Tales from Spenser, Chosen from the Faerie Queene

"Alas!" said Scudamour, "this is the worst cause of my distress, for the fire cannot be quenched by any wit or skill; what then is there left to me but ceaseless sorrowing. Leave me to my grief, let Amoret dwell in chains, and Scudamour die of misery."

"Nay," replied the noble maid, "to abandon a brave deed for the mere show of danger were a shameful thing; better run all risks than turn aside for fear."

Thereupon, resolved to trust her weapons to the utmost, Britomart threw her great shield before her face, and pointing her magic sword straight in front, moved onward; when lo! the dread flames parted on either side of her, and she passed through scatheless.

When Scudamour saw that she had passed beyond the fire and was uninjured, he, too, tried to force a way. But he was full of proud passions, and commanded the flames to yield to him, and being foolish enough to threaten them, increased their mighty rage so that with imperious sway they sent him back scorched and burned. Impatience and disappointment raged in his bosom, and in a very madness of misery he again flung himself on the ground and beat his head and breast, and would take neither hope nor comfort.

Meantime Britomart pursued her way, and going through the first door, entered an outer chamber. It was full of precious stores, and was hung round with rich arras, into which was woven many a fair scene, portraying the feats of Cupid, the blind god. At the upper end of the chamber stood an altar, built of gems of great beauty, and on the altar was an image of massive gold with wings of divers colours, more varied and brilliant than the hues of the rainbow. This image represented Cupid with the fatal bow and arrows in his hand, and at his feet a wounded dragon. Underneath were written these words – "Unto the victor of the gods this be," and all the people that dwelt in the great castle paid it homage.

Britomart stood still for a while, gazing at the golden image, fascinated by its brightness; but at length she turned to look back and take in the other wonders of the chamber. Then, for the first time, she noticed the words "Be bold" written over a doorway. She puzzled over their meaning for some time, and could not find it, but no way dismayed by the apparent warning, she followed their advice, and advanced from the first to a second chamber.

This chamber was still richer than the other. Its walls were overlaid with gold wrought with figures of antique story, and all about were the spoils and arms and trophies of mighty conquerors, who had been taken captive by the cruel Cupid.

For a long time Britomart gazed around her, and the more she looked the more she wondered, both at the richness of the room and at the wasteful emptiness and solemn silence that pervaded the place. As she continued her survey, she saw over the door through which she had just passed the same words, three times written, "Be bold." While trying to make out their import, her eye chanced to light upon an iron door at the other end of the room, on which was written, "Be not too bold." This puzzled her still more; but no living creature appeared from whom she could ask an explanation. And now the shadows lengthened, and darkness fell, yet Britomart would not sleep, but sat in watchfulness, her armour on, and her weapons all about her.

When night had quite set in, she was startled by the shrill sound of a trumpet. After the trumpet blast, there arose a hideous storm of wind, with thunder, lightning, and an earthquake, followed by a horrible stench of sulphur and smoke, which lasted from four in the morning until six – yet Britomart remained steadfast in her watch. Then suddenly arose a whirlwind throwing open the heavy iron door, and from an inner room there entered a grave personage bearing a branch of laurel, and clad as if for the tragic stage. Before Britomart had time to recover from the surprise of this apparition, a band of minstrels, followed by a troop of masquers, issued also from the chamber. Sweet music and strange and gay figures now filled the hitherto empty room. There were Fancy and Desire, dressed in silk and embroidery; Doubt and Danger in more sober garb; Fear, armed from head to foot; Hope, with golden locks and samite robes; Suspicion and Deceit, Grief and Fury, Pleasure and Displeasure – six couples in all. Behind these came a fair lady, led by Cruelty and Despight, who goaded and tormented her as she walked. After these rode the winged god, mounted on a lion, and closely followed by Reproach, Shame, and Repentance, while a confused rabble brought up the rear.

The procession marched three times round the chamber, and disappeared into the inner room. As soon as it had passed through, the iron door was violently closed by the same whirlwind which had opened it. Then Britomart came forth from the shady corner in which she had stood unnoticed, and tried to follow; but she could by no means pass the door, and was obliged to wait patiently for any opportunity that might arise.

All day the maiden waited, and when the next night came with its garment of darkness her hopes rose, and not in vain. About the second watch, the door flew open, and afraid neither of masques nor enchantments, Britomart walked boldly in. As soon as she entered, she looked round for those persons whom she had seen the previous night. But of all the motley crew only one was visible, and this was the fair lady who had been led by the cruel villains, and who indeed was Amoret. Her hands were fast bound, and round her waist was an iron band that fastened her to a brass pillar. Before her was the wicked enchanter, drawing strange characters with Amoret's own heart's blood, which he drew from her by means of a cruel transfixed dart. By such strange spells, he sought to charm her into loving him. But he had already tried a thousand charms, and had utterly failed to touch her love and loyalty to Scudamour, and indeed she was little likely to love one who wrought such cruel imprisonment.

The moment the enchanter saw Britomart in her knightly attire, he cast away his books of wicked magic, and drawing a murderous knife from his pocket ran fiercely at poor Amoret, whom for very spite he was ready to kill rather than see her escape. Britomart leapt forward, seized his arm, and stayed his murderous intent. In a moment the enchanter's rage turned upon her, and his sword inflicted a wound upon her snowy throat.

Then Britomart drew forth her deadly spear, and struck him so dire a blow, that he fell on the ground half dead. Another stroke must have killed him, and she was on the point of dealing it when Amoret made sign to her to hold her hand, telling Britomart that only he who had enchained could set her free.

Hearing this the noble maiden paused, and very unwilling to spare her wicked captive, addressed him thus, "Thou wretched man, for whom no punishment can be too severe, be sure that nothing shall save thee from death, unless thou immediately restore this lady to health and freedom."

Glad to secure his life on any terms, the enchanter at once yielded, and rising up, began to look over the leaves of his accursed books, that he might learn how to reverse the charms he had wrought. Britomart stood over him with her sword drawn, and so dreadful were the things he read, that her hair stood on end with horror. By and bye she perceived that the house shook and the door rattled, but not for a moment did she slacken the grasp of her weapon. With steadfast eye and stout courage she waited to see what these strange omens meant. At length she saw the chain that wound round the waist of Amoret fall slowly to the ground, and the brazen pillar to which she was bound break in pieces. The dart that pierced her bosom fell out as of its own accord. The wound it had made closed up as though it had never existed, and all the hurts and bruises caused by her long imprisonment were forthwith healed.

When the fair dame found herself free, she fell on the ground before Britomart, thanking her out of the fulness of her heart, and begging to be permitted to render her deliverer some service or reward.

Britomart raised her, and replied courteously that her labour received more than sufficient reward in seeing Amoret thus free and safe.

She then besought the lady to take comfort, and putting away the remembrance of her past cruel sufferings, think rather of what Scudamour, her loving husband, had lately endured on her account. It cheered and comforted Amoret to hear Scudamour, whom of all living wights she loved best, thus spoken of by her deliverer.

But Britomart's work was not yet done. She turned to Busyran, the wicked enchanter, bound him firmly by the chain which had held Amoret captive, and thus secured, led him forth from his own stronghold.

Then Britomart was amazed to find that the rooms which had so lately astonished her by their beauty and richness had completely vanished. Still more surprised was she to find the flames which had guarded the porch quenched, and the porch itself gone.

But now a sore disappointment befel both Britomart and the lady Amoret, for when they reached the spot where Scudamour had been left, neither he nor old Glaucé, the squire, were anywhere to be seen. Britomart's brave heart was sorely astonished, and poor Amoret, in whom hope had sprung up, was filled with alarm and misgiving lest she had been betrayed.

Scudamour's faint-heartedness was the cause of their grief and disappointment.

For a time after the war-like maiden's disappearance within the castle, he lay eagerly expecting her return. But she did not come back all that day, and Scudamour, who was not a very great and therefore not a very patient knight, gave way to despair, and made up his mind that Britomart had been consumed by the flames. He took counsel with old Glaucé, and together they resolved to leave their post, and go in search of further help; thus it was that Britomart and Amoret came forth to find themselves deserted.

And so Scudamour and Glaucé and Britomart and Amoret sought each other for many a long day in vain; how they met at last another tale must tell.

The Story of Marinell and Florimell

Faerie Queene. Book III., Cantos IV., VII., VIII.; Book IV., Canto XII.; Book V., Canto III

In the days of Britomart there lived a famous knight named Marinell.

Now this Marinell was a sea-nymph's son, and dwelt in a rocky cave by the sea-shore. His mother had trained him to deeds of daring and a life of hardihood. Along the strand on which he dwelt no man durst pass without first doing battle with Marinell. He had subdued and made vassals of a hundred brave knights, and his renown had reached the Court of Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland.

Yet Cymoent, his mother, was not satisfied, but prayed the sea-god to make her son richer than the son of any of the mortals. The sea-god granted her prayer, and bade the waves yield him their treasure – treasure gained by the wreck of many a gallant craft.

So there were heaped upon his shores great riches – gold, amber, ivory, pearls, jewels, rings, and all else that was precious, until Marinell became as great a lord as any that dwelt in the land. So powerful did he grow that his mother began to fear lest his boldness and haughtiness might cost him his life, and she counselled him to forbear further warfare and be at rest.

That she might be the more secure of his welfare, Cymoent inquired of Proteus, the sea-god, concerning her son's future. Proteus replied that Marinell must beware of all womankind, as one day a strange maiden would cause him much dismay, if not destroy his life. Now Cymoent supposed this to mean that Marinell must not love any woman; she counselled her son accordingly, and he listened to her words and followed her advice.

One day as Marinell rode on the rich strand dressed in gay arms, looking here and there, he descried a rider on the forbidden ground.

This was no other than Britomart, journeying in disguise. Marinell rode fiercely up to her, and haughtily bade her retire before he made retreat impossible. She was filled with disdain at his proud threat, and replying, "Fly they that need to fly," thrust at him with her magic spear. Thereupon Marinell struck her on the breast; for a moment her head bent low upon her horse's neck; then she raised herself and smote him so hard a blow that her spear pierced his shield and hauberk, and glancing off, wounded his side.

Thus Britomart bore him down until he fell helpless on the sand. She did not stay to lament his fall, but went on her way, passing by his treasure, and caring nothing for it.

This then was the woman of whom Proteus, the sea-god, had given warning.

Now, the sad tidings of Marinell's overthrow reached Cymoent as she and her sister-nymphs were disporting themselves by a pond gathering daffodils to make garlands wherewith to shade their foreheads from the sun. When Cymoent heard the melancholy news, she flung away her flowers, and rending her hair, threw herself speechless on the ground. The nymphs likewise tore off their garlands, and loudly lamented Marinell's fate.

At length Cymoent arose out of her swoon. She at once called for her chariot, while the sea-nymphs called for theirs, and set out with her on their mournful errand. The waves ceased to rage, and helped them on their way, while the dolphins which drew the chariots sped swiftly through the water, and brought Cymoent and her sisters to where Marinell lay.

They found him in a deadly faint. When his mother saw him lying thus, she fell from one swoon into another, and when she at length recovered, made such piteous moanings that the very rocks could scarce refrain from tears. She bewailed her son's fall, and wished that she too had been mortal to have shared his fate.

At length, after long sorrowing and great wailing, the sea-nymphs took Marinell's armour off, spread their silver-fringed garments on the strand, and laid him upon them. They then examined his wound, washed the blood away, and poured in balm and nectar. Then Liagore, the lily-handed, trained by Apollo in the surgeon's lore, felt his pulse, and discovered that life still lingered in his frame. Whereupon his mother no longer despaired, but, aided by the sea-nymphs, bore him to her chariot. At her command the dolphin-team remained still while flowers were strewn over him as if he were already dead. The sister-nymphs then climbed into their chariots, and Marinell was borne swiftly to Cymoent's sea cave. It was far down at the bottom of the sea, and built up of hollow billows heaped high on all sides. Here, on the softest of couches, they laid him, while Cymoent sent for Tryphon, the best esteemed among the sea-gods in the art of healing, and the nymphs sat round bemoaning his sad plight.

Now, the news of Marinell's sad overthrow reached the court of Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, where was the lady Florimell, who was famed for her rare goodness and great beauty, and was held in high repute throughout all Elfin-land. She was loved of many knights, but she herself loved only Marinell, and when the news of his fall reached her, Florimell resolved to leave the court of Gloriana, and vowed that she would not return until she had found her love, alive or dead. She mounted a snow-white palfrey, and attended by a trusty dwarf, set forth: she was clad in a dress of cloth of gold, and her fair locks were bound in a jewelled circlet.

Some days after, it happened that Prince Arthur, accompanied by Timias, his squire, and one or two others whom they had encountered on their way, were riding leisurely through the woods that led to Marinell's abode, when the fair Florimell dashed suddenly across their path. She had burst out from the brushwood, and rode as if for her life. Her hair streamed behind her, and she constantly looked back as if fearing pursuit. And sure enough, there appeared a rough forester, riding a jaded steed, which he was urging over bush and bank until the blood flowed from its sides.

Now, when the Prince saw this, he and a knight named Guyon hastened to Florimell's rescue, while Timias, the Prince's squire, followed the forester. Through thick and thin, over hill and plain, the Prince and the knight followed, but the poor damsel feared them as much as she feared the forester, and fled from them so swiftly, that when they reached a double way she was out of sight, and they could not tell which path to take. Each took a separate one, and that chosen by the Prince proved right. At length he came in sight of Florimell. Urging afresh his foaming steed, he approached the terrified damsel, and called on her to have no fear. She looked back, but, not recognizing Prince Arthur's arms or shield, paid no attention to his call. And so it fell that darkness came on, and the Prince was reluctantly obliged to give up all hope of helping her. Little did she think from how great and good a deliverer she fled, or into what miseries this flight would lead her.

Thus Florimell sped on, fearing every shadow and every sound, until when darkness fell, she grew so weary that her palfrey wrested the reins from her slack hold, and went where he would. At length even he could go no farther, and to her dismay, lay down. Florimell was now forced to alight and lead him.

After travelling slowly for some time, she came to a hill-side, and here she saw below her a little valley thickly clothed with wood. From amongst its high trees there arose a wreath of thin blue smoke, and encouraged by this sign of habitation, the maiden went on her way more hopefully. But she was very weary and worn when she reached the place from which the smoke proceeded. It was a cottage built of sticks and reeds, walled round with sods, where dwelt a witch, dressed in poor and dirty rags, and living wilfully in want. She dwelt in these dark woods because her deeds were evil.

Here poor Florimell entered, and found the hag seated on the ground, apparently busied in magic arts; she started up when she saw Florimell, stared at her, but said nothing. Very soon her fear, for such it seemed, turned to anger, and she asked the damsel who she was, and what ill fortune had sent her there, unwelcome and uninvited.

Florimell replied that she had lost her way, and prayed her not to be angry with one who was unwilling to intrude on her, and only begged shelter and rest for a little space. As she spoke, tears dropped from her eyes, and she sighed so gently and sadly that the wicked old woman could not help being sorry for her, and began in her rude way to show some kindly feeling; wiping the tears from Florimell's eyes, she bade her sit down and rest. Florimell gladly obeyed; she sat down on the dusty ground, put her torn garments into better order, smoothed her fair hair, and fastened it into its golden circlet. When the hag saw the rich ornaments in Florimell's hair, and beheld how beautiful she was, she wondered greatly, and feared lest a goddess had found her way to the hut.

This old witch had a son who was as wicked as herself. He was also lazy and good-for-nothing, loving to lounge in the sunshine, and sleep away his time. When he returned home, and found a fair lady sitting by his mother, he was so astonished at the sight of beauty in such a place, that he stood quite still, staring at Florimell, and saying never a word. At length he went up to his mother, and asked her in a whisper by what strange chance this vision had appeared. His mother only replied by a scared look, as if her wits were gone, and the two gazed first at Florimell, and then at one another.

By-and-bye, however, they grew accustomed to her presence. Her ways were so gentle that the witch's son became enamoured of her beauty, and brought her young birds and garlands of flowers, and a wild squirrel which he tamed. Florimell received his gifts courteously, but she feared him, and so, when an opportunity came, she saddled and bridled her palfrey, and early one morning made her escape. She went in great trepidation, for she was afraid that she might be followed and overtaken.

Now when the witch and her son awoke and found her gone, their grief was very great. Indeed, the son became almost frantic, and nothing his mother could do would pacify him. So she bethought herself of her wicked arts, and retiring to her secret cave, called up a hideous beast, monstrous and misshapen; – its back speckled with a thousand spots, and so swift that it could overtake the fleetest steed. Nothing like it had ever been seen, yet it more resembled a hyena than any other creature.

This monster the hag sent after Florimell, charging it not to pause until it found her, and either to bring her back or slay and devour her. The moment she ceased speaking, it set off, and by the help of its keen sense, surely and swiftly traced the maiden. When Florimell saw the cruel monster, and perceived that it began to overtake her, her heart quaked with fear. Terror also seized her palfrey, who, as long as breath supplied him with strength, fled onwards. At length his pace began to slacken fatally, and then indeed, Florimell believed herself at the last extremity. But just as her horse's strength gave way, she reached the shore, and slipping hastily to the ground, sped towards the water, thinking to drown herself rather than have the monster seize her. All unexpectedly she found a little boat, with an old fisherman asleep in it, drawn up at the water's edge. Leaping into the boat, she seized an oar, and pushed it out from the land.