BOOK VI. (continued 2)
Herman Oelsner translation
When Nisida ceased to sing and to fill with admiration Galatea and those who had been listening to her, they were already quite near the spot where they had determined to pass the noon-tide hour. But in that short time Belisa had time to fulfil Silveria's request, which was that she should sing something; and she, accompanied by the sound of Arsindo's flute, sang what follows:
BELISA.
Fancy, that is fancy-free, Listen to the reason why Our fame groweth steadily, Pass the vain affection by, Mother of all injury; For whene'er the soul doth load Itself with some loving load, Bane that takes the life away, Mixed with juice of bitter bay, Is to it but pleasing food. But our precious liberty Should not bartered be nor sold For the greatest quantity Of the best refinèd gold, Best in worth and quality; Shall we bring ourselves to bear Such a loss and heed the prayer Of a lover whom we scorn, If all blessings ever born Do not with such bliss compare? If the grief we cannot bear When the body, free from love, Is confined in prison drear, Shall the pain not greater prove, When the very soul is there? Pain 'twill be of such a kind That no remedy we find For such ill in patience, time, Worth, or learning in its prime, Naught save death alone is kind. Wherefore let my healthy mood From this madness flee away, Leave behind so false a good, Let my free will ever sway Every fancy as it would; Let my tender neck and free Never yield itself to be Placed beneath the loving yoke, Whereby peace is, at a stroke, Slain, and banished liberty.
The shepherdess's verses of freedom reached the soul of the hapless Marsilio, by reason of the little hope her words held out that her deeds would grow better; but as the faith with which he loved her was so firm, the noteworthy proofs of freedom he had heard uttered, could not but keep him as much without it as he had been before. At this point the road leading to the stream of palms ended, and though they had not had the intention of spending the noon-tide heat there, when they reached it and saw the comfort of the beautiful spot, it would have of itself compelled them not to go further. When they had come to it then, straightway the venerable Aurelio commanded all to seat themselves beside the clear and glassy stream, which was flowing in amongst the short grass, and had its birth at the foot of a very tall and ancient palm (for there being on all the banks of the Tagus only that one, and another which was beside it, that place and stream was called "of the palms"), and after sitting down, they were served by Aurelio's shepherds with more good-will and simplicity than costly victuals, satisfying their thirst with the clear cool waters that the pure stream offered them. And on ending the short and pleasant repast, some of the shepherds separated and departed to seek some shady place apart, where they might make up for the unslept hours of the past night; and there remained alone only those of Aurelio's company and village with Timbrio, Silerio, Nisida and Blanca, Thyrsis and Damon, to whom it appeared to be better to enjoy the fair converse that was expected there, than any other enjoyment that sleep could offer them. Aurelio then, guessing and almost knowing this their purpose, said to them:
'It will be well, sirs, that we, who are here, since we have not wished to yield ourselves to sweet sleep, should not fail to make use of this time we steal from it in something that may be more to our pleasure, and what, it seems to me, will not fail to give it us, is that each, as best he can, should here show the sharpness of his wits, propounding some question, or riddle, to whom the companion who may be at his side may be forced to reply; since with this pastime two things will be gained—one to spend with less tedium the hours we shall be here, the other, not to weary our ears so much with always hearing lamentations of love, and love-sick dirges.'
All straightway fell in with Aurelio's wish, and without any of them leaving the place where they were, the first who began to question was Aurelio himself, speaking in this wise:
AURELIO.
Who is he, that mighty one, That from East to farthest West Winneth fame and high renown? Sometimes strong and self-possessed, Sometimes weak with courage gone; Health he gives and takes away, Strength on many every day He bestows or doth withhold, Stronger he when he is old Than when youth is bright and gay. Changing where he changeth not By a strange preëminence, Strong men tremble, by him caught, He hath rarest eloquence Unto sullen dumbness brought; He his being and his name Measureth in different ways, From a thousand lands of praise He is wont to take his fame. He unarmed hath conquerèd Armèd men, as needs he must, Who hath dealt with him is sped, Who would bring him to the dust, To the dust is brought instead; 'Tis a thing that doth astound That a champion should be found, In the field and in the town, 'Gainst a chief of such renown, Though he soon shall bite the ground.
The answering of this question fell to the old shepherd Arsindo, who was beside Aurelio; and having for a little while considered what it could denote, at last he said to him:
'It seems to me, Aurelio, that our age compels us to be more enamoured of that which your question denotes than of the most graceful shepherdess that might present herself to us, for, if I am not mistaken, the mighty and renowned one you mention is wine, and all the attributes you have given him tally with it.'
'You speak truth, Arsindo,' replied Aurelio, 'and I am inclined to say that I am sorry to have propounded a question which has been solved with much ease; but do you tell yours, for at your side you have one who will be able to unravel it for you, however knotty it may be.'
'I agree,' said Arsindo; and straightway he propounded the following:
ARSINDO.
Who is he that loseth hue Where he most is wont to thrive, In a moment doth revive And his colour takes anew? In the birth hour he is grey, Afterwards black as a crow, Last, so ruddy is his glow That it maketh all men gay. Laws nor charters doth he keep, To the flames a faithful friend, Oftentimes he doth attend E'en where lords and princes sleep; Dead he manhood doth assume, Living takes a woman's name, He at heart is lurid flame But in semblance deepest gloom.
It was Damon who was at Arsindo's side, and scarcely had the latter finished his question, when he said to him:
'It seems to me, Arsindo, that your query is not so dark as the thing it denotes, for if I am not wrong in it, it is charcoal of which you say that when dead it is called masculine, and when glowing and alive brasa,[219] which is a feminine noun, and all the other parts suit it in every respect, as this does; and if you are in the same plight as Aurelio, by reason of the ease with which your question has been understood, I am going to keep you company in it, since Thyrsis, to whom it falls to answer me, will make us equal.'
And straightway he spoke his:
DAMON.
Who is she of courtly grace, Well-adorned, a dainty dame, Timorous, yet bold of face, Modest she, yet lacking shame, Pleasant, yet she doth displease? When in numbers, to astound, Masculine their name doth sound, And it is a certain thing That amongst them is the king, And with all men they are found.
'Verily, friend Damon,' said Thyrsis forthwith, 'your challenge comes true, and you pay the forfeit that Aurelio and Arsindo pay, if any there be; for I tell you I know that what your riddle conceals is a letter,[220] and a pack of cards.'
Damon admitted that Thyrsis was right. And straightway Thyrsis propounded his riddle thus:
THYRSIS.
Who is she that is all eyes, All eyes she from head to foot, And, although she seeks it not, Sometimes causeth lovers' sighs? Quarrels too she doth appease, Though indeed she knows not why, And although she is all eye, Very few the things she sees. She doth call herself a grief Counted mortal, good and dire Evil worketh, and doth fire Love, and to love brings relief.
Thyrsis's riddle puzzled Elicio, for it was his turn to answer it, and he was on the point of 'giving up,' as the saying is; but in a little while he managed to say that it was jealousy, and, Thyrsis admitting it, Elicio straightway propounded the following:
ELICIO.
'Tis obscure, and yet 'tis clear, Thousand opposites containing, Truth to us at last explaining, Which it hides from far and near; Born at times from beauty rare Or from lofty fantasies, Unto strife it giveth rise, Though it deals with things of air. Unto all its name is known, From the children to the old, 'Tis in numbers manifold, Divers are the lords they own; Every beldame doth possess One of them to make her gay, Things of pleasure for a day, Full of joy or weariness. And to rob them of their sense Men of wisdom keep awake, Whatsoe'er the pains they take, Some are doomed to impotence; Sometimes foolish, sometimes witty; Easy, or with tangles fraught, Whether naught it be or not, Say, what is this thing so pretty?
Timbrio could not hit upon the thing which Elicio's question denoted, and he almost began to be ashamed at seeing that he delayed longer in answering than any one else, but not even this consideration made him come to a better perception of it; and he delayed so long that Galatea, who was after Nisida, said:
'If it is allowed to break the order which is given, and the one who should first know may reply, I say for my part that I know what the riddle propounded denotes, and I am ready to solve it, if señor Timbrio gives me leave.'
'Certainly, fair Galatea,' replied Timbrio, 'for I know that just as I lack, so you have a superabundance of, wit, to solve greater difficulties; but nevertheless I wish you to be patient until Elicio repeats it, and if this time I do not hit it, the opinion I have of my wit and yours, will be confirmed with more truth.'
Elicio repeated his question, and straightway Timbrio solved its meaning, saying:
'With the very thing by which I thought your query was obscured, Elicio, it appears to me to be solved, for the last line says, that they are to say what is this thing so pretty. And so I answer you in what you ask me, and say that your question means that which we mean by a pretty thing;[221] and do not be surprised that I have been long in answering, for, if I had answered sooner, I would have been more surprised at my wit; which will show what it is in the small skill of my question, which is this:
TIMBRIO.
Who is he who to his pain Placeth his feet in the eyes, And although no hurt arise, Makes them sing with might and main? And to pull them out is pleasure, Though at times, who doeth so, Doth by no means ease his woe, But achieveth more displeasure.'
It fell to Nisida to reply to Timbrio's question, but neither she nor Galatea who followed her were able to guess it. And Orompo, seeing that the shepherdesses were wearying themselves in thinking what it denoted, said to them:
'Do not tire yourselves, ladies, nor weary your minds in solving this riddle, for it might well be that neither of you in all her life has seen the figure that the question conceals, and so it is no wonder that you should not hit upon it; for if it had been of a different kind, we were quite sure, as regards your minds, that in a shorter time you would have solved others more difficult. And therefore, with your leave, I am going to reply to Timbrio, and tell him that his query denotes a man in fetters, since when he draws his feet from those eyes he speaks of, it is either to set him free or to take him to execution; so that you may see, shepherdesses, if I was right in thinking that perhaps neither of you had seen in all her life jails or prisons.'
'I for my part can say,' said Galatea, 'that never have I seen any one imprisoned.'
Nisida and Blanca said the same. And straightway Nisida propounded her question in this form:
NISIDA.
Fire it biteth, and its bite To its victim harm and good Bringeth; but it doth no blood Lose, although the blade doth smite; But if deep should be the wound, From a hand that is not sure, Death comes to the victim poor, In such death its life is found.
Galatea delayed little in answering Nisida, for straightway she said to her:
'I am quite sure that I am not mistaken, fair Nisida, if I say that your riddle can in no way be better applied than to candle-snuffers and to the taper or candle they snuff; and if this is true, as it is, and you are satisfied with my reply, listen now to mine, which I hope will be solved by your sister with no less ease than I have done yours.'
And straightway she spoke it, and it ran thus:
GALATEA.
Children three, who love inspire, And the children of one mother, One was grandson of his brother, And another was his sire; These three children did distress And o'erwhelm her with such woes, That they gave her countless blows, Showing thus their skilfulness.
Blanca was considering what Galatea's riddle could denote, when they saw two gallant shepherds crossing at a run near the place where they were, showing by the fury with which they were running that something important constrained them to move their steps with such speed, and straightway at the same moment they heard some mournful cries, as of persons seeking help; and on this alarm all arose and followed the direction whence the cries sounded; and in a few steps they issued from that delightful spot and came out on the bank of the cool Tagus, which, close at hand, was flowing gently by. And scarcely did they see the river, when the strangest thing they could imagine was presented to their gaze; for they saw two shepherdesses seemingly of noble grace, who were holding a shepherd fast by the lappets of his coat with all the strength in their power, in order that the poor fellow might not drown himself, for he already had half his body in the river, and his head below the water, struggling with his feet to release himself from the shepherdesses, who were hindering his desperate purpose. They were already almost on the point of letting him go, being unable to overcome his obstinate determination with their feeble strength. But at this point the two shepherds approached, who had been coming at a run, and seizing the desperate man, drew him out of the water just as all the others were already approaching, astounded at the strange sight, and they were more so, when they learned that the shepherd who wished to drown himself was Artidoro's brother, Galercio, while the shepherdesses were his sister Maurisa and the fair Teolinda; and when these saw Galatea and Florisa, Teolinda ran with tears in her eyes to embrace Galatea, saying:
'Ah, Galatea, sweet friend and lady mine, how has this luckless wretch fulfilled the word she gave you to return to see you and tell you the news of her happiness!'
'I shall be as glad for you to have it, Teolinda,' replied Galatea, 'as you are assured by the good-will you know I have to serve you; but it seems to me that your eyes do not bear out your words, nor indeed do these satisfy me so as to make me imagine a successful issue to your desires.'
Whilst Galatea was thus occupied with Teolinda, Elicio and Artidoro with the other shepherds had stripped Galercio, and as they loosened his coat, which with all his clothes had been wetted, a paper fell from his bosom, which Thyrsis picked up, and, opening it, saw that it was verse; and not being able to read it because it was wet, he placed it on a lofty branch in the sun's ray so that it might dry. On Galercio they placed a cloak of Arsindo's, and the luckless youth was as it were astounded and amazed, without saying a word, though Elicio asked him what was the cause that had brought him to so strange a pass. But his sister Maurisa answered for him, saying:
'Raise your eyes, shepherds, and you will see who is the cause that has set my unfortunate wretch of a brother in so strange and desperate a plight.'
The shepherds raised their eyes at what Maurisa said, and saw a graceful and comely shepherdess on a beetling rock that overhung the river, seated on the same crag, and watching with smiling countenance all that the shepherds were doing. She was straightway recognised by all as the cruel Gelasia.
'That loveless, that thankless girl, sirs,' went on Maurisa, 'is the mortal enemy of this my unhappy brother, who, as all these banks already know and you are not unaware, loves her, worships her and adores her; and in return for the ceaseless services he has always done her, and for the tears that he has shed for her, she this morning, with the most scornful and loveless disdain that could ever be found in cruelty, bade him go from her presence, and never return to her now or henceforth. And my brother wished to obey her so earnestly, that he sought to take away his life, to avoid the occasion of ever transgressing her bidding; and if these shepherds had not by chance come so quickly, the end of my happiness, and the end of my hapless brother's days would by now have come.'
What Maurisa said set all those who listened to her in amazement, and they were more amazed when they saw that the cruel Gelasia, without moving from the spot where she was, and without taking account of all that company who had their eyes set on her, with a strange grace and spirited disdain, drew a small rebeck from her wallet, and stopping to tune it very leisurely, after a little while with a voice of great beauty began to sing in this wise:
GELASIA.
The pleasing herbs of the green shady mead, The cooling fountains, who will e'er forsake, And strive no more the fleet hare to o'ertake Or bristling wild-boar, following on with speed? Who will no more the friendly warblings heed Of the dear, simple birds within the brake? Who in the glowing noon-tide hour will make No more his couch within the woods at need, That he the fires may follow, and the fears, Jealousies, angers, rages, deaths, and pains, Of traitorous Love, that doth the world torment? Upon the fields are set my loving cares And have been, rose and jessamine my chains, Free was I born, on freedom am I bent.
Gelasia was singing, and showing in the motion and expression of her face her loveless disposition; but scarcely had she come to the last verse of her song, when she rose with a strange swiftness, and, as if she were fleeing from some terrible thing, she began to hurry down by the crag, leaving the shepherds amazed at her disposition and astounded at her swift course. But straightway they saw what was the cause of it, on seeing the enamoured Lenio, who with dragging step was ascending the same crag, with the intention of coming to where Gelasia was; but she was not willing to wait for him, so as not to fail in a single instance to act in accordance with the cruelty of her purpose. The wearied Lenio came to the summit of the crag, when Gelasia was already at its foot, and seeing that she did not check her steps, but directed them with more haste through the spacious plain, with spent breath and tired spirit he sat down in the same spot where Gelasia had been, and there began with desperate words to curse his fortune, and the hour in which he raised his eyes to gaze on the cruel shepherdess Gelasia, and in that same moment, repenting as it were of what he was saying, he turned to bless his eyes, and to extol the cause that placed him in such a pass. And straightway goaded and urged by a fit of frenzy, he flung his crook far from him, and, stripping off his coat, cast it into the waters of the clear Tagus, which followed close by the foot of the crag. And when the shepherds who were watching him saw this, they believed without a doubt that the violence of his love-passion was depriving him of reason; and so Elicio and Erastro began to ascend the crag to prevent him from doing any other mad act, that might cost him more dear. And though Lenio saw them ascending, he made no other movement save to draw his rebeck from a wallet, and with a new and strange calm sat down again; and turning his face to where his shepherdess heard, he began with a voice mellow and accompanied with tears to sing in this fashion:
LENIO.
Who drives thee on, who leadeth thee aside, Who makes thee leave all loving thought behind, Who on thy feet hath rapid pinions tied, Wherewith thou runnest swifter than the wind? Wherefore dost thou my lofty thought deride And think but little of my loyal mind? Why fleest thou from me, why leavest me? Harder than marble to my agony! Am I perchance so lowly in estate That I may not behold thy eyes so fair, Or poor or niggard? Have I proved ingrate Or false since I beheld their beauty rare? I am in naught changed from my former state, Does not my soul hang ever from thy hair? Then wherefore dost thou go so far from me? Harder than marble to my agony! Let thy o'erweening pride a warning take, When it beholds my will, once free, subdued, My ancient daring, see, I now forsake, To loving purpose changed my former mood; Behold, the forest life, that doth not make A care of aught, 'gainst Love is nowise good, Now stay thy steps, why wearied should they be? Harder than marble to my agony! Once I was as thou art, now I behold That I can ne'er be what I was before, The force of my desire doth wax so bold, So great my love, I love myself no more; Love can me now within his prison hold; This is thy palm, thy trophy in the war, Victorious o'er me, dost complain of me? Harder than marble to my agony!
While the hapless shepherd was intoning his piteous plaints, the other shepherds were reproving Galercio for his evil design, condemning the wicked purpose he had displayed. But the despairing youth replied to nothing, whereat Maurisa was not a little distressed, believing that, if left alone, he must carry out his evil thought. In the meantime Galatea and Florisa, going aside with Teolinda, asked her what was the cause of her return, and if by chance she had already heard of her Artidoro. To which she replied weeping:
'I know not what to say to you, friends and ladies mine, save that Heaven wished that I should find Artidoro, to lose him utterly; for you must know that that same unconsiderate and traitorous sister of mine, who was the beginning of my misfortune, has been the cause of the end and termination of my happiness. For learning, as we came with Galercio and Maurisa to their village, that Artidoro was on a mountain not far from there with his flock, she went away to look for him without telling me anything. She found him, and, pretending that she was I (since for this wrong alone Heaven ordained that we should be alike), with little difficulty gave him to understand that the shepherdess who had disdained him in our village was a sister of hers, who was exceedingly like her; in a word, she recounted to him, as though they were hers, all the actions I have done for his sake, and the extremes of grief I have suffered. And as the heart of the shepherd was so tender and loving, with far less than the traitress told him would she have been believed by him, as indeed he did believe her, so much to my hurt, that without waiting for fortune to mingle any new obstacle with his pleasure, straightway at the very moment he gave his hand to Leonarda, to be her lawful husband, believing he was giving it to Teolinda. Here you see, shepherdesses, where the fruit of my tears and sighs has ended; here you see all my hope already torn up by the root; and what I feel most is that it has been by the hand that was most bound to sustain it. Leonarda enjoys Artidoro by means of the false deception I have told you, and although he already knows it, though he must have perceived the trick, he has kept it to himself like a wise man. The tidings of his marriage came straightway to the village, and with them those of the end of my happiness; the stratagem of my sister was also known, who gave as excuse that she saw Galercio, whom she loved so much, going to ruin through the shepherdess Gelasia, and that therefore it seemed to her easier to bring to her will the loving will of Artidoro than Galercio's despairing one, and that since the two were but one as regards outward appearance and nobility, she counted herself happy and fortunate, indeed, with Artidoro's companionship. With this the enemy of my bliss excuses herself, as I have said; and so I, not to see her enjoy that which was rightly due to me, left the village and Artidoro's presence, and accompanied by the saddest fancies that can be fancied, came to give you the news of my misery in the company of Maurisa, who likewise comes with the intention of telling you what Grisaldo has done since he learnt Rosaura's abduction. And this morning at sunrise we fell in with Galercio, who with tender and loving words was urging Gelasia to love him well; but she with the strongest disdain and scorn that can be told, bade him leave her presence, nor dare ever to speak to her. And the hapless shepherd, crushed by so harsh a bidding, and by cruelty so strange, wished to fulfil it, doing what you have seen. All this is what has happened to me, my friends, since I went from your presence. Think now whether I have more to weep for than before, and whether the cause has grown for you to busy yourselves in consoling me, if perchance my woe might admit of consolation.'
Teolinda said no more, for the countless tears that came to her eyes, and the sighs she wrung from her soul, hindered her tongue in its office; and though the tongues of Galatea and Florisa wished to show themselves skilful and eloquent in consoling her, their toil was of little avail. And while this converse was passing between the shepherdesses, the paper which Thyrsis had taken from Galercio's bosom became dry, and being anxious to read it he took it and saw that it ran thus:
GALERCIO TO GELASIA.
Angel in the guise of maid, Fury with a lady's face, Cold, and yet a glowing blaze, Wherein my soul is assayed; Hearken to the bitter wrong, By thy lack of passion wrought, Which hath from my soul been brought And set these sad lines among. I write, not to move thine heart, Since against thy breast of mail Prayers nor cleverness avail, Loyal service hath no part; But that thou the wrong mayst see Which thou dost inflict, I write, And how ill thou dost requite All the worth there is in thee. Just it is that liberty Thou shouldst praise, and thou art right, Yet, behold, 'tis held upright Only by thy cruelty; Just it is not to ordain That thou wouldst be free from strife, And yet thine unfettered life On so many deaths sustain. That all men should love thee well Do not fancy 'tis dishonour, Do not fancy that thine honour In the use of scorn doth dwell; Nay, the cruelty restrain Of the wrongs that thou dost do, And be pleased with lovers few, Thus a better name attain. For thy rigour doth proclaim That wild beasts did give thee birth, That the mountains of the earth Formed thee, harsh, whom none may tame. For therein is thy delight, In the moorland and the mead, Where thou canst not find indeed One to set thy wish alight. Once I saw thee all alone, Seated in a pleasant glade, And, as I beheld, I said: ''Tis a statue of hard stone.' Thou didst move and thus my view Thou didst prove to be mistaken, 'Yet in mood,' I said, unshaken, 'She is more than statue, true.' Would that thou a statue were, Made of stone, for then I might Hope that Heaven for my delight Would thee change to woman fair! For Pygmalion could not be So devoted to his queen, As I am and aye have been And shall ever be to thee. Thou repayest, as is due, Good and ill, I murmur not, Glory for the good I wrought, Suffering for the ill I do. And this truth is shown abroad In the way thou treatest me, Life it gives me thee to see, Thou dost slay me by thy mood. Of that breast which maketh bold Love's encounters to despise, May the fire that in my sighs Gloweth, somewhat melt the cold, May my tears this boon obtain, Tears that never, never, rest, That for one short hour thy breast May be sweet and kind again. Well I know thou wilt declare That I am too long; 'tis true, My desire make less, I too Then will lesser make my prayer; But according to the way Thou dost deal with my requests, Thee it little interests Whether less or more I pray. If I might in words essay To reproach thy cruelty, And that sign point out to thee Which our weakness doth display, I would say, when I did learn What thou art, no longer blind: 'Thou art rock, bear this in mind, And to rock thou must return.' Whether rock or steel thou art, Adamant or marble hard, Steel, I am thy loving bard, Rock, I love with all my heart; Angel veiled, or fury, know That the truth is all too plain, I live, by the angel slain, By the fury brought to woe.
Galercio's verses seemed better to Thyrsis than Gelasia's disposition, and wishing to show them to Elicio, he saw him so changed in hue and countenance that he seemed the image of death. He went up to him, and when he wished to ask him if any grief were distressing him, there was no need to await his reply in order to learn the cause of his pain, for straightway he heard it announced amongst all those who were there. Now the two shepherds who helped Galercio, were friends of the Lusitanian shepherd to whom the venerable Aurelio had agreed to marry Galatea, and they were coming to tell him how the fortunate shepherd would come in three days' time to his village to conclude that most happy betrothal. And straightway Thyrsis saw that this news must needs cause in Elicio's soul newer and stranger symptoms than had been caused; but nevertheless he went up to him and said to him:
'Now it is necessary, good friend, that you should know how to make use of the discretion you have, since in the greatest peril hearts show themselves courageous, and I assure you that there is something assures me that this business must have a better end than you think. Dissemble and be silent, for if Galatea's will takes no pleasure in conforming wholly with her father's, you will satisfy yours, by availing yourself of ours, and also of all the favour that can be offered you by all the shepherds there are on the banks of this river, and on those of the gentle Henares. And this favour I offer you, for I feel quite sure that the desire all know I have to serve them, will constrain them to act so that what I promise you here may not turn out vain.'
Elicio remained amazed, seeing the generous and true offer of Thyrsis, and could not nor did he know how to reply to him save by embracing him closely and saying to him:
'May Heaven reward you, discreet Thyrsis, for the consolation you have given me, by which and by Galatea's will, which, as I think, will not differ from ours, I understand without doubt that so notorious a wrong as is being done to all these banks in banishing from them the rare beauty of Galatea, shall not go further.'
And, as he turned to embrace him, the lost colour returned to his face. But it did not return to Galatea's, to whom hearing of the shepherds' embassy was as if she heard her death-sentence. Elicio noted it all, and Erastro could not ignore it, nor yet the discreet Florisa, nor indeed was the news pleasing to any of those who were there. At this hour the sun was already descending by his wonted course, and therefore for this reason, as well as because they saw that the love-sick Lenio had followed Gelasia, and there was nothing else left to do there, all that company, taking Galercio and Maurisa with them, bent their steps towards the village, and on coming close to it, Elicio and Erastro remained in their huts, and with them remained Thyrsis, Damon, Orompo, Crisio, Marsilio, Arsindo and Orfenio, with some other shepherds. The fortunate Timbrio, Silerio, Nisida, and Blanca took leave of them all with courteous words and offers, telling them that on the morrow they intended to set out for the city of Toledo, where the end of their journey was to be; and embracing all who were remaining with Elicio, they departed with Aurelio, with whom went Florisa, Teolinda and Maurisa, and the sad Galatea, so heart-broken and thoughtful that with all her discretion she could not fail to give tokens of strange unhappiness. With Daranio departed his wife Silveria and the fair Belisa. Thereon the night closed in, and it seemed to Elicio that all the roads to his pleasure were closed with it, and had it not been for welcoming with cheerful mien the guests he had in his hut that night, he would have spent it so badly that he would have despaired of seeing the day. The wretched Erastro was passing through the same trouble, though with more relief, for, without regarding anyone, with loud cries and piteous words he cursed his fortune and Aurelio's hasty resolve. This being so, when the shepherds had satisfied their hunger with some rustic victuals, and some of them had yielded themselves to the arms of peaceful sleep, the fair Maurisa came to Elicio's hut, and finding Elicio at the door of his hut, took him aside and gave him a paper, telling him it was from Galatea, and that he should read it at once, for, since she was bringing it at such an hour, he should understand that what it must contain was important. The shepherd, wondering at Maurisa's coming, and more at seeing in his hands a paper from his shepherdess, could not rest for a moment until he read it, and entering his hut, read it by the light of a splinter of resinous pine, and saw that it read thus:
GALATEA TO ELICIO.
'In my father's hasty resolve lies the resolve I have taken to write to you, and in the violence he uses towards me lies the violence I have used towards myself to reach this extreme. You well know in what an extreme pass I am, and I know well that I would gladly see myself in a better, that I might reward you somewhat for the much I know I owe you. But if Heaven wishes me to remain in this debt, complain of it, and not of my will. My father's I would gladly change, if it were possible, but I see that it is not, and so I do not try it. If you think of any remedy in that quarter, so long as prayers have no part in it, put it into effect with the consideration you owe to your reputation and hold due to my honour. He whom they are giving me as husband, he who shall give me burial, is coming the day after to-morrow; little time remains for you to take counsel, though sufficient remains to me for repentance. I say no more save that Maurisa is faithful and I unhappy.'
The words of Galatea's letter set Elicio in strange confusion, as it seemed to him a new thing both that she should write to him, since up till then she had never done so, and that she should bid him seek a remedy for the wrong that was being done her. But, passing over all these things, he paused only to think how he should fulfil what was bidden him, though he should hazard therein a thousand lives, if he had so many. And as no other remedy offered itself to him save that which he was awaiting from his friends, he made bold, trusting in them, to reply to Galatea by a letter he gave to Maurisa, which ran in this manner:
ELICIO TO GALATEA.
'If the violence of my strength came up to the desire I have to serve you, fair Galatea, neither that which your father uses towards you, nor the greatest in the world, would have power to injure you. But, be that as it may, you will see now, if the wrong goes further, that I do not lag behind in doing your bidding in the best way the case may demand. Let the faithfulness you have known in me, assure you of this, and show a good face to present fortune, trusting in coming prosperity, for Heaven which has moved you to remember me and write to me, will give me strength to show that I merit in part the favour you have done me, for, if only it be obeying you, neither fear nor dread will have power to prevent me putting into effect what befits your happiness, and is of such import to mine. No more, for what more there is to be in this, you will learn from Maurisa, to whom I have given account of it; and if your opinion does not agree with mine, let me be informed, in order that time may not pass by, and with it the season of our happiness, which may Heaven give you as it can and as your worth deserves.'
Having given this letter to Maurisa, as has been said, he told her also how he was intending to assemble as many shepherds as he could, and that all should go together to speak to Galatea's father, asking him as a signal favour to be so kind as not to banish from those meadows her peerless beauty; and, should this not suffice, he was intending to place such obstacles and terrors before the Lusitanian shepherd that he himself would say that he was not content with what had been agreed; and, should prayers and stratagems be of no avail, he was resolved to use violence and thereby set her at liberty, and that with the consideration for her reputation which could be expected from one who loved her so much. With this resolve Maurisa went away, and the same was taken straightway by all the shepherds that were with Elicio, for he gave to them account of his intentions, asking for favour and counsel in so difficult a plight. Straightway Thyrsis and Damon offered to be those who should speak to Galatea's father. Lauso, Arsindo, and Erastro, with the four friends, Orompo, Marsilio, Crisio and Orfenio, promised to look for their friends and assemble them for the following day, and to carry out with them whatsoever should be bidden them by Elicio. In discussing what was best suited to the case, and in taking this resolve, the greater part of that night passed away. And, the morning having come, all the shepherds departed to fulfil what they had promised, save Thyrsis and Damon, who remained with Elicio. And that same day Maurisa came again to tell Elicio how Galatea was resolved to follow his opinion in everything; Elicio took leave of her with new promises and confidences; and with joyous countenance and strange gaiety he was awaiting the coming day to see the good or evil issue fortune was bestowing on his work. With this night came on, and, Elicio repairing with Damon and Thyrsis to his hut, they spent almost all of it in testing and taking note of all the difficulties that could arise in that affair, if perchance Aurelio was not moved by the arguments Thyrsis intended to bring before him. But Elicio, in order to give the shepherds opportunity for repose, went out of his hut, and ascended a green hill that rose before it; and there, girt round with solitude, he was revolving in his memory all that he had suffered for Galatea, and what he feared he would suffer, if Heaven did not favour his plans. And without leaving this train of thought, to the sound of a soft breeze that was gently blowing, with a voice sweet and low he began to sing in this wise:
ELICIO.
If 'midst this boiling sea and gulf profound Of madness, 'midst the tempest's threatening strife, I from so cruel a blow rescue my life, And reach the haven, fortunate and sound, Each hand uplifted to the air around, With humble soul and will contented, I Shall make Love know my thanks, and Heaven on high, For the choice bliss wherewith my life is crowned. Then fortunate shall I my sighings call, My tears shall I account as full of pleasure, The flame wherein I burn, refreshing cold. Love's wounds, I shall declare, are to the soul Sweet, to the body wholesome, that no measure Can mete his bliss, which boundless I behold.
When Elicio ended his song, the cool dawn, with her fair cheeks of many hues, was beginning to reveal herself by the Eastern gates, gladdening the earth, sprinkling the grass with pearls, and painting the meadows; whose longed-for approach the chattering birds straightway began to greet with thousand kinds of harmonious songs. Thereon Elicio arose and, stretching his eyes over the spacious plain, discovered not far away two troops of shepherds, who, as it seemed to him, were making their way towards his hut, as was the truth, for he straightway recognised that they were his friends Lauso and Arsindo with others whom they were bringing with them. And the others were Orompo, Marsilio, Crisio and Orfenio, with as many of their friends as they could assemble. Elicio then recognising them, descended from the hill to go and welcome them; and when they came near to the hut, Thyrsis and Damon, who were going to look for Elicio, were already outside it. In the meantime all the shepherds came up and welcomed each other with joyous countenance. And straightway Lauso, turning to Elicio, said to him:
'In the company we bring, you can see, friend Elicio, whether we are beginning to give tokens of our wish to fulfil the word we gave you; all whom you see here, come with the desire to serve you, though they should hazard their lives therein. What is wanting is that you should not be wanting in what may be most essential.'
Elicio, with the best words he could, thanked Lauso and the others for the favour they were doing him, and straightway told them all that it had been agreed with Thyrsis and Damon to do in order to succeed in that enterprise. What Elicio was saying seemed good to the shepherds; and so, without more delay, they made their way towards the village, Thyrsis and Damon going in front, and all the others following them, who might be some twenty shepherds, the bravest and most graceful that could be found on all the banks of the Tagus, and all were minded, if the reasonings of Thyrsis did not move Aurelio to act reasonably in what they asked him, to use force instead of reason, nor to consent that Galatea should yield herself to the foreign shepherd; whereat Erastro was as happy, as if a fair issue to that demand were to redound to his happiness alone, for, rather than lose sight of Galatea, absent and unhappy, he held it a good bargain that Elicio should win her, as he thought he would, since Galatea must needs be so much indebted to him.
The end of this loving tale and history, with what happened to Galercio, Lenio and Gelasia, Arsindo, Maurisa, Grisaldo, Artandro and Rosaura, Marsilio and Belisa, with other things which happened to the shepherds mentioned hitherto, is promised in the Second Part of this history. Which, if it sees this First received with favourable wishes, will have the boldness shortly to come out in order to be seen and judged by the eyes and understanding of mankind.
[The following brief notes, based on Barrera's commentary, and corrected or supplemented in the light of subsequent research, have been drawn up in the hope that they may be of use to the general reader. In a certain number of cases it has, unfortunately, been impossible to trace the writings of those mentioned in the text. I should gratefully receive any information concerning the men or their works. In dealing with famous authors like Lope de Vega or Góngora, whose subsequent careers have fulfilled Cervantes's prophecies, it has been thought unnecessary to give details which can be found in every history of Spanish literature. It has occasionally happened that a writer is made the subject of a longer note than his actual importance might seem, at first sight, to deserve. The justification for this lies in the fact that such minor authors are more or less intimately associated with Cervantes, or that the mention of their names affords a convenient opportunity for discussing some point of interest in connexion with his life or writings.
For the sake of convenience in referring from one author to another, the notes to the Canto de Calíope have been numbered consecutively throughout. J. F.-K.]
FOOTNOTES:
END OF GALATEA.
GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO.