Studies in the Poetry of Italy Part 14

I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freed The Sepulcher of Christ from thrall profane: Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed; Much in the glorious enterprise sustain; And h.e.l.l in vain opposed him; and in vain Afric and Asia to the rescue poured Their mingled tribes;--Heaven recompensed his pain, And from all fruitless sallies of the sword, True to the Red-Cross flag his wandering friends restored.

O, thou, the Muse, that not with fading palms Circlest thy brows on Pindus, but among The Angels warbling their celestial psalms, Hast for thy coronal a golden throng Of everlasting stars! make thou my song Lucid and pure; breathe thou the flame divine Into my bosom; and forgive the wrong, If with grave truth light fiction I combine, And sometimes grace my page with other flowers than thine.

The poet then plunges into the midst of the action, We learn how the Christian army has been in Holy Land for six years and had made many conquests:

Six summers now were past, since in the East Their high Crusade the Christians had begun; And Nice by storm, and Antioch had they seized By secret guile, and gallantly when won, Held in defiance of the myriads dun, Prest to its conquest by the Persian king; Tortosa sacked, when now the sullen sun Entered Aquarius, to breme winter's wing The quartered hosts give place, and wait the coming spring.

In the spring of the seventh year the archangel Gabriel appears to G.o.dfrey of Bouillon and orders him to a.s.semble the chiefs of the army and prepare for a new and vigorous prosecution of the war. G.o.dfrey obeys and is himself elected commander-in-chief. Then, after a review of the troops, which furnishes the poet an opportunity of giving a catalogue of the various Christian forces (after the manner of Homer), the whole army starts for Jerusalem.

The scene then changes to the Holy City itself, where King Aladine and his followers are seized with consternation at the news of the advance of the Christians. We now see the first of the famous episodes of the Jerusalem Delivered. The Magician Ismeno urges the king to seize a certain image of the Virgin Mary and shut it up in the royal mosque (thus converting it into a palladium for Jerusalem). The king does so; but immediately the image disappears from the mosque. Aladine is wild with rage and being unable to discover the perpetrator of the outrage, resolves to destroy all the Christians in the city. Now there was in the city a beautiful Christian girl:

Of generous thoughts and principles sublime, Amongst them in the city lived a maid.

The flower of virgins, in her ripest prime, Supremely beautiful! but that she made Never her care, or beauty only weighed In worth with virtue; and her worth acquired A deeper charm from blooming in the shade; Lovers she shunned, nor loved to be admired.

But from their praises turned, and lived a life retired.

Although she was unconscious of love herself, there was a n.o.ble Christian youth, Olindo, who had long loved her in secret. Sophronia resolves to save her people. She makes her way to the king's palace, and declares that she alone is guilty of having stolen the sacred image from the mosque.

Thus she prepares a public death to meet, A people's ransom at a tyrant's shrine: Oh glorious falsehood! beautiful deceit!

Can Truth's own light thy loveliness outshine?

To her bold speech mis...o...b..ing Aladine With unaccustomed temper calm replied: "If so it were, who planned the rash design, Advised thee to it, or became thy guide?

Say, with thyself who else his ill-timed zeal allied?"

"Of this my glory not the slightest part Would I," said she, "with one confederate share; I needed no adviser; my full heart Alone sufficed to counsel, guide, and dare."

"If so," he cried, "then none but thou must bear The weight of my resentment, and atone For the misdeed." "Since it has been my care,"

She said, "the glory to enjoy alone, 'T is just none share the pain; it should be all mine own."

To this the tyrant, now incensed, returned, "Where rests the Image?" and his face became Dark with resentment: she replied, "I burned The holy image in the holy flame, And deemed it glory; thus at least no shame Can e'er again profane it--it is free From further violation; dost thou claim The spoil or spoiler? this behold in me; But that, whilst time rolls round, thou never more shall see

Doomed in tormenting fire to die, they lay Hands on the maid; her arms with rough cords twining, Rudely her mantle chaste they tear away, And the white veil that o'er her drooped declining: This she endured in silence unrepining, Yet her firm breast some virgin tremors shook; And her warm cheek, Aurora's late outshining, Waned into whiteness, and a color took, Like that of the pale rose, or lily of the brook.

At this moment Olindo approaches the spot, and discovering that the victim is Sophronia, bursts through the crowd, exclaiming that he himself is the author of the crime. Sophronia appeals to him not to sacrifice himself for her, but he remains firm until the king, angered at their apparent scorn of his power, condemns them both to be burned.

Thus both are about to die, when a knight appears:

In midst of their distress, a knight behold, (So would it seem) of princely port! whose vest, And arms of curious fashion, grained with gold, Bespeak some foreign and distinguished guest; The silver tigress on the helm impressed, Which for a badge is borne, attracts all eyes,-- A noted cognizance, the accustomed crest Used by Clorinda, whence conjectures rise, Herself the stranger is--nor false is their surmise.

All feminine attractions, aims, and parts, She from her childhood cared not to a.s.sume; Her haughty hand disdained all servile arts, The needle, distaff, and Arachne's loom; Yet, though she left the gay and gilded room For the free camp, kept spotless as the light Her virgin fame, and proud of glory's plume, With pride her aspect armed; she took delight Stern to appear, and stern, she charmed the gazer's sight.

This is the first appearance of Clorinda, who is destined to play so large a part in the poem, and who shows the n.o.bility of her character by interceding for the lovers with the king. The king, delighted at having so powerful an auxiliary in his hour of danger and need, willingly grants Clorinda's request, and the lovers are saved.

In the meantime the Christian army approach Jerusalem, which they reach at early dawn, and which they greet with deep emotion:

The odorous air, morn's messenger, now spread Its wings to herald, in serenest skies, Aurora issuing forth, her radiant head Adorned with roses plucked in Paradise; When in full panoply the hosts arise, And loud and spreading murmurs upward fly, Ere yet the trumpet sings; its melodies They miss not long, the trumpet's tuneful cry Gives the command to march, shrill sounding to the sky.

Winged is each heart, and winged every heel; They fly, yet notice not how fast they fly; But by the time the dewless meads reveal The fervent sun's ascension in the sky, Lo, towered Jerusalem salutes the eye!

A thousand pointing fingers tell the tale; "Jerusalem!" a thousand voices cry, "All hail, Jerusalem!" hill, down, and dale Catch the glad sounds, and shout, "Jerusalem, all hail!"

Erminia, daughter of the deceased king of Antioch, points out to King Aladine from a high tower the famous warriors among the Christians, and especially praises Tancred, who had conquered her father and taken her prisoner, and who, by his courtesy and gentle treatment, had won her love. A sortie is made from the city, and Tancred, finding himself engaged in battle with Clorinda, whom he esteems a man, breaks her helmet, and discovering her to be the maiden whom he loves, refuses to fight further with her.

Meanwhile Clorinda rushes to a.s.sail The Prince, and level lays her spear renowned; Both lances strike, and on the barred ventayle In shivers fly, and she remains discrowned For, burst its silver rivets, to the ground Her helmet leaped (incomparable blow!) And by the rudeness of the shock unbound, Her s.e.x to all the field emblazoning so, Loose to the charmed winds her golden tresses flow.

Thus begins the most famous episode of the Jerusalem Delivered. For the next half of the poem Tancred and Clorinda are the real hero and heroine.

In the meantime Satan has called together his followers for consultation. Among the many plans for holding the Christian army in check is the sending of the beautiful enchantress Armida to the camp of G.o.dfrey, where she succeeds by her wiles in drawing away from the army a number of the bravest warriors. The king of Egypt, with an immense army, announces his intention to help Jerusalem and from this time on, this menace hovers like a black cloud over the horizon of the poem, ever approaching nearer and nearer, till in the last canto the storm is averted by the bravery of the Christian warriors and the aid of heaven.

Argantes, one of the pagan warriors of Jerusalem, sends a herald to G.o.dfrey's camp, challenging any of his warriors to single combat.

Tancred is appointed by G.o.dfrey to accept the challenge, and the two doughty champions fight all day long with no result. When night comes on both retire, bearing away serious wounds. Erminia, who has been in a terrible state of anxiety during the combat, cannot rest content when night comes on, without learning the condition of Tancred's wounds. She puts on Clorinda's suit of armor, leaves the city, and makes her way to the Christian camp, first sending a messenger to Tancred, announcing that a lady desires to see him. The scene which follows is very picturesque, describing as it does the silence of the night and the distant view of the tents.

On high were the clear stars; the gentle Hours Walked cloudless through the galaxy of s.p.a.ce, And the calm moon rose, lighting up the flowers With frost of living pearl: like her in grace, Th' enamored maid from her illumined face Reflected light where'er she chanced to rove; And made the silent Spirit of the place, The hills, the melancholy moon above, And the dumb valleys round, familiars of her love.

Seeing the Camp, she whispered: "O ye fair Italian tents! how amiable ye show!

The breathing winds that such refreshment bear, Ravish my soul, for 't is from you they blow So may relenting Heaven on me bestow,-- On me, by froward Fate so long distressed,-- A chaste repose from weariness and woe, As in your compa.s.s only lies my quest; As 'tis your arms alone can give my spirit rest."

Ah, little does she think, while thus she dreams, What is prepared for her by Fortune's spite!

She is so placed, that the moon's placid beams In line direct upon her armor light; So far remote into the shades of night The silver splendor is conveyed, and she Surrounded is with brilliancy so bright, That whosoe'er might chance her crest to see, Would of a truth conclude it must Clorinda be.

Two sentinels see her, and believing her to be Clorinda, pursue her. She flies and is carried by her horse many miles away, finally reaching a shepherd's cottage on the banks of the Jordan, where for some time she takes up her abode far from war's alarms and the "pangs of despised love." The description of Erminia's life here is much admired for its delineations of the charm of rural life.

She slept, till in her dreaming ear, the bowers Whispered, the gay birds warbled of the dawn; The river roared; the winds to the young flowers Made love; the blithe bee wound its dulcet horn: Roused by the mirth and melodies of morn, Her languid eyes she opens, and perceives The huts of shepherds on the lonely lawn; Whilst seeming voices, 'twixt the waves and leaves Call back her scattered thoughts,--again she sighs and grieves.

Her plaints were silenced by soft music, sent As from a rural pipe, such sounds as cheer The Syrian shepherd in his summer tent, And mixed with pastoral accents, rude but clear She rose and gently, guided by her ear, Came where an old man on a rising ground In the fresh shade, his white flocks feeding near, Twig baskets wove, and listened to the sound Trilled by three blooming boys, who sate disporting round.

The shepherd, pitying Erminia's distress, takes her to his wife, and she thus becomes a member of the humble but happy household.

In the meantime many events are taking place between the Christians and pagans, sorties, single combats, and attacks on the walls of the city.

G.o.dfrey has caused powerful engines of war to be built, especially a mighty movable tower, so high that it overtops the walls of the city.

Clorinda, eager for glory, undertakes one night to destroy the tower, in spite of the warning of her old servant a.r.s.etes, who tells her the story of her birth, and reveals the fact that she is of Christian parentage.

She issues forth, succeeds in setting fire to the tower, but not being able to reenter the city, flies, followed by Tancred, who not recognizing her, fights with her and to his own eternal sorrow, slays her. This pa.s.sage is regarded as the most beautiful of the whole poem:

As the deep Euxine, though the wind no more Blows, that late tossed its billows to the stars, Stills not at once its rolling and its roar, But with its coasts long time conflicting jars; Thus, though their quickly-ebbing blood debars Force from their blades as vigor from their arms, Still lasts the frenzy of the flame which Mars Blew in their b.r.e.a.s.t.s; sustained by whose strong charms, Yet heap they strokes on strokes, yet harms inflict on harms.

But now, alas! the fatal hour arrives That must shut up Clorinda's life in shade; In her fair bosom deep his sword he drives; 'Tis done--life's purple fountain bathes the blade; The golden flowered cymar of light brocade, That swathed so tenderly her b.r.e.a.s.t.s of snow, Is steeped in the warm stream: the hapless maid Feels her end nigh; her knees their strength forego, And her enfeebled frame droops languishing and low.

He, following up the thrust with taunting cries, Lays the pierced Virgin at his careless feet; She as she falls, in mournful tones outsighs, Her last faint words, pathetically sweet; Which a new spirit prompts, a spirit replete With charity, and faith, and hope serene, Sent dove-like down from G.o.d's pure mercy-seat; Who, though through life his rebel she had been, Would have her die a fond, repentant Magdalene.

"Friend, thou hast won; I pardon thee, and oh Forgive thou me! I fear not for this clay, But my dark soul--pray for it, and bestow The sacred right that laves all stains away:"

Like dying hymns heard far at close of day, Sounding I know not what in the soothed ear Of sweetest sadness, the faint words make way To his fierce heart, and, touched with grief sincere, Streams from his pitying eye the involuntary tear.

Not distant, gushing from the rocks, a rill Clashed on his ear; to this with eager pace He speeds--his hollow casque the waters fill-- And back he hurries to the deed of grace; His hands as aspens tremble, whilst they raise The locked aventayle of the unknown knight;-- G.o.d, for thy mercy! 'tis her angel face!

Aghast and thunderstruck, he loathes the light; Ah, knowledge best unknown! ah, too distracting sight.

Yet still he lived; and mustering all his powers To the sad task, restrained each wild lament, Fain to redeem by those baptismal showers The life his sword bereft; whilst thus intent The hallowing words he spoke, with ravishment Her face transfigured shone, and half apart Her bland lips shed a lively smile that sent This silent speech in sunshine to his heart: "Heaven gleams; in blissful peace behold thy friend depart!"

A paleness beauteous as the lily's mixt With the sweet violet's, like a gust of wind Flits o'er her face; her eyes on Heaven are fixt, And heaven on her returns its looks as kind: Speak she can not; but her cold hand, declined, In pledge of peace on Tancred she bestows; And to her fate thus tenderly resigned, In her meek beauty she expires, and shows But as a smiling saint indulging soft repose.