CHAPTER 9.
Beltenebros and the Hermit were one day sitting on the stone-bench by the door of their chapel, when the old man said, I pray you, son, tell me what it was that made you cry out so in your sleep, when we were by the fountain of the plain? That shall I willingly, father, he replied, and I beseech you tell me what you understand by it. Then he related to him the manner of his dream, only the names of the women, those he did not tell. The good man mused for a while, and then said, with a cheerful countenance, Beltenebros, you have given me great pleasure by this account, and you also have great reason to rejoice. The dark chamber, in the which you thought yourself to be, and from whence you could not get out, signifieth this great tribulation which you now endure. The Damsels who opened the door, are those friends who continually solicit your causewith her whom you love so much, and they will succeed so well as to withdraw you from this place. The sun-beam which went before them, is the joyful news that they are to send you here; and the fire, wherein you saw your Lady enveloped, is the great pain of love which she suffers for you as well as you for her: from that fire you delivered her, that is, from the pain which your presence will remove; and the pleasant garden is a sign of great happiness, wherewith you shall pass your lives. Truly, I know a man of my habit should not discourse of such things as these, yet it is more for God's service to speak the truth that may comfort you, than to conceal it, seeing your desperate state.
Beltenebros knelt down and kissed the old man's hands, thanking God for having given him such a friend in his need, and praying with tears that he would mercifully be pleased to accomplish the words of that holy man his servant. Then he besought him to tell the interpretation of the dream he had dreamt before Durin gave him the letter, which when the Hermit had heard, he answered, This I can show you clearly, for it is all accomplished. The place overshadowed with trees, was the Firm Island, and the people who made suchgreat joy about you, signified the great pleasure of the Islanders in gaining you for their Lord. The man who came to you with the box of bitter electuary, was the messenger of your Lady, for the bitterness of her words, you, who have proved them, can best tell; and you laid aside your arms. The stony place amidst the water, is this Poor Rock; and the religious man who spoke to you in an unknown tongue, am I, who tell you the holy word of God, which before you neither knew nor thought of.
Verily, said Beltenebros, you tell me the truth of this dream, for these things have all come to pass, and therefore great cause have I to hope for the future. Yet was not this hope so great or so certain as to remove his sorrow, for he would often sit with his eyes fixed upon the ground, remembering what he had been, and his life would have been endangered by exceeding melancholy, had it not been for the counsel of that good man. And sometimes, to take him away from that pensiveness, the Hermit would make him go with two nephews that kept him company there, to angle in a little stream hard by, where they caught plenty of fish.
Here Beltenebros dwelt in penitence and great grief, and he past the night most frequently under some large trees in the garden near the chapel, that he might there lament, without the knowledge of the Hermit or the boys; and calling to mind the great wrong he endured, he made this song in his passion:
Sith that the victory of right deservedBy wrong they do withhold for which I served;Now sith my glory thus hath had a fall,Glorious it is to end my life withall.By this my death, likewise my woes release,My hope, my joy, my inflamed love doth cease.But ever will I mind my during pain,For they, to end my glory and my gain,Myself have murdered, and my glory slain.[156:A]
Sith that the victory of right deservedBy wrong they do withhold for which I served;Now sith my glory thus hath had a fall,Glorious it is to end my life withall.By this my death, likewise my woes release,My hope, my joy, my inflamed love doth cease.But ever will I mind my during pain,For they, to end my glory and my gain,Myself have murdered, and my glory slain.[156:A]
Sith that the victory of right deserved
By wrong they do withhold for which I served;
Now sith my glory thus hath had a fall,
Glorious it is to end my life withall.
By this my death, likewise my woes release,
My hope, my joy, my inflamed love doth cease.
But ever will I mind my during pain,
For they, to end my glory and my gain,
Myself have murdered, and my glory slain.[156:A]
He had passed one night as usual under these trees, when towards morning he heard certaininstruments touched so sweetly, that he took great delight in hearing them, and marvelled what it might be, knowing that in that place there dwelt none else than the Hermit and his nephews. He rose, and went softly towards the sound, and saw that there were two Damsels by a fountain, who, tuning their voices to their lutes, did sing a most pleasant song. He stood awhile listening, then advanced, and said, God save you, gentle Damsels, but your sweet music has made me lose mymatins! They wondered who he should be, and said to him, tell us, friend, for courtesy, what place is this where we have landed, and who are you who speak to us? Ladies, he replied, they call it the Rock of the Hermitage, because of the Hermit that dwells here. As for me, I am a poor man who bear him company, doing great and hard penance for the sins that I have committed. Then said they, friend, is there any house here where our Lady could rest for two or three days? for she is very sick: she is a Lady of high rank and wealth, whom love hath greatly tormented. Beltenebros answered, here is a little cabin, it is very small, in which I lodge: if the Hermit pleases, you shall have it, and I will asleep abroad in the field, as I often use to do. For this courtesy the Damsels heartily thanked him. By this the day began to break, and Beltenebros saw under some trees the Lady of whom they spake, lying upon a rich bed; four armed Knights and five serving men, who attended her, were sleeping on the shore, and a well appointed ship rode at anchor. The Lady was young and beautiful, so that he took pleasure in beholding her.
Beltenebros then went to the Hermit, who was robing himself to say mass. Father, said he,there are strangers here: it will be well to wait mass for them. So they both went out from the chapel. The Knights and serving-men were carrying the sick Lady towards them, and her Damsels were coming with her, and they asked the Hermit if there was any house wherein they could place her. He answered, here are two cabins: I live in the one, and by my will never woman shall enter that. This poor man, who makes his penitence here, lodges in the other, and I will not remove him against his will. To this Beltenebros replied, Father, you may well give them that, for I will rest under the trees, as I often do. They then entered the chapel to hear mass; but the sight of Knights and Damsels reminded Beltenebros of what he had been, and of his own Lady, and renewed in him his exceeding sorrow, so that he sobbed aloud, and kneeling down at the altar, besought the Virgin Mary to help him in his affliction. The Knights and Damsels, who saw how he wept, held him for a man of good life, and marvelled how he could employ his youth and beauty in that desert place, for any sin that he could have committed, seeing that the mercy of God may be obtained in all places alike, by such as truly repent. As soon as mass was ended, they carried the Lady into his cabin, and laid her in her rich bed, and she laythere weeping and wringing her hands. The Damsels went for their lutes to solace her, and Beltenebros asked them wherefore she appeared so distressed. Friend, said they, this Lady hath great possessions, and is of high rank and beautiful; though her sorrow doth now diminish her fairness, and we will tell you the cause of her sorrow, tho' it should not be told to others. It is excessive love that afflicts her: she is going to seek him whom she loves at the court of King Lisuarte, and God grant that she may find him there! When he heard the house of King Lisuarte mentioned, and that the Lady was sick of love, the tears came into his eyes, and he said, I pray you, Ladies, tell me the name of the Knight whom she loves. They answered, he is not of this country, but is one of the best Knights in the world, excepting only two who are of the greatest renown.—By the faith you owe to God, I beseech you tell his name, and the name of those other two.—We will tell you, on condition that you in return tell us if you be a Knight, as you seem by every thing, and likewise what is your name. I am content, said he, that I may know what I ask.—Know then, the Knight whom our Lady loveth, is Don Florestan, brother to the good Knight Amadis of Gaul, and to Don Galaor, and son of King Perionof Gaul and the Countess of Selandria. Now, quoth he, you tell me truly of his goodness, for you cannot say so much good of him as he deserveth.—Do you then know him?—It is not long since I saw him in the house of Briolania, for I saw the battle there of Amadis and his cousin Agrayes against Abiseos and his sons; after which Florestan arrived there, and I heard Don Galaor speak great things of his prowess, for they say he fought with him.—Yes, replied the Damsels, it was in that battle they knew each other, and then Florestan went away.—What! is this the Lady of the island where that battle was fought?—The same.—Her name is Corisanda. I do not now grieve for her so much, for he is so gentle and of such disposition, that well I know he will do whatever is her pleasure. Now then, said the Damsels, tell us who you are. Gentle Damsels, replied he, I am a Knight who have had more pleasure in the vanities of the world than falls to my lot now, for which I am now suffering, and my name is Beltenebros. God's mercy upon you! said they: we must now go play to our Lady.
After they had sung to her awhile, they told her what Beltenebros had said of Florestan. Ah, call him here, cried she, he must be some good man,since he knows Don Florestan. They brought him to her. These Damsels, said she, tell me that you have seen and that you love Don Florestan: by the faith you owe to God, tell me all you know concerning him. Beltenebros then related how he had gone with his brethren and Agrayes to the Firm Island, and that he had not seen him since. Tell me, said Corisanda, are you akin to him, for you seem to love him much?—Lady, I love him for his great valour, and because his father knighted me, wherefore I am greatly bound to him and his sons; but I am very sad for the tidings which I heard of Amadis before my coming here.—What are they?—I met a Damsel in a forest by the way side, singing a sweet song, and I asked her who had made it. She answered, a Knight, to whom God give more comfort than he had when that was made, for by the words it seemed he had suffered great wrong in love, and complained heavily. I stayed two days with the Damsel till I had learnt it. She told me that Amadis did show it her, and that he wept at the time and was in great misery. I beseech you, quoth Corisanda, teach it to my Damsels, that they may sing and play it to me. That will I, said he, for your own sake, and for his sake whom you love; albeit that is no time for singing, nor for aught that is matter of joy. Hethen went with the Damsels to the chapel, and showed them the song which he had made: his voice was of rare sweetness, and now his melancholy made it more soft and in unison; and the Damsels learnt the song, and did sing it to their Lady, who took great pleasure to hear them. Corisanda remained there four days; on the fifth she took leave of the Hermit, and asked Beltenebros if he should remain there long? Lady, till I die, he replied. Then she entered her ship, and made voyage to London.
Lisuarte and the Queen received her in a manner suitable to her high rank, and lodged her in the palace, and the Queen asked her if she had any suit to Lisuarte, that, if so, she might further it. My Lady, said Corisanda, I thank you for the favour; but my coming is to seek Don Florestan, and because tidings from all parts reach this court, I will remain here some time till I hear news of him. Good friend, replied Brisena, that may you do so long as you think good; at present we have no other news of him, than that he is gone in search of his brother Amadis, who is lost, we know not for what cause; and she then related how Guilan had found the arms. Hearing this, she began to weep, and say, O Lord God, what willbecome of my Lord and friend Don Florestan! for he so loves that brother, that, if he finds him not, he also will become desperate, and I shall never see him more! The Queen having great pity, consoled her, and Oriana, who was by, hearing the love she bore to the brother of Amadis, had the greater desire to honour her, and accompanied her to her chamber, and learnt from her all her love. Thus talking with her and Mabilia of sundry things, Corisanda related how she had been upon the Poor Rock, and found a Knight there doing hard penance, who had taught her Damsels a song made by Amadis in his affliction, and the words, she said, were very sad. My good friend and Lady, quoth Mabilia, beseech you let your Damsels sing it! I desire much to hear it, seeing it was made by that Knight, my cousin. The Damsels then sung the song, which it was a pleasure to hear, and yet so sorrowful that it made those sad who heard it. But Oriana, who understood the complaint, could no longer abide there for the shame of the tears that she felt flowing, and she went to her chamber. Mabilia therefore said to Corisanda, I see Oriana is unwell; she hath for courtesy remained here longer than she should: I must go and assist her; but tell me what manner of man was he whom you saw upon the Poor Rock of theHermitage, and what did he know concerning Amadis? She then told her how they had found him, that she had never seen a man so comely in grief and being wasted, nor one of such manners in poverty, nor a man so young of such discourse and reason. Mabilia forthwith went joyfully to her friend's chamber. He who asks news, said she, sometimes learns more than he expects: the melancholy man who lives upon the Poor Rock, and calls himself Beltenebros, by all that I can learn from Corisanda, must be Amadis. Oriana lifted up her hands, O Lord of the World, grant that it be true! Dear friend, tell me what to do, for I have neither sense nor judgment: unfortunate wretch, who by my own folly and intemperate passion have lost all my happiness! Mabilia turned away her face, that the tears might not be seen: we must wait for the Damsel's return, said she; if she should not find him, leave it to me: I am sure he is this Beltenebros.
FOOTNOTES:
[156:A]This is the version in the English translation from the French: the matter is preserved, the manner lost. The poem is curious from its age; it is printed with these marks:Pues seme niega victoriadojusto mera deuidaalli do muere la gloria(:·:)es gloria morir la vida.Y con esta muerte miamoriran todas mis daños,(:·:)(:·:)mi esperanza y mi porfiael amor y sus engaños;mas quedara en mi memorialastima nunca perdida,(:·:)que por me matar la gloria,me mataron gloria y vida.
[156:A]This is the version in the English translation from the French: the matter is preserved, the manner lost. The poem is curious from its age; it is printed with these marks: