BOOK V.

So great was the desire the love-sick Timbrio and the two fair sisters

Nisida and Blanca felt to reach Silerio's hermitage that the swiftness

of their steps, though it was great, could not come up to that of their

will; and, knowing this, Thyrsis and Damon would not press Timbrio

to fulfil the word he had given to relate to them on the way all

that had happened during his travels after he departed from Silerio.

Nevertheless, carried away by the desire they had to learn it, they

were just going to ask it of him, had there not at that moment smitten

the ears of all the voice of a shepherd, who was singing amongst some

green trees a little way off the road; from the somewhat untuneful

sound of his voice, and from what he was singing, he was at once

recognised by most of those who were coming along, especially by his

friend Damon, for it was the shepherd Lauso who was repeating some

verses to the sound of a small rebeck. And because the shepherd was so

well known, and all had learned of the change which had taken place in

his inclination, they checked their steps of one accord, and stopped to

listen to what Lauso was singing, which was this:

LAUSO.

Who hath come a slave to make

Of my thought, with freedom filled?

Who, where fortune did forsake,

Lofty towers of wind could build

On foundations doomed to break?

Who my freedom took away,

What time I in safety lay,

And with life was satisfied?

Who my breast hath opened wide,

And hath made my will decay?

Whither hath the fancy flown

Of my scornful, loveless mind?

Whither the soul I called my own?

And the heart that none may find

Where it was--whither hath it gone?

Where can my whole being be?

Whence come I and whither flee?

Know I aught of this my pass?

Am I he that once I was,

Or have I been never he?

On myself I call to explain,

Yet I cannot prove the truth,

Since to this pass I attain

That of what I was in youth

But a shadow I remain;

Knowledge how myself to know,

Help to help myself--these go

Far from me, and sure I find

Woe 'midst such confusion blind,

Yet I think not of my woe.

In this hapless state I lie,

Captive to my sorrow's power,

To the love that doth comply,

Thus the present I adore,

And bewail the days gone by;

In the present I perceive

That I die, and that I live

In the past; now death I hold

Sweet, and in the days of old

Fate, that bliss no more can give.

Blind am I, my woe is great

In so strange an agony,

For I see that Love doth prate,

And that in the flames I lie,

Yet 'tis water cold I hate;

Save the water from mine eyes,

Of the fire the fuel and prize,

In the forge of Love I crave

Water none, nor seek to have

Other comfort to my sighs.

All my bliss would now begin,

All my sorrow now would end,

If my fortune willed herein

That my faith should from my friend

For its truth assurance win;

Come and tell Silena, sighs,

Come, instruct Silena, eyes

Filled with tears, that this is true;

Come, confirm it, each of you,

Pen and tongue and faculties.

The eager Timbrio neither could nor would wait for the shepherd Lauso

to proceed further with his song, for, begging the shepherds to show

him the way of the hermitage, if they wished to remain, he gave signs

of going on, and so all followed him, and they passed so near to where

the love-sick Lauso was, that he could not fail to perceive it, and

to come forth to meet them, as he did; and all were delighted with

his company, especially Damon, his true friend, whom he accompanied

all the way there was from there to the hermitage, discoursing on the

different events that had happened to the two since they ceased seeing

each other, which was from the time the valorous and renowned shepherd

Astraliano had left the Cisalpine pastures, to go and bring back those

who had rebelled from his famous brother and from the true religion.

And at last they came to bring back their discourse to treat of Lauso's

love, Damon asking him earnestly to tell him who the shepherdess was

who with such ease had won him from free will; and when he could not

learn this from Lauso he begged him with all earnestness at least to

tell him in what state he was, whether of fear or of hope, whether

ingratitude harassed him, or whether jealousy tormented him. To all

this Lauso answered satisfactorily, telling him some things that had

happened to him with his shepherdess; and among other things he told

him, how, finding himself one day jealous and out of favour, he had

come to the pass of putting an end to himself, or of giving some token

that might redound to the hurt of his person and to the credit and

honour of his shepherdess, but all was remedied when he had spoken to

her, and she had assured him that the suspicion he had was false. All

this being confirmed by her giving him a ring from her hand, which

caused his understanding to return to a better course, and that favour

to be celebrated by a sonnet, which was counted for good by some who

saw it. Damon then asked Lauso to repeat it; and so, without being able

to excuse himself, he had to repeat it, and it was this:

LAUSO.

Love's rich and happy gage, that didst adorn

The precious ivory and the snow so pure!

Love's gage that didst from death and gloom obscure

Unto new light and life bid me return!

The hell of my misfortune thou didst turn

To the heaven of thy bliss, and thou didst lure

My hope to live in sweetest peace secure,--

The hope that thou didst cause once more to burn.

Dost know what thou dost cost me, gage of love?

My soul, and yet I am not satisfied,

Since less I give than what I do receive.

But, that the world thy worth may know and prove,

Be thou my soul, be hidden in my side!

All shall see how for thee I soulless live.

Lauso repeated the sonnet, and Damon again asked him, if he had written

anything else to his shepherdess, to repeat it to him, since he knew

how pleasant his verses were for him to hear. To this Lauso replied:

'This will be, Damon, because you have been my master therein, and the

desire you have to see what improvement you have wrought in me makes

you desire to hear them; but let this be as it may, for nothing that

I could do must be denied you. And so I tell you that in these same

days, when I was jealous and ill at ease, I sent these verses to my

shepherdess.'

LAUSO TO SILENA.

In this great wholeheartedness

From the healthy purpose sprung,

'Tis Love guides the hand along

And the thought thy loveliness;

Love, Silena, in this hour,

And thy loveliness so fair,

Will account discretion rare

What thou wilt deem folly sure.

Love constrains, loveliness moveth

Me to adore thee, and to write;

Since my faith the twain upright

Hold, my hand its courage proveth;

And in this my fault so great,

Though thy rigour threateneth,

Love, thy loveliness, my faith,

Will my error palliate.

Since with helpers such as these,

Though they blame me, ne'ertheless,

I can well the bliss express

Sprung from mine own miseries;

And this bliss, full well I know,

Is naught else, Silena fair,

Save that I amid my care

Should a wondrous patience show.

No small pleasure makes me glad,

For in patience lies my bliss;

Were it not so, long ere this,

Had my misery made me mad;

But my senses all agree,

All together join to cry,

That I, though I needs must die,

May die wise and patiently.

After all, the jealous one,

Whom none loveth, scarce will be

Able to bear patiently,

When he makes his love-sick moan;

Since, amid my agonies,

All my bliss is banishèd,

When I see that hope is dead,

And the foe before my eyes.

Countless years, my shepherdess,

Revel in thy blissful thought,

For I seek no pleasure bought

With thy sorrow or distress;

Follow ever, lady fair,

Thy desire, since 'tis thy pleasure,

For I, for another's treasure,

Think not e'er to shed a tear.

For it had been levity

To the soul my soul to yield,

Which hath as its glory held

That it hath not liberty;

But, ah me! fortune doth will--

And Love also doth agree--

That my neck is not to flee

From the knife that doth me kill.

Now I go--I know too plain--

After one that shall me doom,

And when thoughts of parting come,

I more firm and fixed remain;

Ah, what bonds, what nets I find,

Dearest! in thine eyes so bright,

Which, the more I take to flight,

Hold the more, the faster bind!

Eyes, alas! ye make me fear,

That if ye but look on me,

Lesser shall my solace be,

And the greater grow my care;

'Tis a truth none can gainsay,

That the glances ye bestow

On me, are but feigned, for, lo!

Cruelly they my love repay.

With what dread and fear oppressed

Ever is my loving mind!

And what opposites I find

In the love within my breast!

Leave me, poignant memory,

Forget, nor another's bliss

Call to mind, for lost in this

Thine own glory is to thee.

With such tokens thou affirmest

The love that is in thy breast;

By thy wrath I am oppressed,

Ever thou my woes confirmest;

By what laws of thine am I

Doomed to yield, Love, traitor fell!

Soul unto Silena's spell,

While she doth a word deny?

On points rousing bitter strife

I but for a moment dwell,

For the least of them might well

Leave me mad or without life;

Let my pen no further go,

Since thou mak'st it feel its doom,

'Tis not in my power to sum

In brief words so great a woe.

Whilst Lauso was occupied in repeating these verses, and in praising

the unwonted beauty, discretion, grace, modesty, and worth of his

shepherdess, the tedium of the way was lightened for him and Damon,

and the time passed for them without being perceived, until they came

near to Silerio's hermitage, which Timbrio, Nisida, and Blanca would

not enter, so as not to alarm him by their unexpected arrival. But fate

ordained it otherwise, for Thyrsis and Damon having approached to see

what Silerio was doing, found the hermitage open, and without any one

inside; and whilst they were filled with astonishment, without knowing

where Silerio could be at such an hour, there came to their ears the

sound of his harp, from which they understood that he could not be far

away. And going to look for him, guided by the sound of the harp, they

saw by the bright radiance of the moon, that he was seated on the trunk

of an olive, alone and without other company than that of his harp,

which he was playing so sweetly that to enjoy so gentle a harmony, the

shepherds would not approach to speak to him, and the more so when they

heard him beginning to sing with exquisite voice these verses:

SILERIO.

Swift fleeting hours of swiftly fleeting time,

That pass me by with wearied flight and slow,

If ye are not conspired unto my woe,

Be pleased to end me now, for 'tis full time.

If now ye end me, 'twill be at a time

When my misfortunes can no further go;

See, if ye linger, they will lesser grow,

For evil endeth if it bides its time.

I do not ask that ye should come, with pleasure

And sweetness filled, since ye no path will gain

To the life I have lost to lead me back.

Hours, to all others blissful beyond measure,

Grant me but the sweet hour of mortal pain,

Even death's hour--this boon alone I lack.

After the shepherds listened to what Silerio had sung without his

seeing them, they turned to meet the others who were coming there, with

the intent that Timbrio should do what you shall now hear. This was,

that, having told him how they had found Silerio, and in the place

where he was, Thyrsis asked him that, without any of them letting

themselves be recognised by him, they should gradually go approaching

towards him, whether he saw them or not--for though the night was

bright, no one would be recognised on that account--and that he should

likewise make Nisida or himself sing something; and all this he did to

moderate the joy Silerio must needs feel from their arrival. Timbrio

was satisfied with this, and Nisida, being told it, came to be of his

opinion too; and so, when it seemed to Thyrsis that they were now so

near that they could be heard by Silerio, he caused the fair Nisida to

begin; and she, to the sound of the jealous Orfenio's rebeck, began to

sing in this wise:

NISIDA.

Though my soul is satisfied

With the bliss which is my own,

'Tis in part racked and undone

By another's bliss denied;

Fortune scant and Love bestow--

Enemies unto my pleasure--

On me bliss in niggard measure,

And unmeasured endless woe.

In the state by Love befriended

Although merit may abound,

Pleasure is as lonely found,

E'en as evil comes attended;

Evils aye in unity

Walk, nor for a moment sever,

Blisses are divided ever

That their end may sooner be.

What it costeth to attain

Any joy of love so fair,

Let our love and hope declare,

And our patience make it plain;

One bliss untold agony

Costeth, one joy untold sighs--

Ah! they know it well, my sighs

And my wearied memory.

Which forever hath in mind

That which power to help it hath

Yet to find it, road or path

Nowhere doth the memory find;

Ah! sweet friend of that fair youth

Who did call thee friend, when he

Claimed the name of friend from thee,

E'en as I am his in truth!

Our unthought-of happiness

Groweth better when thou'rt near,

Let not thy cruel absence drear

Turn it to unhappiness;

Anguish sore the memory

Rouseth, that reminds me how

I was wise, and foolish thou,

Thou art wise, and foolish I.

More he lost in losing thee--

He to whom, fortune thy guide,

Thou didst give me as his bride--

Than he won in winning me;

Half his soul in thee he had,

Thou wert he, by whom my soul

Could attain the happy goal

That thine absence maketh sad.

If the exquisite grace with which the fair Nisida was singing, caused

admiration in those who were with her, what would it cause in the

breast of Silerio, who, without missing anything, noted and listened to

all the details of her song? And as he retained Nisida's voice so well

in his soul, its accents scarce began to resound in his ears when he

came to be perturbed, and amazed and to be beside himself, enraptured

by what he heard. And though truly it seemed to him that it was

Nisida's voice, he had so lost the hope of seeing her, and above all in

such a place, that in no way could he make sure of his suspicion. In

this manner all came to where he was; and Thyrsis, greeting him, said

to him:

'You left us, friend Silerio, so attracted by your disposition and

converse, that Damon and I, drawn by experience of them, and all this

company by their fame, leaving the way we were taking, have come to

seek you in your hermitage, and when we did not find you there, as we

did not, our desire would have remained unfulfilled, had not the sound

of your harp and of your admirable song guided us here.'

'Far better had it been, sirs,' replied Silerio, 'that you had not

found me, since in me you will find naught save occasions to move you

to sadness, for the sadness I endure in my soul time takes care each

day to renew, not only with the memory of the past happiness, but with

the shadows of the present, which at last will be so indeed, since from

my fortune naught else can be hoped for, save feigned happiness and

certain fear.'

Silerio's words caused pity in all who knew him, especially in Timbrio,

Nisida, and Blanca, who loved him so much, and they would straightway

have let themselves be known by him had it not been that it would be

deviating from what Thyrsis had bidden them. He made them all sit down

on the green grass, and in such a way that the rays of the bright moon

should strike the faces of Nisida and Blanca from behind, in order that

Silerio might not recognise them. Being then in this fashion, and after

Damon had said some words of consolation to Silerio, in order that the

time should not be spent wholly in discoursing on things of sadness,

and to make a beginning, so that Silerio's sadness might end, he begged

him to play his harp, to the sound of which Damon himself sang this

sonnet:

DAMON.

If the wild fury of the angry main

Should long time in its ruthlessness endure,

Whoso should to the storm his vessel, poor

And frail, entrust, could little comfort gain.

Bliss doth not always in one state remain,

Nor woe, but each of them doth fly away,

For if bliss were to flee, and woe to stay,

Ere this the world had been confusion plain.

Night follows after day, heat after cold,

After the fruit the flower, and thus we find

Opposites reconciling everywhere.

Meek slavery is changed to lordship bold,

Pain into pleasure, glory into wind,

'For nature is by such transformings fair.'

Damon ceased singing, and straightway beckoned to Timbrio to sing

likewise. He, to the sound of Silerio's harp, began a sonnet which he

had composed in the time of his love's fervour, which was as well known

to Silerio as to Timbrio himself.

TIMBRIO.

My hope is builded on so sure a base

That, though the fiercer blow the ruthless wind,

It cannot shake the bonds that firmly bind,

Such faith, such strength, such fortune it displays.

Timbrio could not end the sonnet he had begun, for Silerio's hearing of

his voice and recognition of him took place together, and, unable to

do aught else, he arose from where he was seated, and went to embrace

Timbrio's neck with tokens of such strange content and surprise, that

without speaking a word he became faint and was for a while without

consciousness, with such grief on the part of those present, who feared

some mishap, that they already condemned as evil Thyrsis's artifice;

but she who showed the most extremes of grief was the fair Blanca, as

the one who tenderly loved him. Straightway Nisida and her sister came

up to give remedy to the swoon of Silerio, who after a little while

came to himself, saying:

'Oh, mighty Heaven! is it possible that he I have before me is my true

friend Timbrio? Is it Timbrio I hear, is it Timbrio I see? Yes it is,

if my fortune does not mock me, and my eyes deceive me not.'

'Neither does your fortune mock you, nor do your eyes deceive you,

my sweet friend,' replied Timbrio, 'for I am he who without you was

not, and he who would never have been, had Heaven not permitted him

to find you. Let your tears now cease, friend Silerio, if for me you

have shed them, since now you have me here, for I will check mine,

since I have you before me, calling myself the happiest of all that

live in the world, since my misfortunes and adversities have been so

discounted that my soul enjoys the possession of Nisida, and my eyes

your presence.'

By these words of Timbrio's Silerio knew that she who had sung, and she

who was there, was Nisida; but he was more sure of it, when she herself

said to him:

'What is this, Silerio mine? What solitude and what garb is this, which

gives such tokens of your discontent? What false suspicions or what

deceptions have brought you to such an extreme, in order that Timbrio

and I might endure the extreme of grief all our life, being absent from

you who gave it to us?'

'They were deceptions, fair Nisida,' replied Silerio, 'but because they

have brought such ways of undeceiving they will be celebrated by my

memory so long as it shall last in me.'

For the most of this time Blanca had been holding one of Silerio's

hands, gazing intently on his face, shedding some tears, which gave

manifest proof of the joy and pity of her heart. It would be long to

relate the words of love and content that passed between Silerio,

Timbrio, Nisida, and Blanca, which were so tender and of such a kind,

that all the shepherds who heard them had their eyes bathed in tears

of joy. Straightway Silerio related briefly the cause that had moved

him to withdraw to that hermitage, with the thought of ending therein

his life, since of theirs he had not been able to learn any news;

and all that he said was the means of kindling yet more in Timbrio's

breast the love and friendship he had for Silerio, and in Blanca's

friendship for his misery. And so when Silerio finished relating what

had happened to him after he left Naples, he asked Timbrio to do the

same, for he desired it extremely; saying that he should not be afraid

of the shepherds who were present, for all or most of them already knew

his great friendship and part of his adventures. Timbrio was delighted

to do what Silerio asked, and the shepherds, who likewise desired it,

were more delighted; for seeing that Thyrsis had told it to them, all

knew already the love-affair of Timbrio and Nisida, and all that which

Thyrsis himself had heard from Silerio. All then being seated, as I

have already said, on the green grass, they were awaiting with wondrous

attention what Timbrio would say, and he said:

'After fortune was so favourable to me and so adverse, that it allowed

me to conquer my enemy and conquered me by the consternation of the

false news of Nisida's death, with such sorrow as can be imagined, at

that very moment I left for Naples, and Nisida's unlucky fate being

confirmed there, so as not to see her father's house, where I had seen

her, and in order that the streets, windows, and other spots where I

was wont to see her, might not continually renew in me the memory of

my past happiness, without knowing what way to take, without my will

following any course, I went from the city, and in two days came to

strong Gaeta, where I found a ship which was just on the point of

unfurling its sails to the wind to leave for Spain; I embarked on it,

only to flee from the hateful land where I was leaving my heaven.

But scarcely had the busy sailors weighed anchor and spread their

sails, and put out some distance to sea, when there arose a sudden and

unthought-of tempest, and a squall of wind smote the ship's sails with

such fury that it broke the foremast and split the mizzen sail from

top to bottom. Straightway the ready sailors came to the rescue and

with the greatest difficulty furled all the sails, for the tempest was

increasing, and the sea was beginning to rise, and the sky was giving

signs of a long and fearful storm. It was not possible to return to

port, for the wind which blew was the mistral, and with such great

violence that it was necessary to set the foresail on the mainmast,

and to ease her, as they say, by the stern, letting her drive where

the wind might will. And so the ship, driven by its fury, began to

run with such speed over the stormy sea, that in the two days the

mistral lasted, we ran by all the islands in that course, without being

able to take shelter in any, passing always in sight of them, without

Stromboli sheltering us, or Lipari receiving us, or Cimbalo, Lampadosa,

or Pantanalea serving for our aid; and we passed so near to Barbary

that the recently destroyed walls of the Goleta were revealed and the

ancient ruins of Carthage showed themselves. Not small was the alarm of

those on board the ship, who feared that if the wind became somewhat

stronger, they must needs be driven on a hostile coast; but when they

were most in fear of this, fate, which was keeping a better one in

store for us, or Heaven which heard the vows and promises made there,

ordained that the mistral should be changed into a south wind which

was so strong--and which touched on the quarter of the sirocco,--that

in another two days it brought us back to the very port of Gaeta from

which we had started, with such relief to all that some set out to

fulfil the pilgrimages and promises they had made in the past danger.

The ship remained there, being refitted with some things she required,

for another four days, at the end of which she resumed her voyage in a

calmer sea and with a favourable wind, keeping in sight the fair coast

of Genoa, full of gay gardens, white houses, and gleaming pinnacles,

which, being struck by the sun's rays, flash with such burning rays

that they can scarcely be looked at. All these things which were being

seen from the ship, might have caused content, as indeed they did to

all those who were on board the ship, except to me, for to me they were

the cause of greater sorrow. The only relief I had was to occupy myself

in lamenting my woes, singing them, or, let me say rather, bewailing

them to the sound of a lute belonging to one of the sailors; and one

night I remember--and indeed it is well that I should remember, since

then my day began to dawn,--that, the sea being calm, the winds still,

the sails fixed to the mast, and the sailors without any care lying

stretched in different parts of the ship, and the helmsman almost

asleep by reason of the fair weather there was, and that which the sky

promised, in the midst of this silence and in the midst of my fancies,

as my griefs did not suffer me to yield my eyes to sleep, seated on the

poop, I took the lute, and began to sing some verses, which I must now

repeat, in order that it may be noted from what extreme of sadness, and

how without thinking it, fate led me to the greatest extreme of joy

imaginable; this, if I remember right, was what I sang:

TIMBRIO.

Now that silent is the wind

And the peaceful sea at rest,

Let my pain no silence find,

For my grieving from my breast

Issue soul with voice conjoined;

To recount wherefore I grieve,

Showing that my grief in part

Comes perforce, the soul must give

Tokens, and likewise the heart,

Of the deadly pangs that live.

Once Love bore me off in flight

Through the ranks of bitter woe,

Raising me to Heaven's height:

Death and Love to earth below

Now have hurled this hapless wight;

Love and death it was ordained

Such a love and death as this,

O'er sweet Nisida they reigned,

From her woe and from my bliss

Fame unending they attained.

With new voice, more terrible

Henceforth, and with awesome sound,

Fame will make it credible

That Love is a champion found

And death is invincible;

Satisfied the world will be

At their might, whene'er it knows

How the twain have wrought in me:

Death her glorious life did close,

Love my bosom holds in fee.

But I think, since I am brought

Nor to madness nor to death

By the anguish they have wrought,

That death little power hath,

Or that feeling I have not;

For if I but feeling had,

So the increasing anguish strives

Everywhere to drive me mad,

Though I had a thousand lives,

Countless times had I been dead.

My surpassing victory

By the death was famous made

Of the life, which needs must be

Chief of all the past displayed

Or the present age can see;

Therefrom I achieved as prize

Grief within my loving heart,

Countless tears within my eyes,

In my soul confusion's smart,

In my true breast agonies.

Cruel hand of him my foe,

Hadst thou but my doom fulfilled,

I had held thee friend, for, lo!

In the slaying thou hadst stilled

All the anguish of my woe!

What a bitter reckoning

Victory brought, for I shall pay--

And I feel it as I sing--

For the pleasure of a day

With an age-long suffering!

Sea, that hearkenest to my cry,

Heaven, that didst my woe ordain,

Love, that causest me to sigh,

Death, that hast my glory ta'en,

End ye now my agony!

Sea, my lifeless corse receive,

Heaven, to my soul grant thy calm,

Love, to fame the tidings give,

That death carried off the palm

From this life that doth not live!

Heaven, Love, and death and sea,

Now to aid me linger not,

Make an end of ending me,

For 'twill be the happiest lot

Ye can give and I foresee!

If sea doth not drowning give,

And Heaven welcome doth deny,

If Love must for ever live,

And I fear I shall not die,

Where can I repose receive?

'I remember that I came to these last verses I have repeated, when,

without being able to proceed further, interrupted by countless sighs

and sobs which I sent forth from my hapless breast, afflicted by the

memory of my misfortunes, from merely feeling them I came to lose my

senses by such a paroxysm that for a good while it held me unconscious;

but after the bitter attack had passed, I opened my wearied eyes and

found my head lying in the lap of a woman, dressed in pilgrim's attire,

and at my side was another, decked in the same garb, who was holding my

hands whilst both wept tenderly. When I saw myself in that position,

I was amazed and confused, and was doubting whether it was a vision

I saw, for never had I seen such women in the ship since I had gone

on board. But the fair Nisida here--for she was the pilgrim who was

there--drew me from this confusion, saying to me: "Ah, Timbrio, my

true lord and friend, what false fancies or what luckless accidents

have caused you to be placed where you now are, and my sister and me

to take such little account of what we owed to our honour, and without

heeding any difficulty to have wished to leave our beloved parents

and our wonted garb, with the intention of looking for you and of

undeceiving you about my so doubtful death which might have caused

yours in reality?" When I heard such words, I became quite convinced

that I was dreaming, and that it was some vision I had before my eyes,

and that my ceaseless thoughts that did not depart from Nisida were

the cause that represented her there to my eyes alive. A thousand

questions I asked them and in all they completely satisfied me, before

I could calm my understanding and assure myself that they were Nisida

and Blanca. But when I came to learn the truth, the joy I felt was such

that it, too, well-nigh brought me to the pass of losing my life as

the past grief had done. Then I learned from Nisida how your mistake

and neglect, oh Silerio, in making the signal of the kerchief, was the

cause why she, believing that some ill had befallen me, fell into such

a swoon and faint, that all believed her to be dead, as I thought, and

you, Silerio, believed. She also told me how, after coming to herself,

she learned the truth of my victory together with my sudden and hasty

departure, and your absence, the news of which brought her to the verge

of making true that of her death; but as it did not bring her to the

last extreme, it caused her and her sister, by the artifice of a nurse

of theirs who came with them, to dress themselves in the attire of

pilgrims, and in disguise to go away from their parents one night when

they were approaching Gaeta on the return they were making to Naples.

And it was at the time when the ship on which I had embarked, having

been repaired after the storm which had passed, was on the point of

departing; and telling the captain they wished to cross over to Spain

to go to Santiago of Galicia, they agreed with him and embarked with

the intention of coming to seek me at Xeres, where they thought to

find me or to learn some news of me; and all the time they had been in

the ship, which would be four days, they had not left a cabin which

the captain had given them in the stern, until, hearing me sing the

verses I have repeated to you, and recognising me by the voice, and

by what I said in them, they came out at the moment I have told you,

when, celebrating with joyous tears the happiness of having found one

another, we were looking at one another, without knowing with what

words to increase our new and unexpected joy, which would have grown

the greater, and would have reached the point and pass it has now

reached, if we had then known any news of you, friend Silerio. But, as

there is no pleasure which comes so perfect as wholly to satisfy the

heart, in that we then felt, there was wanting to us, not only your

presence, but even news of it. The brightness of the night, the cool

and pleasing wind (which favouring and gentle at that moment began

to strike the sails), the calm sea and the cloudless sky, it seems,

all together, and each by itself, helped to celebrate the joy of our

hearts. But fickle fortune, from whose disposition one can make sure

of no stability, envious of our happiness, chose to disturb it by

the greatest mishap that could have been imagined, had not time and

favouring circumstances turned it to a better issue. It happened then

that at the time the wind began to freshen, the busy sailors hoisted

all the sails higher and assured themselves of a safe and prosperous

voyage to the general joy of all. One of them, who was seated on one

side of the bow, discovered by the brightness of the moon's low rays,

that four rowing vessels with long-drawn-out stroke were approaching

the ship with great speed and haste, and at the moment he knew that

they were an enemy's, and with loud cries began to shout: "To arms,

to arms, for Turkish vessels are in sight!" This cry and sudden alarm

caused such panic in all the crew of the ship, that, without being

able to take thought for the approaching danger, they looked at one

another; but its captain (who had sometimes seen himself in similar

circumstances), coming to the bow, sought to learn how large the

vessels were and how many, and he discovered two more than the sailor,

and recognised that they were galliots with slave crews, whereat he

must needs have felt no small fear. But, dissembling as best he could,

he straightway ordered the guns to be prepared and the sails to be

trimmed as much as possible to meet the opposing vessels so as to

see if he could go between them and let the guns play on every side.

Straightway all rushed to arms, and, dispersed at their posts, as

well as could be, awaited the coming of the enemy. Who will be able

to express to you, sirs, the pain I felt at this moment, seeing my

happiness disturbed with such quickness, and myself so near the chance

of losing it, and the more when I saw Nisida and Blanca looking at each

other without speaking a word, confused by the uproar and shouting

there was in the ship, and seeing myself asking them to shut themselves

up in their cabin and pray to God to deliver us from the enemy's hands?

This was a situation which makes the imagination faint when the memory

recalls it; their open tears, and the violence I did myself so as not

to show mine, held me in such a way that I had almost forgotten what

I ought to do, who I was, and what the danger required. But at last I

made them withdraw almost fainting to their cabin, and shutting them in

from outside, hastened to see what the captain was ordering. He with

prudent care was providing everything necessary for the emergency, and

entrusting to Darinto, the gentleman who left us to-day, the guard

of the forecastle, and handing over to me the poop, he with some

sailors and passengers hurried through all the waist of the ship from

one part to another. The enemy did not delay much in approaching, and

the wind delayed rather less in growing calm, which was the complete

cause of our ruin. The enemy did not dare to board, for, seeing that

the weather was growing calm, it seemed to them better to wait for the

day in order to attack us. They did so, and, when the day came, though

we had already counted them, we saw finally that it was fifteen big

vessels that had surrounded us, and then the fear of being lost was

at once confirmed in our breasts. Nevertheless, the valiant captain,

not losing heart--nor did any of those who were with him,--waited to

see what the enemy would do. They, as soon as morning came, lowered a

boat from their flagship, and sent by a renegade to tell our captain

to surrender, since he saw he could not defend himself against so

many vessels, and the more so that they were all the best in Algiers,

threatening him on behalf of Arnaut Mami, his general, that if the ship

discharged a single piece, he would hang him from a yard-arm when he

caught him, and the renegade, adding to these other threats, urged him

to surrender. But the captain, not wishing to do so, told the renegade

in reply to sheer off from the ship or he would send him to the bottom

with the guns. Arnaut heard this reply, and straightway priming the

guns of his ship everywhere, began to play them from a distance with

such speed, fury, and din, that it was a marvel. Our ship began to do

the same with such good fortune that she sent to the bottom one of the

vessels that were attacking her at the stern, for she hit her with a

ball close to the harpings, in such a manner that the sea swallowed

her without receiving any succour. The Turks, seeing this, hurried on

the fight, and in four hours attacked us four times and as many times

retired with great loss on their part, and no small loss on ours. But,

not to weary you by relating to you in detail the things that happened

in this fight, I will only say that after we had fought sixteen

hours, and after our captain and nearly all the crew of the ship had

perished, at the end of nine assaults they made upon us, at the last

they furiously boarded the ship. Though I should wish, yet I cannot

exaggerate the grief that came to my soul when I saw that my beloved

darlings whom now I have before me, must needs then be handed over to,

and come into the power of those cruel butchers; and so, carried away

by the wrath this fear and thought caused in me, I rushed with unarmed

breast through the midst of the barbarous swords, desirous of dying

from the cruelty of their edge, rather than to see with my eyes what I

expected. But things came to pass differently from what I had feared,

for, three stalwart Turks grappling with me, and I struggling with

them, we all fell up confusedly against the door of the cabin where

Nisida and Blanca were, and with the force of the blow the door was

broken open, displaying the treasure that was there enclosed. The enemy

lusting after it, one of them seized Nisida and the other Blanca; and

I, seeing myself free from the two made the other who held me leave his

life at my feet, and I thought to do the same with the two, had they

not, warned of the danger, given up their hold of the two ladies and

stretched me on the floor with two great wounds. Nisida, seeing this,

threw herself upon my wounded body and with lamentable cries begged the

two Turks to finish her. At this moment, drawn by the cries and laments

of Nisida and Blanca, Arnaut, the general of the vessels, hurried up

to the cabin, and, learning from the soldiers what was going on, had

Nisida and Blanca carried to his galley, and at Nisida's prayer also

gave orders for them to carry me thither, since I was not yet dead.

In this manner, without my being conscious, they carried me to the

enemy's flagship, where I was straightway tended with some diligence,

for Nisida had told the captain that I was a man of rank and of great

ransom, with the intention that, tempted by the bait of covetousness

and of the money they might get from me, they should look after my

health with somewhat more care. It happened then, that, as my wounds

were being tended, I returned to consciousness with the pain of them,

and turning my eyes in every direction, I knew I was in the power of my

enemies, and in the enemy's vessel; but nothing touched my soul so much

as to see at the stern of the galley Nisida and Blanca sitting at the

feet of the dog of a general, shedding from their eyes countless tears,

the tokens of the inward grief they were suffering. Neither the fear

of the shameful death I was awaiting when you, good friend Silerio,

in Catalonia freed me from it; neither the false tidings of Nisida's

death, believed by me as true; neither the pain of my deadly wounds,

nor any other affliction I might imagine, caused me, nor will cause

more anguish than that which came to me at seeing Nisida and Blanca in

the power of that barbarous unbeliever, where their honour was placed

in such imminent and manifest peril. The pain of this anguish worked

so much upon my soul that I once again lost my senses, and took away

the hope of my health and life from the surgeon who was tending me, in

such a manner that believing I was dead, he stopped in the midst of his

tending of me, assuring all that I had already passed from this life.

When this news was heard by the two hapless sisters, let them say what

they felt, if they make so bold, for I can only say that I afterwards

learned that the two, rising from where they were, tearing their ruddy

locks, and scratching their fair faces, without anyone being able to

hold them back, came to where I lay in a faint, and there began to make

so piteous a lament, that they moved to compassion the very breasts of

the cruel barbarians. By reason of Nisida's tears which were falling on

my face, or through the wounds already cold and swollen which caused

me great pain, I returned again to consciousness, to be conscious of my

new misfortune. I will pass in silence now the piteous and loving words

that in that hapless moment passed between Nisida and myself, so as not

to sadden so much the joyous moment in which we now find ourselves,

nor do I wish to relate in detail the dire straits she told me she had

passed through with the captain. He, overcome by her beauty, made her

a thousand promises, a thousand gifts, a thousand threats, that she

might come to submit to his lawless will; but showing herself towards

him as scornful as modest, and as modest as scornful, she was able all

that day and the following night to defend herself from the hateful

importunities of the corsair. But as Nisida's continued presence went

on increasing in him every moment his lustful desire, without any doubt

it might have been feared, as I did fear, that by his abandoning his

prayers and using violence, Nisida might lose her honour or life, the

latter being the likelier to be expected from her virtue. But fortune,

being now weary of having placed us in the lowest stage of misery,

chose to show us that what is published abroad of her instability is

true, by a means which brought us to the pass of praying Heaven to keep

us in that hapless lot, instead of losing our lives on the swollen

billows of the angry sea: which after two days that we were captives,

and at the time we were taking the direct course to Barbary, moved by a

furious sirocco, began to rise mountains high, and to lash the pirate

fleet with such fury, that the wearied oarsmen, without being able to

avail themselves of the oars, bridled them and had recourse to the

wonted remedy of the foresail on the mast, and of letting themselves

run wherever the wind and sea listed. And the tempest increased in such

a manner that in less than half an hour it scattered and dispersed the

vessels in different directions, without any of them being able to

give heed to following their captain, but rather in a little while,

all being separated as I have said, our vessel came to be left alone,

and to be the one that danger threatened most; for she began to make

so much water through her seams, that however much they bailed her in

all the cabins at the stern, bow, and mizzen, the water in the bilge

all the time reached the knee. And to all this misfortune was added

the approach of night, which in such cases, more than in any others,

increases dread fear; and it came with such darkness and renewed

tempestuousness, that we all wholly despaired of help. Seek not to

learn more, sirs, save that the very Turks begged the Christians, who

were captives at the oar, to invoke and call on their saints and their

Christ, to deliver them from such misfortune, and the prayers of the

wretched Christians who were there were not so much in vain that high

Heaven moved by them let the wind grow calm, nay rather it increased

it with such force and fury, that at break of day, which could only

be told by the hours of the sand-glass by which they are measured,

the ill-steered vessel found herself off the coast of Catalonia, so

near land, and so unable to get away from it, that it was necessary to

hoist the sail a little higher, in order that she might drive with more

force upon a wide beach which offered itself to us in front; for the

love of life made the slavery the Turks expected appear sweet to them.

Scarcely had the galley driven ashore, when straightway there hurried

down to the beach a number of people armed, whose dress and speech

showed them to be Catalans, and the coast to be Catalonia, and even

the very spot where at the risk of yours, friend Silerio, you saved my

life. Who could exaggerate now the joy of the Christians, who saw their

necks free and relieved from the unbearable and heavy yoke of bitter

captivity; and the prayers and entreaties the Turks, free a little

while before, made to their own slaves, begging them to see that they

were not ill-treated by the angry Christians, who were already awaiting

them on the beach, with the desire of avenging the wrong these very

Turks had done them, in sacking their town, as you, Silerio, know? And

the fear they had did not turn out vain for them, for the people of the

place, entering the galley which lay stranded on the sand, wrought such

cruel havoc on the corsairs that very few were left with life; and had

it not been that the greedy desire of sacking the galley blinded them,

all the Turks had been killed in this first onslaught. Finally the

Turks who remained, and we captive Christians who came there, were all

plundered; and if the clothes I wore had not been stained with blood,

I believe they would not have left me even them. Darinto who was also

there, helped straightway to look after Nisida and Blanca, and to see

that I might be taken ashore to be tended there. When I came out and

recognised the place where I was, and considered the danger in which I

had seen myself there, it did not fail to give me some anxiety, caused

by the fear of being known and punished for what I ought not to be; and

so I begged Darinto to arrange for us to go to Barcelona without making

any delay, telling him the cause that moved me to it. But it was not

possible, for my wounds distressed me in such a way that they forced me

to be there for some days, as I was, without being visited save by a

surgeon. In the meantime Darinto went to Barcelona, whence he returned,

providing himself with what we needed; and, as he found me better and

stronger, we straightway took the road for the city of Toledo, to

learn of Nisida's kinsmen if they knew of her parents, to whom we have

already written all the late events of our lives, asking forgiveness

for our past errors. And all the happiness and grief from these good

and evil events has been increased and diminished by your absence,

Silerio. But since Heaven has now, with such great blessings, given a

remedy to our calamities, there remains naught else save that you,

friend Silerio, should render it fitting thanks therefor, and banish

the past sadness by reason of the present joy, and endeavour to give

it to one who for many days has for your sake lived without it, as you

shall learn when we are more alone, and I acquaint you therewith. There

remain some other things for me to tell, which have happened to me in

the course of this my journey; but I must leave them for the nonce, so

as not, by reason of their tediousness, to displease these shepherds,

who have been the instrument of all my delight and pleasure. This,

then, friend Silerio and shepherd friends, is the issue of my life.

Mark if, from the life I have gone through and from that I go through

now, I can call myself the most ill-starred and the happiest man of

those that are living to-day.'

With these last words the joyful Timbrio ended his tale, and all those

that were present rejoiced at the happy issue his toils had had,

Silerio's content passing beyond all that can be said. He, turning

anew to embrace Timbrio, and constrained by the desire to learn who

the person was that for his sake lived without content, begged leave

of the shepherds, and went apart with Timbrio on one side, where he

learned from him that the fair Blanca, Nisida's sister, was the one who

loved him more than herself, from the very day and moment she learned

who he was and the worth of his character, and that, so as not to go

against what she owed to her honour, she had never wished to reveal

this thought except to her sister, by whose agency she hoped to have

honoured him in the fulfilment of her desires. Timbrio likewise told

him how the gentleman Darinto, who came with him and of whom he had

made mention in his late discourse, knowing who Blanca was, and carried

away by her beauty, had fallen in love with her so earnestly that he

asked her from her sister Nisida as his wife, and she undeceived him

saying that Blanca would by no means consent; and that Darinto being

angry thereat, believing that they rejected him for his little worth,

Nisida, in order to free him from this suspicion, had to tell him how

Blanca had her thoughts busied with Silerio; but that Darinto had not

turned faint-hearted on this account, nor abandoned his purpose--'for

as he knew that no news was known of you, Silerio, he fancied that the

services he thought to render to Blanca, and the lapse of time, would

make her desist from her first intention. And with this motive he would

never leave us, until hearing yesterday from the shepherds sure tidings

of your life, knowing the happiness that Blanca had felt thereat, and

considering it to be impossible that Darinto could gain what he desired

when Silerio appeared, he went away from all, without taking leave of

anyone, with tokens of the greatest grief.'

Together with this Timbrio counselled his friend to be content that

Blanca was to have him, choosing her and accepting her as wife, since

he already knew her and was not ignorant of her worth and modesty; and

he dwelt on the joy and pleasure they both would have seeing themselves

wedded to two such sisters. Silerio asked him in reply to give him

time to think about this action, though he knew that in the end it was

impossible not to do what he bade him. At this moment the white dawn

was already beginning to give tokens of its new approach, and the stars

were gradually hiding their brightness; and at this point there came to

the ears of all the voice of the love-sick Lauso, who, as his friend

Damon had known that they must needs spend that night in Silerio's

hermitage, wished to be with him, and with the other shepherds. And as

it was all his pleasure and pastime to sing to the sound of his rebeck

the prosperous or adverse issue of his love, carried away by his mood,

and invited by the solitude of the road and by the delicious harmony

of the birds, who were already beginning to greet the coming day with

their sweet concerted song, he came singing in a low voice verses such

as these:

LAUSO.

I lift my gaze unto the noblest part

That can be fancied by the loving thought,

Where I behold the worth, admire the art

That hath the loftiest mind to rapture brought;

But if ye fain would learn what was the part

That my free neck within its fierce yoke caught,

That made me captive, claims me as its prize,

Mine eyes it is, Silena, and thine eyes.

Thine eyes it is, from whose clear light I gain

The light that unto Heaven guideth me,

Of the celestial light a token plain,

Light that abhorreth all obscurity;

It makes the fire, the yoke, and e'en the chain,

That burns me, burdens, and afflicts, to be

Relief and comfort to the soul, a Heaven

Unto the life the soul hath to thee given.

Oh eyes divine! my soul's joy and delight,

The end and mark to which my wishes go,

Eyes, that, if I see aught, have given me sight,

Eyes that have made the murky day to glow;

My anguish and my gladness in your light

Love set; in you I contemplate and know

The bitter, sweet, and yet the truthful story

Of certain hell, of my uncertain glory.

In darkness blind I walked, when I no more

Was guided by your light, oh eyes so fair!

No more I saw the heavens, but wandered o'er

The world, 'midst thorns and brambles everywhere;

But at the very moment when the power

Of your bright clustered rays my soul laid bare,

And touched it to the quick, I saw quite plain

The path that leads to bliss, open and plain.

Ye, ye, it is, and shall be, cloudless eyes,

That do and can uplift me thus to claim

Amongst the little number of the wise,

As best I can, a high renownèd name;

This ye can do, if ye my enemies

Remain no longer, nor account it shame

Sometimes a glance to cast me, for in this--

Glancing and glances--lies a lover's bliss.

If this be true, Silena, none hath been,

Nor is, nor will be, who with constancy

Can or will love thee, as I love my queen,

However Love his aid, and fortune, be;

I have deserved this glory--to be seen

By thee--for my unbroken loyalty.

'Tis folly, though, to think that one can win

That which one scarce can contemplate therein.

The love-sick Lauso ended his song and his journey at the same moment,

and he was lovingly received by all who were with Silerio, increasing

by his presence the joy all had by reason of the fair issue Silerio's

troubles had had; and, as Damon was telling them to him, there appeared

close to the hermitage the venerable Aurelio, who, with some of his

shepherds, was bringing some dainties wherewith to regale and satisfy

those who were there, as he had promised the day before he left them.

Thyrsis and Damon were astonished to see him come without Elicio and

Erastro, and they were more so when they came to know the cause why

they had stayed behind. Aurelio approached, and his approach would have

increased the more the happiness of all, if he had not said, directing

his words to Timbrio:

'If you prize yourself, as it is right you should prize yourself,

valiant Timbrio, as being a true friend of him who is yours, now

is the time to show it, by hurrying to tend Darinto, who, no great

distance from here, is so sad and afflicted and so far from accepting

any consolation in the grief he suffers that some words of consolation

I gave him did not suffice for him to take them as such. Elicio,

Erastro, and I found him, some two hours ago in the midst of yonder

mountain which reveals itself on this our right hand, his horse tied

by the reins to a pine tree, and himself stretched on the ground face

downwards, uttering tender and mournful sighs, and from time to time

he spoke some words which were directed to curse his fortune. And at

the piteous sound of them we approached him, and by the moon's rays,

though with difficulty, he was recognised by us and pressed to tell

us the cause of his woe. He told it to us, and thereby we learned the

little remedy he had. Nevertheless Elicio and Erastro have remained

with him, and I have come to give you the news of the plight in which

his thoughts hold him; and since they are so manifest to you, seek to

remedy them with deeds, or hasten to console them with words.'

'Words, good Aurelio,' replied Timbrio, 'will be all I shall spend

thereon, if indeed he is not willing to avail himself of the occasion

to undeceive himself and to dispose his desires so that time and

absence may work in him their wonted effects; but, that he may not

think that I do not respond to what I owe to his friendship, tell me,

Aurelio, where you left him, for I wish to go at once to see him.'

'I will go with you,' replied Aurelio, and straightway at the moment

all the shepherds arose to accompany Timbrio and to learn the cause

of Darinto's woe, leaving Silerio with Nisida and Blanca to the

happiness of the three, which was so great that they did not succeed

in uttering a word. On the way from there to where Aurelio had left

Darinto, Timbrio told those who went with him the cause of Darinto's

sorrow, and the little remedy that might be hoped for it, since the

fair Blanca, for whom he was sorrowing, had her thoughts set on her

good friend Silerio, saying to them likewise that he must needs strive

with all his skill and powers that Silerio might grant what Blanca

desired, and begging them all to help and favour his purpose, for,

on leaving Darinto, he wished them all to ask Silerio to consent to

receive Blanca as his lawful wife. The shepherds offered to do what

he bade them; and during these discourses they came to where Aurelio

believed Elicio, Darinto, and Erastro would be; but they did not find

anyone, though they skirted and covered a great part of a small wood

which was there, whereat they felt no little sorrow. But, while in it,

they heard a sigh so mournful that it set them in confusion and in the

desire to learn who had uttered it; but they were quickly drawn from

this doubt by another which they heard no less sad than the former,

and all hurrying to the spot whence the sigh came, saw not far from

them at the foot of a tall walnut tree two shepherds, one seated on the

green grass, and the other stretched on the ground, his head placed

on the other's knees. The one seated had his head bent down, shedding

tears and gazing intently on him whom he had on his knees, and, for

this reason, as also because the other had lost his colour and was of

pallid countenance, they were not able at once to know who he was; but

when they came nearer, they knew at once that the shepherds were Elicio

and Erastro, Elicio the pallid one, and Erastro the one that wept.

The sad appearance of the two hapless shepherds caused great wonder

and sadness in all who came there, because they were great friends

of theirs, and because they did not know the cause that held them in

such wise; but he that wondered most was Aurelio, because he said that

he had left them so recently in Darinto's company with tokens of all

pleasure and happiness, so that apparently he had not been the cause of

all their misery. Erastro then seeing that the shepherds were coming to

him, shook Elicio, saying to him:

'Come to yourself, hapless shepherd, arise, and seek a spot where you

can by yourself bewail your misfortune, for I think to do the same

until life ends.'

And saying this he took in his two hands Elicio's head and, putting it

off his knees, set it on the ground, without the shepherd being able

to return to consciousness; and Erastro, rising, was turning his back

to go away, had not Thyrsis and Damon and the other shepherds, kept

him from it. Damon went to where Elicio was, and taking him in his

arms, made him come to himself. Elicio opened his eyes, and, because

he knew all who were there, he took care that his tongue, moved and

constrained by grief, should not say anything that might declare the

cause of it: and, though this was asked of him by all the shepherds,

he never gave any answer save that he knew naught of himself but that,

as he was speaking with Erastro, a severe fainting fit had seized him.

Erastro said the same, and for this reason the shepherds ceased to ask

him further the reason of his affliction, but rather they asked him

to return with them to Silerio's hermitage and to let them take him

thence to the village or to his hut: but it was not possible for them

to prevail with him in this beyond letting him return to the village.

Seeing then that this was his desire, they did not wish to oppose it,

but rather offered to go with him, but he wished no one's company,

nor would he have accepted it, had not his friend Damon's persistence

overcome him, and so he had to depart with him, Damon having agreed

with Thyrsis to see each other that night in the village or Elicio's

hut, in order to arrange to return to theirs. Aurelio and Timbrio asked

Erastro for Darinto, and he told them in reply that as soon as Aurelio

had left them the fainting fit had seized Elicio, and whilst he was

tending to him, Darinto had departed with all haste, and they had seen

him no more. Timbrio and those who came with him, seeing then that they

did not find Darinto, determined to return to the hermitage and beg

Silerio to accept the fair Blanca as his wife; and with this intention

they all returned except Erastro, who wished to follow his friend

Elicio; and so, taking leave of them, accompanied only by his rebeck,

he went away by the same road Elicio had gone. The latter, having gone

some distance away with his friend Damon from the rest of the company,

with tears in his eyes, and with tokens of the greatest sadness, began

to speak to him thus:

'I know well, discreet Damon, that you have so much experience of

love's effects that you will not wonder at what I now think to tell

you, for they are such that in the reckoning of my judgment I count

them and hold them among the most disastrous that are found in love.'

Damon who desired nothing else than to learn the cause of his fainting

and sadness, assured him that nothing would be new to him, if it

touched on the evils love is wont to cause. And so Elicio with this

assurance and with the assurance yet greater he had of his friendship,

went on, saying:

'You already know, friend Damon, how my good fortune, for I will always

give it this name of good, though it cost me life to have had it--I

say then, that my good fortune willed, as all Heaven and all these

banks know, that I should love--do I say love?--adore the peerless

Galatea with a love as pure and true as befits her deserving. At the

same time I confess to you, friend, that in all the time she has

known my just desire, she has not responded to it with other tokens

save those general ones which a chaste and grateful breast is wont

and ought to give. And so for some years, my hope being sustained by

intercourse both honourable and loving, I have lived so joyous and

satisfied with my thoughts, that I judged myself the happiest shepherd

that ever pastured flock, contenting myself merely with looking at

Galatea and with seeing that if she did not love me, she did not loathe

me, and that no other shepherd could boast that he was even looked at

by her, for it was no small satisfaction of my desire to have set my

thoughts on an object so secure that I had no fear of anyone else,

being confirmed in this truth by the opinion which Galatea's worth

inspires in me, which is such that it gives no opportunity for boldness

itself to make bold with it. Against this good, which love gave me

at so little a cost, against this glory enjoyed so much without harm

to Galatea, against the pleasure so justly deserved by my desire,

irrevocable sentence has to-day been passed, that the good should end,

the glory finish, the pleasure be changed, and that finally the tragedy

of my mournful life should be closed. For you must know, Damon, that

this morning, as I came with Aurelio, Galatea's father, to seek you

at Sileno's hermitage, he told me on the way how he had arranged to

marry Galatea to a Lusitanian shepherd who pastures numerous herds on

the banks of the gentle Lima. He asked me to tell him what I thought

because, from the friendship he had for me, and from my understanding,

he hoped to be well counselled. What I said to him in reply was that

it seemed to me a hard thing to be able to bring his will to deprive

itself of the sight of so fair a daughter, banishing her to such

distant regions, and that if he did so, carried away and tempted by

the bait of the strange shepherd's wealth, he should consider that he

did not lack it so much that he was not able to live in his village

better than all in it who claimed to be rich, and that none of the

best of those who dwell on the banks of the Tagus, would fail to count

himself fortunate when he should win Galatea to wife. My words were

not ill received by the venerable Aurelio, but at last he made up his

mind, saying that the chief herdsman of all the flocks bade him do

it,[116] and he it was who had arranged and settled it, and that it

was impossible to withdraw. I asked him with what countenance Galatea

had received the news of her banishment. He told me that she had

conformed to his will and was disposing hers to do all he wished, like

an obedient daughter. This I learned from Aurelio, and this, Damon, is

the cause of my fainting, and will be that of my death, since at seeing

Galatea in a stranger's power and a stranger to my sight, naught else

can be hoped for save the end of my days.'

The love-sick Elicio ended his words and his tears began, shed in such

abundance that the breast of his friend Damon, moved to compassion,

could not but accompany him in them. But after a little while he began

with the best reasons he could to console Elicio, but all his words

stopped at being words without producing any effect. Nevertheless

they agreed that Elicio should speak to Galatea and learn from her if

she consented of her will to the marriage her father was arranging

for her, and that, should it not be to her liking, an offer should be

made to her to free her from that constraint, since help would not

fail her in it. What Damon was saying seemed good to Elicio, and he

determined to go to look for Galatea to declare to her his wish, and

to learn the wish she held enclosed in her breast; and so, changing

the road they were taking to his cabin, they journeyed towards the

village, and coming to a crossway hard by where four roads divided,

they saw some eight gallant shepherds approaching by one of them, all

with javelins in their hands, except one of them who came mounted on

a handsome mare, clad in a violet cloak, and the rest on foot, all

having their faces muffled with kerchiefs. Damon and Elicio stopped

till the shepherds should pass, and these passing close to them, bowed

their heads and courteously saluted them, without any of them saying a

word. The two were amazed to see the strange appearance of the eight,

and stood still to see what road they were following; but straightway

they saw they were taking the road to the village, although a different

one to that by which they were going. Damon told Elicio to follow them,

but he would not, saying that on that way which he wished to follow,

near a spring which was not far from it, Galatea was ofttime wont to

be with some shepherdesses of the village, and that it would be well

to see if fortune showed herself so kind to them that they might find

her there. Damon was satisfied with what Elicio wished, and so he told

him to lead wherever he chose. And his lot chanced as he himself had

imagined, for they had not gone far when there came to their ears the

pipe of Florisa, accompanied by the fair Galatea's voice, and when this

was heard by the shepherds, they were beside themselves. Then Damon

knew at last how true they spoke who celebrated the graces of Galatea,

who was in the company of Rosaura and Florisa and of the fair Silveria

newly wed, with two other shepherdesses of the same village. And though

Galatea saw the shepherds coming, she would not for that reason abandon

the song she had begun, but rather seemed to give tokens that she felt

pleasure at the shepherds listening to her, and they did so with all

the attention possible; and what they succeeded in hearing of what the

shepherdess was singing, was the following:

GALATEA.

Whither shall I turn mine eyes

In the woe that is at hand,

If my troubles nearer stand,

As my bliss the further flies?

I am doomed to grievous pain

By the grief that bids me roam:

If it slays me when at home,

When abroad what shall I gain?

Just obedience, hard to bear!

For I have the 'yes' to say

In obedience, which some day

My death-sentence shall declare;

I am set such ills among,

That as happiness 'twould be

Counted, if life were to me

Wanting, or at least a tongue.

Brief the hours, ah! brief and weary

Have the hours been of my gladness

Everlasting those of sadness,

Full of dread and ever dreary;

In my happy girlhood's hour

I enjoyed my liberty,

But, alas! now slavery

O'er my will asserts its power.

Lo! the battle cruel doth prove,

Which they wage against my thought,

If, when they have fiercely fought,

I love not, yet needs must love;

Oh displeasing power of place!

For, in reverence of the old

I my hands must meekly fold

And my tender neck abase.

What! have I farewell to say,

See no more the golden river,

Leave behind my flock for ever,

And in sadness go away?

Shall these trees of leafy shade,

Shall these meadows broad and green

Never, nevermore, be seen

By the eyes of this sad maid?

Ah! what doest thou, cruel sire?

Lo! the truth is known full well,

That thou from me life dost steal

In fulfilling thy desire;

If there is not in my sighs

Power to tell thee my distress,

What my tongue cannot express,

Mayst thou learn it from my eyes.

Now I picture in its gloom

The sad hour when we must sever,

The sweet glory, lost for ever,

And the mournful, bitter, tomb;

Unknown husband's joyless face,

Troubles of the toilsome road,

And his aged mother's mood,

Peevish, for I take her place.

Other troubles will begin,

Countless heartaches will annoy,

When I see what giveth joy

To my husband and his kin;

Yet the fear I apprehend

And my fortune pictureth,

Will be ended soon by death,

Which doth all our sorrows end.

Galatea sang no more, for the tears she was shedding hindered her

voice, and even the satisfaction in all those who had been listening to

her, for they straightway knew clearly what they were dimly imagining

concerning Galatea's marriage with the Lusitanian shepherd, and how

much it was being brought about against her will. But he whom her tears

and sighs moved most to pity was Elicio, for he would have given his

life to remedy them, had their remedy depended thereon; but making use

of his discretion, his face dissembling the grief his soul was feeling,

he and Damon went up to where the shepherdesses were, whom they

courteously greeted, and with no less courtesy were received by them.

Galatea straightway asked Damon for her father, and he replied to her

that he was staying in Silerio's hermitage, in the company of Timbrio

and Nisida, and of all the other shepherds who accompanied Timbrio,

and he likewise gave her an account of the recognition of Silerio and

Timbrio, and of the loves of Darinto and Blanca, Nisida's sister, with

all the details Timbrio had related of what had happened to him in the

course of his love, whereon Galatea said:

'Happy Timbrio and happy Nisida, since the unrest suffered until now

has ended in such felicity, wherewith you will set in oblivion the past

disasters! nay, it will serve to increase your glory, since it is a

saying that the memory of past calamities adds to the happiness that

comes from present joys. But woe for the hapless soul, that sees itself

brought to the pass of recalling lost bliss, and with fear of the ill

that is to come; without seeing nor finding remedy, nor any means to

check the misfortune which is threatening it, since griefs distress the

more the more they are feared!'

'You speak truth, fair Galatea,' said Damon, 'for there is no doubt

that the sudden and unexpected grief that comes, does not distress so

much, though it alarms, as that which threatens during long lapse of

time, and closes up all the ways of remedy. But nevertheless I say,

Galatea, that Heaven does not send evils so much without alloy, as to

take away their remedy altogether, especially when it lets us see them

coming first, for it seems that then it wishes to give an opportunity

for the working of our reason, in order that it may exercise and busy

itself in tempering or turning aside the misfortunes about to come,

and often it contents itself with distressing us by merely keeping our

minds busied with some specious fear without the accomplishment of the

dreaded evil being reached; and though it should be reached, so long as

life does not end, no one should despair of the remedy for any evil he

may suffer.'

'I do not doubt of this,' replied Galatea, 'if the evils which are

dreaded or suffered were so slight, as to leave free and unimpeded the

working of our intellect; but you know well, Damon, that when the evil

is such that this name can be given to it, the first thing it does is

to cloud our perception, and to destroy the powers of our free will,

our vigour decaying in such a way that it can scarce lift itself,

though hope urge it the more.'

'I do not know, Galatea,' answered Damon, 'how in your green years

can be contained such experience of evils, if it is not that you wish

us to understand that your great discretion extends to speaking from

intuitive knowledge of things, for you have no information concerning

them in any other way.'

'Would to Heaven, discreet Damon,' replied Galatea, 'that I were not

able to contradict you in what you say, since thereby I would gain two

things: to retain the good opinion you have of me, and not to feel the

pain which causes me to speak with so much experience of it.'

Up to this point Elicio had kept silence; but being unable any longer

to endure seeing Galatea give tokens of the bitter grief she was

suffering, he said to her:

'If you think perchance, peerless Galatea, that the woe that threatens

you can by any chance be remedied, by what you owe to the good-will to

serve you which you have known in me, I beg you to declare it to me;

and if you should not wish this so as to comply with what you owe to

obedience to your father, give me at least leave to oppose anyone who

should wish to carry away from us from these banks the treasure of your

beauty, which has been nurtured thereon. And do not think, shepherdess,

that I presume so much on myself, as alone to make bold to fulfil with

deeds what I now offer you in words, for though the love I bear you

gives me spirit for a greater enterprise, I distrust my fortune, and

so I must needs place it in the hands of reason, and in those of all

the shepherds that pasture their flocks on these banks of Tagus, who

will not be willing to suffer that the sun that illumines them, the

discretion that makes them marvel, the beauty that incites them and

inspires them to a thousand honourable rivalries should be snatched

and taken away from before their eyes. Wherefore, fair Galatea, on the

faith of the reason I have expressed, and of that which I have for

adoring you, I make you this offer, which must needs constrain you to

disclose your wish to me, in order that I may not fall into the error

of going against it in anything; but considering that your matchless

goodness and modesty must needs move you to respond rather to your

father's desire than to your own, I do not wish, shepherdess, that you

should tell it me, but to undertake to do what shall seem good to me,

with the purpose of looking after your honour, with the care with which

you yourself have always looked after it.'

Galatea was going to reply to Elicio and to thank him for his kind

desire; but she was prevented by the sudden coming of the eight masked

shepherds whom Damon and Elicio had seen passing toward the village

a little while before. All came to where the shepherdesses were, and

without speaking a word, six of them rushed with incredible speed to

close with Damon and Elicio, holding them in so strong a clutch that

they could in no way release themselves. In the meanwhile the other two

(one of whom was the one who came on horseback) went to where Rosaura

was, shrieking by reason of the violence that was being done to Damon

and Elicio; but, without any defence availing her, one of the shepherds

took her in his arms, and placed her on the mare, and in the arms of

the one who was mounted. He, removing his mask, turned to the shepherds

and shepherdesses, saying:

'Do not wonder, good friends, at the wrong which seemingly has here

been done you, for the power of love and this lady's ingratitude have

been the cause of it. I pray you to forgive me, since it is no longer

in my control; and if the famous Grisaldo comes through these parts

(as I believe he soon will come), you will tell him that Artandro is

carrying off Rosaura, because he could not endure to be mocked by her,

and that, if love and this wrong should move him to wish for vengeance,

he already knows that Aragón is my country, and the place where I live.'

Rosaura was in a swoon on the saddle-bow, and the other shepherds would

not let Elicio or Damon go, until Artandro bade them let them go; and

when they saw themselves free, they drew their knives with valiant

spirit and rushed upon the seven shepherds, who all together held the

javelins they were carrying at their breasts, telling them to stop,

since they saw how little they could achieve in the enterprise they

were undertaking.

'Still less can Artandro achieve,' Elicio said in reply to them, 'in

having wrought such treason.'

'Call it not treason,' answered one of the others, 'for this lady has

given her word to be Artandro's wife, and now, to comply with the

fickle mood of woman, she has withdrawn it, and yielded herself to

Grisaldo, a wrong so manifest and such that it could not be dissembled

from our master Artandro. Therefore calm yourselves, shepherds, and

think better of us than hitherto, since to serve our master in so just

a cause excuses us.'

And without saying more, they turned their backs, still mistrusting the

evil looks Elicio and Damon wore, who were in such a rage at not being

able to undo that violent act, and at finding themselves incapacitated

from avenging what was being done to them, that they knew neither what

to say nor what to do. But the sufferings Galatea and Florisa endured

at seeing Rosaura carried away in that manner, were such that they

moved Elicio to set his life in the manifest peril of losing it; for,

drawing his sling--and Damon doing the same--he went at full speed in

pursuit of Artandro, and with much spirit and skill they began from

a distance to throw such large stones at them that they made them

halt and turn to set themselves on the defensive. But nevertheless

it could not but have gone ill with the two bold shepherds, had not

Artandro bidden his men to go forward and leave them, as they did,

until they entered a dense little thicket which was on one side of the

road, and, with the protection of the trees the slings and stones of

the angry shepherds had little effect. Nevertheless they would have

followed them, had they not seen Galatea and Florisa and the other two

shepherdesses coming with all haste to where they were, and for this

reason they stopped, violently restraining the rage that spurred them

on, and the desired vengeance they meditated; and as they went forward

to receive Galatea, she said to them:

'Temper your wrath, gallant shepherds, since with the advantage of

our enemies your diligence cannot vie, though it has been such as the

valour of your souls has shown to us.'

'The sight of your discontent, Galatea,' said Elicio, 'would,

I believed, have given such violent energy to mine, that those

discourteous shepherds would not have boasted of the violence they have

done us; but in my fortune is involved not having any luck in anything

I desire.'

'The loving desire Artandro feels' said Galatea, 'it was which moved

him to such discourtesy, and so he is in my eyes excused in part.'

And straightway she related to them in full detail the story of

Rosaura, and how she was waiting for Grisaldo to receive him as

husband, which might have come to Artandro's knowledge, and that

jealous rage might have moved him to do as they had seen.

'If it is as you say, discreet Galatea,' said Damon, 'I fear that from

Grisaldo's neglect, and Artandro's boldness, and Rosaura's fickle mood,

some grief and strife must needs arise.'

'That might be,' replied Galatea, 'should Artandro dwell in Castile;

but if he withdraws to Aragón, which is his country, Grisaldo will be

left with only the desire for vengeance.'

'Is there no one to inform him of this wrong?' said Elicio.

'Yes,' replied Florisa, 'for I pledge myself that before night

approaches, he shall have knowledge of it.'

'If that were so,' replied Damon, 'he would be able to recover his

beloved before they reached Aragón; for a loving breast is not wont to

be slothful.'

'I do not think that Grisaldo's will be so,' said Florisa, 'and, that

time and opportunity to show it may not fail him, I pray you, Galatea,

let us return to the village, for I wish to send to inform Grisaldo of

his misfortune.'

'Be it done as you bid, friend,' replied Galatea, 'for I shall give you

a shepherd to take the news.'

And with this they were about to take leave of Damon and Elicio, had

not these persisted in their wish to go with them. And as they were

journeying to the village, they heard on their right hand the pipe,

straightway recognised by all, of Erastro, who was coming in pursuit of

his friend Elicio. They stopped to listen to it, and heard him singing

thus, as he came, with tokens of tender grief:

ERASTRO.

By rugged paths my fancy's doubtful end

I follow, to attain it ever trying,

And in night's gloom and chilly darkness lying,

The forces of my life I ever spend.

To leave the narrow way, I do not lend

A thought, although I see that I am dying,

For, on the faith of my true faith relying,

'Gainst greater fear I would myself defend.

My faith the beacon is that doth declare

Safe haven to my storm, and doth reveal

Unto my voyage promise of success,

Although the means uncertain may appear,

Although my star's bright radiance Love conceal,

Although the heavens assail me and distress.

With a deep sigh the hapless shepherd ended his loving song, and,

believing that no one heard him, loosed his voice in words such as

these:

'Oh Love, whose mighty power, though exercising no constraint upon my

soul, brought it to pass that I should have power to keep my thoughts

busied so well, seeing that thou hast done me so much good, seek not

now to show thyself doing me the ill wherewith thou threatenest me!

for thy mood is more changeable than that of fickle fortune. Behold,

Lord, how obedient I have been to thy laws, how ready to follow thy

behests, and how subservient I have kept my will to thine! Reward me

for this obedience by doing what is to thee of such import to do;

suffer not these banks of ours to be bereft of that beauty which set

beauty and bestowed beauty on their fresh and tiny grasses, on their

lowly plants, and lofty trees; consent not, Lord, that from the clear

Tagus be taken away the treasure that enriches it, and from which it

has more fame than from the golden sands it nurtures in its bosom; take

not away from the shepherds of these meadows the light of their eyes,

the glory of their thoughts, and the noble incentive that spurred them

on to a thousand noble and virtuous enterprises; consider well that,

if thou dost consent that Galatea should be taken from this to foreign

lands, thou despoilest thyself of the dominion thou hast on these

banks, since thou dost exercise it through Galatea alone; and if she

is wanting, count it assured that thou wilt not be known in all these

meadows; for all, as many as dwell therein, will refuse thee obedience

and will not aid thee with the wonted tribute; mark that what I beg of

thee is so conformable and near to reason, that thou wouldst wholly

depart from it, if thou didst not grant me my request. For what law

ordains, or what reason consents that the beauty we have nurtured, the

discretion that had its beginning in these our woods and villages, the

grace granted by Heaven's especial gift to our country, now that we

were hoping to cull the honourable fruit of so much wealth and riches,

must needs be taken to foreign realms to be possessed and dealt with

by strange and unknown hands? May piteous Heaven seek not to work us

a harm so noteworthy! Oh green meadows, that rejoiced at her sight,

oh sweet-smelling flowers, that, touched by her feet, were full of a

greater fragrance, oh plants, oh trees of this delightful wood! make

all of you in the best form you can, though it be not granted to your

nature, some kind of lamentation to move Heaven to grant me what I beg!'

The love-sick shepherd said this, shedding the while such tears that

Galatea could not dissemble hers, nor yet any of those who were with

her, making all so noteworthy a lamentation, as if then weeping at

the rites of his death. Erastro came up to them at this point and was

received by them with pleasing courtesy. And, as he saw Galatea with

tokens of having accompanied him in his tears, without taking his eyes

from her, he stood looking intently on her for a space, at the end of

which he said:

'Now I know of a truth, Galatea, that no one of mankind escapes the

blows of fickle fortune, since I see that you who, I thought, were to

be by special privilege free from them, are assailed and harassed by

them with greater force. Hence I am sure that Heaven has sought by a

single blow to grieve all who know you, and all who have any knowledge

of your worth; but nevertheless I cherish the hope that its cruelty is

not to extend so far as to carry further the affliction it has begun,

coming as it does so much to the hurt of your happiness.'

'Nay, for this same reason,' replied Galatea, 'I am less sure of my

misfortune, since I was never unfortunate in what I desired; but, as

it does not befit the modesty on which I pride myself, to reveal so

clearly how the obedience I owe to my parents draws me after it by the

hair, I pray you, Erastro, not to give me cause to renew my grief, and

that naught may be treated of either by you or by anyone else that may

awaken in me before the time the memory of the distress I fear. And

together with this I also pray you, shepherds, to suffer me to go on to

the village in order that Grisaldo, being informed, may have time to

take satisfaction for the wrong Artandro has done him.'

Erastro was ignorant of Artandro's affair; but the shepherdess Florisa

in a few words told him it all; whereat Erastro wondered, thinking

that Artandro's valour could scarce be small, since it was set on so

difficult a task. The shepherds were on the very point of doing what

Galatea bade them, had they not discovered at that moment all the

company of gentlemen, shepherds and ladies who were the night before

in Silerio's hermitage. They were coming with tokens of the greatest

joy to the village, bringing with them Silerio in a different garb

and mind from that he had had hitherto, for he had already abandoned

that of a hermit, changing it for that of a joyous bridegroom, as he

already was the fair Blanca's to the equal joy and satisfaction of

both, and of his good friends Timbrio and Nisida who persuaded him

to it, giving an end by that marriage to all his miseries, and peace

and quiet to the thoughts that distressed him for Nisida's sake.

And so, with the rejoicing such an issue caused in them, they were

all coming giving tokens thereof with agreeable music, and discreet

and loving songs, which they ceased when they saw Galatea and the

rest who were with her, receiving one another with much pleasure and

courtesy, Galatea congratulating Silerio on what had happened to him,

and Blanca on her betrothal, and the same was done by the shepherds,

Damon, Elicio, and Erastro, who were warmly attached to Silerio. As

soon as the congratulations and courtesies between them ceased, they

agreed to pursue their way to the village, and to lighten it, Thyrsis

asked Timbrio to finish the sonnet he had begun to repeat when he was

recognised by Silerio. And Timbrio, not refusing to do so, to the sound

of the jealous Orfenio's flute, with an exquisite and sweet voice sang

it and finished it. It was as follows:

TIMBRIO.

My hope is builded on so sure a base

That, though the fiercer blow the ruthless wind,

It cannot shake the bonds that firmly bind,

Such faith, such strength, such courage it displays.

Far, far am I from finding any place

For change within my firm and loving mind,

For sooner life doth in my anguish find

Its end draw nigh, than confidence decays.

For, if amidst Love's conflict wavereth

The love-sick breast, no sweet nor peaceful home

To win from the same Love it meriteth.

Though Scylla threaten and Charybdis foam,

My breast the while, exultant in its faith,

Braveth the sea, and claims from Love its doom.

Timbrio's sonnet seemed good to the shepherds, and no less the grace

with which he had sung it; and it was such that they begged him to

repeat something else. But he excused himself by telling his friend

Silerio to answer for him in that affair, as he had always done in

others more dangerous. Silerio could not fail to do what his friend

bade him, and so, in the joy of seeing himself in such a happy state,

he sang what follows to the sound of that same flute of Orfenio's:

SILERIO.

To Heaven I give my thanks, since I have passed

Safe through the perils of this doubtful sea,

And to this haven of tranquillity,

Although I knew not whither, I am cast.

Now let the sails of care be furled at last,

Let the poor gaping ship repairèd be,

Let each fulfil the vows which erstwhile he

With stricken face made to the angry blast.

I kiss the earth, and Heaven I adore,

My fortune fair and joyous I embrace,

Happy I call my fatal destiny.

Now I my hapless neck rejoicing place

In the new peerless gentle chain once more,

With purpose new and loving constancy.

Silerio ended, and begged Nisida to be kind enough to gladden those

fields with her song, and she, looking at her beloved Timbrio, with her

eyes asked leave of him to fulfil what Silerio was asking of her, and

as he gave it her with a look too, she, without waiting further, with

much charm and grace, when the sound of Orfenio's flute ceased, to that

of Orompo's pipe sang this sonnet:

NISIDA.

Against his view am I, whoso doth swear

That never did Love's happiness attain

Unto the height attained by his cruel pain,

Though fortune wait on bliss with tenderest care.

I know what bliss is, what misfortune drear,

And what they do I know full well; 'tis plain

That bliss the more builds up the thought again,

The more Love's sorrow doth its strength impair.

I saw myself by bitter death embraced,

When I was ill-informed by tidings ill;

To the rude corsairs I became a prey.

Cruel was the anguish, bitter was the taste

Of sorrow, yet I know and prove that still

Greater the joy is of this glad to-day.

Galatea and Florisa were filled with wonder at the exquisite voice of

the fair Nisida, who, as it seemed to her that Timbrio and those of

his party had for the time taken the lead in singing, did not wish her

sister to be without doing it; and so, without much pressing, with no

less grace than Nisida, beckoning to Orfenio to play his flute, to its

sound she sang in this wise:

BLANCA.

Just as if I in sandy Libya were

Or in far frozen Scythia, I beheld

Myself at times by glowing fire assailed

That never cools, at times by chilly fear.

But hope, that makes our sorrow disappear,

Although such different semblances it bore,

Kept my life safe, well-guarded by its power,

When it was strong, when it was weak and drear,

Spent was the fury of the winter's chill,

And, though the fire of Love its power retained,

Yet the spring came which I had longed to see.

Now in one happy moment I have gained

The sweet fruit long desirèd by my will

With bounteous tokens of sincerity.

Blanca's voice and what she sang pleased the shepherds no less than

all the others they had heard. And when they were about to give proof

that all the skill was not contained in the gentlemen of the court, and

when Orompo, Crisio, Orfenio, and Marsilio, moved almost by one and the

same thought, began to tune their instruments, they were forced to turn

their heads by a noise they perceived behind them, which was caused by

a shepherd who was furiously rushing through the thickets of the green

wood. He was recognised by all as the love-sick Lauso, whereat Thyrsis

marvelled, for the night before he had taken leave of him, saying that

he was going on a business, to finish which meant to finish his grief,

and to begin his pleasure; and without saying more to him had gone

away with another shepherd his friend, nor did he know what could have

happened to him now that he was journeying with so much haste. What

Thyrsis said moved Damon to seek to call Lauso, and so he called to him

to come; but seeing that he did not hear him, and that he was already

with great haste disappearing behind a hill, he went forward with all

speed, and from the top of another hill, called him again with louder

cries. Lauso hearing them, and knowing who called him, could not but

turn, and on coming up to Damon embraced him with tokens of strange

content, and so great that the proof he gave of being happy made Damon

marvel; and so he said to him:

'What is it, friend Lauso? Have you by chance attained the goal of your

desires, or have they since yesterday conformed with it in such a way

that you are finding with ease what you purpose?'

'Much greater is the good I have, Damon, true friend,' replied Lauso;

'since the cause which to others is wont to be one of despair and death

has proved to me hope and life, and this cause has been owing to a

disdain and undeceiving, accompanied by a prudish grace, which I have

seen in my shepherdess, for it has restored me to my first condition.

Now, now, shepherd, my wearied neck does not feel the weighty yoke of

love, now the lofty fabric of thought that made me giddy has vanished

in my mind; now I shall return to the lost converse of my friends, now

the green grass, and sweet-smelling flowers of these peaceful fields

will seem to me what they are, now my sighs will have truce, my tears

a ford, and my turmoils repose. Consider, therefore, Damon, if this is

sufficient cause for me to show myself happy and rejoicing.'

'Yes it is, Lauso,' replied Damon, 'but I fear that happiness so

suddenly born cannot be lasting, and I have already experienced that

every freedom that is begotten of disdain vanishes like smoke, and

straightway the loving purpose turns again with greater haste to follow

its purposings. Wherefore, friend Lauso, may it please Heaven that

your content may be more secure than I fancy, and that you may enjoy

for a long time the freedom you proclaim, for I would rejoice not only

because of what I owe to our friendship, but also because I should see

an unwonted miracle in the desires of love.'

'Howsoever this may be, Damon,' replied Lauso, 'I now feel myself free,

and lord of my will, and that yours may satisfy itself that what I say

is true, consider what you wish me to do in proof of it. Do you wish me

to go away? Do you wish me to visit no more the hut where you think the

cause of my past pains and present joys can be? I will do anything to

satisfy you.'

'The important point is that you, Lauso, should be satisfied,' replied

Damon, 'and I shall see that you are, if I see you six days hence in

this same frame of mind; and for the nonce I seek naught else from

you, save that you leave the road you were taking and come with me to

where all those shepherds and ladies are waiting for us, and that you

celebrate the joy you feel by entertaining us with your song whilst we

go to the village.'

Lauso was pleased to do what Damon bade him, and so he turned back with

him at the time when Thyrsis was beckoning to Damon to return; and when

it came to pass that he and Lauso came up, without wasting words of

courtesy Lauso said:

'I do not come, sirs, for less than festivity and pleasure; therefore

if you would have any in listening to me, let Marsilio sound his pipe,

and prepare yourselves to hear what I never thought my tongue would

have cause to utter, nor yet my thought to imagine.'

All the shepherds replied together that it would be a great joy to them

to hear him. And straightway Marsilio, moved by the desire he had to

listen to him, played his pipe, to the sound of which Lauso began to

sing in this wise:

LAUSO.

Unto the ground I sink on bended knee,

My suppliant hands clasped humbly, and my breast

Filled with a righteous and a loving zeal;

Holy disdain, I worship thee; in thee

Are summed the causes of the dainty feast

Which I in calm and ease enjoy full well;

For, of the rigour of the poison fell

Which Love's ill doth contain,

Thou wert the certain and the speedy cure,

Turning my ruin sure

To good, my war to healthy peace again.

Wherefore not once, but times beyond all measure,

I do adore thee as my kindliest treasure.

Through thee the light of these my wearied eyes,

Which was so long troubled and even lost,

Hath turned again to what it was before;

Through thee again I glory in the prize

Which from my will and life at bitter cost

Love's ancient tyranny in triumph bore.

'Twas thou that didst my error's night restore

To bright unclouded day,

'Twas thou that ledd'st the reason, which of old

Foul slavery did hold,

Into a peaceful and a wiser way;

Reason, now mistress, guideth me to where

Eternal bliss doth show and shine more clear.

From thee I learned, disdain, how treacherous,

How false and feigned had been those signs of love,

Which the fair maid did to my eyes display,

And how those words and whispers amorous,

That charmed the ear so much, and caused to rove

The soul, leading it from itself astray,

Were framed in falsehood and in mockery gay;

How the glance of those eyes,

So sweet and tender, did but seek my doom,

That unto winter's gloom

Might be transformed my springtime's sunny skies,

What time I should be clearly undeceived;

But, sweet disdain, thou hast the wound relieved.

Disdain, disdain, ever the sharpest goad

That urges on the fancy to pursue

After the loving, long-desirèd need,

In me changed is thy practice and thy mood,

For, by thee led, the purpose I eschew

Which once I followed hard with unseen speed;

And, though Love, ill-contented with my deed,

Doth never, never, rest,

But spreads the noose to seize me as before,

And, to wound me the more,

Aimeth a thousand shafts against my breast,

'Tis thou, disdain, alone that art my friend,

Thou canst his arrows break, his meshes rend.

My love, though simple, yet is not so weak

That one disdain could bring it to the ground,

Countless disdains were needed for the blow,

E'en as the pine is doomed at last to break

And fall to earth--though on its trunk resound

Full many a blow, the last 'tis brings it low.

Weighty disdain, with countenance of woe,

Who art on love's absence based,

On poor opinion of another's lot,

To see thee hath been fraught

With joy to me, to hear thee and to taste,

To know that thou hast deigned, with soul allied

To beat down and to end my foolish pride.

Thou beatest down my folly, and dost aid

The intellect to rise on lofty wing

And shake off heavy slumber from the mind,

So that with healthy purpose undismayed

It may the power and praise of others sing,

If it perchance a grateful mistress find.

Thou hast the henbane, wherewith Love unkind

Lullèd my sorrowing strength

To slumber, robbed of vigour, thou, in pride

Of glowing strength, dost guide

Me back unto new life and ways at length,

For now I know that I am one who may

Fear within bounds and hope without dismay.

Lauso sang no more, though what he had sung sufficed to fill those

present with wonder, for, as all knew that the day before he was so

much in love and so content to be so, it made them marvel to see him in

so short a space of time so changed and so different from what he was

wont to be. And having considered this well, his friend Thyrsis said to

him:

'I know not, friend Lauso, if I should congratulate you on the bliss

attained in such brief hours, for I fear that it cannot be as firm and

sure as you imagine; but nevertheless I am glad that you enjoy, though

it may be for a little while, the pleasure that freedom when attained

causes in the soul, since it might be that knowing now how it should be

valued, though you might turn again to the broken chains and bonds, you

would use more force to break them, drawn by the sweetness and delight

a free understanding and an unimpassioned will enjoy.'

'Have no fear, discreet Thyrsis,' replied Lauso, 'that any other new

artifice may suffice for me to place once more my feet in the stocks of

love, nor count me so light and capricious but that it has cost me, to

set me in the state in which I am, countless reflections, a thousand

verified suspicions, a thousand fulfilled promises made to Heaven, that

I might return to the light I had lost; and since in the light I now

see how little I saw before, I will strive to preserve it in the best

way I can.'

'There will be no other way so good,' said Thyrsis, 'as not to turn

to look at what you leave behind, for you will lose, if you turn,

the freedom that has cost you so much, and you will be left, as was

left that heedless lover, with new causes for ceaseless lament; and

be assured, friend Lauso, that there is not in the world a breast so

loving, which disdain and needless arrogance do not cool, and even

cause to withdraw from its ill-placed thoughts. And I am made to

believe this truth the more, knowing who Silena is, though you have

never told it me, and knowing also her fickle mood, her hasty impulses,

and the freedom, to give it no other name, of her inclinations, things

which, if she did not temper them and cloak them with the peerless

beauty wherewith Heaven has endowed her, would have made her abhorred

by all the world.'

'You speak truth, Thyrsis,' replied Lauso, 'for without any doubt

her remarkable beauty, and the appearances of incomparable modesty

wherewith she arrays herself are reasons why she should be not only

loved but adored by all that behold her. And so no one should marvel

that my free will has submitted to enemies so strong and mighty; only

it is right that one should marvel at the way I have been able to

escape from them, for though I come from their hands so ill-treated,

with will impaired, understanding disturbed, and memory decayed, yet it

seems to me that I can conquer in the strife.'

The two shepherds did not proceed further in their discourse, for at

this moment they saw a fair shepherdess coming by the very road they

were going, and a little way from her a shepherd, who was straightway

recognised, for he was the old Arsindo, and the shepherdess was

Galercio's sister, Maurisa. And when she was recognised by Galatea

and Florisa, they understood that she was coming with some message

from Grisaldo to Rosaura, and as the pair went forward to welcome her,

Maurisa came to embrace Galatea, and the old Arsindo greeted all the

shepherds, and embraced his friend Lauso, who had a great desire to

know what Arsindo had done after they told him that he had gone off in

pursuit of Maurisa. And when he was now seen coming back with her, he

straightway began to lose with him and with all the character his white

hairs had won for him, and he would even have lost it altogether, had

not those who were there known so well from experience to what point

and how far the force of love extended, and so in the very ones who

blamed him he found excuses for his error. And it seems that Arsindo,

guessing what the shepherds guessed of him, as though to satisfy and

excuse his affection, said to them:

'Listen, shepherds, to one of the strangest love-affairs that for many

years can have been seen on these our banks, or on others. I believe

full well that you know, and we all know, the renowned shepherd Lenio,

him whose loveless disposition won him the name of loveless, him

who not many days ago, merely to speak ill of love, dared to enter

into rivalry with the famous Thyrsis, who is present; him, I say,

who never could move his tongue, were it not to speak ill of love;

him who with such earnestness was wont to reprove those whom he saw

distressed by the pangs of love. He, then, being so open an enemy of

Love, has come to the pass that I am sure Love has no one who follows

him more earnestly, nor yet has he a vassal whom he persecutes more,

for he has made him fall in love with the loveless Gelasia, that

cruel shepherdess, who the other day, as you saw, held the brother of

this damsel' (pointing to Maurisa), 'who resembles her so closely in

disposition, with the rope at his throat, to finish at the hands of her

cruelty his short and ill-starred days. I say in a word, shepherds,

that Lenio the loveless is dying for the hard-hearted Gelasia, and for

her he fills the air with sighs and the earth with tears; and what is

worse in this is that it seems to me that Love has wished to avenge

himself on Lenio's rebellious heart, handing him over to the hardest

and most scornful shepherdess that has been seen; and he knowing it,

now seeks in all he says and does to reconcile himself with Love; and

in the same terms with which before he abused him, he now exalts and

honours him. And nevertheless, neither is Love moved to favour him, nor

Gelasia inclined to heal him, as I have seen with my eyes; since, not

many hours ago, as I was coming in the company of this shepherdess,

we found him at the spring of slates stretched on the ground, his

face covered with a cold sweat, and his breast panting with strange

rapidity. I went up to him and recognised him, and with the water of

the spring sprinkled his face, whereat he recovered his lost senses;

and drawing close to him I asked him the cause of his grief, which

he told me without missing a word, telling it me with such tender

feeling, that he inspired it in this shepherdess, in whom I think there

never was contained the sign of any compassion. He dwelt on Gelasia's

cruelty, and the love he had for her, and the suspicion that reigned

in him that Love had brought him to such a state to avenge himself at

one blow for the many wrongs he had done him. I consoled him as best I

could, and leaving him free from his past paroxysm, I come accompanying

this shepherdess, and to seek you, Lauso, in order that, if you would

be willing, we may return to our huts, for it is ten days since we

left them, and it may be that our herds feel our absence more than we

do theirs.'

'I know not if I should tell you in reply, Arsindo,' replied Lauso,

'that I believe you invite me rather out of compliment than for

anything else to return to our huts, having as much to do in those of

others, as your ten days' absence from me has shown. But leaving on

one side most of what I could say to you thereon for a better time and

opportunity, tell me again if it is true what you say of Lenio; for if

it is, I may declare that Love has wrought in these days two of the

greatest miracles he has wrought in all the days of his life, namely,

to subdue and enslave Lenio's hard heart, and to set free mine which

was so subjected.'

'Look to what you are saying, friend Lauso,' then said Orompo, 'for if

Love held you subject, as you have indicated hitherto, how has the same

Love now set you in the freedom you proclaim?'

'If you would understand me, Orompo,' replied Lauso, 'you will see

that I in no wise contradict myself, for I say, or mean to say, that

the love that reigned and reigns in the breast of her whom I loved so

dearly, as it directs itself to a purpose different from mine, though

it is all love,--the effect it has wrought in me is to place me in

freedom and Lenio in slavery; and do not compel me, Orompo, to relate

other miracles with these.'

And as he said this he turned his eyes to look at the old Arsindo, and

with them uttered what with his tongue he kept back; for all understood

that the third miracle he might have related would have been the sight

of Arsindo's gray hairs in love with the few green years of Maurisa.

She was talking apart all this time with Galatea and Florisa, telling

them that on the morrow Grisaldo would be in the village in shepherd's

garb, and that he thought there to wed Rosaura in secret, for publicly

he could not, because the kinsmen of Leopersia, to whom his father had

agreed to marry him, had learned that Grisaldo was about to fail in his

plighted word, and they in no wise wished such a wrong to be done them;

but nevertheless Grisaldo was determined to conform rather to what he

owed to Rosaura than to the obligation in which he stood to his father.

'All that I have told you, shepherdesses,' went on Maurisa, 'my brother

Galercio told me to tell you. He was coming to you with this message,

but the cruel Gelasia whose beauty ever draws after it the soul of my

luckless brother, was the cause why he could not come to tell you what

I have said, since, in order to follow her, he ceased to follow the

way he was taking, trusting in me as a sister. You have now learned,

shepherdesses, why I have come. Where is Rosaura to tell it her? or

do you tell it her, for the anguish in which my brother lies does not

permit me to remain here a moment longer.'

Whilst the shepherdess was saying this, Galatea was considering the

grievous reply she intended to give her, and the sad tidings that must

needs reach the ears of the luckless Grisaldo; but seeing that she

could not escape giving them, and that it was worse to detain her, she

straightway told her all that had happened to Rosaura, and how Artandro

was carrying her off; whereat Maurisa was amazed, and at once would

fain have returned to tell Grisaldo, had not Galatea detained her,

asking her what had become of the two shepherdesses who had gone away

with her and Galercio, to which Maurisa replied:

'I might tell you things about them, Galatea, which would set you in

greater wonder than that in which Rosaura's fate has set me, but time

does not give me opportunity for it. I only tell you that she who was

called Leonarda has betrothed herself to my brother Artidoro by the

subtlest trick that has ever been seen; and Teolinda, the other one, is

in the pass of ending her life or of losing her wits, and she is only

sustained by the sight of Galercio, for, as his appearance resembles so

much that of my brother Artidoro, she does not depart from his company

for a moment, a thing which is as irksome and vexatious to Galercio

as the company of the cruel Gelasia is sweet and pleasing to him. The

manner in which this took place I will tell you more in detail, when

we see each other again; for it will not be right that by my delay the

remedy should be hindered, that Grisaldo may have in his misfortune,

using to remedy it all diligence possible. For, if it is only this

morning that Artandro carried off Rosaura, he will not have been able

to go so far from these banks as to take away from Grisaldo the hope of

recovering her, and more so if I quicken my steps as I intend.'

Galatea approved of what Maurisa was saying, and so she did not wish

to detain her longer; only she begged her to be kind enough to return

to see her as soon as she could, to relate to her what had happened to

Teolinda, and what had happened in Rosaura's affair. The shepherdess

promised it her, and without staying longer, took leave of those who

were there, and returned to her village, leaving all contented with

her charm and beauty. But he who felt her departure most was the old

Arsindo, who, not to give clear tokens of his desire, had to remain

as lonely without Maurisa as he was accompanied by his thoughts. The

shepherdesses, too, were left amazed at what they had heard about

Teolinda, and desired exceedingly to learn her fate; and, whilst in

this state, they heard the clear sound of a horn, which was sounding

on their right hand, and turning their eyes to that side, they saw on

the top of a hill of some height two old shepherds who had between them

an aged priest, whom they straightway knew to be the old Telesio. And,

one of the shepherds having blown the horn a second time, the three

all descended from the hill and journeyed towards another which was

hard by, and having ascended it, they again blew the horn, at the sound

of which many shepherds began to move from different parts to come

to see what Telesio desired; for by that signal he was wont to call

together all the shepherds of that bank whenever he wished to address

to them some useful discourse, or to tell them of the death of some

renowned shepherd in those parts, or in order to bring to their minds

the day of some solemn festival or of some sad funeral rites. Aurelio

then, and almost all the shepherds who came there, having recognised

Telesio's costume and calling, all came on, drawing nigh to where he

was, and when they got there, they were already united in one group.

But, as Telesio saw so many people coming, and recognised how important

all were, descending from the hill, he went to receive them with much

love and courtesy, and with the same courtesy was received by all. And

Aurelio, going up to Telesio, said to him:

'Tell us, if you be so good, honourable and venerable Telesio, what new

cause moves you to wish to assemble the shepherds of these meadows; is

it by chance for joyous festival or sad funereal rite? Do you wish to

point out to us something appertaining to the improvement of our lives?

Tell us, Telesio, what your will ordains, since you know that ours will

not depart from all that yours might wish.'

'May Heaven repay you, shepherds,' answered Telesio, 'for the sincerity

of your purposes, since they conform so much to that of him who seeks

only your good and profit. But to satisfy the desire you have to learn

what I wish, I wish to bring to your memory the memory you ought ever

to retain of the worth and fame of the famous and excellent shepherd

Meliso, whose mournful obsequies are renewed and ever will be renewed

from year to year on to-morrow's date so long as there be shepherds on

our banks, and in our souls there be not wanting the knowledge of what

is due to Meliso's goodness and worth. At least for myself I can tell

you that, as long as my life shall last, I shall not fail to remind you

at the fitting time of the obligation under which you have been placed

by the skill, courtesy, and virtue of the peerless Meliso. And so now I

remind you of it and make known to you that to-morrow is the day when

the luckless day must be renewed on which we lost so much good, as it

was to lose the agreeable presence of the prudent shepherd Meliso. By

what you owe to his goodness, and by what you owe to the purpose I have

to serve you, I pray you shepherds to be to-morrow at break of day all

in the valley of cypresses, where stands the tomb of Meliso's honoured

ashes, in order that there with sad hymns and pious sacrifices we may

seek to lighten the pain, if any it suffers, of that happy soul which

has left us in such solitude.'

And as he said this, moved by the tender regret the memory of Meliso's

death caused him, his venerable eyes filled with tears, most of the

bystanders accompanying him therein. They all with one accord offered

to be present on the morrow where Telesio bade them, and Timbrio and

Silerio, Nisida and Blanca did the same, for it seemed to them that it

would not be well to fail to attend at so solemn an occasion and in an

assembly of shepherds so celebrated as they imagined would assemble

there. Therewith they took leave of Telesio and resumed the journey

to the village they had begun. But they had not gone far from that

place when they saw coming towards them the loveless Lenio, with a

countenance so sad and thoughtful that it set wonder in all; and he

was coming so rapt in his fancies that he passed by the side of the

shepherds without seeing them; nay, rather, turning his course to the

left hand, he had not gone many steps when he flung himself down at

the foot of a green willow; and giving forth a heavy and deep sigh, he

raised his hand, and placing it on the collar of his skin-coat, pulled

so strongly that he tore it all the way down, and straightway he took

the wallet from his side, and drawing from it a polished rebeck, he set

himself to tune it with great attention and calm; and after a little

while he began in a mournful and harmonious voice to sing in such a

manner that he constrained all who had seen him to stop to listen to

him until the end of his song, which was as follows:

LENIO.

Sweet Love, I repent me now

Of my past presumptuous guilt,

I feel henceforth and avow

That on scoffing it was built,

Reared aloft on mocking show;

Now my proud self I abase

And my rebel neck I place

'Neath thy yoke of slavery,

Now I know the potency

Of thy great far-spreading grace.

What thou willest, thou canst do,

And what none can do, thou willest,

Who thou art, well dost thou show

In thy mood whereby thou killest,

In thy pleasure and thy woe;

I am he--the truth is plain--

Who did count thy bliss as pain,

Thy deceiving undeceiving,

And thy verities as deceiving,

As caresses thy disdain.

These have now made manifest--

Though the truth I knew before--

To my poor submissive breast

That thou only art the shore

Where our wearied lives find rest;

For the tempest pitiless

Which doth most the soul distress,

Thou dost change to peaceful calm,

Thou'rt the soul's delight and balm.

And the food that doth it bless.

Since I this confession make--

Late though my confession be--

Love, seek not my strength to break,

Temper thy severity,

From my neck the burden take;

When the foe hath made submission,

None need punish his contrition,

He doth not himself defend.

Now I fain would be thy friend,

Yet from thee comes my perdition.

From the stubbornness I turn

Where my malice did me place

And the presence of thy scorn,

From thy justice to thy grace

I appeal with heart forlorn;

If the poor worth of my mind

With thy grace no favour find,--

With thy well-known grace divine--

Soon shall I my life resign

To the hands of grief unkind.

By Gelasia's hands am I

Plunged into so strange a plight,

That if my grief stubbornly

With her stubbornness shall fight,

Soon methinks they both will die;

Tell me, maiden pitiless,

Filled with pride and scornfulness,

Why thou wishest, I implore thee,

That the heart which doth adore thee,

Should thus suffer, shepherdess.

Little it was that Lenio sang, but his flood of tears was so copious

that he would there have been consumed in them, had not the shepherds

come up to console him. But when he saw them coming and recognised

Thyrsis among them, he arose without further delay and went to fling

himself at his feet, closely embracing his knees, and said to him

without ceasing his tears:

'Now you can, famous shepherd, take just vengeance for the boldness I

had to compete with you, defending the unjust cause my ignorance set

before me; now, I say, you can raise your arm and with a sharp knife

pierce this heart where was contained foolishness so notorious as it

was not to count Love the universal lord of the world. But one thing

I would have you know, that if you wish to take vengeance duly on my

error, you should leave me with the life I sustain, which is such that

there is no death to compare to it.'

Thyrsis had already raised the hapless Lenio from the ground, and

having embraced him, sought to console him with discreet and loving

words, saying to him:

'The greatest fault there is in faults, friend Lenio, is to persist

in them, for it is the disposition of devils never to repent of

errors committed, and likewise one of the chief causes which moves

and constrains men to pardon offences is for the offended one to

see repentance in the one who gives offence, and the more when the

pardoning is in the hands of one who does nothing in doing this

act, since his noble disposition draws and compels him to do it, he

remaining richer and more satisfied with the pardon than with the

vengeance; as we see it repeatedly in great lords and kings, who gain

more glory in pardoning wrongs than in avenging them. And since you,

Lenio, confess the error in which you have been and now know the mighty

forces of Love, and understand of him that he is the universal lord of

our hearts, by reason of this new knowledge and of the repentance you

feel, you can be confident and live assured that gentle and kindly Love

will soon restore you to a calm and loving life; for if he now punishes

you by giving you the painful life you lead, he does it so that you may

know him and may afterwards hold and esteem more highly the life of joy

he surely thinks to give you.'

To these words Elicio and the remaining shepherds who were there, added

many others whereby it seemed that Lenio was somewhat more consoled.

And straightway he related to them how he was dying for the cruel

shepherdess Gelasia, emphasising to them the scornful and loveless

disposition of hers, and how free and exempt she was from thinking on

any goal in love, describing to them also the insufferable torment

which for her sake the gentle shepherd Galercio was suffering, on whom

she set so little store that a thousand times she had set him on the

verge of suicide. But after they had for a while discoursed on these

things, they resumed their journey, taking Lenio with them, and without

anything else happening to them they reached the village, Elicio taking

with him Thyrsis, Damon, Erastro, Lauso and Arsindo. With Daranio

went Crisio, Orfenio, Marsilio, and Orompo. Florisa and the other

shepherdesses went with Galatea and her father Aurelio, having first

agreed that on the morrow at the coming of the dawn they should meet

to go to the valley of cypresses as Telesio had bidden them, in order

to celebrate Meliso's obsequies. At them, as has already been said,

Timbrio, Silerio, Nisida and Blanca wished to be present, who went that

night with the venerable Aurelio.

FOOTNOTES:

[116] (Sr. D. Francisco Rodríguez Marín--who holds that the character

of Galatea "is not and cannot be" intended to represent Cervantes's

future wife--points to this passage in confirmation of his view:

see his valuable monograph entitled _Luis Barahona de Soto, Estudio

biográfico, bibliográfico y crítico_ (Madrid, 1903), p. 119. In this

distinguished scholar's opinion, the words _el rabadán mayor_ apply

to Philip II., and, by way of illustration, he quotes Lope de Vega's

brilliant _romance_ written to celebrate the wedding of Philip III. and

Margaret of Austria:

El gran rabadán al reino

Vino de Valladolid,

Con galanes labradores

Y más floridos que abril.

Galatea, as Sr. Rodríguez Marín believes, was a lady about the court

who could not marry without the King's permission--a permission

unnecessary for anyone in the modest social position of Doña Catalina

de Palacios Salazar y Vozmediano. But compare the _Introduction_ to the

present volume, pp. xxxii.-xxxiii. J. F.-K.)