muster’s lord; here Hydraort; there see Rimedon, known all deadly things to dare, scorner of mortals and mortality. See Tigran there, and Rapold the Corsair, sea-tyrant once; and Ormond, bold and free; and Marlabust, dubbed ‘the Arabian’ by Arabia when he made her rebels fly. 31 Orindo, Arimon, Pirgas, lo! Brymart, sacker of towns; breaker of steeds Syphant; and you also, past master of the art of wrestling, unsurpassed Aridamant; and Tissaphernes, thunderbolt of Mart,* whose skill no fighting-man can vaunt to match on foot or saddle, or come near in whirling sword or tilting with a spear. 32 But leading them rides an Armenian prince who held the true Faith in first youth, but then turned pagan, and who, having been long since named Clement, is now known as Emiren.* He is loyal, dear to Egypt’s king, who stints no love to him, far beyond other men. As knight and leader he is past esteem, in courage, wit, and strength of arm supreme. 33 None more were left, when unexpectedly Armida appeared and made her troop parade. She came on a great chariot seated high, her gown tucked up, a quivered archer-maid. Her new-found wrath, now mingling cunningly with native sweets that in her features played, had cruel power that endowed her sight with menace — yet the menace gave delight. 34 Her chariot, like the car that bears the day, with pyropes and with jacinths* sparkles clear. Four unicorns, yoked two by two, obey at the gemmed pole their skilful charioteer. A hundred each of maids and page-boys play, riding alongside, quiver-girt, and rear on agile snow-white coursers quick to heed the reins with curvets and with bursts of speed.

canto seventeen 35 Next comes her train, and in it Aradin with Hydraoth’s hired troops from Syria’s strand. As the matchless bird,* reborn, eager to win once more her far-off Ethiopian land, with many-coloured plumes, resplendent in her native golden crown and ruffed neck-band, dazzles the world, while round her and behind crowd marvelling throngs of every feathered kind, 36 so passes she, a miracle of dress, of grace, of loveliness; and no man there is barbarous enough not to confess that she with Love’s promptings fills all the air. Scarce glimpsed, disdainful in her listlessness, she yet can such a multitude ensnare. What then will happen when with gladder face she lets her fair eyes shine to promise grace? 37 When she has passed, the king of kings gives word that Emiren should come to him, for he means to have him above the rest preferred and name him chief commander by decree. He, prescient of the prize to be conferred, comes with a brow worthy his dignity. The guard of the Circassians parts and bares a passage to the throne. He mounts the stairs, 38 and bows his head and kneels, with his right hand placed on his breast, and hears his king speak so: ‘Come wield this sceptre, Emiren. Command my people, be myself among them. Go, and, as you free my vassal monarch’s land, make vengeance mine by the Franks’ overthrow. Go, see, and conquer. Spare none. Who remains alive among the slain bring back in chains.’ 39 So spoke the tyrant, and the knight took hold of the wand of the supreme command, and said: ‘From your invincible hand, sire, I make bold to take his rod and go forth in your stead, trusting, as captain in your name enrolled, to avenge the grave wrongs by which Asia bled. Unless victorious, I’ll return no more; loss shall bring death, not shame, in this great war.

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canto seventeen 40 ‘Indeed I pray high Heaven, if it keep in store (I trust not so) some destined ill, that it be pleased on my own head to heap that doom’s whole weight, if thus the army will safely return and let all worry sleep, while hymns of triumph, not of mourning, trill.’ He ceased, and the acclaim that greets him blends with a huge roar of pagan instruments. 41 Midst shouts and fanfares, girdled by a race of noble peers, the king of kings retreats and calls for banquet at his tented place with his whole court, and at the high board seats himself, showing to all his royal grace, dealing now food, now conversation’s sweets. Armida here found ample chance to try her arts amid the jests and gaiety. 42 But once the feast is over, she, who sees all eyes fixed on herself alone and who notes by clear tokens men of all degrees by her amorous bane infected through and through, now turns to face the king, rising at ease, with a gesture full of pride, yet reverent too, doing her utmost to make voice and face assume both fierceness and magnanimous grace. 43 ‘O sovereign king,’ she says, ‘I, too, come here to aid our Faith, and my dear native land. I, though a woman, am a queen — it is clear queens without shame may wage war and command. She who would rule should master every sphere; sceptre and sword are placed in the same hand. Mine shall not lack the swiftness or the pluck to strike, and to draw blood from those I’ve struck. 44 ‘Do not suppose that not until today I’ve tasked my proud mind for this noble quest. To guard our law and your imperial sway long have I warred, and I have done my best. Well do you know the truth of what I say, for there’s one deed that all men can attest: a great throng of the cross’s champions I have captured, chained, and made in durance lie.

canto seventeen 45 ‘Taken by me and bound, they were by me dispatched to you, a splendid gift. They might even now be pent up in the obscurity of dungeons guarded by you, day and night, and you would find your way to victory more safely, sooner end your glorious fight, had not savage Rinaldo killed my men and set those slaves at liberty again. 46 ‘Who this Rinaldo is, is known. Here too a long recital of his feats is told. He is the man whose cruelty pierced me through not long ago, nor has the wrong grown cold. Thus reason goads my hatred, ever new, and whets my martial rage, making it bold. You’ll hear at length what dire offence he gave. For now, let this suffice: revenge I crave, 47 ‘and I shall have it. (Not all arrows ride the wind at random, or fly aimlessly, and Heaven’s right arm sometimes takes the side of justice against felon weaponry.) But if to any other it betide to sever that vile head and give it me, such vengeance would delight me — yes, although it would be nobler if I struck the blow — 48 ‘so much delight me that I’ll not be loath to grant him any prize I may bestow: me, dowered with my wealth and person — both he’ll claim in bridal, should he wish it so. To this I hereby swear my solemn oath. To this I pledge inviolate troth. And oh! if such rewards seem worth the risk to seek for any here, let him now rise and speak.’ 49 While she speaks in this wise, his lustful eye Adrastus fixes on the lady’s face. ‘Heaven forbid,’ says he, ‘your shaft should fly to do the barbarous murderer such grace. It would be shame, fair archeress, if by a blow from you be touched a heart so base. By me your wrath more fitly shall be sped; myself shall for a gift bring you his head.

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canto seventeen 50 ‘Yea, I shall pluck his heart out, I shall turn his hacked limbs into food for crows.’ These things Indian Adrastus promised, nor did stern Tissaphernes abide his blusterings: ‘And who are you,’ said he, ‘to froth and burn so proudly in our presence and the king’s? One stands here who may top each insolent vow of yours with deeds, though he stands silent now.’ 51 Responded the fierce Indian: ‘I am one whose deeds are matched by short and sparing speech, but had another’s words like yours begun, they’d be the final sermon he should preach.’ Both would have thus continued, but had done when the supreme king raised his hand to each, who then said to Armida: ‘Gentle fair, a masculine greatness fills the heart you bear. 52 ‘Well worthy are you that the wrath and hate of either or both men be to you consigned, that you might henceforth as you wish dictate against that potent thief their might and mind. Thus will they better serve, and thus your great boldness in war will better witness find.’ This said, he spoke no more; and they renewed their vows to take up her avenging feud. 53 And not these two alone, but throngs who bore names famed in fight the air with vaunting fed. They all were at her service, they all swore to wreak black vengeance on his loathsome head. Against the knight she held so dear before, in such huge numbers hate is by her bred. But he, having left the shore, did now proceed on his long voyage back with lucky speed. 54 By the same paths the little ship now fares to which she, outward bound, had shown her stern, and winds that winged her sail before, with airs no less auspicious breathe on her return. Now the youth notes the pole star and the Bears,* now sees with awe the shining signs that burn through opaque night, now river-mouths, and now some seaward mountain crag with beetling brow;

canto seventeen 55 now on the countryside his gazes feast, now on the customs that strange realms display. Then, as they cross the salt spume, from the east the sun shines at their back on the fourth day;* and soon as that day’s fading light has ceased, their ship at last makes landfall near a bay. The lady* then declared: ‘These shores, my friends, are Palestine’s, and here our journey ends.’ 56 She left the three knights* there upon the strand and vanished quite before a word could sound. Meanwhile the night rose and on every hand blended in one hue all the varied ground, and in those solitudes of desert sand they could make out nor wall nor roof, nor found the track of either man or steed, and no signs else that might instruct them where to go. 57 Pausing a while in momentary doubt, they moved their steps with backs turned to the sea. And (look now!) from afar their eyes make out a light — I know not what — a lambency whose silver sheen and gold rays all about dispel the night and make the shadows flee. They make their way toward that shape of light, and now they see what makes it shine so bright. 58 They see a new-wrought suit of arms* hung high on a huge trunk, lit by the moon’s fair ray; and, brighter than the stars fixed in the sky, gems on the golden helm and harness play; and by that light they trace the blazonry spread out on the huge shield in bright array. Guard-like, an old man sits nearby, and he, seeing them, rises up to greet the three. 59 Well did the two knights-errant recognize the reverend face of their sage friend again; but, having welcomed in most gracious wise the cordial greeting of that pair of men, he to the youth, who with his wondering eyes looked on him mutely, turned his discourse then: ‘For you alone, my lord,’ said he, ‘I wait alone here at an hour so dark and late.

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canto seventeen 60 ‘For, though you know it not, I am your friend. Ask but these men what care I take for you, for they, guided by me, brought to an end the spells that late your wretched life overgrew. To my words now (no Siren songs) attend, and let them not seem tedious: they are true. Let your heart hold them till their truth appear, by a wiser and a holier tongue* made clear. 61 ‘My lord, not shadowed near some flowery rill nor in some haunt of nymphs or sirens’ lair, but on the peak of the steep, toilsome hill of Virtue rests our good. He who’ll not bear the freezing and the sweat to force his will up from the paths of pleasure comes not there. Would you now choose in the low depths to trail, like a mountain eagle drooping in a vale? 62 ‘Nature has raised your face* to heaven on high and given you a generous, lofty soul, that you may upward gaze and ever try by glorious deeds to win the highest goal. She also gave you wrath, quick to defy your foes, not to make civil drumbeats roll, not to be unrestrained desire’s tool or foster discord against Reason’s rule, 63 ‘but that your valour, armed with it, may hit with the more force your outward foes, and pin your own desires down and to submit to Truth and Law those wicked foes within. Then let your wise commander* govern it, use it to win what it was meant to win, and let his counsel make it cool or stir, now bridling it, now giving it the spur.’ 64 So spoke he; and the other, who had heard in silence all the lofty things he said, with chastened mien, and treasuring every word, gazed at the ground, while shame his cheeks bespread. The ancient mage well saw the thoughts that stirred his mind, and he resumed: ‘Now lift your head, my son, and fix your eyes upon this shield* to see your forebears’ mighty deeds revealed.

canto seventeen 65 ‘You’ll see the far-spread honour of your kind first known in a far, desert territory. You yet remain, slow runner, far behind in this illustrious tournament for glory. Up, rouse yourself ! and for your valour find a goad and whip within their pictured story.’ So said he; and the young knight fixed his gaze as he was speaking, on the great shield’s blaze. 66 With subtle mastery on a narrow field infinite shapes the expert smith expressed. Bloodlines of Actius* there lie revealed, rising unbroken from their reverend nest. Streams from the ancient Roman wellspring yield a current uncorrupted, pure and blest. There, crowned with laurel, stand the chiefs of yore. The aged sage points out their feats of war. 67 Caius he showed, when alien tribes first preyed upon the weakened empire in decline, whose reins the willing populace obeyed, making him first prince of the Este line, who, joining with less potent neighbours made himself their master through their need for aid. And later, when the fierce Goth once more poured,* by Honorius wooed, across the famous ford, 68 even while it seems that all of Italy burns with barbarian fire more each day, when captive Rome, enslaved, trembles to see its old foundations tottering away, he shows Aurelius guard the liberty of citizens beneath his sceptre’s sway. Forestus then he shows him, whose high worth opposed the Hunnish tyrant of the north.* 69 Easily known is cruel Attila’s face, for with a dragon’s eyes he seems to glare from a dog’s maw: to see him in that place you would say he snarls, believe he howls right there. Felled in the duel, see that fierce man race, hid among common soldiers, in despair; and there, defending Aquilea’s* lands worthy Forestus, Italy’s Hector, stands.

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canto seventeen 70 His death elsewhere is clearly shown, his fate his homeland’s fate. Behold the heir and son of a great sire, Acárinus the Great, Italy’s champion after him. No Hun felled him, ill-fortune did. To save his state, he ceded Altinum.* This being done, he massed in one great city on the Po a thousand hamlets scattered to and fro. 71 Against the great stream’s ever-swelling flood well fortified, that city rises tall which for long centuries to follow would become magnanimous Este’s capital. See him break the Alani;* see his blood by evil luck to Odoacer fall. He dies for Italy: Oh noble death, that weds his sire’s fame at his final breath! 72 See Alphorisius falling with him; see young Azzo exiled there, his brother too; but they return by dint of arms, well planned, once the Herulan tyrant sinks from view. With right brow pierced where a sharp bolt did land, Este’s Epaminondas* follows, who seems glad to die, since Totila’s fall ensures that the escutcheon that he loves endures. 73 I speak of Boniface; then Valerian who trod his father’s tracks while still a boy, in girth of chest, in strength of arm all man, whom a hundred squads of Goths could not destroy. Not far off, with ferocious features, ran Ernesto making savage Slavs his toy. Before him fearless Aldoard held his town, Monselice, against the Lombard crown.* 74 Henry was there, and Berenger: wherever Charlemagne* makes his august banner rise, that man first wields his sword, to slash and sever, his apt lieutenant in the enterprise. Then follows Lodovic, by whose endeavour he with his nephew, Italy’s monarch, vies. Lo! he beats down and chains the renegade. There with his five sons, Otho is displayed.

canto seventeen 75 There Almeric, raised up in early age to Marquess of the town that rules the Po, lifts eyes devoutly heavenward, a sage contemplative, founder of churches. Lo! facing him Azzo Second* comes to wage war against Berenger with bitter woe; and after many shifting fortunes, he prevailed and came to rule all Italy. 76 See his son Albert with the Germans stay, who makes his virtues there so well descried that, when he downs the Danes in joust and fray, Otho gives him his daughter, a rich bride. See Hugh* stand at his back, who in his day could clip the horns of Romans in their pride, who is named Marquis of Italy, and who would have all Tuscany at his mercy, too. 77 Tedaldo* next; next Bonifacio goes, portrayed with his dear Beatrice, in state. No masculine heir from their betrothal grows to follow a progenitor so great. Matilda then succeeds, who amply knows that flaw in sex and numbers to negate, For this wise dame’s high courage and renown over crowns and sceptres elevate the gown. 78 A virile soul her countenance inspires, her fiery glance is more than masculine: Here she routs Normans, and Guiscard retires to save, invincible no more, his skin; here she breaks Henry Fourth, wrests his empire’s standard, a temple-offering for his sin; here to the sovereign priest she gives his own, restoring him to Peter’s Vatican throne. 79 Azzo the Fifth,* whom she esteems and loves, now by her side, now following her behold. On happier boughs Azzo the Fourth improves his budding offspring, fecund, noble, bold. See (called, it seems, by Germany) where roves his son Guelf, Kunigund’s son-in-law of old: thus by good luck the blessed Roman seed in the Bavarian fields renews the breed.

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canto seventeen 80 There a great Este branch he grafts upon the Guelf tree, in itself grown weak and hoar. See it sprout with new Guelf scions in that dawn, sceptred, gold-crowned, more fortunate than before; see it, by Heaven’s favouring light, grow on, upward and out, checked by no bound or shore. Look! Now it touches heaven, now spreads wide over half of Germany, shadowing all beside. 81 But no less fair the Italian branches bloom in rivalry upon their royal tree. Across from Guelf, Bertold* springs from the womb; Azzo the Sixth renews his ancestry. Thus, in procession due the heroes loom, as if alive, in breathing filigree. Rinaldo marks all, rousing, as he marks, great fires of honour from his native sparks. 82 His noble soul, with emulous virtue stirred, blazes, and in the rapture of his brain, what he imagines that he saw or heard — the city taken and the people slain — seems all but done, as if it had occurred right then before his eyes. He looks again, then arms in haste, and in his hope foresees and tastes already future victories. 83 But Charles, who had by now already told him of the death of Denmark’s royal heir, gave him the destined sword* to have and hold. ‘Receive it,’ said he; ‘may its fate be fair. Use it alone to guard the Christian fold, with pious hands and just no less than bold. To avenge its first lord, take it up and smite; he loved you, and that task is yours by right.’ 84 Replied he to the knight: ‘May Heaven please to let the hand that now receives this blade by vengeance give its first lord’s spirit ease, and let the debt by this hand be repaid.’ Charles, turning to him, joyfully agrees and in brief words his grateful answer made. The magus then stepped up to them to plead that they on their nocturnal voyage speed.

canto seventeen 85 ‘It is time to turn where Godfrey’s mighty band stays waiting,’ said he; ‘timely is this day. Let us go where the Christian war-tents stand. The air is dark, but I well know the way.’ So saying, he ascends his chariot and beckons the three inside without delay, then lightly flicks the reins from horse to horse and lashes them to take an eastward course. 86 They speed in silence through the airy dark, when turning toward the youth the ancient says: ‘Of the exalted stock I have made you mark the boughs and deep root of the olden days; and though indeed from the first age its bark was blessèd and the happy womb of praise, it does not, will not tire of giving birth, since passing time cannot abate its worth. 87 ‘And even as I, from time’s pristine abyss, have conjured your first unknown fathers, I might also plainly show the future bliss that your grandchildren will bring by-and-by, and, long before their eyes open to this clear light of day, produce them for your eye, showing a line no less long that succeeds, of future heroes, no less famed in deeds. 88 ‘But my art cannot by itself make out the lines that future times too darkly trace, although they glimmer faintly all about as through a far-off mist before my face. But one thing I can tell you, without doubt, without presumption of too easy grace, for it comes from a man inured to see* unveiled the secrets of God’s destiny. 89 ‘What the divine light let him clearly scan and he to me made known, I here declare: “No Greek, barbarian, Latin kindred can, or now, or in the blessed old days, bear such wealth of heroes as the heavens plan to make your glorious grandchildren’s share, whose names shall equal whatsoever name Rome, Sparta, Carthage boasted most in fame.

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canto seventeen 90 ‘ “Among the rest,” said he, “Alfonso* will, though second in name, be first in excellencies, who shall be born in times when, old and ill, the world* grows poor in fame by slow degrees. But he’ll be such, none shall with greater skill wield sword or sceptre, or with greater ease sustain the weight of armour or the crown — your blood’s chief boast, your jewel of renown. 91 ‘ “His youth shall show fierce tokens, auguring what feats his sublime valour holds in store. Woods and wild beasts shall fear him, men shall sing how he from jousts the highest honours bore. Later from actual combat* he shall bring victorious palms and richest spoils of war, so that it countless times shall come to pass that his brow be bound with laurel, oak, or grass. 92 ‘ “No less in manhood shall his virtues thrive: to establish peace and quiet in his halls, to keep his cities tranquil and alive amid his potent neighbours’ royal brawls, to nourish genius, to make arts revive, to hold high tilts and joyous festivals, in one just scale both grace and blame to weigh, and see both cause and goal from far away. 93 ‘ “Oh, should it pass,* when heathens shall infest all lands and seas, and in those wretched times dictate vile terms of peace unto the best and most high-minded peoples of all climes, that he as leader should go forth to wrest from them the altars outraged by their crimes, what vengeance wrought by him might we expect for the great tyrant and his felon sect! 94 ‘ “Vainly the armed Turks, numberless as flies, on this side would, the Moors on that side, lour, for he beyond Euphrates would make rise — beyond where snow-clad yokes of Taurus* tower, beyond the realms where summer never dies — White Eagle,* Cross, and Golden Lily Flower, and would, to baptize swarthy brows, make trial of the undiscovered springs of mighty Nile.” ’

canto seventeen 95 So spoke the sage. The youth, when he had done, pondered his words with grateful interest, for thoughts of future offspring had begun to rouse a quiet pleasure in his breast. Meanwhile the dawn rose, herald of the sun, the orient sky made bright the yielding west, and they could see already from afar flags fluttering in the breeze on tents of war. 96 The ancient then commenced anew, to say: ‘Behold the sun surmounting yonder hill eastward, who shows you with his friendly ray the tents, the plain, the city and the hill. Thus far by unknown paths I have shown your way, safe from all hindrance and from every ill; henceforth you’ll find your path without a guide, nor is it lawful that I nearer bide.’ 97 So he took leave, and wheeled round to the rear, leaving the knights on foot. They instantly moved where they saw the newborn day appear and soon walked by the tents. And already Rumour had caught and sowed in every ear the long-awaited coming of the three, and run ahead to pious Godfrey, who rose from his throne to give them welcome due.

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Canto Eighteen 1 Rinaldo, reaching Godfrey, who arose to greet him, now began: ‘My lord, of late, to wreak revenge on him who died, I chose, by care of jealous honour led, my fate.* If I in this offended you, my throes of heartfelt sorrow afterward were great. I come now at your call, and shall embrace all pains that might return me to your grace.’ 2 The youth knelt humbly, and good Godfrey threw an arm about his neck and fast replied: ‘Let all sad memory here fade from view. Let bygone business in oblivion hide; and for amends I but ask that you do (as is your wont) deeds famous far and wide. Your task now, to our foes’ harm, and our good, is to defeat the monsters of the wood.* 3 ‘That ancient forest, whence we used to bear materials for our ordinance, has now been turned into the dread and secret lair of witchery, I know not why or how. No man can boast to cut the timber there. Without such means, reason will not allow storming the town. Now give your valour sway where terror to all others bars the way.’ 4 So spoke he; and in terse words and serene his knight pledged every toil and risk to bear, and it was clear from his magnanimous mien (though he said little) how much he would dare. Then turned he to the others on the scene with friendly touch and visage debonair. Here Guelf, there Tancred, and there all the grand chiefs of the host thronged round to take his hand.

canto eighteen 5 But once he had with kind and honest shows often regaled these great ones, toward the rout he turned, gracious and affable, of those lesser in blood who gathered round about. No gladder war-cry than what there arose would rise, nor huger crowds make louder shout, if, all the East and South overthrown, he rolled in triumph on a chariot wheeled with gold. 6 So he departed to his tent; and there he sits with dear companions all around, now answering much, now asking them to share news of the war or the charmed forest ground. But when their farewells faded from the air, the holy Hermit made his voice resound: ‘Great things indeed, my lord, you passed, astray (O wondrous pilgrim) on your errant way. 7 ‘How much you owe the world’s Almighty King! He freed you from a foul enchantment’s hold. He to his flock, O lost lamb, deigns to bring you back, and to the safety of His fold. He now makes you, at Bouillon’s summoning, executor of what He willed of old. But ill it fits that you, while still profane, should take up arms to wage His great campaign. 8 ‘For you are still so soiled with putrefied grime of the world and of the fleshly den, that Nile, nor Ganges, nor deep Ocean’s tide could ever wash you white and clean again. Heaven’s grace alone, whatever filth you hide, can make you pure. Turning to Heaven then, in reverence ask pardon, and lay bare your secret sins, with tears and heartfelt prayer.’ 9 He ceased. The other first in his soul’s inmost seat for his proud wrath and foolish loves made mourn. Then, weeping, kneeling at the Hermit’s feet, confessed all faults that with his youth were born. God’s minister then, granting him complete pardon, said to him: ‘On the next new morn, up to that mount* that toward the dawning ray inclines its brow, betake yourself to pray.

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canto eighteen 10 ‘Thence make your way into the wood to meet the false and treacherous phantoms where they hide. Monsters and giants you (I know) shall beat if no more foolish whim turns you aside. Ah! let no voice that weeps or sings, no sweet beauty that smiles upon you, misty-eyed, with tender flattery your heart entrance, but scorn each lying prayer, each lying glance.’ 11 So counselled he. The knight made ready, taut with confident hope, for the great enterprise. That day he spent in thought, in pensive thought that night, then, before dawn brightened the skies, donned his bright armour and a surcoat wrought in a colour strange and new; and in this guise he, all alone, on foot, in silence, went away from his companions and his tent. 12 It is the hour at which the night not yet frees every region to the coming day, but the east blushes, and the sky is set with a few last stars in glittering array, when he guides his steps toward Mount Olivet and lifts his eyes, and lets his musings play on where, here night’s, there morning’s beauties shine in splendour uncorrupted and divine. 13 Inly he thought: ‘How manifold the light that in the fane of Heaven flames and soars! Day has his mighty chariot, and Night displays her silver moon and golden stars. But none here values either one aright. We dote instead on light, fickle and sparse, that an eye’s glance or a smile’s glinting grace sheds from the narrow bounds of one frail face.’ 14 Thus musing, he had gained the topmost peak, and knelt in reverent awe, thoughts soaring high above the heavens, and began to speak, fixing his eyes upon the orient sky: ‘Upon my first life, by first sin made weak, look with a clement and a pitying eye, Father and Lord. Pour down Your grace on me to purge old Adam* and to set me free.’

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15 So prayed he. Soon there rose above the land, flecked with fresh gold, Aurora crimson-gowned, whose golden light gleamed on his helmet and his armour and the green peaks all around; and he could feel his breast and forehead fanned by a kindly spirit’s cooling breath that wound about his head a misty halo, drawn from out the dewy lap of lovely dawn. 16 His garments Heaven strews with dewy spray, that seemed of ashen hue before, and takes, aspersing them,* their pallor quite away, and through them all a lucid whiteness shakes. So a parched blossom’s wilted petals play with new smiles when the cool of morning wakes; and so in joy the snake, no longer old, renews herself, freshly adorned with gold. 17 The lovely white of his changed raiment he beholds with wondering joy; then undismayed directs his steps with steadfast certainty toward the ancient forest’s deepest shade. He had arrived where men less brave would be by the mere terror of the scene dismayed; yet neither ugly in effect nor grim but fair and shady seem these groves to him. 18 A little further on, he hears the air diffusing all around him sounds most sweet. Here a hoarse brook is murmuring, and there the breeze is rustling through the leaves’ retreat, and with the swan’s high notes of dole and care, the nightingale’s descanting sobs compete; organs and lyres, and human carolling — so many and such sounds in one sound ring. 19 The knight then hears, as the others did before, a rumbling of high terror, but it ends, and sirens, nymphs, birds, streams, winds once more pour their joyful music through the woodland dens. In wonder he retards his step therefore and slowly passes onward in suspense, but no more hindrance in his path he sees than a clear, silent stream beneath the trees.

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canto eighteen 20 On this side and on that, the stream’s bright strands smile, with fair sights and redolent odors graced. Its winding course’s horn so far expands that in its curve the great wood is embraced and all around it like a great wreath stands. But one small channel cleaves the wood; thus placed, it bathes the grove, and mirrors grove and glade with lovely change of moisture and of shade. 21 And while the knight looked for a ford, behold! A magic bridge loomed — a rich bridge that bore an ample passage paved with purest gold, and sturdy spans beneath that golden floor. He crosses it. At once it fails to hold, just as his foot touches the other shore, and huge waves overwhelm it underneath — waves lovely once, that now in torrents seethe. 22 He turns and sees them rush headlong and spout, engorged as if by melting snows, like seas that churn and toss in thunder roundabout in myriad eddies whirling without ease. Yet curiosity makes him set out to explore among the ancient, crowded trees: and in those savage solitudes his view is drawn to marvels yet more strange and new. 23 Each footprint that he makes seems to make room for a thing that sprouts or burgeons or conceives. There buds the rose, here opening lilies bloom; here springs a brooklet, there a fountain heaves. Above, and all around, the forest gloom seems to rejuvenate its ancient leaves. The trunks grow soft, and ever greener grows the joyful green that on the branches glows. 24 Dewy with manna is each leaf, each rind distils a honeyed nectar, rich and rare. Anon once more that music, strange and kind, with songs and plaintive murmurs fills the air; but the human choir, that with the swans and wind and waves keeps tune, lies hid he knows not where. Who forms these human notes he does not see, nor where their tuneful instruments might be.

canto eighteen 25 And as he looks, while reason’s voice belied all that his senses took for truth, he sees a myrtle* rise ahead, and turns aside into a spacious clearing ringed with trees. Here that strange myrtle spreads its huge boughs wide, higher than lofty palms or cypresses, branching above all other trees, and here what seem like throne-rooms of the grove appear. 26 The warrior, stopped in the wide clearing, now fixed on yet stranger novelties his gaze. He sees an oak that splits its bark to show a womb-like cave that, opening, displays a form in garments that most strangely flow — a nymph (oh wonder!) fully grown. Straightways a hundred other trees before his eyes make from their wombs a hundred fair nymphs rise. 27 As on a stage or painted tapestries the woodland goddesses at times are shown, with naked arms, gowns tucked up to the knees, and buskins fine, and loosened locks wind-blown, so these feigned daughters of the rough-barked trees rise up in their beguiling semblances; except that they for bows or quivers bear lutes, harps, or viols, fashioned wondrous fair. 28 They now began their dance and carolling, and in a garland joined their hands to throng around the knight, as sparks might form a ring around a circle’s centre; and ere long they weave about the tree’s trunk as they sing, and words like these he hears in their sweet song: ‘Welcome to this sweet close! Welcome, indeed, love of our queen and solace in her need. 29 ‘You have come, long pined-for, to bring health to one grown sick and parched, wounded in amorous strife. In this wood that before you lacked all sun, this doleful dwelling for a doleful wife, see how your coming sows from zone to zone ever more joy and clothes all with glad life.’ So went the song; and then the myrtle’s side rang with a sound most sweet, and opened wide.

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canto eighteen 30 When rude Silenus* opened long ago, the ancient Greeks beheld untold delight; but from its open womb this myrtle now showed a more ravishing and beauteous sight. It showed a woman, whose false features glow with all the beauty of an angel sprite. Rinaldo gazes, and becomes aware of seeing Armida’s sweet face* imaged there. 31 She looks at him, joyful and sad at once, and in one glance a thousand passions play, then speaks: ‘Do you at last, among these haunts, return to her from whom you ran away? Why have you come? To comfort me perchance for widowed nights, for grief day after day? Or to make war, to drive me off, since you come armed and hide your lovely face from view? 32 ‘Do you come in love or hate? Not for a foe did I prepare the precious bridge, or send sweet streams, make blossoms rise, let fountains flow, or all your steps from tangling briars defend. Doff then this helmet; show your face, and show your eyes to my eyes, if you are my friend. Join lips to lips, bosom to bosom strain. At least let your hand clasp my hand again.’ 33 She went on speaking, and revolved her eyes in piteous turnings, her face pale and gaunt, feigning soft sobs and sweetly melting sighs, her woe expressed in many a pleasing pant; so that such martyrdom in hearts less wise could have made soft the hardest adamant. But he, although not cruel, undismayed, no longer listening, bared his naked blade. 34 He nears the myrtle; whereat, with a shriek she hugged the dear tree and between them stood: ‘Ah! fate forbid that you on me should wreak such outrage as to fell my sacred wood! Put down your blade, O ruthless man — or seek first in Armida’s hapless veins her blood. This bosom and this heart alone afford a path to my fair myrtle for your sword.’

canto eighteen 35 He lifts his sword then, heedless of her prayer; but she is changed — oh new monstrosity! Even as in dreams sometimes one shape will bear in quick mutations shape on shape, so she makes huge her limbs, makes swarthy all her fair crimsons and ivories, and grows to be a towering giant who before him stands, armed like Briareus,* with a hundred hands. 36 She clenches fifty mighty swords, lets clash fifty great shields, and, frothing, threatens so. Each of the other nymphs, too, in a flash turns to a Cyclops. But he fears no foe, and on the guarded tree lays gash on gash, that groans, as if alive, at every blow. The fields of air seemed Stygian fields,* such crowds of prodigies and monsters thronged the clouds. 37 The earth below; above, the teeming sky resound: one thunders, and the other quakes. Winds and tornados seem at war then, fly in blasts against his face. Yet nothing breaks the knight’s onslaught, no fury turns awry his strokes, and not one stroke its aim mistakes. The walnut then (that seemed a myrtle) fell. The phantoms vanished. Broken was the spell. 38 The sky grew calm and mild; the wind, serene. The wood regained the shape it had before, by no foul spells made joyful or obscene, a place of dread — but natural dread, no more. The victor looks what else might yet be seen to bar the felling of the trees for war, then smiles and says within himself: ‘O vain illusions! He’s a fool whom you detain!’ 39 This done, he makes his way back to the tents, where Peter Hermit cried out, loud and clear: ‘Cast down now are the forest’s devilments! The victor warrior now is drawing near! Look where he comes!’ The knight’s habiliments shone from afar then, hallowed, white, severe; and his great eagle’s silver plumes flashed bright, resplendent with a more than mortal light.

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canto eighteen 40 The glad camp hails him, and their jubilant cry rises in sonorous peals repeatedly, and he is with gracious honour greeted by good Bouillon. None there envies him. Then he says to the duke: ‘As you commanded, I came to that once-feared wood. I came to see:* I saw, I conquered all its spells. Let your men now go, too. The access is secure.’ 41 They set out for the ancient wood, and thence fetched as much lumber as good judgement chose. If the unknown wright had shown but simple care or skill when the first warlike engines rose, this time an artificer past compare designed the rafters and the jointures chose: William,* duke of Liguria, who of late played the corsair, sea-lord from strait to strait. 42 Forced to withdraw then and to yield control of seas to the great Saracen navy, he brought from the ships and to the camp his whole crew and supplies of naval weaponry. Him all the most industrious wits extol as a peerless framer of machinery; and with him, skilled to execute his plans, he brought a hundred lesser artisans. 43 He now not only set about to make ballistas, catapults, and rams, whereby to strip the bastions of the walls and shake the solid ramparts threatening from on high, but wrought a marvel at which all men quake, a tower, of pine and fir within, with ply on ply of leather over her entire outside to make her proof ’gainst hurtling fire. 44 The great tower is laid out, and raised anew with ligatures that subtly join and lock, and the great ram-head beam swings through her nether story, thence to batter and knock. A gangplank juts out from her middle, too, to meet the high wall in the onset’s shock, while from her shoulders near her topmost rows a smaller tower skyward springs and grows.

canto eighteen 45 Through easy paths, and running smoothly, she rolls, huge and ponderous, on a hundred wheels, pregnant with weapons and with infantry, to move her mass whatever way she wills. The troops, attentive and admiring, see the workmen’s speed and their exotic skills; and before long, two further towers likewise, made in the image of that first one, rise. 46 But as it neared accomplishment, their work was not quite hidden from the Saracen lines, for perched high on the nearest walls there lurk lookouts to spy upon the foe’s designs. They saw emerging from the forest’s murk camp-ward huge loads of ash trees and of pines, and saw machines, although they could not quite from far away make out their shapes by sight. 47 They too make engines, and with ample art buttress their ramparts and make thick their wall, and raise it up so strongly in the part that could sustain an onslaught least of all, that Mars with all his force could not dispart their massive bulk (they think) or make them fall. But Ismen above all came to prepare a stock of magic fire uncouth and rare. 48 Sulphur and pitch the felon warlock blends that he has gathered from Lake Sodom’s bed* — or very Hell (I deem), where in nine bends* its river turns — has stolen it and fled. The fire stinks and smokes, and he intends to see it hurtled at the enemy’s head. Indeed, he in these savage fires sees means of revenge for his dear, fallen trees.* 49 While for assault the camp and for defence the city thus prepare themselves, there swoops a dove through airy pathways and from thence speeds in the sky above the Frankish troops, scarce moving its swift pinions, and descends through liquid paths on spread wings in great loops. Now, as that wandering messenger dips down from high among the clouds toward the town,

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canto eighteen 50 lo! from I know not where a falcon nears, with sharp beak armed, with giant talons spurred, and twixt her and the camp and walls appears. She flees the onslaught of the cruel bird, and toward the main pavilion* flees. He veers in her pursuit. At last he swooped and whirred, claws poised upon her tender brow to tread, but she hides in good Bouillon’s lap her head, 51 and Godfrey gives her aid and sheltering. Looking at her, he notes something concealed; for at her neck there hangs, tied by a string and tucked beneath one wing, a paper, sealed. He breaks its wax, unfolds it, and the thing that its curt prose conveys beholds revealed. ‘Unto Judaea’s Lord,’ so runs its tale, ‘from Egypt’s General-in-Chief: all hail! 52 ‘Do not despond, my lord: resist, endure until the fourth day, or the fifth, for I shall come to make your threatened walls secure. Soon shall you see your foemen fall and die.’ This secret, penned in characters obscure and barbarous, was entrusted to the sky and by its winged post sent upon its ways, a post much used Levant-ward in those days. 53 The good duke frees the dove; but, being made a rebel yielder-up of secrets, she to turn back to the master she betrayed seems loath, and flies off none too eagerly. But he, calling his subject dukes, displayed the paper to them and spoke thus: ‘You see how all is plainly opened to our sense, revealed through God’s Almighty Providence. 54 ‘Now there’s no time to waste, and I suggest a new ground-levelling to achieve surprise. Let neither toil nor sweat be spared to wrest passage across the rocks that southward rise,* steep as they are for weapons — a hard test, but possible: I’ve seen how the land lies. Also, that wall whose height guards it from harms is surely less supplied with works and arms.

canto eighteen 55 ‘You, Raymond, you I want from that side to move up your engines near the walls and wait. Let my troops meanwhile march in open view directly toward the Aquilonian gate;* so that our foe, perceiving what they do, might there expect our onslaught’s fullest weight. Then let my great war-tower, yare and swift, bear the war elsewhere by a sudden shift. 56 ‘Let you, Camillus, at the same time guide near me the third tower into the mêlée.’ He said no more, and Raymond by his side, who, while he spoke, was pondering inwardly, said: ‘Godfrey’s wisdom cannot be denied. There’s nothing more to say, it seems to me. I’ll add only one thing: let someone try to pierce our foes’ camp as a secret spy. 57 ‘Let him recount their numbers and their plan as well as he can sift them, sure and true.’ Then Tancred adds: ‘I have squire, a man, who for this task (I’m pleased to say) may do; a quick man, dexterous, light of foot, who can be bold, yet circumspectly bold, and who speaks many foreign tongues and has the skill to change his bearing and his voice at will.’ 58 That man arrived, being called; and when apprised of Godfrey’s and his lord’s wish, with a smile he undertook the mission they advised, saying: ‘I’m on my way even now, and I’ll soon come to walk, a spy unrecognized, among that army’s tents, pitched file on file. By midday next I’ll breach their trench, and then go numbering all their horses, all their men. 59 ‘How many, of what sort they are, and what their leader thinks I guarantee to find: I’ll know his inmost aims and (doubt me not) extract the guarded mysteries of his mind.’ So says Vafrin,* and hesitates no jot, but doffs his doublet, makes a long cloak wind, showing his bared neck, round his trunk instead, and twists great swathes of cloth atop his head.

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canto eighteen 60 He bears a quiver and a Syrian bow, and seems barbarian in each look and act. His hearers wonder much to find him so expert in various tongues and so exact. (Egyptian Memphis, Punic Tyre would know him for a native son of theirs, in fact.) He rides off on a steed that, as it moves, scarce marks the soft sand with its nimble hooves. 61 As for the Franks, until the third dawn they smoothed the rough roads that led up to the height, and furbished their equipment without stay, so that their constant efforts never quite ended, but joined, to labours of the day, stealing their rest from it, the very night. Nothing deters them as they, hour by hour, keep toiling to the utmost of their power. 62 Most of the day before the assault begins good Bouillon spends in prayer with a priest, commands the others to confess their sins and take the soul’s bread at the Sacred Feast. Then he sets up most weapons and machines in quarters where he means to use them least. The pagan in great comfort takes the bait, seeing them aimed against the strongest gate. 63 Then in the dark of night that mobile, vast engine of his is repositioned where the wall curves less, and is less strong and fast, since no part makes a bend or angle there; and, threatening from the hill above, at last Raymond brings his armed siege-tower to bear, even as Camillus with his tower appears on the side that somewhat west of Boreas* veers. 64 But as the heralds of the sunrise draw in westward passage through the orient door, the startled pagans find in fear and awe the tower gone from where it stood before. Then, gazing to the left and right, they saw looming not one tower, but two towers more: and numberless before their fearful eyes rams, catapults, cats*, and ballistas rise.

canto eighteen 65 At this, the pagan rabble are not slow to shift many defences toward the track along which now great Bouillon’s engines go, whence they had first expected his attack. But the Captain knows the roads, if seized, might throw the brunt of Egypt’s army at his back, and summons Guelf and the two Roberts* there: ‘Stay in the saddle, armed,’ he says, ‘take care! 66 ‘Take care that, as I move toward that wall and try that seeming weakest point to vault, there be no band that by surprise might fall on us while thus employed and make us halt.’ He ceased; now on their three sides at his call the three brave war-bands launch the dread assault. On those three sides the king * has placed his men. He that day donned his rusty arms again, 67 and upon limbs atremble with his years and heavy with their own great bulk, now binds an armour long unused, and so appears upon the battlefield. He Raymond finds. Solyman Godfrey finds, and Argant fierce finds old Camillus standing by his page, nephew to Bohemond.* (Luck brings him a foe whose death was owing to him long ago.) 68 Soon, fired by the archers’ dense-packed crowd, darts dipped in fatal venom start to fly. The clouded sky seems blackened by the cloud of shafts massing in giant swarms on high. But strength with all the fiercer force endowed the siege machines as they came drawing nigh, from whom huge balls of ponderous marble reel and iron-bound beams with pointed tips of steel. 69 The stones thence hurled like sudden lightning struck armour and limbs of any man they hit, and, not alone his soul and life, did pluck his very face and shape forth, bit by bit. Nor does each beam’s point in the wound stay stuck after the blow, but thrusts on through the split, and in and out, through the whole body’s breadth, flies and continues flying, leaving death.

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canto eighteen 70 Still that great onslaught does not quite defeat all the defences of the Saracen foe. Against these blows, already sheet on sheet of soft cloth* they have piled, with bales of tow. The impact that arrives there does not meet resistance, and is rendered weak and slow. Meanwhile their missiles give harsh answer to the most exposed ranks as they come in view. 71 Yet all the same the assailant does not fail to press ahead, in triple-pronged array. Here under cats, on which the ceaseless hail of arrows beats in vain, he makes his way; and there he speeds his towers to assail the high wall that repels them as it may. The towers at once attempt to launch their planks, and the ram with iron forehead butts and clanks. 72 Rinaldo meanwhile wavers, seeing no danger here worthy him, for he was proud and deemed it but of trivial fame to go by common paths among the vulgar crowd. He casts his eyes about, eager to show he could smile at risks that left all others cowed. Where the wall stood highest, best defended — there he yearned to lead the charge, and not elsewhere, 73 and, turning to the band* that had been led by Dudon once, illustrious warriors all, ‘Shame on us, if that high wall there,’ he said, ‘amid so many weapons does not fall! Danger to valour is safe as a bed. All roads are smooth when faith and courage call. There let us move the battle and oppose a dense shield-wall to ward their ruffian blows.’ 74 They one and all, hearing his words, thronged round. All raised their shields above their heads to join into a roof, secure and iron-bound, against the tempest, horrid and malign. Beneath it the fierce band traverse the ground at a swift run, and nothing breaks their line, since the hard shell withstands all things that fly and rain down rattling ruin from on high.

canto eighteen 75 They reach the wall. At once Rinaldo brings a ladder of a hundred rungs or more, to which his arm so powerfully clings, no storm-bent reed more stiffly hugs the shore. Lances, beams, turrets, columns, buttressings fall from above: he clambers none the slower. Bent by no blow, he’d scorn, intrepid, grim, if Ossa or Olympus* fell on him. 76 Thickets of arrows on his broad back grow. Upon his shield mountains of objects rise. One hand is on the wall to lay it low, the other raised to guard his face and eyes. Spurred on by him, all his companions glow with strange new courage; not alone he vies, for many another on high ladders moves, though fate unequal to his courage proves. 77 One dies, another falls; he to the heights thrusts onward, comforts some, and some alarms. Already he can grapple, as he fights, the topmost parapet with outstretched arms. Toward him a huge mob presses, thrusts and smites, and seeks to thrust him down, but vainly swarms. Marvellous sight! An army in despair thrown back by one man, hanging in mid-air! 78 And he resists and pushes, pressing more as they press more, and, like a palm that, bent, grows stronger, made his bravery mount and soar higher and higher as he higher went. At last, downing all foes, he carved a door through shafts and obstacles against him sent, and gained the wall and ruled it, and assigned safe passage to the man who climbed behind. 79 Yea, pious Bouillon’s youngest brother,* who, about to fall, flails, reaching for a friend, he grasps, even as victory comes in view, thus making him the second to ascend. But meanwhile elsewhere, the great Captain too fights on, by varying dangerous fortunes penned; for there not only men hack, smite, and slay, but great war-engines move into the fray.

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canto eighteen 80 Above the walls the Syrian troops had reared a huge trunk, once the mainmast of a ship, to which, fixed crosswise, a thick beam adhered, steel-clad, armed with a massive, cruel tip. By cables at its rear drawn back and steered, it is held by levers ready to let slip. Now it glides backward in its groove, and now the turtle thrusts abroad its neck and brow. 81 The immense beam hurtled and with blows so hard pounded the tower in its fierce attack, that the tight joints that made her fast were jarred loose, and she trembled and was driven back. But for that plight the tower is on guard with two great scythes, ready to slash and hack, that, aimed with skill against the beam, she sends to cut those ropes from which its hulk depends. 82 As a great boulder is toppled by the wrath of winds or loosened by the years, and then comes tumbling, crashing, splintering in its path forests, whole houses, cattle in their pen; so this beam in its ruinous aftermath dislodges battlements and arms and men. The tottering tower creaks and groans; the ground beneath the wall quakes, and the hills resound. 83 Poised near the top triumphant Bouillon stays, ready to smash the walls and burst the gates. But now flames, foetid, reeking in the haze, he sees propelled against him as he waits. Out of its sulphurous womb no greater blaze from cavernous Mongibello* emanates; never so many scalding vapours beat down from the Indian sky in summer’s heat. 84 Barrels and shafts and hoops of fire flash, here smouldering black, there whirling blood-red rings. The stench is sickening, deafening is the crash. The smoke blinds, and the fire sears and clings. The tower’s moistened leather, streaked with ash already, scarce defends her fastenings; already it sweats and curls, and in that blast, if Heaven’s aid fails it, needs must burn at last.

canto eighteen 85 Magnanimous Godfrey meanwhile does not quail, but stands firm, changing neither place nor hue, heartening all who discharged pail on pail on the parched leather as the flames ate through. But soon their scant supplies of water fail — such is the state they are declining to, when lo! great gusts that suddenly arise fling back the fires in their authors’ eyes. 86 The wind flew at the flames, and the flames turned back toward the pagans’ piles of baled-up ware, the soft stuff took the sparks at once and burned, and soon the furious blaze spreads everywhere. O Captain, glorious Captain! Never spurned, but guarded, cherished by the Almighty’s care! Heaven goes to war for you. Behold! Today the very winds your trumpet’s call obey. 87 But impious Ismen, seeing Boreas * steer his sulphurous torches toward himself, now tries his lying arts once more, intent to veer the winds away from nature’s course, crosswise. Flanked by two witches they see him appear, high on the battlements, before their eyes — grim, bearded, black, covered with grime — to stand like Dis or Charon,* a Fury at each hand. 88 Even now a murmured spell is heard that makes Cocytus shudder, Phlegethon* afraid. The air grows thick, the light grows dim and quakes, great clouds conceal the sun in gathering shade, when the huge engine from its bowels shakes a great rock, from some crag or cliff conveyed, and strikes so hard that one blow from that stone spatters their blood and rends them bone by bone. 89 Their felon skulls and felon limbs the wind in such small, bloody fragments strews around, that kernels that remorseless millstones grind emerge beneath their weight less finely ground. Their three malign souls, groaning, leave behind the serene air, the glorious daylight’s bound, and flee to join the souls of Hell and hate. (Learn piety, O mortals, from their fate!)

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canto eighteen 90 And meanwhile city-ward the mighty tower, saved by that wind from fiery ruin, abuts the wall so close, her gangway has the power to snag its top with grappling-boards and struts. Yet fearless Solyman runs up to shower redoubled blows and very nearly cuts the narrow passage off, but that a new tower comes unexpectedly in view. 91 The huge contrivance, rising to a height beyond the highest roofs, looms from the sky. The Saracens are astounded by the sight, for the town’s highest parts beneath it lie. But the fierce Turk* declines to quit the fight though stones in ceaseless showers round him fly, nor loses hope to thwart the escalade, and chides and rallies those who grow dismayed. 92 But now, made visible to Godfrey’s sight, though to none else, the angel Michael stood, girt in celestial armour and more bright than blazing sunlight by no cloud subdued. ‘Godfrey, behold!’ cried he; ‘The time is right to free Jerusalem from vile servitude. Look yonder! Do not close your dazzled eyes! See what celestial hosts to aid you rise! 93 ‘Go lift your eyes * to gaze at that immense, immortal army gathering in the air; for I will scatter to the winds the dense fog of humanity that everywhere about you lies and dims your mortal sense. You shall see face to face their spirits bare and for an instant (what would else be pain) the radiance of their angel shapes sustain. 94 ‘Behold the souls, Christ’s champions when alive and now made citizens of Heaven, who fight by your side here, and who shall arrive to share the glory of the end with you. Look there! Where smoke and rolling dust clouds strive, mingling, and shattered blocks the ground bestrew. Look! In the thick mist Hugh displays his powers and batters the foundations of the towers.

canto eighteen 95 ‘Look! There is Dudon, charging Aquilo’s high gateway with iron and with fiery brands. He hands arms to the fighters, bids them fly up ladders steadied by his mighty hands. See! On the hill, in sacred garb, there stands, his locks topped by the sacerdotal crown, the blessèd shepherd Ademar; see! Once more he makes a cross to bless you as before. 96 ‘Now lift your ardent eyes a little higher, and see the heavenly hosts ranged round about.’ He raised his sight and saw where the entire numberless, winged militia seemed to sprout forth in three huge ringed choirs,* with each choir divided in three orders, spreading out; but as the outmost circles still increased, the inmost ones remained and grew the least. 97 He closed his dazed eyes then, and when anew he raised his lids, the spectacle was gone. But, looking round on every side, he knew that victory was smiling on his own. Behind Rinaldo, while he hacked and slew Syrians, a crowd of famous knights pressed on. The Captain, scorning more delay, afire, seizes the banner from his faithful squire, 98 and passes first onto the gangplank, when the Sultan* blocks his path in mid-career. Now, bounded by that narrow bridge’s ken, the few blows struck make boundless strength appear. Fierce Solyman cries: ‘To give life to our men, I lose and consecrate my own life here. Stay at my back, friends. Rush the bridgehead and cut it; for here, no easy prey, I stand.’ 99 But from afar then, while all others fled, he saw Rinaldo coming, threatening bane. ‘What should I do now? If I here fall dead, my life’, said he, ‘is wasted, given in vain.’ And, brooding new defences in his head, he yielded to the Captain in disdain, who follows, menacing, and now installs the banner of the Cross atop the walls.

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100 Now the victorious ensign waves and wreathes its great folds to and fro in proud display. It seems the wind more reverently breathes, the light shines on it with a brighter ray. It seems each arrow aimed against it sheathes itself in harmless air, or turns itself away. Yea, Zion and the mountain opposite seem gladly to adore and bow to it. 101 Here the assembled squadrons let resound the loud and joyful shout of victory. The mountains ring with it and all around re-echo their last syllables. And, see! Tancred has smashed the last defensive bound that Argant raised against him, and now he launches his bridge across, and with a cry leaps on the wall and plants the cross on high. 102 But southward, where the white-haired Raymond and the Palestinian tyrant* on each other fall, it seems impossible for the Gascon band to bring their tower to the city wall; for the king is there, with hand-picked troops who stand in obstinate defence against them all; and, though the walls are weaker here, they are better defended by machines of war. 103 Moreover, unlike elsewhere, here the great siege-tower found no passage smooth or plain. No art sufficed to break, however great, the strength that nature gave to the terrain. Loud cries of victory meanwhile penetrate to the defenders and the Gascon train; and both the king and the Toulousan know this means the plain-ward bastions’ overthrow. 104 Then Raymond: ‘Comrades, on the other side the town’, cries he, ‘already taken lies. Defeated, does it still resist? And hide from us alone the glory and the prize?’ And now the king yields and, too weak to bide, despairs on his part of defence, and flies for refuge to a fortified, high place from which he hopes the onslaught’s force to face.

canto eighteen 105 The host pours in, triumphant, everywhere over the walls — yea, through the gates they break. There all is opened, levelled, burnt, laid bare, that once resisted. There all strongholds shake. There swoops the Fury with her sword, and there strides Death, with Grief and Horror in his wake. Blood stands in pools, or runs in streams, and brims with corpses or with faintly twitching limbs

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Canto Nineteen 1 Now death, or fear, or prudence has withdrawn all pagans from their desperate defence; but pertinacious Argant all alone remains on the contested battlements, and there, encircled by his foes, fights on, his fearless face ablaze with confidence. He would rather die than yield to another’s will, and even in death would seem unconquered still. 2 But a foe more fell than any in that crowd, Tancred, now makes for him to slash and maim. The Circassian quickly knows him by his proud bearing, his acts, his arms well-known to fame, as him he duelled once, the man who vowed to return* in six days’ time and never came. He therefore cried: ‘Is this how you keep plight, Tancred? And do you come back now to fight? 3 ‘Late you come back, and not alone; but I will gladly fight and measure strengths once more, though now you seem no warrior to my eye but a deviser of machines of war. Make shields of men, then, and to aid you try methods and weapons never known before — there shall be no escape for you, you grand slayer of women,* from death at my hand.’ 4 Good Tancred with a kind of scornful smile heard him, and in proud words replied at last: ‘Late I return, yes; but be warned that I’ll soon seem to you to come in too great haste, and you will shortly wish that mile on mile of alps or sea had been between us placed. You’ll see sure proof that my late coming here was caused by neither cowardice nor fear.

canto nineteen 5 ‘Come, step aside with me, you mere slayer of giants and of heroes: I, the woman-slayer, bid defiance here.’ Thus saying, he turns to his men nearby to keep them back, shouting: ‘Stay clear, and cease at once to vex him. He is my enemy rather than the common foe and bound to me by an old debt I owe.’ 6 ‘Come then, alone or followed, as you please,’ replies the fierce Circassian; ‘choose a quite deserted or a crowded place; I’ll seize on it, nor fear your arts or might.’ Having exchanged these savage courtesies, they move their steps as one to the great fight. Hatred unites them; sheer hostility makes one the guard of his sworn enemy. 7 His zeal for honour and his overmuch need for the pagan’s blood stir Tancred so, he deems no drop of it (his thirst is such) should by another’s hand be caused to flow. He guards him with his shield, and cries: ‘Don’t touch,’ even from afar, at any offered blow. So, amid friends, he shields his foe from harms by their victorious and wrathful arms. 8 They leave the city and they turn their backs on the tents pitched round about it with their host, and make their way, by narrow, winding tracks and hidden turnings, till they find, enclosed by hills, a narrow shaded vale that makes a level and secluded space, almost as if it were a theatre, or meant as setting for a hunt or tournament. 9 Here they both halt; and for a while suspended Argant stood turned toward the afflicted town. Tancred, who sees the pagan undefended by any shield, tosses aside his own, then says: ‘What has your spirit apprehended to make you pause? Do you stand thus and frown because you dread your fated hour is near? If it is so, ill-timed now is your fear.’

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canto nineteen 10 ‘It is the city fills my mind with woe,’ he answers, ‘royal Judah’s ancient queen, who now falls in defeat; and that I know what a vain prop against her doom I’ve been, and that your head now fated for my blow will prove but paltry vengeance for my spleen.’ He ceased; and they advanced, though circumspect, each schooled to treat the other with respect. 11 Tancred is lithe and nimble, swift to charge in hand and foot, his body spare and trim. Towering above him by a head, the large Argant exceeds him much in bulk of limb. Tancred moves at a croude, without his targe, and, ever on his guard, lunges for him, and with his sword seeks his opponent’s sword, employing every trick of thrust and ward. 12 But Argant, savage and of giant size, shows equal art employed in different ways. Much as he can, huge arm in front, he tries not for the sword, but for some mortal place. One at each instant new approaches tries; the other keeps his blade before his face, and ever threatening, watches and mistrusts the furtive lunges and the sudden thrusts. 13 Thus in a naval fight, when on the plains of the high seas nor west nor south wind blows, unequal ships engage and neither gains, since one looms higher, and one swifter goes. One turns and counterturns, assails and feigns, shifting from poop to prow; the other slows, motionless till the lighter craft draws near, and threatens ruin from her side and rear. 14 Now while the Latin crouches low and tries to stab, while parrying his foeman’s sword, Argant swings down the sword’s point toward his eyes. The other springs back, quick and on his guard, but with such violence and speed it flies and falls that it forestalls him, leaving gored his side. The pagan, seeing the wounded hip, cries: ‘Fancy fencing makes the fencer slip!’

canto nineteen 15 Torn between shame and fury, Tancred laid aside his wonted caution. So complete is his thirst for vengeance, victory delayed seems to him now no better than defeat. In his one answer to that taunt, his blade strikes at the helmet where the eye-guards meet. Argant beats back the blow, but, bent to win, Tancred now comes to half-sword, closing in. 16 Advancing his left foot, he grips his foe by the right arm with his left hand, and lets rain from his own right hand blow after deadly blow, making the other’s right side smart with pain. ‘So shall the victor teacher,’ said he, ‘know how the foiled fencer answers him again.’ The Circassian shakes himself, writhes in alarm, raging, but cannot free his pinioned arm. 17 At last he left his sword and let it fall on its chain, and hurled himself beneath the knight. And Tancred likewise sprang upon on him, all intent to tread him down who squeezed him tight. Not from the hot sands did Alcides * haul the monstrous giant with more savage might than that which made their sinewy arms contort and ripple with hard knots of every sort. 18 Such were their grips and buffets that each found one of his sides pressed to the earth; and so Argant, whether by art or fortune, found his better arm above, his left below. But the Frank feels pinned beneath him and the ground the hand that is more apt to deal a blow. Hence, seeing his risk and peril, with a gasp he jumps to his feet, slipping the other’s grasp. 19 The Saracen feels a mighty stroke come down while he more slowly rises from a crawl. But as the pine tree bows his frondy crown to Eurus * but springs back up, straight and tall, so hardship makes him more apt for renown, lifting him up when he seems doomed to fall. And now their blows resume, pell-mell, until sheer horror rules the fight, not martial skill.

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canto nineteen 20 From more than one wound Tancred’s life-blood flows, but in torrential spouts the pagan bled. His strength is waning and his fury slows, as does a flame with meagre fuel fed. Tancred, who sees his gore-drenched arm strike blows ever more sluggish as his blood is shed, banishing wrath from his magnanimous heart, speaks quietly to him and stands apart: 21 ‘Yield, man of might, be pleased to recognize me or your fortune as your conqueror; I seek no triumph from you and no prize, and waive all rights I might have claimed before.’ The pagan, with yet more menace in his eyes, goads on his rising fury all the more; ‘Do you boast’, he shouts, ‘of making me remiss? Do you dare to tempt Argant to cowardice? 22 ‘Go use your luck. Nothing can make me fear, nor shall I let your folly go scot-free.’ As, just before extinction, flames appear in a last blaze from a spent torch, so he, making his wrath supply his lost blood, here gives new force to his ebbing bravery, and yearns to crown, while feeling them impend, his dying moments with a noble end. 23 He locks his left hand with the other, and bringing his sword down with hands joined, he heaves a slashing blow that, though the opposing hand and sword deflect the impact, leaves the shoulder gashed, then rakes below to land from rib to rib and bruises them and cleaves. If Tancred has no fear now, Nature made his heart incapable to feel afraid. 24 Again he struck, but this time all his great anger and strength were wasted and fell wide, For Tancred, ware and quick, does not await the blow, but dodges it and leaps aside. You fell, chin first, propelled by your own weight, Argant, helpless in all your strength and pride. By yourself you fell; Fortune denied to all but you the boast of having made you fall.

canto nineteen 25 His fall caused his wide wounds to gape the more; blood gushes forth to form a pool, while he, his left hand on the ground, turns from his gore to ward himself, raised upright on one knee. ‘Surrender,’ cries the victor as before, nor strikes, but offers quarter courteously. He stealthily gropes meanwhile for his steel, and, uttering threats, wounds him upon the heel. 26 Stung into rage then, Tancred cried: ‘Would you, villain, abuse my pity with foul play?’ and thrust his sword, and thrust again, straight through his visor, making certain of the way. Thus Argant died, died as he lived: one who threatens in death, not merely fades away. He died, ferocious, formidable, proud — in his last gestures and last words unbowed. 27 Tancred puts up his sword, and fervently thanks God for the triumphal honour’s grace; but from the victor bloody victory has drained all power to the merest trace. Indeed, he fears his feebleness may be too great to let him travel from the place; yet he set out, and step by step he bore his weak limbs on the way he came before. 28 Not far he walks, his body is too weak, and each exertion means a loss of speed. At last he sinks to earth and leans his cheek on his right hand that trembles like a reed. All that he sees reels in his sight, and bleak darkness comes flooding in, the lights recede. He faints; and soon the victor to the eye seems not unlike his vanquished foe nearby. 29 While they their solitary fight here wage, which private quarrel rendered so intense, the victor troops pounce, past all bounds in rage, on the city and her guilty citizens. Now of that conquered ground what storied page could show the woeful image to the sense, or who could muster fit speech to retell that piteous and savage spectacle?

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canto nineteen 30 Already there is slaughter everywhere. In heaps and mountains are the corpses piled. Here lie the maimed atop the dead, and there unburied bodies bury maimed ones. Wild with fear, the mothers flee with unbound hair, each clutching to her breast her frightened child. The ruffian churl, with spoils and plunder laden, hauls by her braids the yet-unspotted maiden. 31 But westward, raging up the streets that climb the highest hill, where the great Temple stands, horrid and wet with enemy blood and grime, Rinaldo runs and hunts the pagan bands. Upon their armoured heads, time after time, his sword rains slaughter from his mighty hands. Feeble protection here is helm or shield, and best defence, to bear no arms and yield. 32 On steel alone he turns his noble steel, and spurns with the defenceless to be fierce. Those whom no courage arms, no arms conceal, his looks and terrifying roars disperse. See how (oh wondrous feat of valour!) he’ll now scorn, now threaten, and now cut and pierce; how with unequal risk in equal flight the naked and the armed run from his sight. 33 In flight now with the faint-heart vulgar, too, a not-small band of the most warlike run to the Temple, often burned and built anew,* still named for its first founder, Solomon (who raised it up in olden days and who decked it with cedar, gold, and priceless stone), now not so rich as once, but strong and great, with many a lofty tower and iron gate. 34 The great knight,* coming where the multitude was gathered in that high and spacious place, found all its portals shut and many a rude defence loom on its battlemented face. Twice he, lifting his dreadful gaze, overviewed the wall from top to bottom for some space of entry, be it ever so small; twice he with swift strides paced off its periphery.

canto nineteen 35 Even as a ravening wolf in darkening air comes prowling round a sheepfold bolted fast, his maw greedy and gaunt, his hunger and care by inborn wrath and hate matched and surpassed. So he spies round if entry anywhere (be it steep or easy) might be seen; at last he halts in the great square, while on their height the wretches stand to see how he will smite. 36 Nearby (whatever use it served) there lay a mighty beam of lumber on the earth; and never did Ligurian ship display a loftier mast, or of more massive girth. The knight now bore it toward the entryway with hands that of the heaviest things make mirth and like a spearsman, hurled its massive weight headlong and ponderous against the gate. 37 Of that shock, and the harder second shock, marble or steel cannot abide the jolt. He loosed the groaning hinges from the rock, he smashed the gates, he burst the lock, the bolt. No battering-ram could boast a heavier knock, nor bombard crashing down, death’s thunderbolt; and like a deluge the besiegers pour behind the victor through the open door. 38 Now wretched slaughter renders dark and dire that glorious dwelling, once God’s dwelling-place. (O Heavenly Justice, the less swift your ire, the heavier You strike down the sinful race! Your secret Providence with wrathful fire from pious hearts expunged all ruth and grace.) Now with his blood the impious pagan stained and cleansed the temple that he once profaned. 39 But meanwhile Solyman has made his stand at the great tower named for David,* where he gathers up the remnants of his band and barricades the streets both here and there. Tyrant Aladdin also flies here, and the Sultan, seeing him, says: ‘Mount the stair, great king; come in, take shelter and abide in this high stronghold, stoutly fortified,

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canto nineteen 40 ‘For from the fury of the foemen’s blades you’ll safeguard here your welfare and your state.’ ‘Ah me!’ the other cries; ‘Our powers fade! The city tumbles to barbarian hate. My life, my empire vanish in the shade. I lived and reigned once; now it is too late. Well may we say: “We were.” Now for us all the final day has come, the destined fall.’ 41 ‘My Lord, where is your valour of old?’ replied the Sultan then, with indignant disdain. ‘Let hostile fortune take our crowns, yet pride of kingship is our due, and shall remain. Still, here within, after the turmoil’s strain, let your spent, heavy limbs grow strong again.’ So said he, and commands his guards to take the agèd king within for safety’s sake. 42 Himself stands, both hands on his iron mace, his trusty sword girt at his side, to meet in the passage outside with intrepid face the Franks who storm the barricaded street. His blows are deadly, and at every pace he kills a man, or knocks him from his feet, and from the blocked square all men flee in fear seeing his horrid battle-axe draw near. 43 Lo! now, attended by his fierce escort, old Raymond of Toulouse entered the fray. Scorning the weight of those great blows, athwart the perilous pass the old man made his way. He struck the first blow, but his blow fell short. The other striker’s stroke goes less astray, and finds his brow, and knocks him down, blear-eyed, supine and quivering, with his arms spread wide. 44 At this the vanquished pagans’ hearts regained courage that had been driven out by dread. The victor Franks were pushed back; those who gained the threshold were mowed down from overhead. But the Sultan sees the prostrate duke, bloodstained, unconscious at his feet among the dead, and shouts unto his knights: ‘Inside the door bear him at once, a prisoner-of-war.’

canto nineteen 45 They stir in haste to follow his command but in that hard endeavour no man thrives, since none stands idly by of Raymond’s band, and all leap to defend him with their lives. Now pious Fealty fights with Fury, and it is no trifling argument that drives one side to rob, the other side to guard the life and freedom of so great a lord. 46 Yet the fierce Sultan would have won the field at last and wrought revenge (for in that place no choicely tempered helm, no two-plied shield suffices to oppose his thunderous mace), but that he sees new enemy help revealed, on this side and on that, coming apace, for from both ends at the same time by chance the sovereign duke * and champion knight advance. 47 Even as a shepherd, who sees round about winds, thunderclaps, and flickering lightning rage, while clouds in thousands snuff the daylight out, withdraws his flocks from open pastorage, and seeks, between solicitude and doubt, some shelter that might Heaven’s wrath assuage, and with his shouts and staff drives through the blast his flocks in front, and stays behind the last: 48 so now the pagan, who well sensed the tide had turned and heard the tempest bear down on him, and the sky on either side rent by the clash of arms, now here, now there, sends all his troop ahead of him inside the mighty tower. He brings up the rear, and then retreats, too — yet so fearlessly that even his prudence seems audacity. 49 Yet hardly have the tower gateway’s panes swung shut behind his entry, when somehow, breaching the barricade, Rinaldo gains the threshold’s edge, nor slows down even now. He is spurred by need to conquer him who reigns supreme in deeds of arms, and by his vow. For well he minds he swore to be the bane of him who dealt the death-blow to the Dane.*

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canto nineteen 50 Swift, swift indeed would his resistless hand have been on that impregnable, steep wall, nor might the Sultan who there made his stand have been quite safe from destined death at all; but the Captain for retreat now gives command, since round the whole sky’s verge the shadows fall. Godfrey makes camp in town, intending to renew the onslaught when the sun shines new. 51 He tells his men, with joyful eyes upcast: ‘Almighty God has favoured Christian might: the sum of deeds is done, the worst is past, there’s nothing left to fear, the end’s in sight. Tomorrow we will storm the tower (that last wretched recourse of pagans in their plight). Mercy meanwhile bids us be mindful where the sick and hurt await our loving care. 52 ‘Go now, tend those of you who sacrificed the blood for which this hallowed ground is sold. To do so better fits a knight of Christ than for revenge or booty to grow bold. Too many, ah! too many were enticed by easy slaughter and by greed for gold; henceforth let plunder cease and cruelty. Sound trumpets now to publish my decree.’ 53 He said no more, and went to seek the place where the count * reposed, still groaning from his blow. And Solyman with no less confident face talks to his men, masking his inward woe: ‘Be unbowed, friends, by fortune and disgrace, while blossoms of fresh hope’s in green buds grow. Beneath today’s sham semblances of fear our harm is not so grave as might appear. 54 ‘The foe commands the walls and roofs, commands the humbler folk, yet is the town still free. For in the king’s head, in your hearts, your hands the city’s essence is comprised. And see: the king is safe, safe with his choicest bands, in a bulwark proof against all battery. Let the Franks boast their triumph over void, abandoned ground. Soon they shall be destroyed.

canto nineteen 55 ‘And I am certain they will not escape, since, by their luck made insolent and blind they’ll turn to murder and loot of every shape, and harmful couplings of the vilest kind. All the more readily, amid ruin and rape, oppressed and tired with plunder, they will find, amid their crimes, falling on them the throng of Egypt’s host, and it cannot be long. 56 ‘Meanwhile our catapults will keep our foes in the high buildings of the city pent, and on each street that to the Great Tomb* goes our engines will encumber their ascent.’ Lending his strength to weary hearts, he sows among his hapless men encouragement. While these events had here transpired, Vafrin to join a thousand armed bands moved unseen. 57 Chosen to spy upon the enemy,* Vafrin set out before the setting sun. Along obscure and lonely pathways, he all night long journeyed, recognized by none. The dawn had from her orient balcony not yet emerged when he passed Ascalon; but when the sun had southward moved his lamp, he came in sight of the prodigious camp. 58 Numberless tents he saw greeting the skies with fluttering banners, purple, blue, and gold, and heard so many uncouth tongues and cries, so many drums, horns, barbarous brasses, bold snorts made by camels and elephants of huge size, and whinnies of proud steeds, so that he told himself: ‘All Africa is here, and every race of Asia has converged upon this place.’ 59 Meanwhile he first observes how strong the site of the camp was, by what sort of trench defended. Then, using neither furtive route nor sleight, but mingling with the press of folk, he wended straight through the royal gates in open sight, and sometimes questioned, and sometimes attended. His queries and his answers, quick and keen, he masks behind a bold and daring mien.

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canto nineteen 60 Hither and thither curiously he turns among the paths, the courtyards, and the tents. He watches soldiers, weapons, steeds, and learns orders, formations, names of regiments, nor stops at this, but sounds out great concerns and spies out plans and secret arguments. So well he manages his dexterous play that to the general’s * tent he finds his way. 61 Glimpsing a tear in it, he stood stock-still and heard words coming through it, and descried these were the chambers that the royal will used while in privy counsel occupied; thus the chief ’s secrets were concealed but ill from anyone who listened from outside. Vafrin, as though on other business bent, lingers, pretending to repair the tent. 62 There with bared head the captain stood, all mailed, wrapped in a crimson cloak that touched the floor. His shield and helm two nearby pages held, while he leaned lightly on the spear he bore, and fixed his eyes on one whose face exhaled malignancy, a fearsome man of war. Vafrin attends their talk, and when he hears the sound of Godfrey’s name, pricks up his ears. 63 The chief is asking: ‘Are you then so sure you can deal death to Godfrey?’ ‘Yes, I swear,’ the other says; ‘and unless I procure victory, never more will come back here. I shall outdo my fellows, and abjure every reward except one boon: to bear trophies to Cairo and there raise them high, inscribed with these few lines of poetry: 64 ‘ “These arms from the French captain, Asia’s curse, Ormond once plucked when he plucked out his soul, and hung up here, with these lines to rehearse a deed all future ages shall extol.” ’ ‘Our courteous king will scarcely be averse,’ the other said, ‘if glory be your goal, to grant that favour, certainly; but you shall find him lavish in his bounty too.

canto nineteen 65 ‘Now ready your false arms without delay; the day of battle draws exceeding near.’ ‘They’re ready now,’ he answered him. And they, their discourse ended, both fell silent here. Having heard, Vafrin remained behind to weigh, caught up between perplexity and fear, the import of their talk of dark schemes and ‘false arms’, and did not fully understand. 66 He left the spot, and spent all night awake, unwilling and afraid to close his eyes; but when he saw once more the banners shake, blown by the breezes from the dawning skies, he slipped among the marching ranks to take a place, and when they rested, did likewise. Then once again he turned from tent to tent, alert for inklings of the foe’s intent. 67 Searching about, he finds on a proud throne Armida by her knights and maids attended. She stood and sighed, preoccupied, alone, as if she with her inmost thoughts contended. Her white hand touched her cheek, above which shone her love-stars, shadowed by her lids and splendid. Whether she weeps or not he does not know, but pearly droplets in her moist eyes glow. 68 He sees the fierce Adrastus near her chair, who stands with fixed gaze as if breathless by her, and with a dazed, infatuated stare feeds eagerly his ravenous desire. But Tissaphernes shoots at him, on her, looks, now of hunger, now of wrathful fire; and in his regal features alternate the hues of burning love and icy hate. 69 Next he sees Altamor, who in his place among the damsels sits somewhat apart. Of open passion he shows not a trace, yet manages his lustful eyes with art. His furtive glances find her hand, her face, and sometimes to more guarded places dart and plunge betwixt her breasts where a tell-tale path winds below her fine and careless veil.

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canto nineteen 70 At last Armida lifts her eyes, and makes her fair brow somewhat more serene and bright; and through her clouds of gloom and grief there breaks a dazzling smile like a great gleam of light. ‘My lords,’ she said, ‘the boast you made* here wakes my soul and lets it put its woe to flight. Soon shall it be avenged, I have no fear; and wrath is sweet when sweet revenge is near.’ 71 The Indian * answers: ‘Ah, for God’s sake, free your face and heart of woe! Be comforted. Right soon shall come the time when you will see lie at your feet Rinaldo’s hateful head, or he by this avenging hand shall be haled to you as your prisoner instead. This have I sworn.’ The other, hearing all, is silent, though his heart is choked with gall. 72 She, eyeing Tissaphern with winsome cheer, demands: ‘And you, my lord, what do you say?’ He feigns reply: ‘Since I’m the laggard here, I’ll follow from afar the dreadnaught way of this your gallant, fearsome cavalier.’ Pricked by the bitter sting these words betray, the Indian shoots back: ‘With good reason you lag far behind, who fear to dare and do!’ 73 Then Tissaphernes proudly tossed his head: ‘Ah! that my will were mine now, and I here had free reign of this sword of mine!’ he said; ‘Which of us lags behind would soon appear. I fear you not; your boasts I do not dread — though Heaven’s and Love’s displeasure make me fear.’ He said no more. Incensed, Adrastus rose, but here Armida moved to interpose. 74 Cried she: ‘Ah, gentlemen, why do you take from me that gift you often gave before? You are my champions, and that fact should make for peace among you. You must know, therefore, you quarrel with me by quarrelling for my sake; I am the injured party when you jar.’ So says she, and in harmony controls under her iron yoke discordant souls.

canto nineteen 75 Vafrin is there and hears it all, his mind intent on truth. At last he turns to go and probes the great conspiracy, to find it wrapped in silence. Moving to and fro, he even risks questions of a perilous kind, and peril sharpens his resolve to know. He is determined either there to die or to bear back the secret by and by. 76 Thousands of subterfuges one by one he tries, thousands of subtle schemes of thought, and yet despite them finds dark and unknown the means or weapons of the secret plot. But luck (as he himself could not have done) of all his doubts at last unties the knot, so that he understands, distinct and plain, what nets are spread for pious Bouillon’s bane. 77 He had turned back where the fair enemy still sat among her champion knights, for here he saw an ample opportunity to question folk of every rank and sphere. To a lady there he turns familiarly as though he knew her, letting it appear that former friendship made him bold to seek her out, and affably began to speak. 78 He said to her, as if in jest: ‘I too would like to champion some fair dame, to fight for her and with my sword swear to undo Rinaldo’s head or Bouillon’s, as is right — indeed I would! Just ask of me, if you wish it, the head of any barbarous knight.’ Thus he begins, intending by degrees to steer the joke to graver thoughts than these. 79 But as he laughed and feigned a merry cheer, he gestured in an old, distinctive way. Another lady just then drawing near heard him, looked closely, and came up to say: ‘Be pleased to steal away with me from here. No trifling lover’s office shall you play: I choose you for my champion. Step apart, my knight, and let us parley heart-to-heart.’

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canto nineteen 80 She drew him off and said: ‘I know you well, Vafrin. I think you ought to know me too.’ Disturbed at heart, the clever squire fell to smiling once more, saying: ‘Who are you? We never met, so far as I can tell, though I must say you are well worth the view. This much I know, but different from my own is the name you called me, and to me unknown. 81 ‘Upon sunlit Bizerta’s seacoast, I was sired by Lesbin* and named Almanzor.’ ‘Tuscan,’ she said, ‘we’re long acquainted. Why play guessing-games? Let us pretend no more. I am your friend. Trust me, for I would die rather than see you perish in this war. I am princess Erminia; Tancred gave me to your keeping * once, his captive slave. 82 ‘During two joyful months in that dear jail you, kindly jailer, had my warder’s place, and served me courteously without fail. Yes, I am she,* I am; look at my face.’ The squire had hardly looked, when he grew pale, surprised her gracious countenance to trace. ‘You are safe with me,’ she added thereupon; ‘I swear it by this heaven, by this sun. 83 ‘Indeed, when you return, I wish — I pray that back to my dear chains you carry me. Many a troubled night and gloomy day I, wretch, have lived in bitter liberty. And if you’ve come to spy, then let me say that we meet here by blessed destiny. I know of a conspiracy that your eyes could scarcely have discovered otherwise.’ 84 She speaks, but he is silent, ill at ease. He thinks of false Armida’s cunning pride. ‘A woman is a babbler and a tease, and fools will in her fickle will confide,’ he tells himself. ‘Come with me, if you please,’ he says to her at last, ‘I’ll be your guide. When we are gone, we may find (I suggest) some better time to talk about the rest.’

canto nineteen 85 Since any moment now the army may strike camp, they are agreed at once to ride. Vafrin moves from the tent; she goes to stay back with the others until eventide. Somewhile she chatters in a jesting way of her new champion, and then slips outside. At the appointed place they meet again and leave the great camp for the open plain. 86 At last they come to a far distant place. At last the Saracen tents are lost from view. And now he asks her: ‘Tell me in what ways they spread their nets good Godfrey to undo.’ And she to him unfolded all the base design of the conspiracy she knew. ‘There are’, she says, ‘eight knights of rank and name, of whom bold Ormond is best known to fame. 87 ‘These (by ambition spurred, or hate) conspire with this device to gain their treacherous end: on the day when the two mighty hosts in dire pitched fight for Asia’s empire shall contend, they will set out in French arms and attire, with crosses on their escutcheons, and pretend to be of Godfrey’s picked guard, riding bold, caparisoned like them in white and gold. 88 ‘But each shall bear some sign upon his crest to mark him out to his own pagan crew. Then, when the mingling hosts are hardest pressed, they’ll track him down, and, when he is in view, wreak their foul treason on his valiant breast, seeming like friends of his own retinue; and with envenomed sword-points will they fight, so that each wound will make a lethal bite. 89 ‘And since even to pagans it is known that in your arms and ways I have some skill, the false coats were by my hands to be sewn; and I was forced to it, for good or ill. These are the reasons why I now, alone, desert their camp and their imperious will. I scorn their baseness and abhor to be tainted by any act of treachery.

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canto nineteen 90 ‘These are my reasons, but not only these...’ Here she fell silent, and flushed red, and bent her fair gaze groundward, seeming ill at ease, as though these last hints made her diffident. The squire, eager from her shame to squeeze some clear confession of the thing she meant, said: ‘You of little faith, wherefore conceal from your true servant the distress you feel?’ 91 At this, a deep sigh from her bosom came, and trembling, broken-voiced, she made reply: ‘O ill-concealed and most untimely Shame, be gone, this is no place for you. Ah! why should you still seek to hide, beneath your flame, Love’s flame, and vainly make me coy or shy? Such was my duty once, but not today, since as a damsel-errant now I stray.’ 92 She added then: ‘On that night,* fateful to me and my conquered homeland, I lost more than then appeared; for from that misery grew that greater misery which I now deplore. My crown is a small loss; yet with it, too, I lost my self, that nothing can restore: for then, poor fool, I lost beyond recall my mind, my heart, my senses — lost them all. 93 ‘Vafrin, you know that I, distraught to see such slaughter and such pillage, ran unto your lord and mine, when in full armour he burst in my palace, first among his crew, and knelt before him, uttering this plea: “Invincible conqueror, I appeal to you! Have mercy! Take my life, but use your power to let me keep my maiden honour’s flower.” 94 ‘He took my hand in his and did not wait to hear out my entreaty to the end: “Fair maid, your prayer has come none too late, for I myself shall guard you like a friend.” A sweetness then, I know not what, sank straight into my heart and lodged there, to ascend, circling, I know not how, in spire on spire, to make my troubled soul one wound, one fire.

canto nineteen 95 ‘And often later, when he visited, he grieved with me, consoled me in my care. “I give you complete liberty,” he said, nor asked of all my spoils a single share. Alas! his bounty proved a theft instead: myself I lost, finding my freedom there. He, yielding back my crown, my lesser part, seized and usurped the kingdom of my heart. 96 ‘Ah, hard is love to hide. For as I pined I often asked you where my lord did go. You knew the tokens of my helpless mind, and said, “You burn with love, Erminia.” “No!” I told you then, but my hot sighs combined to bear more truthful witness to my woe. Perhaps my eyes, though not my words, betrayed the flame that on my inmost bosom preyed. 97 ‘Cursed silence! I could have at least appealed for some slight balm to ease my agony, since later the desire with which I reeled would at last burst the bit so bootlessly. In short, I left, and bore my wounds concealed deep in my breast, convinced that I would die. At last to bring some respite from my pains, Love crushed all scruples and relaxed the reins. 98 ‘To find my lord* I set out — I, who bled from the wound he made, sought for his healing hand. I found my way barred, as I onward sped, by a most villainous and ruthless band, and nearly fell a prey to them, but fled into a faraway and secret land, where among forest folk I came to dwell, a shepherdess in a secluded dell. 99 ‘But after my desire, long restrained by fear, revived and drove me forth, just when I had the same place as before regained, the same mishap befell me once again. This time I could not flee, because these men snatched me so quickly that no help remained. Thus was I captured, and my captors were Egyptians on their way to Gaza here.

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canto nineteen 100 ‘They gave me to their captain, who, my name once known to him, procured me grace inviolate and free from harm to claim among Armida’s train an honoured place. Thus often in another’s power I came and got away. Behold my hapless case: oft bound and often freed, this maid remains still in the power of her earliest chains. 101 ‘If only he, who tied them round my soul so none will ever break them, might not say: “Go, errant damsel, seek some other goal,” unwilling that with him I make my stay, but kindly with my wretched state condole and in my former prison let me stay!’ So said Erminia, and they journeyed on in converse all that night and the next dawn. 102 Vafrin left the more travelled road behind, choosing a safer or a shorter trail. Near sunset, as the east grows dark they find close to the city walls a little vale. The road grows black with blood there and, reclined in the blood, they see a dead knight, grim and pale. His trunk blocks the whole path, his monstrous head glares at the sky, still threatening it, though dead. 103 His style of armour and his strange attire showed him a pagan. Passing him, Vafrin saw another knight lie prostrate, and the squire, with sudden apprehension and chagrin, thought: ‘That’s a Christian knight.’ His black attire alarmed him, and much else. Troubled within, he jumps from the saddle and bares his face, and cries, ‘Alas! alas! here Tancred murdered lies.’ 104 To look at the fierce knight, the hapless dame had lagged behind and stayed somewhat apart, when through the air that grieving outcry came and pierced her like an arrow to the heart. She rushed up at the sound of Tancred’s name, dazed like one mad or drunk, and with a start beheld the drained and noble face. She stepped down from her palfrey’s saddle — no, she leapt,

canto nineteen 105 threw herself on his body, letting rain infinite sobs and words of bitter teen: ‘To what sad pass, what sight of woe and pain has Fortune lured me hither in her spleen? I find you, so long lost, at last again. I see you, Tancred, and I am not seen, not seen by you, though finding you so near, and, finding you, lose you forever here. 106 ‘I never dreamed (ah, wretch!) that I could find a cause to look on you without delight. Gladly I’d gouge my eyes out and be blind rather than see you thus. Ah, cursed sight! Those lovely eyes, so cruel and so kind, where has their fire, their proud gleam taken flight? Those rosy cheeks, that calm and noble brow — where have they gone? Where are they hidden now? 107 ‘But what? Though you lie pale and wan, you please. Beautiful soul, if you still linger there, if you hear my lament, ah! pardon these desires of mine the theft they make me dare: one cold kiss from your pallid lips I’ll seize — who hoped for warmer ones; so will I tear from them some portion due to Death, kissing these lips now drained of blood and breath. 108 ‘Merciful mouth, who with your solace could, while you were living, all my sorrows heal, let it be licit for my maidenhood the solace of a parting kiss to feel. Of old, if I had dared to ask, you would perhaps have given what I am forced to steal. Let our embrace be licit now, and I shall pour my soul between your lips and die. 109 ‘Receive my follower soul, and escort her to that dark dwelling where your own soul goes.’ So says she, sobbing, melting (as it were) to a river that from her brimming eyelids flows. Washed by that fresh dew, he begins to stir and (look!) his languid lips somewhat unclose. He parts his lips, not opening his eyes, and breathes a sigh that mingles with her sighs.

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canto nineteen 110 The lady hears the knight groan by and by, and takes perforce some slight encouragement: ‘Open your eyes,’ she cries, ‘and witness my last exequies for you; heed my lament. Look how I yearn to follow, how to die here by your side I should be most content. Or look but long enough to bid adieu — this is the final gift I ask of you.’ 111 Tancred’s eyes open, but close right away, heavy and dark, and she is weeping still. ‘This man’s not dying,’ she hears Vafrin say; ‘first tend his illness; then weep, if you will.’ He strips him of his armour where he lay and she with trembling hands assists his skill. She probes his wounds and, being long inured in leech-craft, comes to hope he may be cured. 112 She sees that sheer exhaustion made him ail, and that from loss of blood his nature smarts; but she finds nothing near her but her veil to wrap his gashes in these far-off parts. Love taught her with strange swathings to prevail and made her mercy learn unusual arts: she dried and bound his wounds up with her hair, the very tresses she had wished to tear, 113 because her veil is far too fine and too scanty to bind his countless injuries. Crocus and dittany* had she none, but knew of potent magic charms to give him ease. He wakes from deadly sleep. He lifts in view his eloquent and brilliant eyes, and sees his faithful squire, and sees the pitying maid bent over him, in foreign dress arrayed. 114 ‘Vafrin, how came you here, and when?’ he sighed; ‘And you, my kind physician, who are you?’ She, panting between joy and doubt, replied, her fair face flushing with a rosy hue: ‘You shall know all, but now be satisfied to lie still as your doctor bids you to. You shall have health; prepare the fee,’ she said and made her lap a bolster for his head.

canto nineteen 115 Vafrin the while is pondering how he might find shelter for him before nightfall, when a company of warriors comes in sight, whom he knows instantly as Tancred’s men. When Tancred met with the Circassian knight* and challenged him, they had been there, and then, at his command, followed him not. But they searched for him when he stayed too long away. 116 And many others sought him too, but he by these was found at last. Soon they drew close and with their joined arms fashioned presently a sort of a seat on which he could repose. Then Tancred cried: ‘Shall valorous Argant be abandoned here, a prey to carrion crows? Ah! God forbid that any man so brave be robbed of honour and a decent grave! 117 ‘Our quarrel is done, he being overthrown. He died as brave men should, hence let him find the honour that is owed him, which alone on earth survives the death of humankind.’ Thus, with all minds according with his own, he has his adversary borne behind. Vafrin comes after by the lady’s side, in the manner of a seasoned guard or guide. 118 The prince then added: ‘Let us make our way to the royal city rather than my tent; for if my life’s frail powers should decay then let them fail me there; I am content. Dying where the Immortal Man* died may lighten my poor soul’s heavenward ascent, and one devout thought will requite my soul: to end my pilgrimage at my plighted goal.’ 119 So said he, and is thither borne and laid on beds of down, where sleep soon shuts his eyes. Not far off, Vafrin also for the maid finds seemly, secret lodging. Then he hies to the pavilion where good Godfrey stayed and finds that no man his approach denies, although the Captain, as he comes in sight, is weighing plans for the impending fight.

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canto nineteen 120 The duke was seated on the bed’s edge, where Raymond reclined with weakened limbs and sore, ringed by a noble crown of lords whose care and power and wisdom were most apt for war. Now, while the squire was speaking, all men there, from questioning and from enquiry forbore. He said: ‘As you commanded, Sire, I found the infidel camp and had a look around. 121 ‘Do not expect me to count up for you the infinite numbers of this monstrous host. I saw, when it passed by, that from my view the valleys, plains, and mountain heights were lost; I saw that where it comes, it burns right through the land’s fruit, dries up streams from coast to coast, since for its thirst no waters will suffice, and Syria’s crops are swallowed in a trice. 122 ‘But, horse or foot, most of these troops are not much use. Mere savage hordes that mill and jar, they know of martial order not a jot, a swordless rabble wounding from afar. Yet there are some choice fighters in the lot who under Persia’s banners* marched to war, and another squadron, more worth mentioning, called the “Immortal Squadron of the King”.* 123 ‘They call themselves “Immortal” since these men never admit a vacancy, not one, but on the instant choose a new man when some place falls empty in their echelon. The captain of the army, Emiren, in strength and shrewdness has few peers, or none. Him has the king charged to use every art to tempt you to pitched battle from the start. 124 ‘And soon, I trust, the enemy will be led hitherward, nor the second day await. And you, Rinaldo, hear me: guard your head, at which so many of them fulminate; for all the fiercest, their most nobly bred against it whet their sharp swords and their hate, because Armida pledged to yield that lord who cuts it off herself as a reward.

canto nineteen 125 ‘Among them is that Persian bold and free, Altamor, Samarkand’s monarch, of huge force; Adrastus too, whose realm abuts the sea* at the Dawn’s verge — a giant, huge and coarse, ever a stranger to humanity, who curbs an elephant as if a horse; and Tissaphern is there as well, whose name for valorous deeds resounds with sovereign fame.’ 126 So said he, and the youth,* his eyes ablaze in his flushed face, wishes his enemies already all about him and seems in a daze, overmastered by great thoughts and ill at ease. Back to the Captain Vafrin turned his gaze and added: ‘Sire, mere trifling things are these. The crowning news comes last: my lord, beware! they plot your ruin by a Judas snare.’ 127 And he, proceeding point by point, recalls the web of treachery woven by the foe: the weapons, poison, threatening boasts, the false arms, and the prize pledged for the fatal blow. Much questioned, he replies; and then there falls silence among them for a while or so. At last the Captain stirs, lifting his brow and asks: ‘Raymond, what is your counsel now?’ 128 And he: ‘As we agreed before, I say no new offensive should at dawn be tried, but let the tower * be attacked straightaway, whose warders cannot choose but stay inside, and let our army meanwhile rest a day to gather strength before the battle’s tide. Then may you judge which is the better course: to play for time, or to use open force. 129 ‘Still, one concern weighs heaviest in the scale: you must think of yourself. The men by your command alone will conquer and prevail. Who else can guide or render them secure? To make the traitors’ false insignia fail, command your guards to change their vestiture; Thus will their plot against you be revealed in that same ruse by which it is concealed.’

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canto nineteen 130 ‘You have shown’, replies the Captain, ‘your well-tried good-will and wisdom; I approve of all. The things you leave in doubt I’ll now decide. For one last sally against the foe I call: no trench shall cover and no wall shall hide the glorious host that made the whole East fall. Our valour to these churls shall be revealed in broadest daylight, in the open field. 131 ‘For they will fall. The mere report of our deeds cows them, to say nothing of the might of our proud faces and our arms. Their power will perish; our dominion is in sight. Moreover, they will quickly yield their tower. If not, the task of storming it is slight.’ He ceases and withdraws, for now the deep stillness at starset summons men to sleep.

Canto Twenty 1 Already had the sun roused men to toil, already of the day ten hours had passed,* when the band on the great tower saw something coil on the land’s verge, a shadow vague and vast, like evening mist that creeps over the soil, and knew the allied host was come at last, dimming with dust the heavens all around and covering hills and dales and level ground. 2 Then the besieged troops lifted up their cries from their high perch to heaven. (Even so a flock of clamorous cranes* whoops as it flies from Thracian nests through clouds when the days grow harsher, in search of less inclement skies — they flee the chill winds, shrieking as they go.) For now that newfound hope dispels their fear, each hand is quick to shoot, each tongue to jeer. 3 The Franks soon guess the reason for this new outburst of angry threats and loud uproar, and reconnoitring on high ground, they view the huge and mighty army from afar. At once high ardour springs up to imbue their fierce breasts with the urge for instant war. The noble youths grow fretful and repine: ‘Invincible Duke,’ they all cry, ‘give the sign!’ 4 But the sage chief bars offering battle then and till the next day curbs their eagerness. He bars even brief forays by his men to try what force the enemy might possess. ‘Good cause’, said he, ‘that you should rest again one whole day, after yesterday’s duress.’ (Perhaps he also wished to feed a sense in the foe of foolish overconfidence.)

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canto twenty 5 All now make ready and await with keen impatience the new light’s returning ray. Never was air more clear or more serene than at the birth of that momentous day: Dawn smiled, as though rejoicing in the sheen of the sun’s rising rays that blazed her way, and Heaven, unveiled, shone with a stronger light to view the glorious deeds of that great fight. 6 Seeing that golden day dawn, clear and fair, Godfrey leads out the host in his command; but round the Palestinian tyrant’s lair he stations Raymond with the faithful band of Syrian Christians* who were brought up there to join the liberators of their land (a not small number), and he also bade a troop of Gascons stay to lend them aid. 7 He goes forth, and the supreme leader’s face inspires the certitude of victory. Bathed in the freshening light of Heaven’s grace he moves with more than wonted majesty: Honour shines in his brow, blent with a trace of first youth’s blush. He rides out gloriously and from his shape, his bearing, and his eyes a splendour more than mortal seems to rise. 8 But he has not gone far when, just ahead, the pagan camp confronts him. He decides to occupy a hill whose broad slopes spread rearward and to the left; and then he guides his troops into the plain, with measured tread, broad at the front and narrow at the sides, the centre packed with footmen, rank on rank, and wings of cavalry on either flank. 9 On the left wing, that hugs the steep incline of the captured hill and is protected there, he puts the Roberts,* both of kingly line. He entrusts the centre to his brother’s care. He himself stays on the right, near the confine of the open plain, that dangerous quarter where the foe, whose troops outnumber his, might try to hedge him in and gain the day thereby.

canto twenty 10 And here he puts his Lorraine men, here leads his best-equipped and choicest troops, here he spreads archer infantry among the steeds, expert to shoot from cover of cavalry. Of the Adventurer champions* he proceeds to form a squad with others presently, and near the right wing has them take their stand and wait there, with Rinaldo in command, 11 to whom he says: ‘In you, my lord, reside the victory and the brunt of the affair. Hold back your troops for now and have them hide near the broad wing that flanks the army there. But when the foe approaches, bid them ride to the assault and frustrate all his care. Unless I am wrong, he this way means to veer to encircle us and smite our flanks and rear.’ 12 Then, as if winged, he gallops through the arrays of horse and foot along the battle-lines. His open visor his whole face displays. His eyes flash lightning and his visage shines. He utters words of comfort and of praise; he bids the bold to mind their boasts, inclines the brave to braver deeds, and feeds the flame of hope for booty or for martial fame. 13 At last he halted where the mightiest and noblest squads were gathered, peer on peer, and standing on a great height he addressed the host, while rapture seized on every ear. As in great torrents from an alpine crest the melted snows rush down, so swift and clear poured from his lips, loud and magnificent, the words of his resounding argument: 14 ‘O scourge of Jesus’ enemies! O you, my army,* tamers of the East! Behold! The final day is here, the goal in view that all of you so long yearned for of old. Now Providence permits His rebels to unite against us in a single fold. Here all our foes are gathered and we go to finish many wars with one great blow.

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canto twenty 15 ‘We shall gain many victories in one, nor shall our toil or danger be the more. Let none fear their superior might, let none falter to see them in such numbers pour. Ill-trained and fractious, they, when all is done, shall snare themselves in their own nets of war. Of those who strike, the number shall be small. Some shall lack heart; some, space; and all shall fall. 16 ‘Most of our foes are feckless renegades, men without armour, strength, or warlike skill, whom from their leisure and their slavish trades only compulsion parts for good or ill. I see their trembling shields, their trembling blades. I see their trembling banners, never still. I hear them groan and stir, in nightmares tossed. I know by well-known tokens: they are lost. 17 ‘That general, decked in purple and gold, so sure and fierce in look, who leads them into fight, may once have trounced some Arab or some Moor, but has no valour to resist our might. What can he do, though cunning, to procure order and keep that mingled horde from flight? He is little known, knows few under his care whom he can tell: “Remember, we were there.” 18 ‘But I am captain of a chosen band. We fought together day by day, and we triumphed together under my command. Whose land, whose lineage here’s unknown to me? whose sword? What arrow issues from your hand but I, even as it hangs in air, will see if it be French, or Irish — yea, and know the very arm of him who let it go? 19 ‘I ask for nothing new. Let each man here act like the man whom I so well recall; with his accustomed zeal let him revere his honour and mine and Christ’s — Christ’s above all. Go, fell those fiends! crush them in full career, and seal the holy conquest with their fall. Why hold you back? What more is there to say? I see it in your eyes: you have won the day.’

canto twenty 20 As he concluded words like these, a light, lucid and calm, seemed to descend on him, even as at times a silent summer night shakes from her cloak a star or lightning gleam. But this one seemed to issue from the bright core of the sun itself, and beam on beam circled his head and spun, suspended. (Some thought this an omen of the crown to come.)* 21 Perhaps (if a presumptuous mortal tongue may touch on mysteries and holy things) his guardian angel swept down from among celestial choirs to shield him with his wings. While Godfrey thus ordained the Christian throng and to his bands such hopeful counsel brings, the Egyptian captain also was intent to issue orders and encouragement. 22 He led his squadrons forth, when he had seen the Frankish people coming from afar, and he too placed his infantry between cavalry wings like mighty horns of war. The right wing he himself led, sage and keen; the left he puts in charge of Altamor; the foot between them Muleasses guides, and in their very midst Armida rides. 23 By his right, the leader kept the Indian king* with Tissaphernes and his retinue. But facing the broad plain, where the left wing was poised to swoop out, Altamor withdrew Persia’s and Libya’s kings, and the two who bring from the world’s hottest climes* their swarthy crew. Slings, crossbows, longbows they from there with ease could whirl and discharge at their enemies. 24 So Emiren deploys them. He too went galloping through the ranks, he too confers praise and reproof, reward and punishment, now by himself, now through interpreters. He says to one: ‘Why look so diffident, my man? Why fear? How can one of these curs withstand a hundred? Surely they will fly at our mere shadow or our battle-cry.’

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canto twenty 25 To another then: ‘Brave fellow, wear that face when you reclaim what they have seized in prey!’ In one man’s mind he makes the fancy trace his homeland’s very shape, who seems to pray, a frightened suppliant, for his native race and all his kin, in terror and dismay. ‘Think’, said he, ‘that your Country on her knees pleads with you through my tongue in words like these: 26 ‘ “Defend my laws, keep safe my temples, and let not my blood the holy thresholds douse. Preserve the virgins from the infidel’s hand and the ancestral ashes of your house. Lo! mourning spent youth, all the old men stand and show you their white hairs. Behold! Your spouse shows you the cradle, shows the children fed by her chaste breast, shows you the nuptial bed.” ’ 27 To countless others: ‘Asia bids you be her honour’s champions. She expects of you to make these few barbarian robbers see your harsh but just revenge, long overdue.’ By various arts, in various speeches he thus urges into fight his various crew. Both leaders now are silent, and each line draws near the other, waiting for the sign. 28 Ah! what a grand and awe-inspiring sight! when the two armies met, their companies in dense-packed squadrons poised to charge and fight at the given signal! Now the ensigns seize their flags and spread them to the wind and light; plumes on great helmets flutter in the breeze; shields, blazons, arms, and banners manifold shine in the sun, or glint with steel and gold. 29 Like giant woods with tall trees thickly pressed, the spears of either host rise from the ground. The bows are drawn, the lances put in rest, the javelins shake, the slings are whirling round, and every steed, impatient for the test, miming his master’s fury, paws the ground, and stamps his hooves and neighs and rears up higher, his nostrils flaring, breathing smoke and fire.

canto twenty 30 So fair a sight makes even horror fair, rousing delight even as it causes fear; and though with horror the shrill trumpets blare, their savage sound is thrilling to the ear. Yet do the faithful, though outnumbered there, seem more sublime to look upon and hear. Their trumps in clearer tones proclaim their might; their armour gleams with a superior light. 31 The Christian trumps resounded first; anon the others answered, ready to oppose. The Franks knelt, kissed the ground they knelt upon, looked heavenward in reverence, and rose. The field between has shrunk by half, is gone, and now the two great hosts begin to close. Already there’s fierce scuffling on the flanks, while the centre rushes forward in closed ranks. 32 What Christian knight became the first one who won praise and matchless honour with the best? You were, Gildippe:* yea! Your spear thrust through Hyrcanus, king of Ormuz, as he pressed forward (such glory Heaven granted to a woman’s hand) and cleft his mighty breast. Transfixed, he falls, and hears, while falling low, his foemen shout and praise the fatal blow. 33 Gripping her sword with manly hand, the maid, dropping her shattered lance, now spurs her steed into the Persians’ tightly packed brigade, and rakes and bursts their closed ranks in her speed. At Zophyr’s waist she slashed out with her blade; cut into halves, he topples like a weed. Then, piercing cruel Alarco’s throat, she hewed through the twin passageway of speech and food. 34 One sideways slash fells Artaxerxes and one stab dispatches Argeos. Then she at Ishmael’s left wrist cuts the pliant band that joins it to the arm, and instantly the loose reins slip from out the severed hand; the blow falls near the courser’s ears and he, feeling the bridle in his power, jolts the ranks into confusion as he bolts.

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canto twenty 35 All these and more, whose great names disappear in the mist of ancient times, she robbed of life. The Persians rally and, gathering at her rear, keen for her glorious spoils, renew the strife. But now her faithful spouse in tender fear rides to the aid of his beloved wife. Thus joined upon the field, the faithful pair with doubled strength attest their loving care. 36 The strange, rare art of their defence affords for generous love a noble precedent. Both their own guard neglect, and each one wards only the buffets for the other meant. She, eager warrior-maid, beats back the swords aimed at her love, harsh and malevolent; he holds his shield to keep her head from blows, and would at need his own bare head oppose. 37 Each sees doom threatened in the other’s doom; each deals out vengeance in the other’s name. He strikes down dead bold Artaban, by whom Boekhan’s isle is ruled; and with the same hand topples Alvant headlong to his tomb, who dared to offer to attack his dame. She clove, eyebrow to eyebrow, Arimont, whose sword was making for her true love’s front. 38 Thus they go slaughtering Persians. But the king of Samarkand* slaughters more Franks, for he, wherever his sword or steed went ravaging, killed, struck down horse and foot remorselessly. And better was a quick death, than to bring a huge horse down upon you and to be crushed by his weight, if wounds have left you breath, and bitten, trampled on, or bruised to death. 39 Altamor’s thrusts left dead upon the scene stout Brunellon and great Ardonio. In one, a ghastly cleft appeared between helmet and skull, caused by a murderous blow. The other lay transfixed just where the spleen expands the heartstrings to make laughter grow, so that (weird sight and horrible) wide-eyed he laughed despite himself and, laughing, died.

canto twenty 40 Not these alone, but others by the score his ruinous blade did from the world translate. In one great flock were driven through death’s door Gentonio, Guasco, Rosmond, Guy the Great. Who could recount how many Altamor struck down, and crushed beneath his courser’s weight? Who name his countless victims? Who recite the manners of their wounds, their deaths aright? 41 No man now dares that cruel man engage or even move his way from far afield. Only Gildippe turned to face his rage, in doubtful fight, determined not to yield. No Pontic* Amazon of the iron age employed her mace so well or gripped her shield so boldly, as she boldly stood to halt the dreadful Persian’s furious assault. 42 She struck him where atop his helmet gleamed a barbarous diadem of enamelled gold and broke and scattered it. He never dreamed to bow, as now he must. His blood ran cold. That blow from a more famous hand, he deemed, should have been dealt, as shame and spleen took hold. Not long he lingered to avenge the crime, for shame and vengeance came at the same time. 43 And in a trice he struck out at her face with a blow so violent that it dazed her brain. Sapped of all strength and sense, and held in place by her faithful husband’s hands, she dropped in pain. But this (be it by their fortune, or their grace) sufficed their foe. He did not strike again. (So a magnanimous lion looks upon a prostrate man, disdainful, and is gone.) 44 In the meantime Ormond, to whose savage hand the foul task falls, has ridden up; now he in false insignia* joins the Christian band with his associates in conspiracy. So wolves at night, while dark mists hide the land, who would seem like dogs, encircle furtively the fold and, as they paw and sniff the pales, beneath their bellies tuck their suspect tails.

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canto twenty 45 Now they drew near; and close to Godfrey’s side the pagan lurked; but the good Captain’s eyes were not deceived, and he at once espied the gold-and-white of their forged panoplies. ‘Behold! The traitor has arrived!’ he cried; ‘Behold his simulated Frankish guise! Behold his minions plotting for my death!’ and charged the treacherous knight in the same breath. 46 The man was doomed. The villain stands and stares, nor strikes, nor shields himself, nor flees. Undone, like one who sees a Gorgon’s head* and dares to meet its gaze, he turns to ice and stone. All swords, spears, quivers then they unawares find aimed at them, discharged at them alone, till Ormond and his henchmen piecemeal lie, no corpse being left unmangled as they die. 47 Godfrey, his armour flecked with stain on stain of enemy blood, now joins the fight and turns near where the Persian chief with might and main through densely packed formations storms and burns, sending the French troops reeling through the plain like Libyan dust that Auster swirls and churns. He rushes on, chiding his own men, and, checking the hunted, makes the hunter stand. 48 And now their sword-arms deal out blows more rude than Ida or Scamander* ever spied. Elsewhere a bitter fight on foot ensued where Baldwin with huge Muleasses vied, and, no less fierce, the equestrian multitude clashed near the hill, on the far other side, where the barbarian general makes a stand with an Asian tyrant upon either hand.* 49 One of the Roberts and the general with equal strength strive; neither can prevail, though the Indian makes the other’s helmet fall and pounds his armour, smashing his chain-mail. Tissaphern, finding none whom he would call his match in single combat, like a flail seeks out the densest press and hews and slays and mingles death with death in countless ways.

canto twenty 50 Thus went the fight. In dubious balance hung the scales, suspended between hope and fear. The field is strewn with cracked shields, bows unstrung, slit harness, splintered lances, shattered gear; with swords in opened bellies left, or flung aside, or thrust through chests from front to rear, with corpses supine, or with faces thrust earthward as though they yearned to taste the dust. 51 The steed lies near his lord, the comrade lies athwart his friend, the foe lies motionless near his slain foes. Victor and victim dies, dead bodies on still-breathing bodies press. It is not silent, and you hear no cries, but a nameless rustling — mutters of distress, hisses of fury mingled with the sighing and gasping of the wounded and the dying. 52 The weapons, once so pleasing to the sight, now make a dreary and distressing show: The steel forgets its glint, the gold its light, each lovely hue spoiled of its former glow. Now all things comely, decorous, and bright in crest or trim lie trampled down below. Dust covers all that is not drenched in gore, and neither host seems what it was before. 53 The Arabs, Moors, and Ethiops, who manned the leftmost wing, at length fanned out and poured their multitudes toward the open land, then wheeled around their foe’s flank, while a horde of archers and of slingers took their stand to gall the Frankish host; but thitherward Rinaldo and his troop now shape their course, like thunder or an earthquake in their force. 54 Assímir of Meroë was the best of sun-burnt Ethiop warriors, whom he led. Rinaldo smote his black neck where the chest joined it, and sent his corpse among the dead. That victory seemed but a taste, to test of how his thirst for carnage might be fed; and now the furious conqueror achieved feats monstrous, dreadful, scarce to be believed.

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canto twenty 55 He dealt more deaths than he dealt strokes, and still rained down a ceaseless tempest, blow on blow. As a snake seems triple-tongued when, poised to kill, her single tongue darts from her jaws, even so the frightened mob believes (such is his skill) that three blades in each lightning sally glow. The eye sees falsely, by sheer speed deceived; and fear makes fraud more readily believed. 56 The Libyan tyrants and the Negro kings he stretched out dead, each in the other’s gore. Roused by his deeds, his famous war-band springs upon the others with horrific roar. The infidels, panicked by their threatenings, stand frozen, cursing, and soon are no more. That was no fight, but slaughter: one side smote with swords, the other countered with the throat. 57 But not for long they meet them face to face, or take their wounds in front at honour’s call. The mob flees, and such fright holds them in chase that all their ranks dissolve, and break, and fall. But he pursues them, never checking pace till he has shattered and dispersed them all. Then the swift victor’s rage abates, and he is least incensed with those who fastest flee. 58 As wind against some hill or forest roars and hurls redoubled blasts and gusts of rain, but then more pleasantly and gently pours its softened breath across the open plain; as breakers froth and boil on craggy shores, but spread in calm rings on the boundless main, so, as the force grows less that blocks his path, Rinaldo moderates and checks his wrath. 59 Since he disdained on fleeing backs to waste his noble anger’s power, he began to attack the infantry that had been placed next to the Arab and the African, whose flank now lay exposed to him, unbraced by the supporting troops that fell or ran. Turning their swords upon that tramping throng, his men-at-arms charged broadside and headlong.

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60 Smashing their spears and stumbling-blocks, they pierce their lines, which fall and crumble, overborne by the first onset’s shock. (With force less fierce tempest or hail beats down the swaying corn.) Soon underfoot thick blood congeals and smears a floor of limbs and weapons, crushed and torn. The galloping horsemen without pity ride, trampling across it, and pass on, cold-eyed. 61 Rinaldo came where on her gilded car Armida sat in bellicose attire, at either side of her for escort are her barons and her lovers gathered nigh her. She knows his bearings, sees him from afar. Wrath trembles in her eyes, and mad desire. His features blanch with a faint trace of shame; her heart is ice that quickly turns to flame. 62 The knight avoids her chariot, feigns to be intent upon some unrelated thing, yet cannot now without a fight get free of his sworn rivals in her following. One draws his sword, one lifts his spear, and she already fits an arrow to her string. Wrath makes her fingers eager to attack, but Love assuages spite and holds her back. 63 Love rose against mad Wrath to make him know the fire that lived concealed within her heart. Three times she stretched her hand to bend the bow; three times she dropped it with a sudden start. Hatred prevailed at last, and she let go the bowstring to release the feathered dart. The arrow flew, but with it flew her prayer that it be spent in vain upon the air. 64 She even wished the sharp dart would return and pierce her own heart — so her thoughts did run, so strangely Love, though conquered, made her yearn. (Now what might Love triumphant not have done?) Then she repents, and her thoughts once more burn with the same rage in which they had begun. Fearing to wound, eager to wound, her eyes follow the speeding arrow as it flies.

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canto twenty 65 But the shot’s aim was good, for the sharp reed made for the knight’s hard hauberk, which it hit too fiercely for a woman’s shaft indeed, but splintered there rather than piercing it. He turns his back, pretending not to heed, and she, spurred on by sudden rage, lets flit dart after dart to wound his heart or head, but as she shoots, Love wounds her heart instead. 66 ‘Has he then so impenetrable grown,’ she asked herself, ‘that he can disregard all hostile strength? Does the same jasper stone encase his limbs that makes his soul so hard? Nor eye nor hand hurts him. He stands alone behind the adamant temper of his guard. Armed, I am overthrown; unarmed, unprized — both as a lover and a foe, despised. 67 ‘What new art, what new shape can now avail to hide me from his eyes? Ah, wretched me! My hope in all my cavaliers is frail: they cannot save me, for I seem to see — no, see their strengths and all their weapons fail matched with the force of his ferocity.’ (Just then, before her eyes, his sword-hand thrust through some and stretched out others in the dust.) 68 Alone, she cannot save herself, but feels a captive slave already; and although a spear leans on her saddle-bow, she deals neither Diana’s nor Minerva’s blow.* As a swan, above whom a proud eagle wheels with cruel claws outstretched, stoops low and droops her wings, so all her movements here grow limp and falter and display her fear. 69 Prince Altamor, who till now had been trying to hearten his lost Persians in their plight — they had already buckled and were flying, while he alone struggled to make them fight — sees her halt thus and, in an instant spying her danger, turns his course, nay, turns to flight, and leaves his comrades at his honour’s cost. So she be saved, he deems the world well lost.

canto twenty 70 He guards the ill-defended chariot’s way and with his steel before it clears the space, while Godfrey and Rinaldo charge and slay his bands as soon as he forsakes his place. He sees it, wretch, and yet he does not stay, a lover graced, a leader in disgrace. He sees Armida safe, and only then, returns, too late, to aid his beaten men. 71 For on that side the pagan host has been irreparably broken and dispersed; but on the other side the pagans win and Christians flee, and fortunes are reversed. There one of the two Roberts, wounded in his face, barely escapes, his breastbone burst. The other is Adrastus’ captive. Thus defeat is equal* between them and us. 72 But Godfrey seized that moment to restore order among his troops and turned them round. One side’s unbroken wing regrouped and bore down on the other’s with a mighty bound. Soon all men are imbrued in hostile gore, and all pluck booty from the battleground. Glory and triumph on both sides are seen, and Mars and Fortune hang in doubt between. 73 Now, while faithful and infidel forces draw together, making wounds and slaughter rife, fierce Solyman climbs his tower and in awe beholds, though from afar, their desperate strife. As on a stage or tourney-ground, he saw the bitter tragedy of human life — horrors of death, attack, retreat, advance, and the great game of Destiny and Chance.* 74 At first he, thunderstruck, gaped at the view; but then felt hot desire for honour fill his breast and yearned to be in action too, greatly to dare, nobly to fight, to kill; nor did he long control his urge, but threw his helmet on (for he wore armour still) and cried: ‘Up, up! To arms! No more delay! for we shall overcome or die today.’

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canto twenty 75 Perhaps the fury that possessed his mind was by the Providence of God employed that Palestine might see all the combined might that was left it in one day destroyed; perhaps a sense of doom drove him to find at once the death that he could not avoid. Abruptly he unbars the tower door* and storms out bringing unexpected war. 76 He does not pause even to see if those behind him heed, but sallies out alone, defies alone a thousand gathered foes, alone to thousands makes his fierceness known. Then, swept up in the wake of his great blows, Aladdin rushes out with all his own. Cowards lose fear, wise men let caution fly, and hopeless frenzy burns in every eye. 77 Those whom the fierce Turk first encounters fall when all unlooked-for he moves toward the plain, and fall so fast that no man sees at all who is the slayer till he sees the slain. All down the line from man to man the call of the dread news mingles with cries of pain, so that the Syrian Christians, disarrayed already, flee in panic from his blade. 78 Less shaken and afraid, the Gascons saw him come but held formation as before, although their ranks nearest the danger draw. These chiefly now his sudden battery bore. Never more bloody fang, more savage claw of forest beast or winged predator raged among fowl or cattle in their pen than now the Sultan’s sword among these men. 79 With greed both starved and gluttonous (so to speak) he grazes on their limbs and sucks their blood. With him Aladdin and his henchmen wreak havoc on their besiegers. But the good Raymond now rushed into their midst to seek the destroyer Solyman, and against him stood, knowing full well that hand might strike again that struck him once* and dealt such cruel pain.

canto twenty 80 Once more he faces him, and falls once more, hurt once more in the same place by his foe, his greater age making him stoop before the greater weight of that tremendous blow. Again a hundred swords down on him bore and a hundred shields rose as he lay below. But the Sultan pays no heed and goes his way, thinking him dead, perhaps, or paltry prey. 81 Among the rest he hacks, lobs, opens veins, rips through their cramped space like a monstrous beast, till, goaded by his madness, he attains new killing-ground, and finds his rage increased. Like one who hastens, gnawed by hunger-pains, from a pauper’s table to rich man’s feast, so he sought out the thickest press, where he might sate his blood-lust more rapaciously. 82 He clambers over the broken walls, and runs to join the battle raging near the hill. But frenzy rules, or abject terror stuns the friends or foes behind him fighting still. The former, zealous to complete at once the victory left unfinished, maim and kill; the others,* though resisting as they might, resist, betraying tell-tale signs of flight. 83 The Gascons now were slowly giving way; but the Syrian troops were fleeing in a rout, and soon approached the dwelling-place where lay good Tancred in his bed. He hears them shout and, forcing his weak body to obey, rises, climbs to the roof, and looks about. He sees the count prostrate, sees some retreat and others gone and scattered in defeat. 84 Courage, which never fails the brave, although his strength may wane, now fails not him, but steels his wounded limbs afresh, and makes them glow, and like new breath, new blood gives warmth and heals. He girds his left with his great shield, and lo! his bloodless arm the huge weight scarcely feels; then with his right he grasps his naked blade (a brave man needs no more) and, unafraid,

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canto twenty 85 descends, shouting: ‘Where are you fleeing, men, leaving your liege lord there, a helpless prey? Shall the barbarian mosques and cloisters then display his arms as trophies? Will you say to his son, when back in Gascony again, “Your father’s dead; he died; we ran away”?’ This said, he makes his breast, wounded and bare, a bulwark for the unhurt and armed throng there, 86 and with his shield, of massive weight and wide — its great orb by a master craftsman made of seven plies of thick and tough bull-hide, with steel of choicest temper overlaid — harbours good Raymond’s limbs and turns aside swords, arrows, lances, while he whirls his blade to clear away the enemies all around as if to shade his friend upon the ground. 87 Having caught his breath, the venerable sire under its faithful guard rallies apace, and feels himself aflame with double fire, of anger in his heart, shame in his face. His blazing eyes dart all round to enquire for the foe who struck him senseless in that place. Not seeing him, in fury he prepares to wreak harsh vengeance on his followers. 88 Soon all the men of Aquitaine* come back intent to avenge the chief they hold so dear. The once so daring mob turns in its track; and daring enters those who fled in fear: the attackers yield, the fugitives attack. Thus in a trice all things were altered here, and Raymond, by his hand alone, now came to make a hundred deaths pay for one shame. 89 While Raymond’s shame-filled anger makes him fling himself against the noblest heads, just then he sees the sacred realm’s usurping king,* and makes for him among the foremost men. He wounds his brow and, never slackening, strikes it once more, and strikes, and strikes again. With a rasping gasp, the king collapses, brained, and, dying, bites the earth over which he reigned.

canto twenty 90 With one protector killed, one far away, those who remain respond diversely: one, in semblance like a rabid beast of prey, hurls himself on his sword and is undone. Another, panicked by the fearful fray, heads for his former shelter at a run. But the victors mingling in the general retreat rush in with them and make the rout complete. 91 The tower is taken, doomed are all who flee, on the steep stairs or threshold slain outright. Raymond climbs to its summit eagerly, bearing the glorious banner in his right, and there unfurls that sign of victory to the winds in both the mighty armies’ sight. But the fierce Sultan sees it not, for he views the main battleground in full mêlée, 92 views the great field, reeking from crimson stains, that every hour more spilled blood inundates, so that it seems a kingdom where Death reigns in absolute triumph over all estates. He sees a charger that, with trailing reins, is running riderless far from his mates. He grasps the bridle and weighs down his back, and spurs him at a gallop to the attack. 93 Mighty but short-lived was the sudden aid he brought the tired, frightened Saracens. Like a mighty, short-lived thunderbolt, he made for them and overtook them and passed thence; but of his transitory ambuscade the shattered rock bears timeless evidence. Hundreds he killed and more, but only two whose names time’s theft has not erased from view. 94 O Edward and Gildippe, your hard fate and bitter death, your exploits, just and proud, I with your far-off laurels consecrate (if this be to my Tuscan pen* allowed), that every age may know and contemplate the worth and love with which you were endowed, and all Love’s servants may in future times in tears recall your deaths and these my rhymes.

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canto twenty 95 The noble dame now turned her courser where that savage man into her comrades tore, and struck two cleaving blows that did not spare — one slashed his flank, one split the shield he bore. And he, when by her garb he grows aware of her sex, cries out: ‘Hah! With her pimp, the whore! Your needle or spindle now would better guard your body than your sweetheart or your sword.’ 96 He said no more, but in high fury pressed toward her and dealt a fierce, presumptuous blow that smashed her armour and dared pierce the breast where Love alone should aim to wound. Ah woe! She drops her bridle and her looks attest that she is fainting in death’s final throe. The wretched Edward sees it all, dismayed, helpless, though prompt to hurry to her aid. 97 What should he do? Here Wrath, there Pity calls, each for a different course not to betray her: one to support his dear love as she falls, the other to wreak vengeance on her slayer. Love urges him, no matter what befalls, to heed both Wrath’s command and Pity’s prayer. He lifts her with his left hand from the path, and makes his right the minister of his wrath. 98 But thus divided, all his power and will against so strong a foe are useless here, and he can neither hold her up, nor kill the killer of his soul’s delight and cheer. Rather, it happens that the Sultan’s steel severs his arm that props his faithful dear so that he lets her fall and, overthrown, presses her dying limbs beneath his own. 99 As an elm round whom the grapevine’s tendrils spire and wed his trunk in many a loving twine, when felled by steel or split by lightning’s fire, will carry earthward his companion vine, unleaf himself of all his green attire, and crush her bright grapes into bitter wine, seeming to grieve and, more than his own fate, to mourn the ruin of his lovely mate,

canto twenty 100 so falls he, sad for her sake, but consoled that Heaven has joined their hearts eternally. They try to speak, but words remain untold; their lips form sighs instead of words. Now he looks at her, she at him, and, as of old they embrace while they still can; but presently one instant takes from both the light of day, and their two souls together slip away. 101 Then Fame takes wing, and into every ear her tongues pour tidings of their bitter lot; and no mere rumour does Rinaldo hear, for a messenger has certain tidings brought. Duty, good-will, grief, outrage make it clear his task now is revenge. But while he is hot upon the Sultan’s trail, he finds his path blocked by Adrastus,* charging in great wrath. 102 The rude king cried: ‘By well-known signs I see you have come at last, whom I sought with such pain; no Christian shield has gone unmarked by me, and all day long I called your name in vain. My vows of vengeance to my deity your head shall now discharge when you are slain. Here let us try our fury and our might, Armida’s foe against her champion knight.’ 103 Thus taunting him, he with fierce battery first smites his temple, then his neck; and though he does not cleave his casque (this cannot be) he shakes him in the saddle with each blow. But Rinaldo gores his side so bloodily not all Apollo’s skill* could staunch the flow. The unrivalled man, the matchless king falls down, and a single blow secures timeless renown. 104 Amazement, mixed with fear and horror, freeze the blood and hearts of all men in that place. Solyman among the awestruck witnesses grows troubled in his heart and pale of face. Sensing his death-blow in the blow he sees, he feels irresolute, hesitant, out of place, feelings unknown in him, but what cannot Eternal Law change in our earthly lot?

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canto twenty 105 As a sick man or a madman sometimes dreams, dazed in a brief and turgid sleep, that he must get away and with his whole will seems to stretch his limbs, but seeks in vain to free (although the effort makes him sweat in streams) his feet and hands from their strange lethargy, and tries to loose his tongue, but feels too weak to force a sound from it, much less to speak, 106 so now the Sultan struggles to constrain his inmost self by violence to the fight, but does not find his wonted wrath again, nor knows himself in his diminished might. What sparks of daring rise in him are vain, quickly extinguished by uncanny fright: conflicting thoughts are warring in his heart, though not to flee, and not to draw apart. 107 Irresolute, he sees the victor near, whose fierce approach in fury and in speed transcends the power (or so it would appear) of any creature born of mortal seed. Feebly he strikes, yet, dying, shows no fear nor now forgets his generous soul to heed: he neither flees from blows, nor groans aloud, and all his actions show him great and proud. 108 When the Sultan, who so often in this war like a new Antaeus* fell and rose more stout each time, at last pressed earth to rise no more forever, the report ran all about; and Fortune, fickle and wavering before, now dared not put the victory in doubt, but made her turnings firm and joined the ranks of Christian chiefs, united with the Franks. 109 Now flees (to name none else) the royal band, known as the orient’s sinews, and whom Fame dubbed the Immortal.* Now it will not stand and heaps dishonour on its haughty name. Emiren sees the standard-bearer unhand his flag and flee, and stops him, crying: ‘Shame! are you the man I singled out to guard the glorious battle-emblem of my lord?

canto twenty 110 ‘That flag I did not, Rimedon,* bestow for you to carry backwards. Will you leave your captain who is striving with the foe alone upon the field and, coward, cleave to safety for yourself ? Turn back and go with me, for flight means death, not a reprieve. Let him who would escape death stand and fight. The one safe path leads up to honour’s height.’ 111 Shamefaced, the man returns to the mêlée. Others he rouses with yet sharper words, now threatening and now striking, until he has made those fly at swords who fled from swords. Thus he restores more than the moiety of the enfeebled wing, and hope rewards his heart when he sees Tissaphernes, who has never turned, still towering in plain view. 112 Marvels did Tissaphernes wreak that day. In disarray he made the Normans sprawl, oppressed the Flanders men with cruel sway, and caused Gernier’s, Ruggiero’s, Gherard’s fall. Then, when his deeds had stretched his mortal day to fame’s eternal limit, as if all life seemed of no consequence, he worked his passage where the utmost peril lurked. 113 He sees Rinaldo; and though red splotches blear his blue escutcheon and his arms display their eagle’s beak and claws* dark with a smear of dust and blood, he knows them straight away. ‘Behold,’ he said, ‘the ultimate danger here. May Heaven assist my valour now, and may Armida see her hated lover slain. His arms I vow, Muhammad, to your fane.’ 114 So did he pray, a prayer of no avail — his deaf Muhammad never heard his plea. As the lion whips his torso with his tail to make his inborn fierceness rise, so he sharpens his anger, eager to assail, at love’s whetstone, letting the sparks fly free. Crouched in his armour, bending all his force to the encounter, he spurs on his horse,

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canto twenty 115 spurs toward the man who sees he will attack, the Latin knight who calmly fronts his spleen. At that fierce show all bystanders draw back leaving a spacious combat ground between. So mightily they lunge and strike and hack, the Italian hero and the Saracen, that each for marvel almost does not heed whither his own wrath and his fortunes lead. 116 Yet one but strikes; the other strikes to hurt, stronger and sheathed in stronger armour, and soon streams of blood from Tissaphernes spurt. His helmet cracks, his shield drops from his hand. The lovely sorceress sees his hacked mail shirt then sees him totter, weak-limbed and unmanned. And all the others show such sudden fear that feeble is the knot that holds them here. 117 Once ringed with champions numberless and free, she now sits on her chariot all alone, loathing her life, afraid of slavery, all hope of victory and of vengeance gone. Between her madness and her panic, she leaps down in haste and throws herself upon a nearby steed and flees, and on her ride Anger and Love like hounds run by her side. 118 So Cleopatra* did in days of yore, and from the cruel fray alone withdrew, leaving behind, in perils far from shore, with lucky Caesar faced, her dear one who, by love unjustly with himself at war, chasing her lonely sails went fleeing too. So Tissaphernes would have stolen away with her, but that the other makes him stay. 119 The pagan, who felt daylight, sun, and air all failing as his comfort passed from sight, turns desperately on him who keeps him there and strikes him on the brow with all his might. With lesser might does Brontes’* hammer bear down on the close-linked thunderbolt and smite. Of such huge force is this great blow possessed, the shock bends his foe’s head down to his chest.

canto twenty 120 At once Rinaldo straightened, brandishing his sword and, where the huge hauberk was rent, opened his side and makes the sharp point sting his heart, life’s lodging — yea, right through it sent the blade, which made a double opening, both front and back. Thus, as his life is spent, his parting soul is granted courteously more than one passageway by which to flee. 121 Rinaldo pauses and looks, eagle-eyed, where next to attack or aid, only to find no rank left standing on the pagan side, and all their banners fallen and left behind. From further slaughter then he turns aside, cooling war’s anger burning in his mind. His mood grows mild, and he recalls the plight of the lady and her solitary flight. 122 Well had he marked it; and now Courtesy and Pity charge him to assist her woe. Mindful how he had pledged fidelity* as a knight when leaving her not long ago, he turns where she has fled, and comes to see her charger’s hoofprints on the ground below. She meanwhile reached a dark and sheltered spot, apt for the solitary death she sought. 123 It greatly pleased her mind that chance should lead her errant steps into this valley’s shade. She paused here and alighted from her steed and down her quiver, bow, and weapons laid. ‘Unhappy weapons, shameful not to bleed after this battle,’ said she. ‘In this glade I lay you down; go lie there, stained with dirt, since you have ill avenged my grievous hurt. 124 ‘Alas! Shall none of all these weapons be made wet with blood? Not one? Ah, if elsewhere all breasts seem adamantine to you, see! Here to your stroke a woman’s breast lies bare. Here are your spoils; here is your victory; here you can come in triumph if you dare. This tender bosom can be pierced by blows, as Love, who never vainly aimed there, knows.

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canto twenty 125 ‘Prove on me now (to gain my pardon for past cowardice) that you are sharp and strong. Wretched Armida! The great pangs you bore none but yourself can end now, or prolong. Since all else failed that might my health restore, let wounds repair my wounds and right my wrong. Let a dart remove the poison of Love’s dart and Death be the physician of my heart 126 ‘Ah, happy death if Love is left behind! Let not that plague’s infection Hell invade! Let Love remain and only Anger find the way below, companion to my shade — or rather with it come back from the blind kingdom to him by whom I was betrayed and point it out to him to make him weep and shake with horror in his fitful sleep.’ 127 She ceased, her purpose fixed. At once she chose the hardest, sharpest arrow at her feet, when the knight arrived and saw her in her throes, frantic, intent to make her doom complete. Already in her countenance there glows the pallor of the death she comes to meet. Rushing up from behind, he moves to wrest out of her hand the barb aimed at her breast. 128 Armida wheeled around in wild surprise. She had not heard his coming; but now she cried out, averting her disdainful eyes from the dear face and fainted instantly. She fell, a flower snapped in half that lies with limp neck bent; while, like a column, he with one arm propped her side as she sank down and at her bosom loosened her rich gown, 129 and bathed the wretched lady’s lovely face and lovely breast with many a pitying tear. As at a silvery rain in dawn’s first blaze the faded rose grows fair with fresh-hued cheer, so she begins her drooping face to raise, in which new tears (not his tears) now appear. Three times she raised her eyes, and three times then dropped them, and dared not look at him again,

canto twenty 130 and pushed away in scorn with feeble hands his strong supporting arm. Yet as she tried to slip from him with wordless reprimands, she found herself ever more firmly tied. Caught up at last in those dear fettering bands (dear now, perhaps, despite her show of pride), she let her words in stormy torrents fly, though never venturing to meet his eye: 131 ‘O you, whose partings and returns contrive still to be cruel, what leads you to this place? I marvel you forbid my death and strive, having murdered me, to make me live by grace. For what more scorn would you keep me alive? What further torments must Armida face? I know all wiles a criminal may try, but can do nothing now, not even die. 132 ‘Surely your honour would grow stained, or fade, unless she is dragged in triumph by a chain whom now you seize by force, and once betrayed. Go boast of that, your glory’s highest gain! Time was when I for life, for concord prayed, but now I long for death to end my pain; that gift I may not ask for, since my fate makes any gift from you increase my hate. 133 ‘Yet by myself, cruel one, I hope to rid myself somehow of your ferocity. Though poison, knives, ropes, cliffs cannot be hid by a prisoner from the jealous jailer’s eye, yet can I think of ways you can’t forbid by which I’ll know (praise Heaven!) how to die. Cease now your blandishments. — Ah! look at him, flattering my heart even as my hopes grow dim!’ 134 Thus grieves she, and among the floods of woe that Love and Anger make her fair eyes spill, his own soft sorrow mingles and lets glow tranquil compassion and sincere good-will; and he replies in gentle words and slow: ‘Armida, bid your stormy heart be still: I keep you for a kingdom, not for spite — no enemy, but your faithful champion knight.

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canto twenty 135 ‘If you misdoubt my words, see what unfeigned zeal for your cause shines in my eyes. I swear that to the throne on which your forebears reigned I will restore you; and ah! I declare, if in your mind a ray from Heaven deigned to pierce the veil of paganism there, I would procure a crown for you at least as noble as the noblest in the East.’ 136 So speaks he and so prays, and with his sighs and precious tears warms and anoints his prayers; and as a shower of snowflakes melts and dies in burning sunlight or the warm spring airs, so now her violent rage dissolves and dies, to leave only her other passions’ cares: ‘Behold your handmaid,’* says she, ‘let your will dispose of her and be her master still.’ 137 And meanwhile Egypt’s captain (who sees low upon the ground his royal standard lie, while valorous Rimedon at a single blow from undefeated Godfrey falls nearby midst all his other minions’ overthrow) wishing to seem no coward, prepared to die, seeks (not in vain) some great opponent and a famous death dealt by a famous hand. 138 Against great Bouillon now he drives his steed, (a worthier foe he knows he cannot find,) and shows, in every gesture, every deed, a bravery of the most desperate kind, shouting while making for him at full speed: ‘Behold, I come to die, but have a mind to do my utmost for my fall to be your ruin too, and drag you down with me.’ 139 And with these words he hurls himself at once at his antagonist, and at mid-course his lance unshields the general of France, piercing his left arm with tremendous force; but he himself is struck by the other’s lance on the left temple, and upon his horse slumps forward in his saddle, tries to rise, but, with his bowels pierced, falls back and dies.

canto twenty 140 Duke Emireno dead, mere shreds are left of the defeated host. It falters, veers. Godfrey hunts down the vanquished when, bereft of help, blood-spattered Altamor appears at his feet, his blade and helmet smashed and cleft, hemmed in and struck at by a hundred spears. ‘Leave him to me,’ he shouts; ‘and you, my lord, yield. I am Godfrey. Let me have your sword.’ 141 He who till then had never deigned to bend to any humbleness his mighty soul, hearing that name whose praise to the world’s end all men from Libya to the Bears* extol, replies: ‘I shall do all that you intend, since you are worthy thus to take control; yet shall your victory over Altamor in neither gold nor glory leave you poor. 142 ‘My kingdom’s gold, my kind queen’s gems perchance shall make for more than ample ransoming.’ Godfrey replies: ‘God did not make these hands to grasp at pelf or any earthly thing. Whatever comes to you from Indian strands keep it, keep all that Persia’s harvests bring. I do not spare lives seeking to be paid; I’ve come to fight in Asia, not to trade.’ 143 He signals to the guards, nor speaks again, but speeds off in pursuit of those who fled. These rush to seek their ramparts on the plain, but find no refuge from the death they dread. At once their stockade falls and all are slain. Blood runs in torrents from the slaughtered dead, and, staining booty, spills from tent to tent, spoiling barbaric pomp and ornament. 144 So Godfrey triumphs, and there yet remained daylight enough to guide the conqueror toward the town, its freedom now regained, Christ’s holy dwelling-place in days of yore. Still in a cloak with blood of battle stained, he with the rest walks through the Temple’s door and there hangs up his arms, there kneels to bow at the great Sepulchre, there keeps his vow.

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APPENDIX TASSO’S LIBERATION OF JERUSALEM IN LITERATURE, ART, AND MUSIC The following notes single out the most notable examples of Tasso’s influence in literature and the other arts. (Of all post-medieval authors, only Shakespeare casts a longer shadow on music and painting.) References are confined to key works inspired by The Liberation of Jerusalem, excluding those based on Tasso’s lyrics and dramas, or on his biography, real or mythical. Among the latter, however, the following deserve mention: Donizetti’s opera (1833), Liszt’s symphonic poem (1854), and paintings by Granet (1820), Delacroix (1827, which inspired a notable sonnet by Baudelaire, 1844), and Catel (1834). Influential earlier English translations of Tasso’s epic were by Thomas Carew (1594, incomplete), Edward Fairfax (1600, one of Charles I’s favourite books, and long the standard version), Thomas Hoole (1772, in heroic couplets, a version favoured by Samuel Johnson), and J. H. Wiffen (1821, in Spenserian stanzas). A not-insignificant role in the Gerusalemme’s diffusion was played by illustrated editions. Three of these stand out: the final printing of the work in Tasso’s lifetime, with designs by Bernardo Castello (Genoa, 1590); Albrizzi’s lavish folio, with engravings by Piazzetta (Venice, 1745); and the first German translation, with sumptuous and often strikingly original copper plates by Matthäus Merian (Frankfurt, 1626). There were a number of fine illustrated editions of the poem in the nineteenth century. Two films based on Tasso’s epic have appeared on screen: by Enrico Guazzoni (1912 – 17; reissued with sound in 1935), and by C. L. Bragaglia (1957). Perhaps it should also be noted that Sicilian puppet theatres are still performing plays that draw on Tasso’s poem. Canto 1: As late as the nineteenth century, stanzas from Tasso’s epic were still being sung by Venetian gondoliers. These barcarolles are mentioned by Addison (1700), Rousseau (1761), Voltaire (1764), Charles Burney (1770), Byron (Childe Harold IV, 1818), and Longfellow (1835). Their description by Goethe in his Italian Journey (1786) was widely known. Among the texts thus chanted was the opening stanza of the poem. The melody is extant, since Liszt jotted it down during a visit to Venice and based a set of piano variations on it (1838); he later used it in his tone poem Tasso: Lamentation and Triumph. ‘God the Father and the Angel Gabriel’ is the central ceiling fresco in G. G. Barbelli’s Tasso cycle in Bergamo’s Palazzo Moroni (1652). The same

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subject opens a fresco cycle by the ‘Nazarene’ painter J. F. Overbeck in the Casino Massimo, Rome (1818). The muster of Godfrey’s army is also depicted in Barbelli’s frescoes. Canto 2: Clorinda’s rescue of Sophronia and Olindo inspired a madrigalopera by Mazzocchi (1638) and paintings by Perrier (1639), Preti (1645), Luca Giordano (1680), and Overbeck (see Canto 1). The scene is also depicted in the first of a remarkable cycle of ten paintings by P. Finoglio (1634) in the castle of Conversano, and in a memorable Romantic canvas by Delacroix (1856). Canto 3: Clorinda’s first battle with Tancred forms the subject of the second work in Finoglio’s cycle (see Canto 2). Canto 4: Tasso’s assembly of devils inspired Satan’s infernal council in Book 2 of Milton’s Paradise Lost. Milton’s debt to this episode is also evident in the opening passages of Paradise Regained. Canto 6: Stanzas 103 – 4 were set as a madrigal by Cifra (c.1630). Canto 7: In English poetry, Edmund Spenser drew heavily upon this canto in the pastoral episodes of Book 6 of The Faerie Queene. For pictorial treatments of ‘Erminia among the Shepherds’ see L. Carracci (1603), Guercino (1618; also 1648), Domenichino (1625), Lanfranco (1635), Cavallino (1637), Salvator Rosa (1639), Cecco Bravo (1650), Claude Lorrain (1661), de Mura (c.1750), G. and F. Guardi (1755), Angelica Kaufman (1783), and Overbeck (see Canto 1). Raymond’s duel with Argant is the third painting in Finoglio’s cycle (see Canto 2). Stanzas 19 – 20 were set as madrigals by Wert (1586), Sigismondo d’India (1609), and Monteverdi (1638). The Erminia episode was also treated in operas by Bononcini (1719), Alessandro Scarlatti (1723), Arriaga (1824), as well as in a cantata by Berlioz (1828). The first act of one of J. J. Rousseau’s early works, the opera Les Muses galantes, also alludes to it. Most of these musical treatments connect the events of this canto with those of Canto 19. Canto 10: William’s account of Armida’s tempting banquet (stanzas 64 ff.) is imitated by Milton in Paradise Regained (2. 321 – 35). Canto 11: There are paintings of the wounded Godfrey by Cerquozzi (1640) and Mignard (1650). Canto 12: Stanzas 52 – 68 were set as one of Monteverdi’s greatest compositions, Il Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda (1624). The episode, often greatly altered, figures in a number of operas. (Rossini’s Tancred, however, has — despite its title — no significant connection with Tasso.) Monteverdi also composed a powerful madrigal setting of stanzas 77 – 9. In addition, stanzas 66 – 8 were set as a three-part madrigal by Sigismondo d’India (1621), and portions of stanzas 96 – 9 by no fewer than four of

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Tasso’s contemporaries: Wert (1581), Marenzio (1584), Benedetti (1613), and, once more, Sigismondo d’India (1618). Tintoretto was the first major painter to depict Clorinda’s baptism and death (1593); others are Dubois (c.1600), Poussin (1631), Finoglio (see Canto 2), Overbeck (see Canto 1), and Hayez (1841). Canto 13: William Collins’s ‘Ode on the Popular Superstitions of the Highlands’ (1788) testifies to the profound feeling that Tancred’s adventure in the enchanted forest evoked in the eighteenth century. Canto 14: Stanza 1 of this canto was set as a madrigal by Giaches de Wert (1581). The vision of the Heavenly Jerusalem by Spenser’s Redcrosse (Faerie Queene, 1.10) is in part based on Godfrey’s celestial vision (stanzas 12 – 17). Significant paintings of Rinaldo’s abduction by Armida begin with Bernardo Castello’s fresco cycle in Genoa (1600). Other treatments of the theme are by Poussin (several versions 1625, 1626), Van Dyck (1629), and Pittoni (c.1750). Canto 15: Charles and Hubald’s adventures on Armida’s mountain are the subject of paintings by Poussin (1633), Claude Lorrain (1666), F. Guardi (1755), and Overbeck (see Canto 1). The nineteenth-century wall-paintings in the royal bedchamber at Hohenschwangau Castle concentrate on this canto, with some reference also to cantos 14, 17, and 20. Canto 16: The most notable literary imitation of this canto is Spenser’s ‘Bower of Bliss’ episode in The Faerie Queene (2.12), which also contains a virtual translation of stanzas 14 – 15. Thomas Gray wrote an English translation of stanzas 32 – 9. Voltaire, though sometimes harsh on Tasso in his criticism, acknowledged the influence of this and other portions of Tasso’s poem on his Henriade (especially Book 9). The events of this canto are also at the core of innumerable operas, including works by Lully (1685), Handel (1711), Albinoni (1726), Traetta (1761), A. Scarlatti (1769), Jomelli (1773), Myslivicek (1779), Cherubini (1782), Haydn (1784, rev. 1797), Salieri (both 1785), Gluck (1786), Rossini (1817), and Dvorˇák (1904). There is an experimental modern opera on the subject (updated to contemporary Iraq) by Judith Weir (2005). The discovery of Rinaldo in Armida’s arms quickly became an iconic theme for painters, including L. Carracci (1593), A. Carracci (1601), Domenichino (1620), Poussin (1624), Vouet (1630), Finoglio (see Canto 2), Teniers fils (1636), and Cavallino (1650). Significant later treatments include works by Boucher (1734), G. B. Tiepolo (several versions 1742, 1752, 1753), Lagrenée (1766), Hayez (1813), and Il Piccio (1858). Stanza 12 was the earliest in the poem set to music, by Giaches de Wert (1581). Wert was court composer of the Gonzagas at Mantua, who had close relations with the Este family at Ferrara. Wert later also set stanzas 40 and 43 – 7. Monteverdi composed a setting (1585) of stanza 12, and

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Sigismondo d’India (1609) of stanzas 41 – 2. Donizetti’s concert duet ‘Rinaldo e Armida’ (1817) evokes Armida’s island bower. A delightful comic send-up of the whole Armida idea is Cimaroso’s opera buffa Armida Immaginaria (1777). Rinaldo’s farewell to Armida is a subject for paintings by Badalocchio (1615), Lanfranco (1619), Finoglio (see Canto 2), Herrard (1639), Dughet (1670), Giordano (1682), Coypel (1735), G. B. Tiepolo (at least three versions 1742, 1752, 1757), G. D. Tiepolo (1769), and Angelica Kaufman (1776). The abandoned Armida is portrayed in madrigals by Monteverdi (1592), Sigismondo d’India (1609), Mazzocchi (1625), Eredi (1629), and in an early cantata by Handel (1707). An oddity is Goethe’s cantata-text Rinaldo (1811), later set to music by Brahms (1863), which excludes the character of Armida altogether. Canto 17: Though rarely treated by painters, the vengeful Armida’s appearance in the Egyptian camp forms the pivot of many operas (usually entitled Armida al campo), including one by Vivaldi (1718). ‘Rinaldo and the Sage of Ascalon’ is the subject of paintings by Finoglio (see Canto 2) and G. B. Tiepolo (1742). Canto 18: Rinaldo’s penitence on the Mount of Olives is echoed by Spenser in Redcrosse’s visit to the Mount of Contemplation (Faerie Queene, 1.10.53 ff.). Rinaldo disenchanting the Magic Forest is treated in paintings by Maffei (1650), Fragonard (1763), and Overbeck (see Canto 1). Canto 19: Major paintings of Erminia finding and tending the wounded Tancred are by Guercino (1622), Pietro da Cortona (1630), Poussin (1630), Finoglio (see Canto 2), Mola (1658), Pietro Ricci (1660; see front cover), F. Guardi (c.1760), Angelica Kaufman (1771), Hayez (1813), and Delacroix (1850). Stanzas 106 – 7 were set as a madrigal by Wert (1586), and stanza 107 by Sigismondo d’India (1609). Canto 20: The climactic assault on Jerusalem inspired at least one major painter in Tasso’s lifetime, Ludovico Cigoli (1590). A generation later Poussin revisited the subject (1635), as did Barbelli (see Canto 1). Overbeck (Canto 1) appears to be the sole painter to depict Edward and Gildippe. There is, however, an opera on these wedded knights by Nicolai (1840). Rinaldo in the final battle is depicted in the last panel of Finoglio’s series (see Canto 2), and the encounter between the suicidal Armida and Rinaldo is the subject of canvases by Tiarini (1628), Dandini (1635), Assereto [or Ansaldo] (1649), and Bottani (c.1760).

EXPLANATORY NOTES Historical and fictitious characters named in the text are listed in the Glossary; a note is given below only if the context demands more information than is provided there. References are to stanza numbers.

Canto 1 1 I sing of war: this opening formula follows the traditional model for an epic poem, specifically recalling Virgil’s in the Aeneid (‘Arms and the man I sing’) and Ariosto’s mischievous elaboration of it in the Orlando furioso (‘Ladies, knights, arms, loves, courtesies and bold deeds I sing’). Captain: Godfrey of Bouillon, elevated by Tasso to the role of the wise, pious leader of the crusade. For Tasso’s depiction of Godfrey and the other leading characters and their historical counterparts see the Introduction, pp. viii – xi. Asia . . . combined with Libya: Tasso uses these geographical terms rather loosely. The key political factor in his account of the opposition to the crusaders is the alliance between the Turkish rulers of Palestine and Syria (‘Asia’) and the Caliphate of Egypt (‘Libya’, here a generic name for North Africa). 2 O Muse: again a standard part of the epic opening, but this also establishes Tasso’s specifically Christian inspiration — not one of the classical Muses on Mount Helicon, but their Christian equivalent. 4 magnanimous Alfonso: Alfonso II d’Este, duke of Ferrara, Tasso’s patron from 1572 to 1586. The early years of Tasso’s service with Alfonso were the most settled in his restless life, although there were periods when he fled from the court even before his emotionally disturbed state resulted in his intermittent confinement as a madman after 1579. 5 the fierce Thracian: the Turks, who since 1453 had occupied Constantinople and the adjoining part of Thrace (north-eastern Greece). Implicit in Tasso’s dedication of the poem to Alfonso is the parallel between his patron and Alfonso’s supposed ancestor Rinaldo, who is shown playing an indispensable role in the crusade; Tasso hints that Alfonso may in his turn be destined to wage war against the Turks, as indeed he did briefly in Hungary in 1566. See 17.93 and note. 6 Five years had passed: the crusaders began their final march on Jerusalem early in 1099, less than three years after most of them had left western Europe in the summer and autumn of 1096, and only two since the main body of the army left Constantinople in the late spring of 1097. Tasso later acknowledged that he had taken liberties with chronology here, citing the example of Plutarch for, as he put it, ‘enlarging the truth’ by exaggerating the length and hazards of the campaign. For the crusaders’ conquest of Nicea and Antioch, see the Introduction, p. ix.

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9 10

11 15 23 25

28

36

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Tartus: (also Tortosa), town on the coast of Syria where Tasso represents the crusader army as encamping for the winter after their advance through Asia Minor. In fact they spent the winter of 1097 – 8 encamped outside Antioch, a much larger city some 90 miles further north. Tancred: for his all-consuming love for Clorinda, a major narrative theme in the poem, see stanzas 45 – 9 below. Rinaldo: unlike the other leaders named in these stanzas, not a historical figure; Tasso makes him an ancestor of the Este dynasty (a role given to another fictitious character, Ruggiero, by Ariosto in the Orlando furioso). See stanza 59 below. Guelf: a historical member of the German branch of the Este family (though not in fact a crusader; see the Glossary); by giving him the role of uncle and confidant of Rinaldo, Tasso reinforces the connection with his patron. Gabriel, second of the first degree: i.e. of the archangels, of whom there were traditionally seven, Michael being the first. Tortosa: Tartus; see note to stanza 6. Mount Zion: Jerusalem. who trusts the Greeks: the phrase recalls Laocoön’s famous warning to the Trojans in Aeneid 2.49: ‘I fear the Greeks even when they are bearing gifts.’ The historical distrust between the Byzantine emperor Alexius I and the crusaders thus reflected a long history of mutual suspicion between Greeks and western Europeans, which was reinforced after the failure of negotiations to reunite the eastern and western Churches in 1438 and remained equally strong in Tasso’s time. His anti-Greek sentiment is apparent again in stanzas 50 – 1 and 70 – 1 below. Egypt will come: an Egyptian army had in fact regained control of Jerusalem from the Turks (to whom they had lost it just over twenty years earlier) in 1098, taking advantage of the Turks’ weakness after their defeat by the crusaders at Antioch. The threat of Egyptian reinforcements, which Godfrey cites here (and again in stanza 67) as a reason for advancing to Jerusalem without delay, in fact came when the crusaders were already besieging the city, prompting them to attack sooner than they might otherwise have chosen. each leader and each company: Tasso’s appeal to ‘Memory, Time’s foe, Oblivion’s shame’ signals another standard feature of epic, the review of an army before battle, extending here over stanzas 36 – 64. The ultimate model for such descriptions is the catalogue of the Greek and Trojan armies in the Iliad, book 2. Most of the names listed are historical, though in many cases little is known of them beyond their names. Franks: the Capetian dynasty of French kings, with their capital in Paris (the Iˆle de France) and the fleur-de-lis as their emblem. amid four streams: the four rivers of the Iˆle de France are the Seine, the Marne, the Oise, and the Aisne.

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38 Normans: the dukes of Normandy, kings of England after the conquest of 1066. ‘Robert, crown-prince designate’, was the eldest son of William the Conqueror. two anointed shepherds: William, bishop of Orange, and Ademar, bishop of Le Puy. 40 count of the Cornutians: Stephen, count of Blois and Chartres (Latin Carnutes, hence the title given to him by Tasso here). The same historical figure is apparently introduced again as ‘Stephen of Amboise’ in stanza 62. 41 Ister’s flood and Rhine’s: for Guelf see stanza 10 above; the family’s lands in southern Germany and Austria are defined as being watered by the Danube (Greek Istros, hence ‘Ister’) and the Rhine. 43 where flows the Meuse . . . the Rhine: Flanders. Their islanders: inhabitants of the Netherlands. 44 another Robert (cf. ‘Robert, crown-prince designate’ in stanza 38 above): Robert II of Flanders. English . . . archers: the skill of English longbowmen was proverbial, and was a powerful element in the reputed military valour of the English in Tasso’s time (e.g. in Shakespeare’s Henry V ). a race that dwells nearer the pole . . . Ireland: Tasso appears to have conflated Scotland and Ireland. 49 Campania’s . . . Tyrrhenia’s: in fact Tancred’s troops were from Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily. 51 Tatinos: provided as a guide to the crusaders by the emperor Alexius, to whom he reported on their movements and intentions. If you are now a slave: Tasso’s comment reflects the unsympathetic attitude of the West to the fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453. 52 Argo’s Minyans: the Argonauts, prototypical adventurers who sailed with Jason to Colchis in search of the Golden Fleece; ‘Minyans’ from Jason’s descent, through his mother, from these pre-classical inhabitants of Greece. Arthur’s retinue . . . paper dreams: the Arthurian legends provided the material for much medieval narrative in French and Italian; Tasso’s phrase here recalls a famous line of Petrarch, who referred to the Arthurian heroes as ‘those who fill pages with dreams’ (Triumphus Cupidinis, 3.79). The two literary precedents cited in this stanza, both of which Tasso promises to surpass, signal his intention that his poem should excel not only as a classical epic but also as a romance. 53 Dudon of Kontz: a character in the Carolingian poems of Ariosto and his predecessors, whom Tasso considered a historical figure. Kontz is a town at the confluence of the Saar and the Mosel in western Germany. 55 where a nude boy escapes a snake: the crusader named here is Otto Visconti, of the family who ruled Milan in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries (though not at the time of the crusade) and who have remained prominent since; their heraldic emblem is a human child emerging from the mouth of a snake.

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59 By Adige’s fair river: Tasso gives Rinaldo’s birthplace as Este, near the river Adige between Padua and Ferrara, and place of origin of the Este family. Matilda’s prayer: Matilda of Canossa. The Este family were proud of their relationship, through her marriage to Guelf of Bavaria, to this famous supporter of Pope Gregory VII against the emperor Henry IV. 60 three lustra: a lustrum is a period of five years. 63 Capaneus: in Greek mythology one of the ‘Seven against Thebes’, a struggle proverbial for its internecine ferocity; his proud defiance is dramatized in Dante’s presentation of him as a blasphemer in Inferno, 14. 67 Egypt’s king: the Fatimid Caliph Ahmed al-Mustali; see notes to stanza 28 above, and to 17.6. 68 A prince of Denmark: Sven, whose unsuccessful attempt to come to the crusaders’ aid is narrated in canto 8. 75 the king of rivers, Po: Ferrara, in the lower reaches of the Po valley, was prone to flooding until defences built by Alfonso’s forebears succeeded in channelling the river and reclaiming much fertile land between the city and the sea. 76 Tripoli: on the Mediterranean coast, now in northern Lebanon. 79 Saint Mark’s . . . Saint George’s: patron saints of the maritime republics of Venice and Genoa respectively. 83 Aladdin . . . Newly made king: Tasso has invented this name and title for the Caliph’s governor in Jerusalem, Iftikhar ad-Daula.

Canto 2 1 Ismen: the magician Ismen, a character invented by Tasso, has antecedents in the Orlando furioso (Malagigi) and the earlier romance tradition (Merlin, the Arthurian wizard who also appears in Ariosto’s poem). Dis: Satan; see note to 13.27. 5 her image: the idea of a sacred statue whose presence protects the city is based on the story in Virgil’s Aeneid of the theft of the Palladium from the Temple of Athene in Troy by Ulysses and Diomedes. The incident illustrates Tasso’s combination of literary and historical sources: the chronicle of William of Tyre tells the story of a young Christian in Jerusalem who volunteered to suffer the death-penalty when an unidentified malefactor defiled a mosque by leaving a dead dog in it. Tasso was attracted by this act of heroism, giving it an added piquancy by making first the virgin Sofronia and then her unrequited lover Olindo offer themselves as sacrificial victims, but he evidently found the theft of the statue, with its classical antecedents, a more worthy occasion for their action than the discovery of a dead dog. 15 Argus-like: Argus was a giant with a hundred eyes, set by the goddess Hera to guard the nymph Io against the advances of Zeus; hence, a byword for vigilance. 55 Emmaus: the town’s location within walking distance of Jerusalem is established by the biblical narrative of Luke 24: 13 – 35.

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56 nones: the ninth hour of the day (starting at 6 a.m.), i.e. 3 p.m. 58 Alethes: Tasso’s name for this character (who appears only in this canto) is based on the Greek goddess of truth or sincerity, Aletheia — ironically, in view of his role here. 59 Argant: as the most warlike of the Saracen defenders of Jerusalem, who earns the crusaders’ respect as a formidable opponent and is given an honourable burial at the end of the poem, Argant has a role comparable to that of Hector in the Iliad and Turnus in the Aeneid. 62 Alcides’ guide-posts: the Pillars of Hercules (Alcides), i.e. the Straits of Gibraltar. 71 if Egypt now . . . : for Alethes’ analysis of the various regional rivals to the crusaders’ attempt to establish a state in Palestine, see the Introduction, p. x. 90 Janus’ temple: in ancient Rome the doors of the Temple of Janus stood open only in time of war. 91 Alecto’s and Megaera’s: two of the three Furies of Greek mythology (the third was Tisiphone), embodiments of vengeance. Babel: the Tower of Babel, represented in the Bible (Gen. 11) as aspiring to reach up to Heaven, and hence as exemplifying humanity’s overweening pride.

Canto 3 2 Charybdis: a monster who inhabited a whirlpool, traditionally located on one side of the Strait of Messina (on the other side was a rock inhabited by another monster, Scylla). Boreas: the north wind; also in stanzas 55 and 57 below. 32 Moors’ Tilt: a jousting contest where one team runs from one side of the enclosure to the other, protecting themselves with their shields, while their opponents pelt them with missiles. 37 that eagle crest: Rinaldo bears the heraldic device of his Este descendants, an eagle on a blue background. 38 even old Nile: the source of the Nile was proverbially inaccessible and unknowable. 42 Bertold’s offspring: Rinaldo; his parents (supposed forebears of the Este family) were named in 1.59. 57 Bethel . . . Samaria: Bethel is a village north of Jerusalem, associated with the settlement of Abraham (Gen. 13) but not, despite Tasso’s reference, with the Israelites’ idolatrous worship of the golden calf (Exod. 32). Samaria is the region north of Jerusalem, around the modern town of Nablus. Auster: the south wind. 64 Aquilo Gate . . . Angolar: the Aquilo Gate is the northern (Damascus) gate of Jerusalem. Angolar is the Tower of David, the ancient citadel overlooking the western (Jaffa) gate.

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Canto 4 1 mankind’s great adversary: named in stanza 6 as Pluto, god of the classical underworld. Despite the reference in stanza 9 to the biblical myth of the fall of Lucifer, Tasso’s infernal council is predominantly classical in its inspiration. 5 Harpies . . . Geryons: all monsters in classical mythology. The classical Geryon, a giant killed by Hercules, was adapted by Dante as a winged monster which carries the narrator into the abyss of lower Hell in Inferno, 17. 6 Calpe . . . Atlas: Calpe is Gibraltar; the Atlas mountains are in North Africa. Pluto’s size is compared to that of the Pillars of Hercules. 8 Mongibello: Mount Etna. Cerberus . . . Cocytus: Cerberus is the three-headed dog which guards the entrance to Hades; Hydra a many-headed monster with poisonous breath; Cocytus, one of the five rivers of the underworld, and in Dante, the frozen lake in the lowest circle of Inferno. 9 the Great Mischance: Lucifer’s rebellion against God and his expulsion from Heaven with the angels who sided with him. 11 came and beat down the Tartarean gate: according to Christian tradition, Christ ‘descended into Hell’ after his crucifixion, rescuing the faithful souls of the Old Testament. 18 issuing out to see the stars once more: an adaptation of the last line of the Inferno, which describes Dante’s emergence in the southern hemisphere after his journey through Hell had taken him past the centre of the earth. 29 Argos, Cyprus, Delos: sites associated with three paragons of feminine beauty in classical myth: Helen, whose abduction by Paris was the occasion of the Trojan War; Venus or Aphrodite, born from the foam of the sea on the shore of Cyprus; Diana, born on the island of Delos. 44 his brother: Hydraoth; the discrepancy between Armida’s account of his guardianship and his speech reported in stanzas 24 – 6 confirms the falseness of Armida’s story. 56 Arontes: the courtier identified in stanza 52. 86 Medea or Circe: enchantresses in classical mythology. Circe transformed the men whom she lured to her island into swine, notably Odysseus’ men in the Odyssey; Medea, Circe’s niece, used her magic to help her husband Jason gain the Golden Fleece, but was subsequently abandoned by him.

Canto 5 8 young Bouillon: Eustace (see 4.33); ‘Sophia’s son’ is Rinaldo (see 1.59). 18 Fury: an unidentified ‘evil demon’ (stanza 25), not specifically one of the classical Furies named in 2.91. 19 servile Italy: the phrase is from Dante (Purg. 6.76) but the sentiment echoes a long tradition of lament for the domination of Italy by foreign

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52 63 75

notes to pages 83 – 104 rulers, including Petrarch (his poem ‘Italia mia’, Canzoniere, 128) and Machiavelli (the final chapter of the Prince). Avernus: Hell, the classical underworld (from the volcanic lake north of Naples which is represented by Virgil as the entrance to the underworld in the Aeneid ). his great lineage: Rinaldo is a disruptive, insubordinate character in the Orlando furioso and in the earlier romance tradition, which combines awkwardly with his status in Tasso’s poem as the ancestor of the Este family. It is clear from Tasso’s later response to his critics that he saw Rinaldo in the role of Achilles in the Iliad and Aeneid, the ungovernable hero without whom the Greeks would have been unable to conquer Troy. Cilicia: Baldwin’s treacherous occupation of Cilicia (the coastal plain around Tarsus, north of Antioch) after it had been conquered by Tancred is cited again in 8.64 as a source of resentment between the Italian and French crusaders. Historically, Cilicia was the focus of rivalry between Tancred and Baldwin before the latter decided to cut his losses and move inland to establish a state for himself at Edessa; see the Introduction, p. ix. cypress or palm: i.e. death or victory. Proteus: character in Greek mythology who was able to adopt different shapes at will. Apostate Rambault: he appears in his new role of defender of Armida’s castle ‘against whoever fights in Jesus’ name’ in 7.31 – 3.

Canto 6 10 Nicean Solyman: Tasso, following William of Tyre, makes the Sultan of Nicea (the Turkish capital conquered by the crusaders shortly after leaving Constantinople in June 1097) a leading figure in the defence of Jerusalem, motivated by the desire to avenge the loss of his capital. The historical ruler of Nicea at the time of the crusaders’ attack was not Suleiman but his son Kilij Arslan, who fought the crusaders again at Dorylaeum, some 70 miles east of Nicea, in July 1097. He was defeated again on that occasion and played no further part in the opposition to the crusade. 23 Enceladus: one of the race of giants, offspring of Gaia (Earth) and Uranus (Heaven), who unsuccessfully challenged the Olympian gods in battle on the plain of Phlegra. He was buried under Mount Etna, whose volcanic flames are the product of his breath. The ‘giant Philistine’ is Goliath, on whose defeat by David see 7.78. 33 Alecto’s . . . Medusa’s: see 2.91; Medusa was one of the Gorgons, female monsters of the classical underworld, the sight of whose face and serpent locks turned the beholder to stone. 39 O Muse: Tasso’s invocation signals his ambition for this scene of single combat, modelled on that of Hector and Ajax in book 7 of the Iliad.

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92 Alcides: Hercules. His submission to the Lydian queen Omphale, who made him dress and work as a woman, was a frequent example of the power of love to tame even the most dominant male. 108 whose sire: Ardelion, killed by Clorinda in 3.35.

Canto 7 11 modest are our wishes: the conventional theme of the superiority of the simple rustic life over the intrigues of the court was eloquently developed by Tasso in his pastoral drama Aminta, performed at the court of Ferrara in 1573. 12 Memphis: assumed here to be the capital of Egypt (although in fact it had been supplanted by Cairo by the time of the crusade). 25 Aurora: dawn. 29 Cosenza’s count: this supposedly plausible detail is part of the messenger’s deception; no such character appears in the poem. 46 Comacchio: in the Po delta downstream from Ferrara, an area much exploited for fishing. 58 the peerless prince: Rinaldo; for his killing of Gernand see 5.19 – 31. 64 Conrad Second . . . fierce Leopold: this exploit of Raymond’s is not mentioned elsewhere in the poem, and does not appear to have any historical basis; the emperor Conrad II died in 1039, when the crusader Raymond of Toulouse was 15 years old. 69 from Thule to Bactria: from the north-western to the eastern extremities of the inhabited world: Thule (often ‘ultima Thule’) in ancient geography was an undefined region to the north and west of Britain, later identified with either Iceland or Greenland; Bactria was a region in the east of the Persian empire, in what is now northern Afghanistan. 72 rebel Frank of Saxony: Rudolph of Swabia, who led a rebellion (centred on Saxony, hence his title here) against the emperor Henry IV and was killed in battle by Godfrey in 1080. 75 Aquiline, thus aptly named: after Aquilon, another name for the north wind (cf. ‘Boreas’ in 3.2). This is the only occasion where Tasso follows Ariosto and the earlier romance tradition in giving names to the horses of the leading knights. 76 born on Tagus: the story of a breed of swift horses born from mares impregnated by the wind is recorded in Virgil (Georgics, 3.271 ff.) and Pliny (Natural History, 8.42, where they are located specifically in Portugal (‘on Tagus’) ); but it was more immediately accessible to Tasso in his father Bernardo’s romance Amadigi (29.17). 78 Goliath . . . at Terebinth: Goliath was killed by the shepherd-boy David using his sling (‘with one stone from a boy’); ‘Terebinth’ is the placename translated as ‘the vale of Elah’ in the English Bible (1 Sam. 17:4). Argant has already been compared to Goliath in 6.23.

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81 serpent-piercing spear: the spear with which the archangel Michael killed the dragon, according to the Book of Revelation (Rev. 12: 7). The stanza juxtaposes this biblical reference with Jove’s thunderbolt and Neptune’s trident, which classical mythology associated with earthquakes. 82 the lands between far Caucasus . . . : Europe; Christendom. 103 The Captain: Godfrey. 108 his brother: Baldwin.

Canto 8 1 Auster and Corus: the south and north-west winds respectively. 2 that knight: the sole survivor of the Danish force led by Sven, whose massacre by Solyman he recounts in this canto; named as Charles in 14.31, where he is one of the two knights sent to find and bring back Rinaldo. Bertold’s son: Rinaldo. 8 the city . . . Augustus: Constantinople; ‘the Greek Augustus’ is the Byzantine emperor Alexius I. 10 lustrum: see note to 1.60. 21 Acheron and Styx: rivers of the classical underworld; their juxtaposition with ‘Heaven’ is typical of the fusion of classical and Christian elements in Tasso’s poem. 37 the Red Cross: the badge of the crusaders. 40 the Heavenly Rose: this image of the blessed in paradise is taken from Dante (Paradiso, 30.124 ff.). 43 The German: i.e. the Danish knight who has been speaking since stanza 6. 44 Capitoline: the hill in ancient Rome where victorious generals received a laurel crown. 49 that bird . . . whose chicks must train their eyes: the eagle, traditionally the only creature which could look directly at the sun, and Rinaldo’s heraldic emblem; see 3.37. 58 on Tronto’s banks: the Tronto is a river in central Italy which flows into the Adriatic between Ancona and Pescara; the main city through which it flows is Ascoli. Despite this detail, there is no evidence to link Tasso’s Argillan with a historic figure from this region. 60 Its left hand . . . head: this ghoulish image recalls the punishment imagined by Dante for Bertrand de Born as a ‘sower of discord’ between father and son in Inferno, 28.118 ff. 63 Why should these Goths . . .: at Alecto’s prompting, Argillan exploits Italian resentment of the leadership exercised by Godfrey and the other French knights (using ‘Goths’ as a generic term for northern Europeans). 64 the Frank: Baldwin; for his treacherous occupation of Cilicia after its conquest by Tancred, see 5.48.

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69 the shores . . . Euphrates: Mesopotamia (modern Iraq), which the crusaders hoped to conquer and occupy. 72 the Swiss . . . the English: Alecto has successfully spread the revolt against Godfrey’s leadership as she was instructed in stanza 3. 74 Tancred and Camillus, and William: the Italian and English leaders who could have restrained their men.

Canto 9 4 Sangar’s to Meander’s stream: two rivers in Anatolia (modern Turkey), flowing into the Black Sea and the Aegean respectively. Mysians . . . Lydians: regions of Anatolia. the outlanders: the crusaders, who (in Tasso’s version) defeated Solyman once at Nicea and again at Antioch; but see note to 6.10. 10 Araspes: Alecto evidently adopts the form and voice of an old, trusted adviser of Solyman; but this figure is not mentioned elsewhere (the Araspes who leads a troop of the Egyptian army in 17.15 appears to be a different character). 15 Tartarus: the underworld. 21 Phlegethon: a river of fire, one of the five rivers of the classical underworld; the others are the Styx (whence ‘Stygian’ in stanza 53 below), Lethe, Cocytus, and Acheron (8.21, and stanza 59 below). 27 His five sons: ‘the too-bold eldest son’ (30) is not named, but the others are named in 32 – 4 as Aramant, Sabinus, Picus, and Laurence. 39 Eurus . . . Aquilo: south-east and north winds respectively. 46 Hadria: the Adriatic; for the river Po and its liability to flood, see 1.75. 52 Auster: south wind; for Aquilo see stanza 39 above. 53 Stygian angels: demons from the underworld. 56 three lights in a single light: the phrase recalls Dante’s ‘trina luce’ in Paradiso, 31.28. Motion, and the Power that measures it: i.e. Time. 57 unequally equal: the paradox of there being different degrees of beatitude, which by definition is complete, is a theme of Dante’s Paradiso; see especially Par. 4.35 – 6. 58 Michael: first among the archangels, named in the Book of Revelation (Rev. 12: 7) as leading the angels in battle against the devil. 59 Acheron: see note to stanza 21 above. 60 the flaming radiance: the Empyrean, represented by Dante in the Paradiso as the dwelling-place of God and the souls of the blessed. In these two stanzas Tasso describes the archangel descending to earth through the celestial spheres as they are found in the Paradiso: the Crystalline or Primum Mobile; the heaven of the Fixed Stars (‘the star-bespangled

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61 64 68 71 74 79 89 92

notes to pages 175 – 193 round’), i.e. the constellations; Saturn and Jupiter, then Mars, the Sun, Venus, Mercury, and the Moon (‘the other five’). where rain and thunder stir: the sublunary world, subject to the changes of weather, fortune, and mortality. to the sacred sign: that Jerusalem should fall to the crusaders under their banner of the cross. that place where men first feed: the navel. for greater foes: an anticipation of Clorinda’s fatal encounter with Tancred in canto 12, and Gildippe’s with Solyman in canto 20. Argillan: for his imprisonment for leading the attempted mutiny against Godfrey see 8.82. Saladin: not the future reconqueror of Jerusalem for Islam, who is foreseen by the magician Ismen in 10.22 – 3. palace guardsmen: Solyman’s troops who had followed him from Nicea (see note to 6.10). fifty knights: these will be revealed in the next canto to be those who left the crusaders’ camp to follow Armida in canto 5, and who have now been liberated by Rinaldo.

Canto 10 7 Lethe: river of oblivion; hence, sleep. 10 the old man: identified in stanza 19 as the magician Ismen, who first appeared in canto 2. 12 those walls: of Jerusalem. 22 a man whose feats . . .: Saladin, who won back Jerusalem from the crusaders in 1187. Ismen’s prophecy of this future champion of Islam is paralleled by Peter the Hermit’s of the future feats of Rinaldo at the end of the canto (stanza 75). 23 sheltered by nothing but the sea: the island of Cyprus, captured by Richard I of England in 1191, which remained a western stronghold after they had lost their territory on the mainland of Palestine. 31 This cave: an underground passage in Jerusalem, reputedly constructed by Herod the Great, leading from the Temple to the Antonine Tower (so named by Herod in honour of his friend and ally Mark Antony). 47 the king of Tripoli: for his surrender without resistance to the crusaders see 1.76. the headstrong Sultan: Solyman, who will be provoked by Orcan’s words to emerge from the cloud of invisibility in which he has been listening and intervene in the debate. 51 lambs and wolves: a provocative allusion, in this warlike speech, to the biblical prophecy of universal peace in Isaiah 11: 6 – 9. 54 the noble maid: Clorinda.

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58 that crew: the knights who had been enticed away from the crusaders’ camp by Armida in canto 5. 59 son of Britain’s king: William (see 1.44); it is clear from what he says in stanza 60 that he was one of the unidentified knights who followed Armida even though they had not been among those whose names were drawn by lot (5.72 – 5). 61 where long ago the fire: the Dead Sea, associated with the fire and brimstone from Heaven which destroyed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, according to Genesis 19. 70 Damascus’ tyrant lord: Hydraoth, Armida’s uncle, also a magician (see 4.20). 73 the Hermit: Peter; see 1.29. 75 I clearly see: Peter’s prophecy conflates Tasso’s hero with a later member of the Este family, another Rinaldo, who reputedly fought on behalf of Pope Alexander III against the emperor Frederick Barbarossa (the ‘wicked Augustus’ and ‘Great Beast’ of this stanza) in the second half of the twelfth century, some seventy years after the First Crusade. Tasso makes this the basis for presenting the Este family as defenders of the Church ‘from unjust Caesars, and from rebels too’ (76), implicitly attributing this role to his patron Alfonso II.

Canto 11 3 William and Ademar: the two bishops named in 1.38. 7 in threefold ranks: the three hierarchies of angelic beings. who . . . once humbly washed: St John the Baptist. 8 thou Rock: St Peter, the first bishop of Rome; Tasso takes the opportunity to affirm his loyalty to the pope as his successor. ye . . . whose hallowed writings: the other apostolic writers of the New Testament. ye, who . . . witnessed the truth: the early Christian martyrs. 9 ye, too, whose pen: the Patristic writers of the early Church. Christ’s loyal handmaid: Mary of Bethany, commended by Christ for having ‘chosen the good portion’ (Luke 10: 42) and a traditional example of the contemplative life. ye, espoused by God: women who have taken religious vows. ye, great-souled mid . . . privations: virgin martyrs. 10 deep Jehoshaphat: the valley separating the Mount of Olives from the old city of Jerusalem; traditionally regarded as the place of the Last Judgement. 15 Mysterium: the Mass. 16 aged Raymond: of Toulouse; see 1.61.

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23 great Urban: Pope Urban II, whose preaching at the Council of ClermontFerrand in 1095 launched the First Crusade. 25 the younger Bouillons: Baldwin and Eustace. the seven cold stars: the Plough (Wain) or Great Bear, the constellation which points to the north star; hence, the north-west section of the city wall. 27 the Angolar turret: see note to 3.64. 28 the Delian maid: Diana, virgin goddess of hunting. 35 the Circassian: Argant. 43 Count Amboise: Stephen; see 1.40 and 62. The Flemish lord: Robert of Flanders; see 1.44. 49 Nicea’s erstwhile tyrant: Solyman; see note to 6.10. 50 the lofty maid: Clorinda. 61 This is not Antioch: Argant taunts the crusaders for having taken Antioch by ‘fraud and trickeries’; the city fell after a long siege thanks to the treachery of one of the defenders. See 1.6 and the Introduction, p. ix. Frankish men . . . Frankish girls: a traditional insult, with a specific precedent in the taunting of the Greek besiegers of Troy by Ascanius in Aeneid, 9.617. 65 the mural diadem’s . . . prize: the prize given to the first of the attackers to penetrate the besieged city’s walls. 66 the baneful sisters: the Furies; see 2.91. 70 Eròtimo, born on banks of Po: despite the reference to his birthplace which suggests that he was from Ferrara, no historical counterpart has been identified for this character. In fact, Eròtimo and the whole episode narrated in stanzas 70 – 6 is closely modelled on an equivalent scene in Aeneid, 12.391 ff., where Iapyx, a doctor attending the wounded Aeneas, is similarly described as being gifted in the arts by Apollo, but choosing the unsung art of medicine, to preserve bodies from death, in preference to poetry which can bestow the immortality of fame. 72 dittany: a herb credited with healing properties, indigenous to Crete (‘Ida’s hill’). In the corresponding episode in the Aeneid, where Iapyx tries in vain to remove an arrowhead from Aeneas’ wound, it is the hero’s mother, the goddess Venus, who procures the herb from Crete and infuses it in the water used to bathe his wound. 73 the mountain goat: Virgil’s version of the story also relates the belief that mountain goats in Crete ate dittany leaves if they were wounded by an arrow. 74 Lydia: region in western Turkey; it is not clear what Tasso intended by this allusion, almost the only detail in the whole scene which has no apparent source in Virgil. 81 the Norman captain: Robert; see 1.38.

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Canto 12 6 that tired old man: named in stanza 18 as Arseth, Clorinda’s faithful eunuch servant, who will tell her story (which she as yet does not know) in this canto. 21 Senapo: the name given by Ariosto and others to Prester John, the legendary Christian ruler of a kingdom near the source of the Nile, who is visited by Astolfo in Orlando furioso, 33.102 ff. However, Arseth’s story of Clorinda’s concealment as a baby and the dangers which she survived in childhood is loosely based on the Aethiopica by Heliodorus, a third-century ad Greek romance which was widely read in Latin and vernacular translations in the sixteenth century. An Italian translation of the Aethiopica by Leonardo Ghini was published in 1556. 23 A lovely maid . . .: the scene could be based on the myth of Perseus and Andromeda or on Ariosto’s version of it with Ruggiero and Angelica (Orlando furioso, 10.92 ff.); but, given that Clorinda’s mother prays to its ‘heavenly warrior’ in stanza 28, it presumably represents St George and the dragon. 25 custom forbade it: the Ethiopian Christians were believed to delay baptism until sixty days after birth for a girl, forty days for a boy. 48 Golden Gate: the eastern gate of Jerusalem, overlooking the valley of Jehoshaphat. 54 O Night: this variation on the traditional invocation of the poet’s Muse at moments of high drama (see also 6.39) signals the heightened emotion of the scene which follows, as well as the distinctive quality given by its nocturnal setting. 63 Aquilo and Notus: the north and south winds respectively. 89 that saint in Heaven: Clorinda, whom Tancred imagines as a soul in Heaven listening to his lament. Her words to him in stanzas 91 – 3 cast her in a role similar to that of Beatrice to Dante in the Divine Comedy, and (less consistently) of the dead Laura to Petrarch in the Canzoniere. 93 into her depth of rays withdrew: a movement similar to that of Dante’s Beatrice in Paradiso, 5.136 – 7. 94 a Daedal hand: Daedalus, builder of the labyrinth for King Minos of Crete, was proverbial for his skilled craftsmanship. 105 he’ll fall in equal fight: an anticipation of Argant’s death in single combat with Tancred in canto 19.

Canto 13 6 spells of Acheron: here as elsewhere, the names of the infernal rivers stand for the underworld itself; see the note to 9.21. The same goes for ‘citizens of Styx’ in the next stanza. 7 ye who . . .: Ismen’s invocation of the various ranks of demons in this stanza can be seen as an infernal parallel to the Christian invocations in the crusaders’ prayers at the beginning of canto 11.

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Lord of the heinous realms: Lucifer or Pluto. 8 so let each trunk: a wood whose trees are inhabited by human souls is the setting for a dramatic episode in the Inferno (canto 13), itself based on Aeneas’ encounter with the imprisoned soul of Polydorus in Aeneid, 3.19 ff. 10 that fearful name: it is likely that Tasso intended a reference to Demogorgon, the supposed supreme demon, whose name was often considered taboo. 11 still lamed by the Almighty’s writ: see 9.58 – 9 and 64 – 6. 12 his monarch: Aladdin. 13 to join the sun in Leo: the constellation Leo is in the sun in July – August, preceded by Cancer (stanza 52) in June – July. 14 Nasamon or Garamant: classical names given to tribes inhabiting North Africa. the Egyptian host: the relief-force which has been expected by crusaders and defenders alike since canto 1. 18 Chimeras . . . or Sphinx: classical monsters. The chimera had a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a dragon’s tail; the sphinx (according to some versions of the myth, the daughter of the chimera) had the head of a woman, the body of a dog or lion, bird’s wings, a serpent’s tail, and lion’s claws. 21 the forest’s bowels . . .: this stanza, and the episode of the Enchanted Wood as a whole, is modelled on a passage of Lucan’s Civil War (6.685 ff.). Auster: the south wind. 27 Dis: the inner citadel of Dante’s Hell (Inferno, 8.68); also used by Dante as a name for Satan (Inf. 34.20). 38 ancient Egypt’s mystic shrines: Egyptian hieroglyphics were the subject of much learned interest and speculation in the sixteenth century, especially after the publication of Pierio Valeriano’s Hieroglyphica in 1556. 52 the heavenly Crab: the constellation Cancer; see note to stanza 13. 56 Zephyrus: the gentlest of the winds, associated with spring and early summer; when the heat-wave is finally dispersed by the storm, Tasso describes the stifling heat as being replaced by ‘such warmth as burns | when April days to early May-time wear’ (stanza 80). 59 Siloa brook: stream flowing into the Kedron valley in Jerusalem; for the biblical ‘pool of Siloam’ see John 9. Milton later wrote of ‘Sion hill . . . and Siloa’s brook’ in the opening lines of Paradise Lost. Nile, when it chokes: the annual flooding of the Nile; ‘its seven ducts’ are the branches of the Nile delta. 68 the Greek leader: Tatinos; see 1.51. 71 if to a mortal hand . . .: the reference is to Moses, who struck water from the rock at Massah when the Israelites were in danger of dying of thirst in the desert (Exod. 17). This makes explicit the parallel with the biblical episode when the people rebelled against the leadership of Moses, seen as a testing of their faith before they could enter the Promised Land; the

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allusion is part of Tasso’s careful preparation for the final successful assault on Jerusalem. 73 their matchless knight: Rinaldo, whose return was anticipated in Peter the Hermit’s prophecy in stanza 51 — another hint of the approaching final battle.

Canto 14 3 crystal gates: Tasso’s variation on Virgil’s two ‘gates of sleep’ (Aeneid, 6.893 ff.), of horn and ivory, through which pass respectively true and false dreams. Tasso’s Christian version of the image allows only the gates of true dreams granted to deserving souls. 5 Hugh: see 1.37. 6 new and wondrous face: Tasso here uses two elements which are traditional in encounters between a living person and a departed soul: the spirit is now so resplendent that he is not immediately recognized; and the living person tries in vain to embrace the soul, forgetting that he no longer has a physical body. Both are in Dante (Par. 3.58 ff. and Purg. 2.79 ff. respectively); the latter is also in Virgil (Aeneid, 2.792 – 4, where Aeneas meets the shade of his wife Creusa, and 6.699 – 702, in his encounter with his father Anchises). 8 your brother: Baldwin, who succeeded Godfrey as king of Jerusalem. 10 How wretchedly . . .: the topos of the hero looking down through the successive spheres of the heavens and seeing the smallness of the earth is closely modelled on Dante (Par. 22.133 ff.), who in turn derived it from Macrobius’ commentary on Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis; but the moral — the pettiness of the territories for which humans compete so fiercely — is Dante’s (not altogether appropriate here, when Godfrey is about to embark on the final battle for Jerusalem). 12 Bertold’s young son: Rinaldo; see 8.2. 17 Guelf: for his role as Rinaldo’s uncle and mentor see 1.10. 19 a pleasing codicil: there is no further mention of this marriage between the descendants of Godfrey and Rinaldo, which would make both heroes ancestors of Alfonso d’Este. 27 the Danish warrior: see 8.2; named in stanza 31 as Charles. 29 where Bohemond kept his seat of monarchy: Antioch. See the Introduction, p. ix. 30 Ascalon: on the coast south-west of Jerusalem. 33 a good old man: Tasso explained that he had introduced the Sage of Ascalon as a representative of human knowledge, complementing the divine knowledge of Peter the Hermit (to whom the Sage attributes his conversion to Christianity in stanza 45); the Sage also stands in opposition to Ismen as the representative of natural, as opposed to demonic, magic. 37 Cynthia: goddess of the moon; Diana.

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38 where Po is born: this stanza gives a representative list of the major rivers of the world: one in Italy (the Po); three in Asia (Hydaspes, Ganges, Euphrates; the Hydaspes, famous as the site of a battle in Alexander the Great’s Indian campaign in 326 BC, is a tributary of the Indus in modern Pakistan); two in Europe (Don and Ister (Danube — see 1.41) ); and one in Africa (Nile). On the unknown source of the Nile (‘from hidden springs’) see 3.38. and lower down . . . a stream: in alchemical lore, a stream of liquid sulphur (gold) and mercury (silver), from which the corresponding solid metals were supposed to derive. 42 Not . . . Stygian angels: this underground river is explicitly contrasted with the now-familiar rivers of the classical underworld (see 9.21, etc.). 44 Iris: the rainbow. In classical mythology Iris was the messenger of the gods, who left a rainbow in her wake as she flew to earth. 46 yet, as God wishes . . .: the Sage’s words amount to an acknowledgement on Tasso’s part that the character embodies his attempt to incorporate the magical elements of Ariosto and the romance tradition into the Christian framework of his poem. 50 you both know in part: from Armida’s first appearance in the crusaders’ camp in canto 4, and the account of her spell by those who had been freed by Rinaldo and returned to the camp in canto 10. 55 He talked with your men: this encounter was reported in the crusaders’ camp in 8.48 – 56. 57 Orontes: the river which flows into the Mediterranean west of Antioch. 61 So on a stage . . .: this apparently topical reference to the theatre is in fact adapted from Ovid, Metamorphoses, 3.111 – 14. Tyrrhene: the sea off the west coast of Italy. 66 Narcissus: a beautiful youth who drowned trying to embrace his own reflection in a fountain. In most versions of the myth this is his punishment for his imperviousness to love; Armida’s ‘heart harder than adamant’ has similarly been melted by love. 70 from Fortune takes its name: ‘the Fortunate Isles’ is a traditional title for the Canaries. 72 You’ll know her by the forelock . . .: this, and her ‘motley’ dress, identify this figure as Fortune (not usually the most reliable of guides). She is often represented with a forelock, alluding to the saying ‘to seize Fortune (or Time) by the forelock’, meaning to take an opportunity when it is offered. 74 a fountain springs: a fountain in the Fortunate Isles which causes death by laughter is described by Petrarch, as an image of the destructive power of love (Canzoniere, 135.76 – 9). 77 show yourselves to him: the Sage’s instructions cast the two knights in the role of Ulysses and Diomedes when they enticed Achilles away from Deidamia to fight (and meet his death) in the Trojan War. This element of the Achilles story, especially prominent in the Italian vernacular tradition

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because of its use by Dante (Inf. 26.61 – 2), reinforces the parallel between Rinaldo and the Greek hero; see note to 5.36.

Canto 15 6 I’ll safely steer: Fortune is traditionally represented holding a sail, as the unpredictability of the winds reflects the instability of Fortune. But for all her fickleness, her role as a minister (‘executor’) of divine providence is strongly asserted by Dante in a passage (Inf. 7.70 – 96) which clearly influenced Tasso here. 9 Notus: the south wind. 10 Gaza . . . the port of Gath: Gaza was destroyed by Alexander the Great in 332 BC and rebuilt on the coast. Gath is about 20 miles inland. 11 a huge encampment: the Egyptian-led army gathering to come to the aid of the defenders of Jerusalem. 13 his command: of the Egyptian Caliph al-Mustali; ‘his who in his stead’ refers to the commander of the Egyptian army, named in 17.32 as Emiren, a renegade Armenian Christian. 15 Raffia: on the border between Egypt and Palestine; modern Rafah. Rhinocolura: coastal town about 30 miles west of Rafah; modern El Arish. a huge mountain: Mount Casius (modern Ras Burun), a promontory on the Egyptian coast, where Pompey was assassinated as he landed in 48 BC and where he was reputed to be buried. 16 Damietta: town on the eastern branch of the Nile delta. seven famous floodgates: see note to 13.59. city founded by the great Greek: Alexandria. Pharos: site of the lighthouse marking the entrance to the port of Alexandria, one of the traditional seven wonders of the ancient world. 17 Rhodes and Crete, which pole-ward hide: both islands would be well below the horizon to the north of a ship following the coast of North Africa as described here. Marmarica: region of Libya bordering on Egypt, inland from Tubruq (Tobruk). five peaks: Cyrenaica, the group of five Greek cities on the coast of Libya east of the gulf of Sirte (‘Greater Syrtis’ in stanza 18), sometimes called the western Pentapolis: Cyrene, Apollonia, Ptolemais, Barca, and Berenice (modern Benghazi). fabled Lethe’s waves: an underground stream which emerges in Benghazi was one supposed location of Lethe, one of the rivers of the underworld (see notes to 9.21 and 10.7). 18 Syrtis, bane of sailing men: the Gulf of Sirte (see note on stanza 17) is dangerous for shipping because of its shallows. Judecca’s cape: probably Cape Misratah, the western extremity of the Gulf of Sirte.

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notes to pages 275 – 277 Syrtis Minor: the Gulf of Gabès, the next major inlet on the North African coast, west of Tripoli and south of Tunis. Djerba: Homer (Odyssey, 9) described the Lotus Eaters, whose diet induced a state of blissful oblivion, as living on an island off the North African coast which is traditionally identified with Djerba, off the coast of Zarzis in Tunisia. Libya: used here, as in the opening stanza of the poem, as a generic name for North Africa. Lilybaeum . . . Carthage: the site of ancient Carthage is near Tunis, where the North African coast at the narrowest point of the Mediterranean is some 90 miles from the western tip of Sicily, the site of a Carthaginian colony at Lilybaeum (near modern Marsala). Exalted Carthage: compare the similar reference to the rise and fall of Gaza in stanza 10; both references echo a passage in Dante’s Paradiso (16.73 – 87) on the ebb and flow of fortune as it is reflected in the history of cities. Bizerta: the northernmost point of the Tunisian coast. Bugía: Bejaia, between Tunis and Tangier. Tingitan: Tangier (ancient Tingis). In Boiardo’s and Ariosto’s poems, the comic trickster Brunello is made king of Tingitana. Alcides: Hercules; here, as in 2.62, the reference is to the Straits of Gibraltar. Abyla . . . Calpe: ancient names for the Pillars of Hercules: Abyla is Jebel Musa in Morocco; Calpe is Gibraltar. Four times the sun had risen: cf. Dante, Inferno, 26.130, where Ulysses recalls the sun rising and setting five times before his voyage into the western ocean comes to grief. Dante’s account of Ulysses’ westward voyage is a background presence throughout this passage, and this echo of Dante’s text prepares for the explicit reference to Ulysses in stanza 25. Cadiz: the last major Spanish city west of Gibraltar. There are no islands off the coast of Cadiz, and it is not clear what Tasso meant by ‘the twin isles’. the monster brood: the labours of Hercules included killing the giant Antaeus, who barred his way to the Garden of the Hesperides, usually located in North Africa; and the monster Geryon, whose cattle he had to steal and who, in some versions of the myth, lived in southern Spain. Ulysses: see note to stanza 23. Echoes of Dante’s text are particularly strong in this stanza, and in stanzas 26 and 33. what faith rules: there is a similar discussion of the theological status of the inhabitants of lands not yet reached by Christian missionaries in Luigi Pulci’s Morgante, canto 25, written in the 1470s — twenty years before Columbus’s first contact with the New World. nutriment the human tongue abhors: i.e. cannibalism. Reports of tribes practising cannibalism in South America circulated widely in Tasso’s time.

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30 will sail the whole round of the sea: the circumnavigation of the globe by Magellan’s expedition in 1519 – 22. 31 A native of Liguria: as stanza 32 will make clear, this is the Genoese Christopher Columbus. Abyla’s narrow limits: see note to stanza 22. 32 Alcides, Bacchus: both noted wanderers in classical mythology. Alcides is Hercules; see note to stanza 22. 34 where huge Enceladus hides: Mount Etna; see note to 6.23. 36 Elysian Fields: resting-place of the souls of the virtuous, traditionally located in or beyond the western ocean. 44 Christ’s champion: Rinaldo. 45 Phoebus’ chariot: the sun; despite Fortune’s reference to the ‘waning light’, the sun is still well above the horizon. 47 a thing of wrath: for the classical precedents for this monster guardian of the Enchanted Garden, see note to stanza 25. 49 The charmed gold wand: given to them by the Sage of Ascalon in 14.73. 51 from Nile unto Atlas: from east to west of Africa. Hercynia’s or Hyrcania’s forest gloam: Hercynia was the classical name for the supposedly limitless forests of Germany and central Europe; Hyrcania is the area south of the Caspian Sea, in modern Iran, associated with the presence of wild beasts, especially tigers. 53 Forever fresh . . . breezes ply: a constant cooling breeze is a feature of Dante’s Earthly Paradise (Purg. 28.7 – 9), in contrast to the variable winds of natural terrestrial weather. 57 the Laughing Spring: of which they were warned by the Sage in 14.74. 60 Love’s goddess: Venus or Aphrodite, born from the foam of the sea (‘fecund’ because produced by the genitals of Uranus, the father of the gods, whose son Cronus castrated him and threw his genitals into the sea). The scene, including the detail of Venus’ long hair part-concealing and part-revealing her body, is described in Poliziano’s Stanze, a text drawing on a variety of classical sources, written in the 1470s and the model for Botticelli’s famous painting. 66 One couple stays: the two bathing nymphs; the other couple are the two knights who are impervious to their charms.

Canto 16 3 See here . . .: each of the gates of Alcina’s realm has a carved scene representing a hero who has succumbed to love: here Hercules (Alcides), compelled to dress and work as a woman by Omphale, queen of Lydia or Maeonia in Asia Minor, in a myth also alluded to in 6.92. The labours of Hercules included capturing Cerberus, the three-headed dog which guarded the entrance to Hades (‘He conquered Hell’) and relieving the giant Atlas of holding up the sky (‘bore up stars and sky’). Iole was

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notes to pages 286 – 293 Hercules’ wife, according to another myth which Tasso seems to have conflated with the story of Omphale here. On the other side . . .: stanzas 4 – 7 describe the scene on the second gate, the sea-battle of Actium (31 BC) where Mark Anthony fought against his fellow Romans on behalf of his Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. The story was widely known through Plutarch’s Life of Anthony. Leucadia is the Greek island of Lefkada, in the Ionian Sea, off which the naval battle was fought. the Cyclades: archipelago of islands in the Aegean; the clash of the opposed navies is so great that the ships seem like islands colliding. This image, and the whole scene in stanzas 4 – 5, is taken from Virgil’s description of the battle of Actium as it was depicted on Aeneas’ shield in Aeneid, 8.671 ff. Tasso draws more extensively on this passage of Virgil for his description of Rinaldo’s shield in 17.64 ff. he waits for death: after his defeat at Actium, Anthony withdrew to Egypt with Cleopatra, where they both committed suicide to avoid capture by Anthony’s rival Octavian. the Meander: river in Anatolia (see note to 9.4), whose name has become synonymous with its tortuous course. the art that makes it . . . art: the ‘art which consists in concealing art’ is a classical maxim expressed (though not exactly in the traditional formula ‘ars est celare artem’) by Ovid (Ars amatoria, 2.313), and given a wider application in the Renaissance in the social ideal of grazia or sprezzatura (‘grace’ or ‘nonchalance’) advocated in Castiglione’s hugely influential Book of the Courtier (1528; see especially book 1, ch. 26). the shamefast, virgin rose: the rose as an emblem of transient beauty to be enjoyed while it lasts has a long history; Tasso’s most immediate predecessor is Ariosto (Orlando furioso, 1.42 – 3). Robert Herrick’s (1591 – 1674) ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’ is a well-known English version from a generation or so later than Tasso. chaste laurel: the nymph Daphne was transformed into a laurel to rescue her from the unwelcome advances of Apollo. her girdle: as the following stanza makes clear, Armida’s is a metaphorical ‘girdle’ made up of the wiles with which she ensnares her lovers. The conceit is based on Aphrodite’s girdle in Homer, Iliad, 14.214 ff. that magic zone: Latin zona, from the Greek word for ‘girdle, belt’. the adamant shield: the shield given to the two knights by the Sage in 14.77, in which Rinaldo sees reflected the reality of the condition to which he is reduced. A Wisdom greater than her wisdom: the Sage of Ascalon’s natural magic is more powerful than Armida’s; see note to 14.33. Thessalian witch: in Lucan’s Civil War, the source for several of Tasso’s passages describing black magic, Thessaly is the home of the witch Erictho and of witchcraft generally. See note to 13.21.

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52 the ancient flame: the phrase alludes to one of the best-known expressions of Dido’s fatal passion for Aeneas (Aeneid, 4.23: ‘I recognize the signs of the ancient flame’), and introduces the scene which has numerous echoes of Aeneas’ parting from Dido. 57 Sophia: Rinaldo’s mother, according to 1.59. ice of Caucasus . . . some Hyrcanian tigress: specific echoes of Dido’s reproach to Aeneas, Aeneid, 4.365 ff. For ‘Hyrcanian tigress’ see also note to 15.51. 58 Xenocrates: Greek philosopher proverbial for the austerity of his life. 62 the escort: Fortune, who brought Rinaldo’s rescuers to Armida’s island. 68 Dis: Hell, the underworld; see note to 13.27. The conjuring of spirits from the underworld in this stanza is based on the description of Dido’s funeral pyre in Aeneid, 4.510 ff. 72 Damascus: the kingdom of her uncle Hydraoth; see 4.20. her great palace: the castle by the Dead Sea where Armida held the crusaders whom she enticed from their camp in canto 5. 74 my guardian uncle: Hydraoth, whose idea it was to send Armida to the crusaders’ camp; see 4.23 ff.

Canto 17 1 Great Gaza’s city: Tasso’s resumption of the main thread of his narrative is marked by a return to the geographical location where the long digression began in 15.10 ff. Pelusium: ancient city at the eastern extremity of the Nile delta. Auster: the south wind; see note to 8.1. 2 seized . . . from the Turks: in fact, Turkish power never extended as far as Gaza in pre-crusading times (or for that matter in Tasso’s). 3 O Muse: here, as at other critical points in the poem, the invocation of the poet’s Muse signals the return to his central epic theme; cf. 1.2, 6.39, and 12.54 and notes. 4 a warrior of Muhammad’s bloodline: Abdullah al-Mahdi, founder of the Fatimid dynasty in Egypt in the tenth century, who claimed descent from Muhammad through the Prophet’s daughter Fatima. 5 Syria’s shore . . .: the southern and eastern shore of the Mediterranean, from Libya to Syria. For Marmarica and Cyrene see 15.17. Syena: the southernmost town of ancient Egypt (modern Aswan), just downstream from the first cataract of the Nile. wide Euphrates’ strand: in Mesopotamia (modern Iraq). 6 far beyond . . . Eritrea’s ground: extending far to the east of the Red Sea. Eritrea borders the west shore of the Red Sea at its southern end. their present king: the Egyptian Caliph Ahmed al-Mustali; see note to 1.67. The military career attributed to him in the following stanzas is fictitious;

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notes to pages 304 – 307 unlike the venerable warrior described here, al-Mustali was a child when he succeeded his father as Caliph in 1094. Proudly he sits . . .: the extended muster of the Caliph’s army, culminating in the appearance of Armida in stanzas 33 ff., parallels that of the crusaders in canto 1, and is a striking early example of oriental exoticism in its combination of opulence and moral corruption. Apelles . . . Phidias: Apelles was famed as the greatest painter, and Phidias as the greatest sculptor, of classical Greece. Circassian lancers: Circassians (originally from the Caucasus region to the east of the Black Sea) made up a large part of the Mamluks, the military caste who dominated the Egyptian army and increasingly (after the period of the First Crusade) the state itself. Barca: the coastal region of North Africa west of Alexandria; elsewhere called Marmarica (15.17, 17.5). Zumra: capital of the Nasamones, inhabitants of Libya inland from Cyrenaica; see 13.14 and note. Tasso seems to make a point of varying the place-names for the North African region which he has already surveyed in canto 15. Araby of the Rocks: stanzas 20 and 21 follow the traditional division of the Arabian peninsula into Arabia Petraea (‘Araby of the Rocks’), the northwestern region with its capital at Petra, in modern Jordan; Arabia Felix (‘Araby the Blest’), the fertile land on the Red Sea coast, with its capital at Yemen, famous for incense and spices; and Arabia Deserta, the interior, whose nomadic inhabitants ‘nowhere a fixed abode or steady dwelling know’ (21). the immortal phoenix: mythical bird, of which there is only one; it has a life-cycle of 500 years, at the end of which it burns its nest of cinnamon twigs and rises renewed from the ashes. the isles: the islands in the Arabian Sea off the Horn of Africa, famous for their pearl-fisheries. Eritrea’s sea: the Red Sea. Meroë: ancient city on the Nile some 400 miles south of Aswan (see note on stanza 5 above), capital of a kingdom bounded by the Blue Nile and Atbara (Astraborra) rivers, in what is now northern Sudan. the third, adhering to the Holy Faith: Tasso probably means the mysterious Christian king known as Senapo or Prester John; see note to 12.21. Ormuz . . . Boekhan: islands in the Strait of Hormuz, at the southern end of the Persian Gulf. Nor could you, Altamor . . .: Tasso appears to have invented this conflict between love and war in Altamor as a counterpart to that of Rinaldo on the opposing side; but the theme is not developed. the house of Dawn: i.e. from the east. from Ganges’ hither side: to the west of the Ganges, which flows east into the Bay of Bengal; the Indus flows into the Arabian Sea.

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31 Mart: Mars. 32 Clement . . . now known as Emiren: Tasso takes this detail of an Armenian convert from Christianity to Islam from William of Tyre. 34 pyropes . . . jacinths: pyropes are rubies or garnets; generically, red gemstones, as are jacinths. 35 the matchless bird: the phoenix; see note to stanza 20 above. 54 the Bears: Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, constellations which point to the pole star in the northern hemisphere. 55 on the fourth day: the mirror-image of their four days’ westward voyage in 15.23. The lady: Fortune; cf. 16.62. 56 the three knights: Rinaldo and his rescuers Charles and Hubald. 58 a new-wrought suit of arms: this display of the armour destined for the hero to wear is based on Aeneas’ armour, given to him by his mother Venus, in Aeneid, 8.615 ff., itself based on the armour and shield of Achilles in Homer, Iliad, 18.458 ff. 60 a wiser and a holier tongue: Peter the Hermit, who will commission Rinaldo for his task in 18.6 ff.; see also stanza 88 below. 62 Nature has raised your face . . .: the Sage’s words to Rinaldo remind him of his Achilles-like wrath which led him to kill Gernand and leave the crusaders’ camp in canto 5, as well as his more recent succumbing to Armida’s charms; see note to 5.36. 63 your wise commander: Godfrey. 64 this shield: for the hero’s shield, with carvings showing the great deeds of his descendants, see Aeneid, 8.626 ff. The celebration of the Este dynasty which follows was de rigueur in chivalric poems written for the Este court; Ariosto contrived it by means of enchanted carvings in the cave of the magician Merlin, shown to the warrioresss Bradamante in Orlando furioso, 3.15 ff. 66 Bloodlines of Actius . . .: Tasso follows the genealogy of the Estensi by Alfonso’s court historian Govanni Battista Pigna, whose History of the Este Princes was published in 1570. This traces their descent from Gaius Actius, a captain in the Roman army at the time of the Visigothic invasions of Italy (the ‘alien tribes’ of stanza 67) under Alaric (the ‘fierce Goth’ of 67) in AD 401 – 10. In the following stanzas Tasso, following Pigna, links the main phases of the Germanic invasions of the fifth to eleventh centuries to real or invented members of the Este family. In some cases (e.g. Aurelius and Forestus in 68) these are mere names, about whom nothing else is known; in others (e.g. the various members of the family called Azzo) Tasso places them in a generation which is chronologically incompatible with the events with which they are linked. 67 when the fierce Goth once more poured . . .: Alaric was (wrongly) thought to have been encouraged to return to Italy by the emperor Honorius after his initial invasion had been repulsed in 401 – 3; he recrossed the Alps by the

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notes to pages 315 – 317 Brenner Pass (‘the famous ford’) in 408, and his army eventually entered and sacked Rome in 410. the Hunnish tyrant of the north: Attila, who invaded Italy in 452. Aquilea: a substantial city and ecclesiastical centre a few miles inland from the north-east corner of the Adriatic, destroyed by Attila in 452. Altinum: the inhabitants of this town on the mainland of the Venetian lagoon, also destroyed by Attila, took refuge on the islands of the lagoon where Venice subsequently grew. Tasso credits Acarinus with moving further south to found the city of Ferrara (‘massed in one great city on the Po . . .’). the Alani: like the Huns, a group of Germanic tribes who invaded Italy from the north and east. Odoacer, a member of another tribe, the Herules (hence ‘the Herulan tyrant’ in 72), was the first of the Germanic kings of Italy, deposing the last of the western emperors, Romulus Augustulus, at Ravenna in 476. Epaminondas: a Greek general who died successfully defending Thebes in 362 BC; Boniface (stanza 73) is called ‘Este’s Epaminondas’ because he died successfully resisting the Gothic king Totila in the battle in which the latter was killed (AD 552). Monselice . . . Lombard crown: the Lombards invaded Italy in 568 and established their kingdom, with its capital at Pavia, in 572. In the following thirty years they progressively conquered most of north-east Italy; Monselice, between Padua and Ferrara, held out until 602. Charlemagne: Charlemagne overthrew the Lombard kingdom and assumed the title of king of the Lombards in 774. He was succeeded by his son Lodovic (Louis the Pious), whose nephew Bernard (the unnamed ‘renegade’ in this stanza) contested his claim to the throne of Italy after Charlemagne’s death. Berenger of Este is represented as fighting loyally on behalf first of Charlemagne then of Louis. Azzo Second: Azzo II established the family seat at Este, near Monselice (see stanza 73), in the eleventh century; his sons Guelf (not Albert as in stanza 76) and Fulco (surprisingly, not mentioned at all in Tasso’s account) were regarded as the founders of the German and Italian branches, respectively, of the Este family. Hugh: Tasso follows Pigna (and Ariosto, Orlando furioso, 3.27) in associating Hugh with the suppression of the rebellion by the Roman magnate Crescentius against the emperor Otto III and Pope Gregory V in 998. Tedaldo: at this point the genealogy switches silently to that of the House of Canossa, who owed their rise to prominence to the support given by Tedaldo’s father, Adalbert Azzo, to the emperor Otto I against Berenger of Ivrea, a rival claimant to the throne of Italy, in 952 (this appears to be the role attributed to Azzo II of Este in stanza 75). Tedaldo added the county of Ferrara to the family’s other titles in 981. His son Bonifacio and daughter-in-law Beatrice of Lorraine were the parents of Matilda of Canossa, countess of Tuscany (1046 – 1115), the powerful

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supporter of Pope Gregory VII in his struggle against the emperor Henry IV (stanza 78). Azzo the Fifth: the Este were related to Matilda through her marriage, not to Azzo V but to Guelf of Bavaria, grandson of Azzo II. Bertold . . .: according to this account, Bertold (Rinaldo’s father) and Azzo VI were brothers of the elder Guelf, father of the Guelf who married matilda; but see note on stanza 75 above. Azzo VI was marquis of Este a century later (1190 – 1212). the destined sword: Charles, the sole survivor of the army led by Sven (‘Denmark’s royal heir’), here fulfils the commission given him by the dying Sven in 8.38, to give his sword to Rinaldo so that he can avenge his death at the hands of Solyman. a man inured to see: Peter the Hermit, who had sent Charles and Hubald to the Sage with an assurance that he was party to much of Peter’s own knowledge (14.30 – 1). Alfonso: the Sage’s prophecy leaps abruptly across the intervening generations to Tasso’s patron, Alfonso II. when, old and ill, the world . . .: an echo of one of Tasso’s most haunting lines, from his pastoral drama Aminta: ‘il mondo invecchia, e invecchiando, intristisce’ (‘the world grows older, and growing older, grows sadder’). actual combat: Alfonso saw active service in France and Italy in the army of Henry II of France (his cousin, through his mother Renée) in the Habsburg – Valois wars of 1552 – 9. Oh, should it pass: Alfonso briefly put his crusading zeal into practice when he led a force in support of the Habsburg Maximilian II’s intermittent fighting against a Turkish army in Hungary in 1566. beyond . . . snow-clad yokes of Taurus: beyond the Taurus mountains in Anatolia, i.e. in the lands fought over by the crusaders. White Eagle: the arms of the Este family; the Golden Lily is the arms of the kings of France. Tasso may intend an allusion to Alfonso’s descent, through his mother, from the French royal family, and perhaps also to a future revival of France as the pre-eminent crusading nation.

Canto 18 1 I chose . . . my fate: Rinaldo is referring to his self-imposed exile after his killing of Gernand in canto 5. 2 the monsters of the wood: the enchantments which defeated Tancred in canto 13. 9 that mount: the Mount of Olives, on the east side of Jerusalem. The location clearly implies an allusion to Christ’s prayer in Gethsemane on the night before his Passion. 14 old Adam: i.e. his sinful nature.

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16 of ashen hue . . . aspersing them: the vocabulary is that of the liturgy of penance, especially the Miserere (Vulgate Psalm 50, English Bible Psalm 51) which is sung on Ash Wednesday. 25 myrtle: the myrtle has two connotations, both ominous here: it was traditionally sacred to Venus, and hence associated with sexual love; and it was a myrtle branch which cried out in pain when Aeneas broke it (Aeneid, 3.41 ff.), revealing that it contained the imprisoned soul of Polydorus. 30 Silenus: the teacher and companion of Dionysus (Bacchus), usually represented as an obese, drunken old man. In a tradition given currency in the Renaissance by one of Erasmus’ Adages, ancient Greek sculptors were said to have made statues of Silenus which opened to reveal the image of a god inside their grotesque exterior. Socrates was called a Silenus because of the physical ugliness which concealed his nobility of spirit. seeing Armida’s sweet face: in the same way as the wood had spoken to Tancred in the voice of Clorinda (13.42). 35 Briareus: he and the Cyclopes (stanza 36) were giants, the monstrous offspring of Gaia and Uranus (see note on 6.23). Briareus had a hundred hands; the Cyclopes had a single eye in the centre of their foreheads. 36 Stygian fields: see note to 9.21. 40 I came to see . . .: an obvious allusion to the sentence ‘Veni, vidi, vici’ attributed to Julius Caesar after the battle of Zela in the civil war against Pompey. 41 William: see 5.86. The crew of two Genoese ships commanded by William Embriaco were indeed instrumental in the construction of the siege engines for the final assault. 48 Lake Sodom’s bed: the Dead Sea; see note to 10.61. nine bends: the nine bends of the river Styx (see notes to 8.21 and 9.21) are a detail taken from Aeneid, 6.438 – 9. his dear, fallen trees: the enchantment of the wood was Ismen’s creation; see 13.5 – 8. 50 the main pavilion: Godfrey’s tent. 54 the rocks that southward rise: Godfrey proposes to attack from the south, where the terrain is less favourable to attackers and the city walls were correspondingly less well defended. 55 the Aquilonian gate: see note to 3.64. 59 Vafrin: the name suggests Latin vafer, ‘cunning’. Vafrin is the nearest Tasso comes to introducing the ‘trickster’ character who is a regular feature of the earlier romances (Brunello in Boiardo and Ariosto, Margutte in Pulci’s Morgante). His role is similar to that of Dolon in book 10 of the Iliad, but unlike Dolon he avoids capture and completes his mission successfully. 63 Boreas: north; ‘somewhat west of Boreas’ is the north-west section of the walls, west of the Damascus gate (the ‘Aquilonian gate’ of stanza 55).

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64 cats: moveable platforms with a protective roof. 65 the two Roberts: Robert of Normandy and Robert of Flanders; see 1.38 and 1.44 respectively. 66 the king: Aladdin; see 1.83. 67 nephew to Bohemond: Tancred, whose duel with Argant was suspended with honours even in 6.50 – 3. 70 soft cloth: for the defenders’ use of bales of wool to protect the walls, see 11.40. 73 the band . . .: the Adventurers of 1.52 – 3, whose leadership after Dudon’s death had been the subject of Rinaldo’s dispute with Gernand in 5.15 – 31. 75 Ossa or Olympus: mountains in Thessaly. The implied allusion is to the battle of the Giants, who ‘heaped Pelion [another mountain] on Ossa’ in order to challenge the gods on Mount Olympus, the highest peak in Greece. 79 Bouillon’s youngest brother: Eustace. 83 Mongibello: Mount Etna; cf. 4.8. 87 Boreas: the north wind; cf. 3.2. Dis or Charon: both names are from Dante; Dis is Satan (Inf. 34.20; see note to 13.27); Charon is the ferryman who carried the souls of the damned across the river Acheron (Inf. 3.94). 88 Cocytus . . . Phlegethon: rivers of the underworld; see note to 9.21. 91 the fierce Turk: Solyman. 93 Go lift your eyes . . .: despite the Christian form which it takes here, the vision granted to the hero enabling him to glimpse the supernatural forces fighting alongside him is based on Aeneid, 2.588 ff., where Venus appears to her son at the height of the battle for Troy. 96 three huge ringed choirs: for the threefold hierarchy of angelic beings see 11.7 and note. 98 the Sultan: Solyman. 102 the Palestinian tyrant: Aladdin; the ‘Gascon band’ are the troops commanded by Raymond, count of Toulouse (‘the Toulousan’ in stanza 103).

Canto 19 2 who vowed to return: see note to 18.67. 3 you grand slayer of women: alluding to Tancred’s killing of Clorinda in canto 12. Although Tancred defiantly deflects Argant’s jibe in stanza 5, Argant has the better of these exchanges. The Saracens’ dignity in defeat is a striking feature of this canto; see especially stanzas 24 – 6 and 116 – 17 (Argant), 53 – 6 (Solyman). See note to 2.59. 17 Alcides: Hercules overcame the giant Antaeus, whose strength was renewed by contact with the earth, by lifting him clear of the ground. See note to 15.25.

432

notes to pages 347 – 369

19 Eurus: see note to 9.39. 33 the Temple . . . built anew: destroyed by the Romans in AD 70, the Temple was replaced by the al Aqsa Mosque on its site on the Temple Mount. 34 The great knight: Rinaldo. 39 the great tower named for David: see note to 3.64. 46 the sovereign duke: Godfrey; the ‘champion knight’ is Rinaldo. 49 him who dealt the death-blow to the Dane: see note to 17.83. 53 the count: Raymond. 56 the Great Tomb: the church of the Holy Sepulchre, the main object of Christian pilgrimage. 57 the enemy: the approaching Egyptian army. 60 the general: Emiren; see note to 17.32. 70 the boast you made: in 17.49 – 51, where Adrastus and Tissaphernes were foremost in vowing to avenge Armida’s wrongs. 71 The Indian: Adrastus; see 17.28. 81 Lesbin: there is no reason to link Vafrin’s fictitious father with the page killed by Argillan in 9.81-6. Tancred gave me to your keeping: here and in stanzas 92 – 101 Erminia supplies the details of her story which were left implicit in her earlier appearances in the poem (cantos 3 and 6 – 7). 82 Yes, I am she: the line recalls Beatrice’s greeting to Dante when he is reunited with her in the Earthly Paradise (Purg. 30.73). 92 On that night: when Antioch was conquered by Tancred; see 3.12. 98 To find my lord . . .: Erminia’s abortive attempt to find Tancred in the crusaders’ camp and her subsequent refuge with shepherds have already been narrated (6.81 ff. and 7.1 – 22); here she continues her story since her last appearance in 7.22, before the twist of fate in this canto leads to her tending Tancred’s wounds as she had vainly hoped to do in canto 6. 113 Crocus and dittany: medicinal plants; crocus mainly because it is the source of saffron, which was widely used medicinally; for dittany see note to 11.72. 115 the Circassian knight: Argant; see stanza 5 above. 118 the Immortal Man: Christ; for the significance of the Holy Sepulchre see note to stanza 56. 122 under Persia’s banners: the Persian army is not specifically identified in the muster in canto 17; but it is clear from stanza 125 below, where Altamor, king of Samarkand, is called ‘Persian’, that the geographical term is used loosely for a large area east of the Arabian peninsula. Immortal Squadron of the King: described, though not with this title, in 17.29. 125 whose realm abuts the sea: see 17.28: ‘where the mouths of Indus seawashed shores divide.’

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126 the youth: Rinaldo. 128: the tower: the Tower of David, where Aladdin and Solyman had taken refuge with their men; see stanzas 39 – 48.

Canto 20 1 ten hours had passed: counting from sunset on the previous evening. 2 a flock of clamorous cranes: the simile is taken from Aeneid, 10.262 – 6, where, in a closely analogous scene, the Trojan defenders of their fortress against the advancing Turnus take courage at the sight of Aeneas’ fleet returning to rescue them. 6 Syrian Christians: this group has not played any part in the story so far, although 2.55 – 6 recounted Aladdin’s expulsion of the able-bodied Christians from Jerusalem, some of whom joined the crusaders. 9 the Roberts: see note to 18.65; ‘his brother’ in the next line is Baldwin. 10 the Adventurer champions: see note to 18.73. 14 O you, my army . . .: the commander’s harangue to his troops is a standard feature of the preparation for battle (Shakespeare’s speech of Henry V before Agincourt is a well-known English example); the equal prominence given to the words of the two opposed commanders (Godfrey in stanzas 14 – 19, Emiren in 24 – 7) is an indication of the unusual evenhandedness in Tasso’s account of the final battle in this canto. 20 the crown to come: Godfrey’s eventual beatitude in Heaven. 23 the Indian king: Adrastus; see 17.28. the two . . . from the world’s hottest climes: see 17.24. 32 Gildippe: of the husband-and-wife team of 1.56; see also note to 9.71. 38 the king of Samarkand: Altamor; see 17.26 – 7, and note to 19.122. 41 Pontic: from the Black Sea, where Amazons were generally located in Greek mythology. 44 in false insignia: the deception revealed by Erminia in 19.87 – 8. 46 a Gorgon’s head: see note to 6.33. 48 Ida or Scamander: Mount Ida, overlooking the plain of Troy, and the Scamander river which flows down from it: scene of the Trojan war, narrated in Homer’s Iliad. upon either hand: Adrastus and Tissaphernes; see stanza 23. 68 Diana’s nor Minerva’s blow: Diana’s traditional weapon was the bow, Minerva’s the spear. 71 defeat is equal . . .: here, at the midpoint of the canto, honours are even between the two sides. 73 Destiny and Chance: divine Providence on one hand, fickle Fortune on the other. In the end there can be no doubt which of the two will prevail (but for Fortune as an agent of Providence, see 15.6 and note); see stanzas 104 (‘Eternal Law’) and 108 (Fortune) below.

434

notes to pages 386 – 399

75 unbars the tower door: into which he had retreated with Aladdin in 19.38 – 48. 79 that hand . . . that struck him once: continuing the contest between Raymond and Solyman which was broken off in 19.43 – 4. 82 The former . . . the others: in the new field of battle opened by Solyman, the fortune of war has swung decisively in the Saracens’ favour: Solyman’s men follow up his attack, while the Christians are close to surrender. 88 men of Aquitaine: the Gascons, Raymond’s troops. 89 usurping king: Aladdin. 94 my Tuscan pen: in the context of the poetic tradition deriving from Dante and Petrarch, Tuscan = Italian, although neither Tasso nor his patron was from Tuscany. It is striking that Tasso asserts the immortalizing power of poetry with reference to the fusion of love and valour in Edward and Gildippe, rather than to any of the poem’s major heroes. 101 Adrastus: for his vow to kill Rinaldo as Armida’s champion see 17.49 ff. 103 Apollo’s skill: as god of medicine; see note to 11.70. 108 a new Antaeus: see note to 19.17. 109 the royal band . . . dubbed the Immortal: see 19.122. 110 Rimedon: named in 17.30, but this is the first time that his role as Emiren’s standard-bearer has been mentioned. 113 eagle’s beak and claws: Rinaldo’s and the Este’s coat of arms is a white eagle on a blue field; see 3.37. 118 Cleopatra: as Cleopatra fled from the battle of Actium, leaving Anthony (‘her dear one’) to confront Octavian (‘Caesar’), until he too abandoned the battle and followed her. See 16.4 – 7 and notes. 119 Brontes: one of the Cyclopes who worked in Vulcan’s forge; the Greek name means ‘thunder’. 122 how he had pledged fidelity . . .: see 16.54. 136 Behold your handmaid: in a reversal which is bold even by Tasso’s standards, the enchantress Armida now speaks in the language of the Virgin Mary: ‘Behold the handmaid of the Lord . . .’ (Luke 1: 38). 141 the Bears: the north pole; see note to 17.54.

GLOSSARY OF PROPER NAMES With few exceptions, this glossary is limited to the names of characters in Tasso’s poem. For all other terms, the reader is referred to the Explanatory Notes. Entries are by canto and stanza number. Original Italian names, where they differ from their English equivalents, are supplied in parentheses. Acárinus (Acarino): son of Forestus of Este, 17.70 – 1 Achilles (Achille): (1) Homeric hero, 4.96; (2) Lombard Adventurer: in Christian muster, 1.55; killed by Clorinda, 9.69 – 70 Actius, Gaius (Caio Azio): ancient Roman ancestor of the Este family, 17.66 – 7 Ademar (Ademaro) of Monteuil: crusader bishop of Le Puy: in Christian muster, 1.38; in procession on Mount of Olives, 11.3, 5; killed by Clorinda, 11.44; some of his men desert Christian camp, 13.69; spirit appears to Godfrey, 18.95 Adrastus (Adrasto): Indian king; in Muslim muster, 17.28; vows to kill Rinaldo, answers Tissaphernes, 17.49 – 51; quarrels with Tissaphernes, 17.68, 70 – 4; named by Vafrin, 19.125; in battle alongside Emiren, 20.23; battles one of the two Roberts, 20.48 – 9; takes him prisoner, 20.71; challenges and is killed by Rinaldo, 20.101 – 3 Adventurers: picked band of crusader warriors in Godfrey’s army, including Eustace, Gernand, Edward, Gildippe, and others; commanded by Dudon and after his death by Rinaldo; enumerated in Christian muster,1.52 – 7; 3.36 – 7; 4.79 – 81; 18.73; 20.10, 53, 56, 60 Agricalt (Agricalte): (1) Arab warrior killed by Argillan, 9.79; (2) chief of Arab bands, 17.23 Aladdin (Aladino): king of Jerusalem (historically Iftikhar ad-Daula, emirgovernor in the name of Egypt); fears attack by crusaders, determines to persecute Jerusalem’s Christians, 1.82–90; persuaded by Ismen to steal image of Mary, angered when it mysteriously disappears, threatens massacre of Christians, 2.7 – 13; confronted by Sophronia and later Olindo, orders both burnt at the stake, 2.19 – 32; persuaded by Clorinda to release them, exiles them along with other Christians, 2.45 – 55; alongside Erminia, surveys Christian army from tower, 3.11 – 12, 18 – 20, 37 – 40, 58 – 63; allows Argant to challenge Christians to single combat, 6.1 – 14; suggests Clorinda follow Argant from afar, 6.21; has Erminia lodged in Jerusalem, in Clorinda’s quarters, 6.59, 88; notified by Alecto of Solyman’s night raid, 9.14; commands his army’s retreat, 9.93 – 6; in counsel with his generals after defeat, comforted by sudden arrival of Solyman, 10.35–54; provides for defence, 11.29; delighted by Clorinda and Argant’s decision

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to burn the Christian siege-tower, 12.10 – 11; instructs Solyman not to follow them, 12.12 – 16; waiting at gate for their return, 12.48; reassured by Ismen’s enchantment of the wood, 13.12 – 16; orders Christian wells poisoned, 13.58; Godfrey intercepts letter to him from Emiren, 18.51 – 2; combat with Raymond, 18.66 – 7; flees to Temple of Solomon when part of Jerusalem is occupied, 19.39 – 41; follows Solyman into battle, 20.76 – 9; killed by Raymond, 20.89 Alarco: (1) warrior in the Egyptian militia, 17.30; (2) Persian warrior killed by Gildippe, 20.33 Alarcon (Alarcone): African leader from Barca, 17.19 Albazar: Bedouin Arab, slayer of Ernesto, 9.41 Albert (Alberto) of Este: son of Azzo II, 17.76 (and note at 17.75) Albiazar: chief of the bands from Arabia Deserta, 17.22 Albino: crusader warrior wounded by Clorinda, 9.68 Alcander (Alcandro): crusader, son of Ardelion, brother of Poliphern; wounded by Clorinda, 3.35; mistakes Erminia in armour for Clorinda, informs Godfrey, 6.107 – 13 Alcastus (Alcasto): crusader, commander of the Helvetians; in Christian muster, 1.63; repulsed by Argant when scaling wall of Jerusalem, 11.34–6; unsuccessfully offers to cut down enchanted wood, 13.24 – 30 Aldiazil: Bedouin warrior, killed by Argillan, 9.79 Aldin (Aldino): chief of pagan troops from Arabia Felix, 17.22 Aldoardo of Este: son of Valerian, 17.73 Alecto (Aletto): one of the three Furies; Argant compared with her, 2.91, 6.33; brings disorder to Christian camp, 8.1 – 4; inspires Argillan with false dream of Rinaldo’s death, 8.59 – 62; rages among the crusaders, 8.72; to incite Solyman to attack Christians, takes form of Araspes, 9.1 – 11; gives signal for his army to attack and carries news of it to Jerusalem, 9.13 – 14; raises the fires of Phlegethon, 9.21; seeks to inflame Argant, 9.67 Alethes (Alete): Egyptian courtier; with Argant, ambassador to the Christian camp, 2.58 – 80; entertained by Godfrey and sent back to Egypt, 2.92 – 4 Alexis I Comnenus (Alessio Comneno): Byzantine emperor (1081 – 1118), 1.69; 2.71; 8.8 Alfonso II d’Este: duke of Ferrara (1533 – 97), Tasso’s patron; dedicatee of the poem, 1.4 – 5; his glory prophesied by the Sage of Ascalon, 17.90 – 4 Alforisio: of Este, dead alongside Acarinus, 17.72 Algazar (Algazarre): Saracen warrior, slain by Dudon, 3.44 Algazel (Algazelle): Arab warrior; kills Otho, 9.41; killed by Argillan, 9.78 Aliprand (Aliprando): commander of Frankish raiders; brings news to Godfrey of presumed death of Rinaldo, 8.50 – 6

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Almanzor (Almansor, Almansorre): (1) Saracen warrior, killed by Dudon, 3.44; (2) assumed name of Vafrin, 19.81 Almeric (Almerico) of Este: first marquis of Ferrara, 17.75 Altamor (Altamoro): king of Samarkand; in pagan muster, 17.26 – 7; infatuated with Armida, 19.69; named by Vafrin, 19.125; in battle assembly, at Jerusalem, 20.22 – 3; slaughters many Franks, 20.38 – 40; battle with Gildippe, 20.41 – 3; confronts Godfrey, 20.47 – 8; escorts Armida’s chariot, 20.69 – 71; surrenders to Godfrey, 20.140 – 3 Alvant (Alvante): Persian warrior, killed by Edward, 20.37 Amurat (Amurate): Saracen warrior, slain by Dudon, 3.44 Aquiline (Aquilino): Raymond’s horse, 7.75 – 7, 92 Aradin (Aradino): Syrian captain of Hydraoth’s squadron, 17.35 Aramant (Aramante): crusader, son of Latinus, slain by Solyman, 9.32 Araspes (Araspe): (1) counsellor of Solyman whose shape Alecto assumes, 9.10; (2) captain of the Egyptian squadron in the Caliph’s army, 17.15 Arbillan (Arbilan): king of Damascus, Armida’s father, 4.43 – 4 Ardelion (Ardelio): crusader, father of Alcander and Polyphern, killed by Clorinda, 3.35; 6.108 Ardonio: crusader, killed by Altamor, 20.39 Argant (Argante): Circassian warrior in Egyptian service; arrives with Alethes in embassy to Godfrey, 2.59 – 60; defies crusaders to war, 2.88 – 91; treated courteously by Godfrey, leaves for Jerusalem, 2.93 – 5; protects sally by Clorinda, 3.13; rides into battle, repulsed by Rinaldo, but with Clorinda repels crusader attack, killing Dudon, retires after defying Godfrey, 3.33 – 48; Rinaldo’s anger at him, 5.13; proposes single combat between Muslim and Christian champions, is allowed private challenge, sends it to Godfrey, 6.2 – 16; arms, descends to await Tancred, accompanied from afar by Clorinda, 6.20 – 7; when Tancred is detained by sudden sight of Clorinda, attacks and kills Otho, 6.28 – 36; finally challenged and wounded by Tancred, at nightfall extracts promise of resumption of duel from Tancred, 6.37 – 53; Erminia reluctant to cure him, 6.68, 75, 84; when Tancred is prevented from meeting him, defies crusaders anew, is met by Raymond, 7.50 – 78; unable to wound Raymond, who is protected by Heaven, is wounded by him, 7.83–101; in battle when truce is broken, kills Orman, wounds Guido, and overthrows Roger of Balnaville; with Clorinda repulses attacking Christians; twice encounters Godfrey, 7.110 – 21; follows Clorinda outside Jerusalem, 9.43; enters Christian camp with great slaughter, 9.53 – 67; returns to Jerusalem, 9.94; encourages Aladdin in council, taunted by Orcan, 10.36 – 46; keeps aloof from Solyman, 10.56; among defenders of the walls, strikes down Alcastus and others, 11.27 – 37; with Solyman and Clorinda, resists attack by siege-tower, observed by Godfrey, 11.49 – 52; provokes crusaders anew, invites Solyman to contest in display of valour, 11.60 – 7;

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with Solyman prevents Tancred from breaching the walls, wounded by Godfrey, kills Godfrey’s squire, 11.77 – 80; agrees to accompany Clorinda on night raid to destroy Christian siege-tower, 12.1 – 11; refuses to be accompanied by Solyman, given arson materials by Ismen, succeeds with Clorinda in burning tower, but loses her when retreating into the city, 12.13 – 49; mourns Clorinda’s death and vows revenge against Tancred, 12.101 – 5; stationed by Aladdin to oppose Camillus and Tancred, 18.67; unable to prevent Tancred from planting the cross on the walls, 18.101; goes off alone with Tancred, mourns fall of Jerusalem, killed in single combat, 19.1 – 26; his corpse discovered by Erminia and Vafrin, 19.102 – 4; his honourable burial ordered by Tancred, 19.115 – 17 Argeos (Argeo): Persian warrior, killed by Gildippe, 20.34 Argillan (Argillano): crusader knight, envious of Rinaldo; believes Rinaldo dead, his belief confirmed in lying dream by Alecto, who urges flight, 8.57 – 62; incites mutiny against Godfrey, is arrested and condemned, escapes from prison, kills many Arabs in combat, 9.63 – 80; kills Lesbin, 9.83 – 4; killed by Solyman, 9.87 – 8 Ariaden (Ariadeno, Ariadino): Arab warrior; kills two Germans, 9.40; killed by Argillan, 9.79 – 80 Aridamant (Aridamante): warrior in the Egyptian militia, 17.31 Arideus (Arideo): crusader herald; with Pindor, calls for end of Tancred – Argant duel, 6.50 – 1, 53 Arimon (Arimone): warrior in Egyptian militia, 17.31 Arimont (Arimonte): Persian warrior, killed by Gildippe, 20.37 Armida: Syrian sorceress, niece of Hydraoth, ruler of Damascus; sent by her uncle to seduce the Christian camp, after arrival introduced by Eustace to Godfrey, tells false story of oppression, requests ten champions, 4.23 – 67; in despair when refused, turns the head of many crusaders, her request granted by Godfrey after Eustace’s pleas, but enamours many more than ten, 4.70 – 96; continues work of seduction, especially on Eustace and Gernand, with only Godfrey and Tancred proof against her, presses for election of the ten, 5.1 – 68; invites others beside the ten to follow her, departs by night secretly followed by Eustace, smooths out quarrel between him and Rambault, 5.77 – 84; Tancred arrives at her Dead Sea castle, she witnesses his duel with Rambault, imprisons Tancred, 7.32 – 47; her castle and magic arts described by William when prisoners return to Godfrey, 10.60 – 70; her magic denounced by Peter the Hermit, 10.74; account by the Sage of Ascalon: she causes rumour of Rinaldo’s death, traps him on an island in the Orontes, falls in love with her victim, and has him carried to her magic palace in the Fortunate Isles, 14.50 – 77; discovered with Rinaldo by Charles and Hubald, 16.17 – 27; learns of Rinaldo’s flight, finds him, and vainly pleads to let her go with him, swears eternal hatred when he refuses and faints; upon

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recovery, vows vengeance, destroys her magic palace, and sets out toward Gaza, 16.35 – 75; arrives during and participates in Egyptian muster, 17.9, 33 – 6; at banquet secures love of Adrastus and Tissaphernes, promises herself to slayer of Rinaldo, 17.41 – 53; her phantom appears to Rinaldo in the enchanted wood and is repulsed, 18.28 – 35; observed by Vafrin as she causes rivalry among and reconciles admirers Adrastus, Tissaphernes, and Altamor, 19.67 – 74; Vafrin warns Rinaldo of her vow to have him killed, 19.124; participates in final battle, 20.22; seeks to wound Rinaldo with an arrow, her chariot protected by Altamor, 20.61 – 70; flees after Rinaldo kills Tissaphernes, prevented from suicide by Rinaldo, throws herself on his mercy when he proposes to restore her kingdom if she converts to Christianity, 20.113 – 36 Arnaut (Arnalto): follower of Gernand; calls for justice against Rinaldo for killing his lord, 5.33 – 5 Arontes (Aronte): in Armida’s tale to Godfrey, courtier to Arbillan, 4.52 – 9 Aronteus (Aronteo): captain of the second squadron in the Caliph’s army, 17.16 Arseth (Arsete): Muslim eunuch, servant of Clorinda; commended to Argant by Clorinda in case of her death, 12.6; recounts story of her origins and infancy to Clorinda, 12.18–40; mourns Clorinda’s death, 12.101 Artaban (Artabano): king of the Isle of Boekhan; in Muslim muster, 17.25; killed by Edward, 20.37 Artaxerses (Artaserse): Persian warrior, overthrown by Gildippe, 20.34 Artemidorus (Artemidoro): count of Pembroke; chosen by lot as one of Armida’s champions, 5.73 Ascalon, Sage of (Mago d’Ascalona): Christian hermit-magician; receives Charles and Hubald sent to him by Peter the Hermit, gives account of his conversion, tells them of Rinaldo’s enslavement by Armida, instructs them, 14.30 – 79; brings them to Fortune’s skiff, 15.1 – 2; Charles and Hubald return to him with Rinaldo, gives Rinaldo a shield, digresses on Rinaldo’s ancestors portrayed on it, 17.57 – 65; transports the three to the Christian camp, prophesies future glory of Alfonso II d’Este,17.84 – 97 Assimir (Assimiro): Muslim king of Ethiopia; in Muslim muster at Gaza, 17.24; killed by Rinaldo, 20.54 Astragorr (Astragorre): a demon; incites Alecto to sow discord among the crusaders, 8.1 – 4 Aurelius (Aurelio): of Este, father of Forestus, 17.68 Azio, Caio: see Actius, Gaius Azzo: (1) Azzo I d’Este, son of Acarinus, 17.72; (2) Azzo II d’Este, 17.75 (and note at 17.77); (3) Azzo IV d’Este, husband of Kunigund of Bavaria, father of Guelf, 17.79; (4) Azzo V d’Este, husband of Matilda of

440

glossary

Tuscany, 17.79; (5) Azzo VI d’Este, son of Azzo V, brother of Bertold I, 17.81; also see Actius Baldwin (Baldovino): Baldwin of Bouillon, count of Edessa, later first king of Jerusalem (d. 1118); aspires to human grandeur, 1.9; in crusader muster, 1.40; pointed out by Erminia to Aladdin, 3.61; attempts to volunteer for combat against Argant, 7.66; sent out by Godfrey against the pagan army, 7.108 – 9; accused of envy against Italians by Argillan, 8.67; first to be armed in suppression of Argillan’s mutiny, 8.75; with Eustace, follows Godfrey’s example of fighting on foot, 11.25; wounded at Godfrey’s side, 11.68; destined to succeed Godfrey, 14.8; heads the centre of the Christian army, 20.9; combat with Muleasses, 20.48 Beelzebub (Belzebù): a devil; aids Argant in wounding Raymond, 7.99 – 101 Berenger (Berengario): (1) Berenger d’Este, son of Enrico, 17.74; (2) Berenger II, king of Italy (950 – 63), 17.75 Berlingher (Berlinghiero): crusader killed by Clorinda, 9.68 Bertold (Bertoldo): Bertoldo d’Este, son of Azzo IV, husband of Sophia of Zaeringen, father of Rinaldo, 1.59; 3.42; 5.9; 8.2, 45; 9.2; 14.12; 16.32; 17.81 Bohemond (Boemondo): Bohemond of Altavilla, son of Robert Guiscard, prince of Taranto and count of Cosenza; uncle of Tancred; became Lord of Antioch and did not participate in the siege of Jerusalem; his desire to turn Antioch into a Christian city, 1.9 – 10; absent from council of Christian crusaders, 1.20; Erminia tells Aladdin that he is missing among the crusaders, 3.63; Tancred counsels Rinaldo to seek him out, 5.49; Tancred encounters a messenger supposedly from him, 7.28 – 9; has taken Antioch because of Pyrrhus’ treason, 7.67; Guelf sends Charles and Hubald to him in search of Rinaldo, 14.29; referred to as Tancred’s uncle, 18.67 Boniface (Bonifacio): (1) Bonifacio d’Este, nephew of Alforisio, 17.72 – 3; (2) Bonifacio d’Este, son of Tedaldo, husband of Beatrice of Lorraine, 17.77 (and note) Bouillon (Buglione): Belgian dukedom, home of Godfrey, Baldwin, and Eustace Brymart (Brimarte): soldier in the Egyptian royal militia, 17.31 Brunellon (Brunellone): crusader killed by Altamor, 20.39 Caliph (Califfo, Califè): Ahmed-al-Mustali (Abul Kassem), Caliph of Egypt during First Crusade (never named by Tasso); alluded to by Godfrey, 1.67; gathers army at Gaza, 17.2 – 4, 6 – 13, 17, 24, 37 – 43, 51 – 2; 19.64; his army defeated, 20.109 Camillus (Camillo): leader of the papal crusading troops; in crusader muster, 1.64; far away when mutiny of Argillan is discovered, 8.74; ordered by Godfrey to command the third siege-tower, approaches from north-west, is opposed by Argant, 18.56 – 67

glossary

441

Campson (Campsone): commander of the second Cairo squad in the Egyptian army, 17.17 Canario: Muslim king of Ethiopia; in Muslim muster at Gaza, 17.24; fights on the left wing of the pagan army, 20.23 Cassan (Cassano): king of Antioch ousted by the crusaders, father of Erminia, 2.71; 3.12; 6.56; 19.81 Chariclea (Cariclia): Armida’s mother, 4.43 – 4, 49 Charles (Carlo): Danish knight in Sven's army; tells Godfrey of Sven’s defeat, his own rescue by two hermits, and Sven’s miraculous grave, 8.2 – 42; has heard of Rinaldo’s exploits, 8.46; dispatched with Hubald on mission to find Rinaldo, directed by Peter the Hermit to the Sage of Ascalon, 14.27 – 31; received in the Sage’s subterranean domain and told of Rinaldo and Armida, given instructions and magic implements for the quest, 14.32 – 79; with Hubald, brought on Fortune’s skiff to Armida’s isle, 15.1 – 37; with Hubald, defeats monsters guarding Armida’s palace, 15.38 – 66; with Hubald, reaches Armida’s bower, discovers Rinaldo, and persuades him to leave Armida, 16.1 – 27; returns with the other two to Sage of Ascalon, 17.56 – 9; surrenders Sven’s sword to Rinaldo, 17.83 – 4; with Rinaldo and Hubald, returns on Sage’s magic chariot to Jerusalem and the Christian camp, 17.85 – 6, 95 – 7 Clement: former Christian name of Emiren, 17.32 Clorinda: Muslim maiden warrior, white-skinned daughter of the king of Ethiopia; first seen by Tancred, 1.47 – 8; arrives at Jerusalem, rescues Sophronia and Olindo from the stake, given command of Aladdin’s army, 2.38 – 52; battles crusaders, overthrows Gardo, 3.13 – 16; confronts Tancred, hears him confess his love, but is lightly wounded by a crusader, rides off assaulted by other crusaders, kills Ardelion, wounds Alcander, and puts Poliphern to flight, 3.21 – 35; with Argant, holds off Christian attack, 3.42; escorts Argant to duel, is recognized by Tancred from afar, 6.21, 26 – 7; attended and disarmed by Erminia, 6.79 – 83; Erminia dons her armour and flees Jerusalem, 6.87 – 8; Erminia mistaken for her by Christian guards, 6.95 – 6, 106 – 13; Tancred believes report, sets out in search of her, 6.114; acts once more as Argant’s second, 7.83; her shape used by Beelzebub to cause breach of truce, 7.99; urges Muslim troops to attack Christians, kills Pyrrhus, 7.116 – 19; leads Aladdin’s troops during Solyman’s attack, 9.43; follows Argant, 9.54; kills Berlingher, wounds Albino and Gallo, severs Gerner’s hand, harrows Achilles, engages Gildippe, is wounded by Guelf, 9.68 – 73; retires to Jerusalem, 9.94; first to give honour to Solyman at Aladdin’s war council, 10.54; at defence of Jerusalem, armed with bow and arrows, 11.27 – 8; kills and wounds a number of Christian champions, 11.41 – 6; with Argant, continues defence, one of her arrows wounds Godfrey’s thigh, 11.50 – 4; confides her plan to burn the Christian siege-tower to

442

glossary

Argant, accepts his offer to accompany her, but asks Solyman to remain behind, 12.2 – 12; disguises herself by changing her surcoat, 12.18; Arseth vainly seeks to dissuade her, tells story of her birth, miraculous protection of St George, 12.19 – 41; sallies out with Argant, they succeed in burning the tower, but is unable to follow Argant back into the city, 12.42 – 8; kills Arimon, attempts to pass as a Christian, followed and challenged by Tancred, mortally wounded in duel, recognized too late, is baptized by him and dies, 12.49 – 69; her body brought to the crusader camp, 12.70 – 2; her corpse visited by the despairing Tancred, 12.78 – 83; her spirit comforts Tancred in a dream, 12.89 – 93; buried with honours by Tancred, 12.94 – 9; Arseth’s grief for her, Argant’s oath of vengeance, 12.101 – 4; false phantom of her prevents Tancred from cutting down the enchanted wood, 13.42 – 5 Clothar (Clotareo): crusader, successor to Hugh as commander of the Franks; in the Christian muster, 1.37; killed by Clorinda, 11.43; his troops desert the Christian camp, 13.69 Constance (Costanzo): Costanzo d’Este, son of Acarinus and brother of Azzo, 17.72 Corban (Corbano): Saracen warrior, killed by Dudon, 3.44 Corcut (Corcutte): Turkish warrior, wounded by Godfrey, 9.90 Danes (Danesi): crusading army commanded by Sven, 1.68; 8.6; 17.76, 83 Demogorgon (Demogorgone): god of witches, 13.10 Discord: a personification or demon, 2.91 Dragut (Dragutte): Arab warrior, kills Henry and Holofernes, 9.40 Dudon (Dudone): lord of Kontz, leader of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.52 – 3; pointed out to Aladdin by Erminia, 3.39; pursues fugitive pagans, confronted and killed by Argant, who boasts of his death, causing Rinaldo to vow revenge, 3.43 – 50; Godfrey’s funeral oration for him, 3.66 – 74; Rinaldo persuaded to become a candidate to succeed him, 5.14 – 15; his men incited by Rinaldo to assault the walls of Jerusalem, 18.73; seen by Godfrey in invisible heavenly host fighting at Jerusalem, 18.95 Eberhard (Eberardo): Bavarian Adventurer; in the Christian muster, 1.56; chosen by lot as one of Armida’s champions, 5.75 Edward (Odoardo): English Adventurer, accompanied by his warrior wife Gildippe; in Christian muster, 1.56 – 7; pointed out by Erminia, 3.40; with Gildippe, offers to combat Argant, 7.67; aids Gildippe in battle, kills Artaban and Alvant, 20.35 – 7; wounded by Altamor, 20.43, killed along with Gildippe by Solyman, 20.94 – 100 Emiren (Emireno): renegade Armenian Christian, originally called Clement, 15.13; named commander of the Egyptian host, 17.32, 37 – 40; his letter to Aladdin intercepted by Godfrey, 18.51 – 2; Vafrin overhears him plotting Godfrey’s death with Ormond, 19.61 – 5; Erminia handed over

glossary

443

to him, 19.93; orders and addresses his troops, 20.21 – 7; in combat, 20.48–9; encourages his army, 20.109–11; killed by Godfrey, 20.137–40 Engerlan (Engerlano): one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.54 Erminia: pagan princess of Antioch, daughter of Cassan; after her father’s defeat, prisoner of Tancred, subsequently takes refuge in Jerusalem; points out Christian champions to Aladdin; her secret love for Tancred, 3.12 – 14, 58 – 63; witnesses duel between Argant and Tancred, 6.55 – 61; seeks to cure the wounded Tancred, secretly leaves Jerusalem in Clorinda’s armour to find him, mistaken for Clorinda by Alcander and pursued by Poliphern, 6.62 – 114; escapes to a wood, reaches banks of the Jordan, encounters a shepherd and takes refuge with him, continues brooding on her love for Tancred, 7.1 – 22; as lady-in-waiting to Armida in Egyptian camp, recognizes Vafrin, escapes with him toward Jerusalem, after overhearing plot to assassinate Godfrey, 19.77 – 90; confesses her love for Tancred to Vafrin and relates past wanderings, 19.91 – 101; with Vafrin discovers dead Argant and wounded Tancred, whom she tends, 19.102 – 14; resides in Jerusalem near him, 19.119 Ernesto: (1) crusader killed by Albazar, 9.41; (2) Ernesto d’Este, 17.73 Erotimo: Godfrey’s physician; tends Godfrey’s thigh-wound, 11.70 – 5 Eustace (Eustazio): Eustace of Bouillon, younger brother to Godfrey and Baldwin, one of the Adventurers; in the Christian muster, 1.54; presents Armida to Godfrey, 4.33 – 8; argues Armida’s cause before Godfrey, 4.78 – 81; consoles Armida when Godfrey is adamant, 4.84; resumes the argument, seeks to prevent Rinaldo from following Armida, 5.6 – 15; secretly follows her himself, fights with Rambault, 5.80 – 4; with Baldwin, follows Godfrey’s example to fight on foot, 11.25; wounded, 11.60; aided by Rinaldo in scaling the wall of Jerusalem, 18.79 Forestus (Foresto): Este ancestor, son of Aurelius, 17.68 – 71 Fortune (Fortuna): personified goddess; pilots the ship that brings Charles and Hubald to Armida’s island, 15.3 – 7, 12 – 14, 19, 25 – 33, 37 – 45; 16.62; 17.55 – 6 Gabriel (Gabriele): archangel, the messenger of God; sent by God to Godfrey, 1.11 – 17 Gallo: crusader wounded by Clorinda, 9.68 Gardo: captain of a band of crusader foragers, killed by Clorinda, 3.14 – 15 Gascons: crusaders led by Raymond of Toulouse, 18.103; 20.6, 78, 83 Gazel: Egyptian squadron commander, 17.18 Gentonio: one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.54; killed by Altamor, 20.40 Gerard (Gherardo): one of two Adventurers of the same name; in Christian muster, 1.54; one of them chosen to follow Armida, 1.73; both battle Argant, 7.107; one killed by Tissaphernes, 20.112

444

glossary

Gernand (Gernando): crusader, brother to the king of Norway; in Christian muster, 1.54; pointed out by Erminia, 3.40; Rinaldo’s rival to head Adventurers, killed in duel by Rinaldo, 5.15 – 34 Gerner (Gerniero): Gerner of Gres, one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.56; offers to combat Argant, 7.66; wounds Clorinda, she severs his hand, 9.69; killed by Tissaphernes, 20.112 Gilbert (Gilberto): German crusader, killed by Ariaden, 9.40 Gildippe: female crusader, one of the Adventurers, wife of Edward; in Christian muster, 1.56 – 7; pointed out by Erminia, 3.40; with her husband offers to fight Argant, 7.67; vies in combat with Clorinda, 9.71; slays the Sultan of Ormuz, Zopir, Artaxerxes, Argeos, Ishmael and (with Edward’s help) Arimont, 20.32 – 7; wounds Altamor and is struck down by him, 20.41 – 3; fights Solyman, who kills her and Edward, 20.94 – 100 God the Father: surveys crusaders, sends Gabriel as messenger to Godfrey, 1.7 – 12; His defeat of fallen angels deplored by Pluto, 4.9 – 12; in answer to Raymond’s prayer, sends a guardian angel to protect him, 7.78 – 80; endows Godfrey with radiance to help him quell mutiny, 8.76 – 7; sends archangel Michael to drive demons from the battlefield, 9.55 – 9; inspires Peter the Hermit with prophetic vision, 10.73; invoked in prayer on Mount Olivet, 11.7; invoked by Clorinda’s mother, 12.26 – 8; inspires the dying Clorinda, 12.65; answers Godfrey’s prayer during drought by sending rain, 13.70 – 4; sends Hugh in a dream to Godfrey to urge him to recall Rinaldo, 14.3 – 19; His role in the conversion of the Sage of Ascalon, 14.45 – 7; answers prayer of Rinaldo before his entry into the enchanted wood, 18.14 – 16; protects Christians against Ismen’s magic fire, 18.86 Godfrey (Goffredo): Godfrey of Bouillon (1060 – ?1100), duke of Lower Lorraine, in penance for his support of Henry IV against Pope Gregory VII embarks on First Crusade and becomes its leader; introduced, 1.1; God sends Gabriel to him, 1.12 – 17; convenes council at which he is elected commander-in-chief, 1.18 – 35; leads army toward Jerusalem, 1.65 – 78; halts army near Emmaus, receives embassy of Alethes and Argant who declare war, 2.56 – 93; guides army to Jerusalem, 3.2; signals to Tancred to attack Clorinda, 3.16; threatened by Argant, 3.47 – 8; sends Sigier to order a retreat, studies terrain of Jerusalem, 3.52 – 7; pointed out by Erminia, 3.58 – 61; encamps the army and prepares for siege, 3.64 – 6; at Dudon’s burial, 3.67 – 70; sends men to forest of Sharon to hew wood for siege-towers, 3.71 – 4; receives Armida, refuses her request for champions, 4.36 – 72; is persuaded by Eustace and others to relent, 4.77 – 83; discusses leadership of Adventurers with Eustace, 5.1 – 10; on finding that Rinaldo has killed Gernando, discusses the case with Tancred and Guelf, and banishes Rinaldo, 5.32 – 59; proof to Armida’s lure, is pressed by her for ten champions, orders their choice

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445

by lot, and dismisses them, 5.61 – 78; informed of scarcity of supplies, encourages army, 6.85 – 92; receives Argant’s challenge, appoints Tancred to meet it, 6.7 – 25; informed by Polyphern of the apparent flight of Clorinda (in reality, of Erminia), 6.112 – 13; when other crusaders hesitate, offers to fight Argant himself, but is dissuaded by Raymond, whom he allows to take up the challenge, 7.58 – 72; urges crusaders to avenge Raymond and Baldwin to intervene, 7.103 – 4, 107 – 9; moves against Argant, 7.120 – 1; receives Charles, who brings news of Sven’s final battle, 8.4 – 45; questions Aliprand about supposed death of Rinaldo, is not convinced, 8.50 – 6; quells mutiny of Argillan, 8.61 – 85; in battle against Solyman, 9.45 – 91; hears William’s account of Armida’s adventurers, 10.57 – 9; persuaded by Peter the Hermit, orders religious procession on Mount of Olives, 11.1 – 6; banquets leaders on eve of assault, 11.16 – 17; decides to fight on foot, 11.20 – 5; orders charge by troops and siege-towers, 11.30 – 2, 46; wounded by Clorinda, surrenders command to Guelf, 11.51 – 7; cured with miraculous assistance, returns to battle, shatters Argant’s shield, but Argant kills his squire, 11.68 – 80; suspends attack, orders repair of siege-tower, 11.81 – 6; visits the grief-stricken Tancred’s sickbed, 12.84; orders expedition to the wood to construct new siege-tower, and after failure to break the wood’s enchantment by both Alcastus and Tancred, accepts Peter the Hermit’s advice to abandon the attempt, 13.17 – 35, 50 – 2; faces murmurs of army at outbreak of drought, successfully prays for rain, 13.64 – 71; visited in a dream by Hugh, shown the heavenly hosts and counselled to recall Rinaldo, 14.2 – 20; consents to Guelf’s request for Rinaldo’s recall and has messengers sent out to find him, 14.12 – 26; receives the returning Rinaldo and assigns him the task of disenchanting the forest, 18.1 – 4; receives Rinaldo after his successful return, 18.40; intercepts pigeon-post message from Emiren to Aladdin, 18.50 – 2; orders disposition of siege-towers for the siege, agrees to send Vafrin to spy out the Egyptian camp, 18.53 – 8; after prayer and communion, orders the plan of attack, 18.62 – 6; Solyman sent against him, 18.67; exploits in battle, 18.79; with heavenly help, resists Ismen’s magic fire, 18.83 – 6; shown heavenly host fighting on his side by Archangel Michael, 18.92 – 7; leads charge across assaultbridge and plants cross on the walls, 18.98 – 100; finds wounded Raymond, 19.46; orders retreat, 19.50 – 3; hears Vafrin’s account of assassination plot, accepts Raymond’s plan to foil it, reveals final plan of attack on Jerusalem and the Egyptian army, 19.119 – 31; resumes battle with the Egyptians, on morning of battle orders and addresses the host, 20.6 – 21; kills Ormond, 20.45 – 7; with Rinaldo, routs and pursues Altamor’s Persians, 20.70; returns to battle, 20.72; kills Rimedon and Emiren, takes Altamor prisoner, 20.137 – 43; kneels at Holy Sepulchre in fulfilment of his vow, 20.144

446

glossary

Guasco: one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.56; chosen to follow Armida, 5.75; killed by Altamor, 20.85 Guelf (Guelfo): (1) Guelf d’Este, son of Azzo IV and Kunigund of Bavaria, crusader and counsellor to Godfrey; uncle of Rinaldo [in reality not a participant in the First Crusade, since he came to Jerusalem only some years after it]; his heroic example commended to Alfonso II, 1.10; with others, acclaims Godfrey commander-in-chief, 1.32; his descent, 1.41 – 2; pointed out by Erminia, 3.63; persuades Rinaldo to leave Christian camp, defends him to Godfrey, 5.50 – 9; offer to fight Argant, 7.66; sent out to lead a troop against Clorinda and Argant, 11.72 – 3; assumes command of the army when Godfrey is wounded, is wounded himself, 11.56 – 9; pleads with Godfrey to allow Rinaldo’s return, agrees to mission of Charles and Hubald, 14.21 – 9; in the roll-call of the Este family, 17.79 – 81; welcomes Rinaldo, 18.4; receives battle orders from Godfrey, 18.65; (2) a member of the German branch of the Este family, 17.80; (3) Guelf III [Guelfone], Cunegund of Bavaria’s brother, 17.80 Guidos (Guidi), the two: French nobles among the Adventurers, usually treated as a pair; in Christian muster, 1.56; they offer to combat Argant, 7.66; one wounded by Argant, 7.107 – 8; the other killed by Altamor, 20.40 Guiscard: Robert Guiscard (Roberto il Guiscardo, 1015 – 85), Norman duke of Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily, father of Bohemond, 17.78 Henry (Enrico): (1) Godfrey’s messenger to the Byzantine court, 1.67 – 70; (2) Frankish Adventurer; chosen to champion Armida, 5.75; (3) English crusader, killed by Dragut, 9.40; (4) Enrico d’Este, son of Ernesto and father of Berenger, 17.74; (5) Henry IV, Holy Roman Emperor (1050 – 1106), 17.78 Holofernes (Oliferno): Bavarian crusader, killed by Dragut, 9.40 Hubald (Ubaldo): one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.55; chosen, with Charles, to go in search of Rinaldo, 14.27 – 8; with Charles, finds Sage of Ascalon, receives information about Armida and Rinaldo and instructions, 14.29 – 79; with Charles, boards Fortune’s boat across Mediterranean, disembarks on Armida’s isle, overcomes monsters guarding her palace, 15.1 – 49; with Charles, penetrates Armida’s bower, finds Rinaldo in her arms, 16.1 – 17; by showing magic shield to Rinaldo, brings him to his senses, 16.27 – 33; present at Rinaldo’s parting interview with Armida, 16.41 ff.; with Charles and Rinaldo, re-embarks on Fortune’s skiff, returns to the Sage of Ascalon, 17.56 – 9; with Charles and Rinaldo, brought back to Jerusalem on the Sage of Ascalon’s chariot, 17.85 – 6; returns with them to Christian camp, 17.95 – 7 Hugh (Ugone): (1) Hugh of Este, son of Albert, 17.76; (2) French crusader, brother of King Philip I of France; killed prior to the action of the poem; mentioned in Christian muster, 1.37; his spirit appears to

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447

Godfrey in a dream, counsels him to recall Rinaldo, 14.5 – 19; fights in the invisible host of heavenly warriors at Jerusalem, 18.94 Hydraort (Idraorte): warrior in the Egyptian militia, 17.30 Hydraoth (Idraote): sorcerer, Lord of Damascus, Armida’s uncle; sends Armida to the Christian camp, 4.20 – 6; Armida portrays him as her persecutor, 4.44 – 61; his messenger escorts Armida’s prisoners to the Egyptian king, 10.70; one of his squadrons in the Egyptian army, 17.35 Hyrcanus (Ircano): king of Ormuz, killed in battle by Gildippe, 20.32 Ishmael (Ismaele): Persian warrior, wounded by Gildippe, 20.34 Ismen (Ismeno): sorcerer allied with Aladdin, a renegade Christian; persuades Aladdin to rob a Christian icon, vainly seeks to determine its whereabouts when it disappears, 2.1 – 10; brings Solyman to Jerusalem in his magic chariot, 10.7 – 34; creates Greek fire for Argant and Clorinda, 12.17, 42; enchants the Forest of Sharon, predicts drought, 13.1 – 15; makes new magic fire for use against Christian siege machines, 18.47 – 8; killed with two other sorcerers, 18.87 – 9 Kunigund (Cunigonda): Kunigund of Bavaria, wife of Azzo IV d’Este, mother of Guelf, 17.79 Latinus (Latino): Roman crusader, killed along with his five sons by Solyman, 9.27 – 30, 35 – 9 Laurence (Laurente): crusader, son of Latinus, killed by Solyman, 9.34 Leopoldo: pagan warrior not otherwise identified, killed by Raymond, 7.64 Lesbin (Lesbino): (1) Solyman’s page; killed by Argillan, avenged by Solyman, 9.81 – 7; (2) name given by Vafrin as that of his father when he poses as ‘Almanzor’, 19.81 Lorrainers (Loteringhi): crusaders led by Godfrey, 20.10 Macon: see Muhammad Marlabust (Marlabusto): Arab warrior in the Egyptian army, 17.30 Matilda (Matelda): Matilda of Canossa (1046 – 1115), Tuscan countess, spouse of Guelf of Bavaria, ally of Gregory VII against Henry IV; Rinaldo educated in her household, 1.59; mentioned by the Sage of Ascalon, 17.77 – 8 Mehmed (Meemetto): Saracen warrior, killed by Dudon, 3.44 Michael, archangel: sent by God, drives devils at Jerusalem back to Hell, 9.58 – 65; shows Godfrey a vision of sainted champions fighting alongside the crusaders, 18.92 – 6 Muleasses (Muleasse): (1) Arab warrior, killed by Argillan, 9.79; (2) Indian warrior; heads Egyptian infantry, 20.22; combat with Baldwin, 20.48 Odemar (Odemaro): warrior in the Egyptian militia, 17.30 Olderic (Olderico): an Adventurer, chosen to follow Armida, 5.75 Olindo: Christian youth in Jerusalem, in love with Sophronia, 2.15 – 16; disputing Sophronia, steps forward to claim responsibility for stolen

448

glossary

image, both are condemned to the stake, 2.27 – 35; Clorinda intervenes to free them, they marry and go into exile, 2.53 – 4 Oradin (Oradino): Muslim archer; deceived by Beelzebub into assisting Argant, treacherously wounds Raymond, 7.100 – 1 Orcan (Orcano): Muslim noble of Jerusalem; opposes Argant in council, suggests negotiating with the Christians, 10.39 – 47; cowed by Solyman, 10.56 Orindo: warrior in the Egyptian militia, 17.31 Orman (Ormanno): a crusader, killed by Argant, 7.107 – 8 Ormond (Ormondo): warrior in the Egyptian militia; in the Muslim muster, 17.30; Vafrin observes him plotting Godfrey’s death with Emiren, 19.62 – 5; Erminia tells Vafrin of his leadership of Godfrey’s would-be assassins, 19.86; killed with other conspirators when attempting the assassination, 20.44 – 6 Ormuz (Ormusse): chief of the Bedouin raiders; brings his men safely into Jerusalem, 10.55 Osmid (Osmida): (1) Palestinian warrior, wounded by Guelf, 9.73; (2) leader of Africans from Aden, 17.23 Otho (Ottone): (1) Otto d’Este, brother of Berenger, 17.74; (2) Otto dei Visconti, a crusader; in Christian muster, 1.55; takes Tancred’s place in duel against Argant, who overthrows him, 6.28 – 36; at resumption of duel, brought as prisoner ahead of Argant, 7.56; killed by Algazel, 9.41; (3) Otto I of Saxony (912 – 73), Holy Roman Emperor, 17.76 Palamede: one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.55; killed by Clorinda, 11.45 Peter the Hermit (Piero l’Eremita): monk from Amiens, propagandist for the First Crusade after the Council of Clermont, joined the crusaders in Constantinople, chief religious adviser to Godfrey; advises Godfrey’s election as commander-in-chief, 1.29 – 32; prophesies that Rinaldo is alive, predicts glory of his dynasty, 10.73 – 8; advises Godfrey to order religious rites on Mount Olivet, participates in them, 11.1 – 5; reproves Tancred for his excessive grief, 12.85 – 8; predicts Rinaldo’s return, 13.50 – 2; directs Charles and Hubald to Ascalon, 14.29 – 31; has converted the Sage of Ascalon, 14.45; remembered by him, 17.60, 88; confesses and counsels Rinaldo, 18.6 – 11; announces Rinaldo’s success against the enchanted wood, 19.39 Philip (Filippo): German crusader, killed by Ariaden, 9.40 Picus (Pico): crusader, son of Latinus, killed by Solyman, 9.34 Pindor (Pindoro): Muslim herald; defies Christians in Argant’s name, 6.14 – 20; with Arideo, stops Argant – Tancred duel, 6.50 – 3 Pirgas (Pirga): Indian in Egyptian militia, 17.31 Polyphern (Poliferno): crusader, son of Ardelion, brother of Alcander; put to flight by Clorinda, 3.35; sees Erminia in Clorinda’s armour and pursues her, 6.107 – 8

glossary

449

Pyrrhus (Pirro): renegade Armenian Christian who surrendered Antioch to Bohemond; asks to combat Argant, 7.67; killed by Clorinda, 7.119 Rambault (Rambaldo): one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.54; last of those chosen by lot to follow Armida, forswears Christianity to follow her, 5.75; quarrels with Eustace, 5.81 – 5; threatens and fights with Tancred at Armida’s castle, 7.31 – 44; singled out as renegade to the Faith by William of England, 10.69 Rapold (Rapoldo): former pirate, leader in the Caliph’s army, 17.30 Raymond (Raimondo): Raymond IV of Saint-Gilles (1024 – 1100), count of Toulouse, leader of the Gascon crusaders, senior adviser to Godfrey; in Christian muster, 1.61; pointed out by Erminia, 3.59, 62; praises Godfrey’s severity to Rinaldo, 5.39; volunteers to combat Argant, praised by Godfrey, chosen by lot to duel Argant, 7.61 – 72; attacks Argant, is protected by guardian angel, 7.77 – 82; justifies Tancred and charges Argant, 7.84 – 98; treacherously wounded by Oradino, 7.102 – 93; at banquet with Godfrey, 11.16; seeks to dissuade Godfrey from participating in assault on walls, 11.20 – 4; struck by a rock while assaulting the city, 11.59; receives battle-orders from Godfrey, counsels sending a spy into the Egyptian camp, 18.55 – 7; overlooks Jerusalem from his siegetower, 18.63; Aladdin rides out against him, 18.67; fights with Aladdin, hears conquering shouts of fellow crusaders, 18.102 – 4; wounded by Solyman, resists being taken prisoner, 19.43 – 6; Godfrey comes to his rescue, 19.53; Godfrey at his sickbed receives Vafrin, 19.120; Godfrey seeks his advice about avoiding assassination plot, 19.127 – 9; draws near Aladdin in battle, 20.8; fights with Solyman, struck down once more, 20.79 – 80; protected by Tancred, recovers, and kills Aladdin, 20.87 – 9; plants flag of the cross on Tower of David, 20.91 Rimedon (Rimedone): warrior in the Egyptian militia; in pagan muster, 17.30; reproved for fleeing by Emiren, 20.109 – 11; killed by Godfrey, 20.137 Rinaldo: presumed ancestor of the Este family, son of Bertold and Sophia; his warlike spirit, 1.10; earlier life, 1.58 – 60; pointed out by Erminia, 3.37 – 9; with Tancred, breaks through enemy ranks, overthrows Argant, but falls beneath his horse, 3.41 – 2; prevented by Godfrey’s order from avenging Dudon’s death, 3.49 – 53; proposed for succession to Dudon by Eustace, 5.8 – 15; insulted by Gernand, defies and kills him, 5.19 – 31; defends himself against Arnaut before Godfrey, advised by Guelf to leave the Christian camp, does so, 5.33 – 53; allowed by Godfrey to seek his fortune elsewhere, 5.54 – 9; absence prevents his taking Tancred’s place against Argant, 7.58; Astragorr fears his return, 8.2; his fame a stimulus to Sven, 8.7 – 9; Sven’s sword destined for him, 8.38; sorely missed by Godfrey and crusaders, his supposed body and armour discovered and reported by Aliprand, 8.46 – 59; Alecto shows his shape in

450

glossary

a dream to Argillan, who accuses Godfrey of his murder, 8.60 – 2, 66 – 70; his liberation of Armida’s prisoners recounted by William, 10.70 – 2; Peter the Hermit prophesies future glory of his descendants, 10.74 – 7; Peter the Hermit prophesies his return, 13.51; his return decreed by God, 13.73; the spirit of Hugh in a dream commands Godfrey to allow his return, 14.12 – 18; Guelf intercedes on his behalf, Godfrey sends out Charles and Hubald to find him, 14.22 – 7; Peter the Hermit declares that his whereabouts are known to the Sage of Ascalon, 14.29 – 31; the Sage tells of his seduction and abduction to Fortunate Isles by Armida, 14.50 – 71; Charles and Hubald instructed by Fortune on how to liberate him, 15.4, 44; they discover him in Armida’s bower and confront him when she leaves, 16.17 – 33; leaves Armida, despite her remonstrance, 16.34 – 62; Armida swears revenge against him, 16.63 – 7; Armida secures Muslim champions in Egyptian camp, 17.45 – 63; brought back to Ascalon, given shield by the Sage of Ascalon, who prophesies the glory of his Este progeny, receives Sven’s sword, 17.54 – 84; brought back to Christian camp by the Sage of Ascalon, who prophesies future glory of Alfonso d’Este, 17.85 – 97; received by Godfrey, confesses to Peter the Hermit, prays on Mount Olivet, liberates the enchanted wood despite appearance of phantom Armida, returns to camp, 18.1 – 40; scales walls of Jerusalem, 18.72 – 9; Solyman retreats before him, 18.97 – 9; assaults and massacres pagans in Temple of Solomon, 19.31 – 8; assists wounded Raymond, pursues Solyman to the Tower of David, 19.46 – 50; Adrastus swears to kill him, 19.71; exhorted by Vafrin to beware of enemies, 19.126; receives Godfrey’s orders for final battle, 20.10 – 11; slaughters enemies, Armida unable to kill him, 20.53 – 66; with Godfrey, puts Altamor’s troops to flight, 20.70; hears of death of Edward and Gildippe, kills Adrastus and confronts Solyman, 20.101 – 7; kills Tissaphernes, pursues Armida, 20.113 – 22; confronts Armida in act of attempting suicide, proposes to restore her kingdom if she converts to Christianity, she submits, 20.126 – 36 Robert (Roberto): names, often mentioned together, of two crusader leaders: (1) Robert II of Flanders, leader of the Flemish crusaders; in Christian muster, 1.44; wounded by Clorinda, 11.43; with Robert of Normandy, commands left wing in decisive battle, 20.9; fights with Emiren, 20.49; wounded and barely escapes, 20.71; (2) Robert, duke of Normandy; in Christian muster, 1.38; struck by Solyman, 11.81; with Robert of Flanders, commands left wing, 20.9; fights with Adrasto, 20.49; captured, 20.71 Roger (Ruggiero): Roger of Balnaville, one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.54; offers to fight duel with Argant, 7.66; attacks and is thrown by Argant, 7.66; killed by Tissaphernes, 20.112 Rosmond (Rosmondo): English Adventurer; in Christian muster, 1.55; offers to fight duel with Argant, 7.67; killed by Altamor, 20.40

glossary

451

Rossan (Rossano): Turkish warrior, wounded by Godfrey, 9.90 Rudolph (Ridolfo, Rodolfo): (1) Irish crusader; offers to fight duel with Argant, 7.67; killed by Argant, 7.119; (2) one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.56; chosen to follow Armida, 5.75; (3) Rudolph of Swabia, killed by Godfrey, 7.72 Rustum (Rosteno): Turkish warrior, wounded by Godfrey, 9.90 Sabinus (Sabino): crusader, son of Latinus; killed by Solyman, 9.33. Sage of Ascalon: see Ascalon, Sage of Saladin (Saladino): (1) Arab warrior, killed by Argillan, 9.70; (2) Saladin the Great, future Muslim reconqueror of Jerusalem; Ismen prophesies his exploits to Solyman, 10.22 – 3 Selim (Selino): Turkish warrior, killed by Godfrey, 9.90 Senapo: king of Ethiopia, usually identified with Prester John, legendary Christian king of Africa, father of Clorinda; Arseth recounts his role in Clorinda’s childhood, 12.21 – 5 Sforza: Lombard crusader, one of the Adventurers; in Christian muster, 1.55 Siface: see Syphax Sifante: see Syphant Sigier (Sigiero): Godfrey’s squire; signals retreat in Godfrey’s name, 3.53; 9.53, 11.68; killed by Argant, 11.80 Solomon (Salomone): biblical Hebrew king, original builder of the Temple of Jerusalem, 10.33, 18.104; pagans take refuge and are slaughtered in his Temple, 19.33 – 8 Solyman (Solimano): Sultan of Nicea, deposed by the crusaders; has assembled bands of Bedouin Arabs, is expected by Aladdin, rivals Argant, 6.10 – 12; kills Sven and massacres Danish army in night attack, 8.23; incited by Alecto to attack Christian camp, his prior exploits, 9.3 – 16; his devastating night attack on crusaders outside Jerusalem, kills Latinus and his sons, 9.17 – 40; encounter with Godfrey, 9.48 – 51; kills Argillan after the latter kills his page Lesbin, his forces scattered, flees from battle, 9.85 – 99; sleeps in desert, awakened by Ismen, transported to Jerusalem in magic chariot, Ismen predicting future glory of his descendant, Saladin, prevented from attacking crusaders despoiling his comrades, 10.11 – 27; brought by Ismen through secret passage to Aladdin’s war council, 10.11 – 27; 10.28 – 35; while invisible, overhears Orcan, steps forward declaring eternal hatred of Christians, honoured by Clorinda but ignored by Argant, 10.47 – 56; among the defenders on the walls of Jerusalem, 11.27; with Clorinda and Argant, resists advance of siege-tower, 11.49; seen by Godfrey, 11.52; dared by Argant to sally out, 11.62 – 7; with Argant, prevents Tancred from breaching the wall, 11.77; kills Robert of Normandy, 11.81; prevented from joining Argant and Clorinda on night raid, 12.12 – 16; protects their return to the city,

452

glossary

12.48; opposes the new siege-tower, 18.90 – 1; prevented from meeting Godfrey, who is scaling the walls, by arrival of Rinaldo, 18.98 – 9; takes cover with Aladdin in the Tower of David, 19.39 – 50; addresses his men, 19.53 – 6; sallies into battle, killing many Christians and striking down Raymond, 20.73 – 82; kills Gildippe and Edward, is killed by Rinaldo, 20.101 – 8 Sophia (Sofia): Sophia of Zaeringen, Rinaldo’s mother, 1.59, 5.8, 16.57 Sophronia (Sofronia): Christian virgin in Jerusalem; described, loved by Olindo, 2.14 – 16; accuses herself to prevent massacre of Christians, condemned to the stake, 2.17 – 26; Olindo accuses himself in turn to save her, both are condemned, 2.27 – 36; rescued by Clorinda’s intervention, marries Olindo and goes into exile with him, 2.42 – 54 Stephen (Stefano): Stephen of Amboise, French crusader; in Christian muster, 1.62; proposes duel with Argant, 7.66; killed by Clorinda, 11.43 [In actuality, he abandoned the crusade, and returned to France, but came back after the fall of Jerusalem. See also note to 1.40.] Sultan, the (Soldano): see Solyman Sven (Sveno): Danish prince, commander of a Danish army awaited by Godfrey; Godfrey sends out Henry to enquire about him, 1.68 – 70; his fate disclosed by Astragorr to Alecto, 8.2 – 4; Charles tells of his admiration for Rinaldo, his arrival in Constantinople, his defeat and death in Solyman’s night attack, and his burial, 8.6 – 33; his sword destined for Sven’s avenger, Charles’ vision of his tomb, 8.34 – 40; Godfrey proclaims him a blessed martyr, 8.43 – 4; Charles gives his sword to Rinaldo, 17.83 – 4 Syphant (Sifante): warrior in Egyptian militia, 17.31 Syphax (Siface): Arab leader in the Egyptian army, 17.22 Tancred (Tancredi): Norman prince (d. 1112), commander of crusading troops from Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily [historically, became Prince of Antioch, where he died during an excursus against the infidels]; tormented by love, 1.9; in Christian muster, digression on his first view of Clorinda at a spring, 1.45 – 59; discussed by Erminia with Aladdin, 3.16 – 20; recognizes Clorinda when she loses her helmet in battle, declares his love, protects her from Christian attack, 3.21 – 31; returns to his companions, 3.36; with Rinaldo, breaks through pagan encirclement, 3.41; speaks in defence of Rinaldo after death of Gernand, 5.35 – 7; counsels Rinaldo to leave camp, 5.40 – 50; insensible to Armida’s charms, 5.65; chosen to fight duel with Argant, but delayed by sight of Clorinda, 6.4 – 28; vainly seeks to stop Otho from taking his place, duels with and wounds Argant, and when nightfall interrupts he vows to return to duel in six days, 6.29 – 53; Erminia recalls humane treatment by him during imprisonment, rejoices at his presence at Jerusalem, hopes to help cure his wounds from duel with Argant, 6.56 – 68; Erminia, having secretly

glossary

453

left Jerusalem, sends squire with love-message to him, 6.79 – 80; he sends reply, mistaking it for a message from Clorinda, 6.101; pursues Erminia, mistaking her for Clorinda, is lured by false messenger to Armida’s castle, challenged by Rambault and finds himself trapped, 7.22 – 50; Godfrey misses him when Argant reissues his challenge, 7.57 – 8; insulted for his absence by Argant, 7.73 – 4, 84 – 5; Argillan recalls his conquest of Cilicia, 8.64; Godfrey informed of his imprisonment by Armida, 10.70; after return, opposes assault by Argant and Solyman, 11.67; is prevented by them from entering through a breach, 11.77; confronts Clorinda after her night raid on the siege-tower, without recognizing her, challenges and fights her, mortally wounds her, recognizes her too late, and baptizes her as she dies, then faints and is carried back to camp, 12.51 – 73; mourns at her bier, attempts suicide, is admonished by Peter the Hermit and comforted in a dream by Clorinda’s spirit, 12.74 – 99; Argant swears to kill him to avenge Clorinda, 12.104 – 5; after Clorinda’s burial, is prevented from breaking the spell of the Enchanted Forest by a phantom of Clorinda, returns to report to Godfrey, 13.32 – 49; welcomes the returning Rinaldo, 18.4; proposes that his squire Vafrin spy in the Egyptian camp, 18.57; confronts Argant in battle, 18.67; scales walls of Jerusalem and plants cross despite Argant’s resistance, 18.101; goes off with Argant to fight final duel in a deserted place, kills him, but faints from his wounds, 19.2–28; Erminia asks Vafrin to take her to him, 19.81–3; Erminia recounts origin of her love for him to Vafrin, 19.93–8; his wounded body discovered by Vafrin and Erminia, he begins to recover under her care and is transported to Jerusalem, 19.103–19; rises from sickbed to assist the fallen Raymond and regroups the Gascon crusaders, 20.83–6 Tatinos (Tatino): the only Greek leader among the crusaders; in Christian muster, 1.10; deserts Godfrey’s army, 13.68 Tedaldo: Tedaldo d’Este, son of Azzo II, 17.77 Tigran (Tigrane): (1) Saracen killed by Dudon, 3.43; (2) Indian warrior in the Egyptian militia, 17.30 Tissaphern, Tissaphernes (Tisaferno): warrior in the Egyptian militia; in muster at Gaza, 17.31; infatuated with Armida, mocks Adrastus for boasting of being able to avenge her against Rinaldo, 17.50; once more contends with Adrastus for Armida’s love, 19.68, 71 – 4; heads the right wing of the Egyptian host, 20.23; his exploits in battle, 20.48 – 9; kills Gerner, Roger, and Gerard, engages Rinaldo and is wounded, seeks to follow Armida but is killed by Rinaldo, 20.111 – 20 Ubaldo: see Hubald Urban (Urbano): Pope Urban II (1042 – 99), who proclaimed the First Crusade at Clermond-Ferrand in 1095, 11.23 Vafrin (Vafrino): Tancred’s squire; sent as a spy to the Egyptian camp, 18.57 – 60 (and see note on 18.59); arrives at Egyptian camp, overhears

454

glossary

conspiracy against Godfrey in Emiren’s tent, sees Armida and her champions, 19.56 – 75; recognized by Erminia, agrees to escape with her, she informs him of other details of conspiracy and confesses her love for Tancred, 19.76 – 101; with Erminia, discovers dead Argant and wounded Tancred, 19.102 – 3; they begin to revive him and have him returned to Jerusalem, 19.104 – 19; finds lodging for Erminia and reports to Godfrey, 19.120 – 6 Valerian (Valeriano): Valeriano d’Este, son of Boniface, 17.73 Wenceslas (Vincilao): Bohemian crusader, chosen to follow Armida, 5.73 William (Guglielmo): (1) commander of the Genoese fleet supplying the crusaders; apprizes Godfrey of the approach of the Egyptian army, 5.85 – 6; constructs Christian siege machines, 18.41 – 4; (2) English prince, younger son of William II (‘Rufus’); joins to acclaim Godfrey as commander-in-chief, 1.32; in Christian muster, 1.44; pointed out by Erminia, 3.62; not present during Argillan’s mutiny, 8.74; his account of capture by Armida, 10.59 – 73; wounded by Clorinda, 11.42; (3) William of Roussillon, one of the Adventurers; chosen to follow Armida, 5.75; (4) Guillaume, bishop of Orange; in Christian muster, 1.38 – 9; in procession with Ademar, 11.3, 5; says mass on Mount Olivet, 11.14 Zophyr (Zopiro): Persian warrior, killed by Gildippe, 20.33