Chapter 9

CHAPTER IX.
ASTOLPHO AND THE ENCHANTRESS. IN the long flight which Rogero took on the back of the
Hippogriff, he was carried over land and sea, unknowing whither. As
soon as he had gained some control over the animal, he made him alight
on the nearest land. When he came near enough to earth, Rogero leapt
lightly from his back, and tied the animal to a myrtle-tree. Near
the spot flowed the pure waters of a fountain, surrounded by cedars
and palm-trees. Rogero laid aside his shield, and, removing his
helmet, breathed with delight the fresh air, and cooled his lips
with the waters of the fountain. For we cannot wonder that he was
excessively fatigued, considering the ride he had taken. He was
preparing to taste the sweets of repose, when he perceived that the
Hippogriff, which he had tied by the bridle to a myrtle-tree,
frightened at something, was making violent efforts to disengage
himself. His struggles shook the myrtle-tree so that many of its
beautiful leaves were torn off, and strewed the ground.
A sound like that which issues from burning wood seemed to come from
the myrtle-tree, at first faint and indistinct, but growing stronger
by degrees, and at length was audible as a voice which spoke in this
manner: "O knight, if the tenderness of your heart corresponds to
the beauty of your person, relieve me, I pray you, from this
tormenting animal. I suffer enough inwardly without having outward
evils added to my lot."
Rogero, at the first accents of this voice, turned his eyes promptly
on the myrtle, hastened to it, and stood fixed in astonishment when he
perceived that the voice issued from the tree itself. He immediately
untied his horse, and, flushed with surprise and regret, exclaimed,
"Whoever thou art, whether mortal or the goddess of these woods,
forgive me, I beseech you, my involuntary fault. Had I imagined that
this hard bark covered a being possessed of feeling, could I have
exposed such a beautiful myrtle to the insults of this steed? May
the sweet influences of the sky and air speedily repair the injury I
have done! For my part, I promise by the sovereign lady of my heart to
do everything you wish in order to merit your forgiveness."
At these words the myrtle seemed to tremble from root to stem, and
Rogero remarked that a moisture as of tears trickled down its bark,
like that which exudes from a log placed on the fire. It then spoke:-
"The kindness which inspires your words compels me to disclose to
you who I once was, and by what fatality I have been changed into this
shape. My name was Astolpho, cousin of Orlando and Rinaldo, whose fame
has filled the earth. I was myself reckoned among the bravest paladins
of France, and was by birth entitled to reign over England, after
Otho, my