And where he stept no print left in the sand.
LXXXIX.
But, to close quarters covetous to come,
The Pagan tried to rush in on his foe,
Who fearing he must to such weight succumb,
And both his own and destrier’s overthrow,
Gives way — attacks — then scours across the plain,
Twisting and turning from his hot pursuit;
The slightest, gentlest pressure of the rein
His quick steed follows with unerring foot,
XC.
Qual Capitan ch’oppugni eccelsa torre
Infra paludi posta o in alto monte,
Mille aditi ritenta, e tutte scorre
716 L’arti e le vie; cotal s’aggira il Conte.
E poi che non può scaglia all’arme torre
Ch’armano il petto, e la superba fronte;
Fere i men forti arnesi, ed alla spada
720 Cerca, tra ferro e ferro, aprir la strada.
XC
As when a captain doth besiege some hold,
Set in a marsh or high up on a hill,
And trieth ways and wiles a thousandfold,
To bring the piece subjected to his will;
So fared the County with the Pagan bold;
And when he did his head and breast none ill,
His weaker parts he wisely gan assail,
And entrance searched oft ‘twixt mail and mail.
XC.
As captain who some lofty tower invests,
‘Mid marshes placed, or on a beetling mount,
Tries countless openings, nor contented rests
With these or those — so wandered round the count;
And since he could not pierce the well-wrought scales
That armed the Saracen from head to heel,
The weaker parts and joinings he assails,
An entrance seeking ‘twixt the plates of steel.
XCI.
Ed in due parti o in tre forate, e fatte
L’arme nemiche ha già tepide e rosse:
Ed egli ancor le sue conserva intatte,
724 Nè di cimier, nè d’un sol fregio scosse.
Argante indarno arrabbia, a voto batte,
E spande senza pro l’ire e le posse.
Non si stanca però; ma raddoppiando
728 Va tagli e punte, e si rinforza errando.
XCI
At last he hit him on a place or twain,
That on his arms the red blood trickled down,
And yet himself untouched did remain,
No nail was broke, no plume cut from his crown;
Argantes raging spent his strength in vain,
Waste were his strokes, his thrusts were idle thrown,
Yet pressed he on, and doubled still his blows,
And where he hits he neither cares nor knows.
XCI.
His foeman’s arms he had already hacked,
And blood oozed forth thro’ many a gaping rent;
But still the count preserved his own intact,
Nor lost a single plume or ornament
Into fresh rage Arganté vainly broke,
Vainly he smote and wasted strength and ire,
Yet grew not tired, but doubled every stroke,
And seemed fresh force from failure to acquire.
XCII.
Alfin tra mille colpi il Saracino
Cala un fendente, e ‘l Conte è così presso,
Che forse il velocissimo Aquilino
732 Non sottraggeasi, e rimaneane oppresso;
Ma l’ajuto invisibile vicino
Non mancò a lui di quel superno messo,
Che stese il braccio, e tolse il ferro crudo
736 Sovra il diamante del celeste scudo.
XCII
Among a thousand blows the Saracine
At last struck one, when Raymond was so near,
That not the swiftness of his Aquiline
Could his dear lord from that huge danger bear:
But lo, at hand unseen was help divine,
Which saves when worldly comforts none appear,
The angel on his targe received that stroke,
And on that shield Argantes’ sword was broke.
XCII.
And ‘mid unnumbered blows, the Saracen
At last struck one when Raymond was so near,
That able scarce had been fleet Aquiline
To save his lord, who must have fallen; but here
The angel failed not succour to afford,
Who hovered close, from mortal eye concealed;
With outstretched arm, he caught his cruel sword
Upon the diamond of the heavenly shield.
XCIII.
Frangesi il ferro allor (chè non resiste
Di fucina mortal tempra terrena
Ad armi incorruttibili ed immiste
740 D’eterno fabbro) e cade in su l’arena.
Il Circasso, ch’andarne a terra ha viste
Minutissime parti, il crede appena.
Stupisce poi, scorta la mano inerme,
744 Ch’arme il campion nemico abbia sì ferme.
XCIII
The sword was broke, therein no wonder lies
If earthly tempered metal could not hold
Against that target forged above the skies,
Down fell the blade in pieces on the mould;
The proud Circassian scant believed his eyes,
Though naught were left him but the hilts of gold,
And full of thoughts amazed awhile he stood,
Wondering the Christian’s armor was so good.
XCIII.
The sword snapped short — no earthly tempered steel,
Forged by the arm of mortal, could withstand
The arms, unmixed and incorruptible,
Of heavenly smith — and fell upon the sand.
Arganté scarce, though seeing on the ground
The splintered fragments, could believe his sight,
And marvelled, as unarmed himself he found,
To know what armour armed the Christian knight.
XCIV.
E ben rotta la spada aver si crede
Su l’altro scudo, onde è colui difeso:
E ‘l buon Raimondo ha la medesma fede,
748 Chè non sa già chi sia dal Ciel disceso.
Ma, perocch’egli disarmata vede
La man nemica, si riman sospeso;
Chè stima ignobil palma, e vili spoglie
752 Quelle ch’altrui, con tal vantaggio, uom toglie.
XCIV
The brittle web of that rich sword he thought,
Was broke through hardness of the County’s shield;
And so thought Raymond, who discovered naught
What succor Heaven did for his safety yield:
But when he saw the man gainst whom he fought
Unweaponed, still stood he in the field;
His noble heart esteemed the glory light,
At such advantage if he slew the knight.
XCIV.
Truly he deemed his sword was broken by
The massive buckler of that doughty chief;
Not knowing who descended from the sky,
The gallant Raymond had the same belief,
Who, when he saw his foe disarmed, awhile
Paused in suspense, and from the fight refrained,
Deeming those worthless palms and laurels vile
At such advantage from another gained.
XCV.
Prendi, volea già dirgli, un’altra spada:
Quando novo pensier nacque nel core:
Ch’alto scorno è de’ suoi, dove egli cada,
756 Chè di pubblica causa è difensore.
Così nè indegna a lui vittoria aggrada,
Nè in dubbio vuol porre il comune onore.
Mentre egli dubbio stassi, Argante lancia
760 Il pomo e l’else alla nemica guancia.
XCV
&nb
sp; “Go fetch,” he would have said, “another blade,”
When in his heart a better thought arose,
How for Christ’s glory he was champion made,
How Godfrey had him to this combat chose,
The army’s honor on his shoulder laid
To hazards new he list not that expose;
While thus his thoughts debated on the case,
The hilts Argantes hurled at his face.
XCV.
‘Take’ — he was going to say— ‘another sword,’
When other thoughts sprang up and made him pause,
Since by defeat disgrace would be incurred,
He being the champion of a public cause;
Thus, though vile palms he scorned, he would not place
In risk their common honour. As he hung
Divided by these thoughts, against his face
The hilt and pommel base Arganté flung.
XCVI.
E in quel tempo medesmo il destrier punge,
E per venire a lotta oltra si caccia.
La percossa lanciata all’elmo giunge,
764 Sicchè ne pesta al Tolosan la faccia.
Ma però nulla sbigottisce, e lunge
Ratto si svia dalle robuste braccia;
Ed impiaga la man, ch’a dar di piglio
768 Venia più fera che ferino artiglio.
XCVI
And forward spurred his mounture fierce withal,
Within his arms longing his foe to strain,
Upon whose helm the heavy blow did fall,
And bent well-nigh the metal to his brain:
But he, whose courage was heroical,
Leapt by, and makes the Pagan’s onset vain,
And wounds his hand, which he outstretched saw,
Fiercer than eagles’ talon, lions’ paw.
XCVI.
And at the same time pricked his destrier,
And tried his foe to gripe in close embrace;
Nor did the well-directed missile err,
But struck Toulouse’s Count upon the face.
But, in no way alarmed, the wary knight
Swiftly drew back when he the danger saw,
And pierced his hand, which was outstretched to smite
With angrier menace than a tigers claw.
XCVII.
Poscia gira da questa a quella parte,
E rigirasi a questa, indi da quella:
E sempre, e dove riede, e donde parte
772 Fere il Pagan d’aspra percossa e fella.
Quanto avea di vigor, quanto avea d’arte,
Quanto può sdegno antico, ira novella,
A danno del Circasso or tutto aduna;
776 E seco il Ciel congiura, e la Fortuna.
XCVII
Now here, now there, on every side he rode,
With nimble speed, and spurred now out, now in,
And as he went and came still laid on load
Where Lord Argantes’ arms were weak and thin;
All that huge force which in his arms abode,
His wrath, his ire, his great desire to win,
Against his foe together all he bent,
And heaven and fortune furthered his intent.
XCVII.
Then wheeled from right to left, and back again
From left to right; and as he came and went
Aye struck the false, disloyal Saracen,
Nor ever failed in his malign intent.
All that he had of vigour and of skill,
All that could old despite and new-born ire,
He mustered up to work his foeman ill:
And with him Fate and Heaven itself conspire.
XCVIII.
Quei di fine arme, e di se stesso armato
Ai gran colpi resiste, e nulla pave:
E par senza governo, in mar turbato,
780 Rotte vele ed antenne, eccelsa nave;
Che pur contesto avendo ogni suo lato
Tenacemente di robusta trave,
Sdruciti i fianchi al tempestoso flutto
784 Non mostra ancor, nè si dispera in tutto.
XCVIII
But he, whose courage for no peril fails,
Well armed, and better hearted, scorns his power.
Like a tall ship when spent are all her sails,
Which still resists the rage of storm and shower,
Whose mighty ribs fast bound with bands and nails,
Withstand fierce Neptune’s wrath, for many an hour,
And yields not up her bruised keel to winds,
In whose stern blast no ruth nor grace she finds:
XCVIII.
Armed in himself, and in fine armour, he
Resists the count’s attack, and nothing fears;
Like a huge ship upon the boisterous sea,
Sails, yards, helm gone, the Saracen appears.
Which, built of solid oak, still stoutly braves
The storm that rages all around, nor bares
Her battered sides to the tempestuous waves,
Nor altogether of herself despairs.
XCIX.
Argante, il tuo periglio allor tal era,
Quando ajutarti Belzebù dispose.
Questi di cava nube ombra leggiera
788 (Mirabil mostro!) in forma d’uom compose:
E la sembianza di Clorinda altera
Gli finse, e l’arme ricche e luminose:
Diegli il parlare, e, senza mente, il noto
792 Suon della voce e ‘l portamento e ‘l moto.
XCIX
Argantes such thy present danger was,
When Satan stirred to aid thee at thy need,
In human shape he forged an airy mass,
And made the shade a body seem indeed;
Well might the spirit for Clorinda pass,
Like her it was, in armor and in weed,
In stature, beauty, countenance and face,
In looks, in speech, in gesture, and in pace.
XCIX.
Arganté, such thy peril, when to aid
Thy cause himself Beëlzebub disposed;
He of thin air an unsubstantial shade,
In form of man (strange prodigy!) composed;
It feigned Clorinda’s noble face and air,
Her silver surcoat and resplendent arms.
He gave it speech, and, though no mind was there,
Her well-known voice, her bearing, and her charms.
C.
Il simulacro ad Oradino esperto
Sagittario famoso andonne, e disse:
O famoso Oradin, ch’a segno certo,
796 Come a te piace, le quadrella affisse;
Ah gran danno saria, s’uom di tal merto,
Difensor di Giudea, così morisse:
E di sue spoglie il suo nemico adorno
800 Sicuro ne facesse a’ suoi ritorno.
C
And for the spirit should seem the same indeed,
From where she was whose show and shape it had,
Toward the wall it rode with feigned speed,
Where stood the people all dismayed and sad,
To see their knight of help have so great need,
And yet the law of arms all help forbad.
There in a turret sat a soldier stout
To watch, and at a loop-hole peeped out;
C.
The phantom went to Oradine, and cried
(An archer he of wondrous skill and fame):
‘Oh, Oradine, who, where thou will’st, canst guide
The flying shaft, and never miss thy aim,
What loss ’twould be if such a worthy knight,
Judaea’s bold defender, were to die,
And in his spoils, triumphant from the fight,
Unscathed return his mortal enemy!
CI.
Quì fà prova dell’arte, e le saette
Tingi nel sangue del ladron Francese:
Ch’oltra il perpetuo onor, vuò che n’aspette
&n
bsp; 804 Premio al gran fatto egual dal Re cortese.
Così parlò, nè quegli in dubbio stette,
Tosto che ‘l suon delle promesse intese.
Dalla grave faretra un quadrel prende,
808 E su l’arco l’adatta, e l’arco tende.
CI
The spirit spake to him, called Oradine,
The noblest archer then that handled bow,
“O Oradine,” quoth she, “who straight as line
Can’st shoot, and hit each mark set high or low,
If yonder knight, alas! be slain in fine,
As likest is, great ruth it were you know,
And greater shame, if his victorious foe
Should with his spoils triumphant homeward go.
CI.
‘Now prove thy skill — thy fatal arrow dye
In you Frank robber’s blood; thy gracious lord,
Besides the lasting fame, thou ma,’st rely,
Will pay thee back commensurate reward.’
Thus spake the shade; nor did the archer doubt,
Soon as he heard of guerdon for the blow,
But from his quiver drew an arrow out,
Affixed it to the cord, and bent the bow.
CII.
Sibila il teso nervo, e fuori spinto
Vola il pennuto stral per l’aria, e stride:
Ed a percuoter va dove del cinto
812 Si congiungon le fibbie, e le divide;
Passa l’usbergo, e in sangue appena tinto
Quivi si ferma, e sol la pelle incide;
Chè ‘l celeste guerrier soffrir non volse
816 Ch’oltra passasse, e forza al colpo tolse.
CII
“Now prove thy skill, thine arrow’s sharp head dip
In yonder thievish Frenchman’s guilty blood,
I promise thee thy sovereign shall not slip
To give thee large rewards for such a good;”
Thus said the spirit; the man did laugh and skip
For hope of future gain, nor longer stood,
But from his quiver huge a shaft he hent,
And set it in his mighty bow new bent,
CII.
The tense cord twangs — resounding through the air
With whizzing ring the feathered quarrel glides.
And strikes Raimondo in the girdle, where
The buckles clasp it, and the belt divides;
The mail it pierces, but, in blood scarce dyed,
His skin just grazes, then arrests its course,
Since the celestial warrior denied
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