Chapter VII: Book I (2)

This was Leonida's reply, which, together with the hopes that Silvia gave me, though it seemed somewhat harsh, made me count myself the happiest man on earth. Whilst these matters were passing between us, Crisalvo did not neglect to woo Silvia with countless messages, gifts and services; but so hard and severe was Crisalvo's disposition that he could never move Silvia to grant him the smallest favour. Whereat he was as desperate and impatient as a bull when speared and vanquished. For the sake of his love he had formed a friendship with the cunning Carino, Silvia's kinsman, though these two had first been mortal enemies, for in a wrestling-bout, which on a great feast-day the deftest swains of the place held before all the village, Carino was vanquished by Crisalvo, and mauled: so that he conceived in his heart undying hatred for Crisalvo, and no less was the hatred he felt against another person, a brother of mine, for having thwarted him in a love-affair, in which my brother carried off the fruit Carino hoped for. This rancour and ill-will Carino kept secret till time disclosed to him the opportunity when he might avenge himself on both at once, in the cruellest way imaginable. I kept friends with him, so that admission to Silvia's house might not be denied me; Crisalvo adored him, so that he might further his designs with Silvia; and his friendship was such that whenever Leonida came to Silvia's house, Carino accompanied her: wherefore it seemed good to Silvia to tell him, since he was my friend, of my love-affair with Leonida, which was by this time prospering with such ardour and good fortune, through Silvia's good offices, that we now awaited but the time and place to cull the honourable fruit of our pure desires. On hearing of this, Carino used me as an instrument to commit the greatest treason in the world. For one day (feigning to be true to Crisalvo, and giving him to understand that he rated his friendship higher than his kinswoman's honour), he told him that the chief reason why Silvia did not love or favour him, was that she was in love with me; he knew it unmistakably, and our love-affair was going on so openly that if he had not been blinded by his amorous passion he would by now have perceived it from a thousand signs; and the more to assure himself of the truth he was telling him, he bade him look to it henceforward, for he would see clearly how Silvia without any restraint granted me exceptional favours. At this news Crisalvo must have been quite beside himself, as appeared from what followed therefrom. Henceforward he employed spies to watch my dealings with Silvia; and as on many occasions I sought to be alone with her, in order to speak not of the love he thought, but of things concerning mine, these were reported to Crisalvo, together with other favours prompted by pure friendship, which Silvia showed me at every step. Whereat Crisalvo came to so desperate a pass, that many times he sought to kill me, though I did not think it was for such a cause, but on account of the long-standing enmity of our parents. But as he was Leonida's brother, I was more concerned to guard myself than to harm him, thinking it certain that if I married his sister our enmities would have an end. Of this he was quite ignorant, thinking rather that, because I was his enemy, I had sought to make love to Silvia, and not because I was really fond of her; and this increased his anger and resentment to such a degree that it robbed him of reason, though he had so little that little was needed to destroy it. And this evil thought wrought so strongly in him, that he came to loath Silvia as much as he had loved her, merely because she favoured me, not with the good-will he thought, but as Carino told him. And so, in whatever circle or assembly he was, he spoke ill of Silvia, giving her dishonourable names and epithets. But as all knew his ugly character and Silvia's goodness, they lent little or no belief to his words. Meanwhile Silvia had arranged with Leonida that we two should be married, and, in order that it might be done with more safety to ourselves, that it would be well for Leonida, one day when she came with Carino to her house, not to return that night to that of her parents, but to go thence in Carino's company to a village half a league distant from ours, where some rich kinsmen of mine lived, in whose house we could with greater peace effect our designs. For if Leonida's parents were not pleased at the issue, it would at least be easier, when she was away from them, to come to terms. This resolve having been taken, Carino was informed of it, and, displaying the greatest spirit, offered to Silvia to escort Leonida to the other village as she desired. The services I did to Carino for the good-will he showed, the promises I uttered to him, the embraces I gave him, would methinks have sufficed to extinguish in a heart of steel any evil purpose it might cherish against me. But that traitor of a Carino, casting behind him my words, deeds and promises, without regarding what he owed himself, planned the treason which now you shall hear. Having informed himself of Leonida's wish, and seeing that it agreed with what Silvia had told him, he planned that on the first night which from the appearance of the day promised to be dark, Leonida's departure should be effected, offering once more to maintain all possible secrecy and loyalty. After making this agreement which you have heard, he went off to Crisalvo, as I have since learnt, and told him that his kinswoman Silvia had gone so far in her love-affair with me, that I had determined on a certain night to steal her from her parents' house, and take her to another village where my kinsmen dwelt. There an opportunity offered itself to avenge his feelings on both, on Silvia for the small account she had made of his services, on me for our long-standing enmity, and for the injury I had done him in robbing him of Silvia, since she was leaving him on my account alone. Carino knew how to exaggerate to him, and to say what he wanted, in such a way as, even with less effort, would have moved to any evil purpose a heart not so cruel as his. The day being now arrived which I thought was to be the day of my greatest bliss, after having told Carino not what he actually did do, but what he was to do, I went off to the other village to give orders how to receive Leonida. And to leave her entrusted to Carino was like leaving the innocent lamb in the power of the hungry wolves, or the gentle dove in the claws of the fierce hawk, who tears it to pieces. Ah, friend! when I come to this point with my imagination, I know not how I have strength to sustain life, nor thought to think of it, much more tongue to tell it! Ah, ill-advised Lisandro! How did you not know Carino's duplicity? Yet, who would not have trusted his words, since he risked so little in proving them true by deeds! Ah, ill-starred Leonida! how little did I know how to enjoy the favour you did me, in choosing me for your own! Finally, to end with the tragedy of my misfortune, you must know, discreet shepherd, that on the night Carino was to take Leonida with him to the village where I was expecting her, he summoned another shepherd, called Libeo, who ought to have considered him an enemy, though Carino concealed it beneath his wonted false dissimulation, and asked him to accompany him that night, for he was resolved to carry off a shepherdess, his sweetheart, to the village I have told you, where he purposed to marry her. Libeo, a man of spirit and a lover himself, readily offered him his company. Leonida bade farewell to Silvia with close embraces and loving tears, an omen, as it were, that it was to be the last farewell. The hapless maid must needs have thought then of the treason she was committing against her parents; not of that Carino was planning against her,--and how bad a return she was making for the good opinion that was held about her in the village. But, passing over all these thoughts, constrained by the loving thought that vanquished her, she entrusted herself to the care of Carino, who was to conduct her to where I awaited her. How often do I call to mind when I reach this point, what I dreamed the day I would have counted fortunate, had the number of my days ended thereon! I remember that, leaving the village a little while before the sun withdrew his rays from our horizon, I sate me down at the foot of a tall ash tree on the very road by which Leonida was to come, waiting till night should close in a little more to further my purpose and to receive her, and without knowing how or wishing it, I fell asleep. Scarce had I yielded my eyes to slumber when, methought, the tree against which I leaned, bending before the fury of a fierce wind that was blowing, tearing its deep roots out of the earth, fell upon my body, and attempting to get away from the heavy weight, I rolled from side to side. While in this plight methought I saw a white hind beside me, which I earnestly implored to lift, as well as it could, the heavy burden from my shoulders, and when moved with compassion, it was about to do it, at the same moment a fierce lion sprang from the thicket, and seizing it in his sharp claws, marched off with it through the forest. After I had escaped with great toil from the heavy burden, I went to look for it in the mountain, and found it torn and wounded in a thousand places. Whereat I felt so much grief that my soul was wrung from me merely by reason of the pity it had shown at my plight: and thus I began to weep in my dreams, so that the tears themselves awoke me, and finding my cheeks bathed with sorrow I was beside myself, pondering on what I had dreamed; but in the joy I hoped to have in seeing my Leonida, I failed to see then that fortune was showing me in dreams what was to happen in a short time to me awake. At the moment when I awoke night had just closed in with such darkness, with such terrible thunder and lightning as furthered the perpetration of the cruel deed which that night was perpetrated. As Carino left Silvia's house with Leonida, he entrusted her to Libeo, telling him to go with her by the road to the village I have mentioned, and though Leonida was perturbed at seeing Libeo, Carino assured her that Libeo was no less a friend of mine than he was, and that in security she could go with him slowly whilst he went forward to give me tidings of her approach. The guileless maid, being after all in love, believed the words of the treacherous Carino, and with less mistrust than was fitting, guided by the courteous Libeo, advanced her timid steps, which were to be the last of her life, thinking they led her to the height of her bliss. Carino went on before the two, as I have already told you, and gave information of what was happening to Crisalvo, who with four of his kinsmen was in ambush on the very road by which they were to pass, this being wholly shut in by forest on either side. He told them how Silvia was coming and I was the only one with her, and that they should rejoice at the good opportunity fate put in their hands to avenge the wrong we two had done him, and that he should be the first to prove the edge of his knife on Silvia, though she was a kinswoman of his. Immediately the five cruel butchers prepared to stain themselves in the innocent blood of the pair who came along the road all unsuspicious of such treason; when they reached the place where the ambush was, at once the traitorous murderers were on them, and surrounded them. Crisalvo came up to Leonida, thinking she was Silvia, and with insulting and excited words, in the hellish rage which mastered him, left her stretched on the ground with six mortal wounds, whilst Libeo weltered on the earth with countless stabs dealt by the other four, who thought they were inflicting them on me. When Carino saw how well his traitorous intent had turned out, without awaiting words, he went away, and the five traitors, fully satisfied as if they had done some notable exploit, returned to their village. Crisalvo went to Silvia's house himself to give her parents the news of what he had done, so as to increase their grief and pain, telling them to go and bury their daughter Silvia, whose life he had taken because she had set more store on the cold esteem of Lisandro his enemy, than on the unremitting attentions shown by him. Silvia, who heard what Crisalvo was saying,--her soul telling her what had happened, told him that she was alive, and free too from all that he had accused her of; and that he should be sure he had not killed one whose death would grieve him more than the loss of his own life. And with this she told him that his sister Leonida had that night left her house in unwonted apparel. Crisalvo was amazed to see Silvia alive, thinking for sure that he had left her dead, and being suddenly seized with great fear, immediately hastened to his house, and not finding his sister there, returned alone in the greatest consternation and frenzy to see who it was he had killed, since Silvia was alive. Whilst all this was going on, I was awaiting Carino and Leonida with strange anxiety; and as it seemed to me that by this time they were later than they should be, I wished to go and meet them, or learn if by any accident they had been detained that night. I had not gone far along the road when I heard a piteous voice saying: "Oh sovereign Maker of Heaven, withhold the hand of thy justice and open that of thy mercy in order to show mercy to this soul, which soon shall give account to thee of the offences it has committed against thee! Ah Lisandro, Lisandro! surely Carino's friendship will yet cost you your life, since it cannot be that grief for my having lost mine for your sake will put an end to it! Ah, cruel brother, can it be that without hearing my excuses you desired to inflict on me so soon the punishment of my error?" When I heard these words, I at once recognised from the voice and from them that it was Leonida who uttered them, and--an augury of my misfortune--with feelings in a turmoil, I set to groping where Leonida was weltering in her own blood; and, having at once recognised her, I let myself fall on her wounded body, and with the greatest grief possible, said to her: "What woe is this, my joy, my soul? what cruel hand was it that did not respect so much beauty?" At these words I was recognised by Leonida; and raising her weary arms with much effort, she threw them round my neck, and, pressing with all her strength, she joined her mouth to mine, and, with weak and broken utterance, spoke but these words to me: "My brother has killed me, Carino ... betrayed, Libeo is without life, and may God give you yours, Lisandro mine, for long and happy years, and may he grant that I enjoy in another life the peace denied me here;" and, joining her mouth closer to mine, she pressed her lips together to give me her first and last kiss; and, as she opened them, her soul went from her, and she lay dead in my arms. When I perceived it, I abandoned myself to grief over her body, and remained senseless; and if, instead of being alive, I had been dead, whoever saw us in that plight had called to mind the hapless plight of Pyramus and Thisbe. But on coming to myself, I had opened my mouth to fill the air with cries and sobs, when I perceived someone coming with hurried steps to where I was; and, when he was near, though the night was dark, the eyes of my soul gave me assurance that he who came there was Crisalvo, as was the truth. He was coming back to convince himself whether perchance it was his sister Leonida he had killed. When I recognised him, before he could guard himself against me, I came upon him like a raging lion; and, giving him two blows, I brought him to the ground. Before he ceased to breathe, I dragged him to where Leonida was, and, placing in her dead hand the dagger her brother wore--the same with which she had been killed--I guided it and plunged it thrice through his heart. And mine being somewhat consoled by Crisalvo's death, without further delay I took upon my shoulders Leonida's body, and bore it to the village where my kinsmen lived. Telling them what had happened, I asked them to give it honourable burial, and immediately determined to take on Carino the same vengeance as on Crisalvo; but, since he has kept away from our village, it has been delayed until to-day, when I found him on the skirts of this wood, after going about in search of him for six months. Now he has come to the end his treason deserved; and none now is left on whom to wreak vengeance, unless it be the life I endure so much against my will. This, shepherd, is the cause whence proceed the laments you have heard from me. If it seems to you sufficient to cause yet a deeper grief, I leave to your good judgment to determine!'

Therewith he ended his discourse, and set to weeping so copiously that Elicio could not refrain from keeping him company therein; but after they had for a long while eased with gentle sighs, the one the pain he suffered, the other the compassion he felt thereat, Elicio began to console Lisandro with the best arguments he knew, though his misfortune was as far beyond consolation as he had seen from its issue. Amongst other things he said to him, the one which gave Lisandro most solace was to tell him that in misfortunes beyond remedy, the best remedy was to hope for none; and, since one might believe from Leonida's purity and noble disposition, according to his account, that she was enjoying a life of bliss, he should rather rejoice at the happiness she had gained, than grieve for that which she had lost. Whereto Lisandro replied:

'I know full well, my friend, that your arguments have power to make me believe they are true; but not that they have--nor will all the arguments in the world have--power to give me any consolation. With Leonida's death began my evil fortune, which will end when I behold her again; and since this cannot be without I die, the man who should help me to attain death will I count the greatest friend of my life!'

Elicio did not wish to give him more sorrow with his words of solace, since he did not regard them as such; only he asked him to come with him to his hut, where he might stay as long as it pleased him, offering him his friendship in all wherein he might be able to serve him. Lisandro thanked him as heartily as possible; and though he was unwilling to consent to go with Elicio, yet he had to do so, constrained by his repeated asking. And so the two arose, and came to Elicio's cabin, where they rested for the little that remained of the night. Now when the white dawn was leaving the couch of her jealous husband, and beginning to give signs of the coming day, Erastro arose and began to put in order Elicio's herd and his own to lead them to the accustomed pasture. Elicio invited Lisandro to come with him; and so, when the three shepherds came with their gentle flock of sheep through a ravine below, on ascending an incline, they heard the sound of a gentle pipe, which was straightway recognized by the two enamoured swains, Elicio and Erastro, for it was Galatea who was playing it. And it was not long before some sheep began to show themselves over the crest of the hill, and immediately behind them Galatea, whose beauty was such that it were better to leave it to speak for itself, since words fail to enhance it. She came dressed like a girl of the mountains, with her long hair free to the wind, whereof the sun himself appeared to be envious, for, smiting it with his rays, he sought to rob it of lustre if he could; but that which came from the glimmer of it seemed another new sun. Erastro was beside himself looking at her, and Elicio could not keep his eyes from gazing at her. When Galatea saw the flock of Elicio and Erastro join hers, she showed that she did not wish that day to keep them company, and called to the pet lamb of her flock, which the rest followed, and directed it to another spot, different from that for which the shepherds were making. Elicio, seeing what Galatea was doing, and being unable to endure such open contempt, came to where the shepherdess was and said to her:

'Permit your flock, fair Galatea, to come with ours, and, if you do not like our company, choose that which will please you better, for your sheep will not, through your absence, lack good pasturage, since I, who was born to serve you, will take more care of them than of my own. Do not seek to disdain me so openly, for the pure affection I cherish towards you does not deserve it. According to the way you were taking, you were making for the spring of slates, but, now you have seen me, you wish to change your road; and, if this is as I think, tell me where you wish, to-day and always, to graze your herd, for I swear to you never to take mine there.'

'I assure you, Elicio,' replied Galatea, 'that it was not to shun your company or that of Erastro that I have changed the way you think I was taking, for my intention is to spend the noon-tide of to-day by the stream of palms, in the company of my friend Florisa, who is awaiting me there, for as early as yesterday we two agreed to graze our flocks there to-day. As I came along, heedlessly playing my pipe, the pet lamb took the road of slates, as more accustomed for it. For the affection you bear me and the offers you make me I thank you, and count it no small thing that I have justified myself against your suspicion.'

'Ah, Galatea!' replied Elicio, 'how well you invent what seems good to you, though you have so little need to use stratagem with me, for after all I do not seek to wish more than you wish! Now, whether you go to the stream of palms, to the wood of council, or to the spring of slates, be assured that you cannot go alone, for my soul accompanies you always; and, if you do not see it, it is because you do not wish to see it, so that you may not be obliged to heal it.'

'Until now,' said Galatea, 'I have yet to see my first soul, and so I am not to blame if I have healed none.'

'I do not know how you can say that, fair Galatea,' replied Elicio, 'since you see them to wound them, and not to heal them.'

'You accuse me falsely,' replied Galatea, 'in saying that I have wounded anyone without arms, seeing that these are not granted to women.'

'Ah, discreet Galatea,' said Elicio, 'how you jest at what you perceive of my soul, which you have invisibly wounded, and with no other arms than those of your beauty! I do not so much complain of the wrong you have done me, as that you hold it in little account.'

'I would hold myself in less account, if I held it in more,' replied Galatea.

At this moment Erastro came up, and, seeing that Galatea was going off and leaving them, said to her:

'Where are you going, whom do you flee, fair Galatea? If you part from us who adore you, who shall hope for your company? Ah fair foe! how heedlessly you go your way, triumphing over our affections! May Heaven destroy the warm affection I bear you, if I do not long to see you in love with some one who may value your plaints in the same degree as you value mine! Do you laugh at what I say, Galatea? Then I weep at what you do.'

Galatea could not answer Erastro, for she was going away, guiding her flock towards the stream of palms; and bowing her head from afar in token of farewell, she left them. When she saw herself alone, whilst she was making for the spot where her friend Florisa thought she would be, with the exquisite voice Heaven had pleased to give her, she went along singing this sonnet:

GALATEA.
Away with noose and frost, with dart and fire,
Whereby to strangle, freeze, or wound or burn,
Love doth essay! 'Tis vain: my soul doth yearn
For no such knot, nor doth such flame desire.
Let each bind, freeze, kill, press, consume in ire,
'Gainst any other will its anger turn,
But mine shall snow or net or arrow spurn,
To hold me in its heat let none aspire.
My chaste intent will chill the burning flame,
The knot I shall break through by force or art,
My glowing zeal will melt away the snows,
The arrow shall fall blunted by my shame,
And thus nor noose nor fire, nor frost nor dart,
Shall make me fear, safe in secure repose.

With juster cause might beasts stand still, trees move and stones unite on hearing Galatea's gentle song and sweet harmony than when to Orpheus' lute, Apollo's lyre, or Amphion's music the walls of Troy and Thebes of their own accord set themselves in the ground without any craftsman laying hand thereon, and the sisters, dark dwellers in deepest chaos, grew gentle at the exquisite voice of the unheeding lover. Galatea finished her song, and at the moment came to where Florisa was, by whom she was received with joyous mien, as being her true friend, and she to whom Galatea was wont to tell her thoughts. After the two had allowed their flocks to go at their will to graze on the green grass, they determined, invited by the clearness of the water of a stream flowing by, to wash their beauteous faces; for, to enhance their beauty, they had no need of the vain and irksome arts whereby those ladies in great cities who think themselves most beautiful, torture theirs. They remained as beautiful after washing as before, save that, through having rubbed their faces with their hands, their cheeks remained aflame and blushing-red, so that an indescribable beauty made them yet more fair, and especially Galatea. In her were seen united the three Graces whom the Greeks of old depicted naked to show (amongst other purposes) that they were mistresses of beauty. Straightway they began to gather divers flowers from the green meadow with intent to make each a garland wherewith to bind up the disordered tresses that flowed freely over their shoulders. In this task the two beauteous shepherdesses were engaged when of a sudden they saw, by the stream below, a shepherdess coming of gentle grace and bearing, whereat they wondered not a little, for it seemed to them that she was not a shepherdess of their village nor of the others near by: wherefore they looked at her with more attention and saw that she was coming gradually to where they were; and though they were quite near, she came so absorbed and lost in thought that she never saw them until they chose to show themselves. From time to time she stopped, and raising her eyes to Heaven, uttered sighs so piteous that they seemed to be torn from her innermost soul; at the same time she wrung her white hands, and tears like liquid pearls she let fall down her cheeks. From the extremes of grief the shepherdess displayed Galatea and Florisa perceived that her soul was filled with some inward grief, and to see on what her feelings were set, both hid themselves amongst some close-grown myrtles, and thence watched with curious gaze what the shepherdess was doing. She came to the brink of the stream, and with steadfast gaze stopped to watch the water running by; and letting herself fall on its bank, as one wearied, she hollowed one of her fair hands, and therein took up of the clear water, wherewith she bathed her moist eyes, saying with voice low and enfeebled:

'Ah water clear and cool, how little avails your coldness to temper the fire I feel in my soul! Vain will it be to hope from you--or indeed from all the waters the mighty ocean holds--the remedy I need; for if all were applied to the glowing passion that consumes me, you would produce the same effect as do a few drops on the glowing forge which but increase the flame the more. Ah, sad eyes, cause of my ruin! to how lofty a height did I raise you for so great a fall! Ah fortune, enemy of my repose! with what haste didst thou hurl me from the pinnacle of my joy to the abyss of misery wherein I am! Ah cruel sister! how came it that Artidoro's meek and loving presence did not appease the anger of your breast devoid of love? What words could he say to you that you should give him so harsh and cruel a reply? It seems clear, sister, that you did not esteem him as much as I; for, if it were so, you would in truth have shown as much meekness as he obedience to you.'

All that the shepherdess said she mingled with such tears, that no heart could listen to her and not be moved to compassion; and after she had calmed her sorrowing breast for a while, to the sound of the water gently flowing by, she sang with sweet and dainty voice this gloss, adapting to her purpose an ancient verse:

_Hope hath fled and will not stay
One thought only brings delight:
Time that passes swift of flight
Soon my life will take away._

Two things, all the world among,
Help the lover to attain
All that doth to Love belong:
E'en desire the good to gain,
Hope that makes the coward strong.
Both within my bosom lay.
No, 'twas in my stricken soul
That they lurked to take away
My desire to reach the goal.
_Hope hath fled and will not stay._

Though desire should cease to be,
What time hope is on the wane,
Yet 'tis not the same in me.
My desire doth wax amain,
Though my hope away doth flee.
'Gainst the wounds my soul that blight
I can take nor care nor thought,
Martyr to my hapless plight,
In the school where Love hath taught,
_One thought only brings delight_.

Scarce the blessing from on high
Had unto my fancy come,
When, as gently they passed by,
Heaven, fate, and bitter doom,
With it from my soul did fly.
Whoso for my grievous plight
Fain would mourn, let him strike sail,
Into the haven of delight
Glide more gently 'fore the gale
_Than Time that passes swift of flight_.

Who that hath such woe as mine
Would not faint beneath his fate?
From such woes we may divine
Joy to be a featherweight,
Sorrow lead from deepest mine.
Though my fortune be not gay,
Though I falter to my knees,
Yet this blessing is my stay:
He who robbed me of my peace
_Soon my life will take away_.

Soon the shepherdess ended her song, but not the tears which made it more sad. Moved to compassion thereby, Galatea and Florisa came out from where they lay concealed, and with loving and courteous words greeted the sad shepherdess, saying to her among other things:

'So may Heaven, fair shepherdess, show itself favourable to what you would ask of it, and so may you obtain from it what you desire, if you tell us (allowing that it be not displeasing to you), what fortune or what destiny has brought you to this region, for, according to the experience we have of it, we have never seen you on these banks. Now that we have heard what you have just sung, gathering from it that your heart has not the calm it needs, and by reason of the tears you have shed, of which your lovely eyes gave witness, in the name of fair courtesy we are bound to give you all the solace in our power; and if your evil be of those that do not permit of consolation you will at least perceive in us a good will to serve you.'

'I know not, fair maidens,' replied the strange shepherdess, 'how I shall be able to repay you save by silence for the courteous offers you make me, unless by saying no more about it, and being grateful for it, and valuing them as much as they deserve it, and by not withholding from you what you wish to learn from me, although it would be better for me to pass by in silence the circumstances of my misfortunes, than to tell them and give you cause to count me immodest.'

'Your countenance and the gentle bearing that Heaven has given you,' replied Galatea, 'do not betoken an intellect so coarse as to make you do a thing in telling which afterwards you must needs lose reputation; and since your appearance and words have in so short a time made this impression on us, that we already count you discreet, prove to us, by telling us your life, whether your misfortune comes up to your discretion.'

'As far as I believe,' replied the shepherdess, 'both are on a level, unless, indeed, fate has given me more judgment, the more to feel the griefs that present themselves; but I am quite sure that my woes exceed my discretion, in the same degree as all my craft is overcome by them, since I have none wherewith to cure them. And that experience may set you right, if you wish to hear me, fair maidens, I will tell you, in as few words as possible, how, from the great understanding you judge I possess, has sprung the woe which surpasses it.'

'With nothing will you better satisfy our desires, discreet maiden,' replied Florisa, 'than with telling us what we have asked you.'

'Let us retire, then,' said the shepherdess, 'from this spot, and seek another, where, without being seen or disturbed, I may be able to tell you what it grieves me to have promised you, for I foresee that it will not cost more to lose the good opinion I have gained with you, than to reveal my thoughts to you, however late, if perhaps yours have not been touched by the affliction I am suffering.'

Desirous that the shepherdess should fulfil her promise, straightway the three arose, and betook themselves to a secret and retired place, known already to Galatea and Florisa, where, beneath the pleasant shade of some leafy myrtles, without being seen by anybody, all three could be seated. Forthwith, with exquisite grace and charm, the strange shepherdess began to speak in this wise:

'On the banks of the famous Henares, which ever yields fresh and pleasant tribute to your golden Tagus, most beauteous shepherdesses, was I born and nurtured in a station not so lowly, that I might count myself the meanest of the village. My parents are labourers and accustomed to field-labour, in which occupation I followed them, leading a flock of simple sheep over the common pastures of our village. So well did I adapt my thoughts to the condition in which my lot had placed me, that nothing gave me more joy than to see my flock multiply and increase, and I had no other thought save how to gain for them the richest and most fertile pastures, the clearest and freshest waters I could find. I had not, nor could I have, cares beyond those that might arise from the rustic duties on which I was engaged. The woods were my companions, in whose solitude, ofttimes invited by the sweet birds' gentle harmony, I sent forth my voice in a thousand simple songs, without mingling therein sighs or words that might give any token of a love-sick breast. Ah! how often, merely to please myself and to allow the time to pass away, did I wander from bank to bank, from vale to vale, culling, here the white lily, there the purple iris, here the red rose, there the fragrant pink, making from every kind of sweet-smelling flowers a woven garland, wherewith I adorned and bound up my hair; and then, viewing myself in the clear and peaceful waters of some spring, I remained so joyous at having seen myself, that I would not have changed my happiness for any other! And how often did I make sport of some maidens, who, thinking to find in my breast some manner of pity for the misery theirs felt, disclosed to me, with abundance of tears and sighs, the love-secrets of their soul! I remember now, fair shepherdesses, that one day there came to me a girl friend of mine: throwing her arms round my neck, and joining her face to mine, she said to me with streaming eyes: "Ah, sister Teolinda!" (for this is the name of the hapless being before you). "I truly believe the end of my days has come, since love has not dealt with me as my desires deserved." Whereupon I, wondering at her display of grief, thinking that some great misfortune had befallen her, in the loss of her flock, or the death of her father or brother, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of my smock, and asked her to tell me what misfortune it was that caused her to lament so much. She, continuing her tears, nor giving truce to her sighs, said to me: "What greater misfortune, oh Teolinda, would you have happen to me, than that the son of the chief man in our village, whom I love more than the very eyes in my head, should have gone away without saying a word to me; and that I have this morning seen in possession of Leocadia, daughter of the head shepherd Lisalco, a crimson belt which I had given to that false Eugenio, whereby was confirmed the suspicion I had of the love-affair the traitor was carrying on with her?" When I ceased hearing her complaints, I swear to you, friends and ladies mine, that I could not cease from laughing within myself, and saying to her: "By my faith, Lydia," (for so the unhappy girl was called) "I thought from your complaints that you came stricken with another and a greater wound. But now I know how void of sense are you who fancy yourselves in love, in making much ado about such childish things. Tell me on your life, dear Lydia, what is the worth of a crimson belt, that it should grieve you to see it in Leocadia's possession or to find that Eugenio has given it to her? You would do better to consider your honour and what concerns the pasturage of your sheep, and not to mix yourself up with these fooleries of love, since we draw nothing from them, so far as I see, but loss of honour and of peace." When Lydia heard from me a reply so contrary to the one she hoped for from my lips and pitying disposition, she did nothing but bow her head, and adding tear to tear and sob to sob, went from me; and after a little while, turning her head, she said to me: "I pray God, Teolinda, that soon you may see yourself in a state, compared to which you would count mine happy, and that love may so treat you that you may tell your grief to one who will value it and feel it in such wise as you have done mine;" and therewith she went away, and I was left laughing at her madness. But ah! poor me! I perceive clearly at every moment that her curse is working in me, since even now I fear that I am telling my grief to one who will sorrow but little at having learnt it!'

Thereto Galatea replied: 'Would to God, discreet Teolinda, that you might find a remedy for your loss as easily as you will find in us pity for it, for you would soon lose the suspicion you cherish of our sympathy.'