BOOK II. (continued 2)
Herman Oelsner translation
TIMBRIO TO NISIDA.
"I had determined, fair lady, that my ill-starred end might declare to you who I was, since it seemed to me better that you should praise my silence in death than blame my boldness in life; but as I think it befits my soul to leave this world in favour with you, so that in the next love may not deny it the reward for what it has suffered, I make you cognisant of the state in which your rare beauty has placed me. It is such that, though I could indicate it, I would not obtain its cure, since for small things no one should make bold to offend your exalted worth, whereby, and by your honourable generosity I hope to renew life to serve you, or to win death to offend you never more."
'Nisida was listening with much attention to this letter, and, when she had heard it all, said: "The lady to whom this letter is sent has naught to complain of, unless, from pure pride, she has become prudish, a failing from which the greater part of the ladies in this city are not free. But nevertheless, Astor, do not fail to give it to her, since, as I have already told you, more evil cannot be expected from her reply, than that the evil you say your friend suffers now should become worse. And to encourage you the more, I wish to assure you that there is no woman so coy and so on the alert to watch over her honour that it grieves her much to see and learn that she is loved, for then she knows that the opinion she holds of herself is not vain, while it would be the contrary if she saw she was wooed by none." "I know well, lady, that what you say is true," I replied, "but I am afraid that, if I make bold to give it, it must at least cost me the refusal of admittance henceforward into that house, whereat there would come to me no less hurt than to Timbrio." "Seek not, Astor," replied Nisida, "to confirm the sentence which the judge has not yet given. Be of good courage, for this on which you venture is no fierce conflict." "Would to Heaven, fair Nisida," I answered, "that I saw myself in that pass, for more readily would I offer my breast to the danger and fierceness of a thousand opposing arms than my hand to give this loving letter to her who, I fear, being offended by it, must hurl upon my shoulders the punishment another's fault deserves. But, in spite of these objections, I intend to follow, lady, the counsel you have given me, though I shall wait for a time when fear shall not occupy my feelings as much as now. Meanwhile I entreat you to pretend that you are the one to whom this letter is sent, and give me some reply to take to Timbrio, in order that by this deceit he may be comforted a little, and time and opportunities may reveal to me what I am to do." "A poor artifice you would employ," answered Nisida, "for, granted that I were now to give, in another's name, some soft or disdainful reply, do you not see that time, that discloses our ends, will clear up the deceit, and Timbrio will be more angry with you than satisfied? Especially as since I have not hitherto replied to such letters, I would not wish to begin by giving replies in a feigned and lying manner; but, though I know I am going contrary to what I owe to myself, if you promise to tell me who the lady is, I will tell you what to say to your friend, and such words that he will be pleased for the nonce, and even though afterwards things turn out contrary to what he thinks, the lie will not be found out thereby." "Do not ask this of me, Nisida," I answered, "for to tell you her name places me in confusion as great as I would be placed in if I gave her the letter. Suffice it to know that she is of high degree, and that, without doing you any detriment, she is not inferior to you in beauty, and saying this, it seems to me, I praise her more than all women born." "I am not surprised that you say this of me," said Nisida, "since, with men of your condition and calling, to flatter is their business; but, leaving all this on one side, as I do not wish you to lose the comfort of so good a friend, I advise you to tell him that you went to give the letter to his lady, and that you have held with her all the discourses you have held with me, without omitting anything, and how she read your letter, and the encouragement she gave you to take it to his lady, thinking she was not the one to whom it came, and that, though you did not make bold to declare everything, you have come to this conclusion from her words that, when she learns she is the one for whom the letter came, the deceit and the undeceiving will not cause her much pain. In this way he will receive some solace in his trouble, and afterwards, on revealing your intention to his lady, you can reply to Timbrio what she replies to you, since, up to the moment she knows it, this lie remains in force, and the truth of what may follow, without to-day's deceit interfering." I was left marvelling at Nisida's discreet project, and indeed not without mistrust of the honesty of my own artifice; and so, kissing her hands for the good counsel, and agreeing with her that I was to give her a particular account of whatever happened in this affair, I went and told Timbrio all that had happened to me with Nisida. Thence came it that hope came into his soul and turned anew to sustain him, banishing from his heart the clouds of chilly fear that up till then had kept him in gloom; and all this pleasure was increased by my promising him at every step that my steps should only be devoted to his service, and that when next I found myself with Nisida, he should win the game of skill with as fair a success as his thoughts deserved. One thing I have forgotten to tell you, that all the time I was talking with Nisida and her sister, the younger sister never spoke a word, but with a strange silence ever hung on mine; and I can tell you, sirs, that, if she was silent, it was not because she could not speak with all discretion and grace, for in these two sisters nature showed all she has in her power to bestow. Nevertheless, I know not if I should tell you that I would that Heaven had denied me the happiness of having known them, especially Nisida, the beginning and end of all my misfortune; but what can I do, if that which the fates have ordained cannot be stayed by human means? I loved, love, and shall love Nisida well, yet without hurt to Timbrio, as my wearied tongue has well shown, for I never spoke to her, but it was on Timbrio's behalf, ever concealing, with more than ordinary discretion, my own pain, so as to cure another's. It happened then, that as Nisida's beauty was so engraven on my soul from the first moment my eyes beheld her, being unable to keep so rich a treasure concealed in my breast, whenever I found myself at times alone or apart, I used to reveal it in some loving and mournful songs under the veil of a feigned name. And so one night, thinking that neither Timbrio nor anyone else was listening to me, to comfort somewhat my wearied spirit, in a retired apartment, to the accompaniment only of a lute, I sang some verses, which, as they placed me in the direst turmoil, I shall have to repeat to you. They were as follows:
SILERIO.
What labyrinth is this that doth contain My foolish and exalted fantasy? Who hath my peace transformed to war and pain, And to such sadness all my jollity? Unto this land, where I can hope to gain A tomb alone, what fate hath guided me? Who, who, once more will guide my wandering thought Unto the bounds a healthy mind hath sought? Could I but cleave this breast of mine in twain, Could I but rob myself of dearest life, That earth and Heaven, at last content, might deign To leave me loyal 'midst my passion's strife, Without my faltering when I feel the pain, With mine own hand would I direct the knife Against my breast, but if I die, there dies His hope of love; the fire doth higher rise. Let the blind god his golden arrows shower In torrents, straight against my mournful heart Aiming in maddened frenzy, let the power Of fiercest rage direct the cruel dart; For, lo, of happiness a plenteous store I gain, when I conceal the grievous smart; Ashes and dust though stricken breast become, Rich is the guerdon of my noble doom. Eternal silence on my wearied tongue The law of loyal friendship will impose, By whose unequalled virtue grows less strong The pain that never hopes to find repose; But, though it never cease, and seek to wrong My health and honour, yet, amidst my woes, My faith, as ever, shall more steadfast be Than firmest rock amidst the angry sea. The moisture that my weeping eyes distil, The duteous service that my tongue can do, The sacrifice I offer of my will, The happiness that to my toil is due, These gain sweet spoil and recompense; but still, 'Tis he must take them, he my friend so true; May Heaven be gracious to my fond design Which seeks another's good and loses mine. Help me, oh gentle Love, uplift and guide My feeble spirit in the doubtful hour, To soul and faltering tongue, whate'er betide, Send in the long-expected moment power, That shall be strong, with boldness at its side, To make that easy which was hard before, And bravely dash upon fate and misfortune, Until it shall attain to greatest fortune.
'It resulted from my being so transported in my endless imaginings that I did not take heed to sing these verses I have repeated, in a voice as low as I ought, nor was the place where I was so secret as to prevent their being listened to by Timbrio; and when he heard them, it came into his mind that mine was not free from love, and that if I felt any, it was for Nisida, as could be gathered from my song; and though he discovered the true state of my thoughts, he did not discover that of my wishes, but rather understanding them to be contrary to what I did think, he decided to depart that very night and go to where he might be found by nobody, only to leave me the opportunity of alone serving Nisida. All this I learnt from a page of his, who was acquainted with all his secrets, who came to me in great distress and said to me: "Help, Señor Silerio, for Timbrio, my master and your friend, wishes to leave us and go away this night. He has not told me where, but only that I should get for him I do not know how much money, and that I should tell no one he is going, especially telling me not to tell you: and this thought came to him after he had been listening to some verse or other you were singing just now. To judge from the excessive grief I have seen him display, I think he is on the verge of despair; and as it seems to me that I ought rather to assist in his cure than to obey his command, I come to tell it to you, as to one who can intervene to prevent him putting into practice so fatal a purpose." With strange dread I listened to what the page told me, and went straightway to see Timbrio in his apartment, and, before I went in, I stopped to see what he was doing. He was stretched on his bed, face downwards, shedding countless tears accompanied by deep sighs, and with a low voice and broken words, it seemed to me that he was saying this: "Seek, my true friend Silerio, to win the fruit your solicitude and toil has well deserved, and do not seek, by what you think you owe to friendship for me, to fail to gratify your desire, for I will restrain mine, though it be with the extreme means of death; for, since you freed me from it, when with such love and fortitude you offered yourself to the fierceness of a thousand swords, it is not much that I should now repay you in part for so good a deed by giving you the opportunity to enjoy her in whom Heaven summed up all its beauty, and love set all my happiness, without the hindrance my presence can cause you. One thing only grieves me, sweet friend, and it is that I cannot bid you farewell at this bitter parting, but accept for excuse that you are the cause of it. Oh, Nisida, Nisida! how true is it of your beauty, that he who dares to look upon it must needs atone for his fault by the penalty of dying for it! Silerio saw it, and if he had not been so struck with it as I believe he has been, he would have lost with me much of the reputation he had for discretion. But since my fortune has so willed it, let Heaven know that I am no less Silerio's friend than he is mine; and, as tokens of this truth, let Timbrio part himself from his glory, exile himself from his bliss, and go wandering from land to land, away from Silerio and Nisida, the two true and better halves of his soul." And straightway, with much passion, he rose from the bed, opened the door, and finding me there said to me: "What do you want, friend, at such an hour? Is there perchance any news?" "Such news there is," I answered him, "that I had not been sorry though it were less." In a word, not to weary you, I got so far with him, that I persuaded him and gave him to understand that his fancy was false, not as to the fact of my being in love, but as to the person with whom, for it was not with Nisida, but with her sister Blanca; and I knew how to tell him this in such a way that he counted it true. And that he might credit it the more, memory offered me some stanzas which I myself had made many days before, to another lady of the same name, which I told him I had composed for Nisida's sister. And they were so much to the purpose, that though it be outside the purpose to repeat them now, I cannot pass them by in silence. They were these:
SILERIO.
Oh Blanca, whiter than the snow so white, Whose heart is harder yet than frozen snow, My sorrow deem thou not to be so light That thou to heal it mayst neglect. For, lo, If thy soul is not softened by this plight— That soul that doth conspire to bring me woe— As black will turn my fortune to my shame As white thou art in beauty and in name. Oh gentle Blanca, in whose snowy breast Nestleth the bliss of love for which I yearn, Before my breast, with woeful tears oppressed, Doth unto dust and wretched earth return, Show that thine own is in some way distressed With all the grief and pain wherein I burn, A guerdon this will be, so rich and sure As to repay the evil I endure. Thou'rt white as silver; for thy loveliness I would exchange gold of the finest grain, I'd count it wealth, if thee I might possess, To lose the loftiest station I might gain: Since, Blanca, thou dost know what I confess, I pray thee, cease thy lover to disdain, And grant it may be Blanca I must thank That in love's lottery I draw no blank. Though I were sunk in blankest poverty And but a farthing had to call my own, If that fair thing were thou, I would not be Changed for the richest man the world hath known. This would I count my chief felicity, Were Juan de Espera en Dios[115] and I but one, If, at the time the Blancas three I sought, Thou, Blanca, in the midst of them were caught.
Silerio would have gone further with his story, had he not been stopped by the sound of many pipes and attuned flageolets, which was heard at their backs; and, turning their heads, they saw coming towards them about a dozen gay shepherds, set in two lines, and in the midst came a comely herdsman, crowned with a garland of honeysuckle and other different flowers. He carried a staff in one hand; and with staid step advanced little by little, and the other shepherds, with the same success, all playing their instruments, gave pleasing and rare token of themselves. As soon as Elicio saw them, he recognised that Daranio was the shepherd they brought in the midst, and that the others were all neighbours, who wished to be present at his wedding, to which also Thyrsis and Damon had come; and to gladden the betrothal feast, and to honour the bridegroom, they were proceeding in that manner towards the village. But Thyrsis, seeing that their coming had imposed silence upon Silerio's story, asked him to spend that night together with them all in the village, where he would be waited upon with all the good-will possible, and might satisfy their wishes by finishing the incident he had begun. Silerio promised this, and at the same moment came up the band of joyous shepherds, who, recognising Elicio, and Daranio Thyrsis and Damon, his friends, welcomed one another with tokens of great joy; and renewing the music, and renewing their happiness, they turned to pursue the road they had begun. Now that they were coming nigh to the village, there came to their ears the sound of the pipe of the unloving Lenio, whereat they all received no little pleasure, for they already knew his extreme disposition, and so, when Lenio saw and knew them, without interrupting his sweet song, he came towards them singing as follows:
LENIO.
Ah happy, happy all Brimful of gladness and of jollity, Fortunate will I call So fair a company, If it yield not unto Love's tyranny! Whoso his breast declined To yield unto this cruel maddening wound, Within whose healthy mind Traitor Love is not found, Lo I will kiss beneath his feet the ground! And happy everywhere The prudent herdsman will I call, the swain Who lives and sets his care On his poor flock, and fain Would turn to Love a face of cold disdain. Ere the ripe season come, Such a one's ewe-lambs will be fit to bear, Bringing their lambkins home, And when the day is drear Pasturage will they find and waters clear. If Love should for his sake Be angry and should turn his mind astray, Lo, his flock will I take With mine and lead the way To the clear stream, and to the meadow gay. What time the sacred steam Of incense shall go flying to the sky, This is the prayer I deem To offer up on high, Kneeling on earth in zealous piety. "Oh holy Heaven and just, Since thou protector art of those who seek To do thy will, whose trust Is in thee, help the weak, On whom for thy sake Love doth vengeance wreak. "Let not this tyrant bear The spoils away that were thine own before, But with thy bounteous care And choice rewards once more Unto their senses do thou strength restore."
As Lenio ceased singing, he was courteously received by all the shepherds, and when he heard them name Damon and Thyrsis, whom he only knew by repute, he was astonished at seeing their admirable bearing, and so he said to them:
'What encomiums would suffice, though they were the best that could be found in eloquence, to have the power of exalting and applauding your worth, famous shepherds, if perchance love's follies were not mingled with the truths of your renowned writings? But since you are in love's decline, a disease to all appearance incurable, though my rude talents may pay you your due in valuing and praising your rare discretion, it will be impossible for me to avoid blaming your thoughts.'
'If you had yours, discreet Lenio,' replied Thyrsis, 'without the shadows of the idle opinion which fills them, you would straightway see the brightness of ours, and that they deserve more glory and praise for being loving, than for any subtlety or discretion they might contain.'
'No more, Thyrsis, no more,' replied Lenio, 'for I know well that with such great and such obstinate foes my reasonings will have little force.'
'If they had force,' answered Elicio, 'those who are here are such friends of truth, that not even in jest would they contradict it, and herein you can see, Lenio, how far you go from it, since there is no one to approve your words, or even to hold your intentions good.'
'Then in faith,' said Lenio, 'may your intentions not save you, oh Elicio, but let the air tell it, which you ever increase with sighs, and the grass of these meadows which grows with your tears, and the verses you sang the other day and wrote on the beeches of this wood, for in them will be seen what it is you praise in yourself and blame in me.'
Lenio would not have remained without a reply, had they not seen coming to where they were the fair Galatea, with the discreet shepherdesses Florisa and Teolinda, who, not to be recognised by Damon and Thyrsis, had placed a white veil before her fair face. They came and were received by the shepherds with joyous welcome, especially by the lovers Elicio and Erastro, who felt such strange content at the sight of Galatea, that Erastro, being unable to conceal it, in token thereof, without any one asking it of him, beckoned to Elicio to play his pipe, to the sound of which, with joyous and sweet accents, he sang the following verses:
ERASTRO.
Let me but the fair eyes see Of the sun I am beholding; If they go, their light withholding, Soul, pursue them speedily. For without them naught is bright, Vainly may the soul aspire, Which without them doth desire Neither freedom, health nor light. Whoso can may see these eyes Yet he cannot fitly praise; But if he would on them gaze He must yield his life as prize. Them I see and saw before, And each time that I behold, To the soul I gave of old New desires I give once more. Nothing more can I bestow, Nor can fancy tell me more, If I may not her adore For the faith in her I show. Certain is my punishment If these eyes, so rich in bliss, Viewed but what I did amiss, Nor regarded my intent. So much happiness I see That this day, though it endure For a thousand years and more, But a moment were to me. Time, that flies so swiftly by, Doth the flight of years withhold, Whilst the beauty I behold Of the life for which I die. Peace and shelter in this sight Doth my loving soul acclaim, Living in the living flame Of its pure and lovely light, Wherewith Love doth prove its truth: In this flame it bids it win Sweetest life, and doth therein, Phœnix-like, renew its youth. I go forth in eager quest Of sweet glory with my mind, In my memory I find That my happiness doth rest. There it lies, there it doth hide, Not in pomp, nor lofty birth, Not in riches of the earth, Nor in sovereignty nor pride.
Here Erastro ended his song, and the way was ended of going to the village, where Thyrsis, Damon and Silerio repaired to Elicio's house, so that the opportunity might not be lost of learning the end of the story of Silerio, which he had begun. The fair shepherdesses, Galatea and Florisa, offering to be present on the coming day at Daranio's wedding, left the shepherds, and all or most remained with the bridegroom, whilst the girls went to their houses. And that same night, Silerio, being urged by his friend Erastro, and by the desire which wearied him to return to his hermitage, ended the sequel of his story, as will be seen in the following book.
FOOTNOTES: