of each century, set there by the enchanter's art. After gazing on the shapes of departed loveliness, the king naturally turned to the fair ones of his own day in search of the Princess Clarinea's form. Alas! it was not to be found there; and a glance told him that, great as might be her charms, they were eclipsed by those of the ladies preferred to her; especially by those of Yvo of Gascony's sister, Clarice. Hereupon Francardo, resolving to make her his wife, sent Rinaldo's

informant, the Knight of the Siren, to demand her of the emperor in marriage, promising both to respect her religion and to bring up their children in the Christian faith; but threatening war if her hand is refused him. The answer the ambassador has received from the emperor has been not unfavourable; and he is now on his way to procure the assent of Clarice herself and of her mother. How Clarinea bears her desertion remains untold.

is Rinaldo's exclamation on hearing this tale. But after the Armenian knight has left him and proceeded on his errand, many fears disturb his mind; not that he doubts his own ability to defend Clarice against a world in arms, but that he dreads her being dazzled by the offer of an Eastern diadem.

This new-born jealousy must plead his excuse for an act of apparent discourtesy. For, coming shortly afterwards to the Seine, he sees a boat with sails of clothof-silver and awnings of cloth-ofgold, and on its flower-wreathed decks maidens who play sweet instruments and sing. It is an attendant satellite on the car of Galerana, Queen of France; a car with golden axles, on which blaze orient gems, and with pearl-embroidered purple coverings, drawn by ten milk-white stags with gold collars and azure bridles, and es

corted by a hundred knights in rich armour. Like the sun's fair sister amid the stars, like Thetis among her nymphs, sits the majestic queen on her raised seat in the chariot, surrounded by her damsels. One of them is Clarice. Rinaldo, at sight of the lady whose loss he has begun to dread, cannot restrain himself. He at once challenges the knights attendant, among whom the lance which Tristram used of old works great havoc. Having soon, ably seconded by Isolier, routed or slain her whole guard, he approaches the queen, and, with a show of courteous submission, begs her pardon for taking away one lady from her goodly company. But he brooks no refusal, lifts the pale and trembling Clarice on to a palfrey without asking her own consent, and leads her off, though her downcast eyes are full of tears at this rough method

of wooing. The result, however, justifies his boldness in so far as an easily obtained pardon can go. For no sooner has Rinaldo raised his vizor, and, assuring Clarice of his respectful obedience to her every wish, disclosed to her the Armenian embassy as his reason for wishing to place her in safe keeping, than the lady dries her tears and feels the tempests of her heart calmed by Rinaldo's eyes-as, says the classically-minded poet, are the storms of ocean by the shining sons of Leda. But the experienced reader who observes that the poem is as yet only in its fourth canto, knows well that this peace cannot be of long duration, and marvels not to see Malagigi appear on the scene to disturb it. That potent enchanter, fearing a too early interruption of Rinaldo's victorious career, meets the enamoured pair in the guise of a black knight, bearing a dragon on his shield. Before his onslaught even Bayard falls; and ere Rinaldo can raise him, the stranger strikes the earth with his lance, a car like Pluto's, drawn by four black horses snorting fire, rises from the cleft, and, white and half dead with terror, Clarice, a second Proserpine, is whirled away in it out of sight.

Rinaldo seeks her, but in vain, and finds no comfort in his transports of rage and grief. Thick mists prevent Bayard, risen mightier than ever when released from the magic spell, from pursuing the flying car; and its rider's despair exceeds his poet's power to paint. A faint hope of recovering his lost lady keeps her cavalier alive; and he records a vow to seek her for years and lustrums if needful, alike when winter whitens the fields and when spring adorns them with her roses and her lilies.

He is alone in his sorrow; for Isolier disappears at this point from the poem, being last seen in vain pursuit of the robber and his prey.

But Rinaldo's solitude is relieved before long; and he finds a congenial companion in a young shepherd who is lamenting his own hopeless love the story whereof the knight hears seated at his side upon the grass. No shepherd, but the supposed son of a wealthy Spanish noble, Florindo had fixed his affections on Olinda, daughter of the King of Numantia. His boldness has displeased her; and, an exile for her sake, he is now wandering, the pilgrim of love, in search of a cave where Cupid gives oracles. This cavern, as he has just heard, is nigh to the spot where they are seated, and he invites Rinaldo to accompany him thither. The entrance is defended by flames which only faithful lovers can pass through unscathed. But Florindo and his new friend alike abide the test, and each receives a favourable answer; Florindo, yet a pagan, in requital of sacrifice duly offered-the Christian Rinaldo, because Cupid's image is Merlin's work, and so framed by him that it denies a faithful response to no man who fulfils the indispensable conditions. The cavern shakes with a sound as of winds and waves, Cupid's golden bow and quiver rattle as he claps his wings and speaks. Then Rinaldo learns what Malagigi has done, and why, and that he has restored Clarice safely to her mother; and is further cheered by being promised that he shall yet wed her if he perseveres in the career of arms. Florindo, too, is assured of happiness when his own princely birth shall in due time be disclosed, and bidden meanwhile to follow the same course.

Florindo presents himself to Charles; and, having received knighthood from his hand, delivers a challenge to his host in his own and his friend's name, who, as he says, are prepared to maintain against all comers, "That no man can mount to true honour unless he have love for his guide." The challenge is eagerly taken up, not only by Christians, but by knights of the Saracen host, to which it is transmitted by a herald. Men who have never known love, or who now delivered from its chains still have them in painful remembrance, are eager to fight Love's champions. The great Charles himself comes down into the plain where the lists are set to see the joust.

First to attack Rinaldo, and

-Canto vi. 6.

first to leave his saddle empty, is Walter of Montlyon; followed in his fall in rapid succession by twelve other Christian knights. Next the steel-clad Saracen, Atlas

-a giant on an elephantine charger -finds his steed all too weak to withstand the shock of Bayard's impact. Disengaging himself from his dead charger, as his courteous antagonist gives him full time to do, the Paynim renews the fight with his good sword Fusberta, that "priceless brand," as Tasso calls it, which, like Orlando's Durindana, and Arthur's Excalibur, is treated in the tales of knighterrantry rather as a person than as a thing. This is the sword predestined for Rinaldo's use, who is to be henceforward known as the striker with Fusberta as well as

the rider of Bayard. But ere he wins the famous weapon he narrowly escapes meeting his death by it; for Atlas, stung to fury by

a wound from his opponent's lance, grasps it suddenly with both hands, wrests it from his hold, and then prepares to deal him a deadly blow.

is the poet's exclamation as he beholds his hero's peril. But a timely leap to one side makes Atlas miss his stroke, and fall himself overbalanced to the ground. A wound from Rinaldo's dagger loosens his grasp of his peerless sword; and Fusberta, snatched by the young champion, severs her former master's head from his shoulders.

The Saracen's death pleases the Christian host well; but when equally hard measure is dealt to some of themselves, and Sir Hugh, a knight dear as his own soul to Charlemagne, is likewise slain, the emperor sees it time to interfere, and calls on his nephew Orlando to repress this audacious stranger. He, though unwillingly, obeys, puts on the helmet which he won from Almonte, mounts his famous Brigliadoro, and rides to meet the unknown knight, whose valour has gained his heart. Evenly matched in strength, both horses go down after the first encounter, and then the contest between their riders is continued on foot, reflecting equal honour on the skill and valour of each. Or

lando is amazed at being matched alike as a fencer and a wrestler, and longs to know the name of his antagonist. The emperor, too, feels moved by so much valour to forgive his knights' loss, and to interfere lest either of such brave champions should be injured; so that, after the combat has been long continued without visible advantage to either side, he himself rides within the barrier and parts the two knights.

Rinaldo refuses to disclose his name, though requested to do so, saying modestly that it is as yet too obscure; and departs, with the likewise victorious Florindo, after a mutual interchange of compliments and gifts, to seek elsewhere the adventures which the Moors, obstinately shut up within their entrenchments, seem unlikely to afford them. But on their way they see a sad sight the shades of night are lit up by many funeral torches, and their lurid glare discloses to them the slain Hugh's father, lamenting bitterly over the corpse of his beloved and only son. As he weeps over its severed head he cries :

Rinaldo dares not offer the consolations which he longs to give, and rides on in the darkness; only, however, feeling sorrow, not remorse, for he has taken Hugh's life in fair field, and "nought he did in hate, but all in honour."

The next day's light discloses to him another woful spectacle, and one full of fantastic horror. Entombed in a transparent sepulchre, her fair flesh made, by magic, inincorruptible, lies the beautiful Clytia; a second Procris, who has met with the fate of her Greek prototype, and been slain betrayed by the movement of the

-Canto vii. 10, 11.

bushes behind which she lurked, a spy on her hunter-husband-by the dart which he cast at the wild beast which he ignorantly supposed her to be. Now his anguish at his involuntary crime has found strange expression. Day and night he watches the fair corpse in its thin alabaster tomb, and constrains all who pass by to drink of the magic spring beside it; the fountain of sorrow, which at once makes them partners in his grief. It is thus that Tasso describes the approach of Rinaldo and Florindo to the dolorous forest :