Yet it would be a mistake to think Ariosto was a mere plagiarist or that he lacked originality. No writer ever lived who has so impressed his own individuality on his works as he. He took the data furnished by his predecessors and joined to them all the culture of the times, ideas, aspirations, conception of life; all these he fused into one vast work which reflects the age of the Renaissance as truly as the Divine Comedy reflects the closing period of the Middle Ages.

It is practically impossible to give a clear yet brief outline of Orlando Furioso. It does not, like the Iliad, aeneid, Paradise Lost, and Jerusalem Delivered, contain one central action, with which all parts are logically connected, but is rather a vast arena on which take place many different and independent actions at the same time. The wars between Charlemagne and the Saracens, which had been begun in Boiardo's poem, are here continued and carried to an end. In similar manner Ariosto takes up the history of the various knights errant introduced by his predecessor, and either continues their adventures or introduces new ones himself. In the first canto the poet shows us the army of Agramante before the walls of Paris, in which Charlemagne and his army are shut up, and in the course of the poem he shows us the city freed, the enemy defeated, and Christianity saved from the dominion of the Saracen. Yet this is not the real center of action; often it is entirely lost sight of in the confusing crowd of individual adventures. It only serves as a fact.i.tious means of joining from time to time the scattered threads of the various episodes. When the poet does not know what to do with any particular character, he despatches him forthwith to Paris, there to await the final denouement.

The individual heroes are free, not bound by any ties of discipline to Charlemagne; they leave at any moment, in obedience to individual caprice, and wander forth in search of love and honor. It is in these various episodes or adventures that the true interest of the poem resides. At first sight there seems to be an inextricable confusion in the way they are told; but after careful study we find that the poet always controls them with a firm hand. A constant change goes on before our eyes. When one story has been told for some time, the poet, fearing to weary the reader, breaks it off, always at an interesting point, to begin another, which, in its turn, yields to another, and this to still another; from time to time these stories are taken up again, continued, and finished. All these transitions are marvels of skill and ingenuity.

Among the crowd of minor episodes three stand out with especial distinctness, the story of Cloridan and Medoro, Angelica's love for the latter and the consequent madness of Orlando; and the death of Zerbino.

Cloridan and Medoro are two brave young pagans, whose lord and master, Dardinello, has been slain in battle with Charlemagne's army outside the walls of Paris. Now the two youths, as they stand on guard at night, lament that their master's body lies unburied and dishonored on the field of battle, and resolve to go and find it and bring it back to camp.

These two were posted on a rampart's height, With more to guard the encampment from surprise, When 'mid the equal intervals, at night, Medoro gazed on heaven with sleepy eyes.

In all his talk, the stripling, woful wight, Here cannot choose, but of his lord devise, The royal Dardinel; and evermore Him, left unhonored on the field, deplore.

Then, turning to his mate, cries: "Cloridane, I cannot tell thee what a cause of woe It is to me, my lord upon the plain Should lie, unworthy food for wolf or crow!

Thinking how still to me he was humane, Meseems, if in his honor I forego This life of mine, for favors so immense I shall but make a feeble recompense.

"That he may lack not sepulture, will I Go forth, and seek him out among the slain; And haply G.o.d may will that none shall spy Where Charles's camp lies hushed. Do thou remain; That, if my death be written in the sky, Thou may'st the deed be able to explain.

So that if Fortune foil so fair a feat, The world, through Fame, my loving heart may weet."

Seeing that nought would bend him, nought would move, "I too will go," was Cloridan's reply, "In such a glorious act myself will prove; As well such famous death I covet, I: What other thing is left me, here above, Deprived of thee, Medoro mine? To die With thee in arms is better, on the plain, Than afterwards of grief, should'st thou be slain."

So they go forth on their generous enterprise, and after slaying many distinguished warriors among the Christians, as they lay asleep, they approach the tent of Charlemagne, near which they find the body of their master:

The horrid mixture of the bodies there Which heaped the plain where roved these comrades sworn, Might well have rendered vain their faithful care Amid the mighty piles, till break of morn, Had not the moon, at young Medoro's prayer, Out of a gloomy cloud put forth her horn.

Medoro to the heavens upturns his eyes Towards the moon, and thus devoutly cries:

"O holy G.o.ddess! whom our fathers well Have styled as of a triple form, and who Thy sovereign beauty dost in heaven, and h.e.l.l, And earth, in many forms reveal; and through The greenwood holt, of beast and monster fell, --A huntress bold--the flying steps pursue, Show where my king, amid so many lies, Who did, alive, thy holy studies prize."

At the youth's prayer from parted cloud outshone (Were it the work of faith or accident) The moon, as fair, as when Endymion She circled in her naked arms: with tent, Christian or Saracen, was Paris-town Seen in that gleam, and hill and plain's extent.

With these Mount Martyr and Mount Lery's height, This on the left, and that upon the right.

The silvery splendor glistened yet more clear, There where renowned Almontes's son lay dead.

Faithful Medoro mourned his master dear, Who well agnized the quartering white and red, With visage bathed in many a bitter tear (For he a rill from either eyelid shed), And piteous act and moan, that might have whist The winds, his melancholy plaint to list;

Hurrying their steps, they hastened, as they might, Under the cherished burden they conveyed; And now approaching was the lord of light, To sweep from heaven the stars, from earth the shade, When good Zerbino, he, whose valiant sprite Was ne'er in time of need by sleep down-weighed, From chasing Moors all night, his homeward way Was taking to the camp at dawn of day.

He has with him some hors.e.m.e.n in his train, That from afar the two companions spy.

Expecting thus some spoil or prize to gain, They, every one, towards that quarter his.

"Brother, behoves us," cries young Cloridane, "To cast away the load we bear, and fly: For 'twere a foolish thought (might well be said) To lose _two_ living men, to save _one_ dead;"

And dropt the burden, weening his Medore Had done the same by it, upon his side; But that poor boy, who loved his master more, His shoulders to the weight, alone, applied; Cloridan hurrying with all haste before, Deeming him close behind him or beside; Who, did he know his danger, him to save A thousand deaths, instead of one, would brave.

So far was Cloridan advanced before, He heard the boy no longer in the wind; But when he marked the absence of Medore, It seemed as if his heart was left behind.

"Ah! how was I so negligent (the Moor Exclaimed), so far beside myself, and blind, That I, Medoro, should without thee fare, Nor know when I deserted thee or where?"

So saying, in the wood he disappears, Plunging into the maze with hurried pace; And thither, whence he lately issued, steers, And, desperate, of death returns in trace.

Cries and the tread of steeds this while he hears, And word and threat of foemen, as in chase; Lastly Medoro by his voice is known, Disarmed, on foot, 'mid many horse, alone.

A hundred hors.e.m.e.n who the youth surround, Zerbino leads, and bids his followers seize The stripling; like a top, the boy turns round And keeps him as he can: among the trees, Behind oak, elm, beech, ash, he takes his ground, Nor from the cherished load his shoulders frees.

Wearied, at length, the burden he bestowed Upon the gra.s.s, and stalked about his load.

Cloridan, who to aid him knows not how, And with Medoro willingly would die, But who would not for death this being forego, Until more foes than one should lifeless lie, Ambushed, his sharpest arrow to his bow Fits, and directs it with so true an eye, The feathered weapon bores a Scotchman's brain, And lays the warrior dead upon the plain.

Enraged at this, Zerbino leaps forward to wreak revenge on Medoro, but he, begging to be allowed to bury his master so touches Zerbino with his youthful beauty that he is inclined to spare him, and one of his own followers smiting Medoro, who stands in suppliant att.i.tude, Zerbino, in a rage, pursues him and followed by his companions, disappears, leaving Cloridan dead and Medoro gravely wounded.

In the meantime--

By chance arrived a damsel at the place, Who was (though mean and rustic was her wear) Of royal presence and of beauteous face, And lofty manners, sagely debonair: Her have I left unsung so long a s.p.a.ce, That you will hardly recognize the fair.

Angelica, in her (if known not) scan, The lofty daughter of Cathay's great khan.

This is Angelica, who having despised the love of Orlando, now finally meets her fate in the person of Medoro:

When fair Angelica the stripling spies, Nigh hurt to death in that disastrous fray, Who for his king, that there unsheltered lies, More sad than for his own misfortune lay, She feels new pity in her bosom rise, Which makes its entry in unwonted way.

Touched was her haughty heart, once hard and curst, And more when he his piteous tale rehea.r.s.ed.

And calling back to memory her art, For she in Ind had learned chirurgery, (Since it appears such studies in that part Worthy of praise and fame are held to be, And, as an heirloom, sires to sons impart, With little aid of books, the mystery) Disposed herself to work with simples' juice, Till she in him should healthier life produce.

She succeeds in curing him, and falling desperately in love, marries him and departs for Cathay, of which she designs making her husband king.

After some time Orlando comes that way and finds engraved on trees in love-knots and intertwined names, the evidence of the love of Angelica and Medoro:

Turning him round, he there, on many a tree, Beheld engraved, upon the woody sh.o.r.e, What as the writing of his deity He knew, as soon as he had marked the lore.

This was a place of those described by me, Whither ofttimes, attended by Medore, From the near shepherd's cot had wont to stray The beauteous lady, sovereign of Cathay.

In a hundred knots, amid those green abodes, In a hundred parts, their cyphered names are dight; Whose many letters are so many goads, Which Love has in his bleeding heart-core pight.

He would discredit in a thousand modes, That which he credits in his own despite; And would parforce persuade himself, _that_ rhind Other Angelica than his had signed.

He tries to convince himself that there is no truth in all this, but in vain, for meeting the shepherd at whose house Angelica had brought Medoro, he learns in detail the whole story. Upon hearing this he rushes forth from the cottage and hastens to the forest, where he can give full vent to the sorrow that fills his heart, and where he gradually loses all control of himself, and finally becomes raging mad:

All night about the forest roved the count, And, at the break of daily light, was brought By his unhappy fortune to the fount, Where his inscription young Medoro wrought.

To see his wrongs inscribed upon that mount, Inflamed his fury so, in him was nought But turned to hatred, frenzy, rage, and spite; Nor paused he more, but bared his falchion bright.

Cleft through the writing; and the solid block, Into the sky, in tiny fragments sped.

Wo worth each sapling and that caverned rock, Where Medore and Angelica were read!

So scathed, that they to shepherd or to flock Thenceforth shall never furnish shade or bed.

And that sweet fountain, late so clear and pure, From such tempestuous wrath was ill secure.

For he turf, stone, and trunk, and shoot, and lop Cast without cease into the beauteous source; Till, turbid from the bottom to the top, Never again was clear the troubled course.

At length, for lack of breath, compelled to stop, (When he is bathed in sweat, and wasted force, Serves not his fury more) he falls, and lies Upon the mead, and, gazing upward, sighs.

Wearied and woe-begone, he fell to ground, And turned his eyes toward heaven; nor spake he aught, Nor ate, nor slept, till in his daily round The golden sun had broken thrice, and sought His rest anew; nor ever ceased his wound To rankle, till it marred his sober thought.

At length, impelled by frenzy, the fourth day, He from his limbs tore plate and mail away.

Thus begins the madness of Orlando, who, after performing prodigious deeds of strength on men, cattle, and trees, is seized with restlessness, and wanders far and wide:

Now right, now left, he wandered, far and wide, Throughout all France, and reached a bridge one day; Beneath which ran an ample water's tide, Of steep and broken banks: a turret gray Was builded by the s.p.a.cious river's side, Discerned, from far and near, and every way.

What here he did I shall relate elsewhere, Who first must make the Scottish prince my care.

The Scottish prince, to whom the poet refers in these last lines, is the same Zerbino whom we have left pursuing the wretch who wounded the young Medoro. Zerbino is young, handsome, and brave, and has married Isabella, daughter of the king of Gallicia, whom he loves and by whom he is loved with tender conjugal affection. Now his time has come to die. He, with Isabella, arrives on the scene of Orlando's madness and finds the scattered arms of Orlando, which he gathers together and hangs on a tree, with an inscription telling whose they are, and forbidding all to touch them. Just then up comes Mandricardo, emperor of Tartary, accompanied by Doralice, his lady-love, and attempts to take Orlando's sword Durindane. The two warriors fight, and Zerbino being fatally wounded, Doralice, at the prayer of Isabella, prevails on Mandricardo to end the battle: yet it is too late to save the life of Zerbino.