THE HISTORIE OF FENISE.

THe heavens were pleased to give me birth i [...] Madrid, the Court and ordinary abod [...] of th [...] Kings of Spaine, meanely favoured with the good of Fortune, but amply with those of nature; whi [...] consists as you know in noble blood, valour & fr [...] ­nes of the minde; my young years were imployed [...] studying humane learning, where I found the vanity of those sweete deceipts wherewith the world flatte­reth us and destroys us, disposing the pastimes of in­fancy to serve to the vices of youth: but because thos [...] disabuses proceeded from the experience of others they converted themselves into proper abuses; for seeing that those inconveniences which I re [...] in histories and examples did not happen to me, [...] did repute them fabulous. My father whose age [...] ought to have served him as the looking glasse o [...] humane miseries, to amend his humane disorder [...] affections; and to prepare himselfe for his ap­proaching death; lived with as little apprehension o [...] the time to come, as if every day had beene the [...] of his life, and that he should never arrive at th [...] last. For certaine reasons he quitted the Court, and went with all his family to dwell in the Citie of T [...] ­ledo; where lay the greatest part of his estate. My mother was glad of this change, hoping that my father would change his customes, but it self ou [...] quite contrary to what she expected; since that du­ring the truce which he had made with the vio­lence [Page 11]of his nature, he quarelled against one of the [...]eatest families of that citie.

Be not astonished deare Poleron, if I speake this of [...] that gave me life: for I am to be pardoned: a [...]her that bringeth up his children as an enemy [...]uld doe, doth not merit that they should hide [...] evill carriges: In a word, I fashioned my selfe [...]er his negligent example, I suffered my selfe to be [...]ryed away with the vanitie of young men, and [...]esumption of those that are rich.

The Cavalier enemy to my father had two sonnes [...]mine age and a daughter somewhat younger, they [...]re the honour and beauty, of the citie, but the [...]ghter particularly a subject where one might [...]ually admire, wit, beauty, lively courtesie, and [...]destie joyned with vertue, and she was also [...]h these qualities , a prodigious oftentation of [...] will and powre of Nature I saw her one day go­ [...] to the place where duty of religion obliged her; [...] since that houre (I doe not know if I shall name [...]happy) I have beene so great an admirer of her [...]ty, that I have not knowne how to conduct my [...] in the way of my god fortune. By this affection [...]stifie my satisfaction, seeing that it was as impos­ [...]e, as they say, to know Laure without loving her, [...] seemes difficult to bee beloved of her. This [...]e name of the faire that causeth my paine, I [...]t and came by the street wherein she lived, as it [...]e fashion of lovers to doe, and principally in our [...]on. In [...]ine, I found occasion to appeare unto [...], and to let her know my passion, I flattered her [...]it with letters in prose and verse, money, that [...]h no value, but that which is given it by them [...]o receive it.

By liberalitie or rather by prodigalitie I gained the women that served her, weake Guardians of the honour of a maide, but the more I searched to approach her, the further off I found my self, her re­sistance increased in such manner, that I forced my selfe to overcome it. But my love came to such a point of obstinacy, that it seemed that I had rather designe to surmount her rigours then obtaine the enjoying of her beauty.

My ordinary walkes about her house served for discours to the neighbours and suspition to her bre­theren. The eldest, called Don Oliban, having cer­taine knowledge of my passion, made from thence the foundation of a treason altogether unworthy of a noble courage or an indifferent wit. Excited either by the love of his honour, or the inveterate hatred that was betwixt our fathers, he sought by my death to put an end to their enmitie, and to give a beginning to my misfortunes, one night being gone to the gate of his lodging, with intention to speake to one of the servants of Laure my confidents, Oliban urged by a furious motion of choller, would take away my life, and for to render his enterprise lesse doubtfull, he shot me into the body with a pistoll, and cast me upon the threshold of the dore; many people came running at this noise; Oli­ban fled, and they carryed me to my lodging, where I was carefully looked unto, and with hopes to bee cured; because the wound was not deepe, the vio­lence of the shott being broken by a strong Buffe­coate that I then wore.

Wee had at our house a Barbarian slave, a man of valour and good breeding, he hath served my fa­ther [Page 13]in perilous occasions, where he hath often prooved his courage and fidelitie; he did particu­larly affect me, and taught me his language, estee­ming in that he gave me all he was able, telling me, that if it was not profitable unto me, at least it would doe me no hurt. In effect it seemed to mee that no body ought to neglect the understanding of any thing, though it seeme but of small conside­ration, for it often arriveth that one may make use thereof.

This man, seeing the outrage which was done me, resolved with himselfe to intrap my enemy, and in case he could not, my father gave him leave to set the house a fire, to the end to take a grea­ter revenge, I meane in destroying the family: this designe coming to my knowledge, I stayed the effect, as much for the consideration of Laure, as for to satisfy my selfe, against him alone that did me the injury. During these inquietudes I received, a plai­ster so excellent for the curing of my wounds, that it seemed I had not bled enough to pay the value thereof. It was a letter which Laure sent me, where­in I learned that pitty, a feeling naturall enough to women, had had more force oyer her, then my diligences and wakings, and that a favour which my paine and travells could not obtaine in a long time, her compassion had bestowed upon me in the space of an houre: If my memory be good, the let­ter contained this discourse.

The end of this letter was the beginning of my hopes, and the birth of a more happy life. From that time my health increased dayly, I was able in a short time to continue my former exercises; very hardly can one quit those habitudes that custome hath naturallized. I had the honour during some few nights to speake with Laure; but on the other side I did what I could to meet her brother, the ha­tred I bore him parallell'd the love I bore her. I was told he was retired into Saint Peters, where­upon I writ to him that he wronged himself to make use of a sanctuary against justice, and since that he searched to assure himselfe he had no better refuge then his valour, whereof I would make proofe, and for that effect I desired to see him in the field, the night following, to defend himselfe from the name of Traytor which I had given him every where as he deserved.

Laure knew my designe, for possessing my heart as shee did, it was easie for her to know my inten­tions; and he that I had chosen to carry my cha­lenge had told her thereof to the prejudice of mine honour and secresie: she prayed him not to deliver it, untill she had provided a remedy, and with­out losing time she sent all over to seeke me, to the end to disswade me, knowing well that I would obey all her commands. But I who feared the pow­er she had over my affections, and desired to revenge my selfe by the favour of the obscuritie of the night, to save my selfe the more easily from the hands of Iustice: I shunned those to whom she had given this commission, the which caused her to un­dertake a strange enterprise, as little juditious as promptly executed.

She determined to put her selfe into mans appa­rell, and to meete me where I assigned her brother. Alas Poleron, I then attended a person animated with choler and not with love; I pretended a vengance, but upon another subject, I hoped a satisfaction, but not so unhappy. The night was so obscure that there was not a star to be seene; mine also denied me [...]er light: it is true that that which is contrary to us, [...]oth never shine when we may receive any content­ment thereby: Oh a thousand times infortunate! I was so blinde that a small glimmering of light was [...]enyed me, for feare I should see the fault I was [...]oing to commit, being then the first in the place [...]signed, and seeing the appearance of a man to ap­roach me, I did not doubt but this was the enemy attended, I advanced towards him with my sword [...] my hand, and to speake truth, I would have ren­dered [Page 16]him the like surprise he had made me, and not give him time to prepare himselfe, in such manner that I gave a stocado in the breast of this poore Lo­ver, which overturned her to the earth, in crying, Ah! cruell thou hast slaine me! at this sorrowfull accent: I was immoveable, all my senses failed me; Ah Madame is it you said I, in bowing downe indeavouring to know her as well by the face as voice. Alas Fenise, said she, thou revengest thy selfe severely, since thou takest away the life of a person that loves thee more then her selfe, for to triumph more gloriously over thy enemies; these words pierced me more then a thousand stabbs could have done me, despaire did so violently possesse me, that I presented two or three times my swords point to my breast, but I know not whether a christian con­sideration, or desire to search remedy for her with­held me, I fell downe upon my knees before her, mine eyes full of teares embracing her and striving to animate her vigour. O my Queene, what ill for­tune hath brought you hither? what fury hath gui­ded my hand to commit this criminall action? say­ing thus, I strived to stay her blood, deere Fenise; said she, I thinke my selfe happier thus to dye, then by the hands of my enemies, my brothers, this will be a just repairing of the injury they have done thee for my sake; but without losing time, let us see if there be any meanes to get from hence, to search some remedy for our evills, I am satisfied with thy apprehensions; harke thee, I will tell thee what is to bee done; she would have continued; but a swoond stayed her speech. Imagine Poleron in what estate I then found my selfe; represent unto [Page 17]your selfe, a rich Merchant in a tempest upon the Sea beaten with contrary windes, one while ready to cast all his riches into the water to save his own life, then staying himselfe to lament the inestimable losse he was about to make; hoping a calme in the midst of the tempest, so was I agitated in the storme of a thousand divers thoughts. If I should leave her, thinking she was dead, I was hindred there­from for feare to lose her, if she was not: If I stay­ed by her, I must dye with a thousand sorrowes, and endanger my selfe to bee taken by Justice. I knew not what to doe, nor what to thinke, some­times I thought I felt her dye and respire, but, alass, this was a pure imagination caused by the force of my desires: In fine, I ranne to the next house, where by the help of some money which I gave, I tooke wine, and a man along with mee, to helpe mee to assist her; I put a drop of that liquor in her mouth, which awakened her heart, and sighing demanded where she was. Courage my friend, said I, not da­ring to speak to her as a woman, in the presence of this peasant, you shall bee presently at your owne house; saying so, this man and I tooke her up, and carryed her to the house of a Cavalier, my intimate friend, called Don Jovan de Valazquez: This was not without much paine and apprehension of being met by the Justices, who made their walk at that houre.

This Cavalier had a Sister, who in charitie took an extreame care of Laure, whilst I went to seek Chirurgeon, to whom I payed as much for his crecy as cure, as I had done to him that helped [Page 18]me to carry her. The Chirurgeon having taken a­way a handkerchief, which I had put in her wound to stay the bloud, did carefully dresse it, but he could not yet give us any hope of her recovery.

Behold Poleron, how rudely Fortune used mee; she was not onely content to deprive me of all sorts of goods, but also of all my hopes thereof.

In the interim, the absence of Laure being per­ceived, all her Fathers house was in an uproare; but the brute passed not the doores, as well because the honour of a family is in danger of Shipwrack, when it is tossed by the windes of popular mouthes; as also to make way the better to the revenge her Brothers hoped to take, thinking by this silence to take away all apprehension to their enemy.

They incontinently perswaded themselves, that there was none in the towne capable of the Ravish­ment of Laure but my selfe; for they knew well that I served her, and that she had some inclination to mee; so that they were resolved to pull out my heart, and seek me even to the center of the Earth, if I should be there.

This project was not so secretly kept but it came to the knowledge of one of their servants whom I had obliged with divers presents, who came to give me advice thereof: At her first seeing me, she deman­ded where Laure was, and I being afraid of a double intelligence (from those that are for them will give most) counterfeited to be astonished, faigning to know nothing of her absence; shee who was di­screet enough, pressed me no further: Well, well, sayd she, in what place soever she is, doe not often [Page 19]frequent her, for her brothers have espies to trappe you both together, and take away your lives at the same time. If you bee wise get away from this place, otherwise you are in danger to be slaine; doe not neglect my counsell. I desiring to conserve my selfe, more for the consideration of Laure than mine own, went to Cigarales, which are the chiefest Farmes belonging to the Citizens of Toledo, and li­ved in the house of a Farmer, who before had served in my fathers house. I much desired to hear newes from Laure, and to let her hear from me, but I durst not confide in any one. And although I had no great cause to be in paine for her, having left her in such hands, yet I could not continue long time where I was, being ignorant in what estate she was. A heart that wants that which it desireth, is in perpetuall inquietude: I knew not whether I was dead or alive, so that to know certainely the estate of my life, it was necessary that I should search [...]fter newes of that of Laure. I went disguised to Toledo, where I was scarcely arrived, when I percei­ [...]ed the younger brother of Oliban, who saw me, and [...]ollowed me, doubting it was I; I made many [...]urns one way, and another, to try if he looked after [...]e; but seeing that in truth he had discovered me, was constrained to leave the town, onely passing [...]efore the house of Don Joüen, the keeper of the [...]easure of my felicity; not very well satisfied, [...]eing all the doores shut up, fearing that some evill [...]d befalne Laure. I was not gone farre from To­ [...]do, when turning my selfe, I perceived three men [...]ding full gallop after mee: I imagined that these [Page 20]men had a designe upon me, therefore I went into the next thicke wood to hide my felfe from them, being behind a very thicke tuft, I saw them passe by me, very much troubled having lost the sight of me, they looked here and there doubting what to doe. And because I was not in too secure a place, I went amongst the rockes, knowing it rather desperate­nesse then valour to attend their comming; where perceiving my selfe amongst so many precipices and not knowing which way to avoid them, I lighted & and left my horse at hazard, I had wandred amongst the rockes almost two houres searching the refuge of some shephards cabin; when I so happily found you neere the fountaine where I was catched by mine enemies, whilest you went to fetch me habits to dis­guise my selfe.

Fenise thus could his history to Poleron, when when the Judge of the towne assisted by the Preg­notory and serjeants came into the house; hee had beene told that Fenise was arrived in that towne in other cloathes and that he was some spy disgui­sed: addressing himselfe to him, with an action fierce and barbarous told him, that he was the Kings prisoner. Fenise astonished at these words, asked him the cause; the house said the Judge, (thinking he had demanded the house whither he would car­ry him prisoner) continuing to speake upon this conceipt: you are pleasant said he to enquire of m [...] the house, whither I will carry you; you shall go [...] whither I please: I here represent the King, obey, away, to prison. He was so cholerique and spake s [...] fast, that his words stumbled one upon another, the [...] made so much hast to get out of his mouth; if Fenise [Page 21]was astonished at his arrivall, he was now altogether confused; but using prudence, he endeavoured to moderate the too violent motion of this rustique magistrate, he told him he did not aske for the house whither he would have him, but the reason of his imprisonment, the which instead of appeasing him provoked him the more, in such manner that he went to have layd hold of this infortunate Cava­lier, if the Pregnotory had not told him that he ought not to proceede with so much incivility a­gainst a gentleman; the Judge being thereupon freshly angred, fell to cuffs with the Pregnoto­ry untill the blood came from both their noses.

This little tragy-comedy did not at all please Fenise for having beene acted upon his occasion, he feared to pay the charges thereof by some rude use­age. Poleron being of the same opinion, counselled Fenise to suffer this brute to doe what he would, assuring him to take him presently out of his pow­er, he confiding in this suffered himselfe to be taken prisoner.

They put him in the same prison where the young man was, that the judge had taken the same day that Fenise was hurt, and who had suffered him to lye there without questioning him, expecting a fitt occasion to send him to Toledo, knowing himselfe not capable enough to forme a processe of so high a nature. By the light of a lampe they chained Fenise as a criminall of state, to the other end of the beame whereunto the first was tyed, who was very glad to have a companion to entertaine himselfe with. Whilst they were tying Fenise the other attentively regarded him, thinking that hee [Page 22]knew him, and when they were alone without light, he disguising his voice demanded of our Ca­valier the cause of his imprisonment, my misfor­tune is the onely cause, answered Fenise; for I doe not believe that I have deserved this punishment, by the tone of his voice the first prisoner confirmed him­selfe in the opinion that he had that he knew Fenise; yet he was so amazed with this strange incounter, that being night he thought he dreamed: when an infortunate person receives any contentment hee thinkes it an illusion. Fenise had also the curiositie to enquire the misfortunes of his companion, who answered him alwayes in a disguised voice. You and I are of different opinions, you say your ill fortune hath brought you hither, & I that my good fortune hath conducted me, and rendred my captivitie a thousand times more deare to me then libertie. I never heard any but you, said Fenise, say, that paines were pleasant, libertie troublesome, & imprisonment delightfull; yet I esteeme my selfe happy, answered the unknowne, in regard I finde two sorts of con­tentment, the one reall, and the other in appea­rance, and although the latter be not, he that pre­sumes it so, doth not desire it lesse then the first: so that I finde my prison lovely, my chaines favours, and my paines delightfull: I am of the nature of those that love their captivitie. The pearle con­conserves and nourisheth it selfe in a prison of a shel, the diamond formes it selfe in congealed dew, the gold ingenders and augments by the Sun­beames in the Entrailes of the Earth, and the soule which is the most perfect of all creatures next unto the angels, doth so well please it selfe in the pri­son [Page 23]of humane bodies, that she cannot quit them without great trouble, the same cause have I to love my condition. Love makes me finde delight in torments, felicitie in misfortunes, and pleasure amongst these paynes. He, answered Fenise, hath no great experience of the effects of love, that taketh his afflictions for contentments. Alas love, the world would be at quiet, if it could avoid thy reaches, and warrant it selfe from thy deceipts.

For my part I, have a thousand times proved, that all the evils that our miserie hath cast upon us in nature, are found in him; and without going about to tell them in particular, I demand what tumult is there in the World, which he causeth not? What sedition, which he stirreth not up? Noyse, which he makes not? What feare, which proceeds not from him? He is the most cruell E­nemy of men: He betrayeth them under flattering appearances: He makes them swallow poyson de­liciously prepared: in embracing them, he kills them: In brief, he is of such a nature, that there are none but those that know him not, that e­steem him; therefore I wish that he may possesse the soule of him that is cause of my misfortunes; it is the most rigorous vengeance that I can desire.

Fenise said this with so much vehemency, that he thereby testified the passion which moved him, and the force of his apprehensions; whereupon his companion answered; without doubt, you loue in such a place where your affections are lit­tle regarded, since that you speak so ill of him who hath been the cause of all the good that the Earth now possesseth, that the World admireth, [Page 24]and that Nature adoreth. Love is the originall of our life: He provides us nourishment; without him the Earth would not bring forth those sa­voury fruits which serve us for food, and with­out him men would have no communication to­gether: He peopleth Cities: He governeth Com­mon-wealths: He is the Spring of Peace and Joy: His effects are Force, greatnesse of Courage, Libe­rality, and Courtesie: He is the Father of bold­nesse and Generosity: And I could give you exam­ples of all that I have told you in my proper per­son, if I did not feare more to weary you by gi­ving eare unto them, then to tire my selfe by re­lating them. In conclusion, I maintain that there is nothing without love; yea, that he is among con­trary Elements.

I doe not deny, answered Fenise, that Love hath all these properties, but as no man is bound to say more then he knoweth of him, I that have found in his Garden nothing but thornes and bram­bles; I tell you what I have seen, what I have experimented, and what I have learned of him­selfe. I doe avouch that of all humane content­ments there is none like the pleasures of a Lover, who is beloved with a reciprocall Affection; but this happinesse endureth so little, that the hap­piest Lover can scarcely vaunt himselfe to be ar­rived at the beginning of his pleasure, but at the same instant he loseth it.

Fenise and the unknowne Prisoner passed the rest of the night in this pleasant contestation, the the one considering the miserable estate whereun­to fortune had reduced him, not being able to [Page 25]have newes from Laure; the other satisfied with the favours of his destiny, desiring alwayes to al­ledge the affliction of his companions; but seeing that opportunity was not yet offered, he deter­mined to have patience, and not to make himselfe known, but to very good purpose.

As soon as it was day, Poleron went to visit his Friend, to confirme him in the assurance which he had given him to deliver him from the hands of that insolent and ignorant Judge. Fenise thanked him for the care that he had of him, and told him that he was happy in his misfortunes, to be a prisoner with a man of so excellent a wit, whose pleasant conversation had much diminished his sorrowes. Poleron turned himselfe for to behold him, but the Prisoner having seen him enter, had turned his back against the light, and lay halfe a­long upon the beam, feigning to be asleep, as well not to be in view, as for to hearken if amongst their discourses he might finde any thing that might concerne him. The two Friends believing that sleep had seized him, begun to discourse together, and amongst the discourses which they held, Fenise did observe so many judicious reasons in Poleron, that he found them to exceed the wit of a Shepherd, as already he had seen other testimonies thereof. Desiring then to content his curiosity, he made him this discourse. I might believe (dear Poleron) that you did not love me with a good heart, if you should refuse to give me the clearing of an opini­on, which I have conceived, and which doth trou­ble me. Your Countenance, your Courage, your Actions, and your Discourses, agreeth so little with [Page 26]the birth of a Shepherd, that I have imagined di­vers times, either that you are not descended of the Line of these country Shepherds, or that Hea­ven and Nature have taken a most particular care to forme your Body and Wit, to render you worthy of a higher fortune then that of this ha­bitation

Truly (answered Poleron) I should be very in­grate, if I should not give you the satisfaction you desire: And for to avoyd this shamefull reproach, I had rather in discovering my secrets to you, ha­zard my selfe to be accounted light, then to be thought to undervalue the amity which you have testified unto me in concealing them: And letting go a sigh that seemed to come from the center of his heart, he said.

THE HISTORIE OF DON LOUIS.

NEere to the River of Tage, Nature gave me for Father and Mother two high Rocks, I may well call them so, since the two persons that brought me into the World, having denied me paternall kindnesses, these Rocks received me amiably into their laps, where, as by mira­cle, heaven was willing to save my life, although I might almost wish not to have been obliged to it for so many favours, knowing well that I might have been exempt from many pains which I have suffe­red; it was not only content to do me this grace, but it yet permitted, that Timante, a shepherd of [Page 27]this towne should wander into a grove to finde me, and should lose himselfe to get me in him a new father, and he in me an adoptive and obedient son. Hee tooke me from the unpitifull hardnesse of these rockes where I was abandoned, carryed me away in his armes, and gave me to a peasant who gave me the first nourishment of infancy. By little and little I grew up amongst the other children of the towne, making appeare daily the markes of a noble ex­traction, for although this rustique education hath rendered my behaviour rude and grosse, yet it hath not taken from me the feeling of honour and gene­rositie.

In the flower of my youth, fearefull death came to knock at the doore of Timante; and he, receiving his advertisments with humilitie, prepared the jewell of his soule, for a more pretious inchasement; he gave me by his will the best part of his goods, and having taken those spirituall refections, which the Church giveth to those Pilgrims who finish the passage of the tempestuous Sea of this world, and come to the straites of Death, he rendred his last sigh. But before he came to that extremity, he call­ed me privately to him, and told me that which I have told you, of my birth, and gave me at the same time a little purse, wherein were cer­taine papers which he said he had found with me, and told me my name was Don Louis, and that I was of another linage, then I thought my selfe to be.

This narration did so elevate my courage, that I resolved to search some other occupation then those of a village, so that within a short time after the de­cease [Page 28]of Timante, I sold his goods, some flocks of sheepe, and some lands of inheritance which he had left me, and left my village life, and country, to travell into forraine nations.

Having seene many townes in Spaine, clothed like a cavalier of the court, I arrived at Barcelon, with designe to passe into Italy, and from thence into Flanders, to exercise my selfe in warlike affairs; but this proposition was vaine, for a beauty which I saw in the towne of Barcelone hindred all my projects, and made it impossible for me to passe further. If I determined to see faire Italy, and begun to thinke of this maid, I found her so faire that I beleeved there was nothing beyond her; here was my Hercu­les pillers: on the other side, if my courage reani­mated the desire I had to seeke Laurells in the ha­zards of the warres of Flanders, I found neere her so many Mirtles, Palmes, and glorious victories to be obtained, in remaining overcome by her charmes, that I might have beene thought to have wanted judgment, if I had neglected those delitious con­quests.

As soone as this adorable object appeared before mine eyes, respect seised me, which in mine opini­on, is one of the graces that renders a lover most commendable, but not to give occasion to the com­mon people to talke, I thought it best to use the diligence of a servant, to goe after this beauty and follow her coach unto the place where she dwelt, to the end I might endeavour to get accesse there: but either the impertinence of my servant or my proper misfortune made him lose the fight of it, and presently tooke from me all possibilitie of offe­ring [Page 29]her my service. Rare loves had never happy beginnings, it was also necessary, that mine which had a strange issue as you shall see, should have a difficult entry. The negligence of an houre cost me almost three monthes (for love alwayes delights to give heavy punishments for light faults) so during this long space it was impossible for me to have knowledge of the cause of my inquietudes. This made me resolve to take againe my first intentions, and seeke my fortune in divers Countries, since that she is not alwayes to be found in the place of a mans birth. The night before my departure I went to suppe with a gentleman one of my friends, for to take leave of him, from whom I departed very late: in passing by one of the best streetes, I found my selfe neere unto five or six men, who without say­ing a word set upon two who came innocently the same way with me: they seeing themselves surpri­sed, put themselves into a posture of defence, and I considering the inequalitie of the combatants, ranged my selfe with my sword in my hand on the weaker side: but after a few blowes of one side and the other, one of the defendants was hurt and fell to the ground; at the same time those that had wounded him, retired themselves, & the companion of him that was hurt pursued them; I stayed there to assist the wounded, and speaking to him I knew him to be an old gentleman of qualitie, I helped him up and conducted him to his lodging; by the way he gave me a thousand thankes for my assistance, and at every step asked me what was become of Filendre: which made me beleeve that that was the name of him who was run after the enemyes. I not know­ing [Page 30]what to answer him, told him to comfort him, that he was gone to fetch a Chirurgion: there­upon we arrived at his house, those of his family knowing that he was hurt, were all frighted; and amongst others, a young Lady, whom the griefe of this accident had put into great confusion. I regarded curiously her gestures and actions, and knew her by the light of a torch to be the very same that had caused my torments; then a re­spectfull feare seized my heart, and I felt certain pricking griefes in my breast, as if the wound which she had first given me with her eyes was opened again. O Beauty, that thou art so pow­erfull! so to astonish those hearts which the most perilous hazards cannot affright. All the do­mestiques lamented the disaster that had befalne their Master, whilst I was ravished in the admi­ration of the features of this Lady, when there came in a young man who had his countenance full of alteration, and his spirit animated with chol­ler, approached her, and gave her two boxes upon the eare, and at the same instant withered the roses and lilies of her cheeks. I being of­fended with this barbarous insolence, and rashness, that he had to use her so unworthily in my pre­sence, I went to him with my sword in my hand, rebuking his brutality with offensive words: He, who knew me not, drew also his sword, and fighting one with another, I warded his blowes, and gave him two upon the body, which he could not avoid: then in despight of what they could all doe to stay me, I saved my selfe, and went out of the house without being known to any one, [Page 31]yet having a great desire to know the day follow­ing the names of these persons, and the occasion of these strange aecidents.

Don Louis, whom we call Poleron, was upon the passage of his history, when Clitor, and the Judge of the Towne entred into the prison; the first, to see if the unknowne prisoner was of those that did hurt Fenise; and the other protesting that he knew very well what belonged to his Office. They were all in suspence to see what would be the issue of these words; but their attention was turned into affliction, knowing that his designe was to send them to Toledo. Fenise had an ap­prehension thereof, the unknown prisoner trem­bled for feare, and Don Louis doubted the execu­tion thereof: Seeing the danger wherein Fenise would be, returning into the hands of his ene­mies, he endeavoured by prayers and fair words to divert the intention of the Judge: and although that Clitor affirmed that the unknowne prisoner was none of those that had hurt Fenise, he chan­ged not the resolution which he had made; all the grace that they could obtaine, was, that the prisoners should be removed from the dark place where they were, into a chamber, but bound to [...]wo posts.

When they were come into the light, Fenise [...]aced his companion, and saw in him the origi­ [...]all of his disgraces, he saw himselfe neare to Laure, when he thought himselfe to be far from [...]er: He was almost without motion and sense, so much had joy transported him; but without [...]estifying the excesse of his joy, he contented him­selfe [Page 32]to speak to her with the mute language of his eyes, which often expresse the feelings of the heart more intelligibly then the tongue can doe. Laure of her side, made such signes with her eyes, as rendred faithfull proofs of the con­stancy of her love.

Don Louis, who perceived all these amorous a­ctions, seeing that they were alone in this cham­ber, having had licence of the Judge to visit his friend, prayed them to explicate the Aenigmas of of their gestures. Fenise spoke, and told him; Deare friend, only in telling you the name of this person, shewing Laure, I answer to all the demands you can now make me, you having heard me so often speak it. This is Laure, that incom­parable beauty which hath charmed my soule: her presence hath surprized me with so excessive a joy, that if it was not moderated with the sor­row that I have, to see her suffer so many evils for my sake, it would take away my life. Then turning himselfe towards Laure; Ah deare object of my happinesse, is it possible that my destiny may be appeased? Is it true that it is you? my imagination perpetually occupied with your i­mage, doth she not deceive me? What, amongst so many torments can I enjoy so extream a felicity? Without lying I have good cause to complain of your rigour, that hath hindred me so long time the enjoying thereof, in disguising this night the delicious organ of your voice. Speak to me dear Mistresse, let me see that my glory is not a dream; tell me what marvellous adventure hath reduced you to this misery, which produced me so great [Page 33]good fortune. Laure, who might rather be called Aurora, letting fall liquid pearls upon the ver­million roses of her cheeks, answered him. My dear Fenise, I have striven much with my self to use the dissimulation whereof you complain, and & hinder my self from letting you know what com­pany you had in your prison: I wanted but a little of declaring my selfe when I saw you brought thither; but honour, which you know is so delicate a thing, obliged me to this severe retention; so that your love being guided by respect and civility, you have rather cause to be satisfied with me, then blame me. You cannot doubt of my passion, since that for to give you most particular assurances there­of, I have violated paternall respect, and also that which I owe to my person, in giving occasion to speak to the prejudice of my vertue. But if our destiny have made us miraculously to meet againe, it seems it is but to run the same fortune, and make us hope for a more free conveniency to en­tertaine our selves, with the fortunes that have ar­rived us since our separation, the which obligeth me to pray you to give me leave to remit untill another time the satisfaction of your just curio­sitie.

Don Louis, who heard these discourses, was so lively touched with compassion, besides the in­clination which he had to serve Fenise, that he vowed from this moment to hazard all that he esteemed, as well of his goods, as person, to de­liver them from the tyranny of this barbarous Judge: And in the opinion which he had to come to the end of his design, he endeavoured to com­fort [Page 34] Laure, giving her hope that she should see her self presently at liberty with her Lover.

This comfortable friend having left them in this expectation, and being gone to put his pro­ject in execution, the impertinent Judge came to tell them he had changed his resolution, and that it was not necessary to carry them both to Tole­do; that for the love of Poleron he would leave Fe­nise, and only take the other. At this advertise­ment, Laure felt her heart gnawed cruelly, and revenging her misfortunes upon her selfe, let fall teares from her eyes which were able to have soft­ned Marble. Fenise on his side repented himselfe for having so easily believed Don Louis, and for suffering himselfe to be taken prisoner; he could not resist the apprehensions of his passion, nor Laure overcome the vehemency of her love; so that when she saw her selfe untied from this post, she approached her Lover, and without being seene of those who were to carry her, she fell vpon his neck for to embrace him: By good for­tune a swoond seized her at the instant, which stayed the effect of the Judges proposition. Ha­ving perceived this swoond, they took all care possible to remedy it, but not with so much di­ligence, but that the rest of the day passed, which forced them to attend untill the morrow for to carry her to Toledo, judging that it was better to deferre it, then to hazard in the night the losse of a prisoner which might be taken from them in the dark.

Fenise beheld this image of death, whose sor­rowes he felt in his heart, neverthelesse he was [Page 35]presently glad, seeing that the Officers of the Judge deferred their departure untill the next morning, because he hoped some succour from Don Louis that night. Laure being returned from her swoond, they put on her irons, and chain­ed her as before, and Fenise seeing himselfe a­ [...]one with her, prayed her to acquit her self of [...]he promise which she had made him, if sleep, or her indisposition did not hinder her, and to tell him by what happy and strange accident she was come into this prison. She who could not close [...]er eyes, and who felt no incommodity neer the object of her contentment, served her selfe of his favourable occasion, and made him this dis­ [...]ourse.

THE CONTINVANCE OF THE HISTORY OF LAVRE.

SInce that you left me in the house of your friend Don Iovan de Velasquez, hurt with your sword, but more with your love; and that this Cavalier ob­ [...]ged by your prayers, had taken care for the curing [...]e exteriour wounds of my breast; I imagined [...]ith my selfe that you had abandoned mee, to [...]ake your vengeance more rigorous, in offen­ [...]ng my line as well in honour as in blood: having [...]ven this foundation to my wrath, I againe incou­ [...]ged my hopes, & represented to my selfe, that you [...]ould never be so barbarous, as to leave me in so [...]iserable a condition, but my imagination pro­ [...]unded alwayes to her selfe, rather evill then good, [Page 36]and I was disquieted with a thousand troublesome thoughts, making me incontinently change my o­pinion; sometimes I uttered injurious words a­gainst the subject I adored; I accused you of ingrati­tude, perfidiousnesse, & inconstancy, then upon the suddaine I tooke your part, and sought reasons to excuse you, because I wished you innocent, as well for your honour as my proper interest. And for as­much as the outrages which I spoke against you, proceeded from the excesse of my passion, when my imagination had rendered you some ill office, and obliged mee to mingle some cold with my flames, I perceived immediately, that this was with designe to render them afterwards much more violent. These were the ordinary entertaines wherewith! divertised my selfe during mine abode with this Cavalier, except when Leonor his sister kept me com­pany; for her wit was so excellent that she gave me no time to thinke of any other thing, but of her sweete discourse. But exactly to instruct you of all that passed in this house whilest I was there, I must tell you a tragique history, whereof it was the Thea­tre.

A young man called Felix, a Merchants sonne of Toledo, but of very good fashion, possessing many of those qualities which are requisite to a gentleman, became inflamed with the love of Leonor: Neverthe­lesse the inequalitie of their conditions, the recluse life which shee led, the splender of her beauty, the gravitie of her presence, hindered Felix from da­ring to discover his passion; He suffered long time inquietudes very violent, in the end not being able to resist his torments, he resolved to have recourse [Page 37]to the intermission of a third person, to interpret his thoughts, not having courage enough to expli­cate them to her that had made him conceive them. He used a very ordinary way, which was to apply himselfe to the Chambermaide of this Lady, be­cause those kinde of people are enemies that fight close, they strike almost alwaies where they please, and render the victory lesse doubtfull: They ever­more finde occasions to praise the pretendant, and to present him to the person sought after. Leonor had with her a witty wench called Amarante, which Felix knew to be able enough to render him good offices. He gave her presents to incite her to favour his intentions: Liberalitie is the first vertue where­with a Lover ought to be qualified. He declared un­to her his passion, and the time when he begunne to feele it, the torment which be suffered, the qualities wherewith Nature had adorned him, the advanta­ges of the hopes of his fortune, being the onely Sonne of a very rich Father; because these things are more freely spoken to those who are imployed in such businesses, then to the persons sought after, who without doubt might have cause to esteeme them impertinencies and presumptions.

Amarante being very often entertained by this Gallant, had designes upon him, and determined to keep for her selfe, that which hee desired by her organs to offer to Leonor; shee received his messa­ges, and gave him answers according to her minde. She entertained the unfortunate Felix with words, and hopes, false as from her Mistresse, but true of her owne part: Making him beleeve, that if Leonor did not render him more certaine proofes of her [Page 38]affection, hee ought to attribute it either to her feare of her Brother, or to her proper modesty: Whilst Felix thus persevered in his pretensions, and Leonor was ignorant thereof, Amarante invented wayes to enjoy her lascivious affections. Felix spoke to her at a window almost every night, attributing the care and vigilance she tooke to content him, to proceed from the presents he daily gave her. Alasse deare Fenise, I dare not blame the love of Amaran­te, for feare that by others I shew myselfe culpable; I know one ought not accuse the faults of Love, because this passion blindes the judgement, and leaves but little place for reason, to consider the in­conveniences it breedeth, and to foresee how to a­voyd them, but I doe not approve of the unjust dea­ling of this damosell.

Don Jovan was much troubled to have a man walke nightly about his house, but hee spoke not of it; from whence I presume his paine was but mo­derate; for in such displeasures it is almost impossi­ble for the most excellent prudence in the world, and the most stayed spirit to keepe it secret. One night desiring to cleare his doubts, it befell him as to those who are commonly too curious to know what they would be ignorant of. Hee hid himselfe in his neighbours porch, and saw a signe given by the unknowne man, and at the same instant Ama­rante appeared at the window, who told him that her Mistresse could not come forth that night, but that the night following he should speake to her, and see her in her chamber. Felix having received these sweet assurances, went his way very content with the hopes that he had to receive a recompence [Page 39]in so short a time, which he could not hope for in many yeares. Don Jouan having heard what his confident had told him, seeing that the term of the returne of this Lover was not long, since that he was to come againe the night following, would not trouble himselfe to follow him. He resolved to be patient, and dissemble what he thought, neverthelesse in the morning he took A­marante aside, questioned her concerning the dis­course which she had with the unknowne, who, without enduring many threatnings, made an invention as extravagant as one blinded with love and ignorance could produce. She told him that Leonor loved a Cavalier called Don Antonio, who you may well know (said she) by his high birth, and that the night following, he was to come in­to the chamber of his Sister by her intermission, and the consentment of Leonor; she used this stra­tagem, thinking it would serve her to come to the end of her intentions, imagining that when Felix should enter that she should put him into her bed, and when Don Jouan should finde him there, he would constraine him to marry her, by that meanes she should quit Leonor of the infamy she had laid upon her, and that her artifice would passe for gallantry.

The words which Don Jouan had heard the night before, and those he now heard, had so much confor­mity, that he had no great difficulty to believe what she said, she having confessed her selfe the medi­atrix of their loves, he made her also promise to assist him to surprize Don Antonio when he should be with his Sister, to the end to oblige him to some convenient satisfaction.

In the interim, Felix impatient to possesse the glory he hoped for, passed the day with great in­quietudes, so also did Don Jouan, but for diffe­rent ends; the one imagining how to come to the recompence of his paines, and the other how to hinder him. The night being come, Don Jouan hid himselfe, and the poore girle thinking that she had subtilly contrived her project, came to the window to attend the arrivall of the abused Fe­lix. Leonor was come that night to lye with me in my chamber, as she often did, which gave more way to Amarante, to abuse the innocent Felix, whom she hoped to make enter into the bed of Leonor.

When he was come, she opened him softly a window, into which he mounted by the help of a Ladder of cords, from thence she carried him into her Mistresses chamber, and there left him without light, telling him he might have patience whilest she fetched her Mistresse, speaking very softly for feare her voice should make her known; She took Felix by the hand and put him in estate to come to the point of his desires. Don Jouan, who lay in wait, believed when Amarante came againe, that it was her Sister gave her leave to as­sure her selfe of her Lover, but presently entred the chamber, and without informing himselfe of any thing, gave either of them a stab in the breast, so that the unfortunate Amarante, thinking to finde her Marriage-bed, found her Tombe. The blow which Felix had, was not in so mor­tall a place but that he had force enough to reco­ver his armes, and obliged Don Iouan to doe the [Page 41]like to defend himselfe, but in this violent agitation, the miserable Felix advanced to his end, and tumb­led dead in striving to get away.

At the same time Don Jouan came into my cham­ber, I am not very certaine with what intention, but I am willing to believe that it was to warrant me from the danger I might be in, if the justices should enter and know me: being entred and seeing his sister with me; he stayed, confused and without speaking a word, returned to see who the dead per­sons were. He knew Felix and Amarante, different persons from those whom he thought he had killed; he was extreamely amazed as well for the errour wherein he found himselfe, as for the slaughter of this young man, being the onely sonne of a very rich Merchant; who was able to imploy much money to punish him that should be found authors of this crime. Perplexed with the horror of this murder, and feare of Justice, he absented himselfe before day, after having told us the mournefull act he had committed. And I being habited as you see with the same clothes wherein I came from my fathers, when I came to meete you in stead of my brother; I be­came guid to Leonor, as if I had beene some valiant cavalier, and accompanied her to the house of one of her cosens with whome she was to goe to Heride a towne in Catalogne where one of her Vncles dwelt; because she was resolved to stay no longer with Don Iouan, not being able to forget the cruel­ty which he had thought to have executed upon her person.

See the misfortune that arrived in this great fa­mily, by the impertinent art of a domestique of lit­tle [Page 42]experience which makes me say, that it is sit, that the sesrvants of an honorable house should be vertu­ous as well as their mistresses, otherwise they are capable to corrupt the daughters or mothers whom they serve, and bring them to tragique ends with the losse of their honour and generall infamy of their familie. I tooke leave of Leonor at the dore of the house, where I left her, and immediately by the fa­vour of the obscuritie I came by these mountaines and valleys, searching some village where I might in this disguisement hide my selfe from the know­ledge of my brothers, and attend untill it pleased heaven to moderate the rigours of my destiny: The little knowledge which I had of the country, which is full of bushes, hilles, and precipices, was the rea­son I lost my selfe, and that the Justices of the vil­lage light upon me; who led me so happily to this prison, where without thinking thereof, I found that which to me is the most delightful in this world.

Fenise lifted up his eyes and shoulders, astonished with this strange accident, neverthelesse he had ta­ken great pleasure in the harmony of the words of Laure. And also to satisfie her on his parte, he told her all which was befalne him untill their common good fortune had brought them together. This dis­course ended, they begun to reason upon the actions of Don Iouan who after the murder of Felix and Ama­rante came unto the chamber of Laure, judging that he had some designe against the respect he ought to his friend, and integritie of Laure, his mistresse.

The halfe of this night was almost spent in these entertaines. In the intrim, Don Louis slept not but laboured for their deliverances as they presently saw [Page 43]the effect thereof. Wee told you before that this pri­son joyned upon the house of the sayned Poleron, but you must know that there was but a thin wall be­twixt them two, made of joysts and bricks; so that it was easy enough for him to execute his designe: so that when he thought them to be in their first sleepe who guarded the prisoners, he broke this wall without noise, with a crow of Iron made a hole big enough, went into the chamber, and with other I­ron instruments, broke the lockes which held Laure and Fenise chained to the post, and delivered them from this rigorous captivitie.

Being gone out of this infamous place he exhor­ted Laure to shew her selfe couragious in this occa­sion, then they mounted every one upon a good horse, & Don Louis served them for guide; they tooke the way to Toledo thinking that they would not search after them that way; having testified to ap­prehend very much their going thither, as the swoond of Laure had shewed. Before Aurora had gi­ven place to the sunne, they found themselves neere the towne; They determined not to enter therein, for feare of some inconvenience, but to goe on to the farmes which are thereabouts, which are caled Ciga­rales, the same farmers house, whither we have al­ready told you, Fenise had before retired himselfe; this was accordingly executed; and the day follow­ing Don Louis went to visit Fenise his father on the behalfe of the sonne, and to receive his commands, but not to acquaint him that he was with Laure, as they had agreed together. For the hatred which Fe­ronte, (so was the name of this cavalier) bore to her Familie was so violent, that he would have a­bandoned [Page 44]abandoned his sonne, if he should have known there­of. He received this Embassador with great joy, and without making him stay too long, he made one of his servants take a horse, and gave him good store of money, and commanded him to follow Don Louis and to give the money and the horse to his sonne, with a letter whereby he ordayned him to goe to Valence, and to stay there untill he heard further commands from him.

Fenise was well satisfied with the returne of his friende, having received by his meanes news of his Fathers health, and witnesses of his affection. Hee tooke the horse and treasure, and for many consi­derations, hee sent back presently his Fathers ser­vant, because when a secret is known to many, it is hard to keepe it; immediately after they all three tooke horse and went towards Valence. Don Lovis was then habited like a Cavalier, having clothed himselfe at Toledo, before hee went to Fe­ronte.

They went so merrily, that some mischiefe was to bee feared; for it succeeds ordinarily after great contentment. Without doubt the Philosopher had experienced this, who desired sorrow, and fea­red joy: Because, said hee, after Melancholy a man may hope for Mirth, but after Mirth hee can have nothing but vexation. The affection of Fenise and Leure increased every minute by the mutuall pleasure which they received in their conversation, whereby they grew more acquainted the one with the other; Don Lovis tooke an incomparable plea­sure in hearing their discourses, and seeing their pretty behaviours, wherein Fenise inviolably kept [Page 45]all the respect that could bee desired; he acted no­thing but with honour and respect. They had not above one dayes journey to Valence, when Laure prayed Don Lovis to finish his History which he had begunne, and he being extreamely obliging, begun where he was interrupted by the rustique Judge, and thus continued.

THE CONTINƲANCE OF THE HISTORY OF DON LOUIS.

YOu may remember the pitifull estate of this noble Family, amongst so many disasters; Ther­fore without repeating that discourse, I will onely tell you, that being happily gotten out of the house, without being known, my Love made me stay six whole dayes in Barcelone, where I learnt that the old hurt man was father of the beauty which had so live­ly touched me; a Gentleman of a great extraction, and very rich; that hee recovered by little and little; but he who I chastised for his insolence was dead, and that he was brother to this Lady called Hipolite, most wise and vertuous.

All these considerations and high qualities made me judge, that I set upon a place too hard to bee ta­ken, but my love was come to such a point, that it was impossible for me not to adore that divine ob­ject. I would not informe my selfe more exactly, for feare of giving suspition to my prejudice. I must be contented to goe and come before her lodging, [Page 46]to endeavour to get a view of her, although I knew her sight would but augment my pain.

All my diligence and care was inutile, she led so recluse a life, that I could not see her otherwise, but with the eyes of mine imagination; there was no other remedy for my torments, but to wish death, or to banish this celestiall Image from my memory, but all these desires and propositions had no effect; I could neither dye nor forget her. In the end, as love findes out inventions as well as ne­cessity, it came into my fancy to make acquaintance with one of the domestiques, and to oblige him by liberalitie, to procure me some aleagement. There was in the house a young man who was Steward, and sometimes served for Usher, whose name was Octave, I prevailed so much with my promises and gifts, that I got his acquaintance and affection, and by this meanes an accesse free enough into the house, without fearing the murmur of the neighbours, who hold their peace at good things, though they know them to be so, but publish that which is ill, though they but doubt thereof. I saw often the faire cause of my inquietudes, but could not finde an occasion favourable to speake to her. Seeing me often frequent Octave, and perceiving I negar­ded her too attentively to be without designe, shee tooke notice of my behaviour and actions, and since gave me some signes of hope. From thence I took the boldnesse to declare unto her my passion, by the secreet language of a Letter, which I made her re­ceive. At the first she shewed her self very angry with my audaciousnesse; neverthelesse I did not forbear to send her a second, which was more happy than [Page 47]the first, since that shee had the curiosity to see it and boldnesse to make mee an answer: The di­scourse thereof was very succinct, but yet ample e­nough to make me hope a glorious successe.

I seeing my selfe thus favoured, was incouraged to goe on, perswading my selfe that a Lady that ac­knowledgeth her selfe engaged, would not be long in acquitting her selfe thereof. Octave being interes­sed in my contentments, tooke often occasion to speake well of me in the presence of Hipolite, and at such houres, when she could best give eare there­unto, so that by little and little she became more sensible of the power of Love. One day she faigned her selfe extreamely melancholique, which obliged her Father, who loved her dearly, to take her into the country to recreate her spirits, by the change of aire. Octave gave mee notice of this designe, and told me the day when, and place whither they went, which was to a village that belonged to them. I disposed my selfe to follow the light of mine eies, and the felicitie of my life, which had a happy issue, for the libertie which they take in that country to walke, sometimes neare a Fountaine, sometimes near a Meadow, Wood, or Garden, gave me opportuni­ty often to come neare her, and endeavour to make her accept my services.

Not long after her arrivall, the Townsmen made certaine games after their manner, where I appeared [...]ike a stranger, and gave occasion to Hipolite to judg of my dexteritie in those exercises, so that since [...]hat time she hath shewne her selfe not so indifferent [...]s before, and upon a convenient and favourable oc­ [...]asion she permitted me to speake to her. I cannot [Page 48]represent unto you the ravishment of this charming conversation; for there is nothing in the world so sweet as beginning of Love. But as after pleasures discontentments succeed, this felicitie lasted not long: The day following they must return to Barce­lone.

About a League from the Towne, Leoncio, Fa­ther of Hipolite, her selfe, and the whole Family were invested by a Troope of men armed with Ca­rabines, who came to affront Leoncio. He had an old quarrell against agreat Cavalier, who had watched him to satisfie his hatred. The Father of Hipolite who defyed his enemy, kept himselfe upon his guard, be­ing alwaies accompanied with his Kinsmen and Friends, as well as his adversary; though not in so great number, yet more valiant. The contrary Troope seeing themselves the more, sent three of their men to the Coach of Hipolite to seise upon her person, whilst the rest set upon and pressed Leoncio, who had left his Daughter to assist his party.

Most insolently they made this young Lady to quit her Coach, and set her upon a Hackney, and carryed her away as the most glorious Trophee they could take from their enemies. By ill fortune I was not neare her at this time, I stayed behinde, devi­sing with Octave of mine amorous adventures; but as we drew towards the Towne, wee saw coming the object of my contentment, in the hands of her enemies. Oh God! cryed Octave, there is some great misfortune arrived; see the Kinsmen of the e­nemy of Leoncio, who carry away Hipolite, let us re­turne behinde these bushes, and get before them; we [Page 49]did accordingly, and put our selves in ambush in a certaine passage, where whilst we attended them, Octave told me the cause of the quarrell; when they came to passe by us, we ran upon them with our swords in our hands, crying to me, to me com­panions, they are here, feigning that we were a greater number, wherewith they were so frighted, that they left their conquest, and fled, except one which stayed upon the place, to pay with his bloud and life, for the insolence which he and his com­panions had committed. After this action wee went to Hipolite, whom we found half dead, as well with the feare which she had of her enemies, as that which we had caused her, for she knew not that this was Octave, and my self, which had delive­red her from her ravishers.

She was ravished with joy to see us, but yet this gladnesse was mingled with displeasure: she percei­ved a hurt which I had received upon the head, with­out feeling it, by reason of my action. In the inter­im Leoncio assisted by the valour of his friends had on the other side given the chase to his enemies, and be­ing all come together againe, Octave recited to him our good fortune; thereupon Leoncio, thinking him­selfe, obliged to me, would needs have me taken care of in his house, to the end to have more oc­casion to serve me. I made him many comple­ments, yet neverthelesse I should haue been very sorry to have refused so advantagious a gratifica­tion, since by that meanes I should have occasion to see more commodiously Hipolite: But to my disgrace my hurt was too soone healed, and as pleasures of this World dure but a short time, [Page 50]so was I in civility forced to leave the abode of my affections, and entertaine my desires as I did be­fore.

Not long after, I was told that there was a Ca­valier of Barcelone, called Don Vincence d' Aualois, of eminent qualitie, a handsome man, of a commen­dable wit, and rich condition, who sought after Hipolite, with designe to marry her. He had not yet let her know of his affections, but having ac­quainted her parents therewith, he took liberty to publish them, so farre as to compose verses up­on the same subject, to give her musick, which was as troublesome to me, as pleasing to others: As one time amongst others I thought to enjoy the deare entertaine of Hipolite, she having appointed me a certain houre to see her by a window, where­of the iron bars had been often witnesses of the fa­vors she had done me: As I approached to this place, followed by Octave, we heard many instruments tuning, which obliged us to stay: it was Don Vin­cence, who testified his esteeme of an Ebony Ring which Hipolite had worne, and which he had got by craft from one of her servants, having given her a gold chain in exchange.

This Consort was so melodious, that another would have been charmed therewith; but jealousie, which beat me, rendred this harmony so trouble­some, that I wanted not much of making an up­roare in the street, audaciously enterprising to trou­ble their mirth, and chase the Muses from thence. The prudent advice of Octave moderated mine an­ger, he counselled me to attend untill DonVincence had made his serenade, and after he was retired, I [Page 51]might approach to Hipolite's Window. I governed my selfe by his advice, which succeeded happily: Hipolite let me know by her discourses, that al­though she had heard the musick, she did not be­lieve it was for her, but for another Lady her neigh­bour, the which contented me much. In our dis­courses I represented unto her that I had served her foure yeares, and that this constancy merited the performance of the promises she had made me. Thereupon she answered, that ingratitude never had commerce with her, and that she was alwayes disposed to give me those satisfactions I could hope from my services, that I was to finde an invention to get into the house, and keep my self in Octaves chamber, which being done, she would take care for the rest. As she gave me these instructions, we heard some people in the street, which obliged me to take leave of her, and to retire my self with all the contentment that could be presumed from so glorious hopes.

I left her, and went to search Octave, in turning at the corner of the street, I perceived that those who had made the brute which separated Hipolite [...]nd me, followed me; I doubled my paces for fear of being known, so that I lost them. But having [...]oo much pleasure in the conversation of Hipolite, [...] had let passe the houre that I had appointed to [...]eet Octave at a Rendezvous that I had assigned [...]im, so that I found him not there, which drave [...]e almost into despaire, seeing that I lost the most [...]avourable occasion that Hipolite could ever present [...]e. And for to oppresse me with griefe, when I [...]aw Octave the next morning, he told me the great [Page 52]complaint that she made of my negligence, and that this was such an occasion as it might be I should not meet with in my whole life: That for his part he could not assist me no more in such occasions, because Leoncio had commanded him to go to cer­taine lands of his, to make a receiver give an ac­count; that it was not permitted him to defer his departure; that I must be silent, and suffer untill his returne, having none but him that could manage my good fortune.

He was a moneth absent, during which time it was impossible for me to see Hipolite, not for want of diligence, or care, but of occasion. In the in­terim Don Vincense, whose love increased, pressed the father of Hipolite to resolve upon the pro­position which he had made him. Leoncio seeing a match so advantagious for his daughter, and the equality of their conditions, after having com­municated it to his kindred and friends, promi­sed the Cavalier what he desired, without demand­ing the consent of her that had the most interest therein, thinking it unnecessary to a daughter, hum­ble and obedient as Hipolite was, for he did believe that her consent would always depend upon his. Oh the great errors of Fathers, to think that a vertuous daughter ought to be deprived of her choise and will! In fine, Leoncio told her no more of this af­faire, but that he had married her: She was great­ly surprised with so short an oration, and obli­ging her Father to expresse himselfe a little more amply, he told her the person, admonished her to dispose her selfe to this new change of condition, as also to put on her best ornaments, and to look [Page 53]cheerfully, for, said he, contentment is the most excellent paint wherewith a woman can beautifie her selfe. Having thus perswaded her, he left her; but in stead of preparing her selfe for joy, she abandoned her selfe to sighs and teares.

At that time I went often to her house, as well for to seek some favourable moment to speake to her, as for to learne if Octave was returned from his voyage. The last time that I was there, I saw at the doore many Lacquees in the same Livery; this expence testified that they appertained to a Master of great condition: I was astonished with this novelty, and entring for to know the cause thereof, I found Octave, who was newly arrived, who (in stead of approaching me with joy) look­ed so sadly upon me, that he gave me cause to suspect that there was something to be done to my prejudice; I saluted him in embracing him, and asked him the explication of what I had seen; but without daring to regard me, he answered, that being my most affectionate servant, he desired to be excused from interpreting things so trouble­some. The longer he deferred to satisfie me, the more I pressed him, in the end my importunity drew from him these words, goe above into the Hall, said he, and you shall see the subject of my affliction. The generall joy of those who were invited, wherewith the place was almost filled, gave me occasion to enter without being noted. I saw Hipolite in the middle of a circle of Ladies, shining like a Sun: on another side Don Vincence, my com­petitor, with a countenance that testified his con­tentment. Finding things in this order, I was [Page 54]confirmed in the opinion which I had conceived. I put my selfe in a place where I might be seen of Hipolie, to the end she might make an end to destroy me, which had arrived without doubt, if I had not been so infortunate, that when I search torments, they flye me. She lifted up her eyes, and seeing me, it was impossible for her to retaine her teares, which she hid the most discreetly she could; thereupon he arrived who was to administer to them the Sacra­ment, and joyne their hands and wills; but when as they came to entreat Hipolite to approach, she begun to talk so extravagantly, that all the compa­ny was affrighted. She blamed her Father, offended her Kindred, spoke injurious against Vincence. O extreame puissance of an amorous passion, capable to alienate the spirit of the wisest! In a word, shee became sencelesse, to the great confusion of all the company, and principally of the Gentleman that pretended to marry her: she named and called me every moment, sayd that I was he, for whom hea­ven had ordained her, and that I ought onely to possesse her. I found my selfe much troubled a­mongst these strange confusions, and fearing some danger, slipt behinde a piece of hangings, by which meanes I got out of the house, without being per­ceived. When she had lost the sight of me, she begun to run about the Hall to seek me, but not finding me, so violent a griefe seised her, that she fell in a trance. They carryed her to a bed, where after a little time, she came to her self again, but with a burning feaver. Al the company departed very Melancolique, and also Don-Vincence full of despite and despaire, and Don-Leoncio suffered himselfe to bee surprised [Page 55]with so great vexation, that hee dyed within foure dayes, leaving to her Brother the care of Hipolite, and the Administration of his Goods.

See the unfortunate successes of my Loves, whose image will be perpetually engraven in my heart, see how my hopes were converted into smoake, which may serve for an example to consider the inconstan­cy of humane felicity. After this I retired my selfe into that country place where I had the honour to beginne my acquaintance with you, thinking that I might there live quietly the rest of my life, since I have been established in that course of life; Octave writ to me that Hipolite continued in the same e­state that I had left her in; but I am not in the same condition I was then, my Flames are doubly encrea­sed, they augment every moment, seeing how much I owe to her faith and constancy, so that I now love more madly than ever; neither absence nor time can deface it from my memory. During the time of my abode in that village, I courted a Shepheardesse honoured amongst all the mountaines of Toledo, but it was but for to entertain my spirit (although she be perfect, I did but imagine that I treated with Hipolite.) So I passed my time when you arrived there deare Fenise, and when I was so happy to finde an occasion to serve you, which I shall take plea­sure in all my life.

Don Lovis thus ending the History of his Loves, they were within a League of the towne of Valence, but it was very late, which obliged them to make haste, for feare of being benighted. But they had scarcely begunne this last League, when they heard amongst the Orange trees which grew by the way [Page 56]side, whereof that passage was full, a plaintife voice, the which with violent sighing seemed to desire to render the aire sensible of his sorrow; they stayed to heare the words which he spoke, afterwards they came neare him, and saw a man stretched upon the the earth, in appearance near the end of his life; at this object generous and charitable Fenise lighted, tyed his horse to a tree, and demanded of this miserable one the cause of his plaints. Don Levis and Laure did the like, and accompanied Fenise, when this infortunate spoke these words; Cavalier, what­soever you are, I am so neare mine end, that what diligence soever you can take to succour me, will but little profit me; it must be a force more than [...]umane which must reduce me from the pain I am in; yet neverthelesse I will take courage: Saying so, he endeavoured to rise, and Lovis and Fenise as­sisted him. When he saw himself up, and supported by these two Cavaliers, he cryed out louder than before, and thereupon came two men who fell upon Fenise and Don Lovis, who being assisted with him who counterfeited the dying man, bound and tyed them to two truncks of trees, at the same time they went to Laure, who was half dead with feare, seised upon her, and one of the three having known her, said to the others, Courage my friends, I have found what I searched for; then taking the horse upon the which the head of the Troope was come, they set Laure upon him, tied her, and made her ride before them. Thus they abandoned the two prisoners to the mercy of their fortune, without taking either Armes or Horses, to let them know, that they who had ravished Laure from them, were [Page 57]persons that scorned so poore a booty.

It would be more presumption then eloquence, to goe about to describe the feelings of Fenise and Laure, seeing themselves so cruelly separated the one from the other. A spirit weaker then that of Fe­nise, would have beene dejected with so sensible dis­pleasures; seeing him selfe tyed and deprived of all meanes to recover his deere Laure, who was carryed away like a prisoner. She on the other side fell into teares and sighes which were able to have given ap­prehensions of pitty, to any thing which is not en­tirely deprived thereof; she imployed all her force to unty her selfe, to the end to be revenged upon her selfe, so far had despaire transported her. The silence and imagination of the reader must supply the de­faults of the discourse for the pen cannot lively e­nough represent an adventure so deplorable. Don Louis almost forgot his proper displeasures, to take part of the griefes of Fenise, yet without comforting of him, for as much as consolation cannot be ad­mitted in violent afflictions, and it is a great secret to let passe the first violences. These Cavaliers had suffered this misery almost halfe an houre: when Don Louis by violent moving and tormenting him selfe had slackned his cords, and not long after found meanes to lose himselfe. Fenise used the like dili­gence, but he could not arrive to his end so soone as Don Louis, who was strong, and who knew how to adde industry to force, having set himselfe at liber­ty he also delivered Fenise, they mounted upon their horses, ride after the ravishers of Laure, resolved to dye or to overcome, and to take from them this glorious conquest. But they had not ridden far; [Page 58]when they were met by two horsemen, who they did believe fled, or pursued after some that fied from them, they were confirmed in this opinion, hearing one of them hastily utter these words: see the tray­tors, kill them, kill them, Marcell since we have reason of our side it is requisit that their blood re­paire their treachery. Don Louis and Fenise were much astonished at this language, and for to war­rant themselves from inconvenience they lighted, and put themselves in a posture of defence. The o­thers seeing them thus resolved, imagined them to be those they looked for, then being carryed away with the excesse of their passion, and more blinded with choller then the darknes of the night, begun to set upon them with a great deale of rashnesse, in re­gard they were advantagiously armed. And in effect, if heaven the protector of innocents had not had care of Fenise and Louis, they would have beene in danger to have beene sacrificed to the anger of these unknowne. It happened that there was a little run­dle betwitxt them which stayed the course of Mar­cell: and as he came to passe it, he fell into a pud­dle, from whence he was long before he could retire himselfe. His companion, called Leonard, found a happier passage; but which had like to have beene that of his death, for he found himselfe betwixt two enemies, and without the good armes wherewith he was covered, he had presently seene his rashnesse payd with his blood; in the interim, Marcell got out of the bog, and came to his defence. Don Louis seeing him come, left Fenise before Leonard, and went be­fore him, crying hither, hither inconsiderate, to me, to me, heaven will serve it selfe with my arme to [Page 59]chastise thy insolence; at the sound of these words Marcell knew that his companion and himselfe were deceived, and that they fought not against those they sought for: he retired himselfe and cryed to Le­onard who was fighting with Fenise, that he should make truce advertising him of the fault which his inconsideration had made him commit, in falling upon men they had nothing to demand of. At the instant Leonard ceased to presse his adversary, who was already very weary and hurt, and lighting left his armes & went to succour him; the hurt of Fenise was upon his right, side, but it was given him in gli­ding, which was the cause that it entred not much into his body and in a place which was not mortall. They demanded pardon one of an other, and those who did before endeavour to take away one ano­thers lives, used then all diligence to conserve them. For this effect they tooke the way to Valence, the ha­bitation of the one, and the infortunate end of the others journey. Leonard extreamely afflicted with the hurt of Fenise, did not cease to make him com­plements and excuses, and to testifie to him the ex­treame sorrow which he had for what was happen­ed, he conjured Fenise to take his lodging, to the end he might endeavour by the services which he ho­ped to render him during the time of his indisposi­tion, to merit the honour of his affection. Fenise used the same courtesie of his side; told him that he esteemed his blood well imployed since that it had got him the acquaintance of so generous a Cavalier, to whose valour he had designe to have recourse up­on all occasions that should present themselves: they thus entertained themselves by the way, when Don [Page 60]Louis said to Leonard and Marcell, that if they were willing to give them more certaine proofes of their freedome they would not reject the prayer which they made to them, to recite the cause of the great precipitation wherewith they set upon them, without knowing to whom they addressed them­selves, because Fenise would take delight in this re­citall; if it be true that there is consolation in the company of those that are touched with the same afflictions that we are. Leonard then spake as being the most qualified. I would freely tell you, answered he, the cause of the too blamable rashnes which I have committed, if this relation might not be received as a testimony of the honour which I beare you, hoping that greater occasions shall be presented wherein I may manifest it, but the feare I have to trouble this hurt Cavalier doth oblige me to excuse my selfe from satisfying your curiositie.

Then Fenise added his prayers to those of Lovis, and at the same instant Leonard made them this di­scourse.

LEONARDS HISTORY OF EUFEMIE & TEODORE.

THe towne of Valence whither we are going, is the place of my birth, and ancient dwelling of my Ancestours: If I be not of the greatest families, at the least I am of the most noble, with the suc­cessions which my father and mother left me, lea­ving this world to goe to a better life, they char­ged me with the care and guard of two Sisters, who [Page 61]had the reputation to bee of the number of the fai­rest, not onely of the towne, but of the Province, as they grew up, my cares augmented; and in truth it is a dangerous charge to guard a fair Maid: I had an eie perpetually to conserve their honours, because be­sides my fraternal obligation, mine was therin enga­ged. I was alwaies putting them in minde of the ver­tues of the illustrious Ladies of our linage, to induce them to imitate the puritie of their lives. The el­dest was called Eufemie, and if I be not a partiall Judge, I may say that her graces and beauty were incomparable. Seeing her fit for marriage, there passed not many dayes before I desired her to re­solve thereupon; and to excite her thereunto, I represented unto her, that the beauty of a Maide, was a flowre exposed to the desires of a thousand Gallants, who would endeavour to staine the puri­ty thereof. She was so easily perswaded by my rea­sons, and rendered her will so conformable to mine, that I sometimes doubted if wee had two soules. I propounded unto her parties which I thought most convenient for her condition, for to dispose her selfe thereunto according to her liking, for a maide ought never to be constrained, she should be free in that election. After that she had maturely considered thereof in her particular, shee made choice of a Cavalier called Don Alonso de Ʋlloa, whose Merits and Qualities were correspondent to hers.

At that time, when I treated of these affaires, li­berty of youth, which makes almost all young men commit extravagancies, carryed me in the day to the conversation of my friends, and in the night to [Page 62]those Academies where they cut away the renowne of the most honest men, where they ravish the goods of others, and where many vices are learned. I al­wayes lost my money, when I set downe to play, it is true, that there is not much difference betwixt playing and losing, since that to expresse that a man hath lost his estate, we ordinarily say, that he hath played it. One night a Gentleman, with whom I played, quarrelled with me, almost without cause; from words we came to a challenge, and being a­greed upon the place where we were to fight, we met there almost at the same instant, Fortune was more favourable to me than to my adversary; I doe not say that I had more valour; for he that hath a heart to measure his sword with anothers, ought to be esteemed as valiant, although he hath the worse. The combat was so advantagious to me, that I tamed the pride of mine enemy, and made him kisse the same place he had already bedewed with his blood.

This Cavalier had a brother, which had a design to affront me, to ravish from me the glory I had got­ten, to the confusion of his Kinsman, who seeing he could not execute his vengeance upon me, he inven­ted the most infamous and cowardly one that is possible to be conceived by the most infamous of men. He resolved to make love to my Sister, to de­fame her honour and ruine mine; a new and cruell method to kill a man. He found occasions enough to execute this mischievous project; he tooke the time of my absence in a voyage which I must needs make to the Court; so that not being able to con­tinue the necessary watch to guard the Citadell, [Page 63]this traytor most industriously made himselfe master thereof. Eufemye rendered her self at his discretion; but let us excuse this fault, which might be caused by her youth, liberty, beauty, delights, solitude, a­morous discourses, inflamed letters, services, wit­nesses of deceitfull sinceritie, the perswasions of o­thers, her proper passions, or those who have here­tofore experimented those things, tell me, what re­sistance can a maide make that is set upon so many wayes? Don Pedro, so was this perfideous called, did not content himself with taking from her that which was most pretious, but stole her away from my lodging, and being furnished with things neces­sary, carryed her to Madrid, where being arrived, he told her he had no intention to entertaine her there. But Gentlemen, be not astonished, if in tel­ling you the rest, I hide my face for shame. He pro­vided her a house proper to receive visits, it is the fashion to speak thus of such kinde of people to dis­guise their infamy: I take the boldnesse to speak thus freely hoping in the consequence of this di­scourse, you will see that I am not guiltie of these enormious delights, and that you shall by and by know the diligence that I have taken to de­face them from my gentilitie. In a word, Eufemy, who might now more properly be called infamy, became one of the most famous Curtizans; the most courted, and the least reserved: Oh prodigi­ous change of life! what astonishment was it to those, who had before seen her in her retained course of life, and then abandoned to all sorts of liberty, to those who had praised her honesty, and now con­sidered her so disordered, to those, I say, who had [Page 64]seene her make scruple to be regarded onely by the sun, now to see her so visited, that she was never one moment without company.

Don Alonso, the cavalier that I told you sought her in marriage, having heard the deplorable newe [...] of her absence, not knowing no more then I what was become of her, absented himselfe from Va­lence sad almost to despaire; And I abandoning my house went to Madrid to endeavour to divert the melancholy which consumed me, yet ignorant, that the Traitor and my infamous sister were there. Ha­ving stayed there some time, a young gentlewoman of condition and very rich, bore me some affection and by this meeting I was confirmed in the opini­on which I had, that love is a conjunction of starts, whose conformity infuseth affections into the soule.

I wholly imployed my selfe, then to search af­ter the tyrants of mine honour, I enquired after them of all my friends, presuming to heare something in Madrid, amongst the confusion of the court, which for refuge to so many sortes of persons, but all my di­ligences were vaine.

During this exercise, one day as I went in the towne, a woman came to me and asked me my name, and I having told it her; she drew a letter from her bosome, put it in my hand and without gi­ving me leisure to informe my selfe from whence she came: reade this letter, said she, and neglect not your good fortune; when she is so inclined to favour you. I was astonished with this short speech, opened the paper and read this discourse.

In ending the reading of this letter, I begun to be ignorant of the author, and the confusion wherein I was, made me wish that the terme which shee had given me was expired to be delivered ther­from. I passed the night in this impatience, and the houre being come I rendered my selfe at the place assigned, where I presently saw arrive too women who had their faces covered with cipresse, which I did not thinke strange because it was the fashion, put I was astonished with the brightnes of the beau­ty of one of these women, which she permitted me to see, in letting fall her vaile upon her shoulder, as not thinking thereof, and lifting it up againe at the same time, I remained as immoveable at the splendour of this object; and as this had vailed a­gaine [Page 66]her face, the other discovered hers, thereby to let me know that it was she that had brought me the Letter. Then I thought it convenient to premeditate some little discourse wherewith to ap­proach this Beauty, for he doth much that is able to passe the first incounter of a faire Lady with re­spect, and without committing some impertinency.

Then animating my resolution, and using all all the courtesie I could possible, I said to her; Madam, if I be too bold thus to accost you, the confusion which this paper hath given me, and this messenger which brought it me, may serve me for excuse. I have learned by the discourse thereof, that Heaven is willing to render mee worthy to serve you, and that you desired that I might come hither to receive the honour of your commands: And since that I am come, and have seen, there rests nothing but to overcome the obstacles, which would oppose themselves to your contentment, as I shall doe without doubt when you ordaine mee. Then this Lady againe discovered her admirable countenance, and looking upon me with gracious eyes, Cavalier, said she, I esteem my self much indebted to your courtesie, which merits more praise then excuse; but I blame her who hath caused you to come hither, and whose imbe­cility hath at this time so greatly prejudiced mine honour. Saying so, she turned towards Felici­ane, so was she called that accompanied her, and severely chid her: Shee who was prepared of what she ought to say, made a thousand excuses to Teo­dore, this was the name of that Lady, who coming againe to me, spoke this language; I must confesse [Page 67]I writ what this woman gave you, and that I am very happy that it light in the hands of a person of merit, as you are, although I doe not know you to be of the quality of him to whom I had intenti­on my letter should have been given, who is a brave Gentleman.

Thereupon I tooke occasion to tell her what I was, but feigned to be come to the Court for bet­ter occasions then those that kept me there. She answered me, that the courteous actions I had shewn her, would serve for warrant to my words, but that her affaire was a secret, praying me to pardon her if she told me nothing thereof; for al­though she judged I might be confided in for things of much greater importance, so it was continued, she that the little knowledge which she had of me, hindred her ftom taking the boldnes of communica­ [...]ing her secrets unto me. She said all this to the [...]nd to oblige me to promise her to see her after­wards: But being at Madrid, rather to execute the effects of hate and vengeance, then seek the pastimes of love, I neglected this occasion, and civilly took [...]eave of her.

Teodore stayed there very ill satisfied with her [...]ndustry, and the little power which the darts of [...]er eyes had had over my heart, she had good cause [...]o be astonished therewith, for they had so many [...]llurements and charmes, that it had been impos­ [...]ble for another lesse afflicted then me to have re­ [...]sted their force. So that considering my coldnes, [...]e knew not whether she ought to attribute it to [...]ontempt, or accuse me of want of judgment, ha­ [...]ing not conceived her intentions. She finding her [Page 68]selfe pressed with her passion, resolved to hazard what she had the most deare to satisfie it: and what is it which a woman animated with love will not prove to content her desires, and render those things easie, which seemes impossible unto her? But for to render this discourse lesse troublesome unto you, I must here make a digression. You must know then, that during this time, I met Don Alonso, whom I believed to have been far from Madrid; after embracements, and ordinary complements, which passe amongst friends, he told me, that be­sides his passed sorrowes he had a new displeasure at his heart; this inquietude made me curious to know the cause thereof; then in renewing unto mee his ancient protestations of amity, he told me that the day before he was amongst young men, such as seek their pastime every where, and who give to their senses all they can wish for, who having disco­vered where Eufemie was, and knowing that he had heretofore had design for her, had let him see her unknown to her, he being disguised for that cause: that he had like to have died at the instant of this Vision, and in this cruell displeasure it was some ease to him to advertise me thereof, to seek mean [...] to remedy it the most discreetly that could be pos­sible.

These newes stirred up so violently my vengeance, that nothing seemed hard to me to execute; hee named to me the street and house, and then left me: Almost at the same time, a servant that was unknown to me, came to tell me that there was a Lady in such a house that desired to see me in the evening, and communicate unto me something of [Page 69]importance, and presently went her way; the house which she directed me unto was the very same that Alonso had told me of, where resided the originall of my opprobry. I considered the great impudence of her that desired to see me in stead of flying from me, which made me suspect some treason; but amongst these confusions, passing be­yond all apprehensions, I went to the lodging with a ponyard hidden. This new Messenger stayed for me at the doore, and conducted me into a cham­ber, where I found a candle upon a cup-board a [...]ittle removed, and betwixt the wall and bed, a woman in petticoat and wastcoat. I had scarcely perceived her, and begun to draw my ponyard, lift­ [...]p mine arme to strike her, when she cryed, Ah Sir, what will you doe? I stayed my selfe, hear­ing by the sound of her voice, that it was not [...]he I imagined: in the same time I ran to the can­dlestick, and in approaching her, I knew that it was Teodore, whose feare had so increased her beauty, besides the art which she had joyned to nature, that [...] had taken her for a Goddesse, if I had not remem­ [...]red my self to have spoken with her in the meadow of St. Hierosme. I was so extreamly surprised with [...]his accident, that I doubted whether it was fond [...]magination or truth, I did not know whether Alonso mocked me or no. In fine, after a long sus­pension of minde, the apprehensions of hate gave place to those of love; and as I went to demand her pardon for my errour, there came into the chamber the servant that came to seeke me from her, [...]ccompanied with Feliciane, her first confident, who [...]ame running at the clamour of Teodore, thinking [Page 70]that I would take away the life of her, that had ravished from me my liberty; and seeing me yet have the ponyard in my hand, which glissened by the light of the candle, they fled, crying murder, and for help. I went after them, to stay them, and upon the staires I met lascivious Eufemie, coming up with a torch in her hand, to know from whence proceeded this great disorder. For me, I confesse, that when I knew her, my whole body begun to tremble, being ready to discharge it self of the hea­vy burden of my affront; but as soone as she saw me with the ponyard in my hand, feare of death so violently transported her, that she cast her selfe out of a window of the staires which looked into the Court, I was very glad to see her resolution, thinking that in saving her selfe from my rigour, she would chastise her selfe, but it happened other­wise: I put my head out of the window, thinking to have seen her broken to pieces upon the pavement, and I saw her in the armes of Don Pedro, he who had debauched her, who happened to be directly under the window at the instant of her fall, he saved her in receiving her into his armes, for he was strong, and the window not very high. I ran hastily to take the occasion that was offered me to be reven­ged of them both in the same time, and ponyard them both together, but the two servants had shut the doore of the stairs which entred into the court. Seeing then so many obstacles to the execution of my design, choler so violently surmounted me, that I went up the staires to cast my selfe out of the same window, I did it as soone as thought it, but my fall was not so happy as that of Eufemie, I hurt so [Page 71]extreamely one of my legges, that when J would have gone to have ruined my enemies, it was impos­sible for me to goe, which gave them leisure to save themselves. Teodore altogether confused with this prodigious rumour, got quickly to her lodging, wherein she entered without wakening her father. J doubt not Gentlemen, but that you desire to know by what accident Teoddre came into this place, but J will tell you the reason thereof.

Eufemy was lodged neare her house, and Teodore knowing the life which she led, determined to be acquainted with her, by the intermission of Feli­ciane, who went to make complements to her from her in the quality of a neighbour. At the end of some few dayes, she demanded permission of her Father (for her Mother was deceased) to goe see one of her cosens that was sick. The good man see­ing his daughter excited with so charitable a desire, gave her leave, upon condition, that Feliciane should accompany her; for he confided in her, and thought the Chastity of Teodore in great safeguard with her.

They went abroad together, made some turnes in the streets, and stayed under a doore, where they disguised themselves, as well as they could; for feare of being known, and so entered into the house of Eufemie. She seeing Teodore at her house was ra­vished with that honour, as they are ordinarily who meddle with the trade she did, when other women come to visite them. Eufemy imbraced her a thou­sand times, transported with joy and admiration; and after many faire words given and received of one and the other, Eufemie prayed Teodore to tell her [Page 72]wherefore she had taken the pains to visit her. Then without suffering her selfe to be much entreated, she [...]ngeniously declared to her that she had made choice of her lodging to satisfie an extreame passion; that she loved a Cavalier, which shee was a going to send for; and for that purpose, she prayed her to lend her a chamber for a little time, that passing for a Courtizan, she might without being known, con­tent her amorous desires.

Consider a little how this Gentlewoman prostitu­ted her honour, to adhere to her sensual fantasies! but what is it that a woman animated with love wil not prove to make easie the things that seem to her im­possible? let us now return to the house of Eufemie, to see what happened there, after the hurt which I had received in leaping out of the window. Her servant which fled away, seeing mee with the Ponyard in my hand, went in a fright to fetch a Justice, who being arrived, made me be carryed to prison, with­out any formalitie in a chaire. Before that this offi­cer was entered into the house, the Pregnotory had received the depositions of two witnesses, who said that I had given to a woman three great stabs with a Ponyard, and that they had seen the wounds. The vulgar are such lyars, that they affirme to have seen that they onely dream'd of, and hold for truth what they have heard say, as if they had seen it. They would then know in what estate the hurt person was, but they found nothing but witnesses of my justification; neverthelesse I remained three weekes a prisoner. Doe but see a little how rigorously the innocents are handled by those people they call Ju­stices.

In the mean while Eufemie & her protector chan­ged either the country or quarter, but if they were in Madrid, they were well hid; for in six moneths that I stayed there, it was impossible for me to hear news of them, what diligence soever I could use. As long as my captivity lasted, Teodore sent often Felici­ane to see me, and to offer me assistance and mony, but not having need, neither of the one nor other, both because of my justification, and not being in want; I thanked her, remaining alwaies extreamly obliged to her good will, and indebted to her affe­ction, whereof she rendered me sufficient proofes during my imprisonment. If my body was set at li­bertv, my soule was enchained; the beauty of Teodore captivated all my powers; my understanding un­derstood nothing but of her, my memory had no o­ther image, my will walked not but by the shadow of hers: She simpathized to all my feelings; I fai­led not to be every night at the foote of her walls, and she never wanted to be at her window: I lived not but by her presence, nor her heart was ever at ease but when she saw me. One night when I went to prattle with her, and give nourishment to my flames, her father surprised her, which was the cause that the window was walled up, and that this Sun was long time eclipsed from me. After having suf­fered much for her absence, I had a Packet brought to me from the Poste, wherein was a Letter directed to the Father of Teodore. I presently imagined that this was not done without mystery; in this thought I opened the Letter, which was directed to mee, wherein I found this discourse, which I knew to be written by the hand of Teodore.

I was a little shaken in the resolution of this en­terprise, [Page 75]but seeing that therin consisted the conser­vation of a thing so pretious, as was the love of. Te­odore, I clothed my selfe like a traveller, and moun­ted upon a Mule; I arrived all alone at the dore of my deere Teodore: I addressed my selfe to her father, gave him her letter, fained to be Don Martin, and saying that I was advanced two dayes journeys be­fore my people and equipage, to satisfie the amo­rous impatience that I had to see his daughter. I was imbraced by him with much affection. All the fa­mily received me with applause; Theodore felt an in­terior joy, but she made appeare an exteriour mo­destie. I spoke little for feare of discovering my selfe: I was respectfull as a young lover and stranger. The letters▪ which Teodore had sent were read, the which were effectually come from Guipuscoa, and light in her hands unknowne to her father; so that she had kept them to serve her selfe thereof upon occasion. I am astonished said her father to me, that my cosen your father sends me word, that Don Martin should begin his journey within a short time, and neverthelesse you are already arrived: I was already extreamely surprized with these words, but love inspired me suddainely with this reply. Sir said I, it is true that my father believed that I should not come so soone as I am, and to give you some excuse for my delay, he writ this letter, but my affection which could not permit any stay, solicited me to be the bearer thereof my selfe. Hee easily beleeved me, and two dayes after with the dispensation of the popes Nuntio Teodore and I were married without publication of banes. The day fol­lowing I so admired at this successe that I knew [Page 76]not my selfe, I looked in the glasse fearing that I was some other. In truth I was so, for a wise man ceaseth to be himselfe when he marrieth. I contem­plated my wife, who I saw ravished to have me for her husband; and in this conformitie of joy it see­med impossible that any humane contentment could equall my amorous imprisonment and her free possession.

In the very excesse of this joy I was in great care of what would be the successe of this intricacy. We expected from houre to houre Don Martin; at the beginning of the night one of his Laquyes arrived, saying that he would come the next day, and that he was got before to deserve the recompence of bringing the first newes thereof; when the good man my father in law heard that Don Martin was com­ing, he came up all moved into the chamber where I was set neere to Teodore, and asked me where I le [...] my traine. Then in smiling I pushed his daugh­ter with my elbow to the end she might answer for me to this question. She boldly told him that I was not Don Martin, but a cavalier of Valence, which e­qualled him in noblenesse, and surpassed him in riches, that she was assured of all this before she re­solved her selfe to doe what she had done; and if that I wanted those advantages my merits and her affecti­on would supply all. In fine, that since I was her huband there was nothing more to be said.

She spoke with the resolution of a wife that would please her husband: her father, who loved her dearely, answered her, that if she was content, he was so also: that he esteemed and honoured my per­son; but that he feared that Don Martin finding him­selfe [Page 77]offended with this proceeding should doe them some displeasure. Teodore answered him, that [...]he should let her alone, and she would remedy all, or would be exposed to suffer a lone all the evill that could come thereof.

In this occasion, I found that a womans spirit is extreamly ingenious in pressing affaires. Her inten­tion was, to counsell me to goe out of the house, and to court her as if I was her lover, and not her husband; then she prayed her father, and advertised all the servants, who would have sacrificed their lives to serve her, to make a joyfull reception of the stranger when he should come, even as he was to be her husband. The assurance that I had of the good­nesse of her wit, and seeing that I neither hazarded her honour nor mine owne in executing her advise, obliged me to ayde and consent to her designes. I went out of the house the same day that this abused cavalier arrived. He was receiued with all the good cheare that was possible, but he appeared to the eyes and judgments of all those of the house, a beast in humane forme, with an ill countenance, uncivill and unweildy, so that his impertinence rendered me the more commendable; which gave greater meanes to Teodore to conduct her project as shee had premeditated. From that day I went and came many times before the house: he tooke notice of these actions, and saw that I lifted up mine eyes every moment to the windowes where Feliciane appeared every moment; and he imagining that we did not perceive that he spyed our actions, he perceived that I gave a letter to the same Feliciane, which she put in her bosome, and as being unseene gave it to [Page 78] Teodore. In briefe, every one of us played so well his personage in this Comedy, where Don Martin held the bable, that the catastrophe thereof was plea­sant for us, and ridiculous for him. Seeing so ma­ny witnesses, that his Mistresse had other thoughts then his, he begun to seeme melancholick; he spoke but by monosyllables; he neither eat nor slept, but to the halfe part: in fine, to deliver himself from these inquietudes, he pressed the conclusion of the Marriage; but of the other side, Teodore prayed her Father in his presence to deferre it yet, excusing her selfe to be indisposed to that action; and he, full of respect, or rather feare, resolved to have patience and suffer.

In the interim, to the end to make him the more sick, it came into my fancie to give a serenade to my wife, counterfeiting the amorous passionate, and having advertised her at what houre I would be un­der her window, she came to the window, where she heard these verses recited.

In such occasions, the greatest part of discreet Lovers, content themselves that the subject of their passion know, that it is they that give the Musick, and endeavour to hide the knowledge thereof from all others, but I proceeded otherwise: When the Consort was ended, I approached to those that had sung, and speaking high, made my selfe to be na­med, with design to be knowne; from thence I went to salute Teodore, and after having made her excuses, that the Verse and Musick were not so good as she deserved, and she had given me such thanks as civility obliged her to, I retired my self, testifying by my gestures and words, that I was much in her favour.

This jolly troop that accompanied me were not so modest, nor made so little noise before the house of Teodore, but that they wakened my poore compe­titor, or rather gave him subject to rise from his [Page 80]bed; for I thinke his inquietudes would not suffer him to sleep. He came then to heare this consort, which was as odious to him, as pleasant to others that heard it, yet he spoke not one word thereof, no more than of the words he had heard, hee con­tented himselfe to confer with one of his servants, whom he had made his confident; who having more wit and understanding, let him know, that Teodore must needs be engaged in affection to him that gave her the Serenade; that such carriages were to be [...] suspected, and that the excuses she had made to her Father for to hinder the execution of their marriage, testified sufficiently that she had other desires then his. In fine, he advised him to retire himself, if he would save his honour. Don Martin being perswa­ded by these reasons, faigned to have received a Let­ter from his Father, which called him home in di­ligence, because he was very sick, and taking leave of the father of Teodore, promised him to returne as soon as he could possible.

Thus Teodore quit her self ingeniously of this dis­pleasing pretendant; we re-entered into the enjoying of our felicitie (one may so call a marriage, where­in the affections are conformable) The invention was published, and the ignorance of the Biscain Gentleman mocked.

But as there is no pleasure in this life which is not mingled with bitternes, not long after his departure my Father in Law took also leave of us for to go in­to a better life. Then pressed with desire to see again my countrey and my other sister, which I had left at my house. I came to this town accompanyed with my dear Teodore. It is now but three daies since I arri­ved [Page 81]here, and this night I have received a writing from Don Martin, who incited by his Father and his Friends demands reason of me for the injury I have done him, in taking from him his wife. J pre­pared my selfe to meet him, not with designe to doe him any displeasure, but civilly to satisfie him, when a man came as a friend to admonish me not to stirre out but well armed, and with a good second, because the Letter that I had received came not from Don Martin, but from two of the Cosens of Don Pedro, in his name, who would set upon me to re­venge their Kinsman, (whom they were told) I had killed. J was not so rash to despise this advertise­ment: J furnished my self with what was requisite to resist mine enemy, and accompanyed my selfe with Seigneur Marcell my Kinsman, a generous man, and to whom J am obliged. We came together to the rendezvous, which was neare to the place where J set upon you, where J knew your valour, and where J hurt my heart with a perpetuall sorrow in hurting you; for reparation of which fault, and to convert our indifferences into affection, J con­secrate to ease your troubles and misfortunes my house, my person and all J possesse.

Fenise thanked him for his offers, and thereupon they arrived in the towne of Valence, and at the prayer of Leonard went to light at his house, at the same instant a Chirurgeon was fetched, who visited the wounds of Fenise, to the which he applyed ne­cessary plaisters, judging that they were not dan­gerous, but that they vvould be long in healing. In effect tvvo moneths vvere spent in this cure, during which time Fenise had in abundance all things, that [Page 82]was necessary for him, so that being obliged with so many benefits, he discovered to him the very se­crets of his heart, and his adventures, from the be­ginning untill the ravishment of Laure, the onely thing which troubled him the most. Leonard promi­sed to assist him in all that he could possible, & assu­red him that he should have presently news thereof, or the Ravishers should not bee in Valence. These officious promises reanimated the courage, and aug­mented the health of Fenise; and as soon as he was able to goe abroad, he privately enquired who he was from whom he had received so great an affront.

THE HISTORIE OF RUFINE AND DON IOUAN.

ALthough that my Parents are not much accom­modated with the favours of Fortune, so it is that Nature gratified them with an honour which cannnot be purchased with riches, which is noble­nesse. With this advantage I was borne in Seville, one of the most pleasant Towns the Sun shineth up­on. I am called Rufine: My Father and Mother seeing that Heaven had not made me ill-favoured, if I may speake it without vanity, had care to bring me up according as their little estate would permit. I had attained to the sixteenth year of my age, when a Cavalier of this Town of Ʋalence, of an illustrious name, coming from Lema, a Towne and Realme of the West Indies, took Port at Sevill, full of prospe­rity and honour, and my destiny having one night conducted me into the company of Ladyes where he was invited, she also made him cast his eyes upon me, and made me the object of his desires. After which time, to abridge my discourse, I was de­livered into his free possession, but by the holy waies of Christian Lawes. Not long after he had designe to returne into his Countrey, and to take me with him, there to establish our perpetuall abode; and [Page 89]forasmuch an honest wife ought to have no other will but that of her husband, I willingly went with him, and we lived together six years, which was the time that Heaven had limited to finish my con­tentment with his life. I then remained alone, yet accompanied with riches and sorrow, for temporall goods are not alwayes the riches of the soule, from whence it proceeds that there is many poor conten­ted, and rich miserable. He left me the only inhe­ritrix of all his possessions, by which means I was respected and served as a Queen. My sorrowes for the losse of this brave Cavalier kept me company two years entire; but in the end, suffering my selfe to be perswaded by the consolations of my friends that visited me, I begun to leave my solitude, and to frequent those conversations whither my youth led me. In one of these Assemblies I was conside­red by a Gentleman, a stranger which arrived in this Towne about three moneths since, a man of a good countenance, and as well accomplished as any other of his condition, suffering himselfe to be wounded by mine eyes (as he said) he found an in­vention to declare his inquietudes by a Letter, which I favourably received, and found it so well indicted, that it incited me to esteem the Author, and give him a civill answer, from whence he took occasion to render me proofes of a sincere passion, and the services of a voluntary slave. In the end, his continuall submissions obliged me to wish him well, and for to render him some proofes thereof, I permitted him to visit me one evening after sup­per, but my Garden-window was betwixt us. In the enjoying of this honour, after having told [Page 90]me that he was of Teledo, and was called Don Jou­an de Valazquez, he made me a thousand protestati­ons of service, swearing to renounce all remem­brances to remaine all his life at my feet if it pleased me, and esteeming himselfe most happy to he un­der the subjection of so adorable a Mistresse; these was the termes which he used. But seeing that his passion begun to enter into excesse, I prayed him to retire himself, shewing him that this was enough for the first sight; assuring him that I honoured him with all my heart. He obeyed me, and at the same time went his way, and left me as voluntarily obli­ged; for after a woman of honour hath given her word, she is bound to accomplish it.

He saw me many other times in the same manner, and one night, knowing that I would not agree that he should come into my house, nor adhere to his desires, if he did not give me his word to mar­ry me, he made me promise thereof, in taking my hand and kissing it, believing already, that un­der this weak assurance, I must accord to what he pretended, and by and by open him the doore of my house and honour; but he saw himselfe decei­ved in his attempt. Having received his protesta­tions, I made him answer, that since we were both of free condition, and that there was nothing that could crosse our mutuall intentions, the next day we would dispose our selves to confirme our faith in the presence of the sacred Ministers, and after that, he should have an absolute power over my per­son, goods, and life.

When he saw me in this resolution, he begun to demand term for the execution thereof, saying that [Page 91]before that, he must receive newes of letters of Ex­ [...]hange which he had sent for, to the end he might [...]olemnize the Marriage according to his quality. In [...] word, from that houre he became lesse inflamed, [...]ore carelesse in his visits, and more retained in [...]is carriage, which let me know the great errour [...] had like to have fallen into, if I should have suffer­ed him to have approached me neerer then the thick­ [...]nesse of the barres of my Window. The know­ [...]ge of his merits which I had got by his frequent conversation, left not my minde so free but that I had an extream sorrow to see my self so separated from him; I begun to reason upon his actions, and to seek the cause of his coldnesse, and to speak tru­ly to you, either by love, jealousie, or curiositie, or it may be by all these affections together, I found meanes to speak with a woman that dwelt in his house, and to oblige her by presents and promises to tell me the particulars of the life he lead. I found this woman so willing to satisfie me, that she told me more then f expected. She told me that Don Jouan had with him an extream faire Lady, which was of his Country, and who was called Laure. That at first when he brought her to Valence, he could not make her resolve to adhere to his desires, but at the present she believed she was pacified and re­duced to his will.

But Sir, What is it that the malitious industry of men will not accomplish? And to what fragilitie is not the inconstant nature of a woman subject? I thought it strange that this Lady should shew her selfe so cruell towards him, since that she came with him, and when I demanded of this woman the [Page 92]cause thereof, she told me, that she had learned all of a servant of Don Iovans (with whom I hear since she hath good intelligence) who told her, that Don Iovan was become amorous at Toledo of a Lady, Mistresse to one of his friends: That having been forced to absent himselfe for a Homicide which he had committed, and not being able to carry her with him, he had left this servant at Toledo, to see what would become of this Lady during his absence, and to let him know when it would be expedient to execute the intention which he had to steale her secretly, and to carry her away with him; so that this servant faithfull to his Master, having discove­red, that this Lady was in the company of her true Lover, who was conducting her to Valence, he had followed them from place to place disguised, and had got before them the last dayes journey with diligence, to advertise his Master thereof, who at the same instant accompanyed with him and ano­ther of his friends disguised, and put themselves in ambush in the way, and with more treason and in­dustry than valour, had surprised these Lovers, and stolne away the Lady, whom hee keeps at this houre in his house. In fine, by force of flatteries, servi­ces, and by diverting her by all the recreations he could devise, he had not onely made her forget her lispleasures, but had rendered her sensible of his passion.

After this discourse, I remained in the condition of a jealous person, who hath found the cause of his disease, protesting to search all meanes to re­venge my selfe. It is long since I have been troubled for this purpose; for although this passion be vio­lent [Page 93]amongst women, and in me more than any o­ther; yet I would not make my infirmity pub­liquely knowne; I desire to redresse it. And communicating my feelings yesterday to Madam Celie, mine aliant, if amitie contracts aliance, she told me of the merits of your person, and amongst others, your courage and discretion; so that consi­dering all these circumstances, and also that you are a stranger in this towne, and of the countrey of Don Jovan, I determined with the counsel of Celie, to to discover to you the evill which persecutes me, to trust to you with my secrets, and to demand your assistance to put my spirit to repose. I doe not hope it from any merit of mine own, but from your pro­per valour, which will not suffer you to refuse a curtesie to a Lady which never will be ingrate­full.

It was not necessary to give so many markes to Fenise, to let him know that the authour of this affront had been before trusted with the secreets of his Loves. But in dissembling his anger and jealou­sie, he busied himselfe in thinking what art hee should use to revenge himselfe of this perfidious, being thereunto engaged more by his proper fee­lings, than by the interests or prayers of Rufine. Madam, answered he, you have shewne so much wit and judgement in the discourse you have now told me, that in trusting me with your secrets you have ravished from me my liberty. I can no longer dispose of my will, I am ready to obey all you please to com­mand; assuring you that I will be the instrument of your vengeance, and the executer of your desires. I finde so much cowardlinesse and infamy in the soul [Page 94]of Don Iovan, that although he bee of noble extra­ction, I esteeme him no more than an infamous person. It is not the same thing to be born noble, and to be so, for there are many that are noble, without being borne so; and also many that dege­nerate from their noblenesse by the unworthy actions which they commit. Sir, replyed Rufine, I esteeme my selfe no longer unhappy, since that Heaven hath now given me so generous a defendor as you are.

But to beginne our enterprise, t desire that you should this night know the house and person. I have already made one of my Cosens become ac­quainted with Laure, she shall anone goe to visit her, and you with her, if you please, disguised, and in the quality of her servant to waite upon her. The evill that I desire to doe to this ingrate, by your meanes is no other then what he hath already done to the Cavalier from whom he hath ravished Laure his honour, and joy all together.

Fenise was then in humour to undertake any thing, nothing seemed difficult unto him: And remembering himselfe of the recitall which Rufine had made him, he judged that he was one of the three with his face covered, that had left him for dead in the mountaines of Toledo, as we have told you in the beginning of this booke. He was con­firmed in this opinion by that (which Laure had told him) he had done the night he had slain Fe­lix, which was to goe to her chamber under pretext to warrant her from the danger of Justice; and all this was but adding oyle to the fire of his choler. In fine, the time that Rufine and he desired with im­patience [Page 95]arrived: Narcisse which was her Cosen came at the houre she was sent for, and going out with Fenise came incontinently to the house of Don Iovan. Fenise let Narcisse goe in, and attended at the doore disguised with a false beard, faigning to bee servant to this Gentlewoman, who was courteously received by Laure, and welcomed by Don Iovan; if not as the cosen of Rufine, at the least in the quality of the intimate friend of Laure. Fenise was not so farre from the roome where they conversed, but that he heard all that they did and sayd, in walking; for the doore was open. He knew his perfidious friend and ingratefull Lover, whose repose of spirit he ad­mired, whilst his suffered so great inquietudes. He represented to himselfe a thousand things, whose conclusions were alwaies augmentations to his dis­pleasures. Many times he was upon the very point to execute his vengeance, so farre did his anger transport him; then he deferred it, expecting a bet­ter occasion.

He forgot himselfe to remarke their disbourses, familiaritie and love; he almost lost his wits in con­sidering the strange change of Laure. At every mo­ment he saw gestures, or heard such discourses as made him die with despite, and yet he beheld and hearkened carefully. So the greatest evill of jealous persons (and what hinders them from finding re­medie) is to desire things which kill them. Every minute seemed to him an age, but as ages have their beginnings, they have their ends. Narcisse at the end of a little time took leave, & went out of the room. Laure went out with her to accompany her, where Fenise had accasion to consider her as well with ex­treame [Page 96]sorrow to see her so ingratefull, as to see her so dishonesty abandoned, to the possession of ano­ther, he could not speake; and had it not beene for feare of giving advantage to his enemies he had at that time committed some excesse. Don Jouan would waite upon Narcisse to her house, although she pray­ed him not to take that paines, she having a man with her for that purpose, but the courtesie of the Cavalier prevailed with her. When Fenise saw so neer to him the author of his troubles, he had attemp­ted upon his life, had it not beene for the respect he bore to Narcisse; But Don Jouan having left her at one of her friends houses where she fained to have businesse, Fenise followed him, and not far from thence, overtooke him with his false beard which disguised his voice as well as his face, for he held it in his teeth by a little stringe of wyer; Sir, said he, faining not to know him, is it not you who is called Don Jouan? yes answered the traytor, what would you have with me? there is, answered Fenise, a Lady without the gate of the towne in a Coach who de­sires to communicate to you a secret of importance, if you will see her: Who is she, said Don Jouan; I dare not tell you her name, answered Fenise, not being assured that you will take the paines to goe to her: but you need feare nothing, you shall speake to her alone. I wil goe upon your word, replyed Don Iouan, though it may be another would make difficultie thereof; saying thus, he lead him to a place a little distant from the towne, when Don Jouan looking on all sides him, and seeing no body, whether he knew Fenise or no, he asked him where the Lady was, you shall see her presently answered Fenise. [Page 97]Then Don Iouan drawing his sword and retiring three paces, told him that before he passed further he would know who he was. I am content said ge­nerously our inraged lover casting away his false beard, looke upon me, I am Fenise, and know, that I have but thus long retarded to make thee feele the chastisement of thy treason, to bring thee into a place where there may be no witnesses of the ven­geance I am going to take of thy treachery, for I hope that heaven the revenger of wrongs will assist me in this action: in saying so he threw away the scabbard of his sword and poinyard, and put him­selfe into the posture of an active and valiant man; Don Jouan knowing who he had before him, full of confusion or shame, made him no satisfaction, but on the contrary told him, that he had long desired this meeting, and that he was glad to see him in this estate, for to take his life from him generously; and by his death to enjoy more freely the content­ment which he possessed. He could say no more be­cause Fenise pressed him so quickly, or rather so mortally, that it behooved him to moove all his members, in stead of his tongue to defend himselfe from the furious thrusts which he gave him, being newly angred with the insolent words of his ene­my. But what violence or addresse he could use in this action; he presently felt the just punishment of his treachery: Fenise gave him three wounds, by the which his soule found her desired issue out of his traiterous body. His conquerour seeing him dead was sorry for him, for so deplorable a death as that was, would touch the heart of any generous man. But advising himselfe, that he ought more to [Page 98]the satisfaction of the offence then to pitty, he de­termined to doe as much to Laure, to the end to chastise her inconstancy, exterminate her beauty, and to give a new example to ingratefulls; to this end he threw away his hat and cloake into a pit, and tooke those of his enemy, which was of a higher colour, and being so covered, he went to the doore of the house of the dead man, where Laure was: he knocked, one of the servants looked out of a Bal­conia, and beleeving that it was Don Jouan her mast­er descended presently to open him the doore, but not finding the key in the locke she went up againe to looke it. Whilst Fenise stayed at the doore con­sulting what he should say and doe to his ungrate­full and perfidious Laure, when he heard a great brute of armes at the end of the streete; which made him feare to be interrupted in his designe, if they came not presently to open him the doore, because these people being moved advanced towards him, it happened as he apprehended: the quarrellers kill­ed one of the troope, who crying for confession made all the rest fly. Yet Fenise had not stirred from the doore, alwaies hoping to enter, but either by the servants too great hast to seek the key, or rather by the good fortune of Laure she could not finde it. The clamours of this dying man neere the place where Fenise was, brought thither incontinently the justice, which obliged him to abandon his place; for although he was innocent of this mur­der, he feared to be knowne the homicide of Don Jouan, whereof he bore witnesses with him, which were his hat and cloake. He was so slow in retiring himselfe that the justice perceived him when he be­gun [Page 99]to dislodge, and seeing no suspicious pers on [...]eere the dead man but him, one of the archers, the most disposed, begun to run after him. Fenise per­ceiving himselfe to be pursued, employed all his force to save himselfe from the clawes of this Ar­ther, but he being more agile then our cavalier, ob­ [...]iged him to stay after a long course: so that Fenise [...]eeing the wilfullnesse of this man returned with his sword in his hand to cut his hamstringes to hin­der his course, which this companion seeing and wisely judging that a single man ought not to presse another that was armed but to save himselfe, re­turned almost as fast as he came. At this instant Fe­nise found himselfe neere a gate of the towne which was yet open because it was not ten a clocke. Then he resolved for many reasons to quitte Valence by the favour of the night, but as he begun to execute this determination, he heard that they begun to ring the bell; designed to advertise the officers of Justice of the company, that there was a malefactor escaped; which was the custome of the country. To avoid being taken, he crossed the country it may be because he did not know the waies, and went about two leagues so tired that he was forced to yield to his wearinesse and repose himselfe, in ex­pecting the day. He sat downe at the roote of a tree, his body being wearyed with travell and his spirit perplexed with a thousand troublesome thoughts. But he had scarcely begun to take breath, when in the midest of the silence of the night, he heard the echoes of the barking of dogs whose voices beat a­gainst a Rock, whereby he knew that these dogges were a good way from him; which made him judg [Page 100]that there was some house where he might retire himselfe. He quitted his tree, went whither the bar­king of the dogges guided him, and arrived at the foot of a hill, upon the side whereof he saw a poore shepheards cabbin covered with bowes: he entred in­to it, and found no body there, but onely sheep skin [...] which served for a bed to the inhabitants. The ex­treame wearinesse and sleepinesse which he had, obliged him to search some place to repose in, and not finding any more commodious then those skins, he lay downe upon them. The shepheards hosts of this cabbin, advertised by the barking of their dogges, that there was some wolfe about their flocks, were gone out for to chase him, and by rea­son of their great hast had forgotten to cover their fire: so that presently after Fenise was a sleepe, he was awakened by the sharpe stinke of a thicke smoake, which begun to choake him, the fire ha­ving taken hold of leavy fagotts. He sought an issue to get out of this danger, and saw himselfe be­seiged on one side with flames, and on the other bar­ricadoed with great pieces of wood: then he made reflection upon the estate he was in, and judged that this was to punish the offences he had com­mitted, and as he made this pious meditation, and assayed to make his way over these pieces of wood, the shepheards arrived at their little house, which they found all on fire, they presently indeavoured to quench it. Fenise having perceived them im­plored their ayd, crying withall his power: these poore rustiques were greatly astonished to see a man so well clothed in the midle of so fearefull a danger, not knowing how he came thither. In the [Page 101]end imploying all their force and diligence, they got him miraculously out of this little hell with­out much hurt, but not without much fear; for as these good people removed the wood to helpe him out, they let in aire which augmented the flames, wherewith the unfortunate Cavalier had like to have been devoured. Truly a man may bee esteemed very unhappy, when those that would procure his good doe him hurt, and that the ease they would give him turneth into the encreasment of his paines. Fenise having taken fresh aire, than­ked his benefactors, and to give some satisfaction to their curiosity to know how he came into this danger, he invented an adventure, and told them that he was come from Barcelone to goe to Valence the lye was pardonable, since that in speaking the truth his life was in danger; (for he feared he was followed) that being a quarter of a League from this Cabbin, wandring betwixt Dog and Wolfe, he met with Theeves that had dismounted him, that being escaped from them he had lost his way, and going he knew not whither, he had perceived their cabbin, and had retired himselfe thither, ex­pecting the day. These simple persons believed what he sayd, and endeavoured to entertaine him the best they could: They killed a Kid, and made him eate with them, afterwards they dressed him a lodge with branches to keep him from the humidity of the night; and thus Fenise expected the Sunnes returne.

As soon as day appeared he would take leave of his hostes, and yet try the effects of his Fortune, forcing himselfe to overcome her; for he was re­solved [Page 102]rather to tire her with persecuting him, then to make it knowne to her, that he wanted patience to suffer. He then renewed his thankes, and prayed them to shew him the way to Barcelone excusing himselfe that he was not able to stay longer with them, because of important affaires which already suffered, by his delay and ill fortune, which obli­ged him to return the same way he came. Although they opposed his desires with their prayers, they could not stay him any longer in this countrey place, for he knew well that a village life ought to be elected for ever, or avoyded as soon as could be, for feare of their taking of some impression of malice, or clownish behaviour: Besides, hosts are maisters of the house the first day, friends the se­cond, and enemies the third: In the beginning they bring joy, in the middle pains, and at the end trou­ble.

They sent a Shepheard with him to set him in the way he desired, and which he followed to Mo­raiedre: He there found a Traveller which came from Valence, of whom he demanded what newes there, who told him, that there was found out of the towne, a dead Cavalier, that the brute went that he had been slain by one of his friends, and that the Ju­stices sought after him by horse and foot. This news made him change his course and draw towards Sar­ragoce, alwaies going out of the highway, and in the night being favoured by the Moones brightnes, which was then towards the Full, about his third nights voyage, being cleare and bright, passing by the side of a Wood, he heard a plaintive voice, which endeavoured to oblige some one to moderate [Page 103]his sury. Fenise judged by the delicatenesse of the voice, that it was a vvoman, vvhich made him ad­vance to succour her; as he came neare the place vvhere she vvas, her complaints ceased, and in ano­ther tone of voice, more bold, he heard her speake these vvords; Novv infamous thy bloud shall re­paire the affronts thou hast done me. And at the same time, the voice of a man replyed; Ah trayte­resse! I never expected lesse from thy cruelty, and the vicious life I have led. Our Cavalier was rea­dy to enter into the thick wood, where hee heard them speake, but he was stayed by a man and a wo­man that came from thence; she proper and curi­riously attired, he strongly set, and of a valorous resolution, who presented to his head the mouth of a Pistoll; stand said he, returne from whence thou cameft, or thou diest.

Fenise so surprised and threatned, would not hazard himselfe, believing that there was nothing there that did concern him. He stayed, and saw these two without speaking word take two Mules that were tied to a tree, mount upon them, and ride fast away from the place where he was, and out of his sight. His curiositie and valour would not permit him to retire himself without looking what was become of him, who seemed by his sad words to testifie his last sorrowes: He entred by the same place the others came out of, and found a dead man upon the ground, wallowing in his bloud. He was considering this poore man, and discoursing upon the miseries of this life, when he heard a lit­tle noise of men which approached him, but he had not time to know what they were, for as soon [Page 104]as they had perceived him, they fell upon him, bound his eyes, and called him traytor, homicide, and many other injurious names, and lead him tied and bound into a Village which was near that place. He endeavoured to justifie his innocence by reasons, and to buy himself out of their hands by money; but whatsoever he could say or do, he could not moderate their violence. They put him load­en with irons into a stinking dungeon, and there left him untill the next morning, abandoned to a thousand sad thoughts: The day being come, he that executed the office of Judge, but yet without judgment, came to interrogate him, and demand of him the confession of the crime he had commit­ted. He asked him questions so impertinent, that he could scarcely answer to them, but in lifting up his eye-brows and shoulders. He knew nothing of what thay questioned him, and the Judge was perswaded, that he vvho vvas purely ignorant, was maliciously vvilfull; so that he vvas ready to con­demn him to death by the suffrage, as well of those that helped to take him, as by the opinion of him that gave him advice thereof, when the Inne-keep­er of the Village came to tell him that he believed that the prisoner he was about to condemn was in­nocent of the crime he was accused of, and being asked upon what reasons this opinion was ground­ed, he thu [...] answered; I remember that about eight or ten dayes agone, which is about the time you took this prisoner, that the Gentleman with whose death you accuse him, came to lodge at my house, with a faire woman, who said they came from Sar­ragoce; and at the same instant came also another [Page 105]Gentleman from Castille, whom I lodged in ano­ther part of the house, separate from them: He who accompanied this woman, being gone abroad (a I think) to walk about the Town, she came out of her chamber, and went to seek the Castillian. [...] who saw her goe without being my self perceived, [...]earkened curiously at the door, to know what she went to doe, and I heard her hold him this dis­course. Sir, having seen you arrive at this place, and presently considering your fashion and actions, I believed that so many advantages of nature could not willingly meet in a common man, and there­upon imagining that you are a Gentleman, I have taken the boldnesse to have recourse to you, to endeavour to save my self from the extream perill that threatens me.

Time, which presseth me, will not permit me here to recount the strange misfortunes of my life, nor of what Country I am, it shall suffice me now to tell you that I am called Eufemie, and that a Cavalier who is here lodged with me, and now gone abroad, stole me from my house, under pro­mise of Marriage. After having stayed some time with him, the ardour of his passion died, since which time he hath used me unworthily, and a thousand times witnessed an evill and unthankfull nature, contrary to the faith he had sworne to me. I know not whither he carrieth me at this pre­sent; but the great love he bore me at the begin­ning, is changed into so cruell a hatred, that I doe but expect the houre when he shall take away my life, when he shall finde a place commodious for that purpose, as I may conjecture by his fear­full [Page 106]threatnings, and his speeches, which have been reported to me; so that fearing that his hatred and fury may transport him, I cast my self at your feet, humbly beseeching you to take me into your pro­tection, since that it seems that Heaven hath mi­raculously brought you hither for this action of piety. This Lady spoke these words after so sweet a manner, that they were able to move compassion in the most barbarous soule; for my part, I was sensibly touched therewith. As soon as she had made known her intentions to this Cavalier, he promised to serve her in all things she should think him worthy; then they spoke softly together; I believing it was because I had stirred the latch of the doore in approaching to hearken, I retired my self for feare of being surprised in so ill an a­ction as to pry after the secrets of others, and she came out presently after to attend the returne of her dangerous conductor. As soon as he came in, I took notice of his behaviour, and saw that with a fierce look he told this young Lady that he would be gone before Sun-set, as he was. Scarcely were they out of my house, when the Gentleman to whom the Lady had spoken , and who had promised her assistance, followed them. And I fearing some un­happy accident, sent one of my servants after them to know which way they went, to the end to give you notice thereof to follow their steps, and pre­vent the evill that threatned so many people. This boy did as I had appointed him; but when he saw appearances so conformable to what I had heard, as he came to tell me what he had done, he met an Archer, to whom he told it. He going [Page 107]to seek his companions to take them along with him, came too late, the murder was committed; so that they have brought to you this unhappy pri­soner, which I hold for innocent, for he was none of the company of those that lodged at my house. I durst not speak of what I have now told you, for feare I might thereby get some displea­sure; but seeing the danger that threatneth a man whom I presume not culpable, I had rather ha­zard my repose, then see him suffer without deser­ving it. The Judge his Sonne came in upon this discourse, who confirmed what the Inne-keeper had said, assuring that he had newly met upon the way of tortosa a man and a woman mounted up­on Mules, with all the tokens and markes the Inne­keeper had spoken of.

The Judge informed of these circumstances, went to see the prisoner, whom he found lesse sorrow­full then he left him, for delay made him hope the verity of his innocency would be discovered; he spoke to him with a countenance lesse severe then before, exhorting him, not as Superiour, but friend, to declare to him how he came neare the dead corps in the wood, to the end he might help him to justifie himself.

Fenise, who then saw the Judge more reasona­ble then when he was brought before him, satisfied him with reasons so accompanied with truth and likelyhood; that the Judge found them confor­mable to the relation of his Sonne, and the Inne­keeper, he determined to set him at liberty; but how innocent soever he was found, he could not get out without leaving the bloud of his purse. [Page 108]The talents of Pregnotories, Serjeants, and Gao­lers, are too sharp, not to scratch a man, and it is a great grace when he escapes without being torn in pieces.

Our Cavalier seeing himself at liberty, resolved to goe into Italy, and quit his Country Spaine, since that she used him as a Step-mother, to try if in changing the Land, he should not also change his fortune.

For this purpose he took the way to Barclone, where he arrived without any other disgrace, but to suffer much by necessity upon the way, because of the great charges he had been at to purchase his innocence. He could well have found friends in this great Town who would have supplyed his ne­cessities, but he feared to be knowne; so that he chose rather to suffer amongst strangers, then to be beholding to his Country-men. Then a Ship made saile towards that Country, he put himself in the service of an Italian Lord, near whom his good be­haviour and wit had got him an accesse free enough. He imbarqued himself, and arrived happily at the Port of Gennes, and from thence to Naples, where was the abode and family of this Italian. This Ca­valier had found so great merit in Fenise, that he loved passionately his conversation, one should ne­ver see him but with this Spaniard by his side, so that he did not treat him as a servant, but, as a friend. Ricard, so was this Lord called, had an urgent affaire, which obliged him to goe by night to seek the Vice-Roy of Naples, to conferre there­of with him, because it was a businesse of State. He took Fenise with him to serve him for compa­nion [Page 109]and safeguard. He entered into the lodgings of the Vice-Roy, and in the interim Fenise walked in the great and spatious roomes of the pallace, in expecting his Master: And as curiositie is the daughter of idlenesse, Fenise not knowing how to passe the time, was descended into the Court of the Castle, and approaching to a little doore, where he heard a noyse of mens voices: hee listened, and knew incontinent that this was the lodging of the slaves of the Vice-Roy, Turkes and Barba­rians, which spoke their naturall Language, be­lieving that no body heard them, because they judged that all was in bed, or that they knew not their langnage. But Fenise who knew it perfectly well, having learned it of his fathers slave, as wee have sayd, heard that they had conspired against the life of the Vice-Roy, and the most resolute of the Troope spoke thus to his companions. What my friends, shall we yet deferre the execution of our vengeance? Have we lost our courages in lo­sing our liberty? Shall we be willing to die, with­out selling our lives to those that would have them? You know well the resolution I have taken, to have reason of the Vice-Roy, whose people have killed my brother, and drowned my wife and ship, and for this effect, I have suffered my selfe to be made a captive to my enemies, to the end to finde that in Peace which I could not in Warre, by reason of my want of power; you know also how willingly you offered your selves to accompany me in this de­sign, without being forced thereunto by perswa­sions. This being, if I suffered my selfe to be ta­ken alive; and you come with me for this intention, [Page 110]to what purpose serve so many delayes, but to cer­tifie our cowardlynesse? For my part, I know I must dye, but I shall expire contented, in seeing my selfe satisfied? Courage then my dear friends, animate your just fury in exciting your cruelty; and since that our liberty is engaged for the end of this action, let us enterprise it boldly, if we pe­rish therein, at the least it will be with much ho­nour. Then all the Troope renewed their oathes of fiderlitie, protesting to enterprise valiantly all that he should ordaine; and under this assurance he proceeded. I shall finde an invention, sayd he, to hide my selfe to morrow in the Antichamber of the Vice-Roy, and you, when all shall bee in the greatest silence, shall come and make a noise in the Hall, for to let me know when you are there. At the same instant you shall endeavour to amuse the Guards, whilst one of you open me the door with this double Key; for when I shall hear you, I will fall upon his person, and take away his life in a moment; then I will come to finde you, and we will attempt together to force the door to get out; for though we should dye there, we had bet­ter end so than otherwise. All his disciples an­swered, that they would assist him in all things, and that the recompence of the perill they were to hazard themselves in, consisted in his satis­faction. Thereupon they held their peace, and Fe­nise considering this bloudy conspiration, judged that hee ought to prevent the effect thereof, and that he was obliged to advertise the Lord against whom it was made thereof, esteeming it was rather the providence of heaven which had conducted [Page 111]him to the slaves door, then his curiositie. With­out staying the coming of the Italian Lord his Mai­ster from entertaining the Vice-Roy, he went to the entry of the chamber, and made him bee called, and succinctly instructed him with the fu­rious designe of the Infidels. The Cavalier entered againe into the Vice-Royes chamber, and led Fe­nise with him, that he might heare him, and might looke for present remedy for the danger that threa­tened him. At the beginning he doubted of the truth of this relation; but seeing that Ricard as­sured him of the honour and honesty of the au­thor, he thanked him for his advertisement. Fe­nise, who had a subtle wit, made the Vice-Roy yet more beholden to him, teaching him an industry how to make these slaves feele the effect of the e­vill they had plotted. Sir, sayd he, your Excel­lency shall command that they bring you a crimi­nall that hath deserved death, the which shall bee armed to the neck in a coate of Maile, and put on one of your rich Sui [...]s upon it, he shall be hazar­ded to the proofe of my words, he shall be put in­to your chamber, and there left alone, where they say you often stay slumbering after meat: But to the end that this criminall may the better repre­sent your person, it will be good to let him know, that he is so accomodated to intrappe a slave, that would attempt against your life, assuring him that you will pardon him. This being done, occasion must bee given to the slave who see­med to bee the head, die most disposed, and the strongest of the conspiratours (as farre as I have been able to observe by the cranny of the [Page 112]door) to hide himselfe where he will: Your Ex­cellency shall in the interim bee safe, and your guard shall be ready to fall, as well upon the executors of this detestable project, as upon the the complices, to the end that none of them may escape. So you shall triumph over these Blood­suckers, and thanke God for having preserved you, by my intermission; for the which I thanke him of my part, and esteeme my selfe most hap­py.

The next morning all was executed as it had been propounded; the groomes of the chamber, and other servants of the Vice-Roy, went and came into the chamber where the criminall was disguised, with the same respect as if it had been their Maister: having left them all alone, and hee faigning to bee asleep, the slave that was hidden came softly, and holding his breath for feare of be­ing heard, fell upon the criminall, and gave him five or six blowes with a knife upon the belly [...] (see­ing him in habits Royall) but without offending him, because his coat of Maile guarded him: At the cryes of the criminall, the Gaurds of the Vice-Roy came running; but as they presented the points of their Partizans to this slave to stay him; he seeing he was not succoured by his companions, thinking he had killed the Vice-Roy, he gave him­selfe three stabs into his left side, whereof he died, before he could bee carryed out of the chamber, which he had stained with his infamous blood.

The Vice-Roy beheld this spectacle with hor­rour, being greatly astonished therewith. He imbra­ced Fenise, and prayed him to take such part with [Page 113]him as he pleased, to the end that when time and oc­casion should be presented he might testifie unto him, how much he esteemed his service he had ren­dered him. Ricard counselled him to accept the Vice-Roy's offer, assuring him that he was a magnanimous seigneur who knew well how to acknowledge the merits of brave men; and Fenise not being will­ing to neglect his good will,, determined to stay there, and expect what it would please fortune to doe with him. In succession of time his capacitie got him so familiar an accesse to the Vice-Roy, that he had no affaire which the other had not particular knowledge of: so that he consulted with him of all things of importance. In the end to satisfie in some sort the obligation he had to him, he made him governour of the towne of Tarente

Fenise seeing himselfe honoured with this charge, made excuses of his insufficiency; yet he accepted it, for feare of offending the judgment of the Seig­neur which had made choice of his prudence and fidelity. He departed by the commandement of the Vice-Roy to take possession of this administration in which he made appeare, that he perfectly under­stood politique things, to the great contentment of the honorable men of the towne, and glory of him that had installed him in this Government. He was accustomed to goe out almost every night, accom­panied onely with two men, of whose valour and fidelitie he was assured, to the end to observe and chastice the lurkers, to whom the obscuritie seemed to give licence; one night entring into a street, ma­king his ordinary round, he heard a doore shut a far off, and advancing that way, he perceived by a [Page 114]house side, a representation of some thing which he could not discerne by reason of the night, he ap­proched with his company, and saw that it was a woman, almost all covered, with a great and rich loose garment, which hid her face: they would have discovered it but me resisted; and for to oblige her thereunto without violence, they told her that it was the governour of the towne that commanded her: then this unknowne person drew out a pistoll and presented it to the head of Fenise in drawing the tricker, but by good fortune for the Governour it went not off, at the same instant this woman let fall her pistoll and trading up her garment turned her legs into wings and fled almost as fast as a bird could doe; one of these two men that accompanied Fenise ran after her, and the other conducted this too vigilant governour to his house; from thence he went to seeke the officers of Justice, to breake open this house and know who was therein lodged, to discover from whence came this attempt. They found there two women, the one faire and young, the other hideous and old, whom they tooke prisoners: this being done they followed him that was gone after her that would have killed the go­vernour, wherein they used such diligence, that they led her with the others; as they beheld her more curi­ously With a candle, they knew that it was a man disguised like a woman, they left him there putting irons upon him, untill the next day. The day be­ing come, Fenise was advertised of what had been done by his commandement, and knowing that the person that would have killed him was a man, he was extreamely astonished. He went into the pri­son [Page 115]and made him be brought before him. It was a man of a good countenance and habited after the Spanish fashion. Fenise having beheld him, remem­bred himselse, that he had before seene him, but it was a confused knowledg before he had asked him any question, the prisoner prayed him to be pleased that the company might withdraw, that he would tell him a businesse of importance, and which meri­ted to be kept secret.

The assistants being retired , Fenise asked him what subject he had to attempt against his life, what he was, and if that he bad heretofore seene him in Spaine. For your first demand answered the priso­ner you may already be informed, that I had noe designe against your person; besides upon another occasion I have served you as a defendor, in a dan­gerous incounter. I am called Marcell that friend to Leonard which you found neere to Valence, and with whom you fought to the great hazard of your life. But to informe you the better of what you ought to know and what will serve to justifie me; I am obliged to make you a relation, if you please to give me audience, Fenise having let him know that he would willingly heare him, he thus conti­nued.

THE HISTORY OF THE TRAGIQƲE LOVES OF MARCEL.

IT this day just a yeare since I left my country and five since I knew the cause of my travels, in a woman more faire then rich, and more noble then wise. It was upon the sea shore neere Valence, where I first saw this beauty, and where I became her slave. You shall dispence with me for telling you the meanes I used to win her, for feare of troubling you, & also because there is nothing rare therein, because I found no great difficulty. At the first she affected me, because I gave her presents; for it is long agoe since liberalitie hath beene the mother of love: she also would have given me all that she had; but I would never receive any thing but the recompence which my love merited. During the space of foure yeares wee had two children; but as all things in this world tyre us in the end, yea vices themselves, I grew weary of her company, which distast had more power over me then the pricks of my consci­ence. I resolved to separate my self from her im­pure and lascivious conversation, and for reasons seemed to me very just, I attempted to perswade her to consent to this designe: but she thereupon grew in choler, and answered me, that I should take heed what I did, and never hereafter hold her such dis­course, for if I passed further, she would use such extremities as should extremely scandalize all [Page 117]that should be spectators thereof, yea, and those that should but heare them recounted. Oh if all the World could but heare the successe of this Hi­story, they would finde by experience in my per­son, how dangerous it is to persevere in unlawfull affections, and know to what excesses a woman corrupted doth abandon her self. I made no great matter of her threatnings, believing that in time she would be appeased, and agree to my propositions, so that I quit her from that time; but as I fled her, she followed me, yet she lost her paines. The a­blest woman finds her self a foole when she is once hated, and reduced to sue to a man; the more she travails, the lesse she profits; the more she loves, the lesse she is beloved; the more she testifies her passion, the lesse she obligeth, and it may be ren­ders her self more odious. Seeing then my ne­glects, or rather my disdaines, and the little power her love had over me, she invented the most horrible cruelty that is possible for a humane heart to commit. She intreated me by a Letter to come see her at the least once, that she might resolve with more pa­tience upon our divorce: I thought that I should have been too rigorous to have denied her this contentment; so that to satisfie her, I went one night to her, accompanied with two of my friends, who stayed for me at the door; I found her all a­lone in her chamber, with a look very desolate; she commanded her servant to retire, then she made me a studied discourse, where Art and Eloquence were so ingeniously joyned, that it would have shaken a constancy weaker then mine. In the end feeing that her endeavours were too weak, she arose [Page 118]up and bad me good night; at the same time I took leave of her, and went down from her chamber; I was scarcely in the Court, when she appeared at the window of another chamber, and calling to me, set a torch in the window, holding a ponyard in one hand, and in the other one of the children I had by her, to the which she gave two stabs in the breast, and cast it at my feet upon the pave­ment. And as I begun to cry out, full of horrour and amazement, seeing the action of this Fury, she took the other child and served it as she had done the first, saying that she would not keep the ima­ges of a faithlesse and ungratefull person. Alas! the cruell Tygresse had inticed them to her house by subtilty for this tragick end. I was at the charge to have them brought up in another place: I ran into the chamber again with my sword in my hand, but I found that she had shut the door. I set up­on it to break it, and thereupon appeared an un­known man in armes, which she had hidden for to murder me; but at the noise we made, my friends came running in with a torch, and he seeing them approach, leapt out of a Balconia into the street for to save himself; my friends went down to fol­low him, and at the instant this imaged woman, all bloudy, holding her ponyard in her hand, who thinking that I was taken by her catch-pole, came to serve him as Second, and plunge her dagger in my heart if she had been able; but my fury pre­vented her rage, and caused me to give her two great blowes with my sword, wherewith I cast her to the ground, where she immediately died. This being done, I went after my friends, and found [Page 119]that they had catched and mortally wounded their man, who demanded for confession: In approach­ing to them, I saw him fall to the ground, and at the same time we perceived another, who knocked at a door, which obliged us to a sudden retreat, and the next day to leave the Towne. At these words Fenise made reflection, and acknowledged that there are few murderers which are presently dis­covered; for he remembred himself that these were they that had fled for killing the man that fell dead before the door of Laure, when he knocked for to enter there the night that he had revenged himself of his treacherous friends Don Jouan.

These follies were the cause that I left my Coun­try continued Marcell. I took the way to Barcelone, where I stayed six moneths; from thence I came into this Realm of Naples, in a vessell full of men belonging to the Vice-Roy. Two daies after my imbarkment, I perceived a woman in this compa­ny, faire in perfection: I informed my self who she was, and I was told that one of the principall Gentlemen of the Vice-Roy conducted her, which obliged me to retaine my selfe, and hindred me from suing to her, for she begun to move my de­sires. We arrived happily at Naples, where this Gentleman hired a house, and then I begun to court her. During this time, she sent one night to seeke me, and told me that I could hope nothing from her if I did not carry her out of Naples; that she would chuse no place, but that I should carry her whither I would.

This proportion joyned to some other markes made me judge that she was of a changeable hu­mour; [Page 120]but forasmuch as my love regarded nothing but to be satisfied, I disposed my selfe to obey her in what she would wish; I stole her from Naples the same night that she had spoken to me thereof, and in all the Towns we passed I found none so fair as she: I hired a house, and furnished it with all things necessary for a Family; but whatsoever familiarity I had with her, I could not possibly obtain the last satisfaction of my desires, she put me off from day to day, and when I thought I was arrived at the term, she found inventions to prolong it anew, yet without making my passion exceed the limits of respect. It happened at that time that the Vice-Roy gave you the charge of Governour of this Town, which you execute so worthily, to his ho­nour, and your own glory, and the generall satis­faction of all the people; and Laure having known your arrivall, and seen your person, (so this char­ming beauty is called) she told me, that if I would do her a signall service, and oblige her to accord to me the accomplishment of my desires, I must take away your life, telling me that she mortally hated you, because you had slain one of her Bro­thers, and that she should never be at rest untill she was revenged of you; this was without doubt the cause that moved her to leave Naples, having known that you was there. But I, who have alwaies had a certaine inclination to honour you, both seeing on one side that she would not consent to my wish­es if I did not execute what she had ordained me, and also on the other side, that I could not enter­prise nor commit so extreame a cowardise against your person, which I perfectly esteem and affect, we [Page 121]thus made our complot. That I should use all pos­sible diligence to accomplish her revenge, untill I could discharge a pistoll upon you, and although you should not dye thereby, she should accord unto me what I demanded, since that I had done my du­ty to execute her will. She accepted this bargain upon condition that she might see the pistoll dischar­ged, which was easie for her to doe, since that you passed very often by her street and windowes: our treaty being thus concluded, I disguised my selfe in a womans garment, and she saw me in her pre­sence charge my pistoll with two good bullets, but in expecting you I drew out the two bullets, to the end that if it had taken fire, you might have recei­ved no dammage, those that took up the pistoll can verifie what I say. Seeing you enter into the street, I gave a certaine signe to give her advice thereof; at the instant I heard her open her win­dow to see this tragick action, which she hoped for, and wherein she was deceived, since that it pas­sed as you know. If this stratagem merit punish­ment, having been invented to enjoy a beauty pas­sionately beloved, I deserve to be chastised with such punishment as you shall please to ordain, and there­fore dispose of me as you please.

Since Fenise had heard the name of Laure, his Spirit was in perpetuall perplexity, knowing the extream wickednesse of this woman, whom he had dearly loved, and resolving to revenge himself of her; to the purpose he praised the invention where­with Marcel had abused her to save his life. He imbraced him, and thanked him for the affection he had testified to him, and which he had rendred [Page 122]him in an occasion so dangerous, and in the same time he commanded that his irons should be taken away, saying that since there was none offended but himselfe, he would pardon himselfe withall his heart.

In the interim Laure who saw her selfe falne into Fenise his hands, would have enterprised a thousand times to have destroyed her selfe by poy­son, steele, or cord, if the old woman that was with her had not hindred her, telling her that she should net despaire, and that the evill could not be so great as she could not remedy. Fenise on the other side beat his braines how to invent how he might revenge himselfe of this cruell without noyse. Hee would not see her in her prison, for feare the violence of his anger should cause him to commit some pub­lique excesse: a thing extreame ill in a governour and magistrate: but he resolved to convey her into some place where without witnesses he might ex­amine her, & make her give account of her life. The better to accomplish his design, he delivered the old woman that accompanied her who seeing her selfe at liberty, gave new hopes to Laure to solicite and and obtaine her deliverance at what price so ever it should be. After having tryed all meanes possible, and seeing she advanced nothing, she address­ed her selfe to a Magician, from whom she got a writing and a ring which she brought her assuring her, that if she tooke it from her finger when shee found her selfe in any danger in speaking words contayned in that paper which she gave her, she should surmount it. That she should not at all be a­fraid of what should be presented before her, that [Page 123]she should be assisted with succours more then hu­mane, which should overcome the force of her ad­versary.

Fenise impatient to execute his revengfull project, made ingeniously to be reported amongst those that knew of the imprisonment of Laure; that having found her innocent by the depositions of the delive­red prisoner and Alcinoe her companion, he would also oblige her with the same favour. For this effect he sent for her one night by a man he confided in, who told her that he had charge from the governour to conduct her to a towne four leagues from Tarente, where he was to leave her. She trusting in the charms which Alcinoe had given her, presently resolved to goe with this man. He set her upon his horse behinde him, and by night carryed her to a Rendez-vouse where Fenise was to meete him as he did, being there he commanded the conductor of Laure to leave him, and to returne to Tarente. Laure seeing her selfe thus abused; and a­bandoned to the mercy of Fenise, whom the passion of vengeance furiously inflamed, began to take off her inchanted ring, and speake the words which were given her. Vpon the instant before that Fenise could speake any word, he saw himselfe invironed with a whirlewinde and dust so thick that he could see nothing about him; presently he imagined that there was some magique in this accident: he armed himselfe with the signe of a christian, and inconti­nent, this obscuritie was changed into lightnesse; which neverthelesse frighted him more then the darkenesse, for he saw himselfe invironed with fire, whose flames seemed to mount unto the clouds, and [Page 124]although he was in so terrible a danger he did not forbeare to looke about where Laure was, but the he saw her no more, not knowing whether the flames had devoured her, or some divell had carryed her away in the whirlewinde and dust. In fine ha­ving stayed some time to consider this prodigious vision, from whence he knew not how to escape, he he heard a fearefull thunder in the ayre, and at the same instant the fire went out, and he found himselfe all alone without having suffered any hurt, but that of feare; heaven grew cleare and the moone ve­ry bright, which gave him meanes to finde his horse, he came on, he got on horse backe and returned to Tarente, his minde filled with a thousand confusi­ons, as well with what he had seene, as the doubt he was in that the divells had carryed away Laure, to chastise her themselves, or if they were so much her friends, that they had ravished her to defend her from the effects of his vengeance. Being arrived at his house, he sent for Marcel, and told him all that had passed, whereupon they discoursed together some time; without being able to judge any thing certainely.

At that time Marcel tooke leave of Fenise, with a thousand faire complements and as many protesta­tions of amitie made of one side and of the other. He returned to Naples, and Fenise stayed yet a yeare in his government. Then he received a letter from the Vice-Roy which obliged him to goe presently to him; and at his arrivall he gave him a pacquet which he had received from Don Ambrosio his father, who finding himselfe old and feeble desired to see him yet once before he left this world. The Vice-Roy [Page 125]approving this paternall feeling and seeing the good nature of Fenise who was very willing to o­bey his father, permitted him to goe for Spaine up­on condition he would returne as soon as he could possible; promising also of his part to render him at his returne more signall testimonies of the esteem he made of his merit. With this civill leave Fe­nise left Naples and went towards Rome, the town he desired to see before he returned into his coun­try, judging that he might be accused of little cu­riositie to have left Italy, without seeing so marvai­lous a Citie.

From thence he went to Florence; and continu­ing his voyage, he arrived at the foot of the Alpes, where night tooke him farre from the place where he hoped to have lodged. And whether it was hee knew not the way, or that Fortune would yet play with him, he lost himselfe, if one may call that a losse, which caused him to obtaine the grea­test treasure his spirit could have knowledge of. Besides the coming on of the night, he was accom­panyed with a violent tempest of thunder and light­ning (which made him remember that wherein he was when he had designe to be revenged of Laure.) After which heaven poured downe such torrents of raine, which gliding downe the Mountaines, threa­tened our adventerour to force him into the preci­pices. In the end, after having suffered much paine and apprehension, he saw himselfe (by the light of a flash of lightning) neare the mouth of a deep ca­verne; he approached it, yet fearing by saving him­selfe from one danger, to cast himselfe into a grea­ter, imagining that this place under ground, was [Page 126]the retreate of some Beares or Lyons; he had no intention to enter therein, but onely so farre as to guard himselfe from the raine that fell from the clouds: but he had scarcely begunne to stay and take breath, when he perceived a light within the cave. Divers thoughts came into his minde, belie­ving that he was falne into the hands of some Bri­gands, and after having consulted a little what hee ought to doe, he resolved to try his fortune in this occasion; he called two or three times, but there was nothing but the eccho of his voice which an­swered him. Then animating his resolution, he tied his horse to a bush, and approaching to the light, he saw extended upon the ground a humane per­son, having a face yellow, leane, and wasted; in briefe, so hideous, that she seemed to be death it selfe. Her body was covered with a coat of haire-cloth, rude, and pricking, her haire was yellow, and so long, that it was able to cover her whole body; her hands dry, and without flesh, being crossed up­on her breast, embracing a Crosse of a meane great­nesse, which leaned upon her mouth: finally, all her body was an originall of death, and a lively i­mage of a sharpe pennance. Our Cavalier beheld this body with a great deale of pitty, and a great desire to have a more cleare knowledge thereof. When Aurora begunne to lend him her feeble light, the better to distinguish the particulars of this strange solitude, or rather this living Sepulcher, he saw upon a seate of the Rock, a bloody discipline, and a larum bell, under which were written these words, Remember thy end; neare the Lampe, from whence proceeded the light he had seen, was a Cru­cifix, [Page 127]accompanyed with the images of the Virgin, and Saint John the well-beloved Disciple, where these Letters were engraven, T. I. T. B. O. A. P. W. I. D. T. R. A. Fenise would have given them di­vers interpretations, but hee could not finde one that would come neare the signification of what he saw. After hee had a long time contemplated these sad objects, not daring to touch the body, for feare of prophaning it. He judged that since there was fire maintained by oyle, there must needs bee some one about this cave, that had care to furnish, and entertaine it with that element. He went out for to satisfie this desire, but he was scarcely out of the den, when the mouth thereof was suddainly shut by a great peece of stone which seemed to be mira­culously falne from the Rock for that purpose, as he went by little and little from this cave, by the same paces he came which were printed in the slimy earth, he perceived (the day being then begunne) a man of so strange a forme, that hee had doubted what creature he was, if his motion had not given him a more particular knowledge, having approa­ched him, he saw an old man, tall, his hair white, and very long, his face leane, his beard reached unto his girdle, a patched coate that covered his body unto his knees, holding a Rozaire in one hand, and a little book in the other. Fenise called him, he lifted up his eyes (for yet he had not seen him) and stay­ed, astonished to see another man then himselfe, yet hee was not froward nor fled, but approached soft­ly to Fenise, and informed himselfe by what ad­venture he was come into a place so farre from the highwayes, then he carried him into his Cell made [Page 128]betwixt two Rockes, the doore whereof was so little, that with great difficultie could a man enter therein, without going upon his knees, there was a window made by nature, by which hee had so much light as was necessary, although he enjoyed almost none thereof; he made him sit downe upon his bed, which was a long stone made like a Tomb, and after many discourses, this good penitent to satisfie the desires of the Cavalier recited unto him this prodigious history.

THE HISTORY OF SO­LITARY SIMEON.

ABout threescore yeares agoe, I was borne in the City of Capoue, issued of rich Parents, and at the same time a Magistrate of the towne of Luques had a sonne so like me, as if nature had formed us in the same mould, his face, hair, voice, proportion, and gesture, did so much resemble mine, or mine so paralell his, that it was wonder­full. In receiving Baptisme, I was called Charles, and my paralell Albert; we grew up during our tender age in equalitie of manners, and also of con­stellations, which disposed of our persons in such sort, that having attained the age of twenty yeares, we met at Venice, where we grew acquainted one with another, or rather with our selves. From this perfect resemblance, grew a strict amitie, which was never broken, we dwelt together, we had but one table, and one bed.

After a little time, there happened an affliction [Page 129]to me, which obliged me to absent my selfe, my mother dyed in the middle of her youth, and quit this sad habitation to goe to heaven; I may so pre­sume from her vertues and beauty; for there is no commendation so proper to expresse her worth, as to say she was faire, and also vertuous. Albert left Venice with me, and went to Luques. We con­served our affections by the means of Letters, which are the sweetest entertaines of absent friends; but we were not absent one from another; for Albert never looked in his glasse, nor I in mine, that hee saw not me, and I likewise him. I was twenty two yeares old, when my Father followed my Mother, leaving me his benediction for heritage, with some small temporall goods which he possessed; he char­ged me with the feare of God, Charitie towards the poore, and fidelitie to my friends, and principally towards Albert, and gave up the ghost, in giving me this wholesome counsell; he was laid in the Sepulcher of his ancient predecessors: I suc­ceeded him in his possessions, which I enjoyed not long in quiet, the malice and envy of some of my kindred, so rigorously persecuted me, that I was forced to spend the greatest part of my goods in suites and pettifoggings, untill I was forced to leave my country. I left it to seeke repose elswhere, and being followed with tenne men, which I treated as my friends, I went towards Luques, where I thought to finde my deare Albert, but he was gone to comfort me, having heard of the death of my fa­ther. This testimony of his affection made mee sweare not to returne into my country untill I had found him, to give him thankes, and renew [Page 132]our sored vowes. He did the same having learned that I was gone to seeke him; for it seemed our soules had consulted their designes together. In execution of this project, I visited many townes, where amongst others, I met with one of the an­tient friends of my father, who having courteously received me, and kept me a long time at his house, he gave me his onely daughter in marriage called Lesbie, with a great portion. A yeare and a halfe after I had married her, I was told that Albert was in France, in the Province now called Gascoigne, and that one might heare of him at Bourdeaux, or at Tholouse: This news awakened the designe and desire I had to see him. I departed, accompanyed with the same men that came with me from Ca­poue, and as we approached neare Tholouse, wee met in a spacious field, near to the side of a wood, a little troope of men of equall number to ours, they stayed as soon as they had perceived us; we belie­ving they were theeves, whereof this country was full, and they having the same opinion of us; our ignorance made us betake our selves to our armes, and came to the shock one against another, where there had been a bloody encounter, if Gob had not put himselfe into the middle. The greatest part of us, as well of the one side as of the other, had upon our heads (as they then commonly wore in France, and wherewith they serve themselves to this day) Bocquincans or Tapabors, which covers the most part of the face, so that we being mingled together, wee could scarcely know one another: then fearing some great disorder amongst my men, I discovered my face, and put my Tapabor upon my [Page 131]shoulders and under my chinne, to bee the better knowne to my friends, and immediately one of my adversaries came to me in a respectfull manner, Seigneur Albert, sayd he, it would bee well for you to give the sign of retreate, that our party may se­parate themselves from our enemies, and that we may discerne them, we shall bee thereby the stron­ger. At the same time hee heard the signe given wherof he spoke, and seeing that I was not Albert, as he believed, and that his companions being reuni­ted, came to set upon us againe, he turned himselfe towards them, being already cenfused; What doe you meane by this Gentlemen, said he, are you mad or blinde, that you will needs offend our Chiefe? Doe you not see Seigneur Albert? At that name they all stayed, and I having heard him name Al­bert twice, I cryed out, peace, peace, friends, friends. Thereupon Albert, who heard my voice, abandoned his Tapabor, and his Sword, and came to cast him­selfe about my neck, and I knowing him, we remai­ned so fast locked together, that there had like to have come mischiefe thereby; for our horses who did not know one the other, beganne to rage one against the other, but our friends prevented it; for our joyes were so excessive, that we tooke no heed thereof, we lighted and entertained one another a­lone, with our most particular secrets; afterwards with extreame joy of both fides, we entered into Tholouse. I made a little stay with him, but the affection I bore to my wife obliged me to leave him, with promise to see him againe very shortly. Albert habited himselfe afer the French fashion, to testifie the esteeme he had of that nation, which [Page 132]gave him access into the house of a great Lord of that Realme, which bore the title of a Duke, and who ordinarily dwelt at Tholouse, the eminent qualities of Albert, who was expert in all exercises fit for a Gentleman, besides his wit and sweet dis­position (which made him welcome into all com­panies whatsoever) got so great familiaritie with this Duke, that after he knew his wit, hee would have him alwaies in his company, and at his table. He had a daughter perfectly faire, as well of body as mind: And as the conversation with Ladies is much more free in France then in Italy, Albert had the honour to be often in her company with other companions, where they reciprocally knew one a­nothers merits, in such manner that within a little time they thought well one of another. Albert was willing to take the occasion which seemed to invite him to a good fortune, he begun to court this young Lady, and testifie to her that he had vowed his liberty to her service, sometimes by Letters, sometimes by verses, which he recited in singing and playing upon the Lute in the very presence of her Father; for amongst the other fair parts where­with he was accomplished, he possessed these two graces from the Muses of Poetry and Musick, to which I also took pleasure to addict my self, to the end that our likenesse might be the more perfect. In the end he explicated himself so intelligibly, and played his part so well, that he insinuated himself into her favour, so far as she permitted him one night to come see her in her chamber. A great im­pudence in a Maid of such condition, which ought to be so much the more carefull to keep her self ha­ving [Page 133]more to lose then one of lesse quality; but there is no retinue nor limits to a woman that suf­fers her self to be blinded with that foolish passion. There was in this Dukes Court a certain Gasconian Cavalier, called Arnalt, which had obtained Al­berts affection, and the place of confident which he before had, and knew so well how to play his part, that he got out of Alberts heart all his secrets, whose freedom presumed he would never betray him; but it happened to him as it doth ordinarily to those who discover themselvs too freely unto others whom they have not proved. Albert did not only content him­self to declare unto him his affections, but he made use of him as a Scout, when he went to receive the greatest favours from Matilda (so was the Dukes daughter called) thus was he punished by this con­fident, so injudiciously chosen. This perfidious friend, envious of Alberts contentment, excited by the inclination he had to doe mischief, and to pub­lish the secrets which were revealed unto him, being one day neare the Duke, who praised the merits of Albert, audaciously interrupted him, saying, that he was sorry his bounty should be so abused by a treacherous stranger, which violated the honour of his Linage, and who by his pernicious cunning had abused his daughter Matilda. The Duke, who held Albert for a vertuous Gentleman, & his daugh­ter to be too wise and retained to fall into such an inconvenience, and on the other side considering Arnalts reputation, from whom every one fled as from a wicked spirit, told him he was rash and in­solent, to use such impudent language; thereupon Albert arrived, to whom the Duke told this prodi­gious [Page 134]accusation of Arnalt, wherewith he was ex­treamly surprised. Yet without testifying exteri­ourly the motion of his heart, he answered to the Duke, that he should think he did wrong to the esteem and honour which he had testified to him, if he should go about to excuse the crime wherewith this traitor accused him, but that if he pleased to permit him to have satisfaction from him, his in­nocence should be known, to the confusion of his accuser. The Duke seeing Albert speak with so much resolution, answered him, that he never be­lieved it, and that the offence was his: But that since he took part in the injury, and would take vengeance for it, he praised his generosity, and granted him the combate for the next day. Im­mediately after that Albert had obtained this per­mission, and that he was retired to prepare himself for the duell, I arrived at Tholouse, and sent to let him know thereof; he came to me, and after our reciprocall embracements, he told me the trouble wherein traytor Arnalt had ingaged him, and that he did a little doubt of the successe, not for want of valour, but because the truth was not of his side, so he was to fight against double armes. Having heard all these circumstances, my heart was seized with extream sadnesse, considering that his sensua­lity had caused him to stain the House of this Seigni­or with so great infamy. I would willingly have shewn him his fault, but when things are passed, they are without remedy. In conclusion, after ha­ving long time reasoned and consulted together, I found no course so expedient as that I should under­take the combate for him, and convert the verity [Page 135]which Arnalt maintained into a lye, justifying that I had never violated the honour of Matilda, and that by force of Armes. But Albert too cou­ragious, and who felt his conscience charged with this crime, would never permit me to expose my life for his expiation: We contested some time thereupon, but seeing that I could not make him condiscend to my proposition, I bethought my self of another course, and counselled him to perswade his enemy to take a second; but he answered me as he had before done, that he would not engage others innocency with his sinne, that he was resolved to hazard his fortune alone; that he would put himself in good state before he entred the Lists, and would aske God pardon for his crime; and if it pleased him to give him the Victory over the traytor, in whom he had too lightly confided, he would content himself in making him ask his life; and at the worst of the ill chance fell upon him, he hoped that his bloud would wash away his iniquity, and that he should dye with extream repentance for having don so infamous an injury to a Seigneur that dearly loved him, and to whom he was so behold­ing. In saying this, he left me, and went to the place assigned, with tears in mine eyes, and sor­row in my heart, seeing him goe to maintain so ill a quarrell. Two houres after I heard the pub­lick rumour of the successe of this combate, where I learned that the two enemies had no advantage the one over the other, since that either of them had by his death received the just punishment of his offence; Arnalt of his treason, and Albert for vio­lating the virginity of Matilda; they pierced [Page 136]one an others bodyes with their lances, and fel upon the place, where they expired almost at the same in­stant to the great astonishment of the spectators. You may better imagine the displeasure which seised my heart, then I can represent it unto you by words, I will onely tell you that I was so sensible thereof that I fell sick, which hindred me from rendering him the last honours which we owe to our friends, and that I should have rendered to him as to the halfe of my selfe, But as one misfortune serves ordi­narily for Harbinger to another, being recovered and returned to my house, I found it altogether de­solate and in disorder by the decease of her who was the joy of my familie. At my arrivall I wanted not much of committing some outrage upon my person, through despaire, seeing my selfe deprived of two such pretious things, as I had not the like in the world, my friend and wife, I had a sonne by her, who hindred me from this fury: after I had con­stituted him heire and universall possessor of the estate fortune had given me, and not being willing to survive after the death of Albert and Lesbie; I resolved to enterre my selfe alive in this desert, where I have made my retreat this twenty yeares, enjoy­ing most sweet repose, and proving all the felicities that I have heretofore heard or read of solitude. Since which time I have alwaies lived alone, but a­bout a yeare agoe, going amongst the rocks to search hearbes and rootes to sustaine this poore life, when the night begun to banish the light, I perceived amongst the broome a person whose feeble and plan­tife voice invited me to succour her. I presently ad­vanced and saw a woman of good fashion who as [Page 137]soone as she had perceived me, asked me if I was not called Simeon, for inchanging my life and manners, I also changed my name. Yes said I in approaching to her, for my age being deprived of feelings of sensual­lity, and where concupiscentiall heats were extinct, pemitted me to come to her with out any scruple, and to bring her where we now are: and then de­manding of her what she was, she made me this discourse

I am a poore unfortunate and unhappy sinner, whose life heaven hath conserved to oblige me to dispose of it in these deserts. I was borne at Toledo in Spaine, where I was called Laure. It would be too troublesome and offensive to your holinesse to de­clare to you the particulars how I have spent my young yeares, I shall onely tell you, that I have run divers hazards in flying from the terrour that I had of a Cavalier who was offended with me, as in ef­fect he had cause. Thinking to shun the danger which I feared, I cast my selfe therein. It is but foure dayes a gone since I was in the presence of the Cava­lier, in quality of Judg, for a crime which I had com­mitted, having attempted to make him be treache­rously slaine. His countenance made me apprehend his rigour, his feeling my punishment, and his inju­ry his vengance. Then esteeming it impossible to satisfie him by my submissions; I had recourse to an Inchantresse, to deliver me out of his hands, think­ing it impossible to escape by any other meanes. This Cavalier having caused me to be brought into his company in a secret place, for to tak away my life with this proper hands, I served my selfe with the charmes which the Inchantresse had given me, [Page 138]which made me see feareful things, & without know­ing which way I went, whether by earth, aire or the sea I found my selfe in Florence. But although I saw my selfe free from him that threatened me, I was ne­vertheles a slave to my proper conscience which tor­tured me without ceasing. I made a general confession & from that howre, I found my selfe touched with a holy repentance of my faults, and with an acknow­ledgment of my proper miseries. Desiring then to vow the rest of my dayes to God, by the meanes of a severe penance, I have renounced the world and all the vanities thereof, and I doe not know by what instinct I have beene conducted, into this sharpe and remote place, where I desire to imprison my body to deliver my soule, which I feare is in great danger to be destined to the prisons of perpe­tuall darknesse. In finishing this last word, sobs and teares came into her mouth and eyes, in so great a­bundance that it was impossible for her to speake more. I was astonished to see so great contrition, in so young a heart, and an election of a life so diffe­rent from that I imagined she had before lead. My good friend said I to her, your proposition is very wholesome, but I feare your delicatenesse and the ordinary inconstancy of your sex will hin­der you from the execution thereof. At the least having begun you will finde this change too rigo­rous to support. Yet if you have a good courage, God will fortifie you, and by little and little you will have cause to give him thankes, for the holy inspirations he hath given you. Alas my daughter, a soule is happy that is disposed for death before she is called to it! It is the generall port of all humanes, [Page 139]but many have there suffered shipwrack for want of the guide which leadeth to safety, which is called pennance. If you then will save your selfe, and march under his conduct: I offer you all that you shal judg I can contribute to this designe, hoping by the grace & assistance of God that you will attaine life everlast­ing. She answered me that since I would use so much charitie towards her, she would be governed by my counsell, and would resigne me all her will. After which she chose that dwelling, which you say you have seene, where she leads an Angelicall life. I could tell you the particulars thereof, but worldly persons as you are, take no great pleasure in such en­tertaines, and also that person being but indifferent to you, it would be but a trouble to you. You shall onely know that three dayes since, she rendered her soul to God, which I believe he hath received to recompence the sharpe pennance which she hath un­dergone. She hath left me here envious of her ver­tues, happy if I can well imitate them. But I being with her when she expired; I have graven thirteene letters which you saw in the stone, for it was not spacious enough to put more, they signifie accor­ding to my sence; This is the body of a Phenix which is dead to rise againe.

For as much as the death of just persons is not called their death but birth; for as the humane crea­ture in his birth leaveth the sesible habitation of his mothers wombe, to come and live abroad; so the soules of them which leave this world in the grace of God, leave the corruptible prisons of their bodies, to enjoy eternall felicitie. Sir I have made you this troublesome discourse, as well to satisfie your desire as to recreate my memory with things [Page 140]past; for you know it is a singular pleasure to old people to recount the adventures of their youthes.

Since that venerable Simeon had pronounced the name of Laure, Fenise had much to doe to forbeare breaking the thread of his discourse, to let him know how much he was interessed in this history. He sighed at every word Simeon stayed, & complained of his hard fortune, having so passionately loved this maid by whom he had been so ingratefully used. But in the end considering that God had called her to him by this salutary pennance, he was extreamely sorry he had not knowne her in this cell, to have rendered her his last honours, in bedewing her feete with his teares, and asking her pardon for the designe which he had to kill her, and by that meanes deprive her of the saving of her soule.

When Simeon left speaking, Feanise begun to weep, and for to explicate from whence proceeded this tendernesse, he told him the extraction of Laure, and the course of her life untill the time she had retired her selfe into that solitude, at which the solitary much wondred. Our Cavalier desiring to continue his voyage, thanked Simeon for the entertainement he had given him; he prayed him to guide him to the foote of the rock where the cave was, that served for tombe to this happy penitent, to take againe his horse which he had left there, to the which the good man accorded, and more, conducted him into a foote way which led him into his way where having imbraced and taken their last leaves, Sime­on hastily returned into his Cell repenting that he had imployed too much time in discoursing upon worldly vanities.

THE HISTORY OF FREDERICK.

The illustrious towne where the Court of Spaine is ordinarily kept, is the place where I saw my first day, as well as you, if you be of Ma­drid, as you say; I am of noble linage; yet I never saw my father, he being taken from me by a dange­rous sickness before I could have knowledge of him. He left me his onely heire and under the conduct of a mother, who neglected too much to keep in my youth, to which my riches gave mee more libertie than was reasonable. Amongst these liberties I made such debauches, as I will not recount unto you; having been so excessive, that to compare that time with the life I lead now, I have cause to e­steeme my selfe happy, although I am farre from it, and besides it would augment your wearinesse by a [Page 148]troublesome attention. In this age my heart be­gun to be warmed by love, by the perfections of a Gentlewoman of a great family, whose carriage was civility it selfe, and whose beauty was the ob­ject which made all admire its author. It Would be superfluous to tell you the arts, inventions, and subtilties I used to declare unto her my passion, and the paines I tooke to finde a favourable occa­sion to perswade her to compassionate my torments; you may imagine them in representing unto your self that she was the most recluse of her time. You shall only know, that whatsoever services or testimonies of fidelity I could render her for the space of two years, it was impossible for me to hear one word from her mouth, to obtaine one favour from her hands, or to perceive any hopefull signe. In the end she was overcome by my perseverance, and not by her negligence; but who could resist so long a pursuit without being an insensible rock? the strongest places and Towers inaccessible, have been gained rather by industry then valour: Troy, Numance, and Carthage, serve us for examples there­of; what marvaile was it then that adorable Per­sinde could alwayes resist against the art, force, and courage wherewith I daily assaulted her? She was under the guard of a Mother, the most sharp and austere woman that was in all Madrid: Persinde fear­ed so much, that she never looked upon her with­out trembling. Neverthelesse by succession of time, and increasing of obstacles, our loves grew so great, that I obtained what I desired. I saw Persinde in her chamber by the intermission of certain women her Governours, who often betray the honours of [Page 149]Maids, in making shew to defend them. In one word, our private meetings were so familiar, that within a few dayes Persinde possessed a living gage of our affections. Love, that had made her com­mit this fault, inspired her with industry to hide it, and means to remedy it when it should be time. She approached her term, when her Father had a fancy to send her to Toledo to see one of her Cousins which she had there, and to recreate her self with the fa­mous sports which the Citizens then made. Per­sinde discovered to her her secret as to her most con­fident friend, and after that, Agarise (so was her Cousin called) had testified the displeasure she had for this accident; She promised to assist her in all she could possible to avid the scandall; the season being come of reaping that fruit into her hands, which had taken maturity in her womb, Agarise writ to the Father and Mother of Persinde, praying them to be pleased that she might yet keep her Cou­sin with her, and that her leave might be prolong­ed for some time, which they easily granted. I rendred my self Burgois of Toledo the day of her ar­rivall, to the end to serve her, and contribute all that should depend upon me to her assistance when there should be occasion; and for this cause I saw her almost every night in the presence of her Cou­sin. But one day, when Persinde begun to be set up­on with ordinary paines, her Cousin and she de­termined to leave the Town, and go to the Farms neer Toledo, which are called Cigarales, where Agarise had acquainted a woman with this affaire, who was prepared to receive them when they should come. But they were scarcely got half way when [Page 150]violent paine seized poor Persinde. Then Agarise feigning another pressing necessity, left the Coach with her, and retiring themselves amongst some bushes which were happily there, Persinde was de­livered of a Sonne, they wrapped him in linnens, and covered him with a little mantle of silke and gold which they had brought for that purpose, ra­ther taking care to make hast, then to trim up the Infant. This being done, Persinde drew out of her pocket a paper, and having diligently blotted out all that was written therein, shewrit these few words.

Christian, this Infant demands Baptisme, have a care thereof, and let him be called Louis. She hung this note about his neck with a silk ribband, and a­bandoned him to celestiall mercy: They retur­ned speedily to their Coach, and without going further, returned to Toledo, feigning that Persinde was sick by the way: There was a great space of time betwixt their return and the houre I was ac­customed to visit them, which was the cause of a misfortune, which maketh me yet sigh. The night being come, I went to make mine ordinary visit, where I learned this newes, and the place where I should finde this poor little innocent. I depart­ed in diligence, and sought on all sides with a torch; I visited the inside and outside of every bush that was in the place whither they had directed me, but without finding any thing. Feare seized my soule at the beginning, fearing that he was devou­red by some wild beast, and yet seeing no bloud spilt, nor any of the cloaths of the child, I ima­gined that some charicable person, having heard it [Page 151]cry, had taken it away to give it a better lodging. After I had passed almost the whole night in visi­ting three or four times the same place, to the end I might not be accused of negligence, I returned to Toledo, with intention to report otherwise to Persinde, for fear of killing her with grief. The time of my going to see her being come, I made her believe that I had put the infant in a place of security, and that she needed not further thinke therof. Not long after, Persinde having recovered her colour, returned to Madrid, with letters from Agarise her Cousin, which thanked her Unckle and Aunt for the honour she had received from them in the visit of her Cousin, let them know that she had been a little sick, so that all this affaire was happily overpassed, if the absence of the child had not afflicted us.

My Mother deceased incontinently after this suc­cesse, and by her losse I remained in full liberty to match where I thought good. I then determined to demand Persinde in marriage; but having ac­quainted her therewith, she counselled me not to do it, for fear I should thereby receive some discon­tentment, seeing that her Mother pretended to make her religious: And although she knew not that Persindes inclinations stood that way, yet she used all possible diligence to make her condiscend to her will. A great tyranny, to make a per­son by constraint take a condition against heart.

Having had certain advice of the intention of thi rigorous mother, and being assured of the affections of? Persinde, I stole her away one night, an [Page 152]carried her to Cartagene, a towne scituate upon the sea shore, and where the greatest part of my estate was, I stayed with her there some yeares, we leading a very happy life. Heaven gave me another child, which was a daughter faire as an Angell, she had all the features of her mother, but yet more sweet and charming, I loved her above all things in the world, J could not be a moment without seeing her, and nothing pleased me so much as her innocence. She was about three yeares old when on a summers e­vening I had a great desire to walke with her in a little place which I had neere the towne of Carta­gene, and stay there untill the next day at the same houre; but I departed too late, for the night tooke me by the way. I held this little minion in mine armes, having taken her from her nurse which car­ryed her, and without thinking thereof I was invi­roned with a troope of pyrates, who tooke her with my heart out of mine armes, presently I found my selfe in a vessell companion to many slaves, depri­ved of my deere child and servants who were with me, and presently after I found my selfe a captive in Algier which you see now. Consider in what port you are arrived, and whether you had not better to have served for food to sea monsters, then to have falne into the hands of these earthly ones. I have languished fourteene yeares in this misery, where it seemes my life hath taken another nature, since that I dye not to avoid so many displeasures. I have many times written to Madrid, and sent my wife worde of my sad disafter, but what ever diligence I have used, I could never receive an answer. I doe not excuse her of negligence, nor ill nature, I have [Page 153]too much proofe of her goodnesse and vertue, but I thinke my letters never went so far, I feare that the King of Algier, who will not put my daughter nor me in the number of slaves to be ransomed, hath stayed them, for these infidells are most faith­full to their soveraigne; so that I know not now if I have yet any body for me, nor whether my wife be in heaven or earth.

My daughter I have told you of, is called Magde­lene; but the barbarian that ravished her from me, hath taken from her that name, and called her Cirife, at the end of six yeares of our captivitie, the pirate seeing day by day the beauty of this little one increase, made her serve him as an instrument to get the favour of Selin, King of Algier, he gave her to him to dispose of her as he thought good. The Prince was much pleased with this present, and to testifie the esteeme he had thereof, he promised to gratifie him upon all occasions; when she was taken out of mine armes her clothes were not so poore, but that they rendered her considerable, and testi­fyed that she was issued from christians of great qua­litie, which obliged the King to esteeme her as much as if she had beene his proper child. He hath brought her up like a queene, in effect I know he pretends to qualifie her with that greatnesse and marry her. I apprehend, that that will be executed sooner then is thought of, and so there may be a soule lost, and a desolation for mine old age.

The onely good that I have resting amongst so many displeasures, is that I see her sometimes, by a window of a Towre, where by good fortune, the King hath lodged her, the halfe of the circum fe­rence [Page 154]of this towre comes from the Kings lodgings against the gardens of the Citizens; having betwixt them but a little lane of five or six paces over, full of briers and bushes. With diligent searching some meanes to approach this prison, I have found a breach in a wall, which seemeth to have beene made for me by some angell: by it I goe to the foote of the tower, and [...]hiding my selfe in the thornes and grasse, I speake sometimes to Magdalene, whilst she maketh a shew to recreate her selfe in taking the ayre by the window, and by the veiw of the gar­dens; In the little time we enjoy this common con­tentment, I speake to her of no other thing, but that she remember she is a christian, that she take heede of violating her faith, whatsoever is offered her or said to her, and that she hope that God who never leaveth his, will receive our vowes, and one day give us the recompence of our travells and con­stancie. See deere country man the subject of my afflictions and miserie, which you may helpe me to lament as you told me at your arrivall, if peradven­ture you have not particulars, which oblige you to imploy your teares for your selfe; and if it was no­thing but the losse you have made of your libertie, you will not want cause of teares Alas! there is so long a death prepared for you amongst chaines and travells, that I assure my selfe that you will be sorry you were not buried in the waters as your compa­nions, which I esteeme much happier then your self. Hitherto Fenise had harkened to the afflictions of o­thers, but from that moment he begun to feare those that threatened him: but when the courage is firme, there is no adversitie that can astonish a man, [Page 155]nor danger capable to terrifie him. Fenise having a while considered the finistre predictions of Frede­rick, and studied by what industry he might prevent these future disgraces, he made him this discourse. In harkening to the recitall you have made me of your misfortunes, I have conceived in my minde what may remedy you, and it may be you will judg so, when I have communicated it unto you. But to oblige you the more to second my intentions, I wil tell you newes of the child you went to search a­mongst the bushes neere Toledo. He was named Louis as his mother desired, I have not onely knowne him, but that knowledge is passed into an affection, he is one of my intimate friends. I have left him at Va­lence at a gentlemans house a friend of mine, called Leonard, in whose house he hath recounted to me his whole life, whose beginning answers to all the particulars you have told me thereof. A labourer found him in the place where you went to seek him, he had care to bring him up, and entertaine him un­till his decease; and in making him inheritour of all his estate, he gave him a little purse, wherein was the paper that you saw his mother hung about his neck, which he yet carefully keepeth. So great a transport of joy seized the heart of Frederick, that he wanted not much of falling at the feet of Fenise, when when he told this newes: But after a little silence, it is possible said he, that my stars begin to be weary with persecuting me, what will heaven give me this contentment in my last dayes and assure me that my child liveth? Alas! if I could perswade my selfe as you say, I should no longer esteeme my selfe un­happy, although I be a slave and charged with chaines. Yet you give me so many markes thereof [Page 156]and your manner of speaking hath so much ap­pearance of truth, that I willingly believe it. For that which concerneth the proposition you make to execute a designe which may produce some happy successe; doe not doubt my fidelity; I ingage to you my faith to expose my selfe to all sortes of hazards, to serve you untill the losse of my life if there be neede, assuring my selfe, that before any thing is un­dertaken you will judge that it is all that a slave can offer. Doe not believe answered Fenise, that I make so little esteeme thereof, as onely to hazard it; on the contrary the industry I have advised my selfe of, tends onely to its conservation and safety. I can speake the Arabick language in perfection, having learned it of a slave of my fathers, by a secret provi­dence of heaven, who foresaw this present necessitie. With that I have some money which is saved with me from the passed shipwrack. I put it into my bo­some when I entered into the ship at Livorne. My designe is, to buy by your meanes a turkish habit, and cloth my selfe therein: I will say that I am Citi­zen of Fez, and will buy you of your master; when you shall be out of your captivitie you shall also change your clothes, and by the favour of the Ara­bique language, wee will save our selves as well as we can possibly. By this meanes you shall be delive­red from the miseries wherein you are, you will give a new life to your wife, and see him for whom you both have shed so many tears. I believe answered Frederick, that heaven hath expressely preserved you from shipwrack, to deliver me from the miseries wherein I am, this encounter could not have beene without the soveraigne appointment of God. There [Page 157]are many circumstances which may helpe the execu­tion of your project: this day they solemnize the nativity of my master, who is a Bacha, the second per­son after the King, and his favourite; and because of this feast, wee slaves have more libertie then upon other dayes, every one maketh holiday, and is at rest, therefore you have found me here aside com­plaining my disaster, besides because I belong to this seignieur; wee have a little more priviledge then other captives, the guards that are at the gates take not so much heede of us, so that all these things being considered I hope to satisfie you in what you desire to our common contentment. Fenise at the same time gave him as much money as was necessary for that purpose, & in the meane while he remained hidden in an old great hollow oake, which it see­med yeares had prepared for this act of hospitalitie. Frederick was not long in returning with such ha­bits as he judged most proper for their designe, be­ing discharged of his pacquet, Fenise told him that he had left a box upon the sea shore, wherein was a part of his equipage, and upon the which he had saved himselfe, and having consulted together what was to be done, they went to seeke it, bringing it with much paine, and burying it in a remarquable place, to have recourse to it if there should be occa­sion. Then without losing time Fenise tooke the turbant and other Turkish habits, put a Cimiter by his side, and disguised himselfe so properly, that the most subtill Turk would have taken him for his na­turall countryman. The same day a Merchante ship a Jew landed at Algier laden with great riches, as Velvets, Scarlets, Spanish clothes, and other rare [Page 158]Merchandises of Tire and Caire, whither they make great traffique, this happened well for Fenise; for at the houre that it arrived, which was towards the evening, he and Frederick approached near the gates of the Town, and our Cavalier mingled himself amongst the new comers, and was taken by the Ci­tizens for a Merchant, and by the Merchants for one of the towne, so that he entred freely without any one taking notice of him. Frederick served him for guide and Harbinger, finding him lodging for his mony where Fredrick left him, having before re­solved together, that Fenise should goe the next day to his Master to treat about his ransome.

Fenise slept but very little that night, his minde was busied with a thousand severall thoughts, one while he considered the danger which he had run and from which he had been saved, to fall into the hands of Barbarians; another while he thought up­on the discourse Frederick had made him, imagi­ning that his daughter must needs be rarely faire, since that the King of Algier pretended to marry her, and as he occupyed his spirit in this entertaine, he grew extreamly desirous to see this beauty when he should have delivered the father: The day being come, he informed himselfe where the Bacha's house was, where Frederick was slave, he was conducted thither, and being arrived at the gate, he courte­ously demanded to speake to him, saying he would buy one of his slaves. He was brought before the Bacha, and when they were face to face, they were both mute, and without motion as statues. Fenise knew that this was his fathers slave which had taught him the Arabique Language, which was [Page 159]called Mahomet Zeran, and respected as Bacha, and the greatest favourite of the King of Algier. Fenise was then sorry that hee had presented himselfe in person to treate upon the liberty of Frederick ha­ving meanes to have done it otherwise, but dissem­bling the extreame confusion he was in, for feare of being discovered, he broke silence, and propoun­ded what he demanded. Before Mahomet answered him, he asked him what he was, of what country, and how he was called, faigning to believe he was a a Turke, although he knew him well enough. Fe­nise being reassured, boldly answered him in the African language, that he was a Turke of an illu­strious family and native of Fez, and come to seeke Sanctuary near him, flying the cruelty of two brothers, which would have killed him, and that he was called Gomhor; Mahomet admired the wit and carriage of Fenise, who disguised the truth with such art; but without playing further with him, he came to him and told him in his eare in Spanish, whatsoever cause hath brought you hither, you are welcome; in saying so, he tooke him by the hand, and made him sit downe by him, a fa­vour which he did to no body. Fenise saw by his proceeding and language, that hee knew him: And Mahomet continuing to speak, Fenise, said he, you little esteem the sincerity of my heart, since you use so much art to disguise a truth so evident. I am sorry you hinder me so long from perfectly enjoying the joy I have to see you in a place where I have power to serve you, and testifie by some oc­casion the sensible obligations I have to you and your father, whom I shall respect all my life, as [Page 160]mine owne, saying so he cast himselfe, upon Fenise his neck and straightly imbraced him. Our Cavalier touched with these singular proofes of the good nature of Mahomet, was constrained to declare him­self, and yeeld to his courtesie, he bowed himselfe very low, and embraced his knees, and by the most civill complements his good wit could invent, made him understand, that respect had engaged him to this dissimulation, and as he was about to explicate his reasons, Mahomet made a signe with his eye, that he should hold his peace. All that saw their actions, knew not what to thinke thereof, principally that Mahomet should shew himselfe so affable towards this man, who was accustomed to be severe towards them. The Bacha would not that they should know more, commanded them to retire, and leave them alone, as they did, and then Fenise having rendered him a thousand testimonies of his joy, briefly told him all the history of his life, since he had left To­ledo untill this happy encounter. Mahomet full of a­stonishment and admiration with the recitall of these strange misfortunes, promised to employ all his wealth and credit for his contentment, and to furnish him with means to return into Spaine, up­on the first occasion that should be offered; after having learned that Frederick the slave he demanded to buy, was father to one of his intimate friends, he gave him to him to doe with him what he plea­sed; then he invited him to lodge in his house, but Fenise excused himselfe therefrom, judging that that might hinder the effect of his intentions; yet he could not defend himself from staying dinner with him. They begun to spread upon the ground [Page 161]a great piece of Tapistry, upon which they dined. Then he was obliged to receive the visit of a Turk of quality who came to speak to him about an affair of importance, which caused Fenise to retire himself into an Anti-chamber, to let them devise more free­ly together. He walked there, and thanked God that Mahomet had treated him so humanely; and as he was upon these thoughts, he saw a little doore open into the Anti-chamber where he was, out of which came a faire Moore, richly habited, who see­med to be melancholique. Our Cavalier saluted her with an action full of respect and humility. The Moore made him a reverence after the mode of Spaine, whereat Fenise was astonished, but yet more, when she approached him, saying in the Spanish tongue.

THE CONTINƲANCE OF THE HISTORY OF EUFEMIE.

CAvalier, said she, with a deep sigh, I have heard all the recitall of the history you told to Mahomet, wherein by having named Leonard, a high Cavalier of the town of Valence, you have moved my memory to discourse upon the misfortunes of my life, and obliged my reason to acknowledge the faults which my impudence hath made me commit, from whence I suffer a most rigorous unquietnesse of spirit. I am the unfortunate Eufemie, I am that unhappy cause of the troubles of Leonard my bro­ther, [Page 162]having preferred my sensuall pleasures before the duties of my birth and qualitie: I will not cloake my miscarriages, though love might render them excusable; on the contrary, I desire to make you a naked description thereof, yet as short as I can possible, whilst the absence of Mahomet giveth me leisure, that by mine own shame, I may in your person render some satisfaction to my brother, since you say you are his friend.

I loved passionately a Cavalier, which you have known from the mouth of my brother, as your di­scourses have given me cause to presume; but so passionately that I left my house to follow him, he carried me to Madrid (I ought to hide my face, in telling you the infamous commerce that that man made me doe) where he rendered mee a publique Courtizan, not so much to satisfie his necessity, as the vengeance he would take of my brother in my person and honour. From Madrid, for to save our selves from my brother who had discovered us, wee went to Saragoce, where wee stayed some moneths, and there I had the reputation of the most faire and famous Courtezan of that age, and as such a one was visited by the greatest Gallants of the towne. During our stay there, Don Pedro, which you know to be the name of the cruell ene­my of my brother, and my renowne, made friend­ship with a young Gentleman, whose merits were were cherished and esteemed by a most noble Lady of an excellent wit and beauty, and the better to expresse her perfections, I pray you consider, that they must needs be rare, since that being of my sex, and the originall of my misfortunes, I am yet con­strained to praise her.

Alexander, so was this Cavalier called which she loved, discovered part of the secrets of his soule, and amongst others that of his flame to Don Pedro his new friend. I may well say he gave him part of his fire, since that he rendered him taken with the love of Cerinthe, she was called so, neverthelesse durst not enterprise to declare unto her his feeling for feare Alexander should be offended therewith; and to avoide this inconvenience, he betooke him­selfe to art, in all occasion wherein I was spoke of in the presence of Alexander, Don Pedro spoke mar­vells of me, as if I had beene the most accomplished with beauty, wit, and merit, to the end to move him to love me, and oblige him to breake that mu­tuall band of amity that was vowed betwixt them, and thereby to imitate him and make Cerinthe his mistresse also to change. In a word he conducted his designe so cunningly, that it tooke as he imagi­ned, Alexander courted me, Don Pedro seemed dis­content therewith, and to revenge himselfe, got ac­cesse neere Cerinthe, which he found easy enough at the beginning: there is no woman that is offended with being beloved, and she that doth not disap­prove of the service of a lover, beginneth already to love. Alexander taken with this new affection, scarce­ly stirred from my lodging, neglecting by this meanes to visit Cerinthe, and she knowing his incon­stancy rendered him the like, making love with Don Pedro. By succession of time Alexanders father was advertised of his debauches, he was told that his sonne entertained a courtezan a stranger which cost him much. And forasmuch as old people are covetous, and forget the follies of their youthes, he could [Page 164]not excuse this of his sonnes. He employed his cre­dit so well, that the Justice commanded me to quit the towne in a certaine time. I seeing my selfe con­strained to obey, gave notice thereof to Don Pedro; but instead of being sorry for it, he seemed to be very well pleased with this newes, because my ab­sence gave him more libertie to passe his time with Cerinthe, so that one day he told me that I might goe whither I would, and that he could not then leave Sarragose. I seeing my selfe so unworthily used by this perfidious, and considering the resolution which he tooke to abandon me, being distasted with my person, I imagined he loved else where: in this opinion I used such exact diligence; that I discovered the cause of his disdaine, as I have now told you. I did not leave to require his assistance in this necessitie, adding imbracements to words, and representing unto him the obligations which he had to me, yea imploying some times, threats; for my jelousie and his contempt carryed me to furi­ous extreamities. In the end either by reasons or fear I made him resolve to quit Sarragoce, and leave Ce­rinthe, but with designe to revenge himselfe cru­elly of my persecutions, as I have since learned. He deferred our departure as long as he could possible, and stayed untill the very last day the Justice had given me for that effect. In the end wee tooke toge­ther the way to Valence, he did nothing but curse by the way, there came nothing out of his mouth but insolencies, injuries, and threatenings; he drew his poynard and presented it unto me, then he put it againe into the scabbard; in briefe he so affright­ed me, that every moment I believed he was about [Page 165]to open my breast and pull out my heart, he seemed to be so full of fury & rage: being arrived at our first Inne, it was impossible for me to take any foode. I went to bed weeping bitterly for my faults, and endeavouring to invent some way to deliver my selfe from this traytor: the next morning he pressed me to be gone on our voyage, and I, fearing he would put me to some tragique end, fained to be sick, and prayed him to defer it one day, which he gran­ted at the solicitation of the host and hostesse who had pitty of me seeing me weepe, but it was not without many curses. Heaven which desires not al­wayes the losse of those that offend it, which lets them live to amend and repent, yea and assists them to oblige them the more to acknowledge it in the midst of their extreame necessities, conducted Maho­met to the same Inne where we were. And because he arrived at a time when Don Pedro was gone to walke by the side of a little river, which was neere thereunto, not being able to stay in my company, I had leasure to consider his fashion and behaviour: I saw he had a good countenance that he was of a proportion big and strong; and joyning to these circumstances that he was well mounted, and very well habited, I tooke him for a gentleman or a man of honour; In this thought without knowing him to be an infidell and no christian, I went to aske his assistance. I succinctly told him my history, and the extreame trouble I was in, beseeching him, since that he went the same way, to follow us unto the first towne, without losing sight of us to hinder that my perfidious conductor might not doe me some displeasure. Mahomet having considered my [Page 166]language & countenance, had his heart touched with compassion as he hath since told me and promised me very courteously, to satisfie al that I could desire from his service; with this assurance, I told Don Pe­dro that I was ready to depart when he would, he tooke me at my word, and about two houres before sun setting, we left this lodging following on our way. At the beginning of the night we arrived at the entry of a wood; then I looked behind me and perceived Mahomet, who had not yet appeared, which a little moderated my feare. We were scarcely in this wood when I knew that we had left the great way, and that we were in a little path, we are out of the way cryed I to Don Pedro, no, no, answered he, follow me; it is the nearest for our journey. I who was in perpetuall distrust, believed these words were equivocall, and that the nearest which he meant, was to finde the issue of my life. I turned my selfe yet once, and saw my defendor follow us, I tooke cou­rage, and a little time after Son Pedro turned to­wards me. You are in the right said he; I believe we are out of the way, and since that there is no way more here, let us light. What neede is there of that said I. Away, away we must, replyed he with a tone extraordinary. I will take here the last vengeance of the hatred I beare to thy blood and person which hath rendered it self too odious to mine eyes by con­tradicting my pleasures; saying so, he tooke his poi­niard in his hand, and attempted to strike me down from the Mule whereupon I was mounted; seeing the rage of this action, and the glittering of the iron, wherewith be would have sacrificed me to his felony; I cried out, Ah cruell, what thinkest thou [Page 167]to doe? and endeavoured to stay his arme, or at least to slacken the blow. At the same time I was succoured by valiant Mahomet, who came running with his sword in his hand, crying, Traytor what wilt thou doe? Mine enemy seeing the sudden ap­parition of this protector, knew not if it was not an angell in the figure of a man; yet he drew his sword to defend his life, but the other assailed him so furiously, that his endeavours were unprofitable, he made him give up his soule in the same place where he thought to have murdered me. At the echo of these clamours and my lamentings, an unknown man came in, it may bee with designe to succour those he heard complaine, but Mahomet tooke a pistoll which was at, his saddle bow, prayed this unknown to passe no further, and to suffer him to goe without further informing himselfe of any thing. I am much deceived if you bee not he of whom I speak, the discourse which I heard you hold to Mahomet giveth mee a great presumption thereof. We took our horses, and went towards the towne of Tortose, I saw I ought my life to this Cavalier, and for that reason it seemed to me I was obliged to follow him whither he would lead me; without knowing either his nation or religion; I took him for a Spaniard, because he spoke the lan­guage perfectly well. Coming neare Tortose, he told me, that he did not thinke it expedient for us to goe thither, for feare of some ill successe, because of the homicide committed; so that turning out of the right way, he carried me to a Bourge near to the sea shoare, and in a place called the neck of Bala­gouer, where are little armes, where the Moores [Page 168]hide themselves, and from whence they make sal­lies and courses upon the Christian countries. In fine, whether he had notice to be there, or that for­tune conducted him thither, he found a Galley of Pirats, whereof the chiefe came with great respect to speak to him, and upon the instant they prepa­red themselves to return. Then Mahomet let mee know, that hee intended to carry me along with him, he declared unto me his country, and promi­sed the sweetest entertainment that I could hope for amongst my Kindred. I seeing my selfe obliged to satisfie him either by fair means or constraint, I heaved up my shoulders, and testified to him a silent consentment, though it was not without shedding many teares, and making many sobs, considering to what misfortune my faults would engage me, as amongst others to goe finish the rest of my daies amongst barbarian infidels, far from the exercise of the christian faith, being altogether abandoned to the mercy of Mahomet, I esteemed my self as his slave; but although he was of a barbarous nati­on, yet hee was of so courteous a nature, that he used me with all the respect he could possi­bly render to a Lady to whom he was inferior. He saw well that I had cause to weep and afflict my self as I did, therefore he used no violence, to make me forget my disgraces, he onely attempted to di­vert my troubles, with much modestie and discre­tion. In briefe considering the extreame misery whereunto my stars had reduced me, I might e­steeme my selfe very happy; for there are disasters, which ought to bee esteemed as felicities, when one knoweth they have been in danger to suffer greater. One day during our navigation, hee related unto [Page 169]me the noblenesse of his extraction, the courses which he had made upon the Christians, that in the same Gally where we were he had been made a slave, and sold to a Spanish Gentleman of the towne of Madrid, who finding himselfe beholden to him for great services he had done him in a certain quarrel, and that seeing he would not turn Christian, had given him his liberty with money and a good horse, for to returne into his countrie, having before dis­guised him like a Spaniard to the end he might passe more securely, and not be knowne what hee was. And this was the cause that I demanded his assistance, believing him by his habits to be a Gen­tleman of our nation. Having much lamented my misfortunes. I must resolve to have patience, and referre all to divine mercy, in comforting my selfe that I am falne into the hands of a man of excellent behaviour which he learned in Castile. We arrived in this town, where being received by his father with open armes, and cherished by the King, he is now his onely favourite. I hold the same place to­wards him, he loveth me with passion, as being as he saith, the onely pleasure of his life; he hath never spoken to me to change my religion, for hee beleeveth that ought to come voluntarily without any force or restraint. The contentments which hee giveth mee, and the care he hath to see me ser­ved, are so great, that there are but two things which trouble me, the profession of my faith, and my dear Country, without that there is no felicity in the world that can be entire. The reception he hath made of you accompanied with so many ho­nours testifie, that he esteemeth you much. I have [Page 170]often heard him speake of you before your arrivall, as of a Gentleman most accomplished; therefore you may assure your selfe of his amitie, and believe that he will employ himselfe in all occasions where you shall have need of his credit, and also for your returne into Spaine when you shall desire it. If I could but follow you, and that you would but carry me thither with you, I assure my selfe you would have cause to commend the acknowledgment my brother and I should make you for it. Fenise was about to answer her, but upon the instant a servant came to advertise them, that the Bacha their Lord was coming thither, which obliged him to attend another occasion. Eusemie retired into her chamber by the same door shee came, which shee shut as before; and leaving Fenise in great admi­ration, made him know in the end, that Mahomet and she had been the cause of the pains which hee had suffered, having been like to have lost his life shamefully, being accused for killing Don Pedro, and kept prisoner for that subject. Mahomet excused himself to Fenise for having left him so long alone; Fenise replyed by those civilities which are ordina­rily used in such complements, then they continued to speake of times passed, wherein they both tooke great pleasure. Thereupon they came to tell them that dinner was ready, where the stranger was magnificently treated after the fashion of the country. In the interim Mahomet made a lod­ging to be prepared for him in the towne, sending all things necessary for a houshold. The evening being come, he was carried to take possession of his house, whereof he remained absolute master.

Here one may finde occasion to marvell at the inconstancy of things, and the strange mutation of fortune. It is not Long since Fenise was tossed by the fury of contrary windes, and at the present he hath the winde of favour in poape, not long since he was tumbled and tormented in a ship, and now he is courteously received in a Palace, yesterday he was naked, and to day clothed with rich orna­ments, yesterday in a storme at sea, and to day ho­noured upon earth, yesterday fearing to be made a slave, and to day possessing the graces and favours of a prince. He had an extreame passion to see the daughter of Frederick, which we call Magdalene, as well because it was her proper name, as also being more pleasant to the eare then that of Catife, which they had given her at Algier.

Fenise was become amorous of her, without see­ing her, but by the simple relation of her beauties, which he had heard her Father make. He dyed with impatience to attaine to this pleasant vision. But forasmuch as the passions of love are wounds that reach to the very bottome of the breast, they must have a long time to be cured, so that to think to arrive at the end without passing by the middle, is either a thing impossible, or very dange­rous, so that his discretion was willing to give leasure to time to work with her, without using violence.

Whilst Fenise renewed his acquaintance with the Bacha Mahomet, and received his favours. Frederick ravished with joy for the happy encounter he had made, and the faire hopes which were given him, would carry newes thereof to his daughter, that [Page 172]she might partake in his contentment, but he found the breach of the wall made up, and his passage stopped; the owner of this Garden had repaired this breach it may bee for his proper commodity, or it may be because he had seen him passe that way. Seeing himselfe thus deprived of this little good that rested to him, he begunne againe to lament his misfortunes, and with teares in his eyes, came to seeke his consolation in the wits of generous Fenise. His dwelling was not now where he had lodged, he passessed the house which Mahomet had made to be accommodated for him. He received him there with the most courteous welcome that was possible, and told him that he had obtained his libertie, having let Mahomet know that he was fa­ther to one of his most intimate friends, and from that hour he retained him to dwell with him, in expecting some meanes for the deliverance of his daughter Magdelene. Frederick embraced him a­new with a thousand thankes, for the affection which he had testified to him: But Fenise observed the sadnesse which he had in his countenance, and asked him the cause thereof. Then Frederick de­clared unto him that his last consolation was taken from him, the place being stopped by which he pas­sed to see his daughter.

Fenise having known the cause of his displeasure, led him into a Gallery which was on the back side of his lodging from whence one might see the Kings house on that side the tower was, which was over against it, and in shewing it to him, he sayd, If that be the tovver vvhereof you have spo­ken to me, you need not so much despaire as you [Page 173]doe. Alas, it is the same answered Frederick, but the distance from hence thither, is too great to speak to her, if we had occasion to give her advice of any thing, yet we are happy replyed Fenise, that we are no further from it, but that from the one place to the other we may easily know and distin­guish the features of the face; let us then content our selves with what it pleaseth heaven to give us, perhaps it will furnish us with some invention from whence we may draw more benefit then we can imagine. Frederick suffered himselfe to be perswa­ded by this consolation, and determined to keep watch in this Gallery, looking every moment if Magdelene or the Christian slave which served her should come to the window. But because she had there presented her selfe three or four times, with­out seeing Frederick, because of the accident that was happened, she made no more account to appear there, judging that there was some great impediment happened to their felicity.

This opinion was the cause that Frederick passed a whole week in measuring the length of this Gal­lery, and counting the minutes of every day. In the end as he was deploring his misery, being out of all hope of ever seeing againe his dear daughter; for the last time he cast his eyes upon the window, and saw Magdelene and her slave, who looked upon him contesting together whether it was he or no; for the unknown house and gallery where he was, put them in this doubt. Then Frederick lifting up his eyes to heaven in action of thankfulnesse, and ex­tending his armes towards her, leaning over the parapet made himself known, and put them out of [Page 174]doubt. He let them understand as well as he could by his actions why he could come no more to the foot of the Tower, and that from thenceforwards he might see her from the place where he was, be­cause he dwelt there, and was no longer slave; then after a little time, Magdalene made to him the signe of farewell untill the next day, and shut her win­dow, for fear of abusing the favours of fortune, or that Selin should perceive them.

Fenise at that time stirred not from Mahomet, cour­ting and entertaining his affections, and when the night obliged him to retreat, Frederick made him the recitall of what he had seen, and that he hoped to have the same contentment the next day: That he thought it would not be amiss to make Magdalen be­lieve that he was her Brother of whom he had many times spoken to her, to the end she might present her self more freely. Our Cavalier found this no ill in­vention, because it suted to his desires; he told him he should absolutely dispose of his person and life: But dear Frederick (said he) when a man enterpriseth an affaire, difficult, dangerous, and serious, he ought to foresee all the inconveniences imaginable, which may hinder his design, for to attempt to sur­mount them, and come to a happy successe. We must then goe here with great warinesse, and take exact heed to our selves in the beginning, for feare of failing in the end. You said (as I remember) that Magdalene is so recluse, and retired, that no one seeth her but the King, and from thence I fear that she will not shew her self, seeing me with you, ima­gining that I am some Turk; but to warrant us from this danger, I think it fit to change my habits, I [Page 175]have found an invention to get the box brought hi­ther, which we buried at the entry of the forrest, where I found you after my shipwrack; I will take an habit that is therein, and then when Magdalen shall see me clothed after the Spanish fashion, you may the bet­ter perswade her that I am her Brother. Frederick approved of his opinion, and Fenise shewed him a suit made for the Country, of gray cloth, covered with plate lace of gold and silver, and compleat with all other furniture. The day being come, so impatiently expected by these two friends. Frede­rick set himself upon the watch in the Gallery, and not long after saw the window open, and Magda­len and her slave appear. He made her a sign to stay, and went to fetch Fenise to let him see his daughter; he came, he saw, and was overcome; the imagina­tion which he had formed to himself of the beauties of Magdalen was very imperfect in comparison of the originall which he admired. During his ravish­ment, Magdalen carefully considered him, astonish­ed with this new fashion of habit, and with the grace and good countenance which he had, yet with­out knowing who he was.

Her spirit was much troubled to explicate this Ae­nigma; but in the end, her father forced her by imbracements and other signes to comprehend that it was her Brother. She understood it, and then her admiration was converted into confusion, en­deavouring to divine by what meanes he was come into that place, for she had learned of her Father the History of his birth and losse. Fenise made all the gesture? of respect and love he could devise, to testifie to her that he was not only her Brother, but [Page 176]her slave and defendor; she rendred him those re­verences and salutations which courtesie obliged her to, testifying with her armes, that she imbraced him with her heart. Whilst Magdelen and Fenise entertained themselvs with these mute complements, Erimene attentively considered our Cavalier, this was the name that this Christian slave had taken to disguise her own; by much regarding him, she thought she knew him, and well remembring her self, she remembred his name, and the place where she had seen him. She judged, that since they en­deavoured to give an impression to her Mistresse that this was her Brother, it was not necessary to declare to her what she knew, for fear of breaking some fa­vourable project to the contentment of her Father, she resolved to keep silence, and see to what end would come all these confusions. In the interim it was not permitted them to stay any longer in the presence one of another. Erimene carefull to ma­nage occasion, made signe to Frederick and Fenise to retire, yet advising the old man to be at the same place two hours after, and when the Sun was neer setting, Magdelen made them the sign of adieu, and shut her window, leaving our Cavalier more captive then all the slaves in Barbary, having sacri­ficed to her at the very instant of his first regard, his liberty, heart, and life, resolved to hazard all to de­liver her from the subjection wherein she was. He returned to change his habits, and take those of a Turk to go visit Mahomet. He was very carefull to conserve his good will, and observe him in e­very thing, that he might make use of his credit if there should be occasion thereof, although he had [Page 177]declared nothing to him of his design, nor of the intelligence he had with Frederick, for fear his zeale to serve the King might surmount the ami­tie which he bore him. He knew so well how to make use of the favours of this Moor that he made him believe he took no care to return into his Coun­try; and that after so many misfortunes received there, he would renounce it, and was determined to stay there with him as long as he should please. Mahomet finding himself obliged to his affection, would testifie the esteem that he made thereof, by installing him in the charge of Subbacha, (an office of justice, as one may say Corrector, or Judge of politick Government) which Fenise willingly ac­cepted, seeing it was an excellent meanes to bring about his design, seeing that this charge made him be feared of the people, esteemed by the Nobles, and generally beloved and respected of all. The night begun to extend it self upon the face of the Earth, when venerable Frederick rendred himself in the gal­lery, and saw immediatly the window open, and Erimene appear, holding a bow and arrow, which she shot against a wall, a little further off then the place where he was, making a signe to him that he should take it up. Erimene having seen him doe what she desired, departed, and shut the window. Frederick perceived that this arrow had a little paper rouled about the end thereof, instead of a pile, and industriously accommodated; he judged that there was some mystery hidden; he untied it, and saw that it was a letter directed to him; he presently went to finde Fenise to let him read the same with him, not being willing to have a secret which he [Page 178]should not have full knowledg of. They opened it, and saw that it was the Castalian tongue, contain­ing this discourse.

Frederick and Fenise embraced one another, seeing so cleare an appearance of a power to communicate and resolve together some great enterprise for their common liberty, Magdelene being couragious, and Erimene very ingenious. It was she that had written [Page 180]this Letter; for although the other knew the Ca­stalian language, having learned it of Erimene, she was not so expert as to write in that stile; they prai­sed and admired this favourable invention, as in truth they had cause, it being extream rare, secret, and subtill; but there is nothing that a woman will not finde out to surmount the obstacles vvhich op­pose her contentment: In vain doe fathers and hus­bands shut their doors, and wall up their windows, and guard their walls, to avoid scandall, and to take from their Daughters and Wives the intelli­gence they might have with their Lovers: the more they are shut up, the more leisure is given them to exercise their wits, and to invent means to over­come what hinders them; there is no Tower high enough, nor locks, nor doors, nor walls strong e­nough to conserve their honours, if they doe not guard them themselves.

Fenise glad to see so fair a way laid open to his hopes, prepared an answer to this sweet letter, that the messenger might not stay that came to fetch it. The time assigned to Frederick being come, he ren­dred himself at the place assigned, with a candle in a lanthorn, for feare the wind of the birds wings should put it out, or that she might offend her self, and without attending long, he heard a signe given at the window of the Tower, and at the same instant the angelicall bird came, and pearched upon his arm, which he presented to her for that effect near the candle. Fenise and he took her safely, find­ding the white paper, and untying it, put their an­swer in the place thereof; then hiding their light, according to the instructions received, they saw that [Page 181]of the the towre to appeare, and let goe this faith­full and able confident, in the twinkling of an eye she rendered her selfe betwixt the hands of her mistresse, who gave her the most sweete and amia­ble nourishment of her face, accompanyed with a thousand amorous kisses, payd her the portage of the letter she brought. The hand wherein it was written was knowne by Erimene; confirming her in the opinion she had that this Caviler which Fre­derick would have passe for the brother of Magdelene was a gentleman of Toledo, to whome she had often times spoken, and seene verses of his writing, yet she did not declare her thought to Magdelene, who impatient to know what this letter contayned prayed Erimene to reade it.

Thus ended this letter which left some kinde of sorrow in the minde of Magdalene because she assured her selfe that this unknowne Cavalier was her bro­ther. This proximitie did not please her, for as much as it did not accord with the love that begun to take place in her heart. Erimene that penetrated into her most secret thoughts, perceived well that there was something in the letter that pleased her not, and to be cleared of the suspition which she had conceived, she prayed Magdelene to tell her what it was that troubled her, to the end she might comfort her. Deere companion of my caprivitie said Magdelene to her, you have just occasion to complain of me, if I should reserve any secret from you, and to testifie that my heart is open to you, I will tell you truly, that since the houre that my fa­ther made me to see the Cavalier, I have had extra­ordinary troubles. I know not whether it proceed from the influence of the stars, Blood, or the graces [Page 183]of that gentleman, but I have suffered since that moment, unquietnesses which I have hitherto beene ignorant of, and also I have a certaine sorrow that he is so neere unto me, I have said enough I am a­shamed that I have so freely confessed my fragilitie unto you.

The ingenious Erimene having heard these words, which confirmed what she had before imagined, thought that this was a proper occasion to declare reciprocally to Magdelene, the secret which she had hidden from her, to incourage her love which ought to serve as a foundation to the edifice of their liberty. Since that you have spoken to me with so much freedome, said Erimene, J am obliged to imi­tate you, lest J give you occasion to accuse me of ingratitud, and this shal be now to acquit me of that which J owe to the affection which you have so particularly testifyed unto me. Vntill this present J have concealed from you, my true name, birth and country; not to follow the ordinary custome of those, who seeing themselves in a miserable conditi­on, vaunt to be of a greater extraction then they are, to the end to move compassion or courtesie in o­thers. J told you at our first meeting that J was cal­led Erimene, that J was of the kingdome of Aragon, and of meane condition, at this present J will con­fesse the truth to you. J am called Leonor Velazquez; J am of Toledo and of noble birth. Then she made him an ample narration of all the history which we have already recited, of the death of Felix and her servant, and the cruelty of Don Jouan her brother; as it hath beene said in the first booke, then she con­tinued saying. Having then considered by the tra­gique [Page 184]end of this unhappy lover (which dyed for being disguised in my person) by the cruelty of Don Jouan my brother, and seeing also that he had slaine her in thinking to have killed me, J conceived so great a hatred against him, and his presence was so odious to me, that since that time it was impossible for me to stay in his company. For to separate my selfe entirely from him, J lest Toledo, and went with one of my cosens to the towne of Leride scituate in the province of Catalogna. Amongst the pleasant con­versations of this towne, J saw a Cavalier whose per­fections and good offices which he rendered mee, obliged me to give him my heart and soule, that J might not be reputed scornfull nor ingratefull. But with your permission J will attend a more conve­nient time to recount unto you how J came to see him, what ingaged me to love him, what adven­ture brought me into this region, and what subject hath ravished from me this object of my affection. J will not for the present entertaine you with o­ther things but what may be proper to comfort you in the paine you are in, and moderate the un­quietnesse of your spirit. For this cause J tell you that this Cavalier, which they disguise with the name of Don Louis, is called Fenise. J have divers times spoken and discoursed with him, as being the intimate friend of my brother Don Jouan. J knew then all his kindred, and as soone as your father let us see him with him, in Spanish habits, J knew him to be the same J have now told you. But having rea­soned upon the disguisement under the which your father presented him to us, J doe imagine that he did it for feare his presence which was unknowne to [Page 185]you should give you some apprehension. To tell you by what meanes he is come hither, how he hath made friendship with your father, nor by what title he possesseth the house where he dwelleth, I cannot, for they are things I have no knowledge of, but of his valour, generositie, discretion and wit I can much commend; although not so much as his merits deserve, so that if your sorrow proceede from the feare you have he is too neere you, you may banish it at this instant, and place instead or it, a hope to a­rive one day at a glorious successe, provided that we can but recover our deere libertie. I this day see, an­swered Magdalene, that heaven is interessed in the al­liance of our amitie, I receive so much consolation from you, that I do no longer fear what troubles can befall me, the knowledge which you have given me of this Cavalier, disperseth all the confusions where­with my spirit was troubled. In the paine which I had to believe what my father would make me un­derstand, I was a little moved to wish him well, but for the present, I must confesse to you that he possesseth my heart, and that I take an extreame pleasure hi the increase of my affection. I perceive now nothing that can trouble me upon this subject but feare that he should want inclination to esteeme my amitie. No, No, answered Leonor, you must not trouble your selfe a new, I have experience enough, to judg of him the just contrary to that thought: I can assure you that he loveth you: And that it must be so, I will give you a testimony cleare enough, let us looke againe upon the letter, looke you, re­garde this example which he giveth you, to use the Cypher: it is not without mystery that he useth [Page 186]these words, I adore you: ading afterwards yet if you finde this not convenient, you are not con­strained, the will ought to be free: but for my part I shall alwaies much esteeme these Cyphers as most necessary to my good fortune; All these words are equivocall, and written by him with designe to ex­plicate unto you his feelings.

Magdelene easily believed what Leonor perswaded her, because her discourse sympathized with her de­sires, she prayed her to make an answer for her to Fenise, and to use the propounded cypher, as well to disguise her thoughts to her father, as to let her lover see the esteeme she made of his counsell. Leonor was not much prayed to render her this service, die was interessed therein by the desire she had to leave her captivitie; for she knew Fenise to be so hardy and able a man, that he would not spare his life to attempt their deliverance. She writ to him discreet­ly the thoughts of her friend, leting him understand that she was the secretary; that she would serve him in all honest things he could desire; and in the end conjured him, that in case there was any hopes of liberty, to remember her in the quality of the sister of Don Jouan.

This letter was sent him hy the ayre as the for­mer, Fenise received it with joy, and read it with ravishment, his love and courage augmented to the double:love is the sonne of Mars as well as of Venus. What gladnesse felt he when he knew that Leonor was companion to his mistresse, he promised him­selfe better successe in all his designes, as well for that which regarded his passion, as for the project he had to ravish Magdelene from the possession of the [Page 187]king of Algier. He knew Leonor to have an excellent wit, and to be very capable to helpe in a great enter­prise: adding also, that in procuring her liberty he should deserve pardon for the death of her bro­ther.

The next day after the receipt of this letter, Fe­se went to visit the Bacha Mahomet, to entertaine his amitie, and not to be unthankfull for the favours which he continually received from him: and be­cause Mahomet loved much his conversation he kept him to sup with him, so that he was long before he returned to his owne house. In the interim, Fre­derick stayed there to watch if there was any newes from Magdelene & as he walked in the Gallery, regar­ding from to time this amiable window, about a lea­ven of the clock at night he there perceived a light, this made him thinke that the messenger, might well have some dispatch, to bring to him, and thereupon he went to fetch a light, placed it in the gallery as a countersigne, it was scarcely seene when that of the window appeared no more, and immedi­ately the faithfull bird arrived with this writing which was directed to Fenise, yet Frederick, opened it, for they were in so good intelligence that there was no secret betwixt them.

Fenise being returned to his house, Frederick shew­ed [Page 189]him the letter he had received, the which caused great disquietnesse in them both the rest of the night. They laboured with their spirits to invent some stratagem to deliver this beauty from the pain wherein she was, but as many designes as they plot­ted so many difficulties they found in the execution thereof. In the end after divers propositions, they could not foresee any good successe, by reason of the recluse life which Selin made them lead; yet they were resolved to undermine the tower where Magdelene lodged, and steale her away with Leonor, when there should any vessell arrive, wherein they might carry them into Spaine. The house of Fenise was in a scituation very favourable to their enter­prise, near to the Palace, and without any ob­stacle betwixt them, the space was nothing but a garden, which appertained to Fenise; besides, the earth was sandy and easie to digge. All the diffi­cultie was to finde an invention to sustain the earth; for being sandy, it was subject to fall in, and capa­ble to overthrow them and choak them in their work. But Frederick was of opinion to break up a boarded floor in Fenise his house, to take the boards and joists to serve for that businesse. Having ripely consulted the execution of this project, and seeing that this was the onely meanes for their safety, they resolved to try their fortune; they gave advice there­of to the prisoners, counselling Magdelene to change her lodging, and to pray the King to give her the lowest room of the tower where she was, and also to take the extent of her lodging with a thread, and to send it by their ordinary post, to the end they might not open the mouth of the mine in any o­ther [Page 290]place but her chamber. All this was executed as it was devised, the King agreed with a good heart, that Magdelene should lodge where shee thought good, so that she and Leonor tooke justly the measure, and sent it to them. In the meane time Frederick and Fenise were provided of instru­ments proper for their designe, they set their levell to the which the knowledge of the Mathematiques serves perfectly which comprehends Geometry, which Fenise understood excellently, and during the silence of the night, whilst men slept they wrought with an incomparable courage underpro­ping the earth as they hollowed it. Heaven which had inspired them with this invention, conducted their hands so happily, that within a little distance from the place where they begun their work, and the first night they found a straight cave, which extended it self in length directly towards the end of their design. Ravished with joy they fell incon­tinently upon their knees, and gave thanks to God being perswaded that this could not have happened but by miracle. They entred boldly therein, and law that it was the work of man, and ended at the foundation of the wall of the Palace; this foun­dation was so large and strong, that other coura­rages lesse constant then theirs, would have given o­ver the enterprise, there were such terrible stones, that for to demolish and displace onely one, they must consume all their force, tooles and time; they gave not over, for all that, they visited, searched, and groped all over with their irons, in the end they knocked in a place which founded not like stone, they regarded more carefully, and knew that it [Page 291]was a little door covered with bars of iron, so ru­sty that it was not to be distinguished from the stone, but onely with the touch of a hammer. They contented themselves with their labour for this time, and went to repose the rest of the night, with resolution to continue the next day, and labour to break this door with croes of Iron, and force the bolts wherewith it was shut. The beginning of the night following, as Frederick walked in the Gallery, expecting the houre to goe to work, he re­ceived a Letter, wherein was inclosed the thrid which contained the necessary measure, for the bet­ter conducting of the opening of the mine, by which letter they learned, that it was be done under the chamber of Leonor, because that of Magdelene advan­ced more into the Palace by two fathoms. Ani­mated with an extraordinary courage, they went into their mine, furnished with files, croes, pincers, and other irons proper to break and beat in pieces all obstacles that they should meet with. They had not so much trouble as they apprehended, time and moisture had wrought for them, and taken a­way more than the half of their pains, the bolts and locks were so old, rusty, and consumed, that they scarcely presented their irons to them, but they yeelded to them, and opened upon them, they found the entry stopped with plankes, and a certain kinde of matter like plaister, which did not much resist them, passing further they saw a greater concavitie, which extended it self two wayes, they took that they judged most fit for their project; after they visited the other in every corner, but amongst all these turnings under ground, they could not finde [Page 192]any issue nor entrance, but that which they had made, they were both ravished with astonishment, and yet very glad, thinking they might now work securely, without being surprised or discovered, as they apprehended before they had broken the door, not knowing what they should find on the o­ther side. They begun to consider for what use these caverns were, and in the end imagined, that some Tyrant of Algier, fearing he should lose his Kingdom, and have his person seised upon, had caused them to be made to save himselfe, if there should be occasion, and that time had taken away the memory thereof, and filled up the entry. Then they tooke the measure which was sent them, and multiplying it as often as the Letter spoke of, found that one of the armes of these Caves reached just under the Lodging of Leonor, be­ing twelve Foote distant from that of Magde­lene.

They gave over work and retired, to give no­tice thereof to those for whom they did it; they sent them word that it seemed that God wrought for them, and conducted their enterprise, having found all their work almost done, by the means of caves which they found, telling them also, that they believed they were come under the lodging of Leonor: These two friends, ravished with joy of this comfortable newes, answered them, that the night following Leonor would knock with a piece of wood upon the floor of her chamber, to give them a certaine signe of the place where she was.

With this intelligence Frederick and Fenise con­tinued [Page 193]their exercise of labouring pioners, and when those planks and boards they were provided of, were usefull unto them, they underpropped the vault for fear of being overthrown, and at the end of their work to end their lives. This work was extream painfull for these men which were not accustomed to it, besides, being but two, they could have done no great matter: In effect, without meet­ing with these hollow places which they found, they had died in the enterprise. All they did, du­ring six nights, was only to underprop as well as they could that compasse of the vault where they pretended to make the hole; and yet they were carefull to advertise Magdelene and Leonor thereof, to the end they should not lose the hope they had given them; having underpropped it, they yet im­ployed three nights to break the vault, ever and anon listning to judge of the thickness by the blows which they expected must be given by Leonor or Magdelene. In the end they heard them, which made a harmony which charmed their sences; this animated their courages, but their forces failed them, so that for to take new vigour they remitted the rest of their travail untill another night; it was impatiently expected, but it came according to its order, they began again to break, but they had scarcely imployed a quarter of an hour, when they saw they had no more need of croes and ham­mers, and that the earth fell down of it self. Then Leonor, who had heard the noise of their hammers, knocked upon the floor of her lodging, and made her self to be heard so clearly to our workmen, that they judged than they had not above two foot [Page 194]of thicknesse left; they continued vigorously, and the stones and earth came so fast towards their cen­ter, that in a little time they pierced and entred into the chamber of Leonor, whom they found a­lone, and who received them with amorous im­bracements. Having thanked God for this hap­py event, they went to repose, deferring untill the next day the seeing of Magdelene, who was retired, not believing that they could this night fi­nish their enterprise, and because It was three a clock, Leonor judged they ought not to waken her, for fear that some unexpected misfortune might discover their secret. This judicious considerati­on obliged the two friends to moderate the vehe­mency of their desires, not for to hazard that in a moment, which they hoped to possesse many years; when they were departed, Leonor set a ta­ble over the mouth of the Myne, and put a great Turky Carpet upon it, and as soon as it was day she went into the chamber of Magdalene, and salu­ted her with this pleasant and miraculous newes; Magdelene would scarcely take time to dresse her self, she was so impatient to see this happy hole. She considered with joy and admiration, figuring to her self, that although it tended towards the cen­ter of the earth, yet it was the way to Paradise, and a favourable issue to escape out of the hands of these Infidels, and come again into the exercise of the soveraign and only Religion. She was a little trou­bled that Leonor had enjoyed alone the presence of her Father and Lover, reproaching her for not cal­ling her; but Leonor satisfied her, letting her un­derstand, as it was true, that they did but only en­ter [Page 195]into the chamber, and vvent out again, for the day approached, vvhich vvould not suffer them to stay longer there, and that she should see them vvith more conveniency the night follovving: This hope contented and disquieted her at the same time, for vvhen one approacheth the possession of a benefit, they desire it vvith more violence, forasmuch as they better knovv the value thereof, and also presume that there is no more trouble to attain it. This night so impatiently expected being come, in the greatest silence therof, Frederick and Fenise entred in­to their Cave, with a staff they knocked softly un­der the table that covered the mouth of the Mine, to let them know that they were there, and to know if they might enter, at the same instant they saw ap­pear Magdelene and Leonor with a light, who stretch­ed out their arms to them, crying for joy, and pittying the pains that this Father and Lover had taken for their sakes; necessity, which is the mo­ther of invention, taught Femose to knock nails into the planks they had brought to serve for a ladder, to mount to the center of his affections, he made Fre­drick passe the first, he climbing to assist him, because his age took away his agility. It is impossible to expresse here the joy of these four persons, and par­ticularly of Magdelene and Fenise; she did not know whom she should imbrace first, her Father, or her over; bloud counselled her to go to the one, and love to the other; but after having suffered this little combate in spirit, as most wife and discreet, she cast her self upon her knees before her Father, and held his knees imbraced long time, and in the interim courteously cast her eyes upon glorious [Page 196] Fenise who commended the action of his mi­stresse, as testifying an acknowledgment of the obligations she had to this venerable old man who had suffered himselfe to be a slave so many yeares for the love of her. Frederick had enjoyed longer time, the ravishing imbracements of his daughter, if Fenise had not beene present, but desiring he should partake of his contentment, he made Magde­lene rise and presented her to our Cavalier. He wanted not much at that time of prostrating him­selfe, upon the earth to adore her, for she was so shining with attractions of beauty and joy, which is the most excellent paint, and which had given her complexion so lively a luster, that he believed he saw a goddesse before him. She came to­wards him with a grave modestie, and Fenise saluted her withal the respect & reverence she merited; ha­ving rendered her this homage, he ran to imbrace Leonor, to whom Frederick had made his comple­ment, they held no superfluous discourse for feare of losing time which was so deere to them. Fe­nise would willingly have exaggerated his passion, and testified his Eloquence in this action, but it be­hoved him to leave amorous devises, and to dis­course upon the meanes to finish that which they had so happily begun; their resolution was to dis­pose their flight for the third night after, and that Magdelene and Leonor should disguise themselves in Turkish habits which Fenise should bring them, who charged himselfe with that diligence, and all others that should be necessary for the stealing of them a­way. Vpon this determination, they begun their embracements and teares, and tooke leave one of another to dispose of themselves to finish the work [Page 197]they had so well begun; whosoever had diligently held the countenances of Magdelene & Leonor might well have observed the secret joy of their hearts.

The King seeing the time approach that he had given Magdelene to resolve to consent to his will, vi­sited her more often then ordinary, thinking to learne by her carriage her determination. He came the next day after this deere meeting into her cham­ber, to see her new lodging, and seeing him arrive, she met him with such cherefullnesse, that the King was astonished at this pleasant change, for he never saw her before but with teares in her eyes, and sighes in her mouth. He knew not to what to attri­bute these gracious actions, whether to the feare she had to see her father suffer as he had threatened, or her sensiblenesse of the honour he intended to doe her in taking her for his wife. But without ex­amining more curiously the originall of this alte­ration, he was infinitly satisfied, as well with her good reception as charming entertainement: for there is no creature in the world so proper to make a deception as a woman.

The King being retired, believing that he had won her heart and affections, and that she was dis­posed to accomplish his desires, would testifie unto her the good and profit she should in time receive from his liberalitie. He sent her a box of gold inam­elled, wherein there was two bracelets and a gar­ [...]and of Diamonds of very great value. She received them with all her heart in making a thousand hum­ble complements; saying this magnificence was pro­digious, seeing that a Lord and master made pre­sents to his slave. Leonor felt also the good humour of the King, she had for her part a chaine of pearle [Page 198]which was not of much lesse value then the gift he had made to Magdelene.

All things hapened as happily as they could wish for Fortune who had bin so contrary to them, and who had proved their courages upon a thousand occasions, then treated them most cou­teously and shewed her selfe favourable upon all oc­casions. At that time she conducted to the port of Algier two vessells of Pirats, who used no other exercise, but rob upon the sea all the vessells they could render themselves masters of, sharing their booty with the King Selin. The one of these pirats was called Roustan and the other Nazouf. Fenise being informed of their arrivall, made a designe to serve himselfe of the ship of Nazouf to steale away the captives; for this purpose he suborned with sil­ver two Moores which came with this Pirate, and made them declare upon oath, that Nazouf defrau­ded daily the King of the tribute which was due to him, concealing and hiding the better halfe of the booty which he made at sea, without giving him partas he was bound. Upon this deposition they seized upon the Pirate, and made him prisoner, and thereby his voyage was stayed. Roustan which was the head of the other ship departed immediately to exercise his ordinary trade. Fenise visited the ship of Nazouf, informed himselfe what armes was there­in, of the men that kept it, and of all other things that he judged necessary to his intention.

The terme being come so impatiently desired by our four christians, the night rendered her selfe guil­ty of their designe, she assembled all her darknesses to warrant them from the danger they might run. Frederick and Fenise went by the same way they had [Page 199]traced with so much paine into the chamber of Leo­nor, carrying with them the two turkish habits, wherein it was determined that Magdelene and she should cloath themselves as they did. Having hid­den in many places of their habits those precious jewells which the King had given them, in the hope he had that Magdelene should be his wife; they found themselves ready to leave the the palace, and aban­don themselves to the discretion of Fortune. Then without losing time, Fenise made but one leape into the floore of the mine, being strong and disposed, to the end he might helpe this feareful troope to descend, who marched under his con­duct. Frederick descended after him, to whom Fe­nise gave his hand, and a dark lanterne which he held, then he mounted again for fear his mistresse or Leonor should hurt themselves; having safely let them downe, he lightly threw himselfe after them and carefully guiding them, they begun their way by these horrible places under ground. They had scarcely passed six or eight paces, when they per­ceived the earth to fall upon them, as if they should be overthrowne and buried quick, which terrified them very much, not knowing whether they should advance or recule, but they were delivered from this terrible apprehension, by another allarme which was not lesse fearefull. As they begun againe their way, animated by the courage of Fenise, which had taken the candle out of the lanterne to see more clearely, the earth fell downe a second time upon their heads, and a man fell before them at their feet crying Jesus, the aire he moved in falling put out the candle which Fenise carryed. Oh heaven, [Page 200]what feare! yet this generous Cavalier was not asto­nished; it is a dead man said he, let us goe on, and going the first held his mistresse by the hand, the o­thers followed. He would have continued his way, and advanced towards the vaulted caves; but Leo­nor made him stay; saying they should assist him that was falne, and that it was some christian slave; since that at the very instant of his fall he had called upon the holy name of God: that (that being so as it was very probable) he would helpe them the soo­ner to their ship, her advice was approved; they helped him to rise, and went on leading him with them, without troubling themselves to interrogate him, contenting themselves to believe he was a christian. They had much incommodity to get out of these caves for want of light not knowing which way to take; at every step they stumbled, and fell one upon the other by reason of the stones and clods of the earth that were under their feet. In the end they got to the house of Fenise where Magdelene and Leonor tooke breath which they had lost by weari­nesse and feare in this terrible passage. Fenise begun to approach this slave with a candle in his hand to see who it was they had received unto their compa­ny, when he heard a violent knocking at the doore of this house. Feare begun then to seise upon the hearts of the most determined of the company, they looke one upon another without speaking word, or knowing what to resolve. And Fenise seeing that the blowes doubled, animated his resolution, and went to see who knocked so impatiently at his doore: he knew that it was the slave savourite to Mahomet, who prayed him from his master to come [Page 201]presently to him, for an affaire wherein diligence was so necessary, that it would save him his life. Fenise sent away the slave assuring him that he would presently follow him.

This newes troubled our Cavalier more then all the passed alarmes had done, on one side, he was called to the succour of his friend and benefactor, and on the other side he was retained by his passion and honour not to abandon the troope that had no hope but in his assistance.

Then he feared that as soon as day should ap­pear Magdelenes flight would be perceived in the Kings lodging. In fine, he found means to perform the one and the other obligation, hee armed the two women, as Frederick already was, with Carabines and Cymitars, and left his lodging, taking what hee had the most precious, of silver and jewels and the most easie to carry, and carryed them to the vessell of Nazouf, as faigning to give them in guard, by the Kings commandement, untill that Nazouf who was prisoner, should be con­vinced or justified of the accusation he was char­ged with, advertising them that as soon as hee had seen Mahomet he would returne to them, and put them to sea, as they went to execute this pro­ject, they saw the same slave come running to them, conjuring Fenise to make hast, otherwise his Maister was lost. So that seeing himself thus pressed, he broke the determination which he had taken, and went to the lodging of Mahomet, taking with him these four persons, letting the slave know that they were men of confidence and valour wherewith he was accompanyed to serve Mahomet in case of need; [Page 202]being arrived at the door, Fenise made his company attend at a mean distance, whilst he went to speak to the Bacha: Hee found him at the entry of his house, and by a very short discourse, let Fenise know the pain he was in; Deare friend, sayd he, I am falne into a misfortune, wherein I have need of the assistance of a man of valour and loyalty as you are, to helpe mee to save my life. It is the merit of this faire Christian here (shewing him Eufemie which accompanied him) which hath obliged me to an action wherewith the King will be offended: She hath been a long time persecuted by the passion of a Moore cosen to the King, to adhere to his sensualities, and although shee hath often prayed him to desist from these importunities, and impertinent pursuites, he forbore not to goe on. This insolent would try his good fortune, and to the contempt of my respect, is entered into my house by the means of a servant which he had gained, to the end to ob­tain what he desired of Eufemie, or else to render her some notorious displeasure. And I knowing her innocence, and the rashnesse of this Moore, I surprised him as he put the first foot into the cham­her of this fair one, and have made him finde in the same place the last step of his life, his body is hid­den, but this Homicide will be discovered, as soon as it shall be day. The King will not pardon me, since that I have violated the respect due to his blood, whereof he is proudly jealous. These con­siderations hinder mee now from reasoning, and looking after means to warrant me from the dan­ger [Page 203]wherein I am; therefore I have recourse to your good wit, and cast my selfe into your armes with this Christian Lady to assist me with your counsell, and generous effects. Fenise having heard this di­scourse, setting aside complements, told him, that he must put Eufemie into mans apparell; Mahomet did it incontinently; then seising upon many stones, and a good quantity of sequines, with the aide and assistance of his faithfull slave which he tooke with them, he abandoned himself to the faith and con­duct of Fenise.

They went together to get the gate open, where they stood in need of no small credit; for there is a marvellous care observed in keeping the gates of this Town, but the Officers and Porters knowing the Bacha and Subbacha, believed that they were go­ing to execute some command of the Kings, as they told them, they were going to seise upon a great booty, which Nazouf had concealed, with design to frustrate the King of his right, and for this cause they took with them these men which accompa­nied them, and particularly this slave, which knew where the riches were hidden; in saying so, they shewed him that fell into the Mine. This dissimu­lation agreed very well with the imprisonment of Nazouf, which every one already knew, so that the gate was freely opened unto them, besides Mahomet being the Kings favourite, they durst not doubt of what he said. The Bacba being out of the Town (whereof the gate was incontinently shut after them) took notice of the company which were with Fenise, fearing that so great a number might cause some confusion in their enterprise; he prayed [Page 204]our Cavalier to rid himself of these people, and send them back againe; but Fenise assured him of them, and prayed him to take care for nothing, but to follow him and confide in him, and in those that accompanyed him. Thereupon they came near the vessell, Fenise called to those that guarded it; for he had informed himself of their names when he visited it; presently Fenise and his unknown troope entered, which were courteously received by the Mariners, if there can be any courtesie a­mongst those people. They were scarcely entred, when by the ayd and intelligence of some of those of the ship, which Fenise had gained, or rather sub­orned with money and fair promises, they seised upon all the Moores which were in the ship, and disarmed them, they loosed the captives which were at the oares, and put the Moores in their places, making them also to prove the strange changes of fortune. This being done, without provision of victuals or arms, but what they found in the ship; Fenise cut the cord that held the vessell to the port, and by force of arms they got out of the shallow roade into the main sea. The women were put in­to the best room of the vessell, where they enter­tained themselves with their prodigious adven­tures, their long captivity, and the hopes they had shortly to see again their dear country Spaine, and there to enjoy the sweet repose of life. In the in­terim Fenise, Frederick, and Mahomet, with the two slaves, that is to say, he they found in the Mine, & he belonging to Mahomet which he had brought with him, being guilty of the death of the King of Al­giers cosen, were all upon the watch, as well to [Page 205]see if they were followed, as to make the Moores, whom they had chained, to row with all their force, that they might get away the sooner. The day being come, Fenise regarding all those in the vessell, considered the fashion and carriage of the slave of the Mine, admiring that his fortune had served her self of so strange a means to give him his liberty; by considering of him, he judged him to be of some noble birth, and in this imagination, he came to him, praying him to content his curiosity, and let him know how he had been taken by these Barbarians, and made slave, and by what happy ac­cident he was falne into the mine there to finde his liberty. Then this unknown, with a modest smile, testifying his willingnesse to satisfie the de­sire of Fenise, begunne his history with this ho­nest Complement, speaking in the Castilian tongue.

Generous Cavalier, I would willingly beseech you to dispence with me for this obedience, the re­citall you command me to make, requireth so much patience and time to hear it, and there are so many sad and tragique accidents therein, that I am affraid you will be much troubled before I shall be at the middle thereof, or that the end will make you ex­treamely melancholique. Yet since it is your plea­sure, I will begin this sad discourse, to finish it when you command me silence.

THE HISTORIE OF DON JAME

THere is a famous and rich Town in the King­dom of Catalogne, called Leride. It pleased Heaven about twenty four years agone to let me be born there, of a noble Family, and of good repu­tation; the greatest part of those who are far from their Country speak in this manner of their extra­ctions, although very often one may know their lying; but whosoever will inform himself of my Line, when we shall arrive at the Port, if God conduct us thither, shall finde my words true. The excesses of youth, which very few men escape, car­ried away my Father to lascivious affections, from whence I had a bastard Brother; he was of appea­rance good enough, but of ill effects. My Fa­ther caused him to be brought very young into the arms of my Mother, to bring him up, which was an action more rash then civill. She was more cha­ritable then she ought to have been, for Wives some­times are guilty of the faults of their Husbands, not that they love them , but because in supporting their first debauches, they give occasion for seconds. She took as great care to bring him up as if he had been her proper child; neverthelesse she loved him but as a stranger. I had, some few years more then he, but although I was in an age of innocence, I was as indifferent to my Father as if I had not been his child, or to say better, as odious to see as an ene­my: There are Fathers that have lesse humanity [Page 207]then savage beasts; he loved Lucian as much as he ha­ted me, this was the name of this bastard brother; I cannot better exaggerate the affection which he bore him, then in saying so. We had a Sister which was a little younger then we, but advantagiously fair, and we were all three brought up at the same place, our Fathers house. During our infancy, Lucian and I were almost alwayes in debate, but being but for slight things, our dissentions were incontinently ap­peased, sometimes for fear of our Father, and sometimes for fear of being punished by those who had care of our educations. But when we had at­tained to the age of twenty yeares, he became more audacious, and I more cholerick; he envied the demonstrations of amity which my mother used towards me, and I was as envious of the affection my Father bore him; these favours gave him a li­centious liberty, liberty boldnesse, and boldnesse insolence to doe so many evill actions, that he got the reputation of a most perfidious and infamous person; he had no other exercise then to ruin the honours of those he could meet with, for whether their simplicities suffered him to surprize them, or that they resisted his dishonest desires, he did not forbear to slander them; his tongue was so dan­gerous, that he spake ill indifferently of all women, publishing as soon lies as truths, and vaunting of that which he did not, as well as of that which he did. The disorders of his life mounted to such an excesse, that he had a design to enterprise upon the honour of his owne Sister, the sacred limits of bloud, her proper vertue, nor my vigilant care, could not retain him; I was advertised of his per­nicious [Page 206]project by a servant whom he thought to have rendred adherent to his abominable intenti­ons, because she had suffered him to communicate them unto her; but this was a discreet Maid, who had given him this audience, but only that he might confide in her, and hinder him from seeking to a­nother, who it might be would not have carried her self so discreetly therein. She did but hear him to learn his resolutions, and give me notice there­of, that I might prudently prevent them. When this Maid had told me what she knew thereof, I could scarcely believe her, the thing was so prodi­gious; but considering the manners of the person, and comparing them with the discourse of this Maid, I found he was capable to commit actions yet more monstrous. I would be wise in this af­fair, and inform my self of the truth, to the end that the vengeance I hoped to take, might be e­steemed just, and not rash. From that hour mine eyes were Sentinels over the words and actions of Lucian; he made no step, nor ever approached near the place where Olinde was, so mine innocent Si­ster was called, that I did not discreetly watch him, from whence I found more confirmation of the truth of the report which was made me then I would have done; yet I dissembled the trouble of my mind, with intention to govern my self with such industry, that at the same time his designes should be broken, my Sister delivered from his persecutions, his im­pudence chastised, my vengeance accomplished, and my self without feare of being known for the Au­thor of his death. I disguised my self in the night, and followed him when he went about the streets, [Page 207]to attrap him all alone, and let him feele the vio­lence of my choler, in killing him. One time a­mongst others, when I went to search him with this designe, after having long time walked about the Town, and the places of debauches, where I knew he ordinarily frequented, without meeting with him, in entring into the street where the house of Don Ignigo Orozco is situate, one of the principall Cavaliers of the City, I heard a confused noyse of voices; I went towards this house, and knew that it was there where the rumour was, but yet I knew not what was the cause thereof at the same time. I saw two men unknown, which approach­ed as I did with like curiosity; I came to the doore, and perceived the house all within to be on fire, which did not only threaten to consume the Edi­fice, but also the goods and persons which were therein, and all this misfortune came by the negli­gence of a Lacquey, who had fastned a candle against a woodden seeling.

From moment to moment the flames augmented with so much fury that some of the men were con­strained to leap out of the windowes, seeing the stairs on fire; the women being lesse couragious, stayed besieged in their chambers, crying for mer­cy, and causing great pitty to those who heard them. Amongst the rest which suffered these fears, I perceived through the flames and smoak, a Lady, whose beauty and cloaths testified her to be a per­son of esteeme; and seeing the extreame necessity which pressed them, I cast my self into the house, and taking a great hammer from a man that I met, which [Page 208]was come to give succour, I broke a thin wall and entered into the chamber where the poore desolates were, amongst the which I saw saw the originall of my first admiration, which was in a swound, I tooke her in mine armes, and carry­ed her cut of this fearefull danger which threatened her, making all the rest which were prisoners with her to come out. As this accident hapned, during the first sleepe of the whole family, this lady was wakened in a fright, and being presently cast into the floore, was not clothed but onely with a petti­coate and wast coate, the one of sattin richly em­broydered with flowers of gold and silver, and the other pinked, through the which appeared a breast of snow capable to inflame ice it selfe. Seeing her so little covered, I cast my cloake over her body. I doe not know whether it was to keepe her warme; or for feare she should inflame the heart of some o­ther as she had done mine, for what marble could have beene insensible of so many attractions? As I carried her away being yet in her swound, those two men which I met in coming to the dore, came to me with their swords in their hands, and one of them who had his face covered with cipres, because he would not be known, put himself in action to ra­vish from me the conquest which I had made with so much courage, and to take from me the worthy object of my loue. In this violence seeing my selfe without my sword; which I had quitted having no use thereof against the fire, I knew not what to doe, but to use words, and represent to them, that their enterprise was not onely incivill, but very coward­ly and infamous, to set upon a man without armes, [Page 209]and in saving a lady of her condition from the fire. The other woman which accompanied her, a­larmed with this insolence begun to cry for helpe, then the companion of him that had set upon me in the cypres maske gave me a great thrust in the right side which passed quite through my body, then turning his face he fled with the other, I would have run after them, but the blood which issued in abundance out of the wound rendered me so feeble that I fell downe at the second step. In the interim this lady returned from her swound much more vigorous then before, having two soules for one, for I had given her mine. Yet she was like to dye for feare, opening her eyes, and seeing a man at her feete all covered with blood, and whose ha­bits testified that he was not of base condition. Whilst she was in this new astonishment, the master and servants of a neighbouring house came out, some to helpe this lady, and others to assist to quench the fire: which whilst they did, the others carryed away this beauty to their house with one of her co­sens which accompanied her. At the same instant Don Jgnigo was told of the disaster which was arri­ved me in saving from the fire , the most preticus goods of his house; And without knowing who I was, he ran presently to cause me to be succoured, having knowne me, he had his heart seized with ex­treame sorrow, seeing that this misfortune came by raeson of the good office I had rendred him. He made me incontinently be carried to my lodging, accompanying me, & protesting to revenge me rigo­rously if he could discover the infamous culpable, [Page 210]finding himselfe extreamely interessed in the offence. As soon as they begun to look to my wounds, Lucian arrived faining to be extreamely afflicted for my misfortune, he informed himselfe of whom I had received this injury, promising to imploy his life to be revenged of them. There were so skilfull o­perators about this cure that in a few dayes I was perfectly healed, for the blow did not offend any inward part, nor entred much within the body; the servant which had given me the first notice of the pernitious projects of Lucian, seeing me ready to to go abroade, came to me into my chamber telling me that she had a new secret to communicate to me: and after she was assured that no body could heare her, she held me this discourse, speaking softly. Sir said she, I should esteeme my selfe confederate with with your enemies, if after having discovered a con­spiration they have made against you, I should not advertise you thereof; herein you shall know how much I esteeme the conservation of your person, as you have already made proofe of the respect I beare to your honour in what I have heretofore told you. You must know then, that the night after you were hurt, about twelve a clock, I heard a talking in in the chamber of Lucian by reason of some indis­position I had which would not suffer me to sleeep, I arose and put my head to my window (which you know looketh into the court over against that of Lucian, which hath the same view but a little lower then mine) I could easily see thorough the glasse what they did there, because there was a light. I saw there was ashes upon the table, and that with the end of a flat stick he made cleane his sword, full of [Page 211]certaine rusty spots [...], and in doing thereof, I heard him hold this discourse to Fabrice, the man that serveth him, and whom he trusteth with his incestu­ous designes, since that which we did the last night, there are two things which trouble my spirit. The first, that mine arme had no more force nor addresse but to leave in doubt the life of Don Jame, that was the name I bore when I was happier then I now am.

Scarcely was this name spoken, when faire Lee­nor which heard it, and who being at the dore of the chamber of the poope had also heard the begin­ing of this recitall, came with her armes open & cast them about the neck of Don Jame, ah, my deere hus­band, said she, in crying out, it is possible that thou art this day so neere me? he knowing the voice and countenance of her that spoke; Ah God! is it you my deare Leonor? saying so he imbraced her recipro­cally, and they remained fastened together without being able to speake any more. They were so ravish­ed with joy, that they wanted not much of giving up their soules in this transport. After a good space of time, they opened their armes, and beheld one a­nother with teares in their eyes, Don Jame to dis­semble his, indeavoured to reprove those of Leonor, telling her that those that weepe for joy, ought to have no teares for their troubles. All those that saw these amorous actions, marvelled at this prodigious encounter, which gave Fenise the more curiositie to know the end of the history begun, the which Don Jame (having reunited his spirits moved with the suddain apparition of this Angell) continued thus.

The second discontent which troubleth me, said Lucian, is that thou couldest not steale away Leonor the Neece of Don Ignigo, whom I thought to have kept in some secret place as a stranger and a very fair Maide. I thought to have come to the end of my design in despite of her and her resistance. See Sir, what insolent words: If we should have stolne her away, answered Fabrice, I believe that you would not have received thereby much pleasure; for I do not know how one can finde it, where there is no correspondence in desires, nor that one can exercise such rigour upon a beauty, who is seen with tears in her eyes to lament the losse of her ho­nour. Pitty, then answered Lucian, hath hindered thee from satisfying my will. Fabrice made excu­ses which Lucian received for that time; yet pro­pounding to himselfe to search occasion to accom­plish his rash designe, as far as to take the boldnesse to entreat an unseasonable houre into the house where Leonor should be, although he should be for­ced to scale the window of her chamber, or force the door. Fabrice answered him nothing, it may be not approving what his Maister said, as being too rash and dangerous to execute: From whence it happened that two daies after, this unfortunate confident was found dead, with three stabs of a po­nyard in the breast, which I presume was given him by the hand of Lucian, through rage and re­venge, as well for the cowardlinesse wherewith he accused him, as seeing him not disposed to assist him in the last proposition which he had made. Since your growing well I have observed his dis­quietnesse, as being troubled therewith, and lately [Page 213]knowing that you begun to rise and walk in your chamber, he stamped upon the ground, and lifted his eyes to Heaven, as if he had made some secreet threats. But yesterday he came to me, and made me this discourse. Glicere, sayd he, thou art not ig­norant of the damage I received in the recovery of Don Iame, since that the effect of my desires is there­by stayed, and extreamly delayed; his presence hin­ders me from satisfying the passion I have for Olin­de, in enjoying her beauty, I doe not say her love, though I have alwaies perceived that she hath lo­ved me as a brother, but at the present I am as o­dious to her as an enemy, which maketh me at this time to be pricked on as much with vengeance as love, and that I seek to content my desires to satis­fie the one and the other passion. For this cause I have recourse to thee, having already communi­cated unto thee my secrets, that thou mayst serve me in a new project which I have made, wherein I have need of a most particular confident, which I desire thou should est be, assuring thee that thy re­compence shall exceed much what thou shalt'st think to have merited. See here a certain powder, said he, in drawing a paper out of his pocket, which you must make Don Iame to swallow amongst his meat, or in some broath, the which wil cause a mar­vellous effect. He will fall into a languishing, and fall away from day to day, so that in a moneth I shal be rid of him. Doe not fear that any one shall be troubled therefore, the cause of his death will be attributed to his wound, upon the opinion that the Chyrurgeons closed it up too soon. Consider how much this secreet imports me; for having de­clared [Page 214]to thee, if thou deferrest the execution there­of, and that I doe not see the effect of the powder which I put into thy hands in the time that it ought to operate, thy life shall suffer for it, and thou shalt pay for the fault of having disobeyed my will. The impatience I had to get out of the hands of this divell incarnate, obliged me to take the pow­der which he presented to me, and to assure him of my fidelity, praising God, that he had declared unto me these abhominable intentions. Behold this diabolicall powder, and I discover nakedly unto you, the damnable enterprises of this wicked man, assuring my self that your wit and prudence, will so ingeniously carry the businesse, that neither you nor my self run any danger. You ought to be the protector of my life, since that I shew my selfe infidell to this Traytor, for the conservation of yours.

At the end of this discourse I remained so confu­sed, and so moved against this monster of abomina­tions, that if I had been in case to have risen out of my bed, I had then attempted to doe it, to go find this cursed man, and satisfie my self by his blood. But having passed this first motion of choler, I said to Glicere, that since that the effect of this ve­nomous powder was so slow, that she must make him believe that I had taken it, and for my part I would seem to be indisposed, complaining to feele my self fall away every day, and that in the interim I would search means and occasion to catch this piper in the snares which he had layd for me. Gli­cere retired upon this assurance, and I had a desire to give this empoysoner the same venome which [Page 215]had prepared for me; but because the effect thereof was so slow, I feared that he should perceive the double intelligence of Glicere, and so his rage might cause him to serve her as he had done Fabrice, for not having executed his will; and again, that in taking the preservative against the powder, know­ing the composition thereof, he might escape my hands, and finde some other more ready invention to make me perish under his. I determined then to seek some other way to revenge my self, imagining with my selfe, that since that the term was thirty daies, I should finde one, wherein no one but him­self should bee in danger. During this long time which I had been deprived of the sight of Leonor, my health and love encreased every moment. She who acknowledged her selfe my obliged, for the great service I had done her, wished also to know me, and to testifie her thankfulnesse, she would willingly have sent mee some message, but she was fearfull to be esteemed light, not knowing what judgement I might make of this liberty. Af­ter having contended with these irresolutions, she layd all her fears on one side, and her love on ano­ther, but the last carried her beyond all considera­tions. She made me a complement by a maide that served her, excusing her selfe for having been so negligent in sending to enquire of my health. Lucian saw her enter into my chamber, and envious of the honour which I received, remembered him­self of his first design to ravish Leonor in the house of Don Ignigo, which made him observe the behaviour and words of the Maide; she afterwards told me, that her Mistresse was extreamly troubled in her [Page 216]very soule for the evill that was befalne me upon her occasion, and that she would esteeme her selfe ex­treamely happy to know the person to whom she was ingaged for so great a benefit, as that was to have saved her from the fire, and from those that would have ravished her person; in fine that when I should be permitted to goe abroad, if I would take the paines to visit her, I should be very wel­come.

These pleasant words ravished my soule by mine eares, mine eyes testified what joy I received there­by, and my tongue answered with courteous words, that the first time I should goe abroade I would not faile to come kisse her hands and receive her com­mands. Two dayes after I executed this promise, went to salute this ravishing beauty, which heaven hath let me see againe, this day, either to verify my narration, or to give me an incomparable joy, after three yeares absence. I saw her then at her lodging, I discoursed with her, where I found the excellency of her wit, and gave up my soule to her which she shall possesse as long as it shall be lawfull for me to dispose thereof. In acknowledging my submissions, she was content that I should call her my mistresse, keeping alwaies the same respect towards her which I have done in your presence. Yet in time the accesse which I had to her grew so familiar, that one time I was so charmed with her conversation, and stayed so late with her, that the night surprised us before we thought therof, for being together houres seemed but moments unto us, her Uncle at that time came out of the towne, he had a custome to shut the doore of his house in entring; and to keep the keyes [Page 217]untill the next morning, he did the same then, so that it was impossible for me to get out to the great displeasure of Leonor, fearing that I might be so rash as to attempt upon her honour, though she might have beene well assured of the reverence I bore her, yet seeing her selfe forced by necessity, she was constrained to suffer me to stay in her chamber untill the time was come I might descend by a cord from a Balcony window which was over the streete; the time came of my departing from her lodging by this way. Leonor looked out of a win­dow to see if there no body appeared that might discover me; she perceived two men to stand still in a corner, and told me that I might stay yet a little. She was in perpetuall disquietnesse to get me out, doing nothing but goe and come from the win­dow to the place where I was▪ and putting her head a new into the street, she saw a third man with the two others, one of them having a lanterne, they ap­proached together, the house of Don Ignigo, & stayed at the sellar window, then one of the three begun with a croe of iron, to force and breake the barres of iron wherewith it was shut whilest the other two kept the watch, looking all about if any one saw them, or if there passed any body that might hin­der their enterprise. Leonor came presently to ad­vertise me thereof, I came softly to the window, and saw that the grate was broken, & that they put down a ladder into the window, Leonor was upon the point of wakening all the household servants, but she was fearefull I should be discovered, if perad­venture the lodging should be searched, and also that finding her in her clothes at this houre, some­thing [Page 218]might be suspected to her disadvantage Whilst we consulted of what was to be done, we [...] saw one of these men to descend by the ladder into the cellar, carrying in his hand a dark lanthorn shut, and the other stayed in the street to attend him then we perswaded our selves that they were no [...] theeves, and atributed this action to love, thinking that it was some servant to one of the Maids of the house: upon this imagination Leonor was a little more at quiet, esteeming that (provided that he [...] honour was safe) she ought not to torment her selfe with what others did, so vve took patience vvithout making noise; but presently after vve heard one ap­proach to our chamber, and put a key into the lock; thereupon I put out a candle vvhich vvas vvithin the chimney, to the end I might not be seen by the person vvhich vvas entring, and prayed Leonor to take courage, and not to cry out, for if she did, she vvould undoe her self and me also. Thereupon the door vvas opened, and vve savv the same man to en­ter, that had before gone dovvn into the cellar vvith his lanthorn; I vvas then hidden under the Tapi­stry neare the bed of Leonor, vvhere she vvas laid dovvn, vvho seemed to vvaken in starting, and to be ready to cry out. At the instant this unknovvn came to her, vvith his face masked, bidding her make no noise, nor avvake any one, saying it vvas a robbery of honour vvhich he vvould make, and that his love had engaged him to this enterprise. Leonor sate up, and laid her hands upon his stomack to put him back; no, no, said he, in embracing her, your resistance will serve to no purpose, you must either willingly or unwillingly adhere to my passi­on, [Page 219]or lose your life: The mask which covered his infamous face, could not so disguise his voice, but that I knew it was Lucian, and withall I remem­br [...]d what Glicere had told me, so that full of wrath and indignation I cast my self upon him before he could put himself in defence, or know with whom he had to doe: I plunged the blade of a great pony­ard into his breast, wherewith he was so surprised and frightned, that without staying for a second blow, he left his hold, and fled to the Balcony win­dow, by the which I was to have gone out, and cast himself down into the street upon the pavement, al­most dead with his hurt and fall, and all soyled with his bloud. His two companions which atten­ded him, seeing that there was a man fallen from that window, came to see who it was; and as they returned in the obscurity, they touched the tricker of a pistoll which Lucian had hanging at his girdle, and which was so well directed, that it blew two bullets into the head of one of his confederates, which fell downe dead by him, so paying for the charity which he had in being his Scout. The other seeing his companion so ill treated, believed that he which had leaped from the window, had used this stratagem for to kill them both by foul play, so that fearing to have the like misfortune with his Com­rade, he fled hastily away.

Seeing things in this estate, and the perill which we ran both of us; Leonor, if it should be discover­ed that the murder was done in her house, and I being known for the homicide, I resolved to war­rant my self from all inconveniences, by absenting my self from Leride, and taking Leonor with me, [Page 220]for after the first fault a hundred others are commit­ted. For this effect I went down from her cham­ber into the cellar, by which Lucian was got in; I went up the ladder into the street, drew it from the window, and fastned it to a cord which Leonor threw me from her window; then she fastned it to the crosse bar of the window, which being done, she couragiously descended, but we had not taken heed enough of the length, and fastning of the ladder, it wanted six or seven steps of touching the earth, so that Leonor fell this distance, and if I had not half received her in mine arms, I believe that the tomb of her youth and life would have been at the foot of this ladder; yet for all my catching her she hurt one of her feet against the pavement, so much that it was impossible for her to goe one step. I leave you to think in what pain I was then; on the one side I had a spectacle of two dead men; on another a house broken; with these I found my self enga­ged to defend and assist a person which was so dear to me, and to whom I had so many obligations, and yet constrained to warrant my selfe from so many accusations that threatned me. I assure my self that the best wit would have been much confu­sed amongst so many disgraces; for my part, I doe avow that I found my self extreamly amazed, and knew not what to resolve upon: one while I thought that the most convenient remedy for me was to leave Leride, but considering that I was un­provided of necessaries for a voyage, I changed my opinion. After a thousand various thoughts, I de­termined not to stir yet, untill I saw what brute would be published of this strange successe, and al­so [Page 221]we thought it expedient that Leonor should re­turn into her chamber; the resolution was easie; but the execution very difficile, because of the hurt the had got in falling. I got the ladder again in­to the window, to the end she might passe by the same way that Lucian had made for us: But the poor Lady was extreamly afflicted when she saw that she must goe down a place so foule and slimy; yet seeing that there was a necessity, she took courage, I passed the first, and taking her upon my shoulders, went downe the ladder, and carried her into her chamber; I represented unto her, that she ought not to apprehend any thing, although she should be ac­cused of the death of these two men; on the con­trary, this action would be esteemed most glorious, when the occasion should be knowne; nothing more lawfull then to defend life and honour against those that would set upon them. Having thus re­solved her, I took leave, and retired my self by the same way I descended. Before I went from this house, I came to the two dead men; I took the pistoll from the girdle of Lucian, and put it into his hand, and did the same with the poyniard to the o­ther, to give cause of belief that they had killed one another; the invention succeeded happily enough, since that all that saw them were of that opinion. The Justices having imployed above fifteen dayes to inform themselves of the fact, believed that the dead men had been their own proper murderers. Du­ring this time, Don Ignigo, Leonors Uncke, was ta­ken with an apoplexy, which took him away in lesse then twenty foure houres; and as one misfor­tune never commeth without company, two dayes [Page 222]after his death, a Burgois, one of my friends, came to advertise me, that a certain neighbour of Don Ig­nigos was extreamly glad, as well of his decease, as of the occasion which he had to be revenged of his race, since he could be no more of his person, for an ancient injury which he said he had received from him; and after this troublesome beginning, he told him that Leonor had been the cause of the murdering of those two men, that she had made them to be slain by a Gentleman that courted her not long agone, and thereupon he named me, not knowing that the Burgois was my friend; that he had seen her descend from the window of her cham­ber, and me in the street to receive her into mine armes: in brief, finishing all the other particulars of our actions, he continued saying that he was de­termined to goe and declare it to the Justice, for in so doing he should discharge his conscience, be the cause of the chastisement of the fault, and satisfie his vengeance, which was his principall passion. This Burgois, which knew the interest that I had in this proceeding, prudently shewed him, that he ought to take heed what he enterprised; that he a­lone would not be believed, and befides he was much to be suspected, and reproachable, fince that every one knew the old hatred which he bore to the house of Don Ignigo deceased. So it was that he moderated the motion of this accusator, to have leisure to advertise me thereof, and give me time to remedy these threatnings; I thanked him for the good office which he had rendred me, and disgui­sing the truth to him, made him believe that this neighbour was mistaken in me. As soon as this Bur­gois [Page 223]was gone from my lodging, at the time when the day begun to faile, I went to a Lady which was a friend to Leonor, and who knew that I served her, I desired her that she would use meanes that I might see her at her house the next day at the same houre; she promised it me, and performed it exactly. I saw Leonor, and told h [...] the evill newes which was told me, and the danger wherein this wicked neigh­bour pretended to put us, from whence it would be very hard to escape without absenting our selves. For my part, had it not been for her consideration, I had already been out of the Town, and if that she would resolve to follow me, I would warrant her from all perill, retiring our selves into some place where we might live contentedly, having al­ready provided things necessary. But for to give her full assurance of the sincerity of my love, I pro­mised her the faith of marriage, and swore to her ne­ver to require the accomplishment of my desires un­till my word was executed. Moreover, that her Uncle being deceased, she had more liberty to di­spose of her person; and that her absence would not seem very strange, not being of that Country, it might be presumed that she would retire her self in­to her own, and to her own house.

I imployed so many favourable perswasions with those vvherevvith her interiour love solicited her, that she consented to my proposition, under the secret assurances vvhich I gave her, calling the Di­vine Majesty to witnesse, and beseeching it to be re­venged upon me at the instant that I should violate them. Having received mine oathes, she promi­sed me to be ready the next day to goe vvhither I [Page 224]would carry her. In the interim, I provided a good nag for her, and tooke for my selfe an excellent [...] strong German horse, and the houre appointed for our departure being come, which was in the even­ing, we went alone out of Leride without acquain­ting either man or maide servant; for it is almost a miracle when those people know a secret and doe not reveale it. Wee tooke the way towards Valence, and for the first we lodged in a little hamlet out of the way for feare of being knowne, faining to have lost our way, two daies after we arrived in a very faire village by which I had passed before, distant from Valence about twenty miles, where we stayed some time, and were as well lodged and received as in our owne country, for with silver Barbarians are tamed, and friends are bought every where; after some time we grew weary with this country con­versation; I then had designe to passe into Castille and communicated it unto Leonor: but she disswa­ded me from it by the recitall of the originall of her absence from Toledo, and by the hate of any thing that might put her in minde of her brother. We had not yet resolved whither we would goe, when I received letters from that Burgois of Leride, (to whom before our departure I had discovered the whole truth, of the action befaln in the house of Don Ignigo, and who harkened after all things that was said thereof) wherby I learnt that this revengfull neighbour, had declared all that he had seen, but too late for his vengeance, & that they searched after us by horse and foot; this troublesome newes obli­ged me to leave the kingdome and go into Sicilie; I made Leonor agree thereunto, to whom countreys [Page 225]were naturall if I was there, yet not telling her that was written unto me, for feare of disquiet­ing her spirit, and changing her good humour. The occasion which invited me to goe into Sicilie, was that J had an uncle there, brother to my mother, whose high merits had got him the government of a port there, with whom I hoped to finde security againe those that sought after me, augmentation of my fortunes, and repose, to passe happily my time with Leonor. But whosoever grounds his felicity upon temporall things shall alwaies finde himself frustrate of his ends; we were no sooner imbar­qued upon the sea, but we found our selves in the hand of pirates, Turkes, who in despite of our resistance, rendered themselves masters of our ship, our liberties and lives.

They carryed us to Algier, where we were all se­parated one from another by the sale they made of our persons, to all those that presented themselves to buy us. I know not what became then of my deer Leonor, for me, I was sold to a Turke, one of the chiefest of the country, who having kept me some time, presented me to Selin King of Algier, in qua­lity of a slave of ransome, where I dwelt untill this last night, in the middle whereof I heard a noyse in the stable, I arose to see what it was, I found that it was two horses which fought together and furi­ously bit one another. I came towards them to se­parate them, for it was my charge, my masters thinking that I was not capable of any other im­ployment; but the great haste which I made hin­dred me from taking heed of a great hole which the horses had made with stamping with their feet, J [Page 226]went to put them in their places, and in going the earth failed under me, and feeling my selfe to fall, J unvoked the sacred name of Jesus, by whose me­rits J have found life in thinking to have falne into a gulfe. Otherwise if J had not pronounced this high name and had recourse to his aide, it may be you had killed me, taking me for some Jew, Moore, or Turke; it is then from the vertue of this divine name, that J hold my life, liberty, and the glory to see againe before mine eyes, that deare Leonor, al­waies loving, and to whom before you, Gentlemen, J renew the vowes of my service promising her to accomplish when she pleaseth the faith of mar­riage which J have given her.

At this last word these contented lovers begun againe to continue their imbracements, and talke together of their adventures, to the great content­ment of the rest of the company, but the pleasures of the one, and of the others, lasted not long. They perceived afar off, a vessell to come towards them, in so great hast, that although they did all their endeavours to avoid it, it was impossible for them, so that it behoved them to quit the instru­ments of flight, and betake themselves to those of defence. Mahomet upon the instant made all the Turkes put off their habits, and put them upon those which were habited like slaves, to the end that if the vessell was commanded by some pyrate who was ignorant of their flight, he might let them passe without setting upon them, seeing them all in fa­shion of Turkes, and conducted by him, who might make himselfe knowne. They gave armes to them [Page 227]who had none, that they might not be surprised in case that they must fight, as amongst others, to Don Iame and the slave of Mahomet which he had brought along with him, in whom he much confided, who who was named Charles, a man of an advantagious proportion, and who seemed to be couragious Be­ing then prepared the best they could to sustaine the shock, this vessell which they feared approched them, they presently knew that it was the Pirate Nazouf, which came to fall upon them. He had order from Selin to imploy all possible industry, for to bring them back alive to Algier, as well for to chastise them, the more cruelly with long torments, as also to warrant Magdelene from the hurt that might o­therwise arive her, which was the cause why Na­zouf used all his endeavours to board them without using fire, but he found more resistance then he imagined. Mahomet, Fenise, Don Iame, and Charles, did marvels, they foure alone defended a long time the entrance of their vessell: Frederick and the other captives which were in the vessell of Nazouf, when Fenise made himselfe master thereof, testifyed also much courage. The vessels were fastened together, & the heat of the combat, made the combatants of the one and the other vessell, passe it without thinking thereof, so that they were together pel mell, when they perceived another ship, who seeing them to­gether came so near them, that all of them easily knew it. This was the ship of Roustan, which we have heretofore told you departed from Algier, when Fenise took that Nazouf, and arrested him prisoner; Roustan was therein in person, who being [Page 228]known by both parties, was at the same time called by Mahomet, and by Nazouf to help them, being well assured that the party which he tooke would carry the victory. Nazouf cryed out to him on on [...] side, that they had betrayed the King, and that they were fugitives; that Selin his Lord had chosen him to follow after them, being much interessed in his own particular, honour, and goods, that he might use more care & diligence to take them. Mahomet and Fenise cryed out to him on the other side, that Nazouf had deceived the King, and that they were sent to take him again, he having violated his pri­son, and saved himselfe for fear of the punishment which he deserved; that he was a deceiver, and u­sed this artifice to oblige him to assist him, and that he had best take heed of lending his hand to him, if he would not be declared a criminall to his Ma­jesty. These last words had so much power over Roustan, that having considered the authority of those who spoke them, to whose offices belonged this action which they did; he regarded no more the reasons of Nazouf, on the contrary he boarded his vessell, and cryed to him that he should render himself, as the rest also did which accompanyed him; so that these confused voices, amazed and troubled so much the spirit of poore Nazouf, that without any further resistance, he was constrained to yeeld and give up his arms. Thereupon Mahomet and Fenise leaped into his vessell, saying that hee must passe into theirs, that they might be the better assured of his person. Nazouf would not, seeming to be halfe mad at the foule play which was played [Page 229]him, not being able to defend himselfe therefrom [...] nor so much as to make it known. Roustan seeing these violent contestations, saw that he was obliged to tell them that he would put him into his, which was instantly executed, contrary to the will of Fe­nise, who neverthelesse durst not contradict [...]t, for fear of giving some shadow to Roustan. Our Ca­valier would willingly have had Nazouf under his hands, to have diminished the forces of his adver­saries, but it was necessary for him to dissemble his discontent. Part of those who accompanied Fenise were very glad of the happy successe of the strata­gem, the rest were in care how to finde means to se­parate themselves from Roustan, which pressed them all to return to Algier, Nazouf consented willingly to the effects of this proposition, but Mahomet which feared the execution thereof, found an inven­tion to tell him, that hee must before visit a little Isle where the Pirate Nazouf had hidden the booty which he would deceive the King of. Thereupon Charles his slave came to him, praying him to joyn his ship to that of Roustans, that hee might leape nimbly thereinto and ponyard him. This resolution did not seeme impertinent to Mahomet, judging, that if Charles could bring it about, they might ea­sily render themselves Masters of the vessell, foras­much as there was no other conductor. But as they were about to execute this conspiration, they di­scovered a Galley of Malta, as soon as the Crosse was perceived by these Barbarians, a cold fear gli­ded into their veines, which made them tremble; for (forasmuch as they are slaves to the devill) they [Page 230]tremble at the sight of the Crosse. Fenise and Don Iame faigned to be moved therewith, and to be in fear of meeting them; but in their soules they were ravished with joy, seeing that this was the happy sign of their good fortune. Mahomet made a shew of fighting with this Galley, reanimating the courage of Roustan, who considering the great booty they might make, being three vessels against one, took againe his spirits which were strayed, with the apprehension he had, and disposed him­self to attach this Galley. Who would not be a­stonished to see the force of covetousnesse upon the soules of these Barbarian Pirates, where the love of riches hath greater power, than the feare of losing their lives? Behold them then ready to goe against this Galley, but with designes much different. They put before them the Ship wherein Nazouf was come, and the generous and brave Knights of Malta, seeing that they were Turkish vessels, pre­pared themselves to give them a brave reception, although they knew their force to be far inferiour, as well because of their three vessels, as of the great number of Barbarians which exceeded theirs, but their courages and valour supplyed this inequality. As soon as they saw them approach within Cannon shot, the Maltans gave them a salute with two of their greatest pieces, which incontinently sunk their first vessell. Then Fenise tooke away their Turkish colours, where the Crescents and Halfe-Moones were, and put in their places Christian co­lours (as the Turks do sometimes to deceive the chri­stians when they meet them upon their coasts) and [Page 231]adding to this signe the Castalian tongue, wherein the implored the grace & assistance of these knights, they made the effect of their artillery to cease. So that when Roustan knew the fault which he had committed, in not believing Nazouf, it was im­possible for him to fly, or for to defend him­selfe.

Seeing himself in this extreamity, and to take away the glory from the Knights of triumphing in his taking, and to exempt himselfe from the paine which he might receive in their hands, he comman­ded the bottom of his vessell to be pierced, and by little and little it made a hole into the sea in the presence of the Maltans, rather chusing to lose his goods and life, than to see himselfe a slave to those who had been at his mercy, if he would have belie­ved Nazouf.

The Knights were very sorry for the losse of this Conquest, but this sadnesse was lost in the joy which he received who commanded the Galley, when he knew Don Iame his Nephew. This was that Uncle that he thought to have found in Sicily, as it hath been already sayd, who being newly ho­noured with the Knights of Saint Iohn, went from Malta to Cartagene for an affaire of great impor­tance. Don Iame extreamly glad of this good for­tune, after having embraced the knees of his Un­cle, named those to him in whose company he was. Fenise and Frederick saluted him, and after a thou­sand actions of Grace, and as many testimonyes of a generous rejoycing, they all entred into the Gal­ley, and went to Cartagene, as well because it was [Page 232]the Port whither this Gally tended, as also not to be separated from the Knights that had delivered them from so notable a perill, because they feared to meet other dangers, from which they could not escape being alone.

THE HISTORY OF DON ANTONIO.

MAdrid our Country, a towne recommendable for a thousand divers considerations; whole­some by the good temperature of the aire; plea­sant for the fair scituation, and illustrious for its admirable structures and aedifices, was almost at the same time the cradle and tombe of a Cavalier, rich in the gifts of nature, and enough gratified with the goods of Fortune, his name was Don Fernand de Figueroa. Of twenty three years which he lived, he passed two in marriage with a Lady of lesse age than himself, but equall in quality. He left his dear wife a widow as full of hopes, being ready to lie down, as charged with troubles for his losse, which was so sensible to her, and her sorrow so vio­lent, that she was delivered some daies before her terme. Eugenie, so was this Lady called, brought into the world an enemy of liberty, in a daughter perfectly faire, and a lively portrait of her dead husband, in a sonne accomplished with all that he could bring from his birth. They were presently carried to nurses, which were chosen in the villa­ges near Madrid, and who took upon them to give [Page 251]them necessary nourishment: poverty or profit ex­cite often times persons to sell their proper blood. These twins arrived at Faith by the port of sacred Baptisme; the sonne was called after his Father, to the end he might inherit his name, as well as other things, and the sister had to name Charitie, it may be by mystery, or to expresse the graces wherewith she was so liberally stored. The Nurses pleased themselves in taking care of them, and to exercise themselves with emulation, as well to keep them neatly, as to nourish them; in a word, they che­rished them more than their proper children. A family cannot be sayd unhappy, it it suffer not ma­ny disasters; for it seemeth that the first misfortune is the harbinger that comes to prepare a lodging for another, as may be well seen by this successe, since that the infortunate youth of Fernand, and his losse served as an Adamant to draw misfortune into his house. About two moneths after the birth of these little ones, one of the Nurses had newes that her husband was in great extremity of sicknesse, and that they feared every houre that he should dye. Conjugall amitie solicited her on one side to goe have a care of her husband, on the other fide her duty and fear to lose the recompence she hoped to have for her good service, hindred her from quitting her place; and leaving this house liberal and abun­dant in riches. Tossed with these two contrary con­siderations, her rustique judgement tooke a mean, or to say better, an unhappy end for her self. One afternoone towards the evening, she asked leave to go see one of her kindred, and as it is not usuall to refuse to such kinde of persons what they deman­ded; [Page 252]for fear of angring them, and altering the pu­rity of their milk, she easily obtained leave, shee went out, carrying in her armes the little childe, having before taken order to finde at the gate of the towne the commoditie of a cart that returned from the Market held that day at Madrid, from whence there was but two miles unto her village. She found her husband lesse sick in his bed then in his imagination; and to the end that it might not be perceived that she went so farre, she resolved to returne presently, and immediately executed it, not as she came, but on foot, and alone, the better to hide her fault, carrying the childe asleep in her armes; her judgement mistooke the time of the day, the night surprised her in the way, and come­ing to the corner of a hedge, two men came to her, to take from her the packet which she carryed; for the obscurity hindered them from distinguishing what it was: she begunne to cry and call for help, and because there were houses near thereunto, these two men fearing to be taken, gave her tvvo stabs into the throat with a poyniard, and tooke from her that which she held in her armes, leaving this unfortunate woman upon the ground, misera­bly dying. This little infant was no sooner in their hands but he awaked, and begun to cry. They much astonished to see their hopes of a booty fru­strate, were not yet so barbarous as to hurt him, his tendernesse served him as a Sanctuary, and his inno­cence for protection. They fled from this place, for fear of being taken for Murderers, carrying this infant unto another village out of the way, giving it to a poore woman, making her believe, to oblige [Page 253]her to receive it, that it appertained to a Lady of great condition, whose deliverance was kept secret, and the necessity of the secret had constrained them to bring it to her in this estate, as for the rest, that she should have care thereof, and that she should have given her whatsoever she should de­mand.

What is it which profit doth not in imaginati­tion? this woman received it tenderly, hoping for the promised hire, made her affection increase, which was the more warmed by the losse of another little child, which was dead a little before, so that happily she had wherewith to continue his first nu­triture. The ignorance of his true name, and her desire to deceive her memory, made her give him the name of her sonne, and attempting to put him in his place, she called him Antonie. At the begin­ning she was impatient to know his parents, but afterward she desired that no body would avow him, for feare he should be taken out of her arms. In the interim his true mother ceased not to weep, having known the accident happened to her nurse, she easily perswaded her self, that he had served for a fair trophy to the triumph of death, and that some beast had devoured him; it is common to the fearfull to believe all which their imaginations pro­pose horrible.

Nature, which discovers the birth by the incli­nations, giving desires to every one according to the quality of his bloud, had not lesse fore-sight for Don Fernand, then for other humanes, we will call this child so in the continuance of this discourse, since that it is his true name. Although he was rustical­ly [Page 254]brought up, he did not forbeare to doe actions which gave notice of the place from whence he was issued. From his infancy, his ordinary sports was to assemble the little boyes of the Village, arm them with staves in fashion of swords and pikes, then putting himselfe in the head of them, made them march against some place defended by others, which they set upon, and so naturally begun to give him­self to military exercise. Having attained to twelve years of age, he left the Village, and went to the Court. The King had at that time created foure Regiments to send into Flaunders, whereof one of my Uncles, my Fathers Brother, had the first. This little boy presented himself to him, demanding to serve him; my Uncle considered his little resolute countenance, his proportion and boldnesse; found him so pretty, that he brought him to my Fathers house, to the which he was much affected; from the beginning he made him be clothed otherwise then he had yet beene, and after this change of clothes, he immediately changed his manners and fashion of life, so that within a little time, he be­came so different from what he was when he came to our house, that he knew not himself, making all to admire the truth of this proverbe, Honours change manners. All the whole house much esteemed him; he had sweetnesse in his face, and mildnesse in his actions, which rendred him pleasant to the eyes of all; we two loved one another passionate­ly, the equality of yeares is a strong mediatrix of love; we were of the same age and height; we went alwayes together to our exercises, whether of bo­dy or mind; we learned the latine tongue at the [Page 255]same time, (a science very proper for Gentlemen, and Princes; which formes the memory, perfects discourse, and teacheth them eloquence, which charmes the hearts of the most barbarous.) And his spirit was so disposed to learning, that there was none could win the prize from him in the whole Academy; he left all behind him, which made him to be beloved of the Master, and envied of the schol­lers; he had done there wonders, if his inclination had not carryed him to another kinde of life. At that time my Uncle was ready to depart with his Regiment into Flanders, and Fernand having news thereof, imployed all his little industry to oblige him to take him with him, so that mine Uncle, to content his generous desire, condiscended thereun­to. Two years after the departure of mine Uncle, my Father had a burning Feaver, which carried him to his grave, to render the tribute which all mor­tals owe to nature. All our Line was much grie­ved thereat, but it lasted not long, principally for my part, I seeing my self installed in my birth-right, and in the possession of a great estate, if I shed tears at my Fathers death, they were rather of joy then sadnesse, or for that he had no sooner left me his succession: humane malice lets us now see many children of so ill dispositions; and it is not long a­gone since I heard a young Lord say, being in an as­sembly six steps from his Father, that when chil­dren had once passed twenty years, their Fathers did but trouble them. After the yeare of exteriour mourning, I begun to appear rather by my cloathes▪ then my vertues; I was clothed with habits, and feathers in my hat, of all the rare colours which [Page 256]could be found, a vanity wherewith youth is or­dinarily carryed away.

Charitie, the Sister of Don Fernand, was then of mine age, and faire as they paint an Angell; her discourses were so much above the ablest of her sex, that adding the divine qualities of her wit, with the lustre and attractions of her countenance, one knew not what judgment to make thereof, since that a­ny of them did figure her more then mortall. Those that would have doubted of her nobleness and ver­tue, might draw witnesses thereof from the majesty of her carriage, and the recluse life which she lead. She was knowne to none but the servants of the house, and went abroad but very rarely, and in a Coach, and yet was she wrapped in a mantle, so well, that but a shadow of her person could be seen. Her house was not far from mine, and one day of great devotion, for the respect of the feast, I found place to see her come out of her house on foot, ac­companying her mother: They went together, fol­lowed by two Gentlewomen, to visit the Churches, and d [...] the actions of christian mortification, for it was the day wherein was represented the trage­dy of [...]ur redemption, and wherein the author of life died for the safety of all men. I followed them discr [...]tly rather to satisfie curiositie, then devotion. She went softly, leaning upon the arme of one of her servants, and in the meane while I considered the beauty of her proportion. Charitie incon [...]tly perceived my actions and intentions, which [...]bliged her t [...] consider by stealth my person and [...]on: For although a woman will not love, yet she taketh pleasure to see her selfe beloved. I [Page 257]know not whether or noe she found somthing in me that pleased her; but either by artifice or other­wise, she permitted by her mantle a beame of her eyes to shine upon my face which lasted no longer then a lightning, I never saw a more ravishing beauty, and from that instant I remained so char­med that for a long time I was insensible. At the end of this extasie I continued to follow after the shadow of this Sun, and conducted her with mine eye unto the doore of her house, from thence I re­turned home my spirit troubled with a thousand confusions, one while forming a designe to declare unto her the acquisition which she had made of my liberty, and another while imagining that this con­quest, was no great glory to her, my humility ren­dered me fearefull. In these irresolutions I could not hinder my selfe from making rounds and walkes about her house, endeavouring to see her sometimes at the windowes, this issued very happi­ly, yet after having passed much time therein, almost a whole moneth was employed before I could en­joy a little light of this star. In the end, not for to trouble you with the recitall of the paines I tooke to get acquainted with her, I will tell you that I persevered so constantly in this passion, and rende­red her such certaine testimonies thereof, that after having seene my flames painted by my writing, she had pitty thereof, or to say better she felt the heat thereof. There are not many women, how cruell so ever they be, that having hearkened to the plaints of a lover, doe not compassionate his griefe, and assay to give him ease. A love which drawes nou­rishment from two breasts of an infant presently [Page 258]becometh a giant. At the end of two yeares ours ar­rived at so so perfect a grandure, and Charitie knew me so loyall, that she promised me the last favour upon my word, I ingaged to her my faith in calling to witnesse the celestiall powers to marry her when she pleased, and with this assurance she consented to accomplishment of my desires the night follow­ing; moments seemed ages in expecting the houre she had given me, the day seemed to be eternall, or that a new Joshua had stayed the Sun, but in the end light gave place to darkenesse; and then, as a generous courage called to fight, endeavou [...]s to be the first at the place appointed, so I being called to this amorous duell; desiring to testifie my va­lour, I came before the houre given, and rendred my selfe in a certaine place under the windowes of Charitie, as she had appointed me. She who kept Seminell seeing me come so soone called me softly, and prayed me to retire untill her mother was in bed, for feare that in expecting too long time, I might be perceived by some curious person who might trouble our designe. I found her counsell ve­ry judicious, and executed it upon the instant, exercising the vertue of patience without any merit.

Fernand had beene in Flanders with mine uncle eight yeares, and some monthes, where he had in the hazards of warre rendred a thousand good testi­monies, of his birth and valour, to the great advan­tage of this Monarchie, when mine uncle his master of the camp sent him to Madrid, with many letter [...] addressed to his friends, and great persons of the court, in commendation of the merits of Fernand, [Page 259]who besides these favourable letters brought scars upon his body, which served for faithfull attestati­ons of his generositie; he arrived that very night, and went to lodg with some young gentlemen, who were come from Flanders a little before him, and who were at the court, pretending as he himselfe did re­compences of their services, they received him ve­ry courteously, and feasted him, but after supper which was thus very late, it was impossible for him to goe to bed without seeing me. Desiring then to sa­tisfie this impatient desire, he quitted his company to come seeke me; for besides his particular affecti­on, that solicited him thereunto, he had letters for me from mine uncle.

The assignation which I had made with Charitie was the cause that he found me not at home▪ which obliged him to returne to his lodging, which to doe, he must necessarily passe before Charities house, as he did, and just at the favourable moment I was expected, and that all the domestiques were asleepe. The proportion of Fernand, the obscurity of the night, the motion of the lover, the apprehension of shame, the feare of scandall, accompanied with strong imaginations which represent oftentimes to our intellects, the objects we desire, troubled so much poore Charitie, that seeing Don Fernand ap­proach, she believed it was I, and then without o­ther ceremony, or longer attending she threw him downe a key wrapt in her handkercheif, and bade him open the dore and enter presently; Don Fernand was so surprised, that he knew not whether it was a dream, or an illusion; but having taken up the handkercheif and found the key to open the dore, [Page 260]as he was bidden, he knew that it was a reality and [...]udged that he was taken for another. He stayed a little consulting with himselfe, if he should prov [...] this adventure to enter into this unknown house or to keepe on his way, but thinking it cowardly­nesse to doubt if he should enter, he resolved to ad­here to the summons, and hazard the successe there­of. He approached and opened the dore, then put i [...] too simply without locking of it that he might go [...] out againe the more easily if there was occasion, he crossed a great court, and entered into a hall, which Charite had opened, to let me come up to her chamber which was the first story high, finding himselfe there in the darke and meeting no body, he knew not what to doe or say: if he went on he knew not whither he went, and if he should speake he feared to be heard; in briefe he was in so great confusion, that he knew not what to doe: im­mediately after these irresolutions had ceazed upon his spirit, I whom love called to the recompence of of my paines came to the street doore, I thrust it softly, and seeing that it yeelded to me, and opened so easily, I believed that it was the providence of Charitie which had left it open, to the end that I might enter without noyse.

Antonio broke off this discourse at this place, be­cause they arrived at their lodging for that night, referring the rest untill the next morning, that this history might serve them for divertisement, against the tediousnesse of the way; these three friends ar­rived that night in the towne of Mourcia, where [...] [...]ey were scarcely entered into their cham­ [...], when they heard a rumour in the court of the [Page 261]Inne which their window regarded. Fenise looked to see what it was, and saw three men with their swords in their hands, who had invironed another, who defended himselfe generously. Fenise tooke his sword and ran incontinently to assist him, or to take up the quarrell; but at soone as the others saw their adversary assisted they retired themselves, see­ming to be contented, to proceede no further. Our Cavalier having disingaged this stranger from the danger he was in, carryed him into his chamber where Antonio was, where he was knowne for his [...]osen and Fenise his friend; this was the Cavalier of Valence, called Marcel of whom we have hereto­fore spoken in the first and second bookes. They were all, extreamely glad to meete so happily, and that they went all the same way, for Marcel went also to Toledo. They asked him from whence proceeded this quarrell, and who were these three men: he answered that they were Merchants, and that he was angred with an uncivil word, that they had spoken to him in alighting; and that he would have his horse put in the stable in the plac [...] where one of theirs stood; saying so the three Merchants came to demand his pardon for their insolence, ex­cusing themselves in not knowing his qualitie, and so the peace was made, and every one passed the night in repose: the next day they continued their voyage. Being out of the towne. Fenise prayed Marcell to tell him for what cause he went to Toledo [...] who desiring to satifie his curiosity, said thus. Your absence is the cause that you are ignorant that I am married in that towne to a cosen of Seig [...]e [...] [...] Antonios. This alliance was treated of betwixt [...] [Page 262]kindred and mine at my returne from Italy, whi­ther I went incontinently after you, and I tooke leave one of the other; I esteeme my selfe so happy in this condition, that one may say that God had reserved us, to unite us together, our affections and wills are so conformable. It may be you desire to know wherfore I have made this voyage to Cartagene from whence I come as well as you: the subject thereof is prodigious, I will tell it you by the way, and assure my selfe that you heard the like never spoken of, for it is rare. We will put you in minde of it said Charles, when my brother hath finished the history which he hath begun, then Antonio seeing that they all concurred in the same desire, begun a­gaine his discourse in this manner. Since that Seig­neur Marcel hath so often heard it recounted, it is not necessary to say againe what I have already told you, I will begin againe onely where I left.

As I entered then into this hall, Don Fernand heard me, better than he saw me, he retired aside, for feare of being met, and put himself in a corner near the door of the stairs which went to the cham­ber of Charitie. I who thought to goe in security, and who knew well the lodging, went right to the staires, Fernand who perceived me to approach, drew a Ponyard which he wore at his girdle, think­ing I was some of the houshold servants, or some neighbour that had seen him enter, who counterfei­ting the ignorant would surprise him, and chastise him for his rashnesse, so that as I came to passe by him, he fell upon me, and gave me two stabs with the poyniard, the one upon the other, which (if I had [Page 263]not had on a Buffe-coat which hindered the iron from entring farre) had killed me upon the instant, I fell neverthelesse at his feet, all bloudy, and in a swound, and at the same instant he got the doore and fled. In the interim Charitie attended, and see­ing so much delay, she believed that I could not finde the staires of her chamber. In this opinion, she took a little Wax candle, and came down soft­ly where I was; at the first she saw me along upon the ground, but not knowing what this should sig­nifie, she came nearer, and found the dear object of her passions almost in the like condition, as here­tofore Venus her lover hurt by a wild Boare. I can­not represent unto you what griefe surprised at that time poor Charitie, it is easier for you to imagine it, than me to expresse it. She presently judged, that her mother having discovered our secreet in­telligences, had begunne her vengeance upon me, which she would finish upon her. This false opi­nion made so strong an impression upon her spirits, and feare possessed her so powerfully, that she thought she saw nothing about her but the images of death. In fine she suffered her selfe to be so ex­treamly troubled with these panique feares, that it was impossible for her to take any good resolution. Without regarding her condition, without respect of her honour, or consideration of the danger whereunto she exposed her selfe, she at that instant left the house, accompanied onely with misfor­tunes, and adorned with the jewels which she ordi­narily wore, which were, a cross of Diamonds, which she wore upon her breast, two Pearles like Peares, which hung in her eares, and a Garland of [Page 264]gold, Emerauds and Rubies, which she had about her haire. Thus desolate she crossed the whole Town of Madrid, and went to the last houses which are towards the Meadowes of St. Ieronime, where the walkes and projects of Lovers and Courtezans are made. Having put up her stones into her pocket, she entered without choice or consideration into the house of a poor woman, not being able to go further, because the day, which begun to break, might have discovered her.

All this while I remained in the estate and place where Charitie had found me, untill the rising of a servant, who coming to make clean the hall, as she did every day, perceived at the entry thereof a body which she believed to be dead; affrighted with this spectacle, she went to the chamber of her Mistresse, the mother of Charitie, telling her more with asto­nishment then words what she had seen. This La­dy allarmed with this accident, rose, and made all her servants to be called, who ranne all to me at the same time; they tooke me from the ground, and layed me upon a bed, and in the doubt wherein they were, whether I was dead or alive, sent presently for a Chirurgeon, in expecting him, none of them knowing what to doe to me, they heated lin­nen cloathes towarme me, and cast water in my face, to waken my spirits if I were swounded: in fine, amongst all these accurable diligences, they were put out of the paine wherein they were, seeing me make a great sigh, which testified unto them that I was yet living. Thereupon the Chirurgeon arrived, he looked upon my wounds, and putting the first plaister thereupon, stayed the little blood [Page 265]that refted in my veines. When my strength was a little come unto me, I prayed Eugenie, that I might be carryed into my lodging, conjuring her not to afflict her selfe, nor to be troubled for my disgrace; for although I was ignorant of whom I had recei­ved it, I did not forbeare to assure her that all her domestiques were innocent. She enquired of me how this misfortune had arrived me in her house; but not knowing what to answer her, I faigned that my paine hindered me from speaking, as in truth it was very sensible; the Chirurgeon acco­modated himselfe to my necessity, told her that I ought not to speak; by this means I avoyded my troublesome examination, and was carryed home. This good Lady extreamly troubled with this scan­dall, went up to Charities chamber, doubting that she knew something of this misfortune, but the first displeasure was followed with an affliction much more cruell; she saw the doore open, and the chamber voyd of that she thought to finde therein. They called Charitie, they sought her thorough all the house, but they knew not what was become of her; and when they had told Eugenie that those who went to fetch the Chirurgeon had found the street door open, this poor Lady fell into a fearfull despair, she tore her haire, and rent her garments, and made clamours which touched with grief the most insensible. She studied to find out conjectures of these prodigeous events, but amongst all her thoughts, she could finde nothing but feares and confusions. Oh unhappy destinie, cried she, with force of torment, art not thou content with the misfortunes which thou hast made me already suf­fer, [Page 266]must yet my heart be tormented with so bitter a wound, is it necessary, that after the losse of the splendour of our house, and the sweetnesse of my life, in the person of my husband, which was ra­vished from me almost as soon as heaven had given him to me, and after the losse of a sonne, which remained for my comfort and stay, that I must be defamed in honour and reputation by the Rape of a daughter, whose pretence and company were so dear to me? But what, for the last losse I can re­prove no body but my self! I am the cause of this in­famous disaster, having too much adhered to her will, and using too much mildnesse in reproving her foolish desires, now I am exposed to the oppro­bry of all women of my condition, abandoned to the last attempts of misfortune, and overwhelmed with extreame misery. Suffer then my soule since thou hast wanted prudence in the conduct of Cha­ritie; and you mine eyes blinde your selves with weeping, since that you have not seen the precipi­ces which environ beauty; and since that you have not watched to guard a treasure, coveted by so many ingenious spirits, and so ardent in such con­quests. See with what she entertained her mouth, whilst by her eyes her heart distilled into tears.

The Justice advertised of my disgrace happened in the house of this widow, stayed not long to run thither, knowing that there was wherewith to pay them for their paines. Amongst the rumours which these Officers (and the people they brought with them) made, Don Fernand found invention to mingle himselfe with them, desiring to know who he was which he had hurt, and the occasion of this [Page 267]successe; but because they had carried me to my lodging, he could not content his curiositie. He saw his unknown mother all in tears, and dejected with the oppression of so many different crosses, his heart was so lively touched with compassion, that if he could have believed that it would have eased her, he would freely have confessed his crime; he felt something in his soule which provoked him to take pittie of this poor Lady, the force of the blood whereof their hearts were formed, gave him the feeling. They put into prison all the servants of the house, the which was given for a prison to Eugenie, with some women of her chamber to serve her untill the authour of this scandall should be discovered The Judge promised the widow to favour her all that he could, to discharge her, al­though the absence of her daughter testified enough her innocence. These things being done, Don Fer­nand came to my lodging to give me mine Uncles Letters, where he understood, in confirmation of what he had heard at Eugenies, that I was the hurt man, and so seeble by the losse of blood, that there was no great hopes of my life: his heart bled when he knew himselfe to bee the authour of my misfortune. He went home, not being permitted to speak to me, he a thousand times cursed the day of his arrivall, and the rashnesse which he had to enterprise an action so extravagant. Besides his ex­treame sorrow to see me reduced to this estate by his little consideration, he might well be afflicted, for the delay of his affaires at the Court, because the good successe thereof depended partly upon the credit which I had with those who could fa­vour [Page 268]his pretensions. They would not speake to me of his returne, untill they saw my hurts begin a little to amend, then he came to see me, and pre­senting me with the letters from mine Uncle, the feeling of the affection which I bore him, exceeded that of my hurt, although it was great, made me almost goe out of my bed to embrace him; we re­mained some time with our armes about one ano­necks, which when we quitted, I observed that h [...] had great trouble to retaine the teares which griefe brought into his eyes. I read my letters, which in few words contayned many recommendations of the merits of Fernand, and I thereupon told him, that my duty and his vertue so straightly obliged me to serve him, that these, letters were superfluous; after these civill complements, the desire which Fernand had to understand by what encounter I came into the house where this strange accident had happened us, obliged him to put me upon the discourse of the estate I found my selfe in: and I who had the like desire to entertaine him with this subject, as being my ancient friend, I made him the recitalof all my adventure, from the beginning untill the very point where he saw me (amongst friends there need no great praiers, for to recount the successes caused by ladies) and when I came to speake of his encounter, and of the time that he hurt me, I be­lieve that I revenged my selfe too cruelly, of his ig­norance, for in stead of two blowes with a poiniard which he gave me, I gave him more then a hundred, as many words as I spoke, were so many daggers points wherewith I pierced his heart, so sensible was the griefe he had thereof. I have used, said I to [Page 269]him, all possible diligence to discover who hath so treated me, but neither in thought nor otherwise, can I finde any subject capable of this accusation; so that I am constrained to imagine, that it is from my selfe that I have received this rigorous chastise­ment, or that it is come to me from some soveraigne power; I have some reason to believe, and call it so, and your self will have the same opinion; see upon what I ground it.

When I tooke accesse to Charitie, I affected but her beauty, and pretended but only to delights; for at the same time I courted another Lady, and sought her in marriage, because of her great riches; in the one I loved pleasure, and in the other profit, in this the fashion, in that the waight, so that my cove­tousnesse exceeding my love, counselled me that it was better, to have gold in money then in threads of haire, and to possesse pearles that resembled teeth, then teeth that were like pearles. I propounded also to my self, that in enjoying Charitie, and mar­rying Cleonte, so was this other Lady called, all my desires would be contented, and in this project I endeavoured to amuse and abuse with my pro­mises this poore Lover which confided therein. So that under these perfideous assurances, I went cru­elly to ravish her honour, with intention to glory in her shame, when heaven, the faithfull protector of innocents, and revenger of treason, made mee meet with a hand that punished the will as the ef­fect of the crime: If I dyed not upon the place, I believe that it was but to give me leasure to repent my fault. A scruple sometimes ariseth in my spirit upon the absence of Charitie, which that night [Page 270]left her house, almost presuming that sh [...] should not be innocent of the action; and yet whe [...] I represent unto my selfe the testimonies of h [...] love, her constancy, faith, the graces of her face, an [...] the sweetnesse of her spirit, I condemne my selfe and demand of my selfe reparation for the injur [...] which I doe her, so that after having endeavoure to finde some clearing to my doubts, I alwaies find [...] my spirit the more oppressed with trouble an [...] confusion.

This was the discourse I made to Don Fernand, b [...] the which I discovered nakedly unto him m [...] thoughts and secrets. He endeavoured to comfort me, in telling me, that time would one day give me ample satisfaction for my displeasures; that he took part in my evill, as if it was his own, an [...] that he would alwaies contribute for my servic [...] all that did depend upon his honour, fortune, an [...] life. I gave him a thousand honest thankes for h [...] courtesie, and so we parted for that day: tw [...] moneths after I was entirely healed; my first goin [...] abroad was employed to solicite his affaires, whe [...] my credit conjoyned to his merit, made him obtaine a Regiment of foure companies, wherewit [...] he was much satisfied, and of new obliged to lov [...] me. During all this long space of time, Charit [...] remained shut up in the house of this poor woman as I told you, as much accompanied with confusio [...] and fear, as separated from consolation and assurance. Time which destroyeth and healeth al [...] things, had no vertue for her, he rather surcharged her with affliction, than gave her ease. She sometimes sent her Hostesse to Madrid, and into he [...] [Page 271]street, to attempt to learne what bruite runne of her affairs; but whether it was that this woman had not industry enough to inform her self thereof, or that those to whom she spoke were ignorant therof, she never brought good news to Charitie. Seeing then that she was there destitute of all means to get out of the troubles and languishings wherein she [...]ived, or rather wherein she dyed, she resolved to goe to Seville, where lived one of her Uncles, which possessed the goods of her house, which had falne to her, had she been of another sex; for they descended upon the Males; her brother enjoyed no more thereof then her selfe; for it was thought he was dead. Charitie hoped that this Uncle would have pitty of her misfortune, and that he would lovingly receive her. Shee communicated this to Fregonde, so was her hostesse called, who adhered to all her propositions. She perswaded her to ac­company her in this great voyage, that she might give less suspition to those that should see so much youth and beauty go all alone through the country; and to oblige her the more, shee shewed her her jewels, which she had not yet seen, saying that shee had wherewith to pay her for her paines, and to warrant her from want. Fregonde was not so stu­pid but the brightness of these stones wakened her understanding and covetousnesse: upon the instant she propounded to make her selfe rich, by making these Jewels hers by some pernitious stratagem, and whilst that Charitie prepared her selfe for this voy­age, the other disposed her selfe to robbe her. Oh too naked innocence! Oh poor girle too ignorant of worldly malice! who would have sayd the un­fortunate Charitie, that in going in the company [Page 272]of Fregonde, she cast her selfe into the clawes of a wolfe and a Tygresse.

This cursed woman had a husband of her man­ners, who was unknowne to Charitie, not having entred into his house since her coming hither: he had no other exercise, with foure companions which he had, but to watch passengers, into favou­rable places, to take from them and lighten them of what they carried. Fregonde advertised him by a letter, of the voyage which she was about to make, with a woman, without naming her, it being un­necessary, who carryed jewells of great valew, with some pearles of such, and such fashions, that he should separate himselfe from his company, for some time, that the enterprise might be the more secretly executed, and that they might remaine the sole masters of the booty; besides, that they two going alone without defence, there was no neede of other helpe; the letter being well sealed she directed it to a tavarne, where this thiefe and his complices frequented, every day, having intelligence with the master thereof: then she put it into the hands of a Merchants man, which did nothing but goe and come upon the way where her husband was; having businesse for his master, and necessarily pas­sing by this tavern, because it was upon the high way, Fregonde thought that her letter should be faithfully delivered, because she halfe knew this ser­vant, having often seen him frequent the house, next to hers; and also having expressely recommended it to him: but this messenger who knew the evill re­putation of Leon, the name of the husband of Fre­gonde, and of the taverne whereunto this letter was [Page 273]directed, by divine inspiration, as I believe curious to see the contents of this letter, which he had re­ceived, not being too well assured that there was nothing therein to his disadvantage, whatsoever it was he opened it, and saw the complot which this wicked woman made with her husband. This man would willingly have returned to Madrid, to have accused her to the justices, but a dispatch which he carried for his master could not permit him to returne. Yet he determined to prevent, and hinder this conspiration, in declaring it to the Justice of the towne next to the tavern. In this resolution he went on and continued his voyage, but by misfor­tune he lost the letter by the way, before he arrived at Illescas.

One of the people of Eugenies coming from that towne upon some businesse of mistresses, seeing this letter, lighted, tooke it up, and read what you have heard, & put it in his pocket; astonished at the wick­ednesse, that is commited in this world. Being ar­rived at Madrid, and having rendered account to his mistresse of his voyage, he shewed her this letter, not knowing that she had interest therein, and told not how he had found it in the high way, admiring divine providence, for having it may be, hindered the execution of this theft, by the losse of this let­ter, this lady read it two or three times, that see­ming still clearer which she suspected, for although there was no name, the quality of the jewels which she specified, made her presume that they were those of Charitie, she begun againe to renew her eyes and groanes; she believed her daughter dead, and her honour violated, imagining that they could not [Page 274]take away her life, without stripping her of her integrity; after the most violent apprehensions of these new sorrowes, were a little moderated, she forced her selfe to resist against the excesse of her affliction, to the end to attempt it by the the meanes of this letter, she could get notice of the rape of Charitie, for she believed that she was stolne away. She went to the President and soveraigne magistrate of Castile, let him heare her plaints, and recitall of her dis­aster, producing this letter, which might give some light in these confusions. There was a Com­missary presently deputed to goe search the places about this tavern, and to seise upon the host: but al­though this ordinance was promptly made, it could not be so diligently executed, but two or three daies after the messenger arrived at the place where he had designe to reveale his secret to the Justice, but as he thought to have done it, he found not his let­ter, which might render testimony of his declara­tion. then judging that he should not be believed a­lone he went on. In following his way he was ta­ken by the same theeves, amongst whom was the husband of Fregonde; seeing himselfe thus in danger to lose his life, and money, he remembred himselfe of the name of the person to whom the letter was directed. He demanded if Leon was not in their com­pany, and they told him that he was their chiefe; at the instant he tooke him aside and told him in this torment of feare, all that was contayned in the letter, the apprehension of death wherein he was made him tell all. Leon cunningly informed him­selfe of all the circumstances, that seemed impor­tant whereby he knew the riches of the proposed [Page 275]theft, and the terrour which oppressed this unhap­py man. He gave him his liberty for his advise, ob­liging him by oathe to discover nothing of what he had told him to any one. See this unhappy messen­ger escaped from the hands of these thieves whilest on the other side Leon disbanded himselfe upon the instant, and went all alone to attend the prey which he hoped for. Whilest this was done Charitie was upon her way, mounted upon a Mule, and followed by her treacherous companion on foote, going little journeyes, and advancing towards the rendez-vous of these unhappy people, where she was to lose in a moment all the gratifications which fortune had given her in many yeares; her perfidi­ous guide, measured so well, I would say so mali­ciously, her time, that she arrived towards night at Sierca Morena; poore Charitie travelled in feare, the heart, the faithfull nuntio of good or evill, ad­vertised her of the danger she was going to fall into, the effect thereof was not much delayed, in passing by a close way. Leon came out of a certaine place, full of bushes and thornes: and as a ravenous wolfe surpriseth an innocent sheepe, this Lion ceazed with his clawes upon fearefull Charitie, who fell in a swound for feare upon the instant, the perfidious Fregonde begun to cry out and faining to run away, she drew aside into the bushes, and then this bar­barian insensible of the griefe of this young gentlewoman, without respect of her beauty, searched her all over: but he had scarcely begun this insolent action, when he heard a horseman to ap­proach him, who being in this suspicious place fa­vourable to theeves, gallopped with his pistoll in his [Page 276]hand and the cock up, this theefe could not so soon retire himselfe out of the way, but this Cavalier was with him, they were both of them in distrust, the one believing they came to take him , and the other that they would rob him, because that Leon was equipaged in such manner, that he might be well ta­ken fora thiefe. He seeing the posture of the Cavalier, presented him with the mouth of his carabin which which he wore in a belt, but by good fortune it tooke not fire; the Cavalier lost no time, but dischar­ged his pistoll against his body charged with two bullets, before he could draw his sword, as he was going to doe, Leon fell to the ground, not dead but dangerously wounded. Don Fernand lighted (this was the revenger of the crimes of this theefe) and ceazed upon his armes to serve himselfe there­with, in case of neede. He seeing himselfe so hap­pily dispatched, by the assistance of my credit, went towards Seville as well for the desire he had to see so faire a towne, as to make a young gentleman which dwelt there, it being the place of his birth, the first captaine of his little regiment, being ac­quainted with him in Flanders, to make him parti­cipate of his good fortune.

Just heaven, which maketh us sometime to feele its rigours, to give us afterwards abundance of favours, permitted that Charitie came from her mortall trance, wherein she was falne. In opening her eyes she saw the trayteresse Fregonde, with a visage of a fury of hell groaping yet in her breast where she had put her jewells, and then with feeble voice: What Fregonde said she, are these the effects of a person, who hath sworne to me an amitie in­violable? ah cruell! is it possible that thou art con­federate [Page 277]with the theeves which have robbed me? Don Fernand who seemed to be destinated for the pro­tection of Charitie, hearing this plantive voice, ran presently to the place where she was, he saw this maide along upon the ground, and this cursed wo­man, stripping her of her jewells and clothes. Fergon­de had heard the pistoll discharged, but she thought it had beene her husband that had shot for some de­signe; for she had not seene the Cavalier: so that when he came neere her, she believed that it was Le­on who returned, so much she was troubled, and attentive to her wicked action. The cavalier see­ing this young beauty thus rudely treated, moved with compassion, and blinded with choler, or it may be, put forwards by heaven, which serveth it selfe ve­ry often of one man to punish another, gave her three blowes with his sword, which made three issues for her soule to goe the sooner out of her trea­cherous body. Charitie, who saw this action, imagined that she had done Fregonde wrong to suspecther of infidelitie, and believed that this Cavalier was the same theefe that had stayed them: so that she [...]xpected the same misfortune that had befalne her compani­on, but as death flyeth ordinarily from those that expect it, it happened so to her. Finish bloodsucker, said she to Fernand, finish to glut thy cruelty, and take from me this languishing life. He knowing that she tooke him for the theefe, answered her, Madame you see the defendor of your person and life, and a gen­tleman that will expose his, for your service if you please. Charitie hearing these words found her selfe more confounded then before, she knew not what to thinke thereof, but considering that so courte­ous [Page 278]words could not proceede out of the mouth of a thiefe, she called againe her spirits, and stretched out her armes to the Cavalier, who raised her from the earth. He conjured her to assure her self upon his person, and to believe that she was in the hands of a man of honour, where there should be rendered her no displeasure. Saying so, he approa­ched with her to the place where he had left Leon, but he had drawne himselfe into the bushes, hoping that the Cavalier being gone on his way, his wife would come help him, and make him to be carried away and looked unto. Fernand not finding him, made no great diligence to search him, hee imagi­ned, that he was not so hurt as he had believed, and that he was gone to tell his disaster to his compa­nions, to oblige them to revenge him; in this ima­gination he made hast from thence, and tooke Cha­ritie with him, hee set her upon her mule, and mounted upon his horse, and tooke the way by which he was come, returning towards Madrid, be­cause the nearest place of retreate was that way; otherwise they would have been benighted [...] the wood, and it may be in danger to finde [...]e com­panions of Leon; it was a great distance betwixt this place and the towne where Fernand thought to lodge to passe the night in securitie, which gave him leasure discreetly to informe himselfe, who she was, and of the voyage she made, and who had engaged her into this danger. Charitie to testifie how much she esteemed her self bounden to his ge­nerositie, recited nakedly unto him all that shee knew of her self, as well her name and condition, as the accident which was arrived me in her lodgings, [Page 279]mode­rating in the end the shame of her fault with the promises of marriage which I had so solemnly made her.

Fernand hearkened to all this discourse with a­stonishment and admiration, seeing himselfe to be one of the principall personages in this tragicall History. He remembered himselfe that the next day I was to marry Cleonte, the Gentlewoman whereof I told you, and who was to be esteemed, for having amongst other good qualities, neare twenty thou­sand pounds for her portion, besides the hope of inheriting, yet as much more, from her father. Con­fidering then that it was in his power, to repaire the honour of this faire Gentlewoman, and to bring againe consolation and joy to her mother, he found himselfe engaged in conscience and generositie, not to neglect it; being arrived at their Inne and having taken a little repast, he would let her see how use­full his meeting with her might be to her, yet with­out declaring what he knew of my project to mar­ry Cleonte, for feare of surcharging her with new afflict [...]. Madam, said he, I thanke my good for­tune, that she hath this day given me occasion to serve you in such manner as none but a brother could doe. He did not think to have made so just a comparison, for this time I will breake my voy­age to Seville, whither I was going as well as you, when I met you, and for your sake I will againe take the way to Madrid, hoping there to procure you that contentment which you desire from Don Antonio. It is a Cavalier whom I know, and whom I hold so religious, that if hee hath sworne to marry you, as I believe he hath, since you say so, [Page 280]he will never violate his faith, and it may bee hee would already have done it, if he had known where to have found you; it is therefore I would counsell you to return with me to Madrid. At these words Fernand saw that Charitie lifting her eyes up to hea­ven, made an action which testified that shee had some repugnance to the effect of this proposition, being ashamed to goe alone with a man; and not daring to speak her feeling, she covered with the pretext of fear to be known. No, no, Mistresse, said he, fear nothing, confide in me, if your quali­ty and beauty would not oblige me to respect, that which I beare to Antonio, whose wife I believe you will be, would make me use you with all sort of re­verence. I will lodge you in a place where no body shall know you; in the interim I will see this Cavalier, and I assure my self, that you vvill have cause to praise his loyaltie, and my dili­gence.

Charitie was altogether charmed with these spa­tious consolations; she passed the rest of the night in some repose of spirit, thanking God every mo­ment, for having assisted her with so magnanimous a courage, and disposing her selfe to be conducted by the prudence of this brave Cavalier. At breake of day he went to knock at the door of her chamber, and told her, that it was time to depart, and that they must hast to Madrid, if shee would see a good successe of her affaires, she was presently ready, and they went gladly together. They arrived that day at dinner time in an Inne, where they found the Com­missary deputed by the President of Castille to ap­prehend the theeves which upon these waies robbed [Page 281]all the passengers, who had already taken and han­ged up the companions of Leon.

Don Baptiste father of Cleonte, having appointed and chosen the day of our marriage, had invited all his friends for that time, amongst the which Don Ariel the Uncle of Charitie was the most conside­rable after his kindred, this Uncle that lived at Se­ville, and to whom she went to sue to his good na­ture, to receive her to him, being the onely posses­sour of the estate of her house setled upon the el­dest, as I have already told you. He left Seville to come to Madrid, and take part of the contentment of his friends. The next day after the adventure encountered by Don Fernand, hee passed that way, near unto which Leon had drawn and hidden him­selfe. This miserable wretch having been so long time abandoned from succour, and almost lost all his blood, and mortally hurt, decayed by little and little; seeing that Fregonde did not come, and that he heard passengers goe that way, he begunne to make pittifull cries, at the instant that Don Ariell passed by the place where he was. Then this chari­table and courteous Cavalier made his traine to stay, and alighting the first, went where hee heard this lamentable voice; he saw upon the ground a strong man, enclining to gray, of about fifty years of age, of a sterne visage, full of scarres, and soiled with blood, as all the rest of his body was, who made him this broken discourse, being oppressed with paine and weaknesse. Sir, said hee, through Christian charitie have pittie of a miserable sinner, to whom just heaven this day maketh its vengeance felt; I have a recitall to make you, whereby I shall [Page 282]discharge my conscience (it God assist mee with life and breath to doe it) and give ease to a great family, which I have put in extreame griefe a long while agone, saying so, a great weaknesse stayed his speech; Don Ariell curious to know what this hurt man would say, sent for water to a little rive­let, that ranne thereby; they cast it into his face, and he opened his eyes; then setting him up hand­somely against a tree, two men of Don Ariels hol­ding him up, he begun again his discourse. Which way doe you go Sir, sayd he? I go to Madrid, an­swered Ariel. Alasse! Sir, replyed the hurt man, you may well oblige then persons of condition that are of that towne, and in so doing render my soul lesse criminall. Speak, my friend, sayd Ariel, take courage, I will do it with all my heart. It is thirty years, continued the hurt man, that I have lived in the most infamous profession that is possible for a man to choose. At the beginning I robbed in Townes and Villages, where I sometimes escaped from the hands of Justice, and sometimes also I re­ceived severe chastisement therefrom, but yet too gentle for my crimes In fine, after a perpetuall ba­nishment from Madrid, I was constrained to inhabit in the fields and woods, where I robbed the pas­sengers, and many times took away their lives with their goods; I roved also sometimes about the town, and in the entrie of the night I robbed those that came out thereof, or who arrived late there: A­bout twenty years agone, one evening, being ac­companied with one of my confederates, I found a country woman going towards the towne, who carryed a certaine packet, we would have taken it from her, she made resistance, and begunne to cry, [Page 283]and we killed her, this packet was a fair little boy, which heaven warranted from our cruelty, wee contented our selves to take from him some little ornaments, which gave me knowledge that this in­fant was of high birth, we carried him to the next village, and left him in the hands of a poore wo­man, in abusing her with a spatious lye, to make her receive him. Some moneths after I went disgui­sed into Madrid, and secretly informed my selfe of the losse of this infant, they told me the name of his house, and that he was the heire of five and twenty hundred pounds a year, knowing that, I durst not expose to sale the little businesse which I had taken from him, fearing to be discovered, since that time I have had remorse of conscience for the great evill and wrong I have done this childe, so that having intention to repair one day my crime, I would never part with these little jewels, what necessity soever I was in, alwaies reserving them to serve as markes and testimonies to make the childe known; they were an Agnus-Dei enchased with gold enamelled, a tooth of Corrall, also garnished with gold, and a little chaine of the same mettall, which he had hung about his neck, all these are to be found, with the names of his father and mother, and his own, in an old cupbord in my house, where I have neverthelesse not much inhabited, which is near the Meadows of Saint Geronime of Madrid, it may be easily found in asking for my name, which is Leon, known well enough by my infamy, see here the Key of that buffet in my bosome: Fre­gonde my wife, in speaking this last word his voice failed him, his eyes turned, and hee rendered his last sigh.

The confusion of Don Ariel is not to be represen­ted, so much the beginning and end of this discourse had astonished him.

After so ample a declaration, he had almost no need of this key to verifie that this childe (where­of Leon had spoken) was his nephew, and the one­ly sonne of his brother, lost so many yeares agone yet for to have a greater clearing therein, he made it to be taken from his neck, where it hung under his shirt: this done he got upon horse back, and fol­lowed his way, ignorant by what accident this old theefe had beene hurt, because he had not time to demand it of him, which he thought to have done as soone as he had ended his relation. At the first he passed, he gave notice thereof to the officers of Justice, who neglected to goe thither, thinking there was nothing to pay them for their paines, as it is ordinary, and so it is believed, that Fregonde and he, were consumed upon the place, or devoured by savage beasts. Don Ariel travelled with the greatest impatience that was possible, extreamely desirous to discover the veritie of his doubt. In going he felt himselfe troubled with two contrary feelings. On the one side covetousnesse counselled him, to take the advantage which he had, seeing he onely understood this affaire, and to reveale nothing, for feare of being outed of the estate, which he had possessed so long time, and in danger to be brought to account, having enjoyed this estate, upon the be­liefe which he had, that he was the lawfull successor of his dead brother. On the other side religion per­swaded him to restitution if he should come to the knowledge of the true heire. After having long [Page 285]time ballanced these two temptations, he generously resolved, to yield to the duty of a good Christian, and to the honour whereunto his noblenesse inga­ged him. In this intention he entred into Madrid, the same day that Fernand and Charitie arrived there, for they were but one daies journey before him, and in approaching the towne they went very softly, to let the day passe and arrive in the night, for feare that some one might know Charitie. Don Ariel would see no body of his acquaintance, untill he was cleared upon the declaration, which Leon had made him. He lodged in a remote quarter of the towne, and the next day by the authoritie of justice he made the house of Leon to be opened, and the cup­board, depositary of the witnesses of his domage, since that they dispossessed him of a great succession. They were found in a Box with a writing contai­ning that they were taken with a child in such a time and place, as also the names of the child, his faher, and mother. Don Ariel charged himselfe therewith to represent them when it should be re­quired. He might well if he would have exempted himselfe from making such a search, there being none but he that knew the secret that the theefe had discovered to him, but the generositie of his soule, made him doe a rare action of justice, in this occasi­on; his designe was to goe enquire in all the villages about Madrid, following the instructions which Leon had given him, thereby to learne something of his nephew, but before he made this search he would see his sister in law, to know if she heard nothing of her sonne, and let also Don Baptiste know of his arrival, who expected him to assist at the [Page 286]wedding of Cleonte his daughter, and mee [...].

Don Fernand and Charitie being arrived at Madrid did as Don Ariell had done, they lodged in quality of (strangers, in a remote Inne, not to be knowner and whilest Don Ariell made his perquisitions, Fer­nand informed himselfe in what estate, my marriage was with Cleonte, He was told that it was referred from day to day, expecting the arrivall of a Cavali­er of Seville the intimate friend of Don Baptiste This newes pleased him very wel, seeing that he was come time enough for the good of Charitie. They had scarcely beene two dayes in Madrid, when Don Ariell appeared to the great contentment of Don Baptiste, who received him very honourably to his house; the next day he went to visit Eugenie his sister in law, whom he found much changed, with the extreame displeasure she tooke for the losse of Charitie, she made him believe, that she had beene sick, the better to dissemble her sadnesse. After their first complements, he demanded news, of his neece. I have said she for some time put her into a religi­ous house, with one of her cosens, to avoide the trouble which one hath to guarde a faire maide, since that they say she may be called so. Don Ariel believed her and commended her proceedings. Seig­neur Baptiste my pretended father in law, arrived thereupon, taking his time to employ the credit of Don Ariel, to invite her to my wedding: she excu­sed her selfe in the beginning, but in the end not to give knowledge of the cause of her mourning to her brother in law, she accepted the summons. The night being come, that night I say destinated to take away my liberty, and to ingage me in a voluntary [Page 287]captivitie, the venerable Eugenie, came into the as­sembly: as soone as she cast her eyes upon me, she remembred the tragedy passed, and felt her selfe cea­zed with extreame sorrow, she wept inwardly, and fained joy in appearance.

Don Fernand advertised of the time of the solem­nitie, made a faire habit to be brought to Charitie, according to her condition: he prayed her to cloath her selfe therewith, and to adorne her selse with those jewells, whereof I have made you a des­cription; then making her to put a mantle upon her, he lead her to the house of Don Baptiste: he entred with her into the hall where the company were, and made her sit in a corner; then coming right to me, Seignieur Don Antonio, said he to me in mine eare, I much commend the preparation you have made for your wedding, and for to gaine time I have brought you her that must be your wife. Doe not aske me other explication, because the place where we arc is not proper, doe onely that which you owe to your word and the merit of her which I present to you. I was much surprised to see Don Fernand so soone returned, and more with his lan­guage, which I judged to be a challenge disguised, and in this consideration, without thinking of in­forming my selfe, what she was he spoke to me of, I told him softly that I had some reply to make him upon that subject, and that he should goe stay for me at a place which I named to him. He went out very discreetly, and I incontinently after, but we were no sooner out of the company, but that they thought that I had a quarrell. My brother vvhich you see here, ran upon the instant after us, so did also Don Ariel and Don Baptiste: they overtooke us in the [Page 288]streets and brought us back againe to the house, ye [...] ignorant of the cause of our quarrell, for we faine [...] to be come out upon another designe, but Do [...] Charles found us not, we sent after him, but could heare nothing of him, since that night I have no seene him untill I met him at Cartagene: During al [...] these alarmes, Charitie kept her place where Fer­nand had left her, and when she begun to know tha [...] this assembly was made for my marriage with Cle­onte, she learned at the same time, that I was gone out to fight with a stranger, she judged that it was Don Fernand. Then seeing me on one side to violate my promises, and on the other side in designe to take away the life of her defendor, so violent a sor­row ceazed upon her heart, that she fell in aswoond As soone as this weaknesse was perceived, she was encompassed with all the ladies, which ran to assist her, and amongst the rest Eugenie her mother, who (having knowne her) remained immoveable, and dumbe as a statue: I know not whether it was with excesse of joy to see her, or with extreamitie of sorrow, to know that she was come alone with a stranger.

The vvomen confused in the contemplation of this accident, caused Charitie and her mother to be carryed into another chamber apart, when another motion happened at our returne: A poor woman that served in the house of Don Bapriste, as we en­tered into the hall, knew Don Fernand, and without other ceremony, came and cast her self upon his neck crying, ah, my sonne! my dear childe! is it possible that I see thee living? All those that were not bu­sied about Charitie and Eugenie, encompassed Don Fernand, and this woman, astonished to see them [Page 289]embrace with so much joy. They could not com­prehend how a woman of so base condition should call a young man, who had the port and habits of a Cavalier her sonne. Many of those that at the be­ginning made some esteem of Don Fernand, regarded him then with scorne and derision. In brief, we were so confused with so many troubles and strange suc­cesses, that we scarcely knew one another. In fine, Cleonte, adorned as a Bride to be married, presently came to Epinelle, so this poor woman was called, and demanded of her the explication of this action; and this woman in the presence of the whole assem­bly sayd, that shee had brought up Fernand as her childe, having nourished him with her milke, he be­ing put into her hands by two unknown men, which brought him to her one night, letting her know, that it was a childe of a good family, and the rest, that I have told you those theeves sayd to her, ad­ding that her poverty had constrained him to quit the village, and come and serve in Madrid. Don A­riel, who behinde the others hearkened to this re­citall with admiration, calculating the time, and putting all the circumstances together, with those which Leon had told him, came to finish the inter­pretation of these aenigma's, he demanded the name of this woman, and of the village where shee dwelt when they brought her this childe, and seeing that they were the same which were contained in the writing which he had found in Leons cupboard, he looked more carefully upon the face of Don Fernand, where he observed all the features of his dead bro­ther, his blood begun to be moved, and not being able longer to resist the force of his affection, which pressed him, he came with his armes open to Don [Page 290]Fernand calling him his deere nephew; and withou [...] other words, he was so ravished with joy, he re­mained long time imbracing him, and weeping upon his f [...]c [...]: oppressing all the assistants with new admiration, after the greatest effects of this trans­port of joy, Don Ariel sent for the Agnus Dei, and the tooth of corall, which I have told you of, to make them knowne to E [...]genie. They caused her to come being yet moved with the recovery of her daughter; whose story Don Ariel her uncle was yet ignorant of, no one daring to tell it him: looke here, sister said he to her in shewing her these little orna­ments, doe ye know this? O heaven! cryed she in regarding them, thou sellest me deere the content­ment thou hast now given me, since that without any intermission thou puttest me in minde of the losse of my child, in representing to me these little gages. Ah! where art thou my deare Fernand. There he is replyed Don Ariel, in taking him by the hand, Eugenie had like to have swounded with this sud­daine apparition, Ah God! said she: then (remai­ning as if she had beene charmed) she begun to con­template him, and felt upon the instant, a motion at her heart which confirmed the veritie of what she heard. On the other side Fernand was in so strange a confusion, that he knew not how to interpret these words and actions. In fine after she had remai­ned a good space in this enchantment, she broke si­lence, and said, that she knew him to have a per­fect resemblance of his father; but to make her the more certaine of the truth, she remembred that at the houre of the birth of Fernand and Charitie, they being twins, they were fastened together by the heele, and having disjoyned them, there then rest­ed [Page 291]to either of them a marke in that place: then Don Fernand begun to understand all his history, be­ing overjoyed to know that he was issued of so no­ble a linage, fell upon his knees before Eugenie; Madame said he, if there neede no other testimony but that, to make me to be acknowledged your [...]onne, permit me to kisse your feete in that qualitie; have the signe you speake of Eugenie transported to [...]ee so many marvels upon the sudden, had like to have given up her soule in kissing and embracing Don Fernand: having a little given over their embracing, they went into another chamber, and in the pre­sence of Don Ariel, he let them see the marke which gave the last clearing to their doubts, and made Don Fernand to be acknowledged lawfull heire of the estate which his uncle had possessed so many yeares After this Charitie was brought into the chamber to augment this great joy, and to take part thereof, Eugenie made her to imbrace Don Fer­nand as her brother, whom she had heard her mo­ther so often lament. In briefe they were all so full of felicitie in this prodigious encounter, that they scarcely knew themselves. They made amongst themselues some short recitalls of their adventures, for their proper satisfaction, untill they should come into a more convenient place to declare them at large, as I have done; Don Ariel brought them all three againe into the hall? publishing to all the com­pany, the miracle which God had done in their fa­vour, so that all their friends participated of their contentment, and I more then their kindred them­selves. After this Don Fernand came to me; sir said he, very modestly, I did not thinke I had beene so much interessed in the discourse I held you but [Page 292]even now, I made it being urged thereunto by a [...] instinct, whose cause I knew not; but at the present since the affaire toucheth me so neerely, and that see that it was blood which excited me to solicit you, I begin it againe and with much more affecti­on. I cannot think that a generous soule, as I have alwaies knowne yours to be, would disguise a trea­chery under honest promises, where heauen was cal­led to witnesse the designe you had to accomplish them. Words tye men; before they are spoken they are voluntary, but being given, they are necessary. If you be of another opinion, you wrong the noble­nesse of your courage, and much prejudice your ho­nour: and being your friend so much as I am, i [...] would extreamely trouble me that you should doe any action whereby your reputation might be stai­ned. You know the discourse you have held to my sister, and the scandall that is thereupon arrived, you are now obliged to effect it, as well for her proper satisfaction, as the generall reputation and honour of our familie. And for my part I am per­swaded that you had already done it, if you had knowne whereto have found Charitie. She is of con­dition equall to yours; her vertue was in a high de­gree of perfection before the fault you made her commit, her beauty cometh, not short of the most considerable, and if I say not that she is incompara­ble, it is because I would not offend the respect which I beare to Cleonte. Besides all these conside­rations, you will adde to the qualitie of friend which you honour me with, that of brother and most humble servant. If you have any scruple for her absence, although you are the cause thereof, I will oblige my selfe to render you satisfaction.

All these reasons seemed to me so honest and just, and my conscience was so moved therewith, that [...]estifying unto him my consentment by my silence, I went to embrace Charitie, and in the presence of the whole company renewed my vowes to her, wherewith her mother and uncle were greatly re­joyced. Don Ariel made a voluntary resignation to Don Fernand, of all the estate which by right apper­tained to him, and moreover he made him his heire f [...]er his death: & the more to oblige me to esteeme tis neece, and to take away the trouble I might haue for being excluded from the riches which I might have possessed in marrying Cleonte, he augmented the portion of Charitie with eight thousand pounds, part of the profits which he had received in enjoying Fernands estate, who approved this liberality. I went to make complements to Don Baptiste and Cleonte, excusing my selfe upon the beliefe which I had that Charitie was dead when I sought for their alliance, but she being living, my conscience obliged me to maintaine to her the promises which I had made her. That if they would receive Don Fernand in my place, they would gaine much by the change; and thereupon I exaggerated the prayses of his good countenance and merit. Don Baptiste liked well this proposition; he communicated it to Don Ariel, who testified that he esteemed himselfe most happy if Cleonte would permit, that friendship and kindred might be united; and that for his nephew he did not doubt but to finde him wholly disposed there­unto, it being the greatest honour and fortune he could aspire unto. Cleonte formed easily her obe­dience unto the will of her father, and Fernand prai­sing my invention, consented to the desires of his [Page 264]uncle, so that wee weere married at the same time by the approbation of all our friends and kindred Behold deere Fenise the successe of my loves, if the recitall thereof hath beene too long pardon me; I did it but to divert you from thinking of what you have lest at Cartagene. It is now my brothers part to tell us the occasion, which made him absent him­selfe from Madrid, and not participate of all these marvellous felicities.

Fenise found this history extreamly pretty and well entermixed, saying that for its raritie it meri­ted to be consecrated to posteritie; which gave sub­ject to Charles to endeavour to merit like praise, in recounting his fortunes: which he thus begun.

THE HISTORY OF DON CHARLES AND VIOLANTE.

BEing gone out after my brother upon the opi­nion that we had, that Don Fernand had called him out to fight with him, as he hath already told you, I made many turnes in the towne, without meeting with him; In the end I met a servant of a gentleman a friend of mine, that was in the assem­bly at Don Baptists house, who assured me that my brother was returned thither, with him against whom it was believed he had the qarrell, that Don Baptiste accompanyed, with other Cavaliers amongst whom his master was, had found them, and car­ried them back to his house. Vpon these words I went no further, but returned towards the house, [...]ing desirous to know the occasion of this rumor. [Page 295]In passing through a street a little remote from the commerce of people, I saw at the doore of a cer­taine house, a woman couered with a mantle: as I passed she coughed softly which I tooke for a signe, that she would stay me, and without expecting a se­cond time I came to her, and begun like a young man to treat her as a common woman, thinking that at that houre no other were to be met in? the streets, she retired her selfe a little, and sayed to me, Cavalier, I pardon the evill opinion you have con­ceived of me, seeing me alone and so late in this place; I am a woman of condition afflicted with an extreame displeasure, and have neede of the assist­ance of a man of valour: the opinion which I have that you are so, hath caused me to call you. This manner of speaking made me give credit to her words, and although it was night, I saw that which made me judge her to be a person of respect, so that changing my stile and actions, I said, Madame since that your discretion hath prevented my excu­ses they would be now superfluous, I will therefore let alone submissive words, and offer you the effect of a most faithfull service. Sir answered she, al­though I doe not doubt of the sincerity of your of­fers, I should be yet much more assured, if I had the honour to know your name. I am called said I Don Charles de Valasquez. Ah God! replyed she: then remaining silent she seemed to doubt if she should discover to me her designe. What is the mat­ter Madame, continued I, is that name odious unto you? Alas Sir said she, I honoured it extreamly, but to tell you the truth, the feare I have to be knowne makes me to desire, that you bad not stayed, but passed on your way and followed your first intention [Page 296]This answer made me the more curious t [...] know who she was. I then gave her my word not to informe my selfe of any thing, but blindly to obey her in all she would ordaine me, without enterpri­sing any thing that might displease her, praying her not to feare to declare to me her intentions protesting to serve her couragiously, and never to reveale any secret she should trust me with. Then she told me that she was intimate friend to Violante, a [...] lady whom I served, who triumphed over my liber­tie, and treated me rigorously, although I had ren­dered her a thousand testimonies of my passion. She had divers time prayed me by others to desist from my sute, telling me my labour would be lost. See­ing then that this gentlewoman said she was the in­timate friend of my ingratefull mistresse, my desire to serve her animated my courage, perswading my selfe that I should oblige her, to render me some good office towards this cruell one. Vpon the assu­rances which you give me of your discretion, and the freedome whereunto your blood obligeth you, replyed she; follow me, I am going into a house a­bout an affaire of great importance: you must, if you please attend me at the street doore, resolved to let no one enter, and doe not trouble your selfe with the noyse you may heare there if any happen: but if any one offer to goe out, let him goe freely, without informing your selfe of him. As she had finished these instructions, we arrived at the doore of an house of eminency: she entred thereinto, and I finding my selfe ingaged to assist her, put my selfe in ambush neere the doore to execute her ordinan­ces, I presently heard the noise she told me of, and almost at the same instant a man came out, having [Page 297]a cloake, and a coloured hat, which came so farre upon his head; that the brims covered his face; for is was not so obscure, but that I could well ob­serve this, hee came out as if hee were in choler, which I knew by these words which he spake, thus impudent women ought to be treated; there needs no other misfortune to our blood, but to have it mingled with that of an infamous woman; he was scarcely gone, when this Lady whom I had accom­panyed came out also, and coming to me all in teares, Seigneur Don Charles sayd she, I come from making the last proofe of my misfortunes; at the present I have need that you carry me to some friends house of yours, where I may put off the cloathes I weare, I presently carried her to a house, in the Master whereof I had great confidence; she went alone into a chamber, put off her womans ha­bit, and came out in mans, she praied me to give her my sword, and to take another for my self. I extreamly marvelled to see all these strange actions, yet without enquiring after any thing, I humbly o­beyed in all she required, yet with great desire to know what would become of these divers changes. We left the town, she went the first, and I followed her step by step; she went into a close, a little out of the highway, in the middle whereof was a Dove-coate, she made me hide my self behind it, and she kept a little distance from it, as if she expected some one, wishing me to come to her at the first sign that she should make me, saying that she should then have need of my person. I remained planted behind the Dove-coate, like a bugbeare of hemp-stalkes, my spirits much confused with all these mysteries, [Page 298]and without being able to penetrate into the in­tentions of this woman, although I had time enough to meditate upon these actions, for I was neare an houre in keeping this sentinell. In the end, I heard some one to come very deliberately, I watched, and perceived that it was the same man that I had seen come out of the house whither this woman had car­ried me, and left me at the door, he approaching to her, at a little distance held her this language, Don Charles, said he, before we come to the effect which hath brought us hither, I must tell you, that it was not necessary to make me come into the field about a thing that I would easily have done in the town. You stand upon two points in the writing which was given me this morning from you, the first, that I should know that you love Violante; the second, that you are resolved to make me quit the pretensions I have for her; I will satisfie you upon both: For the first head, I will tell you that I am troubled, that you have passion for so poore a sub­ject; and for the second, that it will not at all trou­ble me to quit that which I never had, and which is as hatefull to me as death: You ought therefore to be content for this regard. But since that you al­ready know, that I never come into these places to return without doing the action for which we are come, we must measure our swords with protesta­tion on my part, that I doe not this action but be­cause you have called me thereunto, and that I would not doe it for the consideration of Violante, nor for all the women in the world, not believing that there is amongst them all one chaste and wise, but she that hath never been courted nor sought af­ter. I did not believe ever to have met with any [Page 299]thing that could have so astonished me, nor put me in so much choler, as I was in, to heare this dis­course, as well because it was addressed to me, as because it was made in scorne of Violante, whom I passionately loved, to this being joyned the outrage wherewith he offended the whole sex, saying that there was no woman that had vertue when she was solicited to vice, I was much moved to goe correct this insolent, but feared to violate the promises which I had made to her that brought me thither, yet considering that my honour was engaged to chastise the impudence of this man, I disposed my selfe to break the inchantment which held me be­hinde the Dove-coate, when this woman seeing her adversary come towards her with his sword in his hand, went to him, and being come almost within the reach of their swords, discharged a Pistoll at his breast, and cast him to the ground, without be­ing able to offend her, or give her one onely word, I immediately ran in to see if there was any means to know him, but it was not light enough, then going towards this valiant woman; What is the matter, Madame, sayd I, what have you done? It is nothing, answered she: Doe you know this man? Not to my knowledge, said I: It is, replyed she, the Traytor Don Baltazar de Orosco. I knew him, then said I, he was a Cavalier which I have reason to complaine of for many evill offices which hee hath rendered me. Well, continued she (whilst her enemie rendered his last sigh) since that you know who he is, you shall also know who I am, and the subject which hath obliged me to treate him thus.

I doe not thinke it strange, that you have not [Page 300]known me, having never yet spoken to me, nor on­ly heard the sound of my voice untill this present. Know then that I am the same Violante, whose friend I told you I was, it is neare two years agone, that Don Baltazar, covering his treason under civill propositions, begunne to render me proofes of his affections, and to solicite me to be pleased with his suite, time and perseverance obliged me to hearken to him, and to wish him well. In that time my mother rendered the tribute which every one ow­eth to nature, leaving a great succession in the town of Naples, of which place she was native. My father desiring to take order about that estate, was con­strained to make a voyage thither; at his departure he left me with one of my Aunts, to have care of me, and divert me from the trouble which I might have during his absence. All these circumstances gave me more libertie for love to lodge within my breast, and to Don Baltazar the more easily to find the way to my chamber. He deceived me with a promise of marriage, which he let mee read, where I saw that he took all the court of Heaven to wit­nesse, and abandoned himselfe to a thousand curses if he failed to accomplish it, the least whereof was his prayers to God to make him dye by the hands of the person, whose life was the most dear to him. Not long after he tooke possession of the most pre­tious thing which was in my power, and a few dayes after he despised it; and as his design had been but to deceive me, since that he was satisfied, he made no more account of me, nor to visit me as he had done before. Seeing my selfe treated so unworthily, I sought all meanes possible to bring him to the ac­complishment of his duty and promises, but the [Page 301]more I endeavoured by faire meanes to oblige him to doe me reason, the more I excited him to deri­sion, and the more I experimented his ingratitude and my misfortune. In the interim his father trea­ted of a marriage for him, and he did not forbeare to consent thereunto, without thinking that hee could not doe it, being already engaged to me. I sent divers times to pray him to take the paines to come to see me, to know from his owne mouth, if the bruite which ranne of his marriage was true, but he alwaies mocked at the message and the person which carried it; from day to day the terme of his marriage approached, and my despite augmented. I found meanes to speak with him in a Church, and to put him in minde of his words, my beliefe, and his written promise; but the barbarian impudent­ly answered me, that she that had not merit enough to make a friend of, was not to bee received for a wife. Consider a little the impudence of this bru­ [...]ll; I thinke I had then (if the respect of the holy place had not retained me) scratched him by the face, I was so transported with choler, and so sen­sible of this outrage, I knew not what to resolve [...]pon, nor to whom to have recourse to; and to [...]eigh me down with griefe and sadnesse, I vvas [...]old yesterday, that within three dayes his propo­ [...]ed marriage ought to be effected. Thereupon I [...]ad a desire to hinder it by way of Justice, but upon the instant I represented to my self, that if my op­position did not take place, I should but publish my dishonour, and to speak the truth, if this doubt [...]ad not retained me, my despite and courage had disswaded me, judging it too much honour to this infamous man, to constraine him to doe that which [Page 302]he ought to have entreated for. After many con­siderations, I thought that I ought not to commu­nicate it to any one, for feare of hazarding the in­nocence of others, betwixt mine errour and his crime; so that this morning I sent him a writing in your name, wherein J sayd you would expect him all alone here at this houre, either to see him with his sword in his hand, or to oblige him to quit the pretensions which he had for me. In using this stratagem, J imagined, either that he would see me this day to despite you, knowing that you loved me, or that he would not doubt but that you cal­led him to combate, knowing that you were his enemy. But having seen the day passe, without hea­ring from him, I caused him to be so well watched this evening, that it was reported to me, that he was in the house whither I lead you, wherein dwelleth one of his friends. Having received this advice, I furnished my selfe with what was necessary to exe­cute my premeditated vengeance, or at the worst to sacrifice my life to the reparation of mine honour. But before I would come to this extremitie, I de­sired to see this disloyall yet once, to attempt to reduce him to reason and his duty: I therefore went out by the favour of the night for this effect, but considering that all men are dispenced from re­spect when they meet a woman alone in the streets, and in the darke, J stayed some ten steps from our house, expecting that there should passe some one, whom J might judge my selfe able to entreat to serve me for scout. It seemeth that heaven, amongst the infelicities which oppressed me, would gratifie me with the good fortune of your encounter, since [Page 303]that there had already passed three men, of fashion good enough, before you came, to whom I spoke not a word, but as if you had beene reserved for to render me this pious office, my genius excited me to call you, when you came neere me.

The prayer that I made to you, when you stayed Sentinel at that doore, which was not to trou­ble your selfe with the noyse which you might heare, was grounded upon the hope which I had to receive satisfaction in this place, for the in­juries of this disloyall, if he did not content me; but two men that were with him hindred mine en­terprise, for I imagined, they might stay the blow which I would give him, or at the least having exe­cuted it, they would put me into the hands of justice. Seeing then that I ought not to hazard my selfe so rashly; I approached to this ingrate with the action of a suppliant, but in stead of receiving as he ought; onely in consideration of my quality, and to attribute to an excesse of love, the resolution which I had taken to come finde him in this com­pany, he tooke occasion therefrom, to treate me as a publique woman, adding to the infamy of my vio­lated honour, the shame of seeing my face massa­cred, by his rash hands. Is there in the whole world a woman of so little courage, that could support so many injuries, without giving an exemplary chastisement to all ingrates? Animated then with a furious and just anger, I resolved to revenge my selfe, yet this wicked man is happy amongst his misfortunes, that he hath received his death from a hand which he hath so often kissed and almost ado­red. If I haue not employed you in this action Seig­neur Don Charles, it was not that I believed other­wise, [Page 304]but that you would have generously enterpri­sed it, but I repute your blood too noble, to bal­lance it with that of a traytor. Although I have taken away his life with a pistoll, I doe not believe that I have used foule play, for without that there would have beene too great inequalitie betwixt my weak­nesse, and his strength, my rock and his sword, what ever it was, my victory ought not to have been doubtfull, otherwise I should not have beene reven­ged. In fine he is dead, and God hath permitted i [...] to be so, to accomplish the imprecations which he called upon him, and for to chastise him for having violated the faith, where he had called to witnesse the Almighty, his glorious mother, and all angeli­call powers. There is no doubt but you & I shall be suspected for his death; you because every one know­eth, that you are his enemy and rivall; and I for ha­ving taken vengeance of the perfidiousnesse which all the world knowes he hath done me; for my part I will enjoy the vaine glory of my ven­geance, and avoid if I can the paine I may suffer be­ing accused, before my justifications may be recei­ved, therefore I am resolved to absent my selfe. Jf you will goe with me, J shall testifie unto you the esteem which J have of your person: and how sensi­ble J am of the obligations which J have to you, I have already provided what is necessary for that purpose. There is an ancient servant of my fathers which attends me at his house, with jewells of great price, and some money, which J have given him to keepe, & three good horses. See if your heart wisheth to doe it: time presseth and permits us to consult no longer, things the least premeditated, ofte [...] times issue the best. Admiring her generositie, considering [Page 305]her judicious reasons, and above all suffering my selfe to be carried away with the love I bore her, which was newly increased by the defeate of the e­nemy, which she had taken away from m [...], I resol­ved to follow her, with promise never to abandon her. Vpon the instant we went to the mans house she had spoken of, who was well advanced in yeares, but yet sound, strong of body, and of great expe­rience. We tooke these three horses, which Violante had prepared for to save her selfe with this man and a woman, not thinking of encountring me, and with the pearles, diamonds, and mony, we put our selues diligently into the rode of Toledo and arrived there the next morning. It was not judged expedi­ent for us to stay there, any longer, but whilest Oram­bel (so was our guide called) could buy us poore country habits. With this equigage, we gained the mountaines neere to Toledo with designe to buy goods and flockes, and inhabit there, as we were in qualitie of country people, untill we had given or­der for our affaires. The age of Orambel agreed very well with ours for our plot we had made, to say that he was our father, he had the care of all our affaires, and went sometimes disguised to Madrid, to learne what was said of the things wherein we had interest; for which cause we were not willing to goe further from the court. I tooke the name of Li­zeron, and Violante, the name of Lacinthe, the better to disguise us. We lived there in great repose, im­ploying the time we two in perfectioning our loves after the manner of the shepheards described in Dia­na de Montemayor, whilst that Orambel our adopted father governed household affaires.

During our abode there, there arrived many strange [Page 306]encounters to us, which I will not enterprise to re­count unto you, fearing to trouble you; yet it is almost impossible for me to hinder my self from re­citing one adventure that happened to us one day. Then Don Charles made the discourse of his encoun­ter with Fenise, as it hath been said in the beginning of the first book; adding in continuing thus we di­ [...]ed the troubles of a country life, where the daies [...] very long, and great repose displeasing. Vio­ [...] o [...]ten received letters from her Father, which [...]mbel went to fetch at her Aunts house; amongst others, she received one, wherein her father let her know, that hee was kept in his bed by a sicknesse, which the Physitians presaged would endure a long time, and therefore he could not return into Spaine; that it was necessary for her presently to come into Italy, to take possession of his goods, to the end that if she remained an Orphan, she should not bee a poore one. Violante durst not undertake so long a voyage, finding her selfe then indisposed, she intrea­ted me to take it for her, saying, that it would not be unbeseeming, taking the quality of her husband. I was enflamed every day more and more with her beauty, considering that mine honour could not be interessed in marrying of her, since that if Don Bal­tazar had deceived her, she was sufficiently satisfied therefore; and besides, that she had never given him that liberty, if she had not believed him to be her husband. J served my self of her proposition, & told her, that since that she avowed me to take the qua­lity of husband, I did not desire to be a lyar, and that if she pleased she might make it good. She that desired it as much as J, gave mee her hand in the face of the Church, and J married her as the widow [Page 307]of a Cavalier, disabusing those of the village from the opinion which wee had given them, that wee were brother and sister; and a moneth after J went to Naples, with witnesses of my marriage, which were Letters from Violante and her Aunt, which made me receive a gracious welcome from my Fa­ther in law. The fear which he had to die without regulating his affaires, obliged him to install me in the inheritance of a great estate; and six weekes after he gave me leave to depart, counselling mee to return to my wife, whom he recommended care­fully to me: I disposed my selfe to obey his will, and the solicitations of my love; but in my re­turne by sea, the effects of my intentions were hin­dered, by being taken captive & carried into a coun­try, where God had done me the favour to let me know Fenise, that I might remaine obliged unto him all my life, for as he hath delivered me from a constrained captivitie, so he hath engaged me for ever to be his voluntary slave. But if with this good fortune, and that to see my brother Don Anto­nio in health, I could joyn the contentment of see­ing againe my dear Violante, I should esteem my self at the height of a most perfect felicity.

This pleasant narration left those that heard it in good humour, and particularly Fenise, knowing him who had saved his life in the mountaines; hee recounted the successe thereof, saying that he was the Cavalier which was hurt, and that that which hindered Don Charles from then knowing him, was because the first time he had seen him, he had his face all covered with blood. Don Charles was ex­treamely glad of this knowledge. Don Antonio his brother told him upon the instant that the death [Page 308]of Don Baltazar had been attributed to a certaine Gallant of that Ladyes to whom his friends would have married him; and that neither he nor Violante had ever been suspected.

After that they had admired the marvellous ac­cidents of these two histories, every one kept si­lence, seeing that Fenise prayed Marcell to entertain the rest of their way, in telling them the cause of his voyage, when Marcell courteously agreeing to what they desired of him, addressed the beginning of his discourse to Don Charles, and said thus.

The Prodigious History of a Sonne and his Mother.

MY voyage and encounters have been partly grounded upon your adventures; and if the history I am going to recount unto you is lesse pleasant than yours, J dare believe that it will be found more worthy of admiration.

I had a paternall Uncle in Cartagene, a man re­verenced for his vertues, and respected for his pru­dence and venerable aspect; he married with a gen­tlewoman of noble extraction, but whose chastity was not too certaine, she was called Constance; the effects of things doe not alwaies agree with their names. He had a sonne by her totally opposed to her mo­desty. The debauches of Don Garcia, so was this cosen of mine called, much tormented him; he en­deavoured in his infancy to represse them by cha­stisements, and in his youth by sweet remonstran­ces; but seeing he could not prevaile, he resolved to send him into Flanders, that he might there em­ploy his valour (whereof he shewed some signes) [Page 309]against the enemies of the faith, and for the service of his King; for there are no occasions so glorious as those wherein one may render proofe of zeale and courage. He gave him Money, and Letters of favour to put his person in consideration; but these Letters had no vertue, nor his Money was not spent in Flanders, but at Madrid the Court of Spaine, ma­king by this meanes experiment of the great diffe­rence which there is betwixt an ill inclination and a generous one. Vitious persons have no great trouble to meet with their like: Don Garcia found incontinently many friends of his humour, and a­mongst others he was very great with one Don Bal­tazar the very same that Seigneur Charles hath spo­ken of, and whom Violante made to feele the ef­fects of her name and vengeance, and yet very just­ly. In time mine Uncle knew the little satisfaction which my cosen gave to his desire, and his proper birth and without speaking any thing thereof to his wi [...]e, for fear of troubling her, suffered his breast to be gnawed with extreame displeasure. In fine, hea­ring too often of his pernitious life, he fell sick, and in a little time died. Constance was left Wi­dow with great i [...]s, and also surcharged with much affliction, as well for the losse of her husband, as for the feare which she had, seeing him dye for sorrow, that hee had heard of the death of his sonne in some encounter of warre; for she believed him to bee in Flanders, and that hee had hidden this accident from her to exempt her from sorrow. I was at Toledo when they writ to me of the decease of mine Uncle, and because I knew that Don Garcia was at Madrid, J presently went to let him know thereof; I found him hidden in the house [Page 310]of one of his friends, because he was sought after diligently, being accused for the death of Don Bal­tazar, he being the same night he was slaine at his house, and there it was where he had treated Vio­lante so unworthily, as Don Charles hath sayd. In the doubt wherein I was, that he was culpable of this murder, although he swore to me that he was innocent, I counselled him to goe into his country, to doe which he easily resolved. He took the way to Cartagene, entertaining his spirit with the acti­ons that Don Baltazar had done the last time hee saw him at his house; and in remembring the words which he spoke that night, and in many o­ther occasions (that there was no chaste women but those who had never been solicited) he would make proofe of this unjust opinion in the person of his Mother. Do but see this execrable project.

For this effect he passed by the town of Murcia, with intention to serve himself of a young advocate of that town, whom he had often seen at Madrid, in the company of Gallants, and men of pastime, a­mongst whom he passed for a good wit and a well spoken man. My Cosen found him out, and let him know, that he was returning to Cartagene the place of his birth, and before that he would make his arrivall known, he had a desire to prove the chastitie of a Widow, a Kinswoman of his, and of whom he had an ill suspition; but because this was an experience which he could not make alone, he stood in need of the intermission of a friend, that he had addressed himselfe to him, having knowne him most able, and judging him very discreet, to intreat him to assist him in this designe. The Ad­vocate who was of [a wanton humour, having [Page 311]heard this proposition, imagined that if this wi­dow was fair, he would sound her to the last proof, and in this thought he promised to Don Florisell to serve him in whatsoever he would, and should judg expedient. Before that I passe any further in this narration, you must know that my cosen had taken the name of Florisell in arriving at Madrid, for feare of being known, and that his father might not know that he was there, & not in Flanders whither he had sent him. Thi [...] disguising of his name, and whereby I shall call him in this discourse, did much favour my cosens abominable design, in that the Advocate could not know, that this was his proper mother whom he would affront; so that in this ignorance and gallant determination, they depar­ted together from Murcia, and went to Cartagene.

They lodged in an Inne neare enough the lod­ging of Constance, where they changed their cloathes. Florisell tooke the Advocates, saying hee was his man, and the Advocate his, passing for a Cavalier of Arragon, of the towne of Pamplone, called Don Felix Ozoria, who was come to Cartagene to hear­ken after news of one of his brothers, who was a slave at Maroc in Barbaria. The next day after their arrivall Florisell carried Felix into a Church, where he shewed him the face of the Widow of whom he had spoken, who came every day to Masse in­to that place; she had forty yeares of age, but her beauty and features covered almost a third part of them, that if she had sayd she had had but twenty five, one would not have thought her to have had more, regarding her complexion. Going from the Church, Florisell shewed him the house where she dwelt; [...]ter which the Advocate being cloa­thed [Page 312]like a Cavalier, grew accquainted with a cham­bermaide of Constances, and by force of money, wherewith Don Florisel furnished him, obliged her speake well of him to her mistrisse. This maide suc­ceeded so well in her perswasions, that she obliged Constance to cast her eyes upon him in the same church where he had already seene her. Finding him of handsome fashion, she permitted her servant to serve for enterpreter of the passions of this new Ca­valier, and to present her with the letters which he gave her. Having shewn his wit by his writings which was capable to have moved feelings of love in the heart of those who were never so little dispo­sed thereunto, and who would give themselves li­berty to reade them: he got acquainted with Con­stance, let her know his passion, and afterwards their familiaritie became so great, that she promised to give him the last favour in one night which she ap­pointed.

Florisel exactly instructed of all the circumstan­ces of these assaults, seeing that the place was go­ing to be rendered, prayed Felix to stay there and to let him alone with the rest. Then at the time ap­pointed for this generous exploit, Florisel changed againe with Felix, he became againe advocate, and the other Cavalier he tooke againe his habits, and name of Garcia, and went to his mothers house, put­ing himselfe in the place of Felix, who stayed be­hinde in the Inne. The maide was ready at the doore, who doubted not but this was he whom he expected; because he wore the same cloathes and was of the same height of Felix. She led him with­out light, or speaking word, right to the bed of Constance: for although she was mistresse of her [Page 313]house, yet she was not so disordered that she she durst take a greater libertie for feare, the other domestiques should perceive her sensuallity. This chambermaide helped him to uncloath himselfe, then without speaking word, he lay downe by his mother who received him with like silence. If he en­tred into the bed as mute, he remained there as sud­denly growne lame: he passed the rest of the night in seeming to sleepe, and at the rising of Aurora which approached to see this fearefull couple of lo­vers. Don Garcia, arose and dressed himselfe to bee gone without being knowne. Constance his mother seeing his actions, and that he had lien insensible by her all the night, imagined that he was inchan­ted, or else that he had taken some distaste with her; but rather believing the later, although she was extreamely neat and proper, she called him as he opened the doore of her chamber. Sir said she, very low, I cannot believe that you are he which hath used so many writings and amorous devises, to obtaine this cherishable permission which I have given you, other wayes your effects are much diffe­rent from your words: farewell, Sir farewell, I com­mend your continence as a vertue wich renders you incomparable. Yet said she in coming out of bed, and hindring him from opening the doore, before I gave you your leave, I would desire to know the cause of your excessive retention, for provided that it doth not proceede from distaste or contempt of my person, I am well satisfied. Garcia seeing him­selfe constrained to speake: Madame said he, your suspitions are most true, & my effects different from those which your sensuality promised it selfe, for I am much different from him you expected. Then [Page 314]horror which I have had to pollute my fathers bed, and her blood who conceived me, hath obliged me to this respective retention. What Madame needes there so many words to make you know your sonne Garcia; when unhappy Constance had heard this dis­course, and name; shame ceazed her so violently, that she made but one cry. Ah, God! said she, in falling halfe dead upon her bed without being able to speake or breath of long time. In the interim Gar­cia having made her chambermaide to come in, left the house, and that very houre gave money and a horse to this Advocate that had served him as instru­ment of this scandall, thanking him for the good office which he had rendered him, and made him returne to Murcia, without telling him the effect of his stratagem. Constance being returned from her trance, found her selfe in a burning feaver, which be­ing mingled with the griefe of her repentance press­ed her to appeare before the soveraign Judge, so that from the time her sonne had left her, untill the in­stant of her death, she had but leisure to receive the the sacrament (where she seemed to be very sensible and to repent, her fault) and to make her testament; dying without any one knowing the cause of her end. Don Garcia considering that his impious curi­sitie, had killed her, durst not appeare neither before her nor else where during her sicknesse: but incon­tinent after her decease, he made himselfe seene as arriving from Flanders, they opened the testament, where Garcia was found disinherited; he without regarding the ordinance of his mother would pos­sesse himselfe of the succession, but he was hindred by two of the cosens of the defunct. He had with them both words and blowes, and in this diffe­rence, [Page 315]he outraged Gentlewomen his Kinswomen with so many insolencies, injuries, and intempe­rances, that it was decreed against him, that hee should bee put into prison, where hee staied a long while, because no body regarded him, all that hee undertooke issued very ill, and in the end seeing himself abandoned by all the world, and pressed with extream necessity, besides the incommodities of prison, he had recourse to me, and writ to me, con­juring me to assist him in the misery which he endu­red, being abandoned of all his kindred and friends. This letter was given me, and many others, wherein he reiterated the same prayers, but I was not much moved to assist him, I was insensibly growne into a certaine negligence, which many times hindered me from undertaking this voyage. I imagine that heaven permitted it to be so, to chastise him for the evill he had done, in being the cause of the death of her, which was the cause of his life, after the so­veraign author of all things. Seeing himselfe redu­ced to so great misery, so far that he was not visited in his chamber by any but the other prisoners, he had his heart touched with a very sensible repen­tance; judging that all these miseries were come un­to him by divine punition: those who brought him his meat, found him alwaies sighing and weeping. Desiring then to appease the anger of God, and do pennance for his fault, he made a Vow with a good heart to employ a whole yeare in visiting on foot all the holy Sanctuaries of Spaine, if it pleased God to deliver him from the miseries wherein hee was. From that houre that he had thus acknow­ledged himselfe, all things came to him according to his wish, every one beganne to pitty him. I ar­rived [Page 316]at Cartagene with intent to endeavour to serve him, and before J saw any of my kindred, J went to visit him in prison, where after having em­braced him with teares in his eyes, he recounted to me from point to point the prodigious extrava­gancie which he had done, which he believed was the originall of his misfortunes. I blamed, and chid him rudely for suffering himself to be carried away with such a folly, and seeing the extreame sorrow which he had for it, J became the vigilant solicitour of his affairs. By my intermission, they (whom he had offended pardoned him) seeing that they had a sufficient reparation) having kept him two years a prisoner for not penetrating into the judgements of God, they beleeved that it was one­ly by their meanes that Garcia had suffered this paine. Not being content with having gotten him out of prison, J would see the clause of the Testa­ment of his mother, and the cause of his dis-inheri­ting; having examined it with counsell, we learned that the Law deprived from succession those chil­dren who layed violent hands upon their Fathers or mothers, or who attempted upon their lives, and as the adversaries of Garcia could not prove that he was guilty of any of these cases (for although hee was the cause of the death of his mother, there was none but she and he that knew it) the Judges be­fore the Processe was begunne, ordained that the Testament should be broken, and that Garcia should be put into possession of the inheritance, not onely of his mother, but also of his father; a few dayes after he was installed in his goods, he enterprised to render his vowes, beginning with our Lady of Piler of Saragoce, one of the most holy places of Spaine, [Page 317]where the blessed Virgin appeared to the Apostle St. James.

We left Cartagene at the same time, hee to acquit himself of his vowes towards God, and I of my duty towards my wife. See Seignieur Fenise the cause of my voyage which you desired to know, and the weake curiositie of my foolish Cosen, who will be wise hereafter. An example which sheweth us the misfortunes which arrive to those that will make such foolish experiences.

The entertaine of these pleasing divertisements endured untill their last dayes journey. In approa­ching to Toledo Don Antonio and his brother renew­ed their thankfulnesse to Fenise, taking leave of him and Marcell, with a thousand civill complements. Don Charles carried Don Antonio to the towne where Violante lived with Orambel; who had like to have dyed many times with sorrow, not knowing what was become of her husband, since that hee went for Naples, his unexpected presence carryed her from one extremitie to another, the excessive joy which she received at his arrivall, had like to have made her tender her soul in embracing him. Don Antonio staied six daies with them, and then he carried them to Ma­drid. Fenise and Marcel arriving at Toledo were recei­ved with unspeakable joy, the one of his mother, the other of his wife, the one to stay alwaies with his family, and the other onely to regulate his affaires, and take possession of an estate which his father had left him, with the right of the eldest of his house. The respect which every one bore to his merit, made him happily proceed in his businesse, vvhich being done, the Idea, features, vertues and perfecti­ons of Magdelene, which kept the most eminent [Page 318]place in his memory, obliged him incontinently to take againe the way to Cartagene. In few dayes he was with her to the great contentment of her father, mother and brother, who all expected him with great impatience to put him in possession of a trea­sure which he more passionately aspired unto then the highest fortune in the world. It was his marri­age with Magdelene which was celebrated before the ministers, of the onely law, where he publiquely gave her his hand, as secretly he had done his heart, & under reciprocall promises of a perfect union, they reaped, the fruites of their loues which had taken encrease and maturitie, amongst so many different dangers, surmounted by their hardy resolutions, and according to the ingenious conduct of our Heros.

Having passed some monthes amongst his wives friends, he would let her know his: for this effect by the consentment of their father and mother, and her particular approbation, he carried her to Madrid there to establish his house, and habitation; where now he passeth his life, with this marvell of beauty and wisedome, & with all delights which are to be tasted in this world. A successe which may serve for a certaine proofe, that in case of marriage the union of soules is made in heaven, & the alliance of bodies upon earth Jn the varietie of rare adventures descri­bed in this volume, the marvellous effects of love, and fortune, are seene, whereby one may know that the one surmounts all the greatest hazards that can oppose him; and the other, although she be incon­stant, and many times maglignant, she neverthelesse favoureth generous courages, and aydeth them to accomplish their designes, when they are guided by honour, and vertue.