While this thought occupied her mind, Melissa, the sage enchantress, suddenly appeared before her.  This virtuous and beneficent magician had discovered by her spells that Rogero was passing his time in pleasure and idleness, forgetful of his honor and his sovereign.  Not able to endure the thought that one who was born to be a hero should waste his years in base repose, and leave a sullied reputation in the memory of survivors, she saw that vigorous measures must be employed to draw him forth into the paths of virtue.  Melissa was not blinded by her affection for the amiable paladin, like Atlantes, who, intent only on preserving Rogero’s life, cared nothing for his fame.  It was that old enchanter whose arts had guided the Hippogriff to the isle of the too charming Alcina, where he hoped his favorite would learn to forget honor, and lose the love of glory.

At the sight of Melissa joy lighted up the countenance of Bradamante, and hope animated her breast.  Melissa concealed nothing from her, but told her how Rogero was in the toils of Alcina.  Bradamante was plunged in grief and terror; but the kind enchantress calmed her, dispelled her fears, and promised that before many days she would lead back the paladin to her feet.

“My daughter,” she said, “give me the ring which you wear, and which possesses the power to overcome enchantments.  By means of it I doubt not but that I may enter the stronghold where the false Alcina holds Rogero in durance, and may succeed in vanquishing her and liberating him.”  Bradamante unhesitatingly delivered her the ring, recommending Rogero to her best efforts.  Melissa then summoned by her art a huge palfrey, black as jet, excepting one foot, which was bay.  Mounted upon this animal, she rode with such speed that by the next morning she had reached the abode of Alcina.

She here transformed herself into the perfect resemblance of the old magician Atlantes, adding a palm-breadth to her height, and enlarging her whole figure.  Her chin she covered with a long beard, and seamed her whole visage well with wrinkles.  She assumed also his voice and manner, and watched her chance to find Rogero alone.  At last she found him, dressed in a rich tunic of silk and gold, a collar of precious stones about his neck, and his arms, once so rough with exercise, decorated with bracelets.  His air and his every motion indicated effeminacy, and he seemed to retain nothing of Rogero but the name; such power had the enchantress obtained over him.

Melissa, under the form of his old instructor, presented herself before him, wearing a stern and serious visage.  “Is this, then,” she said, “the fruit of all my labors?  Is it for this that I fed you on the marrow of bears and lions, that I taught you to subdue dragons, and, like Hercules, strangle serpents in your youthful grasp, only to make you, by all my cares, a feeble Adonis?  My nightly watchings of the stars, of the yet warm fibres of animals, the lots I have cast, the points of nativity that I have calculated, have they all falsely indicated that you were born for greatness?  Who could have believed that you would become the slave of a base enchantress?  O Rogero, learn to know this Alcina, learn to understand her arts and to countervail them.  Take this ring, place it on your finger, return to her presence, and see for yourself what are her real charms.”