The Pilgrim of Castile, or El Pelegrino in Su Patria

by Lope de Vega, translated and abridged by William Dutton

published 1621

The First Book

Upon the shore of Barcelona, between the planks of a ship which had suffered wreck, there appeared as if it had been a parcel of cloth covered with weed: which being perceived by some fishermen, they took it into their bark, and carried it along the shore about the space of two miles, where under the shade of some trees, they cleaned away the weeds and mud, and found that it was a man in a trance, who was almost past sense, and without life. These fishers, moved with compassion, kindled a fire with some branches cut from an old oak, and he who had been so near the losing of his life, now recovering it, let them know what countryman he was, by his complaint: discovered his admiration by his looks; and the feeling he had of the good which they had done him, by the fire with which he had to acknowledge it. Nature, doing the accustomed office of a pitiful mother, sent his blood to restore the more enfeebled parts; and having brought him almost to his former strength, he was about to have revealed himself: but thinking it did not fit in so strange a fortune, he concealed his birth and name, only saying that his ship suffered wreck in the sea, and seizing of these planks which the waves had cast upon the shore, he was two days floating amongst the billows of the sea, who sometimes merciful and then again cruel, did bring him nearer and then farther from the land, until such time that the reflux of the water vanquishing the impetuosity of the tempest, he was cast upon the sands, where the violence of the stroke having as it were ploughed up his tomb, he thought himself buried. His return (he said) was from Italy, and the occasion of his voyage the indulgences of the Jubilee, which was while Clement the Eighth sat as Pope. And sighing much, amongst the broken speeches of his story, he let them understand that he missed a companion of his travels, of whom there was no news to be had, as it seldom happens that those who do free us from bodily misfortunes can also ease those of the mind. So he rested this day within one of their cabins, while the cold night descending, all crowned with stars, did impart unto mortal creatures rest in conformity with the quality of their lives, giving desires unto the poor, cares unto the rich, complaints unto the sad, unto the contented sleep, and jealousy to the amorous. In the midst thereof he heard a lyre played upon, and according with a voice, which in singing complained of a shepherdess’s cruelty. The pilgrim, although weary, loved music more than rest, and went out of his cabin into a meadow, from whence seeing about a dozen houses, and among some osiers the author of those plaints, called him from a distance. The singer replied fearfully, but the pale light of the moon, revealing the secrets of the night, made him see that it was a poor man, and without arms. He then showed him a plank lying amongst reeds over a little brook, giving its murmuring unto the solitariness of the place and silence of the night; which when he had passed, they saluted one the other courteously, especially he which came (for strangers are always courteous out of necessity); and they sat down together upon the grass.

No sooner had the pilgrim informed himself of the name of the village, of the lord thereof, and how far it was distant from Barcelona, when they saw two men approaching, who instead of saluting them presented two arquebuses to their faces, and instilled a thousand fears in their hearts. The stranger told them that they could take nothing from them but his life--which he esteemed little (and six hours ago much less): the other said that he was the son of a seaman--between a fisherman and a pilot--and that all his goods consisted of this his instrument, with which he did charm away his cares. The soldiers did not appear to desire their clothes, because one was of ship’s canvas and the other of coarse cloth; and there is no robber who is not liberal of that which is of no worth. But they entreated them to conduct them to the village, which in regard to the uncertainty of the way they could not find but in a great time. The fisherman told them that in recompense for their courtesy he would advise them not to go, forasmuch as the inhabitants were a warlike people, and did not willingly lodge men of their fashion; and that it would be impossible to escape from their hands if they were discovered, because upon the sounding of the first alarm, all the other villages would answer them, from whom would come a multitude of labourers, who with divers arms would stop the passages, and knew the ways so well that there was neither brook, tree nor rock which they had not at their fingers’ ends. To this counsel the bandoleers replied that they were not alone; but there were above fifty in their troupe, fighting under the colours of a Catalonian knight, who had been injured by another more mighty than he both in means and parentage, although not in strength, reason or courage. Hardly had they ended these words, when by the light of the stars they saw the arms of the squadron and its captain of whom they had spoken, and now being joined all together, they lodged by force in various houses of the village. The pilgrim, curious to learn (as are all those who travel in foreign countries), mingled himself amongst the soldiers, who in no way disliked his company but instead invited him to supper; after which (the floor serving them for beds) they entertained one the other with discourse, until the slow dawn then at the end of February became daybreak. Now that they knew the pilgrim’s history, and he being desirous to learn from them their own turbulent narrative, his features and comprehension being pleasing to them, one among them named Ramond told it in this manner:

The History of Doricles

"In this famous city, which with a wonderful greatness opposeth Italy, and astonisheth Africa, there was born a lady of noble parentage, who having been a firebrand unto her country, had no small conformity with Greek Helen. Her name was Florinda, her beauty heavenly and her spirit divine, and she having attained unto years fit for marriage, two knights equal in youth, greatness of means and nobleness of blood did seek her love, with like hope but unlike favour. Love, natural inclination, a sympathy of manners or an influence of the stars did constrain Florinda to love Doricles and hate Filander, who to shorten his way between hope and possession, and to prevent his rival, demanded her in marriage of her parents, who would willingly have given the respect which they might unto the intercessor and his merits, had they not found that Florinda felt differently on gaining knowledge of the husband which they propounded to her. They loved her tenderly and would not constrain her with rigour, but speaking frankly to Filander, told him that she would not agree to it, although they had persuaded her as masters, and commanded as parents. Filander augmenting his love by her dislike, found out that the love which Florinda bore for Doricles was the cause of the disdain she bore him. The idea of revenge came to him, and he formed a resolution to remove from the world the obstacle of his design, notwithstanding the scandals and evils that so brutal an enterprise might bring. He armed himself with such company as he thought good (as he was not unprovided with friends nor wanted servants) at such times as he thought he might find Doricles at his mistress’s door, or in the street by her house. But his rival, dubious of his plans, always went well accompanied and better armed, as one who did not think that he could have a better friend than his sword. Having caused a ladder to be brought upon the eve of a feast unto her garden wall, by that means to speak with her, it happened that Filander coming into that street, and performing his usual office of spy, heard Florinda speak to Doricles, and saw her give him a nosegay of jasmine which she had in her hand, with embracings more insupportable to him than favourable to Doricles. He charged those which kept the gate, and began with them a cruel combat: Doricles comes down, and searching Philander in the midst of his enemies, wounds him and puts him to flight: for a favoured lover is as a gambler who wins, and in all hazards is always master of the fortunes of his adversary. Doricles goes away victorious out of the street, while Filander’s love (which had turned to disdain) became by this encounter a mortal hatred. Then either side increased their bands; the fire of their anger kindled all their parents; and although they every day spoke together as if they had no quarrel, they failed not to fight every night when they met. In this scandal Doricles lost the enjoying of his mistress, Filander her favour, she her renown and their parents their honour. Time increased the love of the one, while the other’s hatred increased his desire of revenge, and of the small pleasure which the two lovers had, Filander had the least, it seeming better to him in this business to rely upon his industry for the effecting of that which his strength would be wanting. Having then learned that Florinda was to take her pleasure at sea in a bark, he hid two or three days before a brigantine in a creek not far from the shore, in which he appareled himself like a Turk, with some other of his friends (for accomplices in amorous enterprises are seldom wanting) and with necessary rowers attended his mistress: the Meuxin, which is the tower where the watch of Barcelona is kept, having discovered that no enemies sailed in all the sea. In the meantime the contented Florinda with her companions was not gone from the shore a league when the counterfeit frigate hoisted sail, and beating the water with her oars, overtook her bark, the mariners whereof looking for nothing less than such a surprise, could not resolve either to fly or to defend themselves; but contrariwise (as the fearful bird seeing the proud merlin come fiercely stooping upon her, is accustomed to attend her with couched wings) acknowledging by the Turkish sails, the power of their enemies which were upon them, and quitted their oars; and fear (which with a cold shivering ran through all their veins) gave them no time to discern their deceit. Finally they boarded them, and two or three of the disguised Turks leaping into the bark ravished away the new Helen, who was carried into the brigantine and found herself in the arms of Filander. The counterfeit words of these pirates, who called him Murat Rais, made those who remained free in the bark believe that he was the author of this robbery, and seeing that they took nothing but Florinda, they returned again to Barcelona, recounting the disgrace in every street and place where they came, with more cries and tears than words, which coming to the ears of her parents, caused more grief in them then can be told, principally in her sorrowful mother, who bewailed her loss with a passion more befitting her sex than a generous courage. Mounted scouts in vain spurred up and down the coast, but Filander (who had brought Florinda into a private garden house, having taken away his turban and his Turkish disguise) declared unto her, that the incomparable force of his love had constrained him to have recourse to this deviousness, and did enjoy her beauty with assurance, although she took heaven, the trees and the fountains to witness the violence which was used on her.

Of no less consideration was Doricles’ pain, who full of mortal sorrow, was a thousand times by the sea’s side ready to imitate the despair of those nymphs which saw Europa ravished; nevertheless, and as well to oblige unto him his mistress’s parents, and to satisfy himself, he bought a ship of an Aragonese, which had brought in wheat, and loading it with silks, velvets and other merchandise gave his sails to the wind, turning his prow toward Argiere, Sali, Morat, Fuchel, Mami, Xafer, and other pirate haunts; Doricles enquired amongst them of his mistress, and of as many others as he knew did rob upon the coast of Spain. But when he met with none who could tell him news of her, whom his rival enjoyed with such pleasure, he went to Constantinople, and from thence unto Cairo, and having run along the coast of the kingdoms of Fez, Morocco, Tarndan, and Tafilet, despairing of ever finding her, whom he had so long time, and so vainly sought, changed his merchandise into Christian slaves and returning into Spain, disembarked at Ceuta. While the deceived Doricles did thus run along the coast of Africa, a servant of Filander, were it either out of some displeasure which he had taken, or out of envy of his happiness, revealed all the proceeding unto the Justice of Barcelona, who in the night following besieged the garden house, with main force, and took Filander then when he least expected it. The news and admiration, which his subtility and surprise caused in the city, moved the citizens confusedly to see him pass through the streets; through the midst of whom he was borne to prison, and the sorrowful maid (already made a woman against her will) was rendered unto her parents; the sentence was mortal, the opinion common, the approbation general, and the process short. The scaffold was ready, Filander disposed himself to die, and made it appear that he had the courage of a knight, and the soul of a Christian; nevertheless the Viceroy and the Bishop, interposing their authority, assembled the parents, and having mollified the nearest, dissuaded Filander’s death, in respect of the honour which they might gain by his life. So of two evils choosing the least, they had more care to the reparation of their honour, than to the contentment of revenge; thus they changed the mourning which was already provided for Filander into nuptial habits, and the scaffold into a bed, where Florinda was given him in lawful marriage: but the same day that they joined hands with the contentment and rejoicing of all the world, Doricles entered into the city, and unlooked for appeared at the head of two hundred men, whom he had drawn out of captivity, upon whose casques did shine in silver broidery the arms of Barcelona and their restorer; his word was I love the King. The sight and entry of this heroic citizen was exceedingly agreeable and dear unto the Barcelonians; but the insupportable news of his rival’s marriage with his mistress was no sooner come unto Doricles’ ears, but all the city in arms were divided into factions, and contrary parties. This suspended the marriage for some days, during which time it was remonstrated unto Doricles, that he could not marry Florinda without infamy. He answered that what he could not have, ought not to be given to Filander, it being in no way reasonable that this deceiver should gain by fraud what he had lost by so much travail; and there was no other means to accord him, but that Florinda should retire into a monastery. This distressed her parents who were already contented with the satisfaction of their honour, and the alliance of their son in law, whose parents offered unto Doricles a beautiful sister of Filander in marriage; but he unwilling thereunto, demanded justice against Filander for his crime, offering that after he should be beheaded he would marry Florinda as widow unto a knight. This last offer was in principle agreed unto by Filander’s and Florinda’s parents, but when Doricles thought that Filander had been led to prison, and from thence to death, he was given to understand how he was pardoned, and the marriage consummated. If his sorrow were great it may be known by the effects, seeing it is now twenty years since, from these Pyrennean mountains which divide France from Spain, he hath lived as an outlaw, robbed, pillaged and ruined all that he finds, neither kingdoms being able to take any revenge. He was one and twenty years old when he came from Africa: he is now forty one: a strong man, vigorous of his person, which is much fortified by his austere and wild life. And that may be believed of him, which was said of Hercules, that without doubt he had three lives, for if he had had but one, it had been a miracle that he had not lost it by so many wounds.

This day about sunrise he came down to see what noise this was, which the night before had sounded from the sea unto the woods, and he with about ten of us which followed him having found some boards which the sea had cast up, upon one of which was seated a young man in habit of a pilgrim like thyself, pale, in a trance, all drenched in water, his hair full of dirt and sand, and to conclude, evil accommodated with this tempest. He commanded us to carry him to that place where the rest of his men were, and as well to dry him as to get him breath, which he had almost lost, we endeavoured to unclothe him, but he refusing to be seen or to be touched by us, it made our captain suspect that he was not a man, for although he enforced himself to appear so, yet his actions showed the clean contrary; when as preventing the desire which the captain had to be cleared of his sex, this pilgrim of whom I tell thee (taking him aside) confessed that she was a woman, who came in this habit from Italy, with her husband; in which voyage, they had suffered shipwreck upon this shore: and in saying this, shame and desire to defend herself brought colour into her face, and valour into her heart; with one, she appeared perfectly fair, and with the other extremely hardy: Nevertheless her beauty being more powerful to hurt others, than her strength to defend herself, hath vanquished Doricles’ mind, who with sweet and courteous words persuaded her to rest this day in his company, during which time her face hath never been without tears. In the meantime he commanded, after sunset, that his supper and his bed should be provided in one of those villages, but we instantly heard that some charge of money which was to be carried to Genoa, should come this way, and having waited for them until midnight, we were without both supper and lodging: for this cause we sent two of our companions before, who are they which found you together with him who conducted us hither; Doricles is now with this pilgrim; I cannot tell thee whether he hath gained her or no, nor whether the bed had made a peace between two minds so absolutely differing: but certain it is that they are now lodged together."

The soldiers easily perceived that the pilgrim hearing this story, bathed his face with his tears, and with sad and violent sighings endeavoured to pierce heaven: they desiring the cause, he remaining a long time silent, and they still pressing him; in the end he began to cry out: Oh miserable wretch that I am, I have lost my honour, my glory is destroyed, my hope is dead, by the hands and weakness of a woman. Oh that ever the sea pardoned my life, since that with so much pity, it reserved thine, to the end that my eyes might be witnesses (after so many labours and dangers) of such an offence. Well did the soldiers know that this was the man whom the pilgrim respected, and the true north star unto which she turned the needle of her affection: but they endeavouring to comfort him, so much increased his fury, that drawing forth his sword out of his pilgrim’s staff, the outside whereof served as a scabbard, he ran enraged out of the house unto the house where the captain lay, and there gave such blows upon the door, and such loud cries, that the captain thinking he had been assailed by the Justice or by the inhabitants of that place, leaped out of his bed in his shirt, his pistol in his hand, and opening the door asked Who was there? A wretched man, answered the pilgrim with an incredible fierceness, and one from whom thou hast taken his honour, with this vile woman which thou dost possess. Doricles discharged his pistol and the pilgrim turning his body, the bullet lit in his arm. All the company ran thither at the noise, and the valiant Catalonian disposed himself to strike quicker than the lightning come out of thunder sent by Jove against the giants, when the miserable pilgrim woman, embracing him with prayers, begged the pilgrim’s life, saying unto Doricles, that this man was he whom she did only acknowledge for her master, and on the other side assuring her desperate husband that she had not transgressed against her honour, neither in deed, word nor thought; because his prayers had not vanquished her, and his threats could never. I do not know if it ought to be believed of a woman: the history commendeth her chastity, and I do religiously believe the virtue of this sex so much esteemed by me, and so greatly held in account all my life. Doricles would willingly that the pilgrim should have been contented with his life, which he would leave him, and that he should have gone away without the woman, but the incensed Castilian defying him to a single combat, began to defame him, and provoke him in such manner, that he commanded his soldiers to hang him up at the next tree of the mountain: hardly was the word out of the captain’s mouth, when the pilgrim found himself carried out of the village by those barbarous fellows, and upon his way towards the wood where he should be branched up. Finding himself then at the place of execution and in the presence of an inevitable death, he entreated them with tears that they would let him recommend his soul to him that was the author thereof; which being permitted unto him, he drew out of his bosom an image of the blessed Virgin; which holding up, with his eyes and his hands to heaven, he began his prayers devoutly, having the match of one of their pieces about his neck near unto him who tied it to a bough of a great oak, only waiting for the end of his devotions: nevertheless even as he fastened the last knot, the fair morning rejoicing the world with new light, clearly discovered the amiable colour of his face.

Who will believe that in the space of one night so many fortunes should happen to one man, if it were not known that things are written to be marked, and that evils do seldom come alone, seeing that the evils which happen in one night to one unfortunate man, do surpass all the prosperity which can happen to a fortunate man in all his life? The soldiers seeing the honest and grave countenance of this pilgrim, his youth and his innocence, and being otherwise mollified with his prayers; or having their hearts secretly touched by the hands of God, for he who hardened Pharaoh’s heart can mollify others, they resolved to let him live, not willing to be more cruel than the sea, which the day before had cast him upon land from drowning; and thinking it was an infamous cruelty, that he who had been spared by things without sense, should be destroyed by them who ought to have reason. The pilgrim gave them thanks for their liberality, and referring their reward unto heaven, entreated them that if by chance, this woman which he had left, did persevere in the firmness of her speech, they should tell her that she should find him at Barcelona: this said, he took his way towards the city, and the soldiers towards the village. But the feigned news of his death which they were constrained to deliver unto Doricles, so much deprived the sorrowful pilgrim woman of sense (whom he had already thrust out of his chamber, being vexed with her cries) that she remained a long time as dead, and when as she was come again unto herself, she did and said so many pitiful things, that these fierce men most accustomed to shed blood, did now shed tears. So that the captain despairing of ever being able to pacify her, and thinking that the beginnings of extreme grief do easily pass to a frenzy, commanded that she should be carried upon the great highway; where the miserable woman was left, drowning herself in tears, and murdering her face with her hands, she made herself look with great deformity: from thence following the way by the seaside she went to Valencia.

The pilgrim in the meantime was at Barcelona, having stayed two days, to view the goodly strong walls of the city; the third day as he was beholding the Viceroy’s palace, this fisherman, whose voice had so unhappily drawn him from the cabins of the other fishermen, and as a deceitful hyena had called him to bring his life into such danger, knew him, and demanded of him if he were not the thief, which entertained him the other night with words, until his companions came and entering by force into the houses of the village, had robbed them and pillaged them? It is true answered the pilgrim, that I am he who by the sound of thy voice came out of the cabins of men of thy profession, but not he who came with the robbers which you speak of: upon this they contested one against the other, insomuch that the people ran to the noise; and as to be pursued with hue and cry, there needs no more cause but to be a stranger, so all the world believing in the natural Catalonian’s words, the poor pilgrim was impetuously carried away by the people, and as a robber put into prison.

The infamous rabble who for crimes great or small are accustomed to possess these places, which are like so many true representations of Hell, put him into a dark corner worse than the worst sink of Constantinople, where it is impossible to recite the blows they gave him, and the injuries they said unto him: because having no metal about him but the bullet, which Doricles shot into him the night of his misfortune, he had not wherewith to pay his garnish or entrance, nor ability to find better means to appease them.

Night victorious over human cares, imposing rest unto their labours and their thoughts, and reducing their actions to a deep silence came amongst these barbarous people, yet the miserable stranger only not so much as closing his eyes: he felt not the grief of his wound, not the infamy of his imprisonment, all that which troubled him, and all that which he feared, was the pilgrim woman’s losing of her honour, which wrought so with him, that whilst others slept in this confusion, without that the want of beds, the importunity of many noisome creatures, which run up and down in the prison, the fear of judgement to come, nor the present misfortune could wake them; our pilgrim only is awake, complaining against heaven, the sea, and his cruel fortune which had preserved his life, then, when he had no feeling of death, to make him suffer it now in a state so sensible.

At the length the sun with a countenance full of shame and as if he had been constrained, shone through the thick bars of the prison windows, showing in the pale colour of his beams, that he feared he should be kept there, when the pleasant blows of the jailer, and the sweet noise which his keys made in the strong locks, awaked from their forgetfulness those unto whom the fear of punishment for their faults could work no remembrance: but the pilgrim was not waked, because he was not asleep; he came out amongst the rest nevertheless to give thanks to the day, for having passed over so miserable a night. There began this miserable body to move his parts, going many leagues in a little space: prayers importuned some, care wearied others; necessity called out here, hunger sighed there, and Liberty was wished for everywhere: the laws called upon execution, ministers upon punishment, and favour importuned for delay; those who had wherewith went out by the air, others not having wherewith could not find the door; the confusion of voices, the unquietness of the judge, the coming in of some, the going out of others, and the noise of fetters, made in this discordant instrument a fearful striving.

In this time, a knight, who for the nobleness of his blood, and the antiquity of his imprisonment, was generally respected as the master, cast his eyes upon the pilgrim, and considering his deep melancholy, his habit and his person, incited by his good countenance and aspect, (for there is no letter of favour which worketh greater effects in all necessities) called him to a little alley which answered to the door of his chamber, and asked his name, his country, and the cause of his imprisonment. The pilgrim recited unto him the success which you have heard, beginning his life, from the time that the sea gave it him, by casting him upon the shore not far from the walls of Barcelona. The knight wondered at it, and collecting from his reasons, and the manner of his speech, his understanding and his gentleness, took such affection unto him, that he placed him in his chamber: where having restored his weak forces, with conserves which he had, he made him reveal his arm, and he himself healed the wound with medicines and words, which he had learned being a soldier; for if herbs and stones have this virtue, wherefore should it be wanting to holy words?

The contented pilgrim afterwards turning his eyes round about the chamber, saw written upon the walls with a coal according to the ancient manner of prisoners, certain hieroglyphic verses, at the sight whereof, he knew that he who had written them was not ignorant. Over the picture of a young man, which had the chief place, was written this verse from Virgil:

in somnis ecce ante oculos maestissimus Hector

After that was painted a heart with wings, which flew after death with the letter of Aeneas, sending the body of his friend to the great Evander.

mortuus Pallante

Near unto that was figured Prometheus, or Titius, who being tied with strong chains to the rocks of Mount Caucasus, nourished an Eagle with his entrails, the words were from Ovid, and said thus:

Vitae dolor, vita molestiae et magnis gratos fore morte, sed mori non potest

By a river, between two infernal shores, Forgetfulness was painted, being a young man who carried a vessel full of remembrances, which he did endeavour to fling into the water, with these words of Lucretius:

Cadit iterum cum pervenit usque ad summum

The head and harp of Orpheus were portrayed upon a gate amongst the waves of the river Hebrus, into which he had been cast by the Bacchantes, they came unto Lesbos, the words were these:

Hic flevit gerit, feras et genimina viperarum

There was also painted a lady lying dead with a sword through her body, with these words of Scaliger upon the death of Polyxena:

Non satis vincere homines?

In the distance which might be between the window and the flower, was painted the giant Argus with his hundred eyes, and Mercury charming him asleep, with this Vespasian epigram:

Subtilis amor maxime inutilis dolis

With such and other curiosities, which the Knight writ as aptly fitting his adventures, did he adorn his chamber and pass away his tedious imprisonment.

Whilst that the Pilgrim was busy in beholding these conceits, he was called before the judges to answer the accusation against him, and he relating simply the truth, by the little art which he brought with him in his speech, he plainly showed that there was no guilt in him; his cause being recommended unto the judges by the knight, who writ his innocence unto them, he was acquitted and brought back again into the knight’s chamber, where they ate together. Their discourse which at the end of dinner served for their last dish (amongst other things) fell upon their misfortunes, because that there is nothing which more aptly, and readily doth ease the mind than relation of our own misadventures. The master of the lodging (who could willingly have spared that name) being entreated by the pilgrim to relate the cause of his imprisonment, began to speak in this manner:

The History of Mireno

"In a little town not far from this great city, there was a gentleman named Telemachus married with a fair lady, not so chaste as the Roman Lucretia although she carried her name; the report was, that this marriage was made against her wishes, and it is likely to be true, as by the effects it was afterwards witnessed: her melancholy increased, her beauty and clothes neglected, did show a languishment, as roses, when the radical moisture of their boughs decreases. Telemachus did force himself to divert her from this sad kind of neglect, least it might seem unto some which should see her, that this sadness proceeded from his default, for oftentimes innocent husbands are accused for their wives’ evil conditions. He apparelled her richly, allowed her to solace and recreate herself at sea, and carried her to see the choicest gardens. And this being not sufficient he opened his house to all good company. Amongst the young knights which did ordinarily frequent and converse with them, there was one called Mireno, so much my friend, that if death had not set a difference between us, I could not have been persuaded (he being alive) to discern which of us two had been myself. This man cast his eyes (until this time busied in the consideration of another’s beauty) upon Telemachus’ fair wife; who looking upon him more earnestly than upon any other, had (it may be) incited him: for although it be said that love can pierce as a spirit, into the most close and secret places: yet I do think it impossible, that any man should love, if he be not at the first obliged thereunto by some little hope. He concealed from me the beginning of his thought: for love is always borne discreetly, and dumb as a child. But the same sweetness of its conversation doth so quickly teach it to speak, that like a prisoner at the bar he oftentimes cast himself away by his own tongue. So after he saw himself admitted in Lucretia’s eyes (an evident index that he was already in her soul) not being able to suffer the glory of that whereof he easily endured the pain; he made unto me a great discourse of his fortune, or to say truer, of his folly; which could not have been hurtful unto him, if he had followed my advice as well as he asked it. But it is ordinary, especially with those who are in love, to ask counsel, then when as for nothing in the world they would forbear to do that which they have in their mind. There was no history, either divine or human, which was within my knowledge and to the purpose, that I did not lay before him, exaggerating the evils which did proceed from like enterprises. But Mireno who had already firmly determined to follow his purpose, and thinking that I was not apt for his design, by little and little, forbore to visit me. Quickly did he forbear to accompany me in walking: we went no more by day to public conversations, nor by night to private; A notable error in the condition of men, whose loves and friendships are kept by flattery, and lost by truth. I did bear Mireno’s absence with great impatience, and he had no feeling of his living without me; because Lucretia being now his whole soul, could not suffer that he should have another Mireno: having thus shaken me off, communicated his business with a third, who was so common a friend unto us both, that when I wanted Mireno, or Mireno wanted me, we did seek one the other at his house. This man was not so considerate as I was, contrariwise there was no kind of danger, into which he would not precipitate himself to pleasure his friend; such friends are like powder on festival days, which to rejoice others spendeth itself. This made me disguise myself to follow them in the night; and one time above the rest, when I had more patience, and they less consideration than the ordinary, I saw how they set a ladder to a window of a tower, which revealed a spacious prospect towards the sea, over a garden of Telemachus: I stayed to the end, not to discover what they did, but to see if I could serve in any stead in the importance of this danger, and my heart did not deceive me, although Mireno who was within it did deceive me. For after the first sleep, then when as with less force he vanquisheth the cares of a master of a family, I heard a noise, and presently I saw Mireno coming down the ladder, and Aurelio (for so was he called with whom he was accompanied) receiving him in his arms, and persuading him to fly: hardly were they out of the street, when a servant loosing the ladder let it fall. I ran to the fall thereof, and as well as I could gathering it up, stepped behind a corner, from whence I espied Telemachus in his shirt, having his sword naked in one hand, and a candle in the other: and looking out from the window of the tower if he could discern anything upon the ground, of that which he had heard: I crept softly to the gate; and hearkening what was said in this family where there was this alarm, I understood that the disgrace of our two lovers, was taken to be the industry of robbers. In this they were not deceived, for those are no small thieves, who steal good name and rob away honour: I returned a little more contented to my house, but slept but badly, in this care. The morning being come I sent for Mireno, with whom having discoursed of divers matters, I asked what news of Lucretia? He told me he did not speak with her: for all wicked secrets do for the most part conceal themselves from true friends. I said then unto him, that I wondered he would dissemble a thing so known; Telemachus her husband being come unto my house, to tell me that he had heard him within his; that looking out of a window of a tower, he had seen him go down by a ladder: Mireno astonished and wondering at my revelation, confessed unto me what had passed, and how Lucretia having yielded to his letters, messages, and services had made him master of her liberty, yielding unto him the treasure which was so fiercely guarded by Telemachus’ hundred eyes. Which was the reason why I placed this hieroglyphic of Argus and Mercury, with the epigram:

Subtle love deceiveth jealousy.

He proceeded to tell me that when Telemachus was asleep, they talked together in a garden, into which he entered by a ladder made of cords, which Aurelio kept, unto whom only he had imparted this secret, having found me so averse from succouring him. I asked what he had done with the ladder? He told me that from the leaving of that proceeded Telemachus’ advertisement. I told him that Telemachus knew nothing, neither had the ladder served as an occasion to discover anything unto him: and letting him see the service which I had done him, I did begin to conjure him, that he would abandon the perilous success which he ought to expect from the pursuit of this design, seeing that Telemachus at the least had notice that his wife was not by his side when there was noise in the lodging. So that he promised me, he would not go any more thither, and the more to divert him from going thither, he resolved to absent himself from Barcelona. I confirmed him in this resolution; because that truly there is nothing which so much eclipseth the desire of lovers, as an interposed distance of place between them; yet it was not needful, because by the time Mireno disposed himself to depart, Telemachus had already changed his dwelling from this city unto the little place where he was married; and this was a memorable observation, Mireno losing the repeated view of his Lucretia, lost her also out of his thought, and confirmed his love better than ever to Erisila, (she was that other lady whom I in the beginning of my discourse I said he had loved) who again loved him better and with more pleasure than before, because that love which succeedeth after jealousy is more violent. Besides, the amiable parts which were in Mireno, who was of a goodly stature, of great spirit, and an illustrious blood, of a free condition, amiable both on horseback, and on foot, and renowned beyond all of his age, for all military exercise; as for his face, behold this picture, wherein I assure you, the painter was no flatterer; I keep it here for my comfort, although it be always present in my soul, as you may judge by the words written:

Before my eyes in a dream, sad Hector did appear.

Because truly his image did never abandon my sight, but either sleeping or waking he was represented to my eyes: in effect we fell into our old inwardness; but in the midst of this peace, the wife of Telemachus had so much power over him, that vanquished with her prayers, he brought her again to Barcelona, where she was no sooner seen by Mireno, but the ancient flames of his love, blowing away the ashes into the wind, revealed themselves more lively: and I fearing what might happen by this coming back of Lucretia, persuaded Mireno to marry. He himself finding that it was the honorablest, the easiest and the safest way to distance himself from these loves, entreated me to find out some worthy subject, who might set a bound unto his affections: I propounded many who I thought were of his quality, although not of his merit; but it was with him as with those who buy without pleasure, and do not content themselves with any price; for some are too high, others too low: these black, those pale; one lean, the other too fat; this was too fine, another too sluttish: in short, seeing that he liked none of those, and would not marry, I left him, for I saw that Lucretia had more power with him than all the others together. They then began to see one another again, for in these good works, mediators are seldom wanting: Erisila who was passionately in love with Mireno, began to discern in him a coldness and a carelessness in seeing her, and that he did divert himself by other pleasures. She (in this suspicion, which may be called a true jealousy) began to observe and follow him; so that without spoiling much, she knew, if not all that passed, at the least what was the subject which ravished away her Mireno.

Who will believe so extraordinary a conceit as I shall tell you? Truly he only, who doth know how much the spirit of a woman is disposed (especially if she is in love) to any kind of industry and subtility: Erisila never left seeking occasion that Telemachus should see her, until in the end Telemachus did behold her, and in viewing Erisila, he saw in her a brave disposition of a woman, who looked upon him with fair and sweet eyes; for when they will deceive, they make their eyes snares, and their sweetnesses baits: Telemachus yielded himself (although he loved Lucretia) forced by the eyes and beauty of Erisila, which did so much the more provoke him, by how much she desired to deceive him: he began to come to her house, and she to feign a great deal of passion, Mireno giving them leisure enough, as he did not frequent her house as he was accustomed. Finally their affection came to the point that Erisila desired. Then she said unto him one day (as if she had not known him to be married, which he dissembled also) that she had seen him enter into one Lucretia’s house, whereat she had conceived great jealousy. Telemachus smiling, began to appease her saying, that it was without any design that he had entered into this house (whereof indeed he was master) and as she began to witness a more feeling sorrow, accompanied with false tears; he began to remonstrate that Lucretia was virtuous and well born; with a great many other commendations of her chastity, and of Telemachus her husband’s care (commending himself). And some are of the opinion that self-commending is not unbeseeming, when it importeth the good opinion of another man. Erisila then finding a good occasion for her wicked design, told him that Lucretia’s husband might be a gallant man, yet nevertheless she knew that Lucretia did not forbear to make love unto a knight of the city; and she was afraid that she might as well love him as the other: because whatsoever woman she be, she doth easily suffer herself to be won, after the first lightness: Telemachus who began to wax so pale that it was easily seen in his face, what interest he had in this discourse; entreated her to discover who was this knight: but she feigning to be jealous of him, whom she did endeavour to make so jealous, enforceth her complaints, persuading him that she was troubled with that jealousy which indeed she had raised in him. In short, Erisila was unwilling to name who it was; Telemachus suddenly stepped to her, and drawing his dagger, setting it to her throat made her utter the name of Mireno, a person whom he knew better then she: with this Telemachus went away, confessing it was true that he had loved Lucretia, not knowing she had another lover; but now from this time forward he would hate her, and would settle all his affection upon her, in confirmation of which, he gave her a chain of gold, and a diamond.

By this means, Erisila thought that the husband would keep his house, and that Mireno (by this means barred from seeing Lucretia) would come to visit her as he was accustomed. But the knight, whom it concerned to wipe away this spot from his honour by the blood of he who had offended him, seeing it was now no longer time to keep that which was lost, feigning a few days after to go to Montserrat, gave a beginning to his revenge, and an end unto my life. The two lovers were not so besotted, nor I such a fool, that we did not think (although we were ignorant of Erisila’s malice) that this absence might be feigned; having had so many examples in the world; wherefore we sent our faithful friend Aurelio secretly after him. But the advised Telemachus, who knew well that he was not to deceive fools, feigning that he went to Valencia, returned when he was halfway, and hid himself in Barcelona.

Now Mireno could not spend the night so assured with Lucretia but that I kept the door, although he did entreat me not to do it; God knoweth how many nights I passed without pleasure; for my heart did always tell me that their two lives did run a dangerous fortune. But Telemachus the third night after entering by a secret door into the garden (as I spoke of unto you) without being heard or seen by any person, with only one servant with him, who carried a halberd, came unto the chamber where his steps were heard, and out of which Mireno came to meet him, very evil provided of arms to defend himself, not that I doubt he would not have well defended himself, half asleep and naked as he was, with his sword alone which he had in his hand: If his adversary, who was accommodated with more advantageous arms, had not overthrown him dead to the ground with an arquebus shot: the report of the piece, made me judge that such a salutation at that time of the night, was rather a condemnation, than anything else: wherefore endeavouring to break open the doors, I waked the neighbours, some of whom running thither with their arms, and having helped me to overthrow the doors, we entered in. Already had Telemachus broken into his cabin, where Lucretia was hid, and dragging her from thence, not far from the place where Mireno lay, he thrust his sword into her, so that as we arrived, her breath went away with a last Jesu. And as he had already killed Mireno, methought Scaliger’s verse, which is under this picture was not unapt:

Was it not enough to kill and vanquish men?

I had not as yet seen Mireno, and searching him with mine eyes all about the room, I saw him lying dead: thou may see in the tears which now flow from my eyes, what was then my grief, I do not know what I did, yet seeking for Telemachus, I did excuse him for the care of defending himself; and from justifying so bloody an execution: for having met face to face, I thrust at him, with which thrust, he accompanied their two lives, which he had extinguished. By this time the house was beset by those whom the Justice had raised, who apprehended as many as they found, and me especially, for having killed Telemachus without cause, although according to the laws of the world there was but too much cause, and here they put me where thou now see me, and where I have lived this five years, desiring death, as thou may see by this winged heart of mine flying after this image of dead Mireno; with these words out of Virgil:

My Pallas dead, I bide alive by force.

My travels are figured in those of Sisyphus, and Titius, and represented by these words out of Ovid:

O wretched state, constrain’d to live In plaints eternally: When Death which only help can give, Affords no power to die.

The sorrow which this great city felt by the loss of Mireno is expressed in this figure of the head and heart of Orpheus, with these words:

There wept the Woods, the Beasts, and the Serpents.

For I do not think that there was either tree or stone which were not moved with this so pitiful an accident. And here will I end his story, with these tears which I will offer incessantly to his memory, and these words which I have made for Lucretia’s tomb:

Here lieth Lucretia, less chaste than the Roman, but more fair: Tarquin did not force her, but love; and although she died for her infidelity, love, who was the cause, has the power to excuse her.

So the faire Lucretia remained in mortal rest, and her name, in my imagination, is not worthy of blame: for having been overcome by the excellent parts of her lover, and by that unchangeable force which love ever useth against great and free courages."

The pilgrim’s imprisonment had not passed at so easy a rate of his patience, had not Everard (so was the knight called that made this discourse) favoured his affairs: for his innocence could not gain him his liberty, nor good opinion, which he did deserve; so powerful was his only habit, to work in the judges an evil conceit of his person; yet Doricles (captain of those robbers) being pardoned, and received again into the city’s favour; the pilgrim was also absolved, as were his confederates.

His curiosity to hear the fisherman’s singing having brought him to receive a hurt in his arm with a piece, into an extreme danger of hanging, unto three months imprisonment, which without the help of Everard had been insupportable. They took their leaves one of another, with a thousand loving embraces, and Everard having further obliged him with some money, he resolved to go to Montserrat, and I to finish this First Book.

The end of the First Book.

Book Two

By a straight way, between thick trees and shady did the pilgrim go towards Montserrat, who turning his head at a noise which he heard behind at his back, he saw two young men with palmer's staves, whose fair faces and blond hair showed them to be either Germans or Flemings. He saluted them, and joyful of so good company, he imposed silence unto a thousand sad thoughts, which solitariness had brought into his memory. Travelling together, they began to discourse of diverse matters, with which they easily and with pleasure passed away the craggy, and uneven way of the mountain, until they came unto a fountain, which bubbling into a valley, made a gentle harmony. So that as it were invited by the sweet noise and the fresh shade, they sat down upon the rushes which grew by the brook's side, and admired the sweet complaints of the nightingale. One of the Germans, which shewed a good nature embellished with learning, began to discourse of Filomela's love, saying that now she would recompense with her infinite notes, for all the time that she had been dumb after Terreus had cut out her tongue. The Spaniard replied that Martial had uttered the same conceit, and the German rejoicing to find in him more capacity than in common persons (for it is an insupportable labour to travel with an ignorant man) rose from the place where he sat, and embracing him with a great deal of contentment, after many other discourses, Let us go, said he, to adore the blessed Virgin. In this image so much renowned, through all the world, we cannot make a more holy voyage, nor I in better company than thine: let us go said the Spaniard by this path, which seemeth to me to be much the shorter, although a little steeper, for the most part of the way.

This being said, they took their way towards the abbey, which they discovered shortly after, built upon the side of a sharp mountain, and under a great rock, which did seem to threaten it with ruin.

When they were entered, with devotion and humility, casting their eyes upon tapestries of France, Germany, and almost all the world: they were astonished, to see the walls decked with so many excellent paintings, histories, and accompanied with a thousand several kinds of offerings, which with an admirable correspondence did stir up and astonish the senses altogether. There did they pour forth their prayers and their tears, and after they had seen and been informed of all that was considerable in the monastery, the day having lost her beauty by the sun's absence; they retired altogether until the morning shining through the eastern gates gave them knowledge of the new day's approach. Then they resolved to visit the divers habitations of the hermits which lived in these mountains, and being come unto the seventh hermitage, they found a young man of an agreeable countenance and a goodly presence, whose long and well combed hair gave a reverent majesty unto his aspect. This man stayed them dinner, and after their repast, being entreated by the pilgrims to tell them what devotion had confined him into these solitary mountains, he related the history of his life, in this manner:

The History of Aurelia

"Amongst all the things which in the course of my life I have seen and marked, I might peradventure tell you some one, which might better content you. But thinking that one cannot better persuade than by the example of himself, I will therefore tell you a story which is drawn from my youth, and from the twentieth year of my age, written by my misfortune and imprinted in my memory, seeing that the renewing can do me no damage, and may bring you profit. This short tyranny, the bane of youth, the illusion of the sight, the prison of the soul, and the darkener of the sense, which is called Beauty, and which heaven seemeth to give women for our mischief: blinded so my eyes at the first knowledge, which they had in the world, that my spirit did not live so much in myself, as in her whom I loved, nor found more rest out of her sight, than things do out of their centre; because that as the fire always sendeth the flames thereof to its proper sphere, so my heart addressed its desires to her beauty.

Now as this love was not platonic, I will not dispute whether it were honest, profitable, or delightful; let it satisfy that it which is the cause of so much evil, seemed unto me, the greatest and sovereignest good in the world. This subject of my misfortunes was called Aurelia, free in her customs of that kind of life which Plautus and Terence describe in their fables; and of whom Aulus saith excellently well; that a courtesan is a vessel full of holes, which can contain nothing. She was fair in all perfection, of a quick and hardy spirit and of a reasonable good nature, a woman (to be short) unto whom experience in the world had brought a great deal of knowledge. It cost me little to possess her, because that these kind of women (clean contrary unto other women, who forced by the love of a man, do honestly yield unto his merits) trusting to their charms and unto the gentleness of usage, are passionate with men more when they are enjoyed than when they are pretended. I was not vexed at the first with the conversation of the young men, who at any hour howsoever extraordinary were never wanting in her house, because the favours which she did me, and the little which they cost me made me live much contented, especially seeing myself preferred before others of better means and merits then myself; when I went to see her, they gave me place, and departed courteously, leaving me alone with her.

These my visitations were not agreeable unto her servants, because they thought that thereby this rabble of youth was scattered, which brought them profit. And that if Aurelia should fall in love with me, my quality being not capable to sustain her expense, she must spend out of her own means, from whence would inevitably follow a necessity of living more regularly, which they would by no means hear of; and of this were they not much deceived, for in a small time Aurelia, who had ravished so many others, was taken herself in my love, and made captive to my will, which made true one part of this fear, by shortening the revenues of her house, to lengthen the reins of her pleasure. Not that all the charge of the house fell upon her; for I miserable man, tormenting my parents, and importuning my friends, did run to the preservation of this love, which almost always depended on money.

The life which we led (we loving one another tenderly, and having in our power the liberty of enjoying) may easily be judged by my youth, and by Aurelia's, who was then about twenty years old. The house seemed too strait for our love, and searching solitary fields, we made the sight of open heaven witness of our follies. Our life was a blind imitation of the nature of beasts, we communicated our secrets to trees, which did not see, as if the leaves had not been so many clear eyes, and a thousand amorous delights to the dumb fountains, which might well have troubled the purity of their waters, I cannot think how in so little a way as there was between my house and hers. It remained 5 years space before I knew that I was arrived there, being certain, that in 3 years space of that time, the famous English Drake passed the Strait of Magellan and compassed the world about. If in all this time, the loyalty which she swore unto me were broken or no, I am not able to say, nor yet forbear to believe, because it seems almost a thing impossible for such women from their custom, to keep themselves to an orderly life.

At the end of these five years, I saw myself at the end of my means, and although I was more amorous than in the beginning, yet Aurelia did suffer herself to be vanquished by the obligations of another, who had more power than my services: I say obligations, because I cannot believe that only love can bind one unto so strange a change. One night Aurelia having seen me retire myself unto my bed, she had received Feliciano into hers (so was the knight called.) I stirred with a profound jealousy, rose up out of my bed, and went to her house, where the door was shut against me: and the servants answered me from above out at a high window, feigning that they were gone to bed, to make me rather to retire unto my own house. But my extreme love which would not at that time, have relied upon my eyes, and feared to be betrayed by my thoughts, made me cry aloud, that somebody should open the door, so that my voice came unto Aurelia’s ears. And Feliciano making show of a valiant-lover, began to clothe himself, promising to chastise my boldness with his sword, and by his only presence to cure my folly; but the cunning Circe, who knew well whatsoever good or bad success came unto me, it would rebound unto her shame, hindered him with her arms and diverted him with her tears, although there was no great need: for the bravest do unwillingly arm themselves when they are once naked; and to come out of a house into the street had been a manifest and mad rashness.

Aurelia so prevailing in that manner, wherein others of her kind are wont to prevail; and making Feliciano believe that I should be her husband, and that if I did perceive him she should lose me, persuaded him half unclothed and in the midst of January, that he would go onto the highest roof of the house. Onto which he being gone, I was let into the house, where I found Aurelia in bed making so many complaints of my liberty, and of the scandal which I gave the neighbours, that instead of being angry, it behove me to appease her, where (after some time spent) she in complaining of me, and I in asking pardon for my jealousy, and for the desire which I had to surprise her in that infidelity which I did distrust: I possessed the absent man's place, which was still warm, serving for a proof of my ignorance and blockishness. Morning brought again the sun, and the sun the day, yet neither of them was sufficient to make me see my folly (so evil doth a lover discern of his own acts) I rose contented, and although I entered last, yet I went sooner away then Feliciano.

In the meantime Menander who had for the space of some years been Feliciano’s mistress, grew extremely jealous, and hearing of this trick which Aurelia had put upon him, could not forbear speaking of it, mocking him with the cold night which he had endured, and that he had suffered me, who never had any intent to marry her, to possess that place by her side which he had lost: Feliciano assured her that Aurelia (preferring his love, before the obligations, wherein for so many years she was bound unto me) did rather abuse me than him; and that whensoever she or any other would afford him the like courtesy, he would willingly suffer one evil night to have so many good: and for proof of what he said, he gave her a key, whereof I was wont to be master, which I was made believe was lost. Menander dissembled her thoughts, but so soon as she met me again, she told me all the circumstances, and with all gave me the key; having which I needed no other witnesses of the truth, nor other instrument to open the door. I then resolved to revenge myself of Aurelia in leaving her, and of Feliciano, in serving Menander, from whose love I presumed he had not freed himself, and if he had been free yet I knew he must needs be grieved that I should enjoy her whom he loved in everybody's opinion. I found Menander willingly disposed, for our thoughts were alike, and our injury alike, and we might well serve to revenge one the other. She then feigned to love me, and I paid her in the like counterfeiting. Aurelia was advertised, and grew desperate, and Feliciano no less enraged, sought me to kill me. Behold how jealousies and neglects do reveal the truths which are in the centre of our hearts.

Aurelia found me sooner than Feliciano did, as she who therein hazarded least: and staying me began in fury and in threatenings, yet ended in prayers and in tears. But upon so fresh an injury, I was rather confirmed in my neglect (seeing her yield unto my love) than any way moved with her passion. Finally, having changed my first affection into hatred, (always insupportable to a woman who hath been well beloved) Aurelia began to pursue me, and although that the city of my birth and abode doth not yield for greatness to above two or three in all Spain, yet could not I find any lodging wherein she did not clamour me, any friend whom she did not revolt from me, any secret which she did not publish, nor any danger whereinto she did not endeavour to throw me. So that oppressed with these pursuits, and seeing myself reduced to the contenting of her, after a thousand contrary deliberations, I resolved to take upon me a religious habit, and to prevail by his protection, in whose hands and feet God hath imprinted the marks of our reparation.

But oh! the supreme force of a despised love, as from the holy choir of the monastery, from the midst of the altars and images of the saints, the tears of Aurelia drew me again; and then I followed her, with more liberty and less shame then before, leaving the habit whereof I was not worthy, and neglecting the spiritual treasure which I did then enjoy, to follow the infamous life which I had formerly led, so much power hath the capital enemy of our souls. Our love began fresher than ever, with the general scandal of those who knew us, the hatred of our parents and the detestation of all our friends, which within a small time brought me to such terms that I thought sorrow would have killed me. The infamy wherein we lived and the fear of justice did oblige us to depart the city, and selling that small remainder of goods which we had left, laden with a number of evils, we passed into Italy; from whence I went (for some time) to serve the catholic king in Flanders, and the Duke of Savoy in Piedmont, returning always to Naples where I had left her. The last time I put to sea with her in my company (intending after the Flanders wars to return into Spain) where in a violent tempest (which heaven for the quiet of our souls) sent us in the gulf of Narbonne; in the last point of life, and when we were past hope of escaping, we vowed ourselves to a religious life with such earnestness of tears, that afterwards the storm ceasing and we landing, she entered into the Monastery of the Conception; and I underwent this habit wherein you now see me, where after some years of probation this cell was given me."

Here Tirsis the Hermit of this happy abode stayed his discourse, and our pilgrims judging that it was too late to pass further, and it being necessary to descend into the lodging which within this holy house is given freely to strangers, they went unto the monastery, discoursing upon the hermit's relation, determining the next day to go to the uttermost hermitage, which under the title of St Jerome, crowneth the head of the mountain.

But the misfortunes of our pilgrim, which had slept for some time, began to wake with more violence; for in the house where these strangers had lodged there were missing some jewels, with a maidservant of the house, and the Germans amongst others were pursued by the Justice, although innocent, because it was affirmed by some that this servant enamoured of their beauties had run away with them.

All nations have their epithets, which being once received by the world can never be lost. The Scythians are called cruel, the Italians religious, the French noble, the Dutch industrious, the Persians faithless, the Turks lascivious, the Parthians curious, the Burgundians fierce, the Britains hardy, the Egyptians valiant, the Lorraines gentle, the Spaniards arrogant and the Germans beautiful. And this was the cause for which it was thought that the maid being seduced by them had run away with them.

Now the Germans were easily taken, but the pilgrim desperate through his late long imprisonment which he had suffered in Barcelona, and out of the little justice which he as a stranger could expect, seeing them come unto him, stood upon his defence, and flourishing his palmer's staff, (with which he was very skilful) left two of them lying upon the ground wounded, and virtuously freed himself from the hands of the others, who remained astonished at his valour. Between Tortosa and Castell��n there stretcheth forth a great hill, wherewith the sea of that coast is bounded, along the coast of the vale of Sego and of the Kingdom of Valencia: where the Moors of Algiers and Sal�� do land out of their galleys, when they are not perceived by the watch, and hiding themselves amongst the hollow places of these hills, do rob not only the fishermen but all such as pass that way. And sometimes when they are many of them together, they do rob away whole villages together; in this vale, they being guided by renegades, and those betrayed again by the Moors: there one dark night did the pilgrim lie (weary with his journey which he had taken out of the way) obliged thereunto by the fear which he had of pursuit. And being asleep after many long and grievous imaginations of his lost happiness, which he did believe to be still in the hands of Doricles, the roaring of the sea (the waves whereof breaking against the rocks make a horrible noise) awaked him. He heard near unto him the voices of some Moors, who having joyfully supped upon the land, were talking of their robberies. He who sleeping upon the ground in the field, at his waking, findeth himself near unto a venomous snake, doth not so soon lose his colour, as doth our fearful Pilgrim, hearing the Moors so near him, whose hands he did think it impossible to escape. Yet relying upon his judgement in a matter wherein he thought his strength would not prevail, stole from them by gentle sliding upon the ground, making his hands perform the office of his feet until he had attained the top of the hill, where finding that the Moors had heard him, he began to cry with a loud voice: Here valiant knights here, this is our day: behold the Moors before you, and as prey in your hands, whom you have with such pains and diligence endeavoured to overtake. Hardly had he courageously uttered these words, when as the Moors (like frogs who at the noise of passengers leap from the bank sides into the quiet waters of the lake) ran with all the speed they could to the sea to get aboard their boat, with which they easily got to their galley.

Full of admiration was the pilgrim, to see how happily his resolution had succeeded, when from a tree which was near unto him he heard a voice, which said: Ah knight, help me for the mother of God's sake. His valiant courage which was never astonished with any kind of danger or misfortune, guided by the voice unto the tree, where he had heard him, saw a man tied thereunto, of whom having asked his name, he was answered, that he was a Catalonian knight, whom the Moors (after they had killed two of his servants) had taken upon the coast road of Valencia. The pilgrim having unbound him, and both of them departing from the sea, took their way to Almenara, and through the valley beautified with orange trees, travelled towards Faura. Already had the morning strewed pearls upon flowers, who putting their heads forth of the boughs, did seem to salute the day, when both the discourse, and face of the knight, did show unto the pilgrim that this was Everard, he who (when he was prisoner at Barcelona) had obliged the pilgrim for his liberty; both their joys, their embraces and their tears were as admirable as the success which you have heard, from whence is recollected, how agreeable unto heaven is the good which is done unto strangers; signified by the ancient philosophers in Deucalion and Pyrrha, who for having lodged Jupiter, were made restorers of the world; and contrarily, Diomedes devouring his guests with his horses, he was in the end himself devoured by them.

The pilgrim demanded of Everard how he had gotten his liberty, and he told him that with the help of some friends he had broken prison, and escaped away by the post of Barcelona; from whence he might well have gone for Italy, but being unwilling to be a runaway from his own country, he was resolved to go to the Court to have his cause judged, whither he was going with that intention, when he fell into this ambush of the Moors. He then demanded of him, if he knew Doricles and being answered that he was his kinsman, the pilgrim sighed many times, without telling the cause, although he were much importuned by Everard, unto whom he only said, he had a young brother in his company who had quitted him to follow Doricles; Everard who understood something of the secrets (suspecting that this was some woman, who had been stolen away by the robbers upon the shore of Barcelona) assured him that he knew all the servants which Doricles had in his house, and that there was not one Castellan amongst them.

In such and like words, which drew infinite sighs and tears from the pilgrim, they arrived at the ancient Sagunto, (where at this day are remaining, the most famous works of the Roman period of any that are in Spain) and from thence they went to the city of Valencia, entering by the royal bridge over the Turia, which river the Moors call Guadalaviar: and passing by the famous Towers of Serranos, they lodged at a knight's house, who was friend unto Everard, and of the family of the Mercaderos. There they remained this night, finishing the relation of their fortunes, until the sun rising called them from their rest, especially Everard, who carried with a strong desire of finishing his intended journey, departed with grief from the company of the pilgrim, whom he left no less sorrowful, in this flourishing city.

There he spent a few days in beholding the proud buildings wherewith it was embellished: and in the end he visited the hospital where mad folks are with more care and convenience looked unto and kept, than in any city in all Spain: there beholding the several humours of these miserable people, he (I say) who lately was likely to have lost his own wits, saw amongst those who were least mad, sit down at the table (at which they did altogether eat) a young fool and very beautiful, whose flaxen hair was longer than men do ordinarily wear in Spain. All the blood in this pilgrim's body came into his face, and went suddenly back again, out of the remembrance which this mad creature brought unto him of his mistress, whom he could not well know, as well because he could not comprehend in his mind by what means she had been reduced to this distraction; and less, how to this place, as also through her evil usage in that place, and her sickness, she did differ from the idea which he had of her countenance in his mind. Nevertheless, as she beheld him with her eyes full of admiration, he was confirmed in his first thought, and letting fall some tears, he said unto her in a low voice (least the keeper who had brought them to the table should hear them) do ye know me? To whom this woman (never known to be so in that place) who had seen him carried unto the oaks of the mountain, where Captain Doricles had commanded his soldiers to hang him, for whose death she had shed so many tears, and sighed out so many complaints, that the violence of her grief had troubled her understanding; and yet also doubting of his life, though she did see him; tremblingly answered, that she was wont to know him. Already was this pilgrim, by the voice, by the fearfulness, and by the tears assured that this mad body was the master of all her wits; and fearing lest he might make some demonstration of his inward grief, whereunto by the sight of this so great misfortune he was obliged; he demanded softly of her, how and by what means she was come unto this miserable estate? The grief I took (answered she) thinking upon your death, as soon as the Captain had commanded that you should be hanged. Not without having offended me, replied the pilgrim, a thing which I never expected from your constancy, although far greater occasion had been offered. The losing of my honour (said she) must be out of these two respects, either of force or for pleasure: if out of pleasure, I had now no cause to bewail myself; nor if it were by force means to bring remedy, and less means had I in losing of my wits. And that it is true, that the very thought I had of your death was the cause of my madness, let this satisfy you, to see that I recover them, in having you alive. Fair Nisa, answered the pilgrim, am not I a miserable man, in having been the cause of so much evil by my misfortunes? There is nothing, dear Pamphilus (replied Nisa in weeping) deserves this name that hath been suffered for your occasion, and for so cruel a feeling as the report of your death brought to me. And if I were permitted to embrace you here according unto my desire, the recompense would be as great as the travels, which I do bewail only in regard they were no more, since that, according to their multitude, they would augment the glory of my suffering. It was not in vain, answered Pamphilus, (for the History names him from henceforward) that my hope made me desire to live, only that I might see you, for I was assured that in the glory of beholding you, all jealousy would be wiped away, that might any way allay my joy. And if the eyes of those who look upon us, did not better see, then their understandings do know, you should before this have found that your desire of embracing was most agreeable to me. To this said Nisa (whose name hitherto we have hid, as also Pamphilus'), because that travailing in this habit amongst so many dangers (I durst not tell their country nor their name) I will make my passion serve as a remedy. What passion? answered Pamphilus. Every time, said she when my grief deprives me of my reason, they tell me that I cry aloud, those words which I will now say to thee, in embracing thee. And then she said these words: O my spouse, is it possible that my eyes do behold thee? Is it not thou, who died in the mountains of Barcelona, by the evil hands of Doricles' barbarous soldiers? Blessed be the hour wherein I see the news is false. In speaking this, Nisa fell about Pamphilus' neck, amorously embracing him, whose overwhelming delight was only interrupted by the presence of the assistants.