“I shall always counsel my friends to speak and not to die. There
are few words that cannot be mended, but life once lost can never be
regained.”
“Will you promise me, then,” said Amadour, “that you will not be
displeased by what I wish to tell you, nor yet alarmed at it, until you
have heard me to the end?”
“Say what you will,” she replied; “if you alarm me, none can reassure
me.”
“For two reasons,” he then began, “I have hitherto been unwilling to
tell you of the great affection that I feel for you. First, I wished to
prove it to you by long service, and secondly, I feared that you might
deem it presumption in me, who am but a simple gentleman, to address
myself to one upon whom it is not fitting that I should look. And
even though I were of royal station like your own, your heart, in its
loyalty, would suffer none save the son of the Infante of Fortune,
who has won it, to speak to you of love. But just as in a great war
necessity compels men to devastate their own possessions and to destroy
their corn in the blade, that the enemy may derive no profit therefrom,
so do I risk anticipating the fruit which I had hoped to gather in
season, lest your enemies and mine profit by it to your detriment.
Know, then, that from your earliest youth I have devoted myself to your
service and have ever striven to win your favour. For this purpose alone
I married her whom I thought you loved best, and, being acquainted with
the love you bear to the son of the Infante of Fortune, I have striven
to serve him and consort with him, as you yourself know. I have sought
with all my power for everything that I thought could give you pleasure.
You see that I have won the esteem of your mother, the Countess, and
of your brother, the Count, and of all you love, so that I am regarded
here, not as a dependant, but as one of the family. All my efforts for
five years past have had no other end than that I might spend my whole
life near you.
“Understand that I am not one of those who would by these means seek to
obtain from you any favour or pleasure otherwise than virtuous. I know
that I cannot marry you, and even if I could, I would not do so in face
of the love you bear him whom I would fain see your husband. And as for
loving you with a vicious love like those who hope that long service
will bring them a reward to the dishonour of a lady, that is far from my
purpose. I would rather see you dead than know that you were less worthy
of being loved, or that your virtue had diminished for the sake of
any pleasure to me. For the end and reward of my service I ask but one
thing, namely, that you will be so faithful a mistress to me, as never
to take your favour from me, and that you will suffer me to continue as
I now am, trusting in me more than in any other, and accepting from me
the assurance that if for your honour’s sake, or for aught concerning
you, you ever have need of a gentleman’s life, I will gladly place mine
at your disposal. You may be sure also that whatever I may do that is
honourable and virtuous, will be done solely for love of you. If for the
sake of ladies less worthy than you I have ever done anything that has
been considered of account, be sure that, for a mistress like yourself,
my enterprise will so increase, that things I heretofore found
impossible will become very easy to me. If, however, you will not accept
me as wholly yours, I am resolved to lay aside my arms and to renounce
the valour which has failed to help me in my need. So I pray you grant
me my just request, for your honour and conscience cannot refuse it.”
The maiden, hearing these unwonted words, began to change colour and to
cast down her eyes like a woman in alarm. However, being sensible and
discreet, she replied--
“Since you already have what you ask of me, Amadour, why make me such
a long harangue? I fear me lest beneath your honourable words there be
some hidden guile to deceive my ignorance and youth, and I am sorely
perplexed what to reply. Were I to refuse the honourable love you offer,
I should do contrary to what I have hitherto done, for I have always
trusted you more than any other man in the world. Neither my conscience
nor my honour oppose your request, nor yet the love I bear the son of
the Infante of Fortune, for that is founded on marriage, to which you do
not aspire. I know of nothing that should hinder me from answering you
according to your desire, if it be not a fear arising from the small
need you have for talking to me in this wise; for if what you ask is
already yours, why speak of it so ardently?”