With great desire the fair Teolinda awaited the coming day to take
leave of Galatea and Florisa and to finish searching by all the banks
of the Tagus for her dear Artidoro, intending to end her life in sad
and bitter solitude, if she were so poor in fortune as to learn no news
of her beloved shepherd. The wished-for hour, then, having come, when
the sun was beginning to spread his rays over the earth, she arose,
and, with tears in her eyes, asked leave of the two shepherdesses
to prosecute her quest. They with many reasonings urged her to wait
some days more in their company, Galatea offering to her to send one
of her father's shepherds to search for Artidoro by all the banks
of the Tagus, and wherever it might be thought he could be found.
Teolinda thanked her for her offers, but would not do what they asked
of her, nay rather, after having shown in the best words she could
the obligation in which she lay to cherish all the days of her life
the favours she had received from them, she embraced them with tender
feeling and begged them not to detain her a single hour. Then Galatea
and Florisa, seeing how vainly they wrought in thinking to detain her,
charged her to try to inform them of any incident, good or bad, that
might befall her in that loving quest, assuring her of the pleasure
they would feel at her happiness, and of their pain at her misery.
Teolinda offered to be herself the one to bring the tidings of her
good fortune, since, if they were bad, life would not have patience to
endure them, and so it would be superfluous to learn them from her.
With this promise of Teolinda Galatea and Florisa were content, and
they determined to accompany her some distance from the place. And
so, the two only taking their crooks, and having furnished Teolinda's
wallet with some victuals for the toilsome journey, they went forth
with her from the village at a time when the sun's rays were already
beginning to strike the earth more directly and with greater force.
And having accompanied her almost half a league from the place, at the
moment they were intending to return and leave her, they saw four men
on horseback and some on foot crossing by some broken ground which lay
a little off their way. At once they recognised them to be hunters by
their attire and by the hawks and dogs they had with them, and whilst
they were looking at them with attention to see if they knew them,
they saw two shepherdesses of gallant bearing and spirit come out from
among some thick bushes which were near the broken ground; they had
their faces muffled with two white linen kerchiefs, and one of them,
raising her voice, asked the hunters to stop, which they did; and both
coming up to one of them, who from his bearing and figure seemed the
chief of all, seized the reins of his horse and stood awhile talking
with him without the three shepherdesses being able to hear a word of
what they said, because of the distance from the spot which prevented
it. They only saw that after they had talked with him a little while,
the horseman dismounted, and having, as far as could be judged,
bidden those who accompanied him to return, only a boy remaining with
his horse, he took the two shepherdesses by the hands and gradually
began to enter with them into a thick wood that was there. The three
shepherdesses, Galatea, Florisa, and Teolinda, seeing this, determined
to see, if they could, who the masked shepherdesses, and the horseman
who escorted them were. And so they agreed to go round by a part of
the wood, and see if they could place themselves in some part which
might be such as to satisfy them in what they desired. And acting
in the manner they had intended, they overtook the horseman and the
shepherdesses, and Galatea, watching through the branches what they
were doing, saw that they turned to the right and plunged into the
thickest part of the wood; and straightway they followed them in their
very footsteps until the horseman and the shepherdesses, thinking they
were well within the wood, halted in the middle of a narrow little
meadow which was surrounded by countless thickets of bramble. Galatea
and her companions came so near that without being seen or perceived,
they saw all the horseman and the shepherdesses did and said; and
when the latter had looked on all sides to see if they could be seen
by anyone, and were assured on this point, one removed her veil, and
scarcely had she done so when she was recognised by Teolinda, who,
approaching Galatea's ear, said to her in as low a voice as she could:
'This is a very strange adventure; for, unless it be that I have lost
my understanding from the grief I suffer, without any doubt that
shepherdess who has removed her veil, is the fair Rosaura, daughter of
Roselio, lord of a village near ours, and I know not what can be the
reason that has moved her to adopt so strange a garb and to leave her
district,--things which speak so much to the detriment of her honour.
But, alas, hapless one!' added Teolinda, 'for the horseman who is with
her is Grisaldo, eldest son of rich Laurencio, who owns two villages
close to this of yours.'
'You speak truth, Teolinda,' replied Galatea, 'for I know him; but be
silent and keep quiet, for we shall soon see the purpose of his coming
here.'
Thereat Teolinda was still, and set herself attentively to watch what
Rosaura was doing. She, going up to the horseman, who seemed about
twenty years old, began to say to him with troubled voice and angry
countenance:
'We are in a spot, faithless man, where I may take the wished for
vengeance for your lack of love and your neglect. But though I took it
on you in such a way that it would cost you your life, it were little
recompense for the wrong you have done me. Here am I, unrecognised so
as to recognise you, Grisaldo, who failed to recognise my love; here
is one who changed her garb to seek for you, she who never changed her
will to love you. Consider, ungrateful and loveless one, that she who
in her own house and amongst her servants scarce could move a step, now
for your sake goes from vale to vale, and from ridge to ridge, amidst
such loneliness seeking your companionship.'
To all these words the fair Rosaura was uttering, the horseman listened
with his eyes fixed on the ground, and making lines on the earth with
the point of a hunting knife he held in his hand. But Rosaura, not
content with what she had said, pursued her discourse with words such
as these:
'Tell me, do you know peradventure, do you know, Grisaldo, that I am
she who not long ago dried your tears, stayed your sighs, healed your
pains, and above all, she who believed your words? or perchance do
you understand that you are he who thought all the oaths that could
be imagined feeble and of no strength to assure me of the truth with
which you deceived me? Are you by chance, Grisaldo, he whose countless
tears softened the hardness of my pure heart? It is you, for indeed
I see you, and it is I, for indeed I know myself. But if you are the
Grisaldo of my belief, and I am Rosaura, as you think her to be, fulfil
to me the word you gave me, and I will give you the promise I have
never denied you. They have told me that you are marrying Leopersia,
Marcelio's daughter, so gladly that it is actually you who are wooing
her; if this news has caused me sorrow, can well be seen by what I have
done in coming to prevent its fulfilment, and if you can confirm it, I
leave the matter to your conscience. What do you reply to this, mortal
enemy of my peace? Do you admit perchance, by your silence, that which
it were right should not pass even through your thought. Now raise
your eyes and set them on those that beheld you to their hurt; lift
them and behold her whom you are deceiving, whom you are abandoning
and forgetting. You will see, if you ponder it well, that you are
deceiving her who always spoke truth to you, you are abandoning her who
has abandoned her honour and herself to follow you, you are forgetting
her who never banished you from her memory. Consider, Grisaldo, that
in birth I am your equal, that in wealth I am not your inferior, and
that I excel you in goodness of heart and in firmness of faith. Fulfil
to me, sir, the faith you gave me, if you are proud to be a gentleman,
and are not ashamed to be a Christian. Behold, if you do not respond to
what you owe me, I will pray Heaven to punish you, fire to burn you,
air to fail you, water to drown you, earth not to endure you, and my
kinsmen to avenge me! Behold, if you fail in your duty towards me,
you will have in me a perpetual disturber of your joys so long as my
life shall last, and even after I am dead, if it may be, I shall with
constant shadows affright your faithless spirit, and with frightful
visions torment your deceiving eyes! Mark that I but ask what is my
own, and that by giving it you gain what you lose by refusing it! Now
move your tongue to undeceive me for the many times you have moved it
to wound me!'
Saying this, the fair lady was silent, and for a short while was
waiting to see what Grisaldo replied. He, raising his face, which up
till then he had kept down, crimsoned with the shame Rosaura's words
had caused in him, with calm voice replied to her in this wise:
'If I sought to deny, oh Rosaura, that I am your debtor in more than
what you say, I would likewise deny that the sunlight is bright, and
would even say that fire is cold and air solid. So that herein I
confess what I owe you, and am obliged to pay it; but for me to confess
that I can pay you as you wish is impossible, for my father's command
has forbidden it, and your cruel disdain has rendered it impossible.
Nor do I wish to call any other witness to this truth than yourself, as
one who knows so well how many times and with what tears I begged you
to accept me as your husband, and to deign to permit me to fulfil the
word I had given you to be it. And you, for the reasons you fancied, or
because you thought it was well to respond to Artandro's vain promises,
never wished matters to come to such an issue; but rather went on from
day to day putting me off, and making trials of my firmness, though
you could make sure of it in every way by accepting me for your own.
You also know, Rosaura, the desire my father had to settle me in life,
and the haste he showed in the matter, bringing forward the rich and
honourable marriages you know of, and how I with a thousand excuses
held aloof from his importunities, always telling you of them, so that
you should no longer defer what suited you so well and what I desired;
and that after all this I told you one day that my father's wish was
for me to marry Leopersia, and you, on hearing Leopersia's name, in a
desperate rage told me to speak to you no more, and that I might marry
Leopersia with your blessing, or anyone I liked better. You know also
that I urged you many times to cease those jealous frenzies, for I was
yours and not Leopersia's, and that you would never receive my excuses,
nor yield to my prayers, but rather, persevering in your obstinacy and
hardness, and in favouring Artandro, you sent to tell me that it would
give you pleasure that I should never see you more. I did what you
bade me, and, so as to have no opportunity to transgress your bidding,
seeing also that I was fulfilling that of my father, I resolved to
marry Leopersia, or at least I shall marry her to-morrow, for so it
is agreed between her kinsmen and mine; wherefore you see, Rosaura,
how guiltless I am of the charge you lay against me, and how late you
have come to know the injustice with which you treated me. But that you
may not judge me henceforward to be as ungrateful as you have pictured
me in your fancy, see if there is anything wherein I can satisfy your
wish, for, so it be not to marry you, I will hazard, to serve you,
property, life and honour.'
While Grisaldo was saying these words, the fair Rosaura kept her eyes
riveted on his face, shedding through them so many tears that they
showed full well the grief she felt in her soul. But, seeing that
Grisaldo was silent, heaving a deep and woful sigh, she said to him:
'As it cannot be, oh Grisaldo, that your green years should have a long
and skilled experience of the countless accidents of love, I do not
wonder that a little disdain of mine has placed you in the freedom you
boast of; but if you knew that jealous fears are the spurs which make
love quicken his pace, you would see clearly that those I had about
Leopersia, redounded to make me love you more. But as you made such
sport of my affairs, on the slightest pretext that you could conceive,
you revealed the little love in your breast, and confirmed my true
suspicions; and in such a way that tells me you are marrying Leopersia
to-morrow. But I assure you, before you bear her to the marriage-couch,
you must bear me to the tomb, unless, indeed, you are so cruel as to
refuse to give one to the dead body of her over whose soul you were
always absolute lord. And, that you may know clearly and see that she
who lost for you her modesty, and exposed her honour to harm, will
count it little to lose her life, this sharp poniard which here I hold
will accomplish my desperate and honourable purpose, and will be a
witness of the cruelty you hold in that false breast of yours.'
And saying this she drew from her bosom a naked dagger, and with great
haste was going to plunge it in her heart, had not Grisaldo with
greater speed seized her arm, and had not the veiled shepherdess, her
companion, hurried to close with her. Grisaldo and the shepherdess were
a long while before they took the dagger from the hands of Rosaura, who
said to Grisaldo:
'Permit me, traitorous foe, to end at once the tragedy of my life,
without your loveless disdain making me experience death so often.'
'You shall not taste of death on my account,' replied Grisaldo, 'since
I would rather that my father should fail in the word he has given to
Leopersia on my behalf, than that I should fail at all in what I know I
owe you. Calm your breast, Rosaura, since I assure you that this breast
of mine can desire naught save what may be to your happiness.'
At these loving words of Grisaldo, Rosaura awakened from the death of
her sorrow to the life of her joy, and, without ceasing to weep, knelt
down before Grisaldo, begging for his hands in token of the favour he
did her. Grisaldo did the same, and threw his arms round her neck;
for a long while they remained without power to say a word one to the
other, both shedding many loving tears. The veiled shepherdess, seeing
her companion's happy fortune, wearied by the fatigue she had sustained
in helping to take the dagger from Rosaura, being unable to bear her
veil any longer, took it off, disclosing a face so like Teolinda's,
that Galatea and Florisa were amazed to see it. But Teolinda was more
so, since, without being able to conceal it, she raised her voice,
saying:
'Oh Heavens, and what is it that I see? Is not this by chance my sister
Leonarda, the disturber of my repose? She it is without a doubt.'
And, without further delay, she came out from where she was, and with
her Galatea and Florisa; and as the other shepherdess saw Teolinda,
straightway she recognised her, and with open arms they ran one to
the other, wondering to have found each other in such a place, and
at such a time and juncture. Then Grisaldo and Rosaura, seeing what
Leonarda was doing with Teolinda, and that they had been discovered by
the shepherdesses Galatea and Florisa, arose, with no small shame that
they had been found by them in that fashion, and, drying their tears,
with reserve and courtesy received the shepherdesses, who were at once
recognised by Grisaldo. But the discreet Galatea, in order to change
into confidence the displeasure that perchance the two loving shepherds
had felt at seeing her, said to them with that grace, with which she
said everything:
'Be not troubled by our coming, happy Grisaldo and Rosaura, for it
will merely serve to increase your joy, since it has been shared with
one who will always have joy in serving you. Our fortune has ordained
that we should see you, and in a part where no part of your thoughts
has been concealed from us, and since Heaven has brought them to so
happy a pass, in satisfaction thereof calm your breasts and pardon our
boldness.'
'Never has your presence, fair Galatea,' replied Grisaldo, 'failed to
give pleasure wherever it might be; and this truth being so well known,
we are rather under an obligation at sight of you, than annoyed at your
coming.'
With these there passed some other courteous words, far different from
those that passed between Leonarda and Teolinda, who, after having
embraced once and yet again, with tender words, mingled with loving
tears, demanded the story of each other's adventures, filling all those
that were there with amazement at seeing them, for they resembled each
other so closely, that they could almost be called not alike, but one
and the same; and had it not been that Teolinda's dress was different
from Leonarda's, without a doubt Galatea and Florisa could not have
distinguished them; and then they saw with what reason Artidoro had
been deceived in thinking that Leonarda was Teolinda. But when Florisa
saw that the sun was about midway in the sky, and that it would be well
to seek some shade to protect them from its rays, or at least to return
to the village, since, as the opportunity failed them to pasture their
sheep, they ought not to be so long in the meadow, she said to Teolinda
and Leonarda:
'There will be time, shepherdesses, when with greater ease you can
satisfy our desires, and give us a longer account of your thoughts,
and for the present let us seek where we may spend the rigour of the
noon-tide heat that threatens us, either by a fresh spring that is at
the outlet of the valley we are leaving behind, or in returning to the
village, where Leonarda will be treated with the kindness which you,
Teolinda, have experienced from Galatea and myself. And if I make this
offer only to you, shepherdesses, it is not because I forget Grisaldo
and Rosaura, but because it seems to me that I cannot offer to their
worth and deserving more than good-will.'
'This shall not be wanting in me as long as life shall last,' replied
Grisaldo, 'the will to do, shepherdess, what may be to your service,
since the kindness you show us cannot be paid with less; but since it
appears to me that it will be well to do what you say, and because I
have learnt that you are not ignorant of what has passed between me and
Rosaura, I do not wish to waste your time or mine in referring to it, I
only ask you to be kind enough to take Rosaura in your company to your
village, whilst I prepare in mine some things which are necessary to
fulfil what our hearts desire; and in order that Rosaura may be free
from suspicion, and may never cherish suspicion of the good faith of
my intentions, with deliberate will on my part, you being witnesses
thereof, I give her my hand to be her true husband.'
And, saying this, he stretched out his hand, and took fair Rosaura's,
and she was so beside herself to see what Grisaldo did, that she scarce
could answer him a word, only she allowed him to take her hand, and a
little while after said:
'Love had brought me, Grisaldo, my lord, to such a pass, that, with
less than you have done for me, I would remain for ever your debtor;
but since you have wished to have regard rather for what you yourself
are, than for my deserving, I shall do what in me lies, which is to
give you my soul anew in recompense for this favour, and may Heaven
give you the reward for so welcome a kindness.'
'No more, no more, my friends,' said Galatea at this moment, 'for where
deeds are so true, excessive compliments must find no place. What
remains is to pray Heaven to lead to a happy issue these beginnings,
and that you may enjoy your love in a long and beneficent peace. And as
for what you say, Grisaldo, that Rosaura should come to our village,
the favour you do us therein is so great, that we ourselves beg it of
you.'
'So gladly will I go in your company,' said Rosaura, 'that I know not
how to enhance it more than by telling you that I will not much regret
Grisaldo's absence, when I am in your company.'
'Then come,' said Florisa, 'for the village is far away, and the sun
strong, and our delay in returning there conspicuous. You, señor
Grisaldo, can go and do what you wish, for in Galatea's house you will
find Rosaura, and these, or rather this one shepherdess, for being so
much alike, they ought not to be called two.'
'Be it as you wish,' said Grisaldo; and, he taking Rosaura by the
hand, they all went from the wood, having agreed among themselves
that Grisaldo should on the morrow send a shepherd, from the many
his father had, to tell Rosaura what she was to do, and that this
shepherd, when sent, might be able to speak to Galatea or to Florisa
without being observed, and give the instructions that suited best.
This agreement seemed good to all, and, having come out from the wood,
Grisaldo saw that his servant was waiting for him with the horse, and
embracing Rosaura anew, and taking leave of the shepherdesses, he went
away accompanied with tears and by Rosaura's eyes, which never left
him until they lost him from sight. As the shepherdesses were left
alone, straightway Teolinda went away with Leonarda, in the desire to
learn the cause of her coming. And Rosaura, too, as she went, related
to Galatea and to Florisa the occasion that had moved her to take a
shepherdess's dress, and to come to look for Grisaldo, saying:
'It would not cause you wonder, fair shepherdesses, to see me in this
dress, if you knew how far love's mighty power extends, which makes
those who love well change not only their garb, but will and soul, in
the way that is most to its taste, and I had lost my love for ever,
had I not availed myself of the artifice of this dress. For you must
know, my friends, that, as I was in Leonarda's village, of which my
father is the lord, Grisaldo came to it with the intention of being
there some days, engaged in the pleasing pastime of the chase; and as
my father was a great friend of his father, he arranged to receive
him in the house, and to offer him all the hospitality that he could.
This he did; and Grisaldo's coming to my house resulted in driving
me from it; for indeed, though it be at the cost of my shame, I must
tell you that the sight, the converse, and the worth of Grisaldo made
such an impression on my soul, that, without knowing how, when he had
been there a few days, I came to be quite beside myself, and neither
wished nor was able to exist without making him master of my freedom.
However, it was not so heedlessly but that I was first satisfied
that Grisaldo's wish did not differ in any way from mine, as he gave
me to understand with many very true tokens. I then, being convinced
of this truth, and seeing how well it pleased me to have Grisaldo
for husband, came to acquiesce in his desires, and to put mine into
effect; and so, by the mediation of a handmaiden of mine, Grisaldo and
I saw each other many times in a secluded corridor, without our being
alone extending further than for us to see each other, and for him to
give me the word, which to-day he has given me again with more force
in your presence. My sad fortune then decreed, that at the time I was
enjoying so sweet a state, there came also to visit my father a valiant
gentleman from Aragón, who was called Artandro; he being overcome,
according to what he showed, by my beauty, if I have any, sought with
the greatest solicitude that I should marry him without my father
knowing it. Meanwhile Grisaldo had sought to carry out his purpose, and
I, showing myself somewhat harsher than was necessary, kept putting
him off with words, with the intention that my father should set about
marrying me, and that then Grisaldo should seek me for his wife; but
he did not wish to do this, since he was aware that his father's wish
was to marry him to the rich and beauteous Leopersia, for you must
know her well by the report of her riches and beauty. This came to my
knowledge, and I took the opportunity to try to make him jealous of me,
though feignedly, merely to make trial of the sincerity of his faith;
and I was so careless, or rather so simple, that thinking I gained
something thereby, I began to show some favours to Artandro. Grisaldo,
seeing this, often declared to me the pain he felt at my dealings with
Artandro, and he even informed me that if it was not my wish that he
should fulfil to me the word he had given me, he could not fail to obey
the wish of his parents. To all these words of warning and advice I
replied unadvisedly, full of pride and arrogance, confident that the
bonds which my beauty had cast over Grisaldo's soul could not be so
easily broken, or even touched, by any other beauty. But my confidence
turned out to be much mistaken, as Grisaldo soon showed me, who,
wearied of my foolish and scornful disdain, saw fit to leave me and to
obey his father's behest. But scarcely had he gone from my village and
left my presence, when I recognised the error into which I had fallen,
and with such force did Grisaldo's absence and jealousy of Leopersia
begin to torment me that his absence overwhelmed me and jealousy of
her consumed me. Considering then, that, if my remedy were deferred,
I must leave my life in the hands of grief, I resolved to risk losing
the lesser, which in my opinion was reputation, in order to gain the
greater, which is Grisaldo. And so, on the pretext I gave my father,
of going to see an aunt of mine, the mistress of another village near
ours, I left my home, accompanied by many of my father's servants,
and when I reached my aunt's house, I disclosed to her all my secret
thoughts, and asked her to be kind enough to allow me to put on this
dress and come to speak to Grisaldo, assuring her that if I did not
come myself, my affairs would have a poor issue. She consented to this
on condition that I took with me Leonarda, as one in whom she had much
confidence. I sent for her to our village and procured this garb, and,
bearing in mind some things which we two had to do, we took leave of
her eight days ago; and, though we came to Grisaldo's village six days
ago, we have never been able to find an opportunity of speaking to him
alone, as I desired, until this morning, when I knew he was going to
the chase. I awaited him in the same place where he took leave of us,
and there has passed between us what you, friends, have seen, at which
happy issue I am as happy as it is right she should be who desired it
so much. This, shepherdesses, is the story of my life, and if I have
wearied you in telling it you, throw the blame on the desire you had to
know it, and on mine which could not do less than satisfy you.'
'Nay, rather,' replied Florisa, 'we are so grateful for the favour you
have done us, that, though we may always busy ourselves in your service
we shall not escape from the debt.'
'I am the one who remains in debt,' answered Rosaura, 'and who will
seek to repay it as my powers may allow. But, leaving this aside,
turn your eyes, shepherdesses, and you will see those of Teolinda and
Leonarda so full of tears that they will move yours without fail to
accompany them therein.'
Galatea and Florisa turned to look at them, and saw that what Rosaura
said was true. What caused the weeping of the two sisters was that
after Leonarda had told her sister all that Rosaura had related to
Galatea and Florisa, she said to her:
'You must know, sister, that, as you were missing from our village,
it was thought that the shepherd Artidoro had taken you away, for
that same day he too was missing without taking leave of anyone. I
confirmed this opinion in my parents, because I told them what had
passed with Artidoro in the forest. With this evidence the suspicion
increased, and my father determined to go in search of you and of
Artidoro, and in fact would have done so had not there come to our
village two days afterwards a shepherd whom all took for Artidoro when
they saw him. When the news reached my father that your ravisher was
there, straightway he came with the constables to where the shepherd
was, and they asked him if he knew you or where he had taken you to.
The shepherd denied on oath that he had ever seen you in all his life,
or that he knew what it was they were asking him about. All that were
present wondered to see the shepherd denying that he knew you, since
he had been ten days in the village and had spoken and danced with
you many a time, and without any doubt all believed that Artidoro was
guilty of what was imputed to him. Without wishing to admit his defence
or to hear a word from him, they took him to prison, where he remained
without anyone speaking to him for some days, at the end of which,
when they came to take his confession, he swore again that he did not
know you, nor in all his life had he been more than that once in that
village, and that they should consider--and this he had said at other
times--whether the Artidoro they thought he was, was not by chance a
brother of his, who resembled him so exactly as truth would reveal
when it showed them that they had deceived themselves in taking him
for Artidoro; for he was called Galercio, son of Briseno, a native of
Grisaldo's village. And, in fact, he gave such indications and showed
such proofs that all clearly saw that he was not Artidoro, whereat they
were more amazed, saying that such a marvel as that of my likeness
to you, and Galercio's to Artidoro, had not been seen in the world.
This announcement concerning Galercio moved me to go and see him many
times where he was confined; and the sight of him was such that I was
deprived of sight, at least for the purpose of seeing things to give me
pleasure, so long as I did not see Galercio. But the worst of it is,
sister, that he went from the village without knowing that he took with
him my freedom, nor had I the opportunity of telling it him, and so I
remained with such a grief as may be imagined, until Rosaura's aunt
sent for me for a few days, all for the purpose of coming to accompany
Rosaura; whereat I felt extreme joy, for I knew that we were going to
Galercio's village, and that there I might make him acquainted with his
debt to me. But I have been so poor in fortune that we have been four
days in his village and I have never seen him, though I have asked for
him, and they tell me that he is in the country with his flock. I have
also asked for Artidoro, and they have told me that for some days he
has not appeared in the village; and, in order not to leave Rosaura,
I have not taken an opportunity of going to look for Galercio, from
whom it might be possible to learn news of Artidoro. This is what has
happened to me, besides what you have seen with Grisaldo, since you
have been missing, sister, from the village.'
Teolinda was astonished at what her sister told her; but when she came
to know that in Artidoro's village no news was known of him, she could
not restrain her tears, though she consoled herself in part, believing
that Galercio would have news of his brother; and so she resolved to go
next day to look for Galercio wherever he might be. And having told her
sister as briefly as she could all that had happened to her since she
went in search of Artidoro, Teolinda embraced her again and returned to
where the shepherdesses were. They were walking along a little distance
from the road, in among some trees which protected them a little from
the heat of the sun. Teolinda coming up to them told them all that
her sister had said to her concerning the issue of her love, and the
likeness of Galercio and Artidoro; whereat they wondered not a little,
though Galatea said:
'Whoever sees the strange likeness there is between you, Teolinda, and
your sister, cannot wonder though he sees others, since no likeness, as
I believe, is equal to yours.'
'There is no doubt,' replied Leonarda, 'but that the likeness there is
between Artidoro and Galercio is so great that, if it does not surpass
ours, at least it will be in no way behind it.'
'May Heaven please,' said Florisa, 'that as you four resemble one
another, so may you agree and be like one another in fortune, that
which fate grants to your desires being so good that all the world may
envy your joys, as it wonders at your likenesses.'
Teolinda would have replied to these words, had not a voice they
heard issuing from among the trees prevented it; and all stopping to
listen to it, they straightway recognised that it was the voice of the
shepherd Lauso, whereat Galatea and Florisa felt great joy, for they
wished very much to know of whom Lauso was enamoured, and believed that
what the shepherd should sing would relieve them of this doubt, and for
this reason, without moving from where they were, they listened to him
in the greatest silence. The shepherd was seated at the foot of a green
willow, accompanied by his thoughts alone, and by a little rebeck, to
the sound of which he sang in this wise:
LAUSO.
If I the good within my thought confessed,
What good I do possess would turn to ill.
The good I feel is not to be expressed.
Even from me let my desire conceal
Itself, and herein let my tongue be dumb,
And let its trophy be that it is still.
Let artifice stop here, nor art presume
To praise enow the pleasure and the balm
Which to a soul from Love's kind hand doth come.
Suffice to say that I in peaceful calm
Cross o'er the sea of Love, setting my trust
In noble triumph and victorious palm.
The cause unknown, let what the cause produced
Be known, for 'tis a good so measureless
That for the soul alone 'tis kept in trust.
Now I new being have, now life possess,
Now I in all the earth can win a name
For lofty glory and renowned success.
For the pure purpose and the loving flame,
Which is enclosed within my loving side,
Can unto loftiest Heaven exalt my fame.
In thee I hope, Silena, and confide
In thee, Silena, glory of my thought,
Pole-star that doth my roving fancy guide.
I hope that, by thy peerless judgment taught,
Thou wilt adjudge that I in truth do merit
By faith what in deserving lieth not.
And, shepherdess, I trust that soon thy spirit
Will show, when thy experience makes thee sure,
The liberty that noble breasts inherit.
What wealth of bliss thy presence doth assure!
What evils doth it banish! When 'tis gone,
Who for a moment absence will endure?
Oh thou that art more beauteous on thy throne
Than beauty's self, and more than wisdom wise,
Star to my sea, unto my eyes a sun!
She who in famous Crete became the prize
Of the false lovely bull, and bowed to Love,
Did not unto thy perfect beauty rise;
Nor she who felt descending from above
The golden rain, that turned her heart aside
(To guard her maidenhood no more she strove);
Nor she whose angry ruthless hand, in pride
Of purity, did her chaste bosom smite,
And in her blood the piercing dagger dyed;
Nor she who roused to madness and despite
'Gainst Troy the hearts of the Achaean host,
Who gave unto destruction Ilion's height;
Nor she the squadrons of the Latin coast
Who launched irate against the Teucrian race,
Whose bitter pangs were ever Juno's boast;
And no less she who hath a different praise
And trophy for the steadfast purity
Wherewith she kept her honour from disgrace;
Nor she who mourned her dead Sychaeus, she
On whom Mantuan Tityrus did cast
Reproach for fond desire and vanity;
Neither 'mongst all the fair ones that the past
Ages produced, nor at this present hour
Nor in the days to come find we at last;
One who in wisdom, worth, or beauty's dower,
Was or is equal to my shepherdess,
Or claimeth o'er the world a sovereign's power.
Ah happy he, if but the bitterness
Of jealousy he knew not, who by thee,
Silena, should be loved with faithfulness!
Thou who hast to this height exalted me,
Oh Love, with heavy hand hurl me not down
Unto oblivion's deep obscurity.
Seek thou a prince's, not a tyrant's crown.
The enamoured shepherd sang no more, nor from what he had sung could
the shepherdesses come to the knowledge of what they desired, for,
though Lauso named Silena in his song, the shepherdess was not known
by this name; and so they imagined that, as Lauso had gone through
many parts of Spain, and even of all Asia and Europe, it would be
some foreign shepherdess who had subdued his free will; but when they
considered again that they had seen him a few days before triumphing
in his freedom and making mock of lovers, they believed beyond a
doubt, that under a feigned name he was celebrating some well-known
shepherdess whom he had made mistress of his thoughts; and so, without
being satisfied in their suspicion, they went towards the village,
leaving the shepherd in the same place where he was. But they had
not gone far when they saw coming from a distance some shepherds who
were straightway recognised, for they were Thyrsis, Damon, Elicio,
Erastro, Arsindo, Francenio, Crisio, Orompo, Daranio, Orfenio, and
Marsilio, with all the chief shepherds of the village, and among
them, the loveless Lenio with the hapless Silerio, who came to pass
the noon-tide heat at the spring of slates, in the shade made in that
place by the interwoven branches of the dense green trees. Before the
shepherds approached, Teolinda, Leonarda and Rosaura took care each
to veil herself with a white cloth that they might not be recognised
by Thyrsis and Damon. The shepherds approached, offering courteous
greetings to the shepherdesses, inviting them to consent to spend
the noon-tide heat in their company; but Galatea excused herself by
saying that the strange shepherdesses who came with her, must needs
go to the village; therewith she took leave of them, drawing after
her the souls of Elicio and Erastro, and the veiled shepherdesses
likewise the desires of all who were there to know them. They betook
themselves to the village, and the shepherds to the cool spring, but
before they reached there, Silerio took leave of all, asking permission
to return to his hermitage; and though Thyrsis, Damon, Elicio, and
Erastro begged him to remain with them for that day, they could not
prevail with him; nay rather he embraced them all and took his leave,
charging and begging Erastro not to fail to visit him every time he
passed by his hermitage. Erastro promised it him, and therewith, he
turned aside, and accompanied by his constant sorrow, returned to the
solitude of his hermitage, leaving the shepherds not without grief to
see the straitness of life he had chosen when his years were yet green;
but it was felt most among those who knew him and were acquainted
with the quality and worth of his person. When the shepherds came to
the spring, they found there three gentlemen and two fair ladies who
were journeying, and being wearied with fatigue and invited by the
pleasing and cool spot, it seemed good to them to leave the road they
were following, and spend there the sultry hours of the noon-tide
heat. There came with them some servants, so that they showed by their
appearance that they were persons of quality. The shepherds, when
they saw them, would have left the spot free to them; but one of the
gentlemen, who seemed the chief, seeing that the shepherds in their
courtesy wished to go to another place, said to them:
'If it was by chance your pleasure, gallant shepherds, to spend the
noon-tide heat in this delightful spot, let not our company hinder
you from it, but rather do us the favour of increasing our pleasure
with your company, since your noble disposition and manner promise no
less: and, the place being, as it is, so adapted for a greater number
of people, you will grieve me and these ladies, if you do not agree to
what I ask you in their name and mine.'
'By doing, sir, what you bid us,' replied Elicio, 'we shall fulfil our
desire, which did not for the moment extend beyond coming to this place
to spend here in pleasant converse the tedious hours of the noon-tide
heat; and, though our purpose were different, we would change it merely
to do what you ask.'
'I am grateful,' replied the gentleman, 'for tokens of such good-will,
and in order that I may be the more assured of it and gratified
thereby, be seated, shepherds, around this cool spring, where with some
things which these ladies have with them for refreshment by the way,
you may awake your thirst and quench it in the cool waters this clear
spring offers us.'
All did so, constrained by his fair courtesy. Up to this point the
ladies had kept their faces covered with two rich veils; but, seeing
that the shepherds were remaining, they revealed themselves, revealing
a beauty so strange that it caused great astonishment in all who saw
it, for it seemed to them that after Galatea's there could be on earth
no other beauty to match it. The two ladies were equally beautiful,
though one of them, who seemed the older, excelled the smaller one in a
certain grace and spirit. All being seated then, and at their ease, the
second gentleman, who up till then had spoken nothing, said:
'When I stop to consider, amiable shepherds, the advantage your humble
shepherds' ways have over the proud ways of the courtier, I cannot fail
to have pity for myself and honourable envy of you.'
'Why do you say that, friend Darinto?' said the other gentleman.
'I say it, sir,' replied the former, 'because I see with what care you
and I, and those who follow our ways, seek to adorn our persons, to
nourish our bodies, and to increase our property, and how little it
comes to profit us, since the purple, the gold, the brocade, and our
faces are faded from badly digested victuals, eaten at odd hours, and
as costly as they are wasteful, and since they adorn us in no way, nor
beautify us, nor suffice to make us look better in the eyes of those
who behold us. And all this you can see is different in those who
follow the rustic pursuits of the field, proving it by those you have
before you, who, it might be and even is the case, have been nourished
and are nourished on simple victuals, in every way different from
the wasteful composition of ours. And, besides, see the tan of their
faces, which promises a state of health more perfect than the sickly
pallor of ours, and how well a jerkin of white wool, a grey bonnet
and some gaiters of whatsoever colour suit their robust and supple
limbs; whereby they must appear more handsome in the eyes of their
shepherdesses, than gay courtiers in those of modest ladies. What could
I say to you, then, if I were minded, of the simplicity of their life,
the sincerity of their character, and the purity of their love? I say
no more to you, save that what I know of the shepherd's life has such
power with me, that gladly would I exchange mine for it.'
'We shepherds are all indebted to you,' said Elicio, 'for the good
opinion you have of us, but nevertheless I can tell you that in our
country life there are as many slippery places and toils as are
contained in your courtier's life.'
'I cannot but agree with what you say,' replied Darinto, 'for indeed
it is well known that our life on earth is a war; but after all in the
shepherd's life there is less of it than in that of the town, for it is
more free from causes that may move and disquiet the spirit.'
'How well agrees with your opinion, Darinto,' said Damon, 'that of
a shepherd friend of mine, called Lauso, who, after having spent
some years in a courtier's pursuits, and some others in the toilsome
pursuits of cruel Mars, has at last been brought to the poverty of our
country life, and before he came to it, he showed that he much desired
it, as appears by a song he composed and sent to the famous Larsileo,
who has a long and practised experience in affairs of the court; and,
because I saw fit to do so, I committed it all to memory, and would
even repeat it to you, if I thought that time would permit it, and that
it would not weary you to listen to it.'
'Nothing will give us greater pleasure than to listen to you, discreet
Damon,' replied Darinto, calling Damon by his name, for he already knew
it from having heard the other shepherds, his friends, name him; 'and
so I for my part beg you to repeat to us Lauso's song, for since it is
composed, as you say, to suit my case, and you have committed it to
memory, it will be impossible for it not to be good.'
Damon began to repent of what he had said, and sought to escape from
his promise; but the gentlemen and ladies and all the shepherds begged
it of him so much, that he could not escape repeating it. And so,
having composed himself a little, with admirable grace and charm he
spoke in this wise:
DAMON.
The idle fancies that our minds do weave,
Which hither and thither are buffeted
In rapid flight by every wind that blows;
Man's feeble heart, ever inclined to grieve,
Set upon pleasures that are doomed to fade,
Wherein it seeks, but findeth not, repose;
The world that never knows
The truth, the promiser of joyous pleasures;
Its siren voice, whose word
Is scarcely overheard,
When it transforms its pleasures to displeasures;
Babylon, chaos, seen and read by me
In everything I see;
The mood the careful courtier doth command--
Have set, in unity
With my desire, the pen within my hand.
I would my rude ill-shapen quill might rise,
My lord, though brief and feeble be its flight,
Unto the realms that my desire doth gain,
So that the task of raising to the skies
Thy goodness rare and virtue ever bright
It might essay, and thus its wish attain.
But who is there that fain
Would on his shoulders cast so great a burden,
Unless he is a new
Atlas, in strength so true,
That Heaven doth little weary him or burden?
And even he the load will be compelled
To shift, that he has held,
On to the arms of a new Hercules,
And yet such toil beheld,
Although he bow and sweat, I count but ease.
But since 'tis to my strength impossible,
And but an empty wish I give to prove
All that my loyal fancy doth conceal,
Let us consider if 'tis possible
My feeble ill-contented hand to move,
And some vague sign of joy thereby reveal;
Herein my power I feel
So powerless, that thou thine ears must lend,
And to the bitter groans
And agonising moans
That issue from a breast despised, attend;
Upon that breast fire, air, and earth, and sea
Make war unceasingly,
Conspiring all together for its pain,
Which its sad destiny
Doth bound, and its small fortune doth contain.
Were this not so in truth, an easy thing
It were through pleasure's realm one's steps to bend,
And countless pleasures to the mind restore,
The mountain, strand, or river picturing.
Not Love, but fortune, fate and chance did lend
Their wealth of glory to a shepherd poor:
But Time a triumph o'er
This sweet tale claims, and of it doth remain
Alone a feeble shadow,
Which doth the thought o'ershadow
That thinks on it the more, and fills with pain.
Such is the fitting plight of all mankind!
The pleasure we designed
In a few hours is changed to sore displeasure,
And no one will e'er shall find
In many years a firm and lasting pleasure.
Now let the idle thought revolve on high,
Let it ascend or descend to the abyss,
And in a moment run from east to west,
'Twill say, however much it sweat and ply
Its strength, escaping from its miseries,
Set in dread hell, or Heaven loftiest:
"Oh thrice and four times blest
And blest and blest again with happiness,
The simple herdsman who,
With his poor sheep and few,
Liveth with more content and peacefulness
Than Crassus rich or Midas in his greed,
Since the life he doth lead,
A shepherd's life, of healthy simple powers,
Doth make him take no heed
Of this false, wretched, courtly life of ours."
Beside the trunk that Vulcan's flame dissolves,
Of sturdy oak, he seeks himself to warm,
Amidst the might of winter's bristling cold,
And there in peace a clear account resolves
To give of life to Heaven, and how from harm
To keep his flock, he doth discussion hold.
And when away hath rolled
The hard and barren frost, when it doth shrink,
When he who had his birth
In Delos, doth the earth
And air inflame, then, on some river's brink,
Of willows green and elms its canopy,
In rustic harmony
He sounds the shrilly fife, or lifts his voice:
Then truly one doth see
The waters stop to listen and rejoice,
He is not wearied by the solemn face
Of one in favour, who doth bear the port
Of governor, where he is not obeyed,
Nor by the sweetly uttered lofty praise
Of the false flatterer, who in absence short,
Views, leaders, parties, changeth undismayed.
Of the disdain displayed
By the wise secretary, of his pride
Who bears the golden key,
But little recketh he,
Nor of the league of divers chiefs allied.
Not for a moment from his flock he goes,
Because the angry blows
Of frenzied Mars on either side may sound,
Who doth such skill disclose
That e'en his followers scarce have profit found.
Within a circle small his footsteps wend
From the high mountain to the peaceful plain,
To the clear river from the fountain cold.
Nor doth he plough, in madness without end,
The heaving meadows of the ocean main,
Desiring distant countries to behold.
It doth not make him bold
To learn that close beside his village lives
The great unconquered king,
Whose weal is everything,
Yet not to see him small displeasure gives.
No ambitious busy-body he, beside
Himself, who without pride
Runs after favour, and a favourite's power,
Though never hath he dyed
His sword or lance in blood of Turk or Moor.
'Tis not for him to change or face or hue
Because the lord he serveth changeth face
Or hue, since he no lord hath to constrain
Him with mute tongue to follow and pursue--
As Clytie did her golden lover chase--
The sweet or bitter pleasure he may gain.
Nor doth he share the pain
Of fearing that an idle, careless thought
Within the thankless breast
Of his lord may at last
The memory of his loyal service blot,
And thus be his the doom of banishment;
His mien doth not present
Other than what his healthy breast doth hold;
Our ways, with falsehood blent,
Do not compete with rustic knowledge old.
Who such a life as this will hold in scorn?
Who will not say that this is life alone,
Which hath the comfort of the soul pursued?
A courtier may in loathing from it turn.
This makes its goodness unto him be known
Who hath the good desired, the ill eschewed:
Oh life of solitude,
Wherein one doth his crowded joys refine!
Oh pastoral lowliness,
Higher than loftiness
Of the most lofty and exalted line!
Oh shady woodland, flowers whose fragrance fills
The air, pellucid rills!
I for a moment brief could taste your bliss,
But that my constant ills
Soon would disturb so fair a life as this!
Song, thou dost go to where thy poverty,
To where thy wealth will all too soon be seen,
Say thou with prayerful mien
And humble, if but breath be given thee;
"Lord, pardon! he who sends me to thy side,
In thee and in his wishes doth confide."
'This, gentlemen, is Lauso's song,' said Damon on finishing it; 'which
was as much extolled by Larsileo as it was well received by those who
saw it at the time.'
'With reason you can say so,' replied Darinto, 'since its truth and
workmanship are worthy of just praises.'
'These are the songs to my taste,' said the loveless Lenio at this
moment, 'and not those which every instant come to my ears, full of a
thousand simple amorous conceits, so badly arranged and involved, that
I will venture to swear that there are some, which neither the hearer,
however discreet he be, can comprehend, nor the composer understand.
But no less wearisome are others, which entangle themselves in giving
praises to Cupid, and in exaggerating his powers, his worth, his
wonders and miracles, making him lord of Heaven and earth, giving him
a thousand other attributes of might, dominion and lordship; and what
wearies me more than those who make them, is that, when they speak of
love, they mean a someone undefined, whom they call Cupid, the very
meaning of whose name declares to us what he is, namely a vain and
sensual appetite, worthy of all reproof.'
The loveless Lenio spoke, and indeed he was certain to end in, speaking
ill of love; but as nearly all who were there knew his disposition,
they did not give much heed to his reasonings, except Erastro, who said
to him:
'Do you think, Lenio, by chance, that you are always speaking to
a simple Erastro, who cannot contradict your opinions, or reply to
your arguments? Then I wish to warn you that it will be wise for you
to be silent for the present, or at least to discuss other matters
than speaking ill of love, unless indeed you would have Thyrsis's
and Damon's discretion and learning restoring your sight, from
the blindness in which you are, and showing you clearly what they
understand, and what you should understand, of love and of its affairs.'
'What will they be able to tell me that I do not know?' said Lenio, 'or
what shall I be able to reply to them but what they are ignorant of?'
'This is pride, Lenio,' replied Elicio, 'and therein you show how far
you go from the path of love's truth, and that you guide yourself more
by the pole-star of your opinion and fancy, than by that whereby you
should be guided, namely that of truth and experience.'
'Nay rather by reason of the great experience I have of its works,'
replied Lenio, 'am I as opposed to it as I show, and shall show so long
as my life shall last.'
'On what do you base your reasoning?' said Thyrsis.
'On what, shepherd?' answered Lenio; 'on this, that by the effects they
have I know how evil is the cause that produces them.'
'What are the effects of love that you count so evil?' replied Thyrsis.
'I will tell you them, if you listen to me with attention,' said
Lenio; 'but I would not have my discourse weary the ears of those
who are present, since they can spend the time in different and more
pleasurable converse.'
'There will be nothing that could be more so to us,' said Darinto,
'than to hear a discussion of this topic, especially between persons
who will know so well how to defend their opinion: and so for my part,
if these shepherds on theirs do not hinder it, I beg you, Lenio, to
continue the discourse you have begun.'
'That will I do readily,' answered Lenio, 'for I think I shall show
clearly therein what a strong reason compels me to follow the opinion I
do follow, and to blame any other that may be opposed to mine.'
'Begin then, oh Lenio,' said Damon, 'for you will not hold it longer
than my companion Thyrsis will take to explain his.'
At this moment, whilst Lenio was preparing to utter his reproofs
against love, there came to the spring the venerable Aurelio, Galatea's
father, with some shepherds, and with him came also Galatea and
Florisa, with the three veiled shepherdesses, Rosaura, Teolinda, and
Leonarda, whom he had met at the entrance of the village, and, learning
from them of the gathering of shepherds there was at the spring of
slates, caused to turn back at his request, the strange shepherdesses
trusting that by reason of their veils they would not be recognised by
anyone. All rose to receive Aurelio and the shepherdesses, these latter
seating themselves by the ladies, Aurelio and the shepherds by the
other shepherds. But when the ladies saw Galatea's remarkable beauty,
they were so astonished that they could not keep their eyes from
looking at her. Nor was Galatea less so at their beauty, especially
at that of her who seemed the older. There passed between them some
words of courtesy, but everything ceased when they learnt what was
agreed between the discreet Thyrsis and the loveless Lenio; whereat
the venerable Aurelio was infinitely rejoiced, for he desired very
much to see that assembly, and to hear that discussion, and all the
more when Lenio would have someone who could answer him so well; and
so, without waiting further, Lenio, seating himself on the trunk of a
felled elm-tree, in a voice at first low, and then full-sounding, began
to speak in this wise: