Tales from Spenser, Chosen from the Faerie Queene

There were three men more anxious than any others for the overthrow of Timias. These were Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto. They tried all sorts of mean tricks by which to work his ruin, but in vain.

At length they resolved to send the Blattant Beast to destroy him. This was a horrid monster, treacherous and cruel, given to turn suddenly on its pursuer, and bite with poisonous fangs.

On a day when Timias was hunting, these bad men sent the Beast into the forest, hoping that he would give it chase and so be led to destruction. Just as they expected, Timias charged the monster as soon as he saw it, and with such fury that the Beast turned and fled. As it turned it bit him; he, however, paid no attention to the wound, but hotly pursued the Beast, which led him into thick woods and rough places full of briers, and thus wore out his strength until it had him in a woody glade where his three foes lay concealed.

All three sprang out and attacked him fiercely, so that it required his utmost skill to defend himself. They closed round him and rained blows on every side and yet he contrived to withstand them all and even to make them yield before him. But after a long fight his strength began to fail before the heavy odds, and he feared he must soon yield. Just then he heard the trampling and neighing of a horse. The sound inspired him with fresh hope, and the next moment he saw a knight in full armour riding hastily to his rescue. Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto saw this also, and like the cowards that they were, fled precipitately into the thick brushwood whither the knight did not choose to follow. He turned instead to Timias, and in the sorely bested combatant, Prince Arthur, for he it was, recognized his long-lost squire. Exceedingly rejoiced the Prince took him in his arms and embraced him tenderly, and thus was Timias restored to his rightful lord.

Calidore and Pastorella

Faerie Queene. Book VI. Cantos I., IX., X., XI., XII

Of all the knights that lived at Gloriana's Faery Court, there was none more gentle or more courteous than Sir Calidore. He was beloved by every one, for to his natural gentleness of spirit and grace of manner was added a manly bearing and courtesy of speech that stole men's hearts away. He was tall and strong, and much renowned for his bravery in battle, and he never employed his great gifts for mean purposes or flattered any one, for he loved simple truth and steadfast honesty.

Now about this time a very hideous monster was wandering about in Faeryland. This was the Blattant Beast, the same that attacked Timias, and so terrible a creature was it, that even the wicked race from which it sprang dreaded and hated it.

This monster had iron teeth, and within the iron teeth were a thousand tongues – of dogs, cats, bears, and tigers, – but the greatest number were human tongues, and these uttered cruel scandals, caring not when or where. There were also serpents' tongues, with three-forked stings, which spat out poison and said hateful things of any who interfered with the Beast. Indeed the delight of this horrid creature was to annoy and injure and destroy good men and women. It was the very plague and curse of mankind, whom it bit and wounded and tormented with its venomous teeth and wicked tongues.

Against the Blattant Beast Sir Calidore was sent, and he was commanded to give it incessant chase until he overtook and subdued it.

It was a hard quest, for the Beast never remained in one place, and Sir Calidore, without guide or good direction, had to go forth in untried ways, to unknown dangers, and to laborious effort.

At length after a weary search and many adventures, after permitting himself little rest either by night or by day, after pursuing the Beast from the court to cities, and from cities to country places, Sir Calidore came into open pasture land where shepherds watched their flocks.

Here he so nearly overtook the monster that he forced it to hide itself from him amongst empty sheds and huts. By the help of these it once more escaped the knight, who, as he still followed in pursuit, chanced to espy a group of shepherds singing and playing, whilst their sheep wandered among the fresh young plants, and nipped off their tender buds.

All tired and heated, Calidore went up to the shepherds, and asked them whether they had seen a Beast such as he described. They replied that they had neither seen it nor anything else to excite their alarm, and prayed God to deliver them from all such.

Then one of the shepherds seeing that Calidore perspired from the heat, offered him a draught to quench his thirst, and food to relieve his hunger. The knight courteously accepted their kindness, and, sitting down at their request, partook of their homely hospitality.

As he rested after the meal, Sir Calidore noticed at a little distance a fair damsel, dressed in home-spun, home-dyed green, with a crown of flowers tied with ribbon on her head. She sat on a little hillock higher than the others, and around her was a circle of fair companions, while beyond these the shepherds lay about, piping and singing her praises, delighting in her beauty, and shouting aloud for very wonder that so beautiful a maiden should be found amongst them. She was as good and modest as she was lovely, and they treated her as if she were a goddess, singing day and night of fairest Pastorella.

Many of the shepherds loved Pastorella, but one named Coridon loved her beyond all the others, and yet the maiden cared neither for him nor any of them. Now, while Sir Calidore looked at the fair damsel and noted the difference in her mien from that of her companions, his heart, all unawares, became drawn towards her, and he stood gazing on her, quite forgetful of his quest, and that the Beast was all this time getting farther and farther away from him. And after the repast was quite over, he still stayed talking to the shepherds, hoping all the time that Pastorella would overhear the adventures he recounted.

Thus the day wore on until night advanced, and the ground grew damp, so that the shepherds knew that it was time to take their flocks to rest. Then there came out to them an old man with silver locks, carrying a shepherd's crook in his hand, and he told Pastorella to arise. The old man's name was Meliboæ, and he was accounted by all, even by Pastorella herself, as her father, but he was only her adopted father, for he had found her as an infant in the fields and had brought her up as his own.

At his bidding she arose and gathered together her little flock of sheep, and the shepherds who had sat round her gathered theirs also, while they vied one with another in helping Pastorella; yet Coridon gave her most help.

When Meliboæ found Sir Calidore left alone, and night so near, he invited him to his cottage, which, though poor, was a better resting-place than the fields, and the knight accepted gladly. He was kindly welcomed both by Meliboæ and his wife, who invited him to lay aside his armour and to rest until supper was ready and Pastorella had returned from tending her sheep. When the frugal meal was ended, Pastorella removed the table, and Sir Calidore in his most courteous manner gave thanks to his host and hostess for their kindness, and praised the simple life which shepherds led. Meliboæ replied by dwelling on the delights of a country life, adding that in his youth he had sought a prince's court and had worked as a gardener at the palace; ten years spent there, however, made him return home more contented than before. Calidore listened much delighted, and anxious to stay on in the shepherd's hut, replied that the world's gay shows were but vanity, and that he wished that his lot were that of Meliboæ. "But," said the old man, "the mind is the true fortune, and happiness is in each man's power." "Then," said Sir Calidore, "let me make my happiness by staying here and resting awhile from the storms of fortune." And lest the expense of his stay should prove burdensome to the old man, he drew forth much gold with which to pay for his food. This offer Meliboæ refused but he granted Calidore permission to remain.

So he remained there, and saw Pastorella daily and offered her many courtesies; but she, unaccustomed to courtly ways, loved the kindness of the shepherds better than his. Calidore therefore laid aside his armour, and dressing as a shepherd, went out into the fields and helped Pastorella with her flocks.

At this Coridon became jealous, and whenever Sir Calidore was present, looked cross and angry; yet Sir Calidore was ever kind to Coridon, and when Coridon brought birds and squirrels from the wood to Pastorella, the knight praised their beauty. But the maiden ceased to care for Coridon's gift, for her heart was beginning to turn towards Sir Calidore.

One day, when the shepherds were in a merry mood, they called for music and began to dance. They invited Sir Calidore to lead the ring, for he was held to be first in Pastorella's favour. But Coridon frowned and bit his lips in anger, and seeing this, Sir Calidore courteously yielded to him the place of honour, and when Pastorella placed her garland on the knight's head, he put it instead upon Coridon.

Another day games were proposed by the shepherds, and Pastorella was chosen judge, and held the garland which was to be the victor's reward. Coridon, renowned for his skill in wrestling, challenged Calidore. But the knight was much stronger than Coridon expected, and easily threw him, whereupon the garland was awarded to Sir Calidore. In his never-failing courtesy the knight gave it up to Coridon, declaring him well worthy the honour.

Thus Calidore proved himself ever courteous, and won love and honour even from his rival, and Pastorella's heart was turned more and more towards him, but he still forgot the Blattant Beast and his vow to follow it without rest.

One day, as Sir Calidore, Coridon, and Pastorella were gathering strawberries in a green wood, a tiger rushed suddenly out of the forest, and with cruel jaws and wide open mouth ran straight at Pastorella. It happened that the others had wandered a little way from her, and the poor damsel, left defenceless, cried out for help. Coridon came running to her aid, but seeing the fierce beast, fled in terror, for his own life was dearer to him than hers. But when Sir Calidore came up and saw the tiger ready to tear Pastorella's limbs, rage, not fear, filled his soul, and with no weapon but his shepherd's hook, he ran at the wild beast and stunned it by his blow, and before it had time to recover he had struck off its head, which he laid at the feet of the trembling Pastorella. From that time she showed marked preference for Calidore, and a little after promised to be his bride.

But one dreadful day, whilst Calidore was hunting in the woods, a party of brigands came down upon the shepherds' dwellings, and spoiling their homes, murdered many of the occupants and carried off the others to sell as slaves. Amongst those taken captive were Meliboæ, Pastorella, and Coridon. They were carried off during the night, for the brigands wished no man to know where they dwelt. Now, their home was on an island, covered with brushwood, but there was no appearance of dwellers on the island, for the brigands lived in underground caves, dark and dreary, and lighted only by candles.

Here they brought their captives, meaning to sell them to the first merchants who passed that way. But they had not been long in the island before the captain of the brigands fell in love with Pastorella and wished her for his wife. Now Pastorella, being betrothed to Calidore, could not listen to his wish, and this made him angry, and yet he loved her so much that he continued to try hard to gain her affection. All this made her so unhappy that she became ill.

While Pastorella lay ill, a band of free-booting merchants arrived in search of slaves. The brigands came and told the captain who was watching near the sick maiden, and the news made him sorrowful, for he feared that his men would insist on Pastorella's being sold with the others. Yet he dared not refuse; so he showed the merchants old Meliboæ and Coridon and others. But one of the merchants had heard of the shepherdess, and demanded to see her also. At this the captain grew angry and declared that the maiden was his prize, and that, moreover, she lay sick; and to prove his words, he took them to see her. But the sight of her pale beauty only made the merchants still more desirous to have her, and they declared that unless they might buy Pastorella they would buy no one. Thereupon the brigands demanded her sale, but the captain stoutly refused and drew his sword, and a fierce fight began, in which blood was freely spilt.

And first of all, the captives were slain, old Meliboæ, his aged wife, and many others. But Coridon escaped in the darkness, thinking nothing of his friends. All this time Pastorella was defended by the captain who stood between her and the enemy. He was slain at length, and fell with Pastorella in his arms, who fainted from fear and weakness. And as she lay there the fight continued, and those slain fell upon her, so that she was nearly stifled to death.

When the brigands found that their captain was gone, the fighting ceased, and the combatants became as eager to make friends as they were before to quarrel; so having agreed among themselves, they lighted candles and began the melancholy search for the dead. Their captain they found cruelly slain, and by him the dying maid. Seeing that there was still life in Pastorella, they used every means to restore her, and at length succeeded. But when she was able to look round, and saw her father and her friends lying dead, wringing her hands, she wept and wailed and wished herself of their number. However, as the brigands were very anxious that she should get well, they took care of her in their rude way. When they went out to plunder, they left one of themselves – the best, although all were bad – in charge of her, but he was of little use, scarce giving her food or rest.

Meantime Sir Calidore had returned from the chase and had found the desolation caused by the brigands. He was almost mad with grief and rage, and his anguish was increased by the sad fact that there was no one to whom he could speak, nor any of whom he could ask tidings. He sought everywhere, but in vain; the woods and the plain were alike silent and empty. Roaming about restlessly in his despair, he at length saw someone coming towards him. The new-comer was dressed in rags, his hair was standing on end, and he was running as if from great danger. As he came near, Sir Calidore saw that it was Coridon. Hastening up to him the knight asked where Pastorella and the others had been taken.

"Ah," said Coridon, sighing deeply, "would that I had never lived to see this day, but had died before I saw Pastorella dead."

"What," exclaimed Calidore, "Pastorella dead? How dared death touch her?" And then he persuaded Coridon to tell his sad tale; and Coridon told how he had seen Meliboæ die, and the captain defend Pastorella, but as he believed, – in vain.

On hearing these tidings, Sir Calidore's heart well-nigh broke; but after a time he recovered spirit and determined to rescue Pastorella were she still alive, or to avenge her, were she dead. He asked Coridon to show him the way to the Island, but he had great difficulty in inducing him to do so. At length Calidore prevailed upon him, and they went forth dressed as shepherds, although the knight wore armour under his peaceful garb.

As they neared the Island they came to a hill, on which they saw shepherds with their flocks. They determined to go and learn from them the latest tidings. Great was their surprise when Coridon recognized the flocks as the very ones that had been stolen from them, and these shepherds no other than the thieves. This discovery alarmed him greatly, and his heart began to lose all courage, but Sir Calidore reassured him as best he could and prevailed upon him to advance upon the men, who were all asleep. Coridon would have slain them, but Sir Calidore, who had another plan, prevented him.

Sitting down by their side, he wakened them gently, told them the time of day, and beginning to talk, asked them questions which would, he hoped, reveal the truth as to Pastorella. And when the brigands in turn questioned Sir Calidore and asked who he and his comrade might be, the knight replied that they were herdsmen who sought for hire. On hearing this the thieves at once offered them wages to take care of their flocks. Sir Calidore accepted the offer, and when night came, he and Coridon returned with the outlaws as their hired servants. They quickly learned all the secrets of the caverns, and to their great joy found that Pastorella still lived.

After a time of patient waiting Sir Calidore's opportunity came. The brigands had returned from a fray and slept soundly. In the dead of night Sir Calidore arose, and armed only with an old sword which he had found, made his way to the new captain's cavern. Coridon, too cowardly to join boldly with him, too fearful to be left behind, followed faltering. They found the doors fast closed, but Sir Calidore attacked them with all his force and burst them open. The noise awoke the chief brigand, who came rushing to the entrance, where in a few moments Sir Calidore slew him.

Meantime the sound of the fray struck terror into the heart of Pastorella, but when the well-known and much-loved voice of Sir Calidore called to her, joy and comfort took the place of misery and despair, and her spirit revived within her. His voice was to her as the sunshine to the wintry earth, and she who had longed for death felt the spring of life arise anew within her. Nor did Sir Calidore rejoice less: like one distraught he rushed to her, and taking her in his strong arms kissed her a thousand times.

But now the alarm had roused all the brigand camp, who came flocking to their captain's cavern. Sir Calidore stood in the doorway, and as they pressed forward, he slew them one by one until the entrance was fairly blocked by dead bodies. Then he rested until daylight dawned; and when there was sufficient light to see his way, he arose, chose from among the slain a trusty sword and went out into the open day. There a great crowd awaited ready to attack him. Then began a terrible fight. On every side the brigands set upon him, and sorely they oppressed him, nor did any spare him; yet so skilled and powerful was Sir Calidore that by the aid of his trusty brand he dispersed and scattered his enemies, slaying all that came into his way.

Then Sir Calidore returned to Pastorella his betrothed, and brought her forth to the light of day, which she had not seen since she was taken captive, and did all he could to make her forget the sorrows she had suffered. When he had thus comforted her he returned to the robbers' caves and took away their treasure. Bestowing the flocks they had stolen from old Meliboæ on Coridon, Sir Calidore went forth, taking with him Pastorella.

Now all this time the Blattant Beast was ranging at will, no one stopping or restraining his course. And Sir Calidore deemed it high time to follow his quest once more, although he must first secure the safety of his love. He therefore took her to the Castle Belgard, where dwelt the good Sir Bellamour with Claribell, his wife, and there they were warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained, for Sir Bellamour knew Sir Calidore right well, and had loved him for his prowess ever since they had served together in the field. And Claribell was drawn towards the fair Pastorella, and tended her so lovingly that she soon grew strong and well. When Sir Calidore saw the maiden recover strength and health, he resolved to leave her in Castle Belgard, and to return to his quest, for he was ashamed to remember how long he had neglected the enterprise entrusted to him by Gloriana.

With ceaseless pains and toils Sir Calidore resumed his task. It was in some respects easier than before, for the Beast had gradually waxed more powerful, and wherever it went left traces of its spoil.

The knight found that it had invaded the homes of men of all conditions of life and in all had done great damage; that at length it had reached the clergy, and among them had wrought such spoil and havoc, and committed such thefts that to tell all would be impossible. And now Sir Calidore, who had followed its track with ceaseless care, came to a monastery, where he found the Blattant Beast destroying and despoiling with might and main. It had broken into the cloisters and scattered the monks hither and thither; it had pursued them into their cells and had not spared even the holy things of religion. For it broke into the church and robbed the chancel; threw down the desks and injured the altar, and cast everything into confusion.

Here Sir Calidore found it; and the Blattant Beast, knowing his power of old, at once fled, but the knight pursued with great swiftness and got nearer and nearer to the monster, until at length he overtook it in a narrow place. Attacking it fiercely, Sir Calidore forced the Beast to turn and face him. Then the knight struck it with his sharp steel, and in return it rushed savagely upon him, its ugly mouth wide open so as to expose the double row of iron teeth, and the thousand yelling, barking, back-biting tongues therein. Not one whit afraid, Sir Calidore fell upon the monster with such might that he obliged it to give way, and for a moment so mastered it that all it could do was to spit forth poisonous venom from its foaming, bloody jaws, threatening in vain to bite. Then rearing itself on its hind legs, it attacked him with its claws as if it would have rent him in pieces. But Sir Calidore was on his guard, and thrust his shield before him; then putting out all his strength he forced the creature back until it fell. Quick as thought the knight flung his shield upon it, and with all his strength held it down.

At this the Beast raged and roared most horribly, and foamed out bloody gore, and strove in vain to rear itself upright. The more it strove, the firmer the knight held it. It bit, and scratched, and threw out venom, and behaved like a very fiend, so mad was its rage that any should hold it under, and still Sir Calidore kept on, for the more its anger increased the greater became his power.

Then when the Beast felt it could do nothing against the knight, it began to reveal its deepest, most wicked nature, and used its tongue no longer to spit out blood or venom, but to speak reproaches and to utter wicked lies of Sir Calidore. But even these could not cause this true knight so to forget himself as to grow angry and release his hold for a single moment. He held on tighter and tighter until the Beast was almost strangled in his grasp. At length when he saw that the creature's power was growing less, he drew forth a muzzle made of the strongest iron, and with it closed its cruel mouth and shut in its blasphemous tongues. To the muzzle he fastened a long chain, and by this drew forth the Blattant Beast, cowed and captive. Never before had any dared to curb its will or restrain its tongues, and it greatly repined at its bondage, inwardly chafing under a restraint which nevertheless it did not dare to withstand. It trembled under Sir Calidore's mighty hand, and like a beaten dog followed him where he went. Thus was the once powerful Beast led through all Faeryland, its former victims thronging out of the towns to see it captive and to praise and admire its captor. Thus then did Sir Calidore rid the world during his lifetime of a scandalous pest, although after his days the Beast broke its chain and ranged once more at liberty.

His quest ended, the knight returned to Pastorella, to whom a strange fortune had befallen.

Sir Bellamour and Claribell had known troublous days in their youth. In these days an infant daughter had been born to them, which, owing to the sad woes that had befallen them, Claribell was forced to send away from her. Her maid Melissa had borne the infant to the fields. With many tears she had laid it down and watched behind bushes until a shepherd coming to the spot lifted the babe and carried it away.

And now Melissa, who still lived with Claribell, recognized a certain mark on Pastorella's fair skin by which she was persuaded that the damsel was none other than the long-lost babe. She ran to her mistress with the glad tidings; at first Claribell could hardly believe her, and trembling with uncertain joy, hurried to Pastorella and asked her many questions. To all Pastorella gave satisfactory answers, and Claribell overcome with the gladness of a mother's love, tenderly embraced her child, and then went to tell her husband. Deeply rejoiced, he too acknowledged Pastorella as his daughter.