Tales from Spenser, Chosen from the Faerie Queene

by Sophia H. MacLehose; Edmund Spenser

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.

Her escape was none too soon, for the monster was close upon her, and ready to spring just as her boat left the shore. It gaped greedily at her, but durst not venture into the water, and turning back avenged its wicked spite upon the noble palfrey.

By-and-bye the good Sir Satyrane, who had delivered Una from the Satyrs, rode that way, and seeing the dead body of the horse, recognized it as belonging to Florimell. He feared some ill must have befallen the maiden, and his fears were confirmed when he found a golden girdle she was wont to wear lying on the sand. Full of grief and rage, he fell upon the speckled beast, and wounded it severely; but it managed to escape from him, and returned to the old hag, while Sir Satyrane was forced to go on his way. When the old woman saw the beast return, she believed that Florimell was dead, and rejoiced in her heart, but her son became more wretched than ever, and to comfort him, his mother made an image, and calling a wicked spirit into it, gave it such a likeness to Florimell that her son mistook it for her, and was comforted.

Meanwhile the true Florimell was in fresh straits. For a long time the fisherman slept on, so that she had to steer the boat as best she could, but this was an easy task, for the wind was light and the sky clear. But when the old man awoke, she discovered that he was rude and cruel, and would have made a slave of her if he could. It chanced, however, that Proteus, god of the seas, was abroad that day, and was roving over the foamy waves, drawn by his finny steeds. He came upon the little boat, and when he saw that the fisherman behaved roughly to the damsel, he beat the old man and took Florimell into his own chariot.

Now Proteus was an aged god, whose hoary hair was frozen, and on whose long beard icicles hung. He told the still affrighted Florimell who he was, and bade her no longer fear, and spoke so kindly to her that she was comforted and cheered. The sea-god bore her to his own dwelling, a hollow cave eaten out by the angry waves from under a mighty rock at the bottom of the sea. Here Proteus dwelt with no living being save an old nymph whose name was Panopè, and whose care it was to keep the cavern clean. He was very pleased to have Florimell, and thought to keep her there. But he soon discovered that she thought much more of Marinell than of anyone else, and that nothing he could do would make her forget the knight, or be content to remain in the ocean cave. At this he became very angry, and at last let her down into a deep dungeon, where he threatened to keep her until she died. And for seven long months the poor damsel was imprisoned there bound in chains, guarded by raging waves and grizzly ocean monsters.

Meantime Marinell still lingered in his mother's bower. By the aid of Tryphon, the sea-god's surgeon, he had been cured of the wound inflicted by Britomart. But so fearful was his mother lest further ill should befall her son, that sorely against his will she kept him in her cave almost as closely confined as if he had been a prisoner.