Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

Ysanjo, according to his promise, revealed nothing concerning Amadis till after mass the next day. Then, when his brethren and his cousin enquired for him, he said, arm yourselves, and I will tell you his commands. And, when they were armed, Ysanjo began to weep passionately, and exclaimed, O Sirs, what a grief and a misery is come upon us, that we should lose our Lord so soon! Then he told them all that Amadis had said, and how he besought that they would not seek him, for they could not help his ill, and that they should not grieve for his death. Holy Mary! cried they, the best Knight in the world is about to perish! but we will seek him, and, if we cannot with our lives help him, we will bear him company with our deaths. Ysanjo then told Galaor his brother's request that he would make Gandalin a Knight, and take the Dwarf into his service: this he delivered weeping, and they weeping also heard it. The Dwarf for pure grief was beating his head against a wall; but Galaor caught him up and said, Ardian come with me, since thy Master has so commanded, and my lot shall be yours. The Dwarf answered, Sir, I will follow you, but not as my Master, till we know some certain tidings of Amadis. Forthwith they went to horse, and all three hastened along the road which Ysanjo pointed. All day they rode on, meeting no one of whom they could ask tidings, till they came where El Patin lay wounded beside his dead horse: his Squires had found him, and were cutting down boughs and poles to make him a litter, for he was exceeding faint with loss of blood, so that he could not answer them, but made sign that they should speak to his Squires, and they replied, that their Lord had sped so ill in an encounter with the Knight who had won the Firm Island. Good Squires, know you which way he went?—No; but before we came up to this place we met an armed Knight in the forest, upon a stout horse, and he was weeping and accusing his fortune: a Squire behind him carried his arms; the shield had two lions azure in a field or., and the Squire was lamenting also. That is he! cried they; and they pushed on with great speed till they came out of the forest upon a great plain, where there were many roads in every direction, so that they knew not which way to take; therefore they agreed to separate, and meet at the court of Lisuarte upon St. John's day, that if by then they had been unsuccessful in their search, they might consult anew how to find him. There then they embraced and separated, each earnestly bent on his quest, but in vain; for, when Amadis reached the open country, he took none of those roads, but struck aside along a glen, and thence made into the mountain.

He rode on lost in thought, suffering his horse to chuse the path. About noon the horse came to some trees that grew beside a mountain-stream, and then stopt, being weary with the heat and with the toil of last night. Here Amadis recollected himself and looked round, and was pleased to see no signs of a habitation: he alighted and drank of the brook. Gandalin came up, and turning the horses to feed came to his Master, whom he found more dead than alive; and, not daring to disturb him, he lay down before him. Amadis continued in this mood till sunset, then rising, he struck his foot against Gandalin: art thou sleeping? quoth he. No, replied Gandalin, but I am thinking upon two things which concern you, the which, if it please you to hear, I will speak: if not, I will be silent. Amadis answered, go saddle the horses, and let us begone: I do not chuse to be found by those who seek me. Sir, said Gandalin, you are in a solitary place, and your horse is so weary that, unless you allow him some rest, he cannot carry you. Amadis replied, weeping, do what you think best: whether I stay or go, there is no rest for me! Then Gandalin looked after the horses, and returned to his Master, and begged him to eat of a pasty which he had brought, but he would not. Sir, said he, shall I say the two things whereon I have been thinking? Say what you will, quoth Amadis; I care nothing now for any thing that may be said or done, and wish to live no longer than till I can confess.—Then I pray you hear me, Sir: I have thought much upon that letter which Oriana sent you, and upon the words of the Knight with whom you fought; and seeing how light is the faith of many women, it may be that she hath changed her affections, and so has feigned anger against you, before you discover it. The other thing is, that I believe her to be so good and loyal that she could not have been thus moved, unless some great falsehood had been spoken of you, which she believes and feels in her heart; and, since you know that you have never been false, you should make the truth known, whereby she will repent of what she hath done, and intreat your forgiveness for the wrong, and you will enjoy your former happiness. It is better to take food with this hope, than, by abandoning yourself to despair, to die and lose her, and the glory of this world, and even the other. Hold thy peace, for God's sake! quoth Amadis, for such foolishness and lies as thou hast uttered, are enough to provoke the whole world. Oriana, my Lady, has never done wrong; and, if I perish, it is but reasonable, not for my deserving, but to accomplish her will and command: if I did not know that thou hast said this to comfort me, I would cut off thy head! you have greatly displeased me: never say the like to me again! He then turned away in anger, and walked along the side of the stream.

But Gandalin, who for two days and a night had not slept, was overcome with heaviness, and at length fell asleep. When Amadis saw this, he saddled his horse, and hid Gandalin's saddle and bridle among the bushes, that he might not be able to find them; and, taking his arms, he struck into the wildest part of the mountain. All night he went; and the next day till vespers, then he came to a plain at the foot of a mountain: there were two high trees there that grew over a fountain, and there he went to give his horse drink, for they had found no water all that day. When he came up to the fountain, he saw an old man in a religious habit, who was giving his ass water; his beard and hair were grey, and his habit was very poor, being made of goat's hair. Amadis saluted him, and asked him if he was a Priest. The good man answered, he had been one forty years. God be praised! quoth Amadis: I beseech you for the love of God stay here to-night, and hear my confession, of which I am in great need. In God's name! said the old man. Then Amadis alighted, laid his arms upon the ground, and took the saddle from his horse and let him feed; and he disarmed, and knelt before the good man, and began to kiss his feet. The good man took him by the hand and raised him, and made him sit by him, and, beholding him well, he thought him the goodliest Knight that ever he saw, but he was pale, and his face and neck were stained with tears, so that the old man had great pity, and said, Sir Knight, it seems that you are in great affliction: if it be for any sin that you have committed, and these tears spring from repentance, in a happy hour came you here! but if it be for any worldly concerns, from which by your youth and comeliness it seems you cannot be removed, remember God, and beseech him of his mercy to bring you to his service. He then raised his hand and blessed him, and bade him relate all the sins he could call to mind. Hereon Amadis began the whole discourse of his life, without letting any thing pass. The good man then said, seeing that you are of such understanding, and of so high a lineage, you ought not to despair and cast yourself away for any thing that may befall you, much less for the action of a woman, for they are as easily won as lightly lost. I counsel you to lay aside such folly, for the love of God, to whom it is displeasing, and even for worldly reason, for man ought not to love where he is not beloved. Good Sir, replied Amadis, I am now in such extremity that I cannot live any long time: I beseech you, by that God whose faith you hold, take me with you for the little while I have to live, that I may have comfort for my soul. My horse and arms I need no longer: I will leave them here, and go with you on foot, and perform whatever penitence you enjoin. If you refuse, you will sin before God, for else I shall wander and perish in this mountain. When the good man saw him thus resolute, he said to him, with a heart wholly bent to his good, Certes, Sir, it becomes not a Knight like you to abandon himself as if he had lost the whole world, by reason of a woman: their love is no longer than while they see you with their eyes, and hear such words as you say to them, and that past, presently they forget you; especially in those false loves that are begun against the Lord: the same sin which makes them sweet at first, gives them a bitterness in the end, as you experience. But you who are of such prowess, and have such power, you who are the true and loyal protector of such as are oppressed, great wrong would it be to the world if you thus forsake it. I know not what she is who hath brought you to this extremity, but if all the worth and beauty of the sex were brought together in one, I know that such a man as you ought not to be lost for her. Good Sir, quoth Amadis, I ask not your counsel upon this, where it is not wanted; but, for my soul's sake, I pray you take me in your company, for else I shall have no remedy, but to die in this mountain. The old man hearing this, had such compassion on him that the tears fell down his long white beard. Sir, my son, said he, I live in a dreary place, and a hard life; my hermitage is full seven leagues out at sea, upon a high rock, to which no ship can come except in summer time. I have lived there these thirty years, and he who lives there must renounce all the pleasures and delights of the world, and all my support is the alms which the people of the land here bestow upon me. I promise you, said Amadis, this is the life I desire for the little while I shall live, and I beseech you, for the love of God, let me go with you. The good man, albeit against his will, consented; and Amadis said, now, Father, command me what to do, and I will be obedient. The good man gave him his blessing, and said vespers, and then taking bread and fish from his wallet, he bade Amadis eat; but Amadis refused, though he had been three days without tasting food. You are to obey me, said the good man, and I command you to eat, else your soul will be in great danger if you die. Then he took a little food; and when it was time to sleep, the old man spread his cloak and laid him down thereon, and Amadis laid himself down at his feet.

The most part of the night Amadis did nothing but turn from side to side, but at last being sore wearied he fell asleep, and in that sleep he dreamt that he was fastened in a dark chamber, where there was no light at all, neither could he find any way to come out thereof, whereat he greatly lamented; then he thought that his cousin Mabilia and the Damsel of Denmark came to him, and there was a sun-beam before them which dispelled the darkness, and they took him by the hand, saying, Come forth, Sir, to this great palace. And he thought that he was right joyful; and going out he saw his Lady Oriana surrounded with a great flame of fire, whereat he cried out, Holy Mary, help her! and ran through the fire to save her, feeling no hurt, and took her in her arms and carried her into a garden, the greenest and pleasantest that ever he had seen. At the loud cry which he made the good man awoke, and took him by the hand, asking him what he ailed? Sir, said he, I felt such pain in my sleep that I was almost dead. So it seemed by your cry, said the old man, but it is time to set out; then he got upon his ass. Amadis would have walked by him, but the good man with great entreaty made him mount his horse, and so they fared on together.

As they went, Amadis besought him to grant one boon, which should be no-ways hurtful, the which the old man granted. I pray you then, said Amadis, that so long as we are together you will not tell any man who I am, nor any thing concerning me, and that you will call me by some other name, not my own; and, when I am dead, you tell my brethren of me, that they may take my body into their country. Your life and death, said the good man, are in the hands of God, so talk no more of this, he will help you if you know and love and serve him as you ought; but tell me, by what name will you be called?—Even by whatever it shall please you.—So the old man, seeing how fair he was, and in how forlorn a condition, replied, I will give you a name conformable to your appearance and distress, you shall be called Beltenebros. Now Beltenebros being interpreted, signifyeth, the Fair Forlorn. The name pleased Amadis, and he admired the good sense of the old man in chusing it; so by this name he was long known, till it became as renowned as that of Amadis. Thus communing they reached the sea-side just as the night closed in; there they found a bark, wherein the good man might cross to his hermitage. Beltenebros gave his horse to the mariners, and they gave him in exchange a cloak of goat skin, and a garment of coarse grey woollen. They embarked, and Beltenebros asked the good man what was his own name, and the name of his abode. They call my dwelling-place, said he, the Poor Rock, because none can live there without enduring great poverty: my own name is Andalod. I was a clerk of some learning, and spent my youth in many vanities, till it pleased God to awaken me, and then I withdrew to this solitary abode: for thirty years I have never left it, till now that I went to the burial of my sister. At length they reached the Rock and landed, and the mariners returned to the main land. Thus Amadis, now called Beltenebros, remained on the Poor Rock, partaking the austerities of the hermit, not for devotion, but for despair, forgetful of his great renown in arms, and hoping and expecting death,—all for the anger of a woman!

When Gandalin awoke in the mountain, he looked round him, and seeing only his own horse, started up, misdoubting what had happened; he called aloud, and searched among the shrubs in vain, he could find neither Amadis nor his horse. Then, knowing that Amadis was departed, he turned to his horse to ride after him, but the saddle and bridle were gone! upon that he cursed himself and his evil fortune, and the day wherein he was born, going from one place to another, till at length he espied the harness, and immediately set out on pursuit. Five days he rode on, sleeping in desert places, enquiring at every habitation for his Master. On the sixth, chance led him to the fountain where Amadis had left his armour. Here he beheld a tent, in which were two Damsels: he alighted, and asked them if they had seen a Knight who bore two lions azure in a golden field. They answered that they had not seen him, but such a shield and the whole harness of a Knight, they had found beside that fountain. When Gandalin heard this, he tore his hair, and exclaimed, Holy Mary, help me! my Master, the best Knight in the world, is dead or lost! how badly have I served you, my Lord! and now with reason ought I to be hated by all men, and the earth ought not to suffer me upon her, since I have left you at such a time! You were he who succoured all, and now all have forsaken you! the world and all in it have abandoned you! and I, caitiff wretch, and more wretched than all that ever were born, have left you in your death! And with that, for excess of passion, he fell down. The Damsels shrieked out, Holy Mary, help! the Squire is dead! and they ran to him, and flung water in his face, but it was long before they could recal him to his senses. Good Squire, they cried, be not desperate for a thing which is not certain: you had better seek him till you learn whether he be alive or dead: good men ought to bear up against sorrow, not to die in despair. Gandalin took heart at their words, and resolved to seek his Master as long as he lived. Ladies, said he, where did you see these arms?—We will tell you willingly: we were in the company of Don Guilan the Pensive, who delivered us and twenty other Knights and Damsels from the prison of Gandinos the ruffian, behaving himself there so valiantly that he hath destroyed the wicked customs of the castle, and constrained the Lord thereof to swear never more to maintain the same. We came with Guilan to this fountain four days ago, and when he saw the shield for which you enquired, he was very sorrowful, and alighting, said, the shield of the best Knight in the world should not lie thus! and with that, weeping sorely, he hung the shield upon this tree, and bade us keep it while he rode to seek him whose it was. We set up our tents here, and Guilan sought for him three days without success: yesterday he returned, and this morning, giving his own arms to his Squires, he girded on the sword and took the shield, saying, By God, shield, thou makest a bad exchange, in losing thy master to go with me! He told us, he would carry the arms to Queen Brisena. We also, and all who were delivered by him, are going to that court, to beg the Queen of her goodness to recompense Don Guilan, as the Knights will beseech the King. Then God be with you! quoth Gandalin. I shall take your advice; and, as the most caitiff and unhappy wretch in the world, go seek for him upon whom my life or death depends.

_CHAPTER 7._

On the tenth day after he had left Amadis in the forest, Durin reached London, and, alighting at his own lodging, went straight to the Queen's palace. So soon as Oriana saw him, her heart throbbed violently, so that she could not calm it, and she went into her chamber and lay down upon the bed, bidding the Damsel of Denmark go for her brother, and bring him to her secretly. The Damsel returned with Durin, and leaving him with her mistress, went out to Mabilia. Now, friend, said Oriana, tell me where you have been, and where you found Amadis, and what he did when he read my letter, and if you have seen Queen Briolania: tell me every thing. Then Durin related how he had followed Amadis from Sobradisa to the Firm Island, and arrived there just as Amadis was passing under the Arch of True Lovers, under the which none might pass that had been false to his first love. How, cried she, dared he prove that adventure, knowing that he could not accomplish it? It did not turn out so, replied the Squire; he accomplished it with more loyalty than any other had ever there displayed, and was received with more honour, and such signs as had never been seen before. When Oriana heard this, her joy was very great, that that which had occasioned her great anger was thus disproved. He proceeded with his tale, how Amadis had won the Forbidden Chamber. Hold! quoth she, and she lifted up her hands and began to pray God that she might one day be in that Chamber with him who had worthily won it. Now, quoth she, tell me what did Amadis when you gave him the letter? The tears came into Durin's eyes. Lady, I advise you not to ask, for you have done the worst cruelty and devilry that ever Damsel committed. Holy Mary! cried Oriana, what art thou saying? I say, repeated Durin, that you have unjustly destroyed the best and truest Knight that ever woman had, or will have to the end of the world. Cursed be the hour in which such a thing was devised, and cursed be death that did not take me before I carried such a message: if I had known what I carried, I would rather have slain myself than have appeared before him, for you in sending that letter, and I in taking it, have been the cause of his death. Then he related every thing that had passed, and all that Amadis had said, and how he was gone into the mountain to die. While he was relating these things, all Oriana's anger was gone, and her shame and anguish became so intolerable, that when he had ceased she could not utter a word, but remained like one who had lost her senses. Durin, albeit that he thought she well deserved this suffering, was yet moved to pity, and he went to Mabilia and his sister, and said to them, go and help Oriana, for, if she hath done wrong, her punishment is come upon her: and he went his way.

They ran to her, and seeing in what state she was, they fastened the door of her chamber, and threw water in her face, and brought her to herself, and she then began to lament what she had done, and cry out for death. But those true friends sent again for Durin, and learnt from him all that had past, and then began to comfort her, and they made her write a letter to request his forgiveness, and bid him come with all speed to the castle of Miraflores, there to receive her atonement. This letter the Damsel of Denmark would take and search for him, for she refused no trouble or difficulty for the two persons in the world whom she loved best; and, because Amadis in his sorrow had talked so much of Gandales, they thought he might be with him; and they agreed, as a pretext for her going there, that she should carry gifts to the Queen of Scotland, and tidings of her daughter Mabilia. Oriana therefore told her mother they were about to send the Damsel, and Brisena approving thereof, sent also presents from herself. This being settled, the Damsel, in company with her brother Durin, and Enil, a nephew of Gandales, rode to a port called Vegil, which is in that part of Great Britain towards Scotland, and embarking there, in seven days they came to the town called Poligez, in Scotland. From thence they proceeded to the castle of Gandales; him they met going to the chace, and saluted him; and he, perceiving that the Damsel was of a foreign land by her speech, asked her from whence she came. I am the messenger, quoth she, of some Damsels who love you much, and who have sent gifts to the Queen of Scotland.—Good Damsel, and who are they?—Oriana, daughter of King Lisuarte, and Mabilia, whom you know. Then Gandales joyfully bade them welcome, and took them to his castle. As they were conversing, the old Knight enquired for his foster son, Amadis. At this the Damsel was grieved, perceiving that he was not there as they had hoped; but, not to distress Gandales by the truth, she only answered that he was not yet returned from Sobradisa. We thought, said she, that he would first accompany his cousin Agrayes here, to see you and the Queen his aunt; and I bring letters to him from Queen Brisena and his other friends, which he would be right glad to receive. This she said, that if Amadis were there in secret, he might be induced to see her. She remained with Gandales two days, then proceeded to the Queen.

_CHAPTER 8._

Don Guilan the Pensive proceeded with the arms toward the court of Lisuarte. He always carried the shield of Amadis round his neck, except when he was constrained to fight, and then he took his own. So as he rode, two nephews of Arcalaus met him and knew the shield, and attempted to force it from him, saying they would take that shield, or the head of him who carried it, to their uncle. When Guilan knew of how bad a race they were, he cared the less for them, and gave them both battle. They were strong Knights, and both younger men than he; he, nevertheless, was a valiant man and tried in arms, so that he slew one, and drove the other to flight. That evening he took up his lodging in the house of a Knight whom he knew, who welcomed him gladly, and gave him another lance, for his own was broken in the encounter. He continued his way till he came to a river called Guinon, which was a great water, and over it was a wooden-bridge, just so broad that one horseman might come and another go. At one end of the bridge was a Knight who wished to pass; he bore a shield vert, with a bend argent, whereby Guilan knew him to be his cousin Ladasin. On the other side was a Knight who kept the passage; he rode a large bay horse, and did bear in his shield argent a lion sable: this Knight called out aloud to Ladasin, You must joust, Knight, if you would pass. Your joust shall not prevent me, quoth Ladasin. They ran at each other upon the bridge, and Ladasin and his horse fell into the river. There would Ladasin have perished, by reason of the weight of his arms, and the height whence he had fallen, if by good hap he had not caught the boughs of some willows, by which he got to the bank. Don Guilan ran to his help, and with the aid of his Squires got him out of the water. Cousin, said he, you would hardly have been saved without these boughs: all Knights should avoid to joust upon these bridges, for they who keep them have their horses practised to the place, and rather by that, than by their own prowess, win the honour. I would rather turn out of the way and go round, if this had not happened to you, but now I must try to revenge you. By this, Ladasin's horse had got upon the opposite bank, and the Knight bade his servants lead him to the castle, which was a strong and pleasant fortress, built in the river, and the way to it was by a bridge of stone. The Knight was ready at the bridge-end. Don Guilan gave the shield of Amadis to his Squire, and took his own, and they met together upon the bridge with a most rude encounter. The Knight was unhorsed and fell into the water; Guilan also was dismounted, and his horse went over, but he saved himself by clinging to the planks. The Knight got upon Guilan's horse, and so to shore, while Guilan's Squires took the bay courser for their master. Don Guilan presently saw the Knight of the bridge shaking off the water, and holding the bridle: give me my horse, said he, and let me depart. How! quoth he, think you to escape so lightly with this?—Quoth Guilan, have we not performed the custom? The battle is not yet over, cried the Knight, because we both fell: we must decide it with the sword. Perforce must I fight? cried Guilan: is not the wrong done already enough, for bridges should be free for every passenger? Will you, nill you, quoth he of the bridge, you shall feel how my sword can cut. He then sprung upon Guilan's horse, without setting his foot in the stirrup, and placed himself right in the road. Don Cavalier, tell me, said he, before we fight, if thou art of Lisuarte's country or court?—Why ask you?—I wish it pleased God, that I had King Lisuarte here as I have thee, by my head his reign should be finished. Certes, quoth Guilan, you have now given me a good will to fight with thee, which before I had not: I am of his household, and, if it be in me, you shall never more do him disservice. Before noon, quoth the Knight, you shall carry my message to him, and I will tell you who I am, and what present I will send him: my name is Gandalod, son to Barsinan, Lord of Sansuena, he whom King Lisuarte slew in London. The presents you shall carry him, are the heads of four of his Knights, whom I hold prisoners in yonder tower: the one is Giontes his nephew, and thy own right hand, which I mean to cut off and tie round thy neck. Don Guilan laid hand to sword; you have boasting enough, if that were all that were needed.

Then began so fierce a battle, that Ladasin and the Squires thought even the conqueror could not escape with life; but they were both hardy Knights, and their armour of excellent temper, and they knew how to defend themselves. Now when their fight was at the hottest, they heard the winding of a horn from the top of the tower. Gandalod knew not what it could mean, and Guilan thought it was a signal for succour to his enemy; therefore they both more eagerly bestirred themselves to end the battle. Gandalod grappled with him, and they both fell; then was the fight closer and more dangerous, but Guilan had the advantage; it was evident that his antagonist waxed weary and weak, and at length, by a well driven blow, Don Guilan lopt off his right arm. He shrieked out, and turned to fly to his tower, but Guilan reached him, plucked the helmet from his head, and bade him chuse instant death, or to present himself with his presents, but in another guise, to King Lisuarte. I will rather trust his mercy, quoth Gandalod, than be slain here outright.

Don Guilan then took horse, and rode with Ladasin towards the tower, where there was a great uproar. The Knights had broken from their prison and seized arms, and one of them it was who wound the horn, and now they had won the castle; the gate was opened, and the servants and one Knight came flying out: they called out to Ladasin and Guilan to kill those villains, and particularly the Knight: three of the men escaped them, but the Knight they took. Then said Guilan to them, Sirs, I cannot tarry, but my cousin Ladasin shall keep you company; let the castle be kept for me, and do you carry this Knight and Gandalod to King Lisuarte for his judgment. Then he gave his own shield, which was much battered, to his Squire, and took that of Amadis, and as he hung it round his neck the tears came. They knew the shield, and hearing how Don Guilan had found it, were sorely troubled, thinking that some great mishap had befallen Amadis. So he proceeded to the court, and all that saw the shield crowded round him; and the King said, for God's sake, Don Guilan, tell us what you know of Amadis. I know nothing of him, Sir, quoth he, but how I found the shield I will declare before the Queen. So he was taken to the Queen, and he knelt before her weeping, and told her how he had found the arms of Amadis, and sought for him three days in vain. Knowing, said he, the value of that good Knight, and that it was his desire to employ it till death in your service, I have brought you these arms, in testimony of the duty which I do owe both to you and to him. Let them be placed where all may see them; there may be some among the many strangers who come here, who may know some tidings of their master, and they will be memorials to all who follow arms, that they may take example by his great chivalry. Greatly was the Queen distressed at this, and Lisuarte also, and all the court; but Oriana could not remain there, and she went to her bed, and bitterly reproaching her own folly, wished for death. Albeit Mabilia did somewhat cheer her with a hope that the Damsel of Denmark might find him and repair all.

The Knight and Damsels whom Don Guilan had released, soon arrived, and the two Damsels who had seen Gandalin, and they related what lamentation a Squire had made over the arms. Presently after came Ladasin, and the Knights who led Gandalod prisoner; and when Lisuarte heard what cruelties he had purposed, he said to him, here I slew thy father for the great treason which he committed against me, and here thou shalt die for that which thou didst purpose to commit. So he commanded him, and the Knight his follower, to be thrown from the Tower, before which Barsinan had been burnt.

_CHAPTER 9._

Beltenebros and the Hermit were one day sitting on the stone-bench by the door of their chapel, when the old man said, I pray you, son, tell me what it was that made you cry out so in your sleep, when we were by the fountain of the plain? That shall I willingly, father, he replied, and I beseech you tell me what you understand by it. Then he related to him the manner of his dream, only the names of the women, those he did not tell. The good man mused for a while, and then said, with a cheerful countenance, Beltenebros, you have given me great pleasure by this account, and you also have great reason to rejoice. The dark chamber, in the which you thought yourself to be, and from whence you could not get out, signifieth this great tribulation which you now endure. The Damsels who opened the door, are those friends who continually solicit your cause with her whom you love so much, and they will succeed so well as to withdraw you from this place. The sun-beam which went before them, is the joyful news that they are to send you here; and the fire, wherein you saw your Lady enveloped, is the great pain of love which she suffers for you as well as you for her: from that fire you delivered her, that is, from the pain which your presence will remove; and the pleasant garden is a sign of great happiness, wherewith you shall pass your lives. Truly, I know a man of my habit should not discourse of such things as these, yet it is more for God's service to speak the truth that may comfort you, than to conceal it, seeing your desperate state.

Beltenebros knelt down and kissed the old man's hands, thanking God for having given him such a friend in his need, and praying with tears that he would mercifully be pleased to accomplish the words of that holy man his servant. Then he besought him to tell the interpretation of the dream he had dreamt before Durin gave him the letter, which when the Hermit had heard, he answered, This I can show you clearly, for it is all accomplished. The place overshadowed with trees, was the Firm Island, and the people who made such great joy about you, signified the great pleasure of the Islanders in gaining you for their Lord. The man who came to you with the box of bitter electuary, was the messenger of your Lady, for the bitterness of her words, you, who have proved them, can best tell; and you laid aside your arms. The stony place amidst the water, is this Poor Rock; and the religious man who spoke to you in an unknown tongue, am I, who tell you the holy word of God, which before you neither knew nor thought of.

Verily, said Beltenebros, you tell me the truth of this dream, for these things have all come to pass, and therefore great cause have I to hope for the future. Yet was not this hope so great or so certain as to remove his sorrow, for he would often sit with his eyes fixed upon the ground, remembering what he had been, and his life would have been endangered by exceeding melancholy, had it not been for the counsel of that good man. And sometimes, to take him away from that pensiveness, the Hermit would make him go with two nephews that kept him company there, to angle in a little stream hard by, where they caught plenty of fish.

Here Beltenebros dwelt in penitence and great grief, and he past the night most frequently under some large trees in the garden near the chapel, that he might there lament, without the knowledge of the Hermit or the boys; and calling to mind the great wrong he endured, he made this song in his passion:

_Sith that the victory of right deserved
By wrong they do withhold for which I served;
Now sith my glory thus hath had a fall,
Glorious it is to end my life withall.
By this my death, likewise my woes release,
My hope, my joy, my inflamed love doth cease.
But ever will I mind my during pain,
For they, to end my glory and my gain,
Myself have murdered, and my glory slain._[156:A]

[156:A] This is the version in the English translation from the
French: the matter is preserved, the manner lost. The poem is
curious from its age; it is printed with these marks:

Pues seme niega victoria
dojusto mera deuida
alli do muere la gloria (:·:)
es gloria morir la vida.

Y con esta muerte mia
moriran todas mis daños, (:·:) (:·:)
mi esperanza y mi porfia
el amor y sus engaños;
mas quedara en mi memoria
lastima nunca perdida, (:·:)
que por me matar la gloria,
me mataron gloria y vida.

He had passed one night as usual under these trees, when towards morning he heard certain instruments touched so sweetly, that he took great delight in hearing them, and marvelled what it might be, knowing that in that place there dwelt none else than the Hermit and his nephews. He rose, and went softly towards the sound, and saw that there were two Damsels by a fountain, who, tuning their voices to their lutes, did sing a most pleasant song. He stood awhile listening, then advanced, and said, God save you, gentle Damsels, but your sweet music has made me lose my matins! They wondered who he should be, and said to him, tell us, friend, for courtesy, what place is this where we have landed, and who are you who speak to us? Ladies, he replied, they call it the Rock of the Hermitage, because of the Hermit that dwells here. As for me, I am a poor man who bear him company, doing great and hard penance for the sins that I have committed. Then said they, friend, is there any house here where our Lady could rest for two or three days? for she is very sick: she is a Lady of high rank and wealth, whom love hath greatly tormented. Beltenebros answered, here is a little cabin, it is very small, in which I lodge: if the Hermit pleases, you shall have it, and I will asleep abroad in the field, as I often use to do. For this courtesy the Damsels heartily thanked him. By this the day began to break, and Beltenebros saw under some trees the Lady of whom they spake, lying upon a rich bed; four armed Knights and five serving men, who attended her, were sleeping on the shore, and a well appointed ship rode at anchor. The Lady was young and beautiful, so that he took pleasure in beholding her.

Beltenebros then went to the Hermit, who was robing himself to say mass. Father, said he, there are strangers here: it will be well to wait mass for them. So they both went out from the chapel. The Knights and serving-men were carrying the sick Lady towards them, and her Damsels were coming with her, and they asked the Hermit if there was any house wherein they could place her. He answered, here are two cabins: I live in the one, and by my will never woman shall enter that. This poor man, who makes his penitence here, lodges in the other, and I will not remove him against his will. To this Beltenebros replied, Father, you may well give them that, for I will rest under the trees, as I often do. They then entered the chapel to hear mass; but the sight of Knights and Damsels reminded Beltenebros of what he had been, and of his own Lady, and renewed in him his exceeding sorrow, so that he sobbed aloud, and kneeling down at the altar, besought the Virgin Mary to help him in his affliction. The Knights and Damsels, who saw how he wept, held him for a man of good life, and marvelled how he could employ his youth and beauty in that desert place, for any sin that he could have committed, seeing that the mercy of God may be obtained in all places alike, by such as truly repent. As soon as mass was ended, they carried the Lady into his cabin, and laid her in her rich bed, and she lay there weeping and wringing her hands. The Damsels went for their lutes to solace her, and Beltenebros asked them wherefore she appeared so distressed. Friend, said they, this Lady hath great possessions, and is of high rank and beautiful; though her sorrow doth now diminish her fairness, and we will tell you the cause of her sorrow, tho' it should not be told to others. It is excessive love that afflicts her: she is going to seek him whom she loves at the court of King Lisuarte, and God grant that she may find him there! When he heard the house of King Lisuarte mentioned, and that the Lady was sick of love, the tears came into his eyes, and he said, I pray you, Ladies, tell me the name of the Knight whom she loves. They answered, he is not of this country, but is one of the best Knights in the world, excepting only two who are of the greatest renown.—By the faith you owe to God, I beseech you tell his name, and the name of those other two.—We will tell you, on condition that you in return tell us if you be a Knight, as you seem by every thing, and likewise what is your name. I am content, said he, that I may know what I ask.—Know then, the Knight whom our Lady loveth, is Don Florestan, brother to the good Knight Amadis of Gaul, and to Don Galaor, and son of King Perion of Gaul and the Countess of Selandria. Now, quoth he, you tell me truly of his goodness, for you cannot say so much good of him as he deserveth.—Do you then know him?—It is not long since I saw him in the house of Briolania, for I saw the battle there of Amadis and his cousin Agrayes against Abiseos and his sons; after which Florestan arrived there, and I heard Don Galaor speak great things of his prowess, for they say he fought with him.—Yes, replied the Damsels, it was in that battle they knew each other, and then Florestan went away.—What! is this the Lady of the island where that battle was fought?—The same.—Her name is Corisanda. I do not now grieve for her so much, for he is so gentle and of such disposition, that well I know he will do whatever is her pleasure. Now then, said the Damsels, tell us who you are. Gentle Damsels, replied he, I am a Knight who have had more pleasure in the vanities of the world than falls to my lot now, for which I am now suffering, and my name is Beltenebros. God's mercy upon you! said they: we must now go play to our Lady.

After they had sung to her awhile, they told her what Beltenebros had said of Florestan. Ah, call him here, cried she, he must be some good man, since he knows Don Florestan. They brought him to her. These Damsels, said she, tell me that you have seen and that you love Don Florestan: by the faith you owe to God, tell me all you know concerning him. Beltenebros then related how he had gone with his brethren and Agrayes to the Firm Island, and that he had not seen him since. Tell me, said Corisanda, are you akin to him, for you seem to love him much?—Lady, I love him for his great valour, and because his father knighted me, wherefore I am greatly bound to him and his sons; but I am very sad for the tidings which I heard of Amadis before my coming here.—What are they?—I met a Damsel in a forest by the way side, singing a sweet song, and I asked her who had made it. She answered, a Knight, to whom God give more comfort than he had when that was made, for by the words it seemed he had suffered great wrong in love, and complained heavily. I stayed two days with the Damsel till I had learnt it. She told me that Amadis did show it her, and that he wept at the time and was in great misery. I beseech you, quoth Corisanda, teach it to my Damsels, that they may sing and play it to me. That will I, said he, for your own sake, and for his sake whom you love; albeit that is no time for singing, nor for aught that is matter of joy. He then went with the Damsels to the chapel, and showed them the song which he had made: his voice was of rare sweetness, and now his melancholy made it more soft and in unison; and the Damsels learnt the song, and did sing it to their Lady, who took great pleasure to hear them. Corisanda remained there four days; on the fifth she took leave of the Hermit, and asked Beltenebros if he should remain there long? Lady, till I die, he replied. Then she entered her ship, and made voyage to London.

Lisuarte and the Queen received her in a manner suitable to her high rank, and lodged her in the palace, and the Queen asked her if she had any suit to Lisuarte, that, if so, she might further it. My Lady, said Corisanda, I thank you for the favour; but my coming is to seek Don Florestan, and because tidings from all parts reach this court, I will remain here some time till I hear news of him. Good friend, replied Brisena, that may you do so long as you think good; at present we have no other news of him, than that he is gone in search of his brother Amadis, who is lost, we know not for what cause; and she then related how Guilan had found the arms. Hearing this, she began to weep, and say, O Lord God, what will become of my Lord and friend Don Florestan! for he so loves that brother, that, if he finds him not, he also will become desperate, and I shall never see him more! The Queen having great pity, consoled her, and Oriana, who was by, hearing the love she bore to the brother of Amadis, had the greater desire to honour her, and accompanied her to her chamber, and learnt from her all her love. Thus talking with her and Mabilia of sundry things, Corisanda related how she had been upon the Poor Rock, and found a Knight there doing hard penance, who had taught her Damsels a song made by Amadis in his affliction, and the words, she said, were very sad. My good friend and Lady, quoth Mabilia, beseech you let your Damsels sing it! I desire much to hear it, seeing it was made by that Knight, my cousin. The Damsels then sung the song, which it was a pleasure to hear, and yet so sorrowful that it made those sad who heard it. But Oriana, who understood the complaint, could no longer abide there for the shame of the tears that she felt flowing, and she went to her chamber. Mabilia therefore said to Corisanda, I see Oriana is unwell; she hath for courtesy remained here longer than she should: I must go and assist her; but tell me what manner of man was he whom you saw upon the Poor Rock of the Hermitage, and what did he know concerning Amadis? She then told her how they had found him, that she had never seen a man so comely in grief and being wasted, nor one of such manners in poverty, nor a man so young of such discourse and reason. Mabilia forthwith went joyfully to her friend's chamber. He who asks news, said she, sometimes learns more than he expects: the melancholy man who lives upon the Poor Rock, and calls himself Beltenebros, by all that I can learn from Corisanda, must be Amadis. Oriana lifted up her hands, O Lord of the World, grant that it be true! Dear friend, tell me what to do, for I have neither sense nor judgment: unfortunate wretch, who by my own folly and intemperate passion have lost all my happiness! Mabilia turned away her face, that the tears might not be seen: we must wait for the Damsel's return, said she; if she should not find him, leave it to me: I am sure he is this Beltenebros.

_CHAPTER 10._

Ten days that Damsel of Denmark remained in Scotland, not so much for pleasure, as because she had suffered much from the sea, and for the ill success of her search, and she feared that to return, when she had sped so ill, would be the death of her mistress. At length she took her leave, and receiving presents from the Queen of Scotland to Queen Brisena and Oriana and Mabilia, she embarked for Great Britain, not knowing what other course to pursue; but that Lord of the World, who to those that are utterly without hope or remedy shows something of his power, that we may know it is he that helpeth us and not our own wisdom, he changed her voyage, to her own great fear, and the fear and sorrow of all in the ship; for the sea began to rage, and such a tempest arose, that the sailors lost all power over the ship, and all knowledge of their course, and the ship was driven whither the winds would, they that were in her having no hope of life. At last one morning they came to the foot of the Poor Rock; some of them knew the place, and said that Andalod the Hermit lived there, which, when the Damsel heard, she ordered them to put to land, that being rescued from such a danger, she might hear mass from that holy man, and return thanks to the Virgin Mary for the mercy which her glorious Son had shown them.