Chapter IV: Part 4

So being departed, Nisa told Ali Japha the desire which she had unto a Spanish slave who was evil entreated of Sali Murat; the Moor, who desired to oblige him absolutely and to satisfy his pleasure in all things, went the next morning to Sali Murat; to treat with him about the sale of this slave; which being not refused unto him, they talked of the price: Sali demanded a thousand ducats, because (sayeth he) he had been taken in good equipage, both for arms and horse, and a red scarf upon his left arm, a thing which (he said) in the time of his being in Spain he had seen in kings’ portraitures: Nisa who was most interested at the bargain said to him that in Spain clothes were common, and the pride of soldiers equal to the majesty of their princes: In the end they agreed upon five hundred ducats, and Nisa going to the chamber where Pamphilus lay, took him along with her; he filled with tears, and imaginations, attributing this kindness to the resemblance which was between the Moor and Nisa, and oftentimes he resolved to believe that it was she; for although the habit and tongue disguised her, yet the voice and countenance revealed her. She lodged him in a place differing and better than that of the slaves: she caused him incontinently to be clothed, and going to see him the first night, she brought him one of her smocks, entreating him to wear it under his: Pamphilus cast himself at her feet, and Nisa turning herself away, he humbly kissed the ground which she had trodden upon. But they had not long talked together when Pamphilus grew so certain that if she was not Nisa he was mad; that thereby he could not sleep, he could not eat nor do any other thing but show her his thoughts in the violence of sighs: Nisa fearing that in this perplexity he might lose his wits, to assure him and thereby to know the secret of his heart, uttered these words one day to him; Pamphilus the love which I bear thee constrained me to procure thy good, and to solicit thy rest: I told Ali Japha that I stood much affected unto thee, and he answered me, that if I wished he would send thee into thy country, that thou shouldst go upon thy word, and that from thence thou shouldst upon thy honour, send him that which thou owest him. But I who lose my life in losing thee have entreated him to give thee my sister Fatima to wife, and that thereby I doubted not but I should persuade thee to alter thy religion and become a Moor; If thou canst bee contented to do this for me I shall know thy gentleness, and thou shalt enjoy the most beautiful gentlewoman in all Morocco, and shalt be one of the richest men of all Africa, because that besides what my father left her, my uncle will give her a great part of his estate also, and I will give thee mine, and my wife and I will sojourn under thy government.

Pamphilus, whose intent was to make her reveal herself unto him, or else to nettle Nisa so far as that she should declare herself, coldly answered, that to obey her, and to requite the duty which he owed her, he would willingly become a Moor; as well for that reason, as also that he had seen Fatima sometimes in the baths; of whom he was grown so amorous that the little pleasure and less health which he had, proceeded from thence. Hardly had Nisa heard Pamphilus’ resolution when in an extreme fury she said unto him, Ah perfidious traitor and barbarous enemy: without God, without faith, without love, without loyalty; is this that which thou owest unto heaven, to thy parents, to thy country and to the unfortunate and miserable Nisa? Who to deliver thee hath put herself into such great dangers? I knew well my most beloved Nisa, answered Pamphilus (embracing her) that this subtlety was necessary, for to make thee reveal thine; for thou governest thyself in such manner that before thou wouldst have otherwise plainly declared thyself to me, I should have lost my wits, if not my life. Let go my arm, ungrateful wretch, said Nisa; use no more these subtleties, having discovered so much perfidious weakness; but wretch that I am, why do I complain? Seeing that he who forsaketh God doth not injure me in forsaking me: but in the end after many sorrowful complaints, his satisfactions had such virtue that her anger being overcome by her love, they remained friends, with more pleasure and firmness than ever, as it always happens between true lovers.

This day passed away, followed with many others, during which time they entered into deliberations of the means whereby they might recover their liberty; which seemed to them impossible in respect of the love which Ali Japha bore unto Nisa, as also in respect of the love which Fatima bore unto Pamphilus; for she having heard that he would be a Moor and that his uncle would marry her to him, favoured him, to Nisa’s great grief who upon this jealousy was for the space of three months without any loving correspondence with him: Behold an unheard of story! Wherein is to be seen what a woman (who loveth) can effect; seeing she deceived the distrust of an old Moor, and brought all his house to that point that all things were governed by the only will of Pamphilus: who taking better counsel, whilst Ali Japha was gone to Taroudant where the king lay at that time, wrought so handsomely with Acha and Fatima that they would go into Spain with him, upon the remonstrance which he made to them that his love was certain and assured, and theirs deceitful, false and not to be believed: they were not hard to be persuaded, because they were women, Moors, and lovers; three things of a lesser resistance. So one fair night, having packed up all the best jewels they could find, they got all four to horseback, and Pamphilus being clad in the like apparel unto Nisa that thereby they might pass more surely, they came unto Ceuta, where being joyfully received by the General, he accommodated them with shipping for Lisbon. There he let Acha and Fatima understand that it was necessary for them to go to Rome, that the chief and holy Pope might receive them into the Church, and pardon them himself: all which they did the sooner to get out of Spain; they being contented to follow them wheresoever they would go, embarked themselves all together in a ship of Aragon, which had brought in wheat, and having a fair wind they arrived in Sicily, from whence because it was the year of Jubilee, they went all four in the habit of pilgrims to Rome. There Acha and Fatima were baptized: Acha was called Clementina (of his Holiness’ name), and Fatima was called Hippolyta, from her godmother. The marriage was resting still, to be performed according to promise. But Pamphilus and Nisa entertained them always with hope, remonstrating unto them that it was not fit nor just that they should be married before they came unto their father’s house. So after they had seen the great part of Italy and France, from thence they passed into Spain, where they thought that Nisa’s parents’ anger was by this time over, for when thefts in love are not chastised upon the act in warm blood, they are always remitted with time. But having run a dangerous fortune in a miserable tartana into which they had embarked themselves at Villa Franca, and having been long beaten with a sore tempest, they finished their shipwreck within the sight of the walls of Barcelona, neither is known, whether Nisa and the Moors are alive or dead: but Pamphilus swimming attained unto a plank of the ship, and within a day after, being taken up by some Moors of Bizerta, they carried him to Constantinople where I saw him a captive, and where he told me what I have related."

Thus Nisa added to the truth to hide herself from Finia, knowing already by that which was related in the first Book, how she and Pamphilus were both taken up half drowned, one by the fishers and the other by captain Doricles, with their several successes in their peregrinations in Spain, until they met together amongst the madmen in the hospital of Valencia. Finia thanked her much for the news which she had told her of her brother, showing some grief for the death of Nisa; afterwards having concluded their return into Spain, they retired themselves together to Marseille, where they rested for some days, Finia believing always that Nisa was this Felix, whose name she had borrowed.

In the meantime, miserable Pamphilus suffered in prison with more rigorous pain than he did before, because that his fury increasing with his grief he was kept so much the more straitly, by how much he was thought to be the more mad. In the end Jacinth came to Valencia and being advertised by Pamphilus of his misfortune, he drew him out of the cage, and had him to his house, saying that his parents had sent him five hundred crowns of Castile to defray the charge of his cure at home. All those who remained in the hospital were sorry, because until that time, there was never seen a madman so wise, nor a wise man which did imagine so many follies. There did Pamphilus take again his ancient habit, and being departed from Jacinth and his sister, (in whom the wonderfulness of his story raised no less love than pity) took again the second time his way to Barcelona, where he was no sooner come but he was met and known, by one of those whom he had wounded in Montserrat: he was then the second time laid in prison in the same place where the two Germans his companions had remained until that time. A thing worthy of admiration in any understanding, that a man should not be able to find the clue whereby he might get out of so many labyrinths; from Barcelona to Valencia, and from Valencia to Barcelona, in journeying in a small part of his country, with more variable successes then Aeneas did in his voyage of Italy, or Ulysses in that of Greece. Pamphilus saw there his friends with great grief, and was received by them with great joy. And Finia and Nisa coming from Marseille little by little over the craggy mountains which divide France from Spain, came unto Perpignan, where I leave them to their rest, attending the Fourth Book.

The End of the Third Book.

Book Four

Great is love amongst the gods, and amongst men marvellous says Phaedrus in Plato: Hesiod says that the two first things which were seen after the Chaos, were Love and the Earth. Parmenides says that it was engendered before the Gods; preferring it in knowledge to the father of the Muses: and in war, before the god of battles; making this argument, that, that which detains is greater than that which is detained; and that he is truly strong, who vanquishes the strong: he calls it the light of the understanding, and assures that, he lives only in darkness who is not lightened with its fire. And among other attributes, he calls it the God of Peace, the Father of Desire, and the Appetite of Good; in the presence of which the soul desires to be eternally: from whence it follows that love is a desire of immortality, which reconciles affections, gives goodwill, takes away hatred: of the nature of this love was that of our pilgrims, at the least Nisa's, who being with Finia departed from Perpignan, came with her into Barcelona, about that time when the sun having passed the middle of the day descends towards the West Indies. But fortune not yet weary with troubling and crossing them, showed her that the first travails were only to be feared in regard of those which were necessarily to follow: for as she entered with Finia into the city, a confused throng of people constrained them to stand in the middle of the street. Nisa was desirous to know upon what occasion such a world of people was assembled, and seeing an old man who related it unto others, with pity, she entreated him (out of courtesy) to tell her. It is (pilgrims my friends), said the old man, because there is a knight, a Castilian, going to have his head cut off for killing an officer of justice, who would have apprehended him upon suspicion of theft, which he had not done, near unto Montserrat, whether he was going in pilgrimage (as you peradventure may do). But besides the greatness of his crime, which is no less then rebellion, he was found to have in the hollow of his staff a sword longer then is permitted to be worn by the ordinances of this kingdom.

I am much grieved at it, answered Nisa, for many reasons; and principally, because he is a Castilian; for as you may perceive by my tongue this pilgrim and I are both Castilians: it would more grieve you (said the old man) if you saw his face and his proportion, accompanied with such youth that he doth not seem to be two and twenty years complete. Can you tell this knight’s name, said Finia? One of my sons, said the old man, has been his Proctor, and he told me that he was called Pamphilus de Luxan, born at Madrid, which is a city sufficiently known throughout all the world. With a pale and deadly countenance did the two pilgrims behold one another, and bursting into tears as from two fountains, they embraced and fell down together. The good old man wondering to see them thus suddenly oppressed, knew that this knight’s name had pierced to their soul; and encouraging them as much as possibly he could, he retired them to the door of the next house, the better to avoid the throng of people which stayed at the rareness of the accident; Nisa and Finia, having some time bewailed the miserable Pamphilus, told the old man that he was their kinsman. Then came a man entering into the street, breaking through the press of the people with his horse: which moved Nisa to entreat the old man, to enquire what he was, and upon what occasion he made such haste through the company? Who being informed, and coming again, demanded a reward for the good news which he brought. Hath Pamphilus his pardon, said Finia? He whom you saw pass by, answered the old man, is a knight of Valencia, called Jacinth Centellas, who coming the other day into this town upon some occasion, knew Pamphilus, and withal understanding he was condemned to die, told the Viceroy that this criminal person was a madman, and but newly gotten out of the hospital of Valencia, as he offered to verify: whereupon the Viceroy and the Judge, willing to save this young man, suspended the execution of his judgement, and gave commission to this knight to bring proof of his affection; so much the rather believing his words by how much Pamphilus confessed his crime and desired to die, with an extreme grief: but the time expiring (which was given to Jacinth) for the verifying of Pamphilus’ madness, he was going towards the place of his execution, and by the way, is met by Jacinth (as you have seen) who hath brought with him sufficient proof and an express command from the Viceroy that he shall be taken back again to Valencia.

This news revived Nisa and Finia, who having rested themselves there all that day went the next day to see him in the prison; at the entrance whereof they found, that for a madman he was taken out and set upon a mule, to be carried to Valencia. And even upon the instant that Pamphilus lifting up his eyes beheld his dear Nisa, and that she advanced herself to speak to him, came one of the servants and apprehended Nisa, and his companions seizing upon Finia put them both in prison: although Pamphilus cried out that she was his brother, for being accounted for a madman he was not hearkened to, but contrariwise because he passionately cast himself from his mule upon the ground, he was with much cruelty tied upon his mule’s back, and with shrewd blows set forward in his way; their opinion of his madness being the more confirmed.

I cannot forbear wondering every time I think of this man’s misfortunes! He came first to Barcelona to suffer at Valencia all those miseries which you have formerly heard. And now it seems he returns that way again anew to begin the same pains. The cause of Finia's and Nisa's apprehension was that Nisa in regard of his apparel and of his short hair was thought to be a man, and being always in Finia's company, the Justice took hold of them out of a strong suspicion that they did live lewdly and incontinently together, a thing which is often covered under the cloak of pilgrimage, which makes it more odious and frequent in that country. Whatsoever might happen of it, Nisa would not reveal herself notwithstanding any fear of chastisement: but defending her cause as a man, denied that ever she had so much as spoken otherwise than with great honesty and modesty to Finia. Who accounting Nisa for a man, and believing certainly that she was the same Felix whom she feigned to be, with whose conversation and beauty she was charmed, confessed simply her desire (for the effect was impossible) and although the honesty of their conversation did appear by both their confessions, yet their beauty was a cruel witness against their innocence.

About this time came the afflicted Celio (by the mountains of France, the principal cities whereof he had sought for his beloved Finia) back to Barcelona, still continuing his quest, and only to inform himself if there were any pilgrims of Castile; and having understood that there were two prisoners but a few days before he went to see them, hoping to hear some news, if not of Finia, at least of the country. His fortune would that he should first meet with her before he saw his Sister Nisa, and being advertised that see had been taken with a young man, and laid up for the suspicion that was had of their dishonest love, he spoke to her through an iron grate, which separates the men’s Prisons from the women’s.

Is this O Finia, the confidence which I had of thy virtue so conformable to the nobleness of thy blood? Is it here (after having searched thee almost all France over, having measured step by step all the tedious plains and craggy mountains which did lead unto any place where there was either hope or likelihood to find thee, undergoing many notable dangers) that I should think to find thee in a public prison with a young man? Now are all my suspicions confirmed, and my reasons that I had to kill the Frenchman, for which I have suffered so many travails: Is this the recompense of so many evils, which for thy sake I have endured? Dost thou thus requite thy obligations to me? At the least this comfort I have, I may return into my country with full assurance that I shall not incur any infamy, neither in thy friend’s opinion nor in mine own: for having left thee in this danger, and in those which will inevitably follow thee, seeing thou hast found another who accompanies thee, honours thee and defends thee. Think not, O ungrateful person, answered Finia in weeping, that I have ever offended thee, for thou canst not make me suffer so much that I would hazard that which thou hast cost me, for all the treasure of the world: thy jealousy made thee kill a man and leave me alone in such a place; the difficulty of getting away from whence, considering my weakness, may seem a miracle. In my voyage I have met with this man, who no less innocent then chaste Joseph, suffers this unjust imprisonment for having been the most honest helper that I could have desired in thy absence, as thou may plainly see by the modesty of his countenance and his speech, if thou please to speak with him. To excuse thyself, answered Celio, in so notorious a crime, is to move me to greater anger, because thou may have failed as a woman, but to deny it to me and to say that thou hast not done it, is a most evident token that thou wilt deceive me either here or in thy own country (if ever thou return thither) therefore I do forbid thee for ever to dare to name me or to say thou ever knew me. So said Celio, and turning his back to Finia left her in the greatest grief that a woman could suffer; which is in these accidents to lose his presence under whose protection she lives: especially when it seems to her that she cannot hope for any other remedy or succour. Celio hiding the tears which he shed in going away, and consulting with the fury of his jealousy, and his rage for the injury which he did think he had received, concerning the revenge which he should take, waited for Nisa's enlargement, that he might kill him. The judges although that the prisoner’s innocence did sufficiently appear, yet would not give them liberty to return together (for those do seem to permit the evil, which do not forbid the occasion) but retired Finia into a house and commanded Nisa whom they called Felix, that that day he should leave the city of Barcelona. Nisa went then late in the evening out of the town, and far from thinking that her brother waited to kill her, believing her to be the man with whom Finia had so irreconcilably offended him: and the darkness of the evening with the disguise of man’s apparel which Nisa wore deprived Celio's eyes, (already blinded with anger) from discerning her to be his sister Nisa, into whose body he twice thrust his sword, and had absolutely killed her if some passengers upon the way at that time had not, not only hindered him, but also apprehended him and put him in prison.

The miserable Nisa, who then began to have a greater feeling of her suffered miseries, was carried to an honourable citizen’s house of great compassion and charity, who having given order for her dressing and found that her wounds were not mortal, pursued Celio so eagerly in justice, informing the judges of the crime which he himself had seen him commit, that the third day after he was condemned to death. Celio alleged in his defence that Finia was his lawful wife, and that having found her imprisoned with this young man for suspicion of incontinency, he did not think that he had done evil if he had killed them both. Whereupon they ordered that Finia should be imprisoned again; but she having some notice thereof, prevented it by flight.

On the other side, Pamphilus coming to Valencia recovered his liberty by Jacinth’s means; with an extreme contentment to Tiberia, unto whom Pamphilus giving thanks for the care which she had of him, raised in her a thousand hopes which his absence and misery had killed. He took leave of her with many fair and amorous words, and returning to Barcelona, went to seek for his dear Nisa in the prison wherein he had seen her shut when he went away as a madman. But when he found Celio there in her place, in such extreme danger of his life, from whom (informing him of the cause of his misfortune) he was told all the injury which Finia had done him with a pilgrim, whom he had wounded, whereby he came to know that this man whom Celio out of jealousy would have killed was his own sister Nisa. And with the grief of so unhappy a news, Pamphilus cried out; O cruel Celio, thou hast taken away the life of thy own sister, and my dear wife, whom under this habit accompanied my fortunes: and it may be also my sister Finia, for whose sake thou hast unjustly killed Nisa. I am Pamphilus thy enemy, unto whom (not knowing of me) thou didst recite the story of thy fortunes, who have already pardoned the injury which thou hast done to my honour in ravishing away Finia, having consideration of the injury which I did thee in leading away Nisa.

With less grief would Celio have heard the sentence of his death, than the relation which Pamphilus made; for he remained so astonished and silent as if he had been taken out of prison to go to execution. He would have justified his innocence, but being not able to utter one word, he remained dumb, and his hands and his feet without any motion made him appear as one insensible. Pamphilus as almost mad, left him in the prison, and going up and down to enquire for Nisa, he was accounted for a madman by all those who saw him, for they did remember that for a madman he was saved, being condemned to die. Pamphilus having been three or four times at Jacinth’s house; love, to work the greater confusion, had augmented his sister Tiberia's desires; who (as you have heard) cast her eyes upon Pamphilus’ beauty: he overcome with the good turns, and pitiful care which she had of his misfortunes, had not rigorously entreated her thoughts: she, when this last time she saw him return to Barcelona, and that neither her prayers nor entreaties could stay him; wrote to her brother (who did accompany him in his journey) how that Pamphilus, out of the lustful courage of an ungrateful guest, had so far forgotten himself as to make love to her, and that she, yielding to his persuasions had embarked herself with more sure gauges, than, without the bonds of marriage, did fit either with her honour or the reputation of either of them.

Jacinth, angry at this evil correspondence and ungrateful acknowledgement of his friendship, good turns and hospitality, sought Pamphilus as earnestly as he sought Nisa, and having found him, led him out of the town upon the shore side, where he showed him his sister’s letter: afterwards (setting his hand on his sword) he said he would wish him to draw his sword: now to offend him, that sword which formerly he had at Valencia, drawn in his defence, although a treacherous fellow as he was did not deserve to have his sword measured with his. The innocent pilgrim excused himself, entreating him to let him search out Nisa, whom (he said) he had heard was sore wounded, and that he would not upon the lies and indiscretion of a despised woman hinder him in this business which did so nearly concern him as did the search for his dear wife, who was in danger of losing her life; and that he himself was the most assured witness to how much pain, labour and danger Nisa had cost him; and only thoughts of whom had kept him from taking pleasure in any other thing. These excuses did not satisfy Jacinth, because the opinion which he had concealed of his sister Tiberia's virtues did darken in his understanding the light of all Pamphilus’ reason: who out of the many obligations against his honour and condition, suffered Jacinth’s injurious words. But in the end, seeing him threaten him with his sword in his hand, calling him base coward, runagate, and many other insupportable insolences, he drew his sword to slay his enemies and with a point nimbly running upon him, overthrew him to the ground, if not dead, yet at least so near dead that he seemed so. Pamphilus most grievously detesting his most outrageous fortune, took him in his arms and carried him into the town, the one shedding his blood and the other his tears; and finding strong life in him, he persuaded him of the truth of his innocence, leaving him at a church door (whither the people flocked apace to see him, knowing that he was wounded). And without inquiring any further of Nisa, he went once again out of Barcelona, although much more sad; for he left his best friend whom he had sorely wounded with his own hand, and his dearest friend near the hands of death.

Iber so called of Iberia, an ancient river of that kingdom (sometimes very rich) not far from that place where Scipio vanquished the Carthaginians, and as Titus Livius affirms, joined Spain to the Roman Empire, running from two fountains, bathes the fields of the Cantabrians and the Celtiberians, taking its name from the Celts which came out of France, and from the province of Iberia, no less rich and fruitful than those which of the same name are called Iberian, near the mountain Caucasas, having abundance of gold within their veins. This famous flood, according to Pliny, rises near to the ancient Iuliobriga, and after many windings and turnings comes to wash the walls of Sallibinum, which Caesar called Caesar Augustus, and the injury of times Saragossa.

At the course of these crystalline waters Pamphilus stayed his flight, sitting down upon the bank of the river, which began to swell with his tears, so pitiful to behold, that the very winds did seem to condole with him in his complaints by their doleful noise, amongst the leaves of the trees, and the birds warbling out their woes. There was not anything of life which had not some show of sorrow with him, unless it were the fishes, which being dumb did not put forth their heads out of their clear waters at the importunity of other voices, yet their silence did seem to join with him in sorrow. Is it possible said he, that the fear of losing this unprofitable life should have more power over me than the duties which I owe to my birth and to my mistress? How comes it to pass that not to lose a thing, so vile in my eyes, so heavy to my soul and so grievous to my suffering, I have lost the most esteemed of my understanding, the most honoured of my memory and the most adored of my will? It is thou fair Nisa, who over the sharp mountains of Toledo didst courageously follow my steps, from their highest tops even to the sands of the Spanish Sea: thou art she, who in the battle of Ceuta didst bitterly bewail my captivity: art not thou o my dear Nisa she who under the habit of a Moor and under the name of Hassan Rubin, drew me from the Kingdom of Fez, and from the captivity of Sali Morata? Wert not thou cast away with me at sea, in our return from Italy within the view of Barcelona’s walls, and whom the sea cast up on the shore, as unworthy to possess so rich a pearl? Didst not thou live afterwards a long time amongst the madmen as deprived of thy reason, with the very grief of my Death? Didst not thou suffer new shipwreck at Marseille? And finally wounded by thy jealous brother lie now in a strange country, either sick or dead? Seeing all this is so, how can I apprehend the least notion of leaving thee? Where is my courage, or am I not Pamphilus of Luxan? Is this the virtuous blood of those valiant governors, who so nobly defended the walls of Madrid from the Moors of Toledo? It is not possible! I am not myself, my misfortunes have changed me into something else. To be in love and to be a coward is a manifest contrariety: yet to deny that I love is to say the sun is darkness and the night light, especially since I cannot say but that I have seen Nisa. But seeing I do confess that I have seen her, how can I say but that I love her? And if I love her, how can I leave her? And if I have left her, wherefore do I live?

So did Pamphilus accuse himself for having left Nisa for any danger; no more nor no less than as one who travailing upon the way remembers something of importance which he had forgotten at home, breaking off from his discourse and from his company, turns back again to his lodging where he thinks he shall never come time enough; with the same haste Pamphilus makes his way back again to Barcelona, from which both in haste and fear he had departed. A strong chain of lovers, which tied to their desired beauty, shortens itself by the force which lengthens it, until it returns to its centre. Beauty without doubt, which lifting up the vapours of the lovers’ eyes, seems to draw unto itself the very weighty and earthy part, despite all resistance made by the natural weight, and as the sun oftentimes converts into burning beams the humour which is concealed in the clouds, so beauty converts into fire all the tears and sadness of lovers.

Few leagues had Pamphilus journeyed from the famous colony of the Romans when as going down a hill, it being so late that the sun had left no light in the west, but as it were a golden girdle; which environing the horizon did seem as a crown unto the neighbouring night: he heard a voice grievously complaining in a meadow, which shadowed with high rocks, was very dark.

The courageous pilgrim went into it, and saw a man lying upon the grass amongst the trees which were watered with a fresh brook, of whom demanding the cause of his complaint, he entreated him to come to him, if he desired to know, before he yielded up his soul, caused by three mortal wounds which were made in his body. Pamphilus approached him although with some distrust, and lifting him up leaned his head against a tree. I am a knight, said the wounded man; treacherously murdered by his hands who hath received most good turns from me; there is a monastery in these fields which is not far from hence, if thou canst carry me on thy shoulders thither, thou shalt bee the Aeneas of my soul, and I the Anchises, saved peradventure from the eternal fire which I have merited. Pamphilus laid down his palmer’s staff (oh how hurtful it is to leave one’s weapons upon any occasion whatsoever) taking him in his arms; and remembering that he had so carried Jacinth, he thought to himself, that seeing he was come to carry others to the grave, he was not far from thence himself: and comforted himself with this, that if he were not Death himself, he was yet his bier. So journeying towards the monastery with the wounded man, who with broken speeches interrupted by his approaching death, recited the cause thereof. The pilgrim being come to the gate, and seeing by the clear light of the moon, in the front thereof, the image of our Blessed Lady the Virgin, said to the wounded man that he should recommend his soul whilst he knocked at the gate. At whose knocking the porter being come, and informed by the pilgrim of the accident, answered that with like dissimulation, certain bandoleers of Jara had one night robbed the monastery, and for that cause he could not open the gate without the superior’s license. Pamphilus entreated him to dispatch: but there being a long garden between the monastery and cell, before he could return the knight died in his arms.

Pamphilus looked pale, dismayed with the accident, and almost as dead as he, and encouraging him to this fearful and sharp passage, laid a cross of two myrtle boughs on his stomach. Instantly he heard a troop of horse, whose masters being divided into divers paths, did seek for the dead man. By their words and their diligence, the pilgrim knew their design, and calling them, showed them him whom they sought for, telling them how he had found him. Amongst them was his brother, who seeing Pamphilus bloody, and in a pilgrim’s habit (which is enough to make an honest man suspected) cried out, Oh thou Castilian traitor, thou hast murdered him to rob him. And at the very instant, the same friend who had killed this poor knight, and who the better to cover his treason, accompanying the brother, took hold of the pilgrim’s arm: thou robber and infamous assassin, what hath made thee murder the noblest knight in this country? Sirs, replied Pamphilus, I found him in a meadow hard by, bewailing his death, which he said was wrought by the hand of one whom he did account his best friend: and out of compassion and at his entreaty, I brought him to this monastery, where he departed this life in my arms. But Tansiles (who was the traitor which had killed him) fearing lest the pilgrim might discover something which he might have heard from the dying man concerning his treason, pulling out a pistol from the pommel of his saddle, gave fire and aimed it directly at his head. Yet heaven not permitting that it should go off (for saints and angels do always assist the innocent) the pilgrim lived. O let him live said Tirsus, (so was the dead man’s brother called) for it is much better, that keeping him in prison he may confess his own crime: and whether he killed him for to rob him, or whether some enemy of my brother Godfrey’s did not hire him to murder him. The traitor answered to Tirsus and to the others who did accompany him, that blood (yet warm) of his friend would not suffer him to delay his revenge so long. Yet all their opinions prevailing against his: the innocent Pamphilus was bound hand and foot on a horse, and dead Godfrey laid on another. It is a just judgment, said Pamphilus (by the way) for my leaving of Nisa wounded, and Jacinth almost dead. Do you not hear, said Tirsus? Without doubt this Nisa is the woman for whose sake he hath committed this murder, and Jacinth some friend who led my brother to the place. All of them believed what Tirsus said, and the traitor Tansiles interpreted Pamphilus’ despair in such sort, that everyone believed that Pamphilus did speak of Godfrey’s death.

They led him into no town as he thought they would, but to a grange house, about half a league from the monastery, the gate whereof was between two towers. Tirsus knocked, and a servant answered: tell my mother and sisters (said he) that I have brought my brother Godfrey dead, and his murderer with him. Instantly he heard a great cry in the hall of the house, by which Pamphilus did know that fortune prepared a great deal of evil for him: Nevertheless desiring to die, he resolved not to defend his life with his tongue, which he could not do with his arms. Someone opened the door of the house, and with candles lighted the miserable mother with her daughters and servants received her dead son. Some howling and crying carried him into the hall, others ran upon poor Pamphilus, tearing his beard and pulling him by the hair of the head, and almost stunned him with blows. With this good entertainment he was lodged this night in one of the towers, having his body laden with irons, yet he was heard to utter no words but only that he deserved this and more for forsaking Nisa. All this night nothing was heard but cries and complaints for Godfrey, and the time which was not employed in this funereal exercise they spent in talking of Nisa and what she should be, whom their prisoner had so often in his mouth.

The light of the morning, which very slowly enters into prisons, brought day to Pamphilus, not in waking him who had not slept, but in advertising his soul of his approaching death, the certain news whereof he would willingly have welcomed with gifts: when as the prison door being open, he saw Godfrey’s mother and sisters enter, demanding of him in great passion and choler, wherefore he had killed her son? But he answering, only for Nisa's sake am I reduced to this misery, they began to beat him with such rage that they left him almost dead; and shutting the prison, they resolved to famish him to death. But whilst about noon, the dead body was carried to burial, with lights, mourning and funeral company of his parents and friends: Flerida his youngest sister, mollified with Pamphilus’ complaints, were it that his countenance did enforce her to believe his innocence, or that some other secret sympathy inclined her to have pity of his life, went to the prison, and by the keyhole said thus to him: unfortunate pilgrim, do not afflict thyself, for I will free thee despite my mother and my brothers; who art thou, said Pamphilus who promises life when there is nothing but heaven which can give it me? I am Flerida (answered she) one of Godfrey’s sisters who do promise it to thee, afflicted with thy grief out of the assurance I have in my own imagination of thy innocence.

I swear unto thee by God said Pamphilus, that going in the night through a meadow I found thy brother wounded unto death, as he told me by one whom he did reckon to be his best friend; I took him on my shoulders, and carried him to the monastery, where he died in my arms before the gate was opened: I do not desire to live, but the care which I have of another’s life more than mine own makes me seek my liberty contrary to my desire; if thou canst procure me it, I am a knight, and of a family from which ungrateful man nor traitor ever sprang: thou shalt do a heroic deed worthy of an illustrious lady, and though I should never merit it, yet heaven will not fail to acknowledge it. Flerida had not need of so many reasons, who was virtuous and so well disposed to free him, that she would hazard a thousand lives to give it to him. And (as aptly it served) those which were gone to accompany her brother’s body to the grave, not being able to return speedily (as well in regard of the distance of the place, as in respect of the pomp of the funeral, which lasted nine days) gave her opportune means to open the planks on the top of the prison, thereby letting him down some vittles: all her other sisters, her mother and the servants only entered to torment him, they seeing him live, not knowing wherewith he did sustain himself, anger, indignation and cruelty increased so far in them that they resolved to kill him, before Tirsus’ return from the obsequies of his brother. But Flerida the same night gave him such strong files, that the fetters, staples and locks being cut asunder, and he being fastened to a cord, she drew him up by that hole which she had made by removing the planks; & all the household being in their dead sleep, she opened the gates: afterwards, with honest embraces, shedding some tears and with many jewels which she did constrain him to take, she was departing from him, when he casting himself at her feet, with the humblest words he could speak, promising to repay her this good turn with an immortal remembrance; and if that ever she had occasion to come into Castile, she should enquire for a knight of Madrid called Pamphilus of Luxan, that she might be assured she should not return without due thanks and acknowledgements for so perfect an obligation.

Pamphilus knowing that to proceed further in the quest of Nisa was to resist the will of heaven, which had opposed him in it with so many rigorous successes, went to Saragossa; resolving from thence to travel into Castile. If thou didst not possess O Nisa (said he to himself as he went along) all my thought, and if thou didst not hold as much place in my body as my soul does, which is all in every part; who would doubt, but Flerida should be now mistress of my will? O how powerful are good turns in apt occasions, seeing that the firmness of love which could not be moved with such painful travails, such fearful shipwrecks and with such cruel captivities and imprisonments, with one good turn alone in an opportune time, is shaken, if not mastered; at least the roof, if not the walls; and although the foundation be firm yet the windows and other ornaments do shake: let not those which shall hear this be displeased with him; for this was not so much a change from the love of Nisa, as a feeling of Flerida's goodwill: and as there is nobody so solid which the sun sometime doth not pierce, so there is no love so firm but that the first motions thereof may shake.

Pamphilus so by long travail came to Saragossa, and would not enter into it before it was dark night, for fear he might be followed or met by someone whom he knew: and very early in the morning departed from thence and by unused paths, from pasture to pasture, and from mountain to mountain, he endeavoured to shun the great highway, fearing that Flerida's brother might make pursuit after him. In the end, wearied with the sharpness of the mountains and the austerity of the life which he was constrained to lead, he resolved one night to lie in some place where he might be better accommodated than in these deserts, and entering into a city which divides the two kingdoms, he enquired for a lodging. But nobody being willing to entertain him, seeing him so evilly apparelled, his feet bloody, his face tanned, his hair knotted and shagged, he went to the hospital, the last refuge of misery. Pamphilus found the gates open at that time, but without light, and asking the cause, he was told that in regard of a strange noise which every night was there heard, which had happened ever since the death of a stranger who came thither to lodge, nobody had dwelt there; yet he might (as they said) enter in if he would, for he should find there a man of holy life in a little chapel, who endured for the honour of God all those illusions, and who would show him a place where he might lie without danger. Pamphilus then entered into a dark obscure place, and after some few steps saw a great way off a dim light of a lamp, to which place he addressed himself, and called the holy man. What wouldst thou have, thou wicked spirit? answered the holy man. Thou dost mistake me said Pamphilus, I am a pilgrim, who endeavours to seek a lodging for this night. Then he opened the door, where Pamphilus saw a man of a middle stature and age, with a long beard and hair, a gown of coarse cloth down to his ankles. The chapel was little with an old altar, the base whereof did serve him for his bed: he had a stone for his pillow, his staff for his companion, and a death’s head for his looking-glass.

How durst thou come into this place, said he to the pilgrim, did no man advertise thee of the disquiet lodging which is here? I have been told it, answered the pilgrim, but I have suffered so much labour in my travels, so much cruelty in imprisonments, so many heavy misfortunes and cold entertainments, that no disquiet can be new to me. The poor man then lighted a candle at the lamp which burned before the altar, and without saying anything commanded the pilgrim to follow him; he went through a garden, which lay wild as a forest or wilderness, where having showed him a part of the house, amongst some cypress trees he unlocked the door of a chamber, and said to him, seeing thou art young and accustomed to travails, enter here: make the sign of the cross and be not dismayed nor astonished, but sleep; Pamphilus took the candle, and setting it on a stone which lay there, bade his host good night and shut the door.

There was a bed in the chamber good enough to rest on, especially for a man who hath lain so many nights on the ground: this invited him to unclothe himself, and taking one of the shirts which Flerida at his departure had given him, he put it on and got into the bed. Hardly had he revolved in his imagination the confusion of his life, a thing which often (the body being at rest) is represented to the mind, when as sleep which is truly called the image and brother of Death, possessed his senses with that force which it is accustomed to use on weary pilgrims. All that part, which the sun abandons when it goes down to the Indies was in a deep silence, when the noise of some horses awaked Pamphilus. He thought he was stirring (as many times happens to travellers) and that his bed did move as if a ship or a horse was to carry him. Nevertheless remembering that he was in the hospital, and the causes for which it was uninhabitable, he opened his eyes. He saw horsemen enter by two and two into the chamber, who lighting torches which they had in their hands at the candle which he had left burning by him, they cast them against the ceiling of the chamber, where they stuck fast with their bottoms upward and their tops downwards, which dropped down burning flames on his bed and on his clothes. He covered himself as well as possibly he could, leaving a little hole to look out that he might see whether his bed did burn or no; when as instantly he saw the flames go out, and that on a table which was in the corner of the chamber, four of them were playing at primero. They passed, discarded, and set up money as if they had truly played: so long till at length they debating upon a difference, they fell into quarrel in the chamber, which made such a noise with clashing of swords that the miserable Pamphilus called on (for help) our Lady of Guadalupe, which was only left (of all the shrines in Spain) unvisited, although it were in his own country of Toledo. Because holy places near to one are many times left unvisited out of a hope which is had, that they might be visited at any time. Nevertheless the clattering of the swords and all other noise for the space of half an hour ceased, and he was all of a sweat out of the very fear he had; yet no sooner was he well satisfied to see himself in their absence at some rest, not thinking that they would come again, when instantly he felt that the bed and the clothes were pulled away from him by the outermost corners: and he saw at the same time, a man come in with a torch in his hand lighted, followed by two others, the one with a great brazen basin, and the other sharpening a little knife. Then began he to tremble, and all his hair stood on end, he would have spoken but he was not able. When they were near him, he who held the torch put it out, and Pamphilus thinking that they would kill him, and that the basin was to receive his blood, put his hands forth against the knife, and felt that they laid hold of him; he gave a great cry, and the torch instantly kindled again: and he saw himself between two great mastiff dogs, who held him fast in their teeth. Jesus! cried out Pamphilus, at which name all these fantastic illusions vanished away, leaving him so weary and so affrighted with their company that he would not stay there any longer: but going out into the garden by which he was entered, he went to the chamber of the good hermit, who seeing him so pale, weak and naked opened him the door, and said to him; have your hosts here given you an evil night’s lodging? So ill, said Pamphilus, that I have not rested all night, and yet I have left them my clothes to pay for it. The good man received him as well as he could; telling him how many others with like success had been so used, and many other discourses, wherewith he passed away the night until morning.