Great is love amongst the gods, and amongst men marvellous says
Phaedrus in Plato: Hesiod says that the two first things which were
seen after the Chaos, were Love and the Earth. Parmenides says that
it was engendered before the Gods; preferring it in knowledge to the
father of the Muses: and in war, before the god of battles; making
this argument, that, that which detains is greater than that which
is detained; and that he is truly strong, who vanquishes the strong:
he calls it the light of the understanding, and assures that, he
lives only in darkness who is not lightened with its fire. And among
other attributes, he calls it the God of Peace, the Father of
Desire, and the Appetite of Good; in the presence of which the soul
desires to be eternally: from whence it follows that love is a
desire of immortality, which reconciles affections, gives goodwill,
takes away hatred: of the nature of this love was that of our
pilgrims, at the least Nisa's, who being with Finia departed from
Perpignan, came with her into Barcelona, about that time when the
sun having passed the middle of the day descends towards the West
Indies. But fortune not yet weary with troubling and crossing them,
showed her that the first travails were only to be feared in regard
of those which were necessarily to follow: for as she entered with
Finia into the city, a confused throng of people constrained them to
stand in the middle of the street. Nisa was desirous to know upon
what occasion such a world of people was assembled, and seeing an
old man who related it unto others, with pity, she entreated him
(out of courtesy) to tell her. It is (pilgrims my friends), said the
old man, because there is a knight, a Castilian, going to have his
head cut off for killing an officer of justice, who would have
apprehended him upon suspicion of theft, which he had not done, near
unto Montserrat, whether he was going in pilgrimage (as you
peradventure may do). But besides the greatness of his crime, which
is no less then rebellion, he was found to have in the hollow of his
staff a sword longer then is permitted to be worn by the ordinances
of this kingdom.
I am much grieved at it, answered Nisa, for many reasons; and
principally, because he is a Castilian; for as you may perceive by
my tongue this pilgrim and I are both Castilians: it would more
grieve you (said the old man) if you saw his face and his
proportion, accompanied with such youth that he doth not seem to be
two and twenty years complete. Can you tell this knight’s name, said
Finia? One of my sons, said the old man, has been his Proctor, and
he told me that he was called Pamphilus de Luxan, born at Madrid,
which is a city sufficiently known throughout all the world. With a
pale and deadly countenance did the two pilgrims behold one another,
and bursting into tears as from two fountains, they embraced and
fell down together. The good old man wondering to see them thus
suddenly oppressed, knew that this knight’s name had pierced to
their soul; and encouraging them as much as possibly he could, he
retired them to the door of the next house, the better to avoid the
throng of people which stayed at the rareness of the accident; Nisa
and Finia, having some time bewailed the miserable Pamphilus, told
the old man that he was their kinsman. Then came a man entering into
the street, breaking through the press of the people with his horse:
which moved Nisa to entreat the old man, to enquire what he was, and
upon what occasion he made such haste through the company? Who being
informed, and coming again, demanded a reward for the good news
which he brought. Hath Pamphilus his pardon, said Finia? He whom you
saw pass by, answered the old man, is a knight of Valencia, called
Jacinth Centellas, who coming the other day into this town upon some
occasion, knew Pamphilus, and withal understanding he was condemned
to die, told the Viceroy that this criminal person was a madman, and
but newly gotten out of the hospital of Valencia, as he offered to
verify: whereupon the Viceroy and the Judge, willing to save this
young man, suspended the execution of his judgement, and gave
commission to this knight to bring proof of his affection; so much
the rather believing his words by how much Pamphilus confessed his
crime and desired to die, with an extreme grief: but the time
expiring (which was given to Jacinth) for the verifying of
Pamphilus’ madness, he was going towards the place of his execution,
and by the way, is met by Jacinth (as you have seen) who hath
brought with him sufficient proof and an express command from the
Viceroy that he shall be taken back again to Valencia.
This news revived Nisa and Finia, who having rested themselves there
all that day went the next day to see him in the prison; at the
entrance whereof they found, that for a madman he was taken out and
set upon a mule, to be carried to Valencia. And even upon the
instant that Pamphilus lifting up his eyes beheld his dear Nisa, and
that she advanced herself to speak to him, came one of the servants
and apprehended Nisa, and his companions seizing upon Finia put them
both in prison: although Pamphilus cried out that she was his
brother, for being accounted for a madman he was not hearkened to,
but contrariwise because he passionately cast himself from his mule
upon the ground, he was with much cruelty tied upon his mule’s back,
and with shrewd blows set forward in his way; their opinion of his
madness being the more confirmed.
I cannot forbear wondering every time I think of this man’s
misfortunes! He came first to Barcelona to suffer at Valencia all
those miseries which you have formerly heard. And now it seems he
returns that way again anew to begin the same pains. The cause of
Finia's and Nisa's apprehension was that Nisa in regard of his
apparel and of his short hair was thought to be a man, and being
always in Finia's company, the Justice took hold of them out of a
strong suspicion that they did live lewdly and incontinently
together, a thing which is often covered under the cloak of
pilgrimage, which makes it more odious and frequent in that country.
Whatsoever might happen of it, Nisa would not reveal herself
notwithstanding any fear of chastisement: but defending her cause as
a man, denied that ever she had so much as spoken otherwise than
with great honesty and modesty to Finia. Who accounting Nisa for a
man, and believing certainly that she was the same Felix whom she
feigned to be, with whose conversation and beauty she was charmed,
confessed simply her desire (for the effect was impossible) and
although the honesty of their conversation did appear by both their
confessions, yet their beauty was a cruel witness against their
innocence.
About this time came the afflicted Celio (by the mountains of
France, the principal cities whereof he had sought for his beloved
Finia) back to Barcelona, still continuing his quest, and only to
inform himself if there were any pilgrims of Castile; and having
understood that there were two prisoners but a few days before he
went to see them, hoping to hear some news, if not of Finia, at
least of the country. His fortune would that he should first meet
with her before he saw his Sister Nisa, and being advertised that
see had been taken with a young man, and laid up for the suspicion
that was had of their dishonest love, he spoke to her through an
iron grate, which separates the men’s Prisons from the women’s.
Is this O Finia, the confidence which I had of thy virtue so
conformable to the nobleness of thy blood? Is it here (after having
searched thee almost all France over, having measured step by step
all the tedious plains and craggy mountains which did lead unto any
place where there was either hope or likelihood to find thee,
undergoing many notable dangers) that I should think to find thee in
a public prison with a young man? Now are all my suspicions
confirmed, and my reasons that I had to kill the Frenchman, for
which I have suffered so many travails: Is this the recompense of so
many evils, which for thy sake I have endured? Dost thou thus
requite thy obligations to me? At the least this comfort I have, I
may return into my country with full assurance that I shall not
incur any infamy, neither in thy friend’s opinion nor in mine own:
for having left thee in this danger, and in those which will
inevitably follow thee, seeing thou hast found another who
accompanies thee, honours thee and defends thee. Think not, O
ungrateful person, answered Finia in weeping, that I have ever
offended thee, for thou canst not make me suffer so much that I
would hazard that which thou hast cost me, for all the treasure of
the world: thy jealousy made thee kill a man and leave me alone in
such a place; the difficulty of getting away from whence,
considering my weakness, may seem a miracle. In my voyage I have met
with this man, who no less innocent then chaste Joseph, suffers this
unjust imprisonment for having been the most honest helper that I
could have desired in thy absence, as thou may plainly see by the
modesty of his countenance and his speech, if thou please to speak
with him. To excuse thyself, answered Celio, in so notorious a
crime, is to move me to greater anger, because thou may have failed
as a woman, but to deny it to me and to say that thou hast not done
it, is a most evident token that thou wilt deceive me either here or
in thy own country (if ever thou return thither) therefore I do
forbid thee for ever to dare to name me or to say thou ever knew me.
So said Celio, and turning his back to Finia left her in the
greatest grief that a woman could suffer; which is in these
accidents to lose his presence under whose protection she lives:
especially when it seems to her that she cannot hope for any other
remedy or succour. Celio hiding the tears which he shed in going
away, and consulting with the fury of his jealousy, and his rage for
the injury which he did think he had received, concerning the
revenge which he should take, waited for Nisa's enlargement, that he
might kill him. The judges although that the prisoner’s innocence
did sufficiently appear, yet would not give them liberty to return
together (for those do seem to permit the evil, which do not forbid
the occasion) but retired Finia into a house and commanded Nisa whom
they called Felix, that that day he should leave the city of
Barcelona. Nisa went then late in the evening out of the town, and
far from thinking that her brother waited to kill her, believing her
to be the man with whom Finia had so irreconcilably offended him:
and the darkness of the evening with the disguise of man’s apparel
which Nisa wore deprived Celio's eyes, (already blinded with anger)
from discerning her to be his sister Nisa, into whose body he twice
thrust his sword, and had absolutely killed her if some passengers
upon the way at that time had not, not only hindered him, but also
apprehended him and put him in prison.
The miserable Nisa, who then began to have a greater feeling of her
suffered miseries, was carried to an honourable citizen’s house of
great compassion and charity, who having given order for her
dressing and found that her wounds were not mortal, pursued Celio so
eagerly in justice, informing the judges of the crime which he
himself had seen him commit, that the third day after he was
condemned to death. Celio alleged in his defence that Finia was his
lawful wife, and that having found her imprisoned with this young
man for suspicion of incontinency, he did not think that he had done
evil if he had killed them both. Whereupon they ordered that Finia
should be imprisoned again; but she having some notice thereof,
prevented it by flight.
On the other side, Pamphilus coming to Valencia recovered his
liberty by Jacinth’s means; with an extreme contentment to Tiberia,
unto whom Pamphilus giving thanks for the care which she had of him,
raised in her a thousand hopes which his absence and misery had
killed. He took leave of her with many fair and amorous words, and
returning to Barcelona, went to seek for his dear Nisa in the prison
wherein he had seen her shut when he went away as a madman. But when
he found Celio there in her place, in such extreme danger of his
life, from whom (informing him of the cause of his misfortune) he
was told all the injury which Finia had done him with a pilgrim,
whom he had wounded, whereby he came to know that this man whom
Celio out of jealousy would have killed was his own sister Nisa. And
with the grief of so unhappy a news, Pamphilus cried out; O cruel
Celio, thou hast taken away the life of thy own sister, and my dear
wife, whom under this habit accompanied my fortunes: and it may be
also my sister Finia, for whose sake thou hast unjustly killed Nisa.
I am Pamphilus thy enemy, unto whom (not knowing of me) thou didst
recite the story of thy fortunes, who have already pardoned the
injury which thou hast done to my honour in ravishing away Finia,
having consideration of the injury which I did thee in leading away
Nisa.
With less grief would Celio have heard the sentence of his death,
than the relation which Pamphilus made; for he remained so
astonished and silent as if he had been taken out of prison to go to
execution. He would have justified his innocence, but being not able
to utter one word, he remained dumb, and his hands and his feet
without any motion made him appear as one insensible. Pamphilus as
almost mad, left him in the prison, and going up and down to enquire
for Nisa, he was accounted for a madman by all those who saw him,
for they did remember that for a madman he was saved, being
condemned to die. Pamphilus having been three or four times at
Jacinth’s house; love, to work the greater confusion, had augmented
his sister Tiberia's desires; who (as you have heard) cast her eyes
upon Pamphilus’ beauty: he overcome with the good turns, and pitiful
care which she had of his misfortunes, had not rigorously entreated
her thoughts: she, when this last time she saw him return to
Barcelona, and that neither her prayers nor entreaties could stay
him; wrote to her brother (who did accompany him in his journey) how
that Pamphilus, out of the lustful courage of an ungrateful guest,
had so far forgotten himself as to make love to her, and that she,
yielding to his persuasions had embarked herself with more sure
gauges, than, without the bonds of marriage, did fit either with her
honour or the reputation of either of them.
Jacinth, angry at this evil correspondence and ungrateful
acknowledgement of his friendship, good turns and hospitality,
sought Pamphilus as earnestly as he sought Nisa, and having found
him, led him out of the town upon the shore side, where he showed
him his sister’s letter: afterwards (setting his hand on his sword)
he said he would wish him to draw his sword: now to offend him, that
sword which formerly he had at Valencia, drawn in his defence,
although a treacherous fellow as he was did not deserve to have his
sword measured with his. The innocent pilgrim excused himself,
entreating him to let him search out Nisa, whom (he said) he had
heard was sore wounded, and that he would not upon the lies and
indiscretion of a despised woman hinder him in this business which
did so nearly concern him as did the search for his dear wife, who
was in danger of losing her life; and that he himself was the most
assured witness to how much pain, labour and danger Nisa had cost
him; and only thoughts of whom had kept him from taking pleasure in
any other thing. These excuses did not satisfy Jacinth, because the
opinion which he had concealed of his sister Tiberia's virtues did
darken in his understanding the light of all Pamphilus’ reason: who
out of the many obligations against his honour and condition,
suffered Jacinth’s injurious words. But in the end, seeing him
threaten him with his sword in his hand, calling him base coward,
runagate, and many other insupportable insolences, he drew his sword
to slay his enemies and with a point nimbly running upon him,
overthrew him to the ground, if not dead, yet at least so near dead
that he seemed so. Pamphilus most grievously detesting his most
outrageous fortune, took him in his arms and carried him into the
town, the one shedding his blood and the other his tears; and
finding strong life in him, he persuaded him of the truth of his
innocence, leaving him at a church door (whither the people flocked
apace to see him, knowing that he was wounded). And without
inquiring any further of Nisa, he went once again out of Barcelona,
although much more sad; for he left his best friend whom he had
sorely wounded with his own hand, and his dearest friend near the
hands of death.
Iber so called of Iberia, an ancient river of that kingdom
(sometimes very rich) not far from that place where Scipio
vanquished the Carthaginians, and as Titus Livius affirms, joined
Spain to the Roman Empire, running from two fountains, bathes the
fields of the Cantabrians and the Celtiberians, taking its name from
the Celts which came out of France, and from the province of Iberia,
no less rich and fruitful than those which of the same name are
called Iberian, near the mountain Caucasas, having abundance of gold
within their veins. This famous flood, according to Pliny, rises
near to the ancient Iuliobriga, and after many windings and turnings
comes to wash the walls of Sallibinum, which Caesar called Caesar
Augustus, and the injury of times Saragossa.
At the course of these crystalline waters Pamphilus stayed his
flight, sitting down upon the bank of the river, which began to
swell with his tears, so pitiful to behold, that the very winds did
seem to condole with him in his complaints by their doleful noise,
amongst the leaves of the trees, and the birds warbling out their
woes. There was not anything of life which had not some show of
sorrow with him, unless it were the fishes, which being dumb did not
put forth their heads out of their clear waters at the importunity
of other voices, yet their silence did seem to join with him in
sorrow. Is it possible said he, that the fear of losing this
unprofitable life should have more power over me than the duties
which I owe to my birth and to my mistress? How comes it to pass
that not to lose a thing, so vile in my eyes, so heavy to my soul
and so grievous to my suffering, I have lost the most esteemed of my
understanding, the most honoured of my memory and the most adored of
my will? It is thou fair Nisa, who over the sharp mountains of
Toledo didst courageously follow my steps, from their highest tops
even to the sands of the Spanish Sea: thou art she, who in the
battle of Ceuta didst bitterly bewail my captivity: art not thou o
my dear Nisa she who under the habit of a Moor and under the name of
Hassan Rubin, drew me from the Kingdom of Fez, and from the
captivity of Sali Morata? Wert not thou cast away with me at sea, in
our return from Italy within the view of Barcelona’s walls, and whom
the sea cast up on the shore, as unworthy to possess so rich a
pearl? Didst not thou live afterwards a long time amongst the madmen
as deprived of thy reason, with the very grief of my Death? Didst
not thou suffer new shipwreck at Marseille? And finally wounded by
thy jealous brother lie now in a strange country, either sick or
dead? Seeing all this is so, how can I apprehend the least notion of
leaving thee? Where is my courage, or am I not Pamphilus of Luxan?
Is this the virtuous blood of those valiant governors, who so nobly
defended the walls of Madrid from the Moors of Toledo? It is not
possible! I am not myself, my misfortunes have changed me into
something else. To be in love and to be a coward is a manifest
contrariety: yet to deny that I love is to say the sun is darkness
and the night light, especially since I cannot say but that I have
seen Nisa. But seeing I do confess that I have seen her, how can I
say but that I love her? And if I love her, how can I leave her? And
if I have left her, wherefore do I live?
So did Pamphilus accuse himself for having left Nisa for any danger;
no more nor no less than as one who travailing upon the way
remembers something of importance which he had forgotten at home,
breaking off from his discourse and from his company, turns back
again to his lodging where he thinks he shall never come time
enough; with the same haste Pamphilus makes his way back again to
Barcelona, from which both in haste and fear he had departed. A
strong chain of lovers, which tied to their desired beauty, shortens
itself by the force which lengthens it, until it returns to its
centre. Beauty without doubt, which lifting up the vapours of the
lovers’ eyes, seems to draw unto itself the very weighty and earthy
part, despite all resistance made by the natural weight, and as the
sun oftentimes converts into burning beams the humour which is
concealed in the clouds, so beauty converts into fire all the tears
and sadness of lovers.
Few leagues had Pamphilus journeyed from the famous colony of the
Romans when as going down a hill, it being so late that the sun had
left no light in the west, but as it were a golden girdle; which
environing the horizon did seem as a crown unto the neighbouring
night: he heard a voice grievously complaining in a meadow, which
shadowed with high rocks, was very dark.
The courageous pilgrim went into it, and saw a man lying upon the
grass amongst the trees which were watered with a fresh brook, of
whom demanding the cause of his complaint, he entreated him to come
to him, if he desired to know, before he yielded up his soul, caused
by three mortal wounds which were made in his body. Pamphilus
approached him although with some distrust, and lifting him up
leaned his head against a tree. I am a knight, said the wounded man;
treacherously murdered by his hands who hath received most good
turns from me; there is a monastery in these fields which is not far
from hence, if thou canst carry me on thy shoulders thither, thou
shalt bee the Aeneas of my soul, and I the Anchises, saved
peradventure from the eternal fire which I have merited. Pamphilus
laid down his palmer’s staff (oh how hurtful it is to leave one’s
weapons upon any occasion whatsoever) taking him in his arms; and
remembering that he had so carried Jacinth, he thought to himself,
that seeing he was come to carry others to the grave, he was not far
from thence himself: and comforted himself with this, that if he
were not Death himself, he was yet his bier. So journeying towards
the monastery with the wounded man, who with broken speeches
interrupted by his approaching death, recited the cause thereof. The
pilgrim being come to the gate, and seeing by the clear light of the
moon, in the front thereof, the image of our Blessed Lady the
Virgin, said to the wounded man that he should recommend his soul
whilst he knocked at the gate. At whose knocking the porter being
come, and informed by the pilgrim of the accident, answered that
with like dissimulation, certain bandoleers of Jara had one night
robbed the monastery, and for that cause he could not open the gate
without the superior’s license. Pamphilus entreated him to dispatch:
but there being a long garden between the monastery and cell, before
he could return the knight died in his arms.
Pamphilus looked pale, dismayed with the accident, and almost as
dead as he, and encouraging him to this fearful and sharp passage,
laid a cross of two myrtle boughs on his stomach. Instantly he heard
a troop of horse, whose masters being divided into divers paths, did
seek for the dead man. By their words and their diligence, the
pilgrim knew their design, and calling them, showed them him whom
they sought for, telling them how he had found him. Amongst them was
his brother, who seeing Pamphilus bloody, and in a pilgrim’s habit
(which is enough to make an honest man suspected) cried out, Oh thou
Castilian traitor, thou hast murdered him to rob him. And at the
very instant, the same friend who had killed this poor knight, and
who the better to cover his treason, accompanying the brother, took
hold of the pilgrim’s arm: thou robber and infamous assassin, what
hath made thee murder the noblest knight in this country? Sirs,
replied Pamphilus, I found him in a meadow hard by, bewailing his
death, which he said was wrought by the hand of one whom he did
account his best friend: and out of compassion and at his entreaty,
I brought him to this monastery, where he departed this life in my
arms. But Tansiles (who was the traitor which had killed him)
fearing lest the pilgrim might discover something which he might
have heard from the dying man concerning his treason, pulling out a
pistol from the pommel of his saddle, gave fire and aimed it
directly at his head. Yet heaven not permitting that it should go
off (for saints and angels do always assist the innocent) the
pilgrim lived. O let him live said Tirsus, (so was the dead man’s
brother called) for it is much better, that keeping him in prison he
may confess his own crime: and whether he killed him for to rob him,
or whether some enemy of my brother Godfrey’s did not hire him to
murder him. The traitor answered to Tirsus and to the others who did
accompany him, that blood (yet warm) of his friend would not suffer
him to delay his revenge so long. Yet all their opinions prevailing
against his: the innocent Pamphilus was bound hand and foot on a
horse, and dead Godfrey laid on another. It is a just judgment, said
Pamphilus (by the way) for my leaving of Nisa wounded, and Jacinth
almost dead. Do you not hear, said Tirsus? Without doubt this Nisa
is the woman for whose sake he hath committed this murder, and
Jacinth some friend who led my brother to the place. All of them
believed what Tirsus said, and the traitor Tansiles interpreted
Pamphilus’ despair in such sort, that everyone believed that
Pamphilus did speak of Godfrey’s death.
They led him into no town as he thought they would, but to a grange
house, about half a league from the monastery, the gate whereof was
between two towers. Tirsus knocked, and a servant answered: tell my
mother and sisters (said he) that I have brought my brother Godfrey
dead, and his murderer with him. Instantly he heard a great cry in
the hall of the house, by which Pamphilus did know that fortune
prepared a great deal of evil for him: Nevertheless desiring to die,
he resolved not to defend his life with his tongue, which he could
not do with his arms. Someone opened the door of the house, and with
candles lighted the miserable mother with her daughters and servants
received her dead son. Some howling and crying carried him into the
hall, others ran upon poor Pamphilus, tearing his beard and pulling
him by the hair of the head, and almost stunned him with blows. With
this good entertainment he was lodged this night in one of the
towers, having his body laden with irons, yet he was heard to utter
no words but only that he deserved this and more for forsaking Nisa.
All this night nothing was heard but cries and complaints for
Godfrey, and the time which was not employed in this funereal
exercise they spent in talking of Nisa and what she should be, whom
their prisoner had so often in his mouth.
The light of the morning, which very slowly enters into prisons,
brought day to Pamphilus, not in waking him who had not slept, but
in advertising his soul of his approaching death, the certain news
whereof he would willingly have welcomed with gifts: when as the
prison door being open, he saw Godfrey’s mother and sisters enter,
demanding of him in great passion and choler, wherefore he had
killed her son? But he answering, only for Nisa's sake am I reduced
to this misery, they began to beat him with such rage that they left
him almost dead; and shutting the prison, they resolved to famish
him to death. But whilst about noon, the dead body was carried to
burial, with lights, mourning and funeral company of his parents and
friends: Flerida his youngest sister, mollified with Pamphilus’
complaints, were it that his countenance did enforce her to believe
his innocence, or that some other secret sympathy inclined her to
have pity of his life, went to the prison, and by the keyhole said
thus to him: unfortunate pilgrim, do not afflict thyself, for I will
free thee despite my mother and my brothers; who art thou, said
Pamphilus who promises life when there is nothing but heaven which
can give it me? I am Flerida (answered she) one of Godfrey’s sisters
who do promise it to thee, afflicted with thy grief out of the
assurance I have in my own imagination of thy innocence.
I swear unto thee by God said Pamphilus, that going in the night
through a meadow I found thy brother wounded unto death, as he told
me by one whom he did reckon to be his best friend; I took him on my
shoulders, and carried him to the monastery, where he died in my
arms before the gate was opened: I do not desire to live, but the
care which I have of another’s life more than mine own makes me seek
my liberty contrary to my desire; if thou canst procure me it, I am
a knight, and of a family from which ungrateful man nor traitor ever
sprang: thou shalt do a heroic deed worthy of an illustrious lady,
and though I should never merit it, yet heaven will not fail to
acknowledge it. Flerida had not need of so many reasons, who was
virtuous and so well disposed to free him, that she would hazard a
thousand lives to give it to him. And (as aptly it served) those
which were gone to accompany her brother’s body to the grave, not
being able to return speedily (as well in regard of the distance of
the place, as in respect of the pomp of the funeral, which lasted
nine days) gave her opportune means to open the planks on the top of
the prison, thereby letting him down some vittles: all her other
sisters, her mother and the servants only entered to torment him,
they seeing him live, not knowing wherewith he did sustain himself,
anger, indignation and cruelty increased so far in them that they
resolved to kill him, before Tirsus’ return from the obsequies of
his brother. But Flerida the same night gave him such strong files,
that the fetters, staples and locks being cut asunder, and he being
fastened to a cord, she drew him up by that hole which she had made
by removing the planks; & all the household being in their dead
sleep, she opened the gates: afterwards, with honest embraces,
shedding some tears and with many jewels which she did constrain him
to take, she was departing from him, when he casting himself at her
feet, with the humblest words he could speak, promising to repay her
this good turn with an immortal remembrance; and if that ever she
had occasion to come into Castile, she should enquire for a knight
of Madrid called Pamphilus of Luxan, that she might be assured she
should not return without due thanks and acknowledgements for so
perfect an obligation.
Pamphilus knowing that to proceed further in the quest of Nisa was
to resist the will of heaven, which had opposed him in it with so
many rigorous successes, went to Saragossa; resolving from thence to
travel into Castile. If thou didst not possess O Nisa (said he to
himself as he went along) all my thought, and if thou didst not hold
as much place in my body as my soul does, which is all in every
part; who would doubt, but Flerida should be now mistress of my
will? O how powerful are good turns in apt occasions, seeing that
the firmness of love which could not be moved with such painful
travails, such fearful shipwrecks and with such cruel captivities
and imprisonments, with one good turn alone in an opportune time, is
shaken, if not mastered; at least the roof, if not the walls; and
although the foundation be firm yet the windows and other ornaments
do shake: let not those which shall hear this be displeased with
him; for this was not so much a change from the love of Nisa, as a
feeling of Flerida's goodwill: and as there is nobody so solid which
the sun sometime doth not pierce, so there is no love so firm but
that the first motions thereof may shake.
Pamphilus so by long travail came to Saragossa, and would not enter
into it before it was dark night, for fear he might be followed or
met by someone whom he knew: and very early in the morning departed
from thence and by unused paths, from pasture to pasture, and from
mountain to mountain, he endeavoured to shun the great highway,
fearing that Flerida's brother might make pursuit after him. In the
end, wearied with the sharpness of the mountains and the austerity
of the life which he was constrained to lead, he resolved one night
to lie in some place where he might be better accommodated than in
these deserts, and entering into a city which divides the two
kingdoms, he enquired for a lodging. But nobody being willing to
entertain him, seeing him so evilly apparelled, his feet bloody, his
face tanned, his hair knotted and shagged, he went to the hospital,
the last refuge of misery. Pamphilus found the gates open at that
time, but without light, and asking the cause, he was told that in
regard of a strange noise which every night was there heard, which
had happened ever since the death of a stranger who came thither to
lodge, nobody had dwelt there; yet he might (as they said) enter in
if he would, for he should find there a man of holy life in a little
chapel, who endured for the honour of God all those illusions, and
who would show him a place where he might lie without danger.
Pamphilus then entered into a dark obscure place, and after some few
steps saw a great way off a dim light of a lamp, to which place he
addressed himself, and called the holy man. What wouldst thou have,
thou wicked spirit? answered the holy man. Thou dost mistake me said
Pamphilus, I am a pilgrim, who endeavours to seek a lodging for this
night. Then he opened the door, where Pamphilus saw a man of a
middle stature and age, with a long beard and hair, a gown of coarse
cloth down to his ankles. The chapel was little with an old altar,
the base whereof did serve him for his bed: he had a stone for his
pillow, his staff for his companion, and a death’s head for his
looking-glass.
How durst thou come into this place, said he to the pilgrim, did no
man advertise thee of the disquiet lodging which is here? I have
been told it, answered the pilgrim, but I have suffered so much
labour in my travels, so much cruelty in imprisonments, so many
heavy misfortunes and cold entertainments, that no disquiet can be
new to me. The poor man then lighted a candle at the lamp which
burned before the altar, and without saying anything commanded the
pilgrim to follow him; he went through a garden, which lay wild as a
forest or wilderness, where having showed him a part of the house,
amongst some cypress trees he unlocked the door of a chamber, and
said to him, seeing thou art young and accustomed to travails, enter
here: make the sign of the cross and be not dismayed nor astonished,
but sleep; Pamphilus took the candle, and setting it on a stone
which lay there, bade his host good night and shut the door.
There was a bed in the chamber good enough to rest on, especially
for a man who hath lain so many nights on the ground: this invited
him to unclothe himself, and taking one of the shirts which Flerida
at his departure had given him, he put it on and got into the bed.
Hardly had he revolved in his imagination the confusion of his life,
a thing which often (the body being at rest) is represented to the
mind, when as sleep which is truly called the image and brother of
Death, possessed his senses with that force which it is accustomed
to use on weary pilgrims. All that part, which the sun abandons when
it goes down to the Indies was in a deep silence, when the noise of
some horses awaked Pamphilus. He thought he was stirring (as many
times happens to travellers) and that his bed did move as if a ship
or a horse was to carry him. Nevertheless remembering that he was in
the hospital, and the causes for which it was uninhabitable, he
opened his eyes. He saw horsemen enter by two and two into the
chamber, who lighting torches which they had in their hands at the
candle which he had left burning by him, they cast them against the
ceiling of the chamber, where they stuck fast with their bottoms
upward and their tops downwards, which dropped down burning flames
on his bed and on his clothes. He covered himself as well as
possibly he could, leaving a little hole to look out that he might
see whether his bed did burn or no; when as instantly he saw the
flames go out, and that on a table which was in the corner of the
chamber, four of them were playing at primero. They passed,
discarded, and set up money as if they had truly played: so long
till at length they debating upon a difference, they fell into
quarrel in the chamber, which made such a noise with clashing of
swords that the miserable Pamphilus called on (for help) our Lady of
Guadalupe, which was only left (of all the shrines in Spain)
unvisited, although it were in his own country of Toledo. Because
holy places near to one are many times left unvisited out of a hope
which is had, that they might be visited at any time. Nevertheless
the clattering of the swords and all other noise for the space of
half an hour ceased, and he was all of a sweat out of the very fear
he had; yet no sooner was he well satisfied to see himself in their
absence at some rest, not thinking that they would come again, when
instantly he felt that the bed and the clothes were pulled away from
him by the outermost corners: and he saw at the same time, a man
come in with a torch in his hand lighted, followed by two others,
the one with a great brazen basin, and the other sharpening a little
knife. Then began he to tremble, and all his hair stood on end, he
would have spoken but he was not able. When they were near him, he
who held the torch put it out, and Pamphilus thinking that they
would kill him, and that the basin was to receive his blood, put his
hands forth against the knife, and felt that they laid hold of him;
he gave a great cry, and the torch instantly kindled again: and he
saw himself between two great mastiff dogs, who held him fast in
their teeth. Jesus! cried out Pamphilus, at which name all these
fantastic illusions vanished away, leaving him so weary and so
affrighted with their company that he would not stay there any
longer: but going out into the garden by which he was entered, he
went to the chamber of the good hermit, who seeing him so pale, weak
and naked opened him the door, and said to him; have your hosts here
given you an evil night’s lodging? So ill, said Pamphilus, that I
have not rested all night, and yet I have left them my clothes to
pay for it. The good man received him as well as he could; telling
him how many others with like success had been so used, and many
other discourses, wherewith he passed away the night until morning.
Those who do not know the nature, quality and condition of spirits,
will account this history a fable: wherefore I do not think it unfit
to advertise them that there are some, fallen from the lowest choir
of angels, who despite the essential pain, which is the eternal
privation from the sight of God, suffer less pain than the other, as
not having so much sinned. And those are of such nature that they
cannot much hurt men, but do take pleasure to displease them; with
frightings, noises, rumours, subtleties and such like other things
which they do in the night in houses, which thereby they make
altogether uninhabitable, not being able otherwise to hurt but by
these foolish and ridiculous effects, limited and bound by the
almighty power of God. These the Italians call fairies, the
Spaniards elves and the French hobgoblins; of whose mockery and
sports William Totan speaks in his book War of the Devils, calling
them devils of the least noble hierarchy. Cassian writes that in
Norway they possess highways, play with passenger, and do hire
themselves out for wages as servants. Jerome Manchy reports of a
spirit which was in love with a young man, served him, solicited him
in divers forms and stealing money bought him many things wherein he
delighted. Michel Pselho makes six kinds of these spirits: fiery,
airy, earthy, watery, subterranean and fire flying spirits: in all
which authors one may see, their properties, their illusions, and
their remedies.
The light of day, which is the amiable and illustrious daughter of
heaven, and the only guide of mortals, did sufficiently assure
Pamphilus that now he need not any more to fear the evil infestation
of the spirits: then waking this good man, they both rose, and went
together to the chamber where Pamphilus lay: but entering in to see
the stir that was made the last night, they found the bed,
Pamphilus’ clothes and all other things in the same place where they
had laid, without any appearance that they had been stirred. Whereat
Pamphilus being ashamed, with haste made himself ready without
speaking a word, and thinking that this good hermit would account
him for a great liar and a man of weak courage, departed from him,
and thence took his way towards Guadalupe without once daring to
turn his head towards the city, vowing to himself never to come into
it again upon any occasion whatsoever should happen, if he were not
assured to find his Nisa there.
There are two hills in the confines of the mountain of Morena, which
as two strong walls environ the town and monastery of Guadalupe,
with so many fountains which run from the rocks into the bottom of
the valley, so much fruit and so much grain of all sorts that it
seems Nature knowing that which should happen, had destined this
place from the beginning of the world to build this palace to the
princess of heaven. The pilgrim being come thither and having adored
the Virgin, visited the temple and paid his vow: as he went back
again down the stairs, at that time of the year when the sun is
equally distant between the two Poles; he met a passenger going
towards the temple, who earnestly beholding him asked him if he had
not known either there or in any other place, a pilgrim of Madrid
called Pamphilus, who lately was in Aragon. Pamphilus, troubled with
this demand and fearing that he was sought after with some warrant
from the justice for Godfrey’s death, turned back and fled towards
the temple; but the Aragonese by some tokens which were given him,
and by his sudden flight, presuming that it was he, followed him and
courteously calling him said, stay knight; I am not come to
apprehend you, neither doth the privilege of this place permit any
man to be arrested prisoner here. It is only a letter from a young
lady called Flerida, which I bring you: see thereby what I am, and
for what occasion I seek you. Pamphilus then staying took the
letter, and having opened it, found the contents as follows:
To the Pilgrim of Madrid:
Thou thyself O Pamphilus may judge in what care thou left me, if
thou hast had never so little thought of me since thou left me. And
now as well to satisfy myself as to know how thy misfortunes are
determined, have I sent this messenger to you. My brothers being
returned and missing thee in the prison where they had left thee,
witnessed more sorrow for thy departure then for my brother
Godfrey’s death. But a few days after, a woman of the country
falling out with another, amongst other words (which choler
provoked, a thing ordinary amongst women) said she was the cause of
Godfrey’s death. Being thereupon taken, and having confessed that
Tansiles killed him out of jealousy, he was apprehended, and the
crime being verified, the third day after he had his head cut off.
My mother and my brother being now assured of thy innocence doe
bewail their hard usage towards thee, and have made great search to
find thee. If thou wilt return, they will redeem the injury of thy
unjust Imprisonment with embraces and kind usage, and thou shalt
thereby pay me for the desire which I continually have of thy
welfare, and for the tears which thou hast cost me.
The pilgrim wondered at Tansiles’ strange fate, and was something
moved in his mind with Flerida's loving desires: but fearing to
offend Nisa, he satisfied the messenger as well as he could, giving
him the jewels which Flerida had given him, entreating that he would
secretly deliver them, together with a most kind letter to her,
which he presently wrote, and so the same day dispatched away the
messenger, who went his way very joyful that he had in so short a
time so happily dispatched his business: for Flerida not thinking he
could easily find him, had commanded him to search him in every
house where pilgrims were used to lodge throughout all Spain. I do
here remember that I heard Pamphilus say, after he had retired
himself to covert from the storm of his fortunes, that he never in
all his life found anything so difficult as to resist Flerida's
desire, for besides the obligations wherein he stood tied, which
were very great and no less than for his life, she was most
perfectly fayre; yet he continued his loving friendship by letters,
not only with her but with her brothers also, until that she being
married with a knight of Andalucia was carried into the Indies.
Ten times had the sun circled heaven in the time of the year when as
Astrea doth equal the balances of the Equinoctial, when Pamphilus
journeying night and day through deserts and unknown ways found
himself one morning when the day began to smile on him at the side
of craggy mountains, oppressed both with weariness and hunger, and
much more with the remembrance of Nisa, where sitting at the foot of
an oak beholding the solitariness of the fields and the murmuring of
the little brooks which fell precipitately from the mountain, he
heard a flute played upon, to the sound whereof turning his eyes, he
saw a man sitting between two rocks amidst a flock of sheep, which
seemed to leave their feeding to hearken to his music.
But Pamphilus having other discourses in his head went to him, and
wishing health to him, (which he could not obtain for himself) and
courteously again saluted by the shepherd, who having nothing that
savoured of rusticness but his apparel, made him know in a few
reasons his understanding; and the other quickly discerned in the
pilgrim that he had more need of meat than discourse. Wherefore
getting fire out of two laurel sticks which for that purpose he
carried with him, they poorly fed of that which Fabio (for so was
this shepherd called) had willingly dressed, the ground serving them
for a table, the grass for napkins, and bubbling brooks for their
drink and music. They passed away the best part of the day in
telling their adventures: and when it grew night, they retired
themselves into a little village, whether Fabio led Pamphilus to
keep his master’s oxen, who was a farmer of a grange which Nisa’s
father had in the mountains. Pamphilus was glad of this condition,
hoping that by this means he might with time have news of his
mistress. By the way Pamphilus entreated Fabio to relate the cause
of his retiring into this place, who although that this request
brought to his mind a great deal of grief and passion, yet after
some sighs he shortly told him that he was borne in Biscay, and
descended of most noble parents who were careful to fit him in his
youth with qualities answerable to his birth, wherein he profited so
well, that he neither raised discontentment in his parents nor shame
to his tutors; but after growing more ripe in years, and incited
with the courageous heat of youth. In those times, when the English
with their warlike ships ravaged along our coasts, as well of Spain
as the islands, and oftentimes with their desperate resolutions made
themselves masters of our Indian gold, I put myself to sea in one of
the King’s armadas, as well with an intent to gain honour by my
valour, as experience in those services, thereby to be the abler to
serve my country wherein I was so fortunate (because I will not say
too much) that I got command myself, and by taking and executing two
or three of those pirates was in a fair way both of grace with the
King, and renown in the world, when my eyes were the instruments
whereby the most excellent and admirable beauty of Albiana
captivated my heart so powerfully that all other courses set apart,
I was enforced to give myself wholly to her service, wherein after
some small time, I had so happy a progression, that she did confess
she was obliged by my perseverance, and by the opinion which the
world held of me, to esteem of me and of my service: thus happily in
her favour I spent some time, until it fortuned some English slaves
which I had, endeavouring to make an escape but by my soldiers and
mariners prevented, I inflicted a cruel punishment on them, bound
thereunto by that common policy which exacts from masters, a severe
hand over their mutinous slaves; especially I used it towards one,
who more eminent then the rest, as well in regard of his person as
that he was a chief author of their attempt, which Albiana with most
earnest prayers to me sought to divert, were it out of a pitiful
compassion, ordinary in most women, or that she took any special
liking to him. But I having more care at that time to execute my
rage, then mindful of her importunity, (which I did not think would
have turned to that consequence) for example sake, which as it is
powerful, so is it most necessary, especially amongst men of our
profession, who serve ourselves with multitudes of them, persevered
in having him soundly punished. Whereat she discontented, though
with little show thereof, underhand wrought such means by her
friends at court, before I imagined any such thing, that the slave
was by messenger from the Duke of Lerma, and by warrant under the
King’s hand fetched from me, and the next day she did let me know
that any denial to a woman effects her hatred; for she sent me a
letter wherein she said I was a cruel monster, and that she was so
far from loving and esteeming me, that she would ever hate my
barbarous nature, and she wondered that any valour could be lodged
where cruelty had such a habitation; to conclude she told me that I
should never come in her sight, nor be where she might hear of my
name. How grievous this was to me gentle sir may easily be guessed
if you knew the extremity of my love, which was so much that I
presently without the knowledge of any of my friends took such order
as I could with my command, and retired myself into these desert
places, where I am resolved under this disguised habit to end my
days; seeing that Albiana will have it so, who whether her
complaints were just or no, or whether they but serve to colour her
inconstancy, shall be always loved and truly obeyed by me, to whom
only this comfort is left: that though life hath left me, death will
take me. Before Fabio had finished this short discourse, they had
discovered the village where Alfesibus did keep Nisa's father’s
cattle, in the best house of the village, which for a country house
was a fair one. Alfesibus received Pamphilus, and informed by Fabio
of his intent he agreed with him for wages; and after an evil supper
and a worse lodging he passed the night miserably. And when morning
appeared, Pamphilus went after his oxen to the solitary fields,
where he lived some time free from the confused noises of the
cities, with a good leisure to meditate on his adventures.
In the meantime Nisa healed of her wounds and knew that she had
received them from her own brother out of jealousy which he had
conceived against her for Finia. And entreating her good host that
he would have pity on her blood, by both their means his pardon and
liberty was obtained, the one soliciting, and the other forbearing
the prosecution. One of the wounds which Nisa had received was in
her left side, and as in the dressing it could not be avoided but
that she was known to be a woman, although she had conjured her host
to keep it secret from his family, yet it was impossible: because
that his son Thesander unhappily one day was at her dressing and
transported so into his mind the wounds which she had in her body,
that within a few days, he fell sick by force of this continual
thought, not being able to receive into his imagination any thought,
but the desire of this beauty. For all the heaven of love moves
between these two poles, imagination and desire. And then his body
is as full of imaginary and fantastic figures as the astrologer’s
globe. Thesander did all that he could to divert himself from this
thought, and as evils are healed by their contraries, he proposed to
his eyes other objects, and other cares to his imaginations: But as
art is made out of many experiences which were wanting to Thesander,
he rather found the evil than the remedy. For it is impossible that
young men should know much, because that to be wise requires
experience, and that is gotten with time.
Nisa was much grieved at Thesander’s passion, although he had never
spoken to her about it. But as he which is amorous so often speaks
as he looks on that which he loves, she easily read in his looks the
depth of his thoughts; and willing to disabuse him so, that not
being understood by others, she might let him understand the vanity
of his love, one night after she was healed, being entreated by all
the company, she sang these verses following:
I wot not what is love, nor yet his flame,
Nay more, to know it I have not the mind:
In others, twill suffice a man may find,
The woes this tyrant in their souls doth frame.
That I for him do sigh he cannot say,
He masters not my will, that bideth free:
His bad and my good nature disagree,
And free, me from his empire’s laws for aye.
To cast his darts elsewhere, I him require,
My heart (as rocks of brass) doth scorn his might:
Let him not grieve, I from him take my flight,
Because I am all ye, and he all fire.
But they rather increased the fire which was too much kindled in
Thesander’s soul, who taking the lute from Nisa answered her with
these verses, which he had conceived in his mind the night before:
The great God’s supreme power to deny,
Unto my soul as rashness I do hold:
This to deny with truth I may be bold:
Mine evil, nor yet myself I can destroy.
My knowledge, love hath ravished whom you blame,
I think he hath no might nor yet discretion:
If I be thus tormented for confession.
You that deny his power feel not the same.
He makes the widest breach in strongest brass,
From coldest ice, he greatest fire can draw:
Not one can fight him; for none ever saw,
Ought else his shafts in swiftness to surpass.
Very aptly might Nisa at that time have revenged the motions which
Pamphilus had to agree to Flerida's will: if love had been a spirit
(as some have believed) which might have told them to her.
But it was not just that so rare a faith should be spotted with any
infamy. Thesander’s love in the meantime, springing from this first
spark and increased by Nisa's resistance, like a fire which a little
water makes more violent; or like palm trees growing most, when a
weight is laid on them.
Nisa waxed strong and walked abroad, when desperate Thesander
revealed himself to a physician, who encouraged him either to
manifest his evil or else as the best remedy, against his love to
work from his imagination this deep melancholy, and to divert it by
some honest exercise, and that the courage of the practiser is the
first matter on which the heavens imprint the form of their
succours, for as much as their favour is not obtained by womanish
prayers and vows but by the vigorous actions of men, agreeing to
which the Greek adage says that the Gods do sell their blessings
unto men, in exchange of their labours. Thesander was animated by
these counsels, but finding that divisions were weak remedies
against the splendour of Nisa’s beauty, fell into a relapse, and
grew so weak that he was constrained to reveal the cause of his
sickness. The pitiful father who was already informed of Nisa's
quality conjured her with tears to be mistress of his wealth, and
marry his son, of whose sickness there was no other remedy: Nisa
admiring at the several ways whereby fortune sought to separate her
from Pamphilus, revealed then to the good old man the whole history
of her life, and laid before him all the impossibilities which did
excuse her from satisfying so many courtesies; the chiefest whereof
was, in his willingness to admit her to the highest degree of honour
and affection that was possible for him to do, she being a stranger,
and in such an indecent habit, for a woman fit to be his son’s wife.
By this means she satisfied the father: but poor Thesander was so
desperate that falling into greater extremity, he was at the last
point of his life; like unto trees whose boughs do not lose their
greenness until that their humour which doth quicken them do
absolutely fail, because that hope is the radical moisture which
doth keep us alive, and is to us as oil to our fire. Nisa seeing
that Thesander was for her sake upon the point of losing his life,
and she herself had not now lived, but out of his father’s pity, was
exceedingly perplexed that she could not satisfy so just an
obligation: and not being able to rest in these confused thoughts,
the representations of Pamphilus’ labours did always appear in her
mind, who she thought to be prisoner still at Valencia. Thesander’s
evil increased, Nisa deferred the remedy, and the father accused
this poor amorous man, in my opinion innocent, because, that in
things natural, we do neither merit nor demerit: In brief, all the
whole family entreated Nisa that she would have pity of Thesander’s
young years, and that at the least she would assuage his passion
with one amorous word.
Amongst all the variable fortunes as well by land as sea which our
pilgrim had suffered, there was none so difficult for her as this.
Nevertheless she resolved to entertain Thesander until he had
recovered some strength, that thereby he might the better be able to
bear the subtlety which she intended. And in this she did not
deceive herself, for our spirits have some resemblance with the
nature of young horses, which are easier managed with gentle bits
than with hard; the sweet words, the feigned hopes and embraces of
Nisa within few days restored Thesander’s weakened spirit, during
which time Celio was delivered out of prison with an exceeding
desire to see her, as well because he had heard news of her health,
as because he imagined that if Finia were not in her company, yet at
the least he might hear some news of her. Nevertheless the sorrowful
Nisa believing that Celio desired to kill her, not knowing what
Pamphilus had told him of her disguising herself in the habit of a
pilgrim; so soon as she heard of his freedom, fled secretly from
Barcelona. In the meantime Lisard the eldest brother to Celio and
Nisa, who as you heard was a soldier in Flanders, disembarking in
the same town of Barcelona, far from thinking that persons so near
him were there: having met with Finia on the way, on the first day
of her travel, although almost in the last of the tragical comedy of
her fortunes, sorry to see so fair a pilgrim go a-foot,
understanding which way she was bound, offered to accompany her into
Castile: Finia willing to be gone from Celio, whom she thought never
to be able to appease, and not knowing that this was his brother,
accepted his offer and went with him to Toledo. Where being received
of his parents with all kinds of joy, his desire was that Finia
might also be well entertained and kindly used, telling them in what
manner he had found her. His parents received her with a great deal
of honour and embraces, yet not without some suspicions that she was
some spoil of the Flanders war. Lisard then asked for his brother
Celio and for his sister Nisa, they telling him the cause of their
absence. Finia thereby knew that the house wherein she was come was
her husband’s father’s, and that he who had brought her thither was
his brother, whereat not sufficiently wondering, she then thought
that fortune began to look on her misfortunes with a more clear
countenance.
The day following, Lisard resolving to seek for his sister Nisa and
to kill Pamphilus, told his parents that he had some pretensions at
the court, on which he built the necessity of a new voyage, showing
them some attestations in writing of that which he had done in
Flanders, for which he hoped of good recompense. His Father
perspicuously knowing his mind through his reasons, wherewith he
endeavoured to colour his journey, and fearing to lose him with the
other, propounded a thousand objections, telling him that he should
now rest after his voyage, and from the travails of war, contenting
himself with the honour which he had gotten, because that in this
age the reward did fly from the merit. Lisard thus persuaded by his
father remained in the house, although it grieved him that after he
had bought so much renown with the loss of his blood so far from his
own country, he should now lie still and rust with infamy; finally
being discontent that he was beheld as he thought with this mark, he
went into the country to shun the first encounter of the people’s
sight, into the same village where amongst the other servants of his
father’s farmer, Pamphilus lived, who was never before known of
Lisard; and as one day he beheld him more curiously then he did all
the others, for hardly could the baseness and indignity of his habit
disguise his person and beauty; he called him to him, and inquired
of the cause, why he lived in this base office. The excuses which he
made did not seem current (indeed being feigned by Pamphilus, who
already knew that Lisard was Nisa's eldest brother). Wherefore
Lisard said to him that he should do better if leaving this rustic
life, he would abide in his service and take the charge of two
horses which he had, for which he would give him wages, and
convenient clothes; Pamphilus refused this offer, not that he was
not willing to return into the happy house in which he had first
known Nisa: but fearing that being known in her absence, he should
run a dangerous fortune of his life. Nevertheless, being weary of
the austere life which he led amongst these mountains, for there is
nothing more true (as the philosophers say) than that those which
are solitary are either gods or devils, he resolved in the end to
accept this condition, wishing rather that he might die by Nisa's
parents’ hands, then live any longer in these solitary deserts.
Now you see how forward we are in bringing back our pilgrim from his
long travels, seeing that from being a courtier, he became a
soldier; from a soldier, a captive; from a captive, a pilgrim; from
a pilgrim, a prisoner; from a prisoner, a madman; from a madman, a
herdsman; from a herdsman, a miserable lackey, in the same house
where all his misfortunes began: to the end that you seeing this
circle of fortune from one pole to another, without one moment of
rest, or any of good in the beginning, middle or end of his
adventures: you may learn to know, how travelling abroad brings
honour, profit and many times the contrary. All consists in the
disposition of heaven, whose influence guides the passages of our
life, as it pleases them; because that although the empire of
free-will be above, yet few persons be found who resist their motions;
it is therefore a weakness unworthy of a gentle heart not to dare
hazardously to enterprise anything, seeing it is evident that if
those who have effected great things had not begun them, they had
never achieved them. As also hazardous enterprises belong only to
brave courage; although heaven disposes of the success. Above all
things the election imports much, as Propertius says, all things are
not equal unto all. Seneca tells of an old man who being asked how
he could live to those years in following the court, answered that
it was in doing good turns and not excepting against injuries; but
this patience doth not seem honourable to me, nor that it is any
virtue to serve to live. And if posterity doth render unto everybody
his honour, as Tacitus says, what renown can he leave behind him,
who dies as it were in the cradle, and from his swaddling clouts to
his hearse hath hardly shifted a shirt; like the plant which hath
the form of a living lamb, the stock whereof growing out of the
ground to the stomach, and not being able to eat more grass than
that which grows round about it, dies for want of nourishment.
Glorious was Darius, when being come to the river Tearus, which
takes his beginning from two fountains, whereof the one is hot and
the other cold, he caused the famous inscription whereof Herodotus
speaks to be made: To this place, against the Scythians, came the
most famous of all men, Darius the son of Hystaspes. Who hath ever
obtained anything without running for it? Who hath ever run for it,
if he have not seen it? And what rest can he know, who hath never
proved any storm or adversity by sea or land? For there are no days
so sweet and comfortable as those which we spend in the arms of our
friends, after long travel and great dangers; nor any nights so
sweet, as those which are spent about the fire with an attentive
family, unto the discourses of one’s former dangers and adventures;
as Ulysses within Zacinth to his dear Penelope and his son
Telemachus. So after many divers adventures, Pamphilus comes to the
happy day of his rest, and though he were not at the siege of Troy,
nor at the conquest of the New World with Cortes, yet it was no
small valour in him to defend himself from so many different and
perilous assaults of fortune, and in the end to have merited by so
many labours, the rest which shortly he shall enjoy in his own
country.
Whilst these things thus passed in the mountains of Toledo,
Thesander was being recovered by Nisa's loving embrace, and she
disposed to leave him, as well because his life was assured as
because that she desired to assure hers, and deliver herself from
the care wherewith she was searched after by her brother Celio.
One night when sleep mastered her lover’s senses, and held a silence
over the whole family, she went out of the city, and took the way
towards Lerida. But night had hardly all hid her black head, crowned
both with sleep and fear, when the deceived Thesander waked out of
the most sorrowful dream that could possess his fantasy,
representing to his imagination the absence of fugitive Nisa,
together with her deceitful words, her sweet disdains, and her fair
face; a thing which sometime happens principally to him which loves
or fears. Inasmuch as those things which threaten us do represent to
us in sleeping, the same cares which we have in the day awake.
Thesander rising in this imagination, began to search Nisa guided by
the light of his soul, and not finding her, it little wanted that he
did not die with grief for her departure; neither his father nor the
rest of his parents had power enough to keep him from running after.
And so he came to Toledo a long time before Nisa, for a lover who
follows that which he loves doth go faster than he who flies from
that which he doth not love; because he which doth not love grows
sorrowful in going, and he which loves by going puts off his grief.
In the meantime, Lisard much pleased with Pamphilus’ understanding
and person, had taken him to wait in his chamber, not suffering him
to live in the baseness of his first office which he had given him,
and in this quality he lived at Toledo with his master, always
taking great care that his master’s parents might not see him,
because that if they had viewed him with any consideration, they
must needs have known him. But Lisard who with frequent conversation
with Finia (whom his parents did use as lovingly as they could have
done Nisa) was fallen in love with her, revealed this to Pamphilus,
and making him the minister of his passion, gave him charge to speak
to her, and to dispose her (with all his power) to be favourable to
his desires; Pamphilus obeying his master and taking occasion one
festival day, when everybody was abroad, went to find Finia from
Lisard: but when in coming to her he knew her to be his sister, and
she knew him to be her brother, they both remained astonished, dumb
and as immovable as stones. But shortly after this first confusion,
Pamphilus began to speak in this manner: Sister, tell me by what
means thou came hither, since Celio abandoning thee left thee in
Barcelona, for I know already the whole progress of thy misfortune,
as conformable unto mine as we are equal in birth.
By his means whom the destinies pleased, said Finia, to whose
disposing my will cannot resist: Lisard brother of my husband Celio,
having found me on the way from Saragossa brought me hither, where I
think I may abide his return with more honour. The same man said
Pamphilus, sent me to thee to speak to thee about his love, and he
having found me in a grange which he hath in the mountains of
Toledo, where I had sheltered myself from the strokes of fortune,
under the basest condition of the world, hath brought me now into
this place where thou now see me in the quality of a groom; and
because that heretofore in the beginning of my fortunes I have been
in this house, I kept myself from being seen until this time, as
thou may well know, having not been seen until this day by thee.
Suffer and abide the end of thy fortune as I have done, and do not
say thou know me, for I will entertain Lisard with some lie from
thee, until such time that we may see whereunto the revolution of
this conjunction of our misfortunes will tend, and when will end the
effects of this our honour’s eclipse. Thus did Pamphilus and Finia
meet, and instead of reprehending one the other they remained there
both good friends, for it is ordinary with those who are culpable to
dissemble the faults of others, lest they be reprehended for their
own. In the meantime, Thesander went from place to place in Toledo
inquiring for Nisa, and when this news came to Lisard’s ears, that
there was a young man which enquired for his sister, he verily
thought that it was Pamphilus, who by some sinister accident having
lost her, was come thither to find her. And telling Pamphilus the
story of Nisa's ravishing, which he knew much better, told him, that
he was now in Toledo in her quest; and that having no man, in whose
hands he could better commit the satisfaction of his revenge than
his, nor of whose courage and fidelity he could be better assured
of, he entreated him, and conjured him to kill him. A notable
winding in a success so strange and so embroiled, which is so much
the more admirable to me, who know it better then they who read it,
how true it is.
Pamphilus, astonished to see that he was engaged to kill Pamphilus,
or at the least a man who either in searching for Nisa, or else one
who for the only disaster of his name deserved to die, endeavoured
to find him, rather to know what he would with Nisa than with any
mind to execute Lisard’s intent on the others innocence. His master
did not accompany him in this action; for as Tacitus says of Nero,
although he commanded murders, yet he always turned his sight away
from them.
Pamphilus having found Thesander privately inquired of the cause why
he searched for Nisa: Thesander recounted the story from Nisa's
being wounded by Celio, and healed by his father, and that she had
left them one night without bidding them adieu, paying with
ingratitude all the good offices which were done her in that house.
Neither did he forget to relate how she (for the dressing of her
wound) being constrained to expose her breast, she was discovered to
be a woman; from whence proceeded his desire and the cause why he
sought her in this place, which she said was the place of her birth.
Joyful was Pamphilus to hear of the healing of Nisa's wounds, and
instead of killing Thesander he led him into his chamber, where
having used him with all the courtesy that was possible, he told him
that in this house where he remained were Nisa's parents and
brother.
Lisard having a great opinion of Pamphilus’ courage (Pamphilus whom
he called Maurice) did verily believe that he would infallibly kill
Nisa's ravisher, which he believed to be Thesander, wherefore he
demanded leave of his father to go, fearing that if Maurice should
perhaps be taken prisoner, he might confess the author of Pamphilus’
death. The father afflicted at his departure, fearing that in this
his age, death might take him in the absence of all his children,
would know the cause of his journey: and Lisard telling him that he
had sent to kill him, who had run away with his sister, who was come
to Toledo, and that he did believe that his servant unto whom he had
given this commission had already executed it, put the old man into
a greater care then he was in before, much fearing the damage which
might come from so violent a revenge: Pamphilus had persuaded
Thesander to call himself Pamphilus to all those who should ask his
name in Toledo, assuring him that he should the sooner hear news of
Nisa: In this time Lisard and his Father coming into Pamphilus’
chamber, to know how he had succeeded in the execution of his
command, found Pamphilus and Thesander together. They demanded of
Thesander what he was, who answered: that he was Pamphilus. Lisard
drew out his sword instantly to kill him, but he was withheld by his
father, who having already known Pamphilus told his son that the
other was Pamphilus. Lisard believed that his father told him so to
appease him, wherefore he fiercely strove to break away from his
father, that he might kill Thesander, saying that the other was his
man Maurice. The whole family drawn thither by the noise and seeing
this rage to prevent greater mischief, ran to the magistrates, who
hearing the stir raising the neighbours laid Pamphilus and Thesander
in two several prisons, until it was verified which was Pamphilus,
for although that Thesander apprehending the danger began now to say
that it was not he, was not believed: for all believed that fear
made him deny his name. In the meantime Jacinth being whole of his
wounds which Pamphilus had given him, sought him all over Barcelona,
and not finding him, believed that he was returned into his own
country, as well to follow him as hearing that his Lucinda was at
Madrid, resolved to go thither, and passing by Saragossa he found
the pilgrim Nisa at the entrance of the famous pillar which was
built by the angels in the time of the apostle who planted religion
in Spain, and having (by many tokens which Pamphilus had told him,
and marked her out to him) known her, he also made himself known as
Jacinth. Nisa assuring herself of him out of the love which she knew
was between him and Pamphilus, betook her to a habit proper to her
sex, and left this pilgrim’s apparel at the walls of this holy
house, together with her staff, which in so many dangers and such
long ways had been so faithful a companion. And so travelling
together towards Madrid, Nisa desired to seek Pamphilus first in his
own house, whither being come with Jacinth, and finding his
sorrowful mother afflicted for the loss of her children, she
comforted her much by the assurance which she gave to her, that they
were both alive, and the hope they put her in to find them at
Toledo. The good old lady encouraged by these words and persuaded by
Nisa and the great desire she had to see her children, took her
youngest daughter Eliza with her (being her staff and her comfort in
her afflictions, who in her brother’s absence had increased no less
in beauty then Finia, nor in understanding than Pamphilus) and went
all together to Toledo.
The miserable Tiberia, Jacinth’s sister, thinking that her treason
being discovered, she should be hardly used by her brother as by the
disgrace and danger whereunto she had unjustly exposed him she
merited; left Valencia and with such of the family as would follow
her, she addressed herself to that city, whether fortune already did
seem to call these lovers.
Celio in the meantime despairing to find Finia or satisfy Nisa, he
for his part being more than satisfied of both their innocences,
returned to Toledo and some days before his coming thither he met
Tiberia, in whose company as he journeyed he heard news of the
combat between Jacinth and Pamphilus, for which cause he offered her
his house to retire to, until such time as that writing to her
brother, she made her peace with him, which might be done by the
help of his parents, whose assistance he promised.
In this manner in one day, and in one time, entered into the noble
Leonicio’s house: Aureliana, Pamphilus; mother, Nisa, Eliza,
Jacinth, Tiberia and he who was most despaired of, Celio, of whom
there was no news expected, being accounted as dead, or captive as
some had reported. The sudden joy to see Nisa so beautiful, and
Celio so well, stronger in this habit than in that which he had
brought home from his studies, before his peregrination, bound
Leonicio to shed abundance of tears, and Aureliana could not forbear
when she saw her dear Finia so long time lost, and Celio with tender
embraces, demanded pardon for his causeless suspicions, and of Nisa
for the wounds which he had given her, being ignorant what she was.
There was none discontented but Jacinth, who seeing his sister
Tiberia in this company without knowing how she came thither, would
needs take a public satisfaction before all the world. But the
authority of so many signal persons not only stayed him, but
obtained pardon from him for his sister’s offence. Thesander and
Pamphilus were taken out of prison, and then it was quickly known
who was the true Pamphilus: whose happy finding there did so rejoice
the whole company and the whole town that all the nobility and
gentry ran to see him, and rejoice with their parents for their
happy arrival. Amongst all which came to this happy and joyful
welcoming home were fair Lucinda, who was married to Jacinth, to
satisfy the many obligations wherein she was due. Lisard having
opened his eyes upon Tiberia's beauty, and by the impression which
the report of Celio's love and Finia's made in his mind, clean wiped
away his affection of that kind to Finia, he entreated Jacinth to
give her to him in marriage, which was easily granted, and with
everyone’s consent. And to comfort Thesander for the love which he
bore to Nisa, he was married to faire Eliza, Pamphilus’ sister, then
about fourteen years old. Celio, with joy to all, married Finia. And
Nisa after so many divers fortunes, with the joy of both their
parents, (which was so full that it melted them into tears, and
almost all the company) was given into the beloved arms of her most
dear Pamphilus.
Happy pilgrims of love, your vows being accomplished, now rest
happily and joyfully (after so many bitter fortunes, wherewith your
loves have been seasoned) in the sweet repose of your native place,
in which peace I will leave you, that you may enjoy the delights
which you have merited: and seeing that I have left your statues in
the temple, I will leave in the temple of renown the pen with which
I wrote your unfortunate loves.