The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 10

In the county of Aranda, in Aragon, there lived a lady who, while yet in her first youth, was left a widow by the Count of Aranda, with a son and a daughter, the daughter's name being Florida. This lady aforesaid laboured to bring up her children in all virtuousness of living as appertains to those of gentle blood, and in such sort that her household was commonly accounted one of the most honourable in all the coasts of Spain. She often went to Toledo, where the King held his court, and when she came to Sarragossa, which was not far from her house, she would tarry a long while with the Queen and the Court, amongst whom she was held in as great esteem as might be. On one day going, as her manner was, to stand in the presence of the King where he was near Sarragossa in his castle of Jasserye, she passed through a village pertaining to the Viceroy of Catalonia, who was not used to stir beyond the coasts of Perpignan, for the great wars between the Kings of France and Spain. But it so fell out that at this time there was peace, wherefore the Viceroy and all his captains had come to do their suit and service to the King. And the Viceroy, being advised that the Countess of Aranda passed through his domain, went to meet her both for the ancient friendship that was between them and to do her honour as a kinswoman of the King. Now he had in his company many honourable gentlemen, who by the long continuance of the wars had gained so much glory and good report that any one who could see them and resort to them counted himself happy on that account. And amongst the rest there was one named Amadour who, although he was but eighteen or nineteen years of age, had so well-assured a grace, and so good an understanding, that he would have been chosen out from a thousand as worthy the office of a governor. True it is that this good understanding was ​conjoined with such beauty that no eye could do but look upon him, and though this beauty was of so excellent a kind, yet it was hard pressed by his manner of speaking; so that men knew not where to bestow the palm, to his grace, his beauty, or the words of his mouth. But that for which he was most of all esteemed was his surpassing bravery, notwithstanding he was so young, for in so many places had he shown the strength of his arm that not only in all the coasts of Spain, but also in France and Italy, were his virtues held in great account, and with good reason, since in no fight did he spare himself; and when his own country was at peace he would seek for wars in foreign lands, where likewise he was beloved as well by enemies as friends.

This gentleman, for the love he bore his general, came with him to his domain, whither the Countess of Aranda was arrived; and as he looked upon the beauty and grace of her daughter Florida, then about twelve years old, he thought within himself that she was the sweetest he had ever beheld, and that could he gain her favour it would do him more pleasure than anything whatsoever he might win from another woman. And after for a long while fixing his regard upon her, he resolved to give her his love, although reason made plain to him that he desired impossible things, as much for that she was of a most noble house as for her tender years, which as yet were not fit to listen to the discourse he was fain to make to her. But against this fear he strengthened himself with hope, promising himself that time and patience would bring a happy issue to his undertaking, and from henceforth the great love that was entered into his heart assured him of means of attaining thereto. And to surpass the greatest difficulty of all, that was the remoteness of his own land, and his few opportunities of seeing Florida, he was resolved to marry, contrary to what he had determined while he was with the dames of Barcelona and Perpignan, where he was held in such account that few or none would have refused him. And so long had he tarried in these coasts, by reason of the wars, that his speech smacked rather of Catalonia than Castille, although he was born near Toledo of a wealthy and honourable house, but being a younger son, he had no inheritance. So, perchance, it came to pass that Love and Fortune, seeing ​him abandoned of his kinsfolk, determined to make a masterpiece of him, and by means of his virtuousness and courage granted him what he could not obtain from the laws of his country. Such good skill had he in the craft of war, and so well-beloved was he by lords and princes, that he more frequently refused their employ than asked for it.

The Countess then has come to Sarragossa, and has been graciously received by the King and his Court. The Viceroy of Catalonia often came to visit her, and Amadour never failed to accompany him, only that he might have the delight of looking upon Florida, for of speaking to her he had no opportunity. So to make himself known in such good company he addressed himself to the daughter of an old knight, his neighbour, whose name was Aventurada, and who had such converse with Florida that she knew what was in the depths of her heart. Amadour, whether for the graciousness he found in her, or for the three thousand ducats a year that was her dowry, determined to talk to her as one he desired to marry. And willingly did she give ear to him, but seeing that he was poor and her father rich, she thought that he would never give her in marriage to Amadour unless by the entreaty of the Countess of Aranda. Wherefore she addressed herself to Florida, saying: "You have seen that young gentleman of Castille often speaking with me, and I am persuaded that his intent is to ask me in marriage. You know too what kind of father I have, and that he will never consent thereto, if he be not strongly entreated of the Countess and yourself." Florida, who loved her as herself, promised that she would lay this to heart as if it were for her own peculiar good; and Aventurada accomplished so much as to present Amadour to her, who on kissing of her hand was like to have swooned away for joy. And he, who was accounted the readiest speaker in all Spain, was so affected in her presence that he stood dumb; and this was matter of great surprise to her, who, although she was but twelve years old, had well understood that no man in Spain could say what he wished more readily or with a better grace. So seeing that he said nothing, she began thus: "The renown that you have won, my lord, in all the coasts of Spain is so great as to make you well known in this Court, and causes those who are of your acquaint​ance to desire to employ themselves in your service; wherefore, if there is anything wherein I can aid you, I am at your command." Amadour fixing his eyes upon her beauty was thereby possessed with such a ravishment, that he could hardly find words to give her his hearty thanks, whereupon Florida, astonished to find him thus dumb, but putting it down to some fantasy and not to the power of love, went from his presence without another word.

Amadour, perceiving the goodness which even in early youth began to show itself in Florida, said to her whom he intended for his wife: "Marvel not that in the presence of Mistress Florida I lost all power of speech, since the virtues and the wisdom which are contained in one of so few years in such wise astonished me that I knew not what to say. But, prithee, tell me, Aventurada, who know all her secrets, whether every heart at Court is not in love with her, for verily they who know her and love her not are either hard as rocks or senseless as beasts." Aventurada, who by this time loved Amadour better than all the men in the world, would not conceal aught from him, and so told him that Florida was beloved of all, but by the custom of the land few spoke to her, and still fewer—nay, only two—paid any court towards her. And these two were Spanish Princes, of whom one was the son of the Fortunate Infante, the other the young Duke of Cardona. "Prithee, then, tell me which she loves best." "She is so prudent," said Aventurada, "that she would never confess to having any will besides her mother's in the matter; natheless, as far as my wit goes, I am persuaded she loves the son of the Fortunate Infante above the Duke of Cardona. But to her mother Cardona is most agreeable, since in the case of their being wed she would have her daughter always by her. And of such good judgment do I esteem you that this very day, if it is your pleasure, you may come to a conclusion, for the son of the Fortunate Infante is being nurtured in this Court, and is one of the bravest and most admirable young princes in Christendom. And if we maids had the disposing of the matter, he would be well assured o£ his bride, and we should have the fairest couple in all Spain. You must understand that, although they are both young, she twelve and he but fifteen, it is already three years since the courtship began, and if you would have ​her favour, I would counsel you to make yourself his faithful friend and follower."

Amadour was in great delight to hear she was in love with something, hoping that in time he might gain the place, not of husband but of lover, for it was not her virtue that he feared, but lest she should have no love whatever in her temperament. And soon after these passages he began to be constantly in company with the son of the Fortunate Infante, whose good graces he easily obtained, for in whatsoever pastime the young prince took delight he was well skilled, and above all in the practice of horsemanship, and in sword play, and to be short in all the games which it is becoming in a prince to know. But war broke out in Languedoc, and needs must that Amadour return with the governor, which indeed was great grief to him, since it took away the possibility of his seeing Florida; wherefore on his setting out he told a brother of his, who was chamberlain to the King, of the good match he had made in the person of Aventurada, and prayed him that in his absence he would do all that lay within him to forward the marriage, thereto employing the favour he had with the King and Queen and all his friends. The gentleman, who loved his brother not only for his kinsmanship but also for his excellent endowments, promised him to use his best endeavours, and moreover did so, inasmuch as the father, a surly old miser, laid by his natural complexion and paid some regard to the virtues of Amadour, which the Countess of Aranda, and above all Mistress Florida, took care to set before him. Also in this they were aided by the young Count of Aranda, who as he grew in years began to esteem brave men. So the marriage having been agreed upon by the kinsfolk on either side, the King's chamberIain sent for his brother, since a lasting truce had been made between the two Kings.

About this time the King of Spain betook himself to Madrid for the avoiding of the bad air that prevailed where he was, and at the advice of his Privy Council, and the request of the Countess of Aranda, he gave consent to the marriage of the Duchess of Medina-Celi with the young Count of Aranda, no less for their contentment and the union of their houses than for the love he bore towards the Countess; and so was pleased that the marriage should be solemnised in his castle at ​Madrid. And at the marriage feast was present Amadour, who used such good means on his own account that he was wedded to the lady whose love for him was beyond compare greater than his for her. But to be short, he held his wife only as a cloak to conceal his liking to another, and a means whereby he might be incessantly in Florida's company. After that he was married he entered into all the privity of the Countess of Aranda's household, where they paid no more heed to him than if he had been a woman. And though at this time he had not seen more than twenty-two years, yet so sage was he that the Countess would make known to him all heir occasions, and enjoined her son to discourse with him and give ear to all his counsels. And having attained this high point in their esteem, he kept himself so prudently and coldly that even she whom he loved knew nothing of his thoughts. But since Florida loved his wife above all others, she trusted in him in such sort that she concealed from him nothing, and at this time opened to him all the love she had for the Fortunate Infante. So he, who sought but one thing, to gain her altogether for himself, talked to her always of the prince, for it mattered not one whit to him what the subject of their discourse might be so that it lasted a long time. There he stayed for a month after his marriage was concluded, and was then forced to go to the wars, whither he remained two years without returning to see his wife. And she lived all this while in the place where her nurture had been.

And during these two years he wrote often to his wife; but his letters consisted for the most part of messages to Florida, who on her side failed not to return them, and in every letter of Aventurada's sent him some pleasant piece of wit, and this made the husband unfailing in his writing. But with all this Florida discovered nothing save that he loved her as if he had been a brother. Now and again he would come home, but in such sort that in five years he only saw Florida for two months altogether; yet in despite of estrangement and the length of his absence his love did but increase. And it came to pass that he made a journey to see his wife, and found the Countess far removed from the Court, for the King was gone to Andalusia, bearing with him the young Count of Aranda, who was now beginning to carry arms. The Countess had ​betaken herself to her pleasure-house on the coasts of Arragon and Navarre, and was glad to see Amadour return, since for nigh three years he had been away. He was made welcome by all, and the Countess enjoined that he should be used as if he had been her own son. While he was with her she advertised him of all the charges of the household, and for the most part took his judgment thereon, and so great esteem did he win at this place, that whithersoever he would go the door was opened to him, since they made such account of his prudence that he was trusted like an angel or a holy man. Florida, for the love she bore his wife and himself, sought him out wherever he went, and had no suspicion of him, wherefore she put no guard on her face, having no love to conceal, but only feeling great contentment when he was by her. Amadour was in great pains to escape the suspicion of those who can discern a lover from a friend, for when Florida came privily to speak to him the flame that was in his heart rose so high that he could not hinder the colour rising on his cheeks or conceal the flashing of his eyes. And to the end that nobody might observe all this, he set himself to pay court to a mighty fine lady named Pauline who, in her time, had such renown from her beauty that few who saw her escaped her nets. And this Pauline, hearing that Amadour had had some experience of the love-craft in Barcelona and Perpignan, and had gained the affection of the handsomest gentlewomen in the country, notably that of the Countess of Palamos, who was accounted for the most beautiful of all the Spanish ladies, told him that it was a great pity, after such good fortune, to have taken to wife so ugly a woman. But Amadour, understanding by her words that she had a mind to help him in his hour of need, made as pleasant discourse to her as might be, thinking that, if he could cause her to believe what was false, he should thereby hide from her the truth. But she, of keen wit, well tried in the service of love, was not to be contented with words alone, and being assured that such kindness as he had for her did not suffice him, suspected he would fain use her as a cloak, and on that account kept good watch on his eyes. But these knew so well how to feign, that any suspicion she might conceive was but dark and obscure, yet it was matter of great toil to the gentleman, since Florida, ignorant of all these plottings, used him in such familiar fashion ​before Pauline that his eyes had a wondrous struggle with his heart. And for the avoiding of this, one day he spoke as follows to Florida, while they were standing by a window: "Prithee, sweetheart, tell me whether is it better to speak or to die." And Florida presently replied to him: "I would counsel all such as are my friends to speak and not die, for 'tis a bad speech that cannot be mended, but a life lost cannot be recalled." "You promise me then," said Amadour, "that you will not only take in good part what I am going to say, but even that you will not be astonished thereat till I have made an end." To this she replied: "Say what you will, for if you astonish me, none can reassure me." And so he began: "Mistress, up to this time I have had no wish to speak of my love towards you, and this for two reasons. In the first place, for that I desired to be well tried by you, and in the second because I doubted whether you would esteem it for an honour to be loved by me, who am but a poor gentleman. And again, though I were of as high estate as yourself, the steadfastness of your heart would not allow you to listen to love-talk from any but him who has gained your love, I would say the son of the Fortunate Infante. But just as in war, necessity makes men sacrifice their own possessions, and cut down their own corn lest the enemy enjoy it, so I dare to risk gathering beforehand the fruit I hoped to pluck much later, lest it profit our enemies and be to your loss. Understand then that from your youth until now I have been so given up to your service that I have never wearied in seeking to gain your favour, and for that cause alone did I wed her whom I thought you loved the best. And knowing the love you bore to the son of the Fortunate Infante, I have taken pains, as you are advised, to do him service and to be frequently with him, and all this because I fain would please you, and truly I have used to that end all my power. You know that I have gained the favour of your mother and brother, and all whom you love, in such sort that I am held in this house not as a servant but a son, and all the pains that for these five years I have taken have been to no other intent than that with you I may pass all my life. Understand that I am not of those who would pretend by these means to get anything from you to the hurt of your honour, for I know that I cannot take you to wife, and if it were in my ​power I would not do this thing against him whom you love, and whom I desire to see your husband. And so far removed am I from those who, by long service, hope for a reward against the honour of their ladies, and love with a vicious love, that I would rather see you dead than know you were less worthy of being loved, or that your virtue had, for my pleasure, been made of small account. For the end and reward of what I have done I ask alone one thing—that you be to me such a mistress as never to take your favour from me, that you continue me in my present case, trusting in me more than in any other, and being well assured that, if in any matter you need a gentleman's life, mine shall be with the heartiest good will at your service. And in like manner I would have you believe that whatever I do that is brave and honourable is done only for your sake. And if I have done for ladies of far less account than you things which have been thought worthy of regard, be assured that, you being my mistress, my bravery will grow in such fashion that deeds I aforetime found impossible shall become most easy to be performed. But if you will not accept me as wholly yours, it is in my mind to renounce arms, and the valour which helped me not in my hour of need. Wherefore, mistress, I entreat that my desire be granted me, forasmuch as your honour and conscience cannot fairly refuse it."

The maid, hearing this strange discourse, began to change colour and let down her eyelids, as a frightened woman is accustomed. Natheless, since she was wise and prudent, she said to him: "Wherefore is it, Amadour, that you ask of me what you have already? To what intent is all this talk? I greatly fear that beneath your honourable words there is concealed some hidden evil to deceive the ignorance of my youth. Wherefore I am in great doubt what to reply; for if I refuse the honourable friendship you offer me, I shall be doing the very contrary to what I have always done, since I have trusted you above all men. Neither my conscience nor mine honour forbid your desire, nor yet my love for the son of the Fortunate Infante, for that is bottomed upon marriage, to which you make no pretence. I know nothing to hinder me from replying to you according to your wish, if it be not the fear I have at heart arising from the small need you had to ask all ​this; for since you have what you require, what need to ask for it?" Amadour, who was not without an answer, said to her: "Mistress, you speak according to wisdom, and do me so great honour by the faith you put in me, that if I were not content with this reward, I should not be worthy of any other. But know that he who would build a house to last for ever must take care first to lay a strong and sure foundation; wherefore I, who would dwell for ever in your service, must take care not only of the means whereby I may always be near you but also that none other be advised of my great love towards you. For though it be honourable enough to be proclaimed from the housetops, yet those who cannot discern the hearts of lovers often judge falsely concerning them, and thereby come evil rumours, of which the event is likewise evil. And she who makes me say this and manifest my love towards you is Pauline, who has strong suspicions concerning me, and knowing well in her heart that I do not love her, makes it her chief concern to watch my face. And when you so familiarly come and speak to me before her, I am in great fear lest I make some sign for her to bottom her suspicion on, and so fall into the pit I am fain to escape. Wherefore it has been my intent to entreat you that before her, and before others whom you know to be as malicious as she is, you come not so suddenly to speak to me, for I had rather die than any man should come to a knowledge on these matters. And had I not been so tender of your honour I would not have had this discourse with you, since I deem myself sufficiently happy in your love and confidence towards me, and ask of you nothing more than to continue them unto the end."

Florida, who on hearing this was exceedingly glad, began to feel a somewhat at her heart she had never felt before, and considering the fair conclusions he had laid before her, replied that virtue and honour answered for her, and granted his desire. And who that has loved can be in doubt as to whether Amadour rejoiced thereat? But Florida more straitly followed his counsels than he would have her, for she, being afraid not only in the presence of Pauline but everywhere beside, no longer would seek him out as she had been accustomed; and whilst they were thus estranged she took in bad part his often going to Pauline, whom she thought so pretty that she could not believe but that ​he loved her. And for the consolation of her sadness she had much talk with Aventurada, who began to be exceeding jealous of her husband and Pauline, and so ofttimes made complaint to Florida, who comforted her as well as might be, she herself being stricken with the same plague. Amadour before long perceiving how Florida was changed towards him, thought that she did not merely follow his counsels, but had mingled with them some peevish imagination of her own devising. And one day, while they were going to evensong at a monastery, he said to her: "Prithee, mistress, what countenance is this you show me?" "I suppose that which pleases you," said she. Whereupon, having a suspicion of the truth, and willing to know if he was right, he began to say: "Mistress, I have so spent my days that Pauline thinks no more of you." To which she replied: "Than this you cannot do better, both for yourself and for me, for in serving your pleasure you preserve my honour." At which Amadour saw that she thought he took pleasure in parley with Pauline, and at this thought waxed so desperate that he could not contain himself, and wrathfully exclaimed: "Truly, mistress, these are early days to begin tormenting your poor slave and pelting him to death with bitter words, for I thought there could be no greater travail than to oblige myself to parley with one for whom I have no love. And since what I have done in your service is taken by you in bad part, I will never again speak to her, come what will of it! And that I may conceal my wrath as well as I have concealed my contentment, I will begone to some place hardby until your fantasy is overpast. But I have good hopes while I am there to get tidings from my general that will take me back to the wars, where I will stay long enough to let you know that you alone have kept me here." Thus saying, and without waiting for a reply, he forthwith left her. At this Florida was filled with grief and sadness, and love by its repulse began to show her all its strength, in such wise that, knowing the ill she had done him, she wrote again and again to Amadour praying him to return, and this he did after that a space of some days had abated the bitterness of his anger.

I cannot make for you a particular account of the discourse by which they destroyed this jealousy. At all events, he won the battle, inasmuch as she promised him to believe no more ​that he was in love with Pauline, and also that she was assured that to speak with Pauline or anyone else, save to do her a service, was a martyrdom hardly to be borne.

And when love had conquered this first suspicion, and the two lovers began to take more delight than ever in talking with one another, tidings were brought that the King of Spain was drawing his whole army to Salces. Wherefore Amadour, who was always in the van of battle, lost not this chance of winning for himself glory, yet it is true that he went with a regret that was not his custom as much for the loss of pleasure as fearing to find some change on his return. And this because he knew that Florida was sought in marriage by great princes and lords, seeing she was now come to the age of fifteen or sixteen years, wherefore he thought that if she was married while he was away he would no longer have any opportunity of seeing her, except the Countess of Aranda should give her as a companion his wife Aventurada. And so well did he manage his affairs amongst his friends that the Countess promised that, let her daughter go where she might, his wife should go with her. And though it was intended that Florida should be married in Portugal, yet it was determined that Aventurada should never forsake her; so on this assurance, not without regret unspeakable, Amadour went away and left his wife with the Countess. And when Florida found herself alone after the departure of her slave, she set herself to the doing of good works, whereby she would fain get as much honour and repute as the most perfect women, and show herself worthy of such a lover as Amadour. And he, being arrived at Barcelona, received from the ladies such welcome as he was wont, but so changed did they find him that they would not have believed that marriage had such power over a man as it had over him. For it was plain that the things in which aforetime he had taken delight now wearied him; and the very Countess of Palamos whom he had loved so well could scarce find means to draw him to her lodging, on which account he made but short stay at Barcelona, being weary for the fight and the heat of battle. And when he had come to Salces, there began that great and fierce war between the two kings of which I do not propose to make any relation, not so much of the mighty deeds done by Amadour, for if I did my tale would be long enough to suffice for the entertainment of a ​whole day. But know that he far excelled in glory each and all of his fellows. And when the Duke of Nagera came to Perpignan, being captain over two thousand, he entreated Amadour to be his lieutenant, who with this band did such service that in every fight the battle-cry was "Nagera!"

At this time it came to pass that the King of Tunis, who for a long while had waged war with the Spaniard, hearing that the Kings of France and Spain were at odds together on the coasts of Perpignan and Narbonne, thought that he could find no better occasion of doing a displeasure to the King of Spain. To this end he despatched a host of light galleys and other ships to pillage and destroy any badly-guarded place on the coasts of Spain. The men of Barcelona, seeing a great number of vessels passing in front of the town, advertised the viceroy of the matter; and he, who was then at Salces, forthwith sent the Duke of Nagera to Palamos. And the Moors, seeing the place guarded in such sort, feigned to go away, but returned about midnight and sent so many men on shore, that the Duke of Nagera was surprised by the enemy and taken captive. Amadour, who kept good watch, hearing the tumult, drew together as great a company as he was able, and made snch defence that the enemy, for all their numbers, were for a long while unable to accomplish anything. But at last, knowing the Duke of Nagera to be taken, and that the Moors were resolved to set Palamos afire, and with it the house he held against them, he preferred to render himself up than to be the cause of destroying the brave men who were of his fellowship. Also he had hopes of being ransomed, and thus once more to see Florida. So he presently gave himself up to a Moor named Dorlin, governor to the King of Tunis. And this man took him to his master, by whom he was well received and better guarded, for the King, having him in his hands, thought he had taken the Achilles of the Spaniards.

And so abode Amadour nigh two years in the service of the King of Tunis. Now the report of this mischance was brought to Spain, at which the kinsfolk of the Duke of Nagera were sore grieved; but they who laid the honour of their country to heart esteemed the capture of Amadour to be the greater loss. And the news came to the house of the Countess of Aranda, where at this time lay Aventurada grievously sick. ​The Countess, who had great suspicion of the love Amadour bore her daughter, but suffered it and concealed it for the virtues she discerned in him, called her apart and told her these pitiful tidings. Florida, who knew well how to feign, replied that it was a great loss for the whole house, and above all for his poor wife, who was now in such evil case. But seeing her mother weeping exceedingly, she too let a few tears drop to bear her company, fearing that by feigning too much her deceit might become apparent. And from this time the Countess often spoke to her of him, but could never bottom her suspicions on anything in Florida's face. I leave untold the pilgrimages, prayers, and fasts which Florida discharged in due order for the safety of Amadour, who no sooner got to Tunis than he sent tidings thereof to his friends, and by a trusty messenger advertised Florida that he was in good health and hope of seeing her again. And this was the poor lady's only means of sustaining her anguish, so doubt not that, since it was permitted him to write to her, she in return did her part so well that her letters of consolation came to Amadour thick and fast.

At this time the Countess was commanded of the King to go to Sarragossa, where he was come, and she found there the young Duke of Cardona, who so strongly urged the King and Queen that they prayed the Countess to give him her daughter in marriage. The Countess, who in nothing was disobedient to their will, agreed thereto, thinking that her daughter, who was still young, could have no will in the matter but her own. And when the agreement was determined upon she told her daughter that she had chosen as mate for her one she thought most fitting. And Florida, knowing that when a thing is done it skills not to give advice, said to her that for all things God was to be praised; and seeing her mother bear herself coldly towards her, she had enough to do to obey without much pity of herself. And as matter of consolation for her woes, it was told her that the son of the Fortunate Infante was sick unto death; but neither before her mother nor any beside did she ever make any appearance of grief. Indeed so strongly did she constrain, herself that the tears driven inwardly into her heart caused such a flow of blood from the nose that her life was in jeopardy; and that she might be restored they gave her as wife to him, than whom she would far rather have received ​death. And after the wedding was brought to a close Florida went with her husband to the duchy of Cardona, taking with her Aventurada, to whom she privily made her complaints both of the rigour of her mother and the grief she had at the loss of the son of the Fortunate Infante. But of her grief at the loss of Amadour she said nothing save by way of consolation. And from this time she resolved to keep God always before her eyes; and so well concealed her sorrows that none of her people ever perceived that her husband was displeasing to her.

So passed a long time, Florida living a life scarce better than death. And of all this she failed not to send news to her lover, who knowing the greatness of her heart and the love she bore to the son of the Fortunate Infante, thought it scarce possible that she should continue to live, and mourned for her as one worse than dead. And by this dolour his own was increased, since he would willingly have continued all his days a slave, if Florida could but have a husband to her liking; so did he forget his own woe in that which his sweetheart had. And for that he heard, by a friend he had at the Court of the King of Tunis, that the aforesaid King was resolved to give him his choice of impalement or renouncing his faith, because he greatly desired for him to become a good Mussulman and continue in his service, he persuaded his master to let him go on his parole. And this master put upon his head so high a ransom as he thought could never be found by a man of small means. So then, without speaking on the matter to the King, his master let him go. And when he had gone to Court and stood in the presence, he went forth amongst all his friends to the intent that he might get together the ransom, and straightway betook him to Barcelona, whither the young Duke of Cardona, his mother, and Florida had gone on some charges. And as soon as his wife Aventurada had tidings that her husband was returned from captivity, she bore them to Florida, who rejoiced thereat, as if for love of her. But fearing lest her joy upon seeing him might change the manner of her countenance, and lest they who knew her not might take a bad opinion of her, she withdrew herself to a window, that she might see him coming from afar. And as soon as she perceived him she went down by a stair so dark that no one ​could see her change colour, and embracing Amadour she led him to her room and that of her mother-in-law, to whom he was unknown. But he tarried there only two days, and in that time made himself as much beloved by them all as he had been in the household of the Countess of Aranda.

It is not my intent to tell you of all the talk that Florida and he were able to have together, and the complaints she made to him for the ills done her in his absence. After much weeping, both for that she was married to one against her liking, and also that she had lost beyond hope of seeing again him whom she loved so well, she determined to draw some causes of consolation out of the love and firm trust she had in Amadour, though she never durst declare it to him. But he, having some suspicions, lost neither time nor opportunity of letting her know how great a love he had towards her. And just at that time, when she was ready to receive him not as a servant but as a true and perfect lover, it fell out by evil hap that the King, by reason of certain weighty charges, commanded the immediate presence of Amadour. And this so grieved his wife that, on hearing of the news, she swooned away, and falling down a stair did herself such hurt that she was not taken up alive. Florida, who through this death lost all consolation, made mourning as one who weeps for her father and mother and all her kinsfolk. But still more did Amadour grieve, not alone that he had lost on his side one of the best wives in the world, but also that he had lost all means of seeing Florida; at which he fell into such sadness that he was like to have died. The old Duchess of Cardona came often to speak with him, and drew from the philosophical writings many good and solid reasons for him to bear this, loss with patience, But this did not much avail him, for if death itself was torment, love did but increase the agony. So Amadour, having beheld the burial of his wife and having no more cause for delaying to perform the King's commands, was filled with such despair that his brain wellnigh fell into some distemperature. But Florida, in endeavouring to console him, spent a whole afternoon discoursing to him in the most gracious sort to the intent of diminishing the extremity of his grief, assuring him that she would find better means of seeing him than he thought. And since he was to set out on the ​morrow, and was so weak that he could hardly stir from his bed, he entreated her to come and see him in the evening after every one had done so, which she promised, ignorant that his love knew not bounds nor reason. And he, who found himself in despair of ever seeing her again whom he had served so long, and having had of her no favours except what I have told you of, was so torn asunder by hidden love and the loss of all means of being in her company, that he was resolved to play at double or quits, to win or lose it all, and to repay himself in one hour as he thought to have deserved. So he had his bed decked with curtains in such fashion that those who came into the room could not see him, and made more complaint than was his custom, that the people of the house might not believe him to have twenty-four hours to live.

After that every one had been to see him, Florida, her very husband desiring her, went to him, intending as matter of consolation to declare her affection, and to assure him that, as far as honour allowed, she would give him her love. And she sat herself down on the chair by the bedside, and began her consolation by weeping with him. Amadour, seeing her grief, thought that thereby he should more easily attain his ends, and raised himself from the bed, whereupon Florida, thinking that he was too weak, would have held him back. But he fell on his knees and began to say: "Must I for ever lose the sight of you?" and so let himself fall into her arms as one whose strength fails him. Poor Florida for a long time embraced and sustained him, doing all that lay in her power to console him, but the medicine she gave to cure his sickness did but increase it; for with the face of a man half-dead, and without a word, he fell to seeking for that which the honour of the ladies forbids. And though Florida perceived his evil intent, she could hardly believe it, having in her mind all his honourable conversation, and so asked him what he would do; but Amadour, fearing to hear her reply, which he knew well would be a chaste and virtuous one, persisted with all his strength in the quest of that he desired, whereat Florida, mightily astonished, suspected rather that he had taken leave of his senses than that he was attempting her dishonour. Wherefore she called aloud to a gentleman whom she well knew to be in the room, and at this Amadour, in the bitterness of his despair, threw himself back ​so suddenly upon the bed that the gentleman held him for a dead man. Florida, having arisen from the chair, said to him: "Go presently and get some vinegar." And this he did, whereupon Florida began: "Amadour, what fantasy is mounted to your brain? and what were you minded to have done?" He, who by reason of love had lost all reason, replied: "Doth so long a service as mine deserve so cruel a return?" "And where is that honour," said Florida, "which you have so often preached to me?" "Ah! mistress," said Amadour, "it is not possible to be more tender of your honour than I have been; for before that you were married I so conquered my heart that you knew nothing of my desire; but now that you are married, and your honour is in safe keeping, what wrong is this I do you in asking what is my own? For by the very force of love I have won you. He who first had your heart, made such poor assault on your body that he well deserved the loss of both. He to whom your body now belongs is by no means worthy of your heart, wherefore neither by right does the body appertain to him. But I, mistress, who for these five or six years have borne for your sake so many woes, you cannot deny that it is I alone who deserve both your body and your heart. And if you would call your conscience into court, be well assured that when love presses hard on every side, sin shall by no means be imputed. Those who in a fit of madness slay themselves are not to be accounted sinners for what they have done, for passion and reason cannot dwell together. And being love is the most unbearable of all the passions, and most of all blinds the senses, what sin would you impute to him who is carried along by its irresistible might? I am about to go, having no hope of seeing you any more. But if I had had before I set forth that security from you which my great love hath deserved, I should have gained strength to bear patiently the sorrow of this long farewell. And if it be not your pleasure to grant me my desire, you shall soon perceive that your hard heart has caused me a most miserable and cruel death."

Florida, no less grieved than astonished at such discourse from him, from whose lips she never thought to have heard the like, said weeping: "Alas! Amadour, is this the virtuous talk you had with me while I was yet young? Is this the honour and the good conscience you have so often counselled ​me rather to die than lose? Have you then forgotten your good examples of virtuous ladies, who made resistance to light love, and all your despising of wanton women? I cannot believe, Amadour, that you are so far from yourself that God, your conscience, and my honour are altogether dead within you. But if it indeed be as you say, I praise, the Divine Goodness for that it has delivered me from the pit into which I wellnigh had fallen, and shown by your speech the wickedness of your heart. For having lost the son of the Fortunate Infante, not only because I am married, but also because I am advised he loves another, and seeing myself wedded to one to whom I cannot, take what pains I may, give my heart, I was resolved entirely and altogether to set my soul and my affections on loving you. And this love I founded on the virtuousness I perceived in you, and to which, by your help, I deem myself to have attained; and the manner of it is to love my honour and my conscience better than my life. Bottomed upon this rock of honour, I came here determined to make it yet more sure; but in a moment, Amadour, you have shown me that in place of pure and shining marble it would have been founded on a quaking sand, or a filthy mire. And though this my strong place, where I hoped to dwell for ever, has been in great part begun, you have suddenly brought it down, even to the dust. Wherefore you must now put aside every hope you had concerning me, and resolve yourself, in what place soever I be, not to address me by words or looks, nor ever deem that I can or will change this my determination. All this I say to you with great grief, but if I had so far gone as to swear with you eternal love, I know my heart, and am well assured that in that strife of the soul I should have died. And even now my sorrowful amaze for that you have deceived me is so great that I am persuaded it will make my life a short and sad one. And with these words I bid you farewell, but remember that it is for ever!"

I spare you the relation of the grief that Amadour felt at the hearing of these words, for it is not only impossible to write but even to conceive, except to those who have been in like case. And seeing that with this cruel conclusion she would leave him, he took her by the arm, since he well knew that if he suffered this bad opinion of him to remain in her, he would ​lose her for ever. Wherefore, having put on as solemn a countenance as he was able, he said to her: "Mistress, I have all my life desired to love a woman of honour, and since I have found but little of that commodity, I was fain to make trial of you, to see if you were as worthy to be held in esteem for your virtue as you are to be loved. And this I now know for a certainty, wherefore I give thanks to God, who has directed my love towards such perfection, entreating at your hands pardon for the folly of my endeavour, seeing that the issue thereof has been to your honour and my great contentment." Florida, who by his example began to perceive the wickedness of men, as she had been slow to believe the evil that was in him, so was now slow to believe the good that was not, and replied: "I would to God you spoke the truth! But I am not so simple that the estate of marriage in which I am does not let me know that the blindness of a strong desire made you do what you have done. For if God had slacked the reins, I am assured you would not have drawn in the bridle. Those who make search for virtue go on a different road to the one you have taken. But it is enough; if too lightly I believed in your virtue, it is time I should know the truth, which now delivers me from out of your hands." Thus saying, Florida went forth from the room, and while the night went on did nought else but weep, taking at this change so great grief that her heart had shrewd work to withstand the assaults of love and regret. For though, reason guiding her, she was resolved not to love him any more, yet the heart, which is lord over itself, would by no means allow this, so she was determined to satisfy her affection and continue to love him, and yet to satisfy her honour and never make any sign to him of her love.

And on the morrow Amadour went forth in such woe as you have heard; nevertheless his heart, which had not its equal in the world, would not suffer him to despair, but set him on some new means for seeing Florida again, and winning back her favour. Wherefore as he went to the King of Spain, who was at Toledo, he took his way through the county of Aranda, and came there one evening very late, and found the Countess in great sadness by reason of the absence of her daughter Florida. And when she saw Amadour she kissed and embraced him as if he had been her own son, as much for the love she ​bore him as for the suspicion she had that he loved Florida, of whom she made curious inquiry. And he told her the best news he could, but not all the truth, and confessed the love that was between them, which Florida had always kept secret, praying her to give him her help in having tidings of her daughter, and soon to bring her to Aranda. And on the morrow he continued on his journey, and having performed the charges of the King, went to the wars with so changed and sorrowful a countenance that ladies, captains, and all of his acquaintance scarcely recognised him. And henceforth black was his only wear, but of much coarser frieze than was due to his dead wife, whose loss served to conceal what was in his heart. So Amadour passed three or four years without returning at all to Court. And the Countess of Aranda hearing how Florida was changed, and that to see her was pitiful, sent to her, wishing her to return home. But these tidings had the opposite effect, for when Florida heard that Amadour had made manifest the love that was between them to her mother, and that her mother, all good and virtuous as she was, held their love for an honest one, she was in great perplexity. For on the one hand she saw that if she told her mother the whole truth, Amadour might get some hurt thereby, than which death would have been preferred by her, for she felt herself to be strong enough to punish him without calling her kinsfolk to her aid. But on the other hand she perceived that if she concealed the evil she knew of him she would be constrained by her mother and all her kin to speak to him and show him a good countenance. And this she feared would but strengthen him in his wicked purpose. But inasmuch as he was far away, she said nothing, and wrote to him when her mother charged her so to do; all the same these letters of hers let him know pretty plainly that they came from obedience and not good will, and so caused him as much sorrow in the reading as aforetime tidings from her had given him joy.

At the end of two or three years, having done so many and so great deeds, that would scarcely be contained by all the paper in Spain, he conceived a most daring imagination, not to win the heart of Florida, which he held as lost, but to gain the victory over his enemy, since it was in this manner she showed to him. He put behind him all the counsels of reason, ​and even the fear of death, of which he would thus make hazard, and this was his fixed resolve. He made himself so esteemed of the Viceroy that he was sent to speak to the King of a certain secret undertaking against Leucate; and before that he had spoken to the King, he declared the matter to the Countess of Aranda, to take her mind upon it. And he came post haste to the county of Aranda, where he was advised was Florida, sending a friend of his secretly to the Countess to make known his approach, and praying her to keep it in great privity, and for him to speak with her at night, so that no one should be advertised thereof. The Countess, being glad on account of his coming, told Florida, and sent her to undress herself in her husband's room, to the intent that she should be ready when the time was come and all others were in bed. Florida, who was by no means recovered from her first fear, made no sign to her mother, but went apart to an oratory. There she commended herself into the keeping of our Lord, praying Him to preserve her heart from all evil lust. And it then came into her mind that Amadour had often praised her beauty, which, though she had been for a long while sick, was by no means diminished; so preferring to do hurt to this beauty than to suffer the heart of so good a man by it to be kindled with an evil flame, she took a stone that chanced to be in the chapel and with it gave herself so hearty a blow that her mouth, nose, and eyes were altogether put out of shape. And to the intent that none should suspect that she herself had done it, she, when summoned by her mother, let herself fall with her face to the earth while she was going out of the chapel, and cried with a loud voice. And when the Countess came she found her daughter in a pitiful case, and straightway had her face dressed and bound up.

After the Countess had led her to her room, she told her to go and hold discourse with Amadour until the company was departed; and this did Florida, thinking there were others with him. But finding herself all alone and the door shut on her, she was as much vexed as Amadour was glad, since he conceived that by persuasion or force he would get his desire. And when he had spoken to her, and found her of the same mind as afore, and that she would rather die than change it, maddened with despair, he exclaimed: "I swear to you by ​God that the fruit of my travail shall not be plucked from me by your nice points of conscience; for since love, long-suffering, and humble prayers have availed nothing, I will not spare my strength to gain that without which I shall perish." And Florida saw his eyes and the manner of his countenance that they were changed, and the fairest face in the world was as red as fire, and his most sweet and pleasant regard was so dreadful to look upon that a consuming flame seemed to blaze within his heart and on his face, and in this phrensy he took within one of his mighty hands her two hands most delicate and weak. She, seeing that all resistance was of no avail, since she was thus straitly held a prisoner that she could not fly, much less make defence, knew not what to do save to seek if there were not in him some traces of his former love by the recollection of which he might forget his cruelty; wherefore she said to him: "Amadour, though you now hold me for an enemy, I entreat you, by the honourable love I formerly thought you had for me, to give ear before you begin your torture." And when she perceived that he gave ear to her, she went on with her discourse, saying: "Alas, Amadour, to what intent do you seek from me a thing whereby you will take no contentment, and will give me the greatest of all pains? You made so good trial of my mind in the time of my youth and beauty, by reason of which you might take some excuse, that I am astonished in this season of my age, and ugliness, and sorrow, you seek for what you cannot find. I am well assured you know my mind that it is not changed, wherefore you cannot gain save by force your desire. And if you look upon my face, and, seeing the manner of it, forget its beauty that was of old, you will not, I think, be wishful of approaching nearer. And if there are in you any remains of bygone love, I am persuaded that pity will conquer your madness. And to this pity, which I have found in you, I make my lamentation and pray for grace, to the intent that you will let me live to the end of my days in peace, and in that honour, over which, by your counsel, I am determined to keep watch and ward. For though the love you bore me is turned to hatred, and more for revenge than passion you would fain make me the most wretched of all women, I assure you that this thing shall not be, since against my desire you will compel me to make manifest your wickedness to her who believes you to be so good, ​and thereby your life shall be put in no small risk." Amadour, breaking into her words, said to her: "If I must needs die, then all the sooner shall I be quit of this torment; but your misshapen countenance, which I believe to be the work of your own hands, shall not hinder me from working my will, for though you were but bones I would hold them closely to me." And Florida, perceiving that sound reason, prayers, and tears availed nothing, and that in his cruelty he would endeavour to accomplish his wicked desire, called to her aid that help she feared as much as death, and cried in a sad and woeful voice for her mother. The Countess, hearing her daughter summon her in such a voice, had great suspicion of what was indeed the truth, and ran into the room as quickly as might be. Amadour, not being as near death as he would have Florida believe, so seasonably abandoned his enterprise, that the lady on coming in found him at the door and Florida far enough from him. Forthwith the Countess asked: "Amadour, what is it? Tell me the truth." And he, who was never devoid of invention, with a sad and solemn countenance, answered her: "Alas! mistress, into what case has Florida fallen? Never was I more astonished, for as I have told you, I thought to have had her favour, but now clearly perceive I have none of it. It appears to me that while she was with you she was no less wise and virtuous than she is now, but she did not then make it a point of conscience to speak with no one, and now that I would fain have looked upon her she would by no means suffer me. And seeing this change towards me, I was assured that it was but a dream, and required her hand that, after the manner of the country, I might kiss it, but this also she would not suffer me to do. I confess that I took her hand with a gentle compulsion and kissed it, and in this I did wrongfully and crave your forgiveness, but naught else did I ask of her. Yet she, as I believe, having determined my death, called you as you have seen; I know not wherefore, unless she feared some other intent, which I in truth had not. Natheless, mistress, however that may be, I acknowledge that I have done amiss, for though she ought to love them that serve her well, I alone, who am of all most devoted to her, am exiled from her favour. But I will still be towards you and her as I have always been, and I entreat you to continue me in your good will, since through no fault of mine ​I have lost hers." The Countess, who half believed and was half in doubt, went to her daughter, and said to her: "Wherefore called you me after this fashion?" Florida replied that she was afraid. And although the Countess made particular inquiry of her, she got no other reply, for Florida, seeing herself escaped from the hands of her enemy, held his ill-success sufficient punishment.

After that the Countess had for a long while held parley with Amadour, she made him stay with Florida to see what face he would put on it. But he said little to his mistress, save that he thanked her for not telling her mother the truth, and prayed at least, since she had driven him from out her heart, she would not let another man take his place. And to the first matter of his discourse she thus replied: "If I had had other means of defending myself except my voice, you would not have heard it; and you shall have no worse thing from me if you cease to constrain me as you have done hitherto. And be not afraid lest I love another, for since in the heart which I deemed the most virtuous in the world I have not found that I desired, I believe not I shall find it in any other man." Thus speaking, she bade him farewell. Her mother, though she carefully regarded his face, could come to no conclusion, save that henceforth she was well assured her daughter had no love for Amadour, and held her so void of reason as to hate everything she herself loved. And from that hour she behaved in such sort towards Florida that she spoke not to her but chidingly for seven whole years, and all this on account of Amadour. So during this time Florida turned the fear she had of being with her husband to a desire not to stir from him, because of her mother's rigorous entreatment of her. But finding this of no avail, she resolved to put a deceit upon Amadour, and, laying aside for a day or two her cold aspect, advised him to make proposals of love to a lady who, she said, had spoken to her of the love that was between them. Now this lady was in the household of the Queen of Spain, and was called Loretta. Amadour, believing this story, and thinking hereby to regain the favour of his mistress, made love to Loretta, who was the wife of a captain, one of the King's viceroys. And she, exceeding glad for that she had gained such a lover, set such store by him, that the rumour of it was blazed abroad, and even ​the Countess of Aranda, since she was at Court, was advertised of it, wherefore she ceased henceforth to torment Florida as had been her custom. And one day Florida heard that this warrior husband of Loretta's was become so jealous that he was determined, as best he might, to kill Amadour; and she who, despite her altered countenance towards him, could wish him no ill, presently advised him of it. But he, who easily took to his old paths, replied to her that if it was her pleasure to give him three hours of her company every day, he would speak no more with Loretta; but this she would not grant. "Wherefore then," said Amadour, "since you are not willing to give me life, do you trouble yourself to guard me from death? Save, indeed, that you hope to cause me greater torments by keeping me alive than a thousand deaths. But though death escape me, I will seek till I find it, for the day of my death shall be the first of my rest."

About this time came news that the King of Granada had begun to make great war against the King of Spain, so that the King sent the Prince his son, and with him the Constable of Castille and the Duke of Alba, two old and prudent lords. The Duke of Cardona and the Count of Aranda were not willing to stay at home, and so entreated of the King to give them some command; and this he did according to the dignity of their houses. And for their safe keeping he gave them into the charge of Amadour, who during the war did such wondrous and mighty deeds as seemed to savour rather of despair than bravery. And to come to my story, I will show you how his great courage was proved by the manner of his dying; for the Moors, having made a show of giving battle, and seeing so large an army of Christians, feigned to retreat, whereupon the Spaniards began to pursue them; but the old Constable and the Duke of Alba, having a suspicion of their device, kept back against his will the Prince of Spain, so that he did not cross the river. But this, notwithstanding that it was forbidden them, the Duke of Cardona and the Count of Aranda did, and when the Moors perceived that they were pursued of a small company they wheeled round, and with one stroke of a scimitar the Duke of Cardona was slain, and so grievously was the Count of Aranda wounded that he was left where he fell for dead. At this Amadour came up so furiously enraged that ​he broke through all the press of battle, and made take the two bodies and carry them to the camp of the Prince, who grieved for them as if they had been his own brothers. But on searching out their wounds, the Count of Aranda was found to be still alive, and so was carried on a litter to his house, where he lay for a long while sick. And they bore to Cardona the dead body of the Duke. And after having in this manner rescued the two bodies, Amadour took so little heed for himself, that he was at last surrounded on every side by a host of Moors, and no more wishing capture to be made of his body than he had made capture of the body of his mistress, and not to break his faith with God as he had broken it with her; knowing that, if he was taken to the King of Granada, he would either be constrained to die a cruel death orrenounce Christianity, he was determined not to give his enemies the glory of his death or capture. And so kissing the cross of his sword, and commending his soul to God, he drove it home so deeply that it skilled not to give a second blow. So died Amadour, and the sorrow after him was that his valour deserved. And the news of it was noised abroad through all the coasts of Spain, and Florida, who was at Barcelona, where her husband had given command he was to be buried, heard the report thereof. And after that she had made for him honourable burial, without speaking to her mother or her stepmother, she became a nun of the Convent of Jesus, taking for her spouse Him who had delivered her from the burning love of Amadour, and from her weariness in the companionship of such a husband. Henceforth she turned all her affections to Godward, and, after for a long while living as a nun, gave up her soul with such gladness as when the bride goeth forth to meet the bridegroom.

"I am well aware, ladies, that this long novel may have been wearisome to some among you, but if I had wished to tell it after the manner of him who told it me, it would have been much longer. And I entreat you, while you make the virtue of Florida your ensample, to abate somewhat of her hardness of heart, and not to believe too much good of any man, lest when you know to the contrary you be the occasion to him of a cruel death, and to yourselves of a life of sorrow."

And after that Parlamente had had a long and attentive audience, she said to Hircan: "Is it your opinion that this ​woman was pressed to the bitter end, and made virtuous resistance?" "No," said Hircan, "for a woman cannot make a feebler resistance than crying out, and had she been where none could hear her I know not how she would have fared; and if Amadour had had more love and less fear, he would not for so little have left the work undone. And for all this case of yours I am not shaken from what I maintain—that no man who loves with a perfect love, or who is beloved of a lady, can fail to bring matters to a good issue, if he carry himself as he ought. Natheless, I must praise Amadour, insomuch that in some sort he did his duty." "What duty?" said Oisille. "Call you it duty for the servant to take by force his mistress, to whom he owes all reverence and obedience?" Whereupon Saffredent took up the discourse and said: "When our mistresses sit in state in chamber and hall, holding session upon us at their ease as our judges, then we fell on our knees before them; in fear and trembling we lead them forth to dance; so diligently do we serve them that we know their needs before they ask; so desirous are we to do suit unto them, and so fearful of their displeasure, that those who look upon us pity us, and often hold us as dull-witted as the beasts, and men forsaken of their understanding. Then do they give glory to our ladies, whose visage is so bold, and their speech so fair, that they make those that know them but on the outside both to fear, esteem, and love them. But when we are in some privy place, where love alone, holds session over us, it becomes plain that they are women and we men, and then is mistress changed to sweetheart, and servant unto lover. To this consents the proverb:

They have such honour as men have, who can give it them and take it away, and they see our long-suffering that it is great; but it is reasonable that this should have its sure reward, when honour thereby can take no hurt." "You speak not of that true honour," said Longarine, "which is the best contentment for this life; for when all the world call me honourable woman, and I know that I am not, this praise does but increase my shame, and makes me still more to be confounded; and in like manner when men speak evil of me, and I know my innocency, ​their blame is but my praise." "Whatever you have said," continued Geburon, "I am well persuaded that Amadour was an honourable knight, and a virtuous, and without compare; and though the names are feigned, I think I can recognise him. But since it was not Parlamente's pleasure to name names, neither is it mine. But be assured that, if he be the man I think, he knew not fear, and his heart was still full of love and bravery."

Then Oisille said to them all: "So joyously do I esteem this day to have been spent, that if we continue in like fashion on the others, the time will pass all too quick. But see how low is the sun, and the bells of the Abbey have this long while rung to evensong. But I told no one of this since I had rather hear the end of the story than the vesper music." At these words all arose, and when they were come into the church they found there the monks who had awaited them a good hour and more. And when they had heard evensong, they took supper, with much talk of the stories they had heard, each one searching through the byways of his memory, that the following day might be passed in as much delight. And after playing many a game in the meadow, they went to bed, and with much contentment brought to an end the first day.