THE FIFTY-SECOND NOUELL.

These hornes I weare and beare for euery man to view,But yet I weare them not in token they be trew.The king retourning againe to the Gentleman’s house, finding this title newlye written, demaunded of the gentleman the signification of them.Who said vnto him:“If princesse secret things, be from the horned hart concealed,Why should like things of horned beastes, to Princes be revealed.But content your selfe: all they that weare hornes be pardoned to weare their capps vpon their heads: for they be so sweete and pleasaunt, as they vncappe no man, and they weare them so light, as they thincke they haue none at all.” The king knew well byhis wordes that he smelled something of his doings, but he neuer suspected the loue betwene the Queene and him. For the Queene was better contented wyth her husbande’s life, and with greater ease dissembled her griefe. Wherefore eyther parts lived long time in this loue, till age had taken order for dissolucion thereof. “Behold Ladyes (quoth Saffredante) this Historye which for example I have willinglye recited to thintente that when your husbands do make you hornes as big as a Goate, you maye render unto him the monstrous heade of a Stagge.” “Peace (quoth Emarsuite smyling) no more wordes, least you reuiue some sleeping sweet soule, which without stur would not awake; with any whispring.”THE FIFTY-SECOND NOUELL.The rashe enterprise of a Gentleman against a Princesse of Flaunders, and of the shame that he receyued thereof.Therewas in Flaunders a Lady of an honorable house, which had two husbands, by whom shee had no children that were then liuinge. Duringe the time of her widowhoode shee dwelte within one of her brothers, that loued her very well, which was a noble man, and had maried a king’s doughter. This yong Prince was muche giuen to pleasure, louinge huntinge, pastime, and the company of fayre Ladyes, accordingly as youth requireth. He had a wyfe that was curst and troublesome, whom the delectations of her husband in no wyse did contente and please: wherefore this noble man caused his sister daily to keepe company with his wyfe. This Gentlewoman his sister was of pleasaunt conuersation, and therewithal very honest and wyse. There was in the house of this noble man, a Gentleman whose worship, beautye and grace did surpasse all the rest of his companions. This Gentleman perceyuing the sister of his Lorde and Maister to be pleasaunte and of ioyfull countenaunce, thoughte to proue if the attempt of an honest frende would be vouchsaued, but he founde her aunswere to be contrary to her countenaunce: and albeit that her aunswere was such as was meete for a Princesse and right honest Gentlewoman, yet because she perceyued him to be a goodly personage, and curteous, she easily pardoned his bold attempt, and seemed that she toke it not in ill part when he spake vnto her. Neuerthelesse shee warned him, after that time, to moue no such matter, which he promised, because he would not lose his pleasure, and the honour that hee conceyued to entertaine her. Notwithstanding, by processe of time his affection increased so much as he forgot the promise which he had made her, wherefore he thoughte good not to hazarde his enterprise by wordes, for that hee had to long against his wyll experimented her wyse and discrete aunsweares: and therewithall he thought if he couldfinde her in some conueient place (because she was a yong widow, of lusty yeares and good complexion) it were possible shee woulde take pitie vppon him, and of herself. And that he might bring his purpose to effecte, he said to his Maister that he had besides his owne house very goodlie game, and that if it pleased him to kill three or foure Stagges in the moneth of May, he should see very good pastime. The Lord aswell for the loue hee bare to the Gentleman, as for the pleasure he had in hunting, graunted his request: and went to his house, which was so faire and well furnished, as the best Gentleman in all the countrey had no better. The gentleman lodged his Lord and Lady in one side of the house, and in the other directly against it her whome he loued better than himselfe. The Chamber where his maistres laye, was so well hanged with tapistrie, and so trimely matted, as it was impossible to perceiue a falling dore, harde by the bed’s side, descending to his mother’s chamber, which was an old Lady, much troubled with the Catarre and Rume. And because she had a cough, fearing to disease the Princesse which laye aboue her, she chaunged her chamber with her sonne. And euery night the olde Gentlewoman brought comficts to the Lady for her recreation, vpon whom the Gentleman wayted, who (for that he was well beloued and very familier with her brother) was not refused to be present at her rising and going to bedde. Whereby he daily toke occasion to increase his loue and affection: in suche sorte as one night, after he had caused the Ladye to sit vp late, (she being surprised with sleepe) he was forced to depart the chamber, and to repaire to his own. Wher when he had put on the most brauest perfumed shirt that he had, and his cap for the night so trimmely dressed, as there wanted nothing, he thought in beholding himself, that there was no Lady in the world that would refuse his beautie and comlinesse. Wherefore promising himselfe a happie successe in his enterprise, hee went to his bed where he purposed not long to abide, for the desire that he had to enter into another, whiche should be more honourable and pleasaunt vnto him. And after he had sent his men away, he rose to shut the dore after them, and hearkened a good while, whether he could heare any noyse in the Ladie’s chamber aboue. And when he wassure that euery man was at rest, he began to take his pleasaunt iourney, and by litle and litle opened the falling dore, whiche was so well trimmed with cloth, that it made no noyse at all, and went vp to the Ladie’s bed side, which then was in her first sleepe, and without respecte of the bonde and promise that he made vnto her, or the honorable house wherof she came, without leaue or reuerence, he laid himselfe down besides her, who felt him betwene her armes before she perceiued his comming. But she which was somewhat strong, vnfolded her self out of his handes, and in asking him what he was, began to strike, to bite and scratche, in suche wyse, as he was constrained (for feare least she should crye out) to stoppe her mouth with the couerlet, which was impossible for him to do. For when she sawe him to presse with all his force to despoyle her of her honor, she spared no part of her might to defende and kepe her selfe, and called (so loude as she could) her woman of honor, that laye in her chamber, whiche was a very auncient and sober gentlewoman, who in her smock, ran straight to her maistresse. And when the Gentleman perceiued that hee was discouered, hee was so fearfull to be knowen of the Ladye, as sone as he could hee shifted himself down by his trapdore. And where before he conceiued hope and assuraunce to be welcome, now he was brought in despaire for retourning in so vnhappy state. When he was in his chamber, he found his glasse and candle vpon the table, and beholding his face all bloudy with the scratchings and bitinges, whiche shee had bestowed vpon him, the bloud wherof ran down his fayre shyrt, better bloudied then gilted, he began to make his moone in this wise: “O beautie, thou art nowe payed thy desert, for vppon thy vayne promise haue I aduentured a thing impossible. And that which might haue bene the augmenting of my delight is nowe the redoubling of my sorowe. Being assured that if she knewe howe contrary to my promise I haue enterprised this foolishe fact, I should vtterly forgoe the honest and common conuersation whiche I haue with her aboue al other. That which my estimation, beautie and good behauiour doe deserue, I ought not to hyde in darkenesse. To gaine her loue, I ought not to haue assayed her chaste bodye by force, but rather by seruice and humble pacience, to wayte and attend tillloue did vanquishe. For without loue all the vertue and puissance of man is of no power and force.” Euen thus he passed the night in such teares, griefes and plaintes, as can not be well reported and vttered. In the morning, when he beheld his bloudy face all mangled and torne, he fained to be very sicke, and that he could abide no light, til the company were gone from his house. The Ladye whiche thus remained victorious, knowing that there was no man in all her brother’s Court, that durst attempt a deede so wicked, but her hoste which was so bolde to declare his loue vnto her, knew well that it was he. And when she and her woman of honour had searched all the corners of the chamber to knowe what he was, and could not finde hym, she sayd vnto her woman in great rage: “Assure your selfe it can be none other, but the Gentleman of the house, whose villanous order I wyll reueale to my brother in the morning, in such sorte, as his head shalbe a witnesse and testimony of my chastitie.” Her woman seing her in that furie, sayd vnto her; “Madame, I am right glad to see the loue and affection which you beare to your honor, for the increase wherof you doe not spare the life of one, which hath aduentured himselfe so muche for the loue that hee beareth vnto you. But many times such one thinketh by those meanes to increase loue, which altogether he doth diminishe. Wherefore (Madame) I humbly beseche you to tell me the truthe of this facte.” And when the Ladie had recompted the same at lengthe, the woman of honour sayd vnto her: “Your grace doth say that he got no other thyng of you, but scratches and blowes with your fistes.” “No, I assure you (quod the Ladie) and I am certaine if hee gette hym not a good Surgeon, the markes will be seene to morowe.” “Wel Madame (quod the gentlewoman) sithens it is so, me thinketh you haue greater occasion to prayseGod, then to muse vpon reuenge: For you may beleue, that sithens he had the courage to enterprise so great an exploit, and that despite hath failed him of his purpose, you can deuise no greater death for him to suffer, then the same. If you desire to be reuenged, let Loue and shame alone bring that to passe, who knowe better which way to tormente him than your selfe, and with greater honor to your persone. Take heede Madame from falling into such inconuenience as he is in, for inplace of great pleasure whiche he thought to haue gayned, he hath receiued the extremest anoyance, that any gentleman can suffer. And you Madame, by thinking to augment your honor, you may decrease and diminish the same. And by making complaint, you shal cause that to be knowen, which no man knoweth. For of his part (you may be assured) there shall neuer be anything reuealed. And when my Lorde your brother at your requeste, shall execute the iustice which you desire, and that the poore Gentleman shal be ready to die, the brute will runne that he hath had his pleasure vpon you. And the greatest numbre will say, that it is very difficult for a Gentleman to doe suche an enterprise, except the Lady minister some great occasion. Your grace is faire and yong, frequenting your life in pleasant company, there is none in all the Court, but seeth and marketh the good countenaunce you beare to that Gentleman, whereof your selfe hath some suspicion: which will make euery man suppose that if he hath done this enterprise, it was not without some consent from you. And your honor which hetherto hath borne your port a loft, shall be disputed vpon in all places where this historie shall be remembred.” The Princesse well waying the good reasons and aduise of her gentlewoman, knewe that she spake the truthe: and that by moste iust cause she should be blamed: considering the familiaritie and good countenaunce which dayly she bare vnto the Gentleman. Wherefore she inquired of her woman of honour, what was beste to bee done. Who aunswered her thus. “Madame, sith it pleaseth you to receiue mine aduise, by waying the affection whereof it procedeth, me thinke you ought in your hart to reioyce, that the goodliest, and moste curteous Gentleman that liueth, could neither by loue, or force, despoile you of your greatest vertue and chastitie. For which (Madame) you are bounde to humble your selfe before God, acknowledging that it is not done by your vertue, bicause many women walking in a more paineful and more vnpleasaunt trade then you do, haue humiliated and brought low by men farre more vnworthy of loue, then he which loueth you. And ye ought now to feare more than euer you did, to vse any semblance and take of amitie, bicause there haue bene many that haue fallen the second time into daungers and perils, which they haue auoyded at thefirst. Remember (Madame) that loue is blind, who blaseth mens eyes in such sort, as where a man thinketh the waye moste sure, ther his most readie to fal. And I suppose Madame, that you ought not to seme to be priuie of this chaunce, neither to him, ne yet to any els, and when he remembreth anye thing to you, doe make as though you did not vnderstande his meaning, to auoyde twoo daungers. The one of vaine glorie for the victorie you haue had, the other to take pleasure in remembring things, that be so pleasaunt to the flesh, which the most chaste haue had much a do to defend theimselues from feling some sparkes, although they seke meanes to shunne and auoyde them with all their possible power. Moreouer, Madame, to thende that he thinke not by suche hazard and enterprise to haue done a thing agreable to your minde, my counsell is, that by litle and litle, you doe make your selfe straunge, and vse no more your wonted grace vnto him, that he may know how much you despise his folly and consider how great your goodnesse is, by contenting your self with the victory which God hath geuen you, without seeking any further vltion or reuengement. And God graunt you grace (Madame) to continue that honestie which hee hath planted in your hart, and by acknowledging that all goodnesse procedeth from him, you may loue him and serue him, better than euer ye did.” The Princesse determined to credite the counsayle of her gentlewoman, slepte with so great ioye as the poore gentleman waked with sorrow. On the morrow the noble man ready to depart, asked for his hoste, vnto whom answere was made that he was so sicke, as he could not abide the light, or endure to heare one speake. Wherof the Prince was sore abashed, and would haue visited him, but that it was told him he was a slepe, and was very loth to wake him. Wherefore without bidding him farewell, he departed, taking with him his wife and sister, who hearing the excuse of the Gentleman that would not see the Prince, nor yet his companie, at their departure, was persuaded that it was he, that had done her al that torment, and durst not shew the markes which she had signed in his face. And although his Maister did sende oftimes for him yet came he not to the Court, vntill he was healed of his woundes, except that whiche loue and despite had made in his harte. When he came to the Courte and appearedbefore his victorious enemie, he blushed for shame of his ouer throwe. And he which was the stoutest of all the company was so astonned as many times being in her presence, hee could not tell which way to loke or tourne his face. Wherfore she was assured that her suspicion was certain and true, by litle and litle estraunging her self from him, but it was not done so sleightly or politikely but that he perceiued well enough, and yet he durst make no semblaunce, for feare of worse aduenture. Notwithstanding he conserued both loue in his hart, and pacience in his minde, for the losse of his Ladie’s fauour, which he had right well deserued.THE FIFTY-THIRD NOUELL.The loue of Amadour and Florinda: wherein be conteined mani sleightes and dissimulations, together with the renowmed chastitie of the said Florinda.Inthe Countie of Arande, in Aragon, a region in Spaine, there was a Ladie whiche in the best time of her youth, continued the widow of the Earle of Arande, with one sonne, and one daughter, called Florinda. The sayde Lady brought vp her children in all vertue and honestie, meete and conuenable for Lordes and Gentlemen, in such sorte, as her house was renowmed to be one of the most honorable in all the Region of Spaine. Many times she repaired to Tolledo, where the kinge of Spaine helde his Court, and when she came to Sarragosa, which was harde adioyning to the court, she continued long with the Queene, and in the Courte, where she was had in so good estimation as any Lady might be. Vpon a time going towardes the king, according to her custome, which was at Sarragosa, in his castle of Iafferie, this Lady passed by a village that belonged to the Viceroy of Catalongne, who still continued vppon the frontiers of Parpignon, for the great warres that were betwene the Frenche king and him. Howebeit, at that time peace being concluded, the Viceroy with all his captaines were come to do reuerence to the king. The Viceroy knowing that the Countesse of Arrande did passe through his countrie, went to mete her, as well for auncient amitie, as for the honor he bare vnto her being allied to the kyng. Nowe this Viceroy had in his companye diuers honest Gentlemen, whiche through the frequentation and continuance of the long warres, had gotten suche honour and fame, as euery man that might see them and behold them did accompt them selues happy. But amonges all other, there was one called Amadour, who although he was butXVIII.orXIX.yeares of age, yet he had such an assured grace and witte so excellent, as he was demed amongs a thousand persones worthy to haue the gouernement of a common wealth, whiche good witte was coupled with maruellous naturall beautie, so that therewas no eye, but did content it self eftsones to beholde hym. And this beautie so exquisite, was associated with wonderfull eloquence, as doubtfull to say, whether merited greatest honor, either his grace and beautie, or his excellent tongue. But that which brought him into best reputation, was his great hardinesse, whereof the common reporte and brute was nothing impeached or staied for all his youth. For in so many places he shewed his chiualrie, as not only Spain but Fraunce and Italie, did singularly commend and set forth his vertue: bicause in all the warres wherin he was present, he neuer spared him self for any daunger. And when his countrie was in peace and quiet, he sought to serue in straunge places, being loued and estemed both of his frendes and enemies. This Gentleman for the loue of his Captaine was come into that countrey, where was arriued the Countesse of Arande, and in beholding the beautie and good grace of her daughter, which was not then pastXII.yeres of age, he thought that she was the fairest and most vertuous personage that euer he sawe: and that if he could obtaine her good will, he should be so well satisfied as if he had gained all the goods and pleasures of the worlde. And after he had a good whyle viewed her, for all the impossibilitie that reason could deuise to the contrary, he determined to loue her, although some occasion of that impossibilitie might ryse through the greatnesse of the house wherof she came, and for want of age which was not able as yet to vnderstande the passions of loue. But against the feare thereof he was armed with good hope, persuading himselfe, that time and patience would bring happie ende to his trauayle: and from that time gentle Loue whiche without any other occasion than by his own force was entred the harte of Amadour, promised him fauour and helpe by all meanes possible to attaine the same. And to prouide for the greatest difficultie, which was the farre distance of the countrie wher he dwelt, and the small occasion that he had thereby any more to see Florinda, he thought to marry against his determination made with the ladies of Barselone and Parpignon, amonges whom he was so conuersant by reason of the warres, as he semed rather to be a Cathelan, than a Castillan, although he wer borne by Tollede, of a riche and honourable house, yetbicause he was a yonger brother, he inioyed no great patrimonie or reuenue. Notwithstanding, loue and fortune seing him forsaken of his parentes, determined to accomplishe some notable exployt in him, and gaue him (by meanes of his vertue) that which the lawes of his countrey refused to geue. He had good experience in factes of warre, and was so well beloued of al Princes and Rulers, as he refused many times their goodes, being resolued not to care or esteme the benefites of Fortune. The Countesse of whome I spake, arriued thus at Saragossa, was very well intertained of the king, and of his whole Court. The Gouernour of Catalogne, many times came thither to visite her, whom Amadour neuer failed to accompany, for the onely pleasure he had to talke with Florinda: and to make himselfe to be knowen in the company, hee went to Auenturade, whiche was the daughter of an old knight that dwelt hard by the house, whiche from her youth was brought vp with Florinda, in such familiar sorte, as she knewe all the secrets of her harte. Amadour, as well for the honestie that he found in her, as for the liuing ofIII.M.ducates by the yeare which she should haue with her in mariage, determined to geue her such intertaignement, as one that was disposed to marry her. Wherunto the gentlewoman did willingly recline her eare: and bicause he was poore, and the father of the damosell rich, she thought that her father would neuer accorde to the mariage, except it were by meanes of the Countesse of Arande. Wherupon she went to madame Florinda, and saide vnto her: “Madame, you see this Castillan gentleman, which so oftentimes talketh with me, I doe beleue that his pretence is to marry me: you do know what a father I haue, who will neuer geue his consent, if he be not persuaded therunto by my Lady your mother and you.” Florinda which loued the damosell as her selfe, assured her that shee would take vpon her to bring that matter to passe, with so earnest trauaile as if the case were her own. Then Auenturade brought Amadour before Florinda, who after he had saluted her, was like to fall in a sowne for ioy, and although he were compted the moste eloquent persone of Spaine, yet was he now become mute and dumb before Florinda, wherat she maruelled much: for albeit she was butXII.yeares of age, yet she vnderstode that there was noman in Spaine that had a better tongue, or a more conuenable grace than he. And seing that he said nothing vnto her, she spake vnto him in this wise: “The fame which is bruted of you (sir Amadour) throughout the whole countrie of Spaine, is such as it maketh you knowen and estemed in this company, and giueth desire and occasion to those that know you, to imploy themselues to do you pleasure: wherefore if there be any thing wherin I may gratifie you, vse me I besech you.” Amadour that gased vpon the beautie of that lady, was rapt and surprised, not well able to render thankes vnto her. And although Florinda maruelled to see him without aunswere, yet she imputed it rather to bashfulnesse than to any force of loue, and departed without further talke. Amadour knowing the vertue which in so tender yeares began to appeare in Florinda, saide vnto her whome he purposed to marry: “Doe not maruell, though my speache do fayle before Madame Florinda, for the vertues and discretion, hidden in that yonge personage, did so amase mee, as I wiste not what to saye: but I praye you Auenturade (quod he) who knoweth all her secretes, to tell me, if it be otherwyse possible, but that she hath the harte of all the Lordes and Gentlemen of the Court: for they which know her and doe not loue her, be stones, or beastes.” Auenturade whiche then loued Amadour more than all the men in the worlde, and would conceale nothing from him, said vnto him: that Madame Florinda was generally beloued: but for the custome of the countrie, fewe men did speake unto her. “And (quod she) as yet I se none that make any semblance of loue vnto her, but two young Princes of Spaine, which desire to marry her, whereof the one is the sonne of the Infant Fortune, and the other of the Duke of Cadouce.” “I praye you then (quod Amadour) to tell me which of them as you think, doth loue her best.” “She is so wise” said Auenturade, “that she will confesse or graunt her loue to none, but to such as her mother pleaseth. But yet so far as we can iudge she fauoureth muche better the sonne of the Infant Fortune, than the Duke of Cadouce: and for that I take you to be a man of good iudgment, this day you shall haue occasion to consider the truth: for the sonne of the Infant Fortune is brought vp in Court, and is one of the goodliest and perfectestyong Gentlemen in al christendome: and if the mariage do procede, according to our opinion, which be her women, he shalbe assured to haue Madame Florinda: and then shalbe ioyned together the goodliest couple in the world. And you must vnderstand, that although they be both very yong, she ofXII.yeares of age, and he ofXV.yet is there three yeares past since their loue first began: and if you be disposed aboue other to obtain her fauour, mine aduise is, that ye become friend and seruaunt vnto him.” Amadour was very ioyfull to heare tell that his Lady loued some man, trusting that in tyme he should wynne the place, not of husbande, but of seruaunt: for he feared nothing at all of her vertue, but a lacke of disposition to loue. And after this communication, Amadour bent himselfe to haunt the societie of the sonne of the Infant Fortune, whose good will he sone recouered, for all the pastimes whiche the yong Prince loued, Amadour could doe right well: and aboue other, he was very cunning in riding of horsses, and in handling al kindes of armes and weapons, and in all other pastimes and games meete for a yong Gentleman. Warres began in Languedoc, and Amadour was forced to retire with the Gouernour, to his great sorrowe and grief, for he had there no meane to returne to the place where he might se Florinda. For which cause he spake to his owne brother, whiche was Steward of the king of Spaine’s houshold, and declared vnto him what courtesie he had found in the house of the Countesse of Arande, and of the damosel Auenturade: praying him that in his absence he would do his indeuour, that the mariage might proceede, and that he would obtaine for him the credit and good opinion of the king and Queene, and of al his friendes. The Gentleman which loued his brother, as well by nature’s instigation, as for his great vertues, promised him his trauaile and industrie to the vttermoste. Which he did in such wise as the old man her father, nowe forgetting other naturall respect, began to marke and beholde the vertues of Amadour, which the Countesse of Arande, and specially faire Florinda, painted and set foorth vnto him, and likewyse the Yong earl of Arande whiche increased in yeares, and therewithall in loue of those that were vertuous, and geuen to honest exercise. And when the mariage was agreedbetweene the parentes, the said Steward sent for his brother whilest the truce endured betwene the two kings. About this time, the king of Spain retired to Madric, to auoyd the euil aire that was in many places, where by the aduise of diuers of his counsell, and at the request of the Countesse of Arande, he made a mariage betwene the yong Duchesse the heire of Medina Celi, and the yong Earle of Arande, as wel for the vnion of their house, as also for the loue he bare to the said Countesse. And this mariage was celebrated in the Castell of Madric, whereunto repaired Amadour, who so well obtained his suite, as he maried her, of whom he was muche better beloued, than his smal loue toward her deserued, sauing that it was a couerture and meanes for him to frequent the place where his minde and delight incessantly remained: after he was maried, he became well acquainted and familiar in the house of the Countesse, so that he was so conuersaunt amonges the Ladies, as if he had bene a woman: and although hee was then butXXII.yeares of age, he was so wise and graue, as the Countesse imparted vnto him all her affaires, commaunding her sonne and daughter to intertayne him, and to credite all thinges wherein hee gaue counsell. Hauing wonne this great estimation, he behaued him selfe so wyse and politike, that euen the partie whiche he loued knewe no parte of his affection: but by reason of the loue that Florinda bare to the wife of Amadour, whome shee loued more than any other woman, she was so familiar with him, as shee dissembled no part of her thought, declaring vnto him all the loue that she bare the sonne of the Infant Fortune: and he that desired nothing more than throughly to winne her, ceassed not from continuance of talke, not caring whereof he spake, so that he might hold her with long discourse: Amadour had not after his mariage continued a moneth in that companie, but was constrained to retire to the warres, where hee continued more than twoo yeares, without retourne to see his wife, who still abode in the place where she was brought vp. During the time, Amadour wrote many letters vnto his wife, but the chiefest substance therof consisted in commendations to Florinda, who for her part failed not to render like vnto him, many times writing some pretie worde or posie with her own hand, in theletter of Auenturade. Which made her husband Amadour diligent many times to write again vnto her, but in al this doing Florinda conceiued nothing, but that he loued her with such like loue as the brother oweth to the sister. Many times Amadour went and came, but in the space of fiue yeares he neuer sawe Florinda twoo monethes together: notwithstanding, Loue in despite of their distaunce and long absence, ceassed not to increase: and it chaunced that hee made a voyage home to see his wyfe, and founde the Countesse farre from the court, bicause the kyng of Spain was done to Vandelousie, and had taken with him the yong Earle of Arande, whiche then began to bere armes. The Countesse was retired to a house of pleasure, which shee had vpon the frontiers of Arragon and Nauarre, and was right ioyfull when shee see Amadour, who almoste three yeares had bene absent. He was very well recieued of euery man, and the countesse commaunded that he should be vsed and entreated as her howne sonne. During the time that he soiourned with her, she communicated vnto him all the affaires of her house, and committed the greatest trust thereof to his discretion, who wan such credite in the house as in all places where he liste, the dores were opened vnto him: whose wysedome and good behauiour made him to be estemed like a Sainct or Aungell. Florinda, for the loue and good wyll she bare unto his wyfe and him, made muche of him in all places where she sawe him: and therfore tooke no hede vnto his countenaunce, for that her hart as yet felt no passion, but a certen contentation in her selfe, when she was in the presence of Amadour, and of any other thing she thought not. Amadour to auoyde the iudgement of them that haue proued the difference of Louers countenaunces, was very ware and circumspect: for when Florinda came to speake vnto hym secretly (like one that thought no hurt) the fier hydden in his breste, burned so sore, as he could not staye the blushyng colour of his face, nor the sparkes whiche flewe out of his eyes: and to the intent, that through long frequentation, none might espie the same, he intertaigned a very fayre Ladye called Paulina, a woman in his tyme accompted so fayre, as fewe men whiche behelde her, coulde escape her bondes,This Ladye Paulina vnderstanding howe Amadour vsed his Loueat Barselone and Parpignon, and how he was beloued of the fayrest Ladies of the Countrie, and aboue all of the Countesse of Palamons, whiche in beautie was prysed to be the fayrest in all Spayne, and of many other, sayde vnto hym: “That shee had great pitie of hym, for that after so manye good Fortunes, he had maried a wyfe so foule and deformed.” Amadour vnderstanding well by those woordes, that she had desyre to remedy her owne necessitie, vsed the best maner he coulde deuise, to the intent that in makyng her beleue a lye, he should hyde from her the truthe. But shee subtile and well experimented in Loue, was not contente with talke, but perceyuing well that his harte was not satisfied with her Loue, doubted that hee coulde not serue his Lady in secrete wise, and therefore marked hym so nere, as daylye she had a respecte and watche vnto hys eyes, whiche hee coulde so well dissemble, as she was able to iudge nothyng, but by darke suspicion, not without great payne and difficultie to the Gentleman, to whome Florinda (ignoraunt of all their malice) dyd resorte many tymes in presence of Paulina, whose demeaner then was so familiar, as he with maruellous payne refrayned his lookes against his harte and desire: and to auoyde that no inconuenience should ensue, one daye speaking to Florinda, as they were both leaning at a wyndow, sayd these words: “Madame, I beseche you to tell mee whether it is better to speake or to die.” Whereunto Florinda answered readily, saying, “I will euer geue councell to my frendes to speake and not to dye: for there be fewe wordes spoken but that they may be amended, but the life lost cannot be recouered.” “Promise me then” said Amadour, “that not onely ye will accept those wordes which I will say, but also not to be astonned or abashed, till ye haue heard the end of my tale.” To whom she aunswered: “Say what it please you, for if you do affray me none other shall assure me.” Then he began to saye vnto her: “Madame, I haue not yet bene desirous to disclose vnto you the great affection which I beare you, for twoo causes: the one, bicause I attend by my long seruice, to shewe you the experience thereof: the other, for that I doubted you would thinke a great presumption in me (which am but a poore gentleman) to insinuate my selfe in place whereof I am not worthy: and althoughI were a Prince as you be, the loyaltie yet of your harte, will not permitte any other, but him which hath already taken possession (the sonne I meane of the Infant Fortune) to vse in talke any matter of loue: but Madame, like as necessitie in time of great warr constraineth men to make hauoke of their owne goodes, and to consume the greene corne, that the enemy take no profit and reliefe thereof, euen so doe I hazard to aduaunce the frute, which in time I hope to gather, that your enemies and mine may inioye thereof none aduauntage. Knowe ye Madame, that from the time of your tender yeares, I haue in such wyse dedicated my selfe to your seruice as I ceasse not still to aspire the meanes to achieue your grace and fauour: and for that occasion, I did marry her whome I thought you did loue best: and knowing the loue you beare to the sonne of the Infant Fortune, I haue indeuoured to serue him as you haue sene: and that wherein I thought you dyd delighte, I haue accomplished to the vttermoste of my power. You doe see that I haue gotten the good wil of the Countesse your mother, of the Earle your brother, and of all those that doe beare you good wyll: in sutche sorte as in this house I am estemed, not like a seruaunt, but as a sonne: and all the labour whiche I haue sustayned these fiue yeares past, was for none other cause, but to lyue all the daies of my life with you: and vnderstand you wel that I am none of those whiche by these meanes doe pretende to receiue of you anye profite or pleasure, other than that which is good and vertuous: I do know that I can neuer marrie you, and if I could I would not for letting the loue that you beare vnto him, whom I desire to be your husbande, likewise to loue you in vicious sorte, like them that hope to recompence their seruice with dishonour of their Ladies, I am so farre of from that affection, as I had rather be dead than to see you by desert worthy of lesse loue, and that your vertue shoulde by any meanes be diminished for any pleasure that might happen vnto mee. I do pretend and craue for the ende and recompence of my service, but one thing: which is, that you will continue my loyall and faithfull maistresse, neuer to withdrawe from me your wonted grace and fauour, and that you will maintaine mee in that estate wherein I am. Reposinge your trust and fidelitie in me more than in any other, making your selfe soassured of me, as if for your honor or any cause touching your person, you stand in neede of the life of a Gentleman, the same shal right willingly be employed at your commaundement: in like maner all thinges vertuous and honest which euer I shal attempt I beseech you to thinke to be done onely for the loue of you: and if I haue done for Ladies of lesse reputacion than you be, any thing worthy of regard, be assured that for such a maistresse as you be, my enterprises shal increase in such sort, as the things which I found difficult and impossible, shall be easelie for me to accomplishe; but if you do not accept mee to be wholy yours, I determine to giue ouer armes, and to renounce valiaunce, because it hath not succoured me in necessitie: wherfore, Madame, I humblie beseech you that my iust request may not be refused, sith with your honour and conscience you cannot well denie the same.” The yong Lady hearing this vnaccustomed sute, began to chaunge her colour, and to caste downe her eyes like an amased woman, notwithstandinge, being wyse and discrete she said vnto him: “If (Amadour) your request vnto me be none other than you pretende, wherefore have you discoursed this long Oration? I am afraid lest vnder this honeste pretence there lurketh some hidden malice to deceiue the ignoraunce of my youth, wherby I am wrapt in great perplexitie how to make you aunswere: for to refuse the honest amitie which you haue offered, I shall doe contrary to that I haue done hitherto, for I haue reposed in you more trust than in any liuing creature: my conscience or mine honour cannot gainesay your demaunde, nor the loue that I beare to the sonne of the Infant Fortune, which is grounded vpon fayth of mariage: where you say that you pretende nothinge but that is good and vertuous, I cannot tell what thing should let me to make you aunswere according to your request, but a feare that I conceiue in hart, founded vpon the small occasion that you haue to vse that speache, for if you haue alreadye what you demaunde, what doth constraine you to speake so affectuouslie?” Amadour that was not without an aunsweare, said vnto her: “Madame, you speake very wisely, and you do me so much honour, for the confidence and truste which according to your sayinge you do repose in me, as if I doe not content my selfe with such a benefite, I were thevnworthiest man aliue: but vnderstande Madame, that he which goeth about to builde a perpetual mansion, ought to haue regard to a sure and firme foundacion: wherfore I which desire perpetually to remaine your seruaunte, doe seeke not onely the meanes to kepe my selfe neare about you, but also to foresee that none doe vnderstand the great affection that I do beare you: for although my mind be so vertuous and honest, as the same may disclose it selfe before the whole worlde, yet there bee some so ignorant and vnskilfull of louers harts, as manye times will iudge contrary to trouth, wherof proceedeth so ill brute and report, as if the effectes were wicked: the cause which hath made me so bold to say and declare vnto you thus much, is the suspicion that Paulina hath conceyued, for that I cannot loue her: who doth nothing els but marke and espie my countenaunce in euerye place, and when you vse your familiar talke with me before her, I am so afraide to shewe any signe whereby shee maye grounde or verifie her iudgemente, that I fall into that inconuenience, which I would willingly auoyde: wherefore I haue thought good to beseech you (before her and those which you do know to be so malicious) to refraine from talkinge with mee so sodainlye, for I had rather dye, than anye liuinge creature should haue mistrust thereof: and were it not for the loue which I beare vnto your honour, I had not yet declared the same vnto you, for I do hold my selfe sufficiente happy and content of the onely loue and affiaunce that you put in me, crauing nought els butt the continuance of the same.” Florinda wel satisfyed with this aunswere, began to feele in harte a further thing to growe than euer she did before: and hearing the honest reasons alleaged by him, said, that her honestie and vertue shoulde make aunsweare for her, and therewithall assented to his demaunde: whereof whether Amadour were ioyful, Louers neede not doubt: but Florinda credited more his counsell, than he would haue had her. For shee being fearefull and timerous, not onely before Paulina, but in all other places, vsed farre other countenaunce than she was wont to do: and in this alienation of her former familiarity, she misliked the conuersation that Amadour had with Paulina, whose beauty was such, that she could not otherwise beleeue, but that hee loued her: and Florinda to passe ouer herheauinesse, daily vsed the company of Auenturade, that began maruelously to be ialous betweene her husbande and Paulina, whereof shee made complaint many times to Florinda, who comforted her so well as shee coulde, like one attached with the same disease: Amadour coniecturinge by the countenaunce of Florinda, that not onely shee was estraunged from hym through his former aduertisement, but also that there was some other displeasure conceyued, comming vpon a time, from euensong out of the Monasterie, he sayd vnto her: “Madame, what countenaunce do you make me?” “Such as I thincke doth please you best,” answered Florinda. Then Amadour suspecting a matter, to know whether it were true, began to saye: “Madame, I haue so vsed Paulina, as she beginneth to give ouer her opinion of you.” She answered him: “Ye cannot do a better thing either for your selfe or for me: for in doing your selfe a pleasure, you do honour vnto me.” Amadour iudged by these words that she thought he toke pleasure to talke of Paulina, wherewith he became so desperate, as hee could not forbeare to say vnto her in anger: “Madame, you begin very sone to torment your seruante: there was neuer paine more greeuous vnto mee, than to be forced to speake to her whom I loue not: and sithens al that which I do for your seruice is taken in ill part, I wil neuer speake againe vnto her, whatsoeuer happen: and to dissemble mine anger and contentacion, I wil addresse my selfe to some place hereby, till your fancie be ouer past: but I hope I shall receiue newes from my captaine, to retourne to the warres, where I will so longe continue, as you shall well knowe, that nothing els but you alone doth force me to tarrie here.” And in saying so, without attending for her aunswere, hee incontinently departed, and shee remayned so sad and pensive as any woman coulde be: and loue began to shewe his greate force in such wyse as shee knowing her wrong incessantly, wrote to Amadour praying him to retourne home, which he did within a few dayes after that his choler was past, and to tell you what businesse there was, to interrupte and breake the ialousie conceiued, it were superfluous: but in the ende, he wanne the field, so that she promised him, not onely to beleeue that he loued not Paulina, but also helde her selfe assured that it should be to him a martirdome intollerable, tospeake vnto her or any other, except it were to do her seruice: after that loue had vanquished this presente suspicion, and that the two louers began to take more pleasure in their mutuall talke than euer they did before: newes came that the king of Spaine was about to addres his Armie to Saulse, wherfore he that was wont to be there with the first, was not like now to fayle to augment his honour: but true it is, that his griefe was presently more greate, than at other times before, aswell for losinge the pleasure which he enioyed, as for feare to finde some mutacion and chaunge at his returne, because he saw Florinda pursued by great Princes and Lords, and alreadye come to the age ofXV.yeares, and thought that if she were maried in his absence, he should neuer haue occasion to see her againe, except the Countesse of Arande would appointe his wyfe to waite vppon her: for accomplishment wherof he made such frends, as the Countesse and Florinda promised him, that into what soeuer place she were maried his wyfe Auenturade should attende vpon her: and although it was in question that Florinda should be maried into Portugall, yet determined that his wyfe should neuer forsake her: and vppon this assuraunce, not without vnspeakeable sorow, Amadour departed and left his wife with the Countesse. When Florinda was alone, her seruaunt departed, shee gaue her selfe to all vertuous life, hopinge thereby to atteine the fame of a most perfecte Lady, and to be counted worthie the interteignemente of such a seruaunt. Amadour arriued at Barsalone, was banqueted and intertayned of the Ladies after the old maner, but they finding him so altered and chaunged, thought that Mariage could neuer haue had such power vppon man, as it had ouer him: for he seemed then to disdaine, what somtime he greatly desired, and specially the Countesse of Palamons, whom he derely loued, could deuise by no meanes to make him go alone home to his lodging: Amadour tarried at Barsalone so little while as hee coulde, because hee might not come late to the place where hee purposed to winne and atchiue honour: and being arriued at Saulse, great and cruell warres were comenced betwene the two kinges, which I purpose not to recite, ne yet the noble enterprises done by Amadour, whose fame was bruted aboue the rest of his companions. The duke of Nagyers arriuinge at Parpignon, hadcharge of two thousand men, and prayed Amadour to be his Lieuetenaunte, who with that hand serued so well, as no crie was hard in al the skirmishes, other than of Nagyers. It chaunced that the king of Thunis, which of long time had warre with the Spaniards, vnderstandinge howe the kinges of Spaine and Fraunce were together by the eares at Parpignon and Narbonne, thought that in better time he could not anoye the king of Spaine: wherefore he sent a great nomber of Foists and other vessels, to robbe and spoile those frontiers which were ill guarded and kept: they of Barsalone seing a nomber of Shippes passe before the Towne, aduertised the king that was at Saulse, who immediatly sent the Duke of Nagyers to Palamons: and when the shippes discried that the place was well guarded, they made as though they would passe further: but about midnight they retourned, and landed so many men, that the Duke of Nagyers was taken prisoner. Amadour which was very vigilant, hearing allarme, presently assembled so many men as he could, and defended him self so wel, as the force of his enemies a long time could not hurt him: but in thende knowing that the Duke of Nagyers was taken prisoner, and that the Turks were determined to burn the Citie of Palamons, and then to fier the house which he strongly had forced againste them, hee thought it better to render himself, than to be cause of the losse of so manye good souldiors as were vnder his gouernmente, and also by putting himselfe to raunsome, he hoped in time to come to see Florinda: then he submitted himselfe to a Turke called Derlyn, the gouernor of the king of Thunis, who conueyed him home to his maister, where he was well entertaigned, and better kept: for they thought that hauing him in their hands, they had gotten the only Achilles of Spaine. In this sort Amadour continued almost the space of two yeares, in the seruice of the king of Thunis: newes came into Spaine of this ouerthrow, wherof the frends of the Duke of Nagyers, were very sorowfull: but they that loued the honor of their countrie, thoughte Amadour to bee the greatest losse, the brute wherof was noysed in the house of the Countesse of Arande, wher at that time the poore gentlewoman Auenturade lay very sore sicke. The Countesse suspecting very much the affection that Amadourbare vnto her daughter, which he suffered and dissembled for his vertue’s sake, called her daughter aside, and told her the pitious newes. Florinda which could well dissemble said unto her, that it was a great losse for al their house, but specially she pitied the state of his poore wife, because at that time she was so sore sicke. But seing her mother weepe so bitterly, she let fal some teares to keepe her company, least through to much dissimulacion her loue might be discouered. After that time, the Countesse spake to her many times, but she could neuer perceiue by her countenance, any cause of certaine suspicion. I will leaue to speake of the voyages, the prayers, the supplications and fastings, which Florinda did ordinarily make for the safegard and prosperitie of Amadour, who incontinently so sone as he was ariued at Thunis, sent newes to his frends, and by a sure messenger aduertized Florinda, that he was in good health and hope to retourne. Which newes was to the poore Lady, the only meanes to releue and ease her sorow. And doubt ye not, but the meanes of writing, was vtterly debarred from Amadour, wherof Florinda acquited herself so diligently, as by her letters and epistles, he receiued great consolation and comfort. The Countesse of Arande receiued commaundement from the king to repaire to Saragosa, where hee that time was arriued. And there she found the yong Duke of Cardonne making sute to the king and Queene, for mariage of her daughter. The Countesse vnwilling to disobey the king, agreed, thinkinge that her daughter being very yonge, had none other affection, but that which already had taken sure impression. When the accorde was concluded, shee sayde vnto her daughter, that she had chosen that matche, as best worthy to ioyne with her person. Her daughter considering howe in a thing already done it was to late to take counsell, said vnto her, that God was to be praised in all things. And seing her mother so far alienated from her intent, she thought it better to shew her selfe obedient, than to take pitie vpon herselfe. And to comfort her in that sorowe, she vnderstode that the infant Fortune was at the point of death. But before her mother or any other person, she shewed not so much as one signe or token therof, strayning her grief so much, asthe teares by force retiringe to her harte, did cause the bloud to issue forth at her Nose, in such abundance, as her life was in present daunger. And to recouer her of that disease, shee was maried vnto him, for whose sake shee had rather haue chaunged her life for present death. After the mariage, Florinda went wyth her husbande into the Duchy of Cardonne, and in her company Auenturade, to whom she secretly made complaint, as wel of her mother’s rigor, as also of the sorow she conceyued for the losse of the sonne of the Infant Fortune. But of her griefe for Amadour, she spake no worde, but by way of comforting her. This yong lady then determined to haue God and the respect of her honoure before her eies, and so wel to dissemble her griefes, as none at any time should perceiue that shee misliked her husband. In this sort Florinda passed long time, in a life no lesse pleasaunt than death. The report whereof she sent to her good seruaunt Amadour, who vnderstanding her great loue, and wel disposed hart, and the loue shee bare to the Infant Fortune, thought that it was impossible she could liue long, and lamented her state more than his owne. This griefe augmented his paine of imprisonmente, wishinge to haue remayned a slaue all the days of his life, so that Florinda had had a husbande respondent to her desire, forgettinge his owne griefe by feeling that his frende did suffer. And because he vnderstode by a secret friend which he had gotten in the Court of the king of Thunis, that the king was minded to offer him the gibbet, or els to make him renounce his fayth, for the desire hee had to retaine him still, and to make him a good Turke, he behaued himself so well, wyth him that toke him prisoner, that he gaue him leaue to depart vpon his fayth, taxing him at so greate raunsome, as he thought a man of so small substance was neuer able to pay. And so without speaking to the king his maister, hee let him go vpon his fayth. After he had shewed himselfe at the Court of the king of Spaine, he departed incontinently to his frends to get his raunsome, and went straight to Barsalone, whether the yong Duke of Cardonne, his mother, and Florinda, was gone aboute certaine affaires. Auenturade so sone as she heard tell that her husband was come, declared the sameto Florinda, who seemed for her sake greatly to reioyce therat. But fearing that the desire she had to see him would make her chaunge countenaunce, and that they which knew not the cause therof, would conceiue some ill opinion, she stode still at a window to see him come a far of: and so sone as she espied him, shee went downe a paire of darke staires that none mighte perceiue her chaunge of colour. When she had imbraced Amadour, shee led him into her chamber, and from thence to her mother in law, which had neuer seene him before. He had not continued there two dayes, but he was so well beloued, as he was before in the house of the Countesse of Arande. I will omitte the words and talke betwene Florinda and Amadour, and the complaintes which he made vnto her of his ill aduenture, that hee had sustayned in his absence. And after manye teares vttered by her, for the heauines she had taken, aswel for the mariage against her wil, as for the losse of him that she loued so dearely, and for him whom she thoughte neuer to see againe, shee determined to take her consolation in the loue and fidelitie that she bare to Amadour, which notwithstanding she durst not open and declare: but he that much doubted therof, lost no occasion and time to let her know and vnderstande the great loue he bare her. And euen vppon the point that she was ready to receiue him, not as a seruaunt, but for her assured and perfect frend, there chaunced a maruellous fortune: for the king, for certaine matters of importance, incontinently sent forth Amadour, wherof his wyfe conceyued such sorrow, as hearing those newes, she souned and fell from the stayres where she stode, wherewith she hurte herselfe so sore, as neuer after she reuiued. Florinda (that by the death of her had lost all comfort) made such sorrow, as one that was destitute of good frends and kinsfolke, but Amadour toke the same in worst part: for he had not onely lost one of the most honest women that euer was, but also the meanes that he should neuer after that time haue occasion to visit Florinda. For which cause he fell into such sicknes, as he was like to haue died sodainly. The old Duchesse of Cardonne, incessantly did visite him, and alledged many philosophical reasons to make him paciently to receiue death,buit auayled nothing: for if death of thone side did torment him, loue on the other did augment his martirdome. Amadour seing that his wyfe was buried, and that the king had sent for him, (hauing no occasion of longer abode there) he entred into such dispaire, as hee seemed to be oute of his wittes. Florinda which in comforting him was almost desolate, remayned by him one whole afternone, vsinge very honest and discrete talke vnto him, thinking thereby to diminishe the greatnesse of his sorrowe, and assured him that shee would deuise wayes how he might visite her more oft than he did thinke for. And because he must depart the next morning, and was so feeble and weake that he could not rise from his bed, he intreated her to come and se him at night after euery man was retired to bed: which she promised to doe, not knowing that loue’s extremety was voyd of reason. And he that saw no hope euer after that time to see her againe, whom so long time he had serued: and of whom he had neuer receyued other interteignment than that you haue heard, was so beaten and ouercom with loue long dissembled, and of the despaire he conceiued, that (all meanes to vse her company taken away) he purposed to play double or quit, either to lose her, or to win her fauour for euer, and to pay himself at one instant the rewarde which he thought he had right wel deserued. Wherfore he caused the curtaines of his bed to be drawen, that they which came into the chamber mighte not see him, complayning of sicknes more than he was wont to do, wherby they of the house thought he would not haue liued XXIV. houres. After euery one of the house had visited him at night, Florinda (at the special request of her husband) came to see him, thinking for his comfort to vtter vnto him her affection, and how aboue all other she would loue him, so far as her honor did permit: and sitting downe in a chayre at the bed’s head, she began to comfort him, and therwithal powred out many teares. Amadour seing her sorowful and pensife, thought that in her great torment he might easely attaine the effect of his intent, and lifted himself vp in his bed, which Florinda perceyuing, she would haue staied him, because she thought that through weakenes he was not able to moue: and kneeling vpon his knees, he said vnto her: “MustI for euermore forgo your sight mine owne deare Lady?” And in saying so he fel downe betwene her armes like one that fainted for lack of strength. Then poore Florinda imbraced him, and of long time held him vp, doing all that was possible for his comfort. But the medecine she gaue him to ease his sorow, did rather increase the same more strong: for in fayning himself half dead, without speaking any word, he attempted that which the honor of womanhode doth defend. When Florinda perceiued his ill intent, she could scarce beleue the same, considering his honest requests made before time, and therfore asked him what it was that he desired. But Amadour fearing to heare her aunswere which he knew well could be none other but chaste and vertuous, without further talke, pursued his purpose so earnestly as he could, wherwith Florinda beinge astonned did suspect he had bin out of his wittes rather than beleue that he wente about her dishonor. Wherefore with loude voice she called a gentleman that was in the chamber. Which Amadour hearing, vtterly in dispaire, threw himself so sodenly into his bed, as the gentleman thought he had beene dead. Florinda rising out of the chaire, said vnto him: “Goe quickly and fetch some good vineger.” Which the gentleman did. Then Florinda began to say vnto him: “Amadour, what follie hath inchaunted your wisedome? And what is that which you would haue done unto me?” Amadour that through the force of loue had lost al reason, said vnto her: “Doth my long seruice merite a recompence of such cruelty?” “And wher is the honesty then,” said Florinda, “which so many times you haue preached vnto me?” “Ah, madame!” said Amadour: “I beleue it is impossible your selfe more faithfully to loue your owne honour than I do. For when you were vnmaried, I could so wel subdue my harte and affection, as you did neuer vnderstand my will and desire. And now that you be maried, to the intente your honour may reste in couerte, what wrong do I to aske that which is mine owne, for by force of loue I haue won you? He that first enioyed your harte, hath so ill followed the victorie of your bodye, as hee hath well deserued to lose altogether. He that possesseth your body, is not worthy to haue your hart, wherefore your body is none of his, ne yet hehath no title in the same. But I Madame, these fiue or sixe yeares haue susteyned suche paynes and trauaile for your sake, as you are not ignoraunt but to me appertayneth both your body and harte, for whose sake I haue vtterlye forgotten mine owne. And if you can finde in your hart to defende mee from my right, doubt ye not but they which haue proued the forces of loue, wil lay the blame on you, which hath in this sort robbed me from my libertie, and with your heauenly graces hath obscured my sences, that not knowing hereafter what to do, I am constrayned to go without hope for euer to see you againe. Notwithstanding warrante your selfe, that in what place so euer I am, you shall still possesse my harte, which shall continue your’s for euer, be I vppon the lande or water, or betweene the hands of my moste cruell enemies. But if I could recouer before my departure, that surety of you which the greatnesse of my loue deserueth, I shall be strong enough paciently to beare the griefes of my long absence. And if it please you not to graunt me this request, you shal shortly heare tell that your rigor hath rendred vnto me a most vnhappy and cruel death.” Florinda no lesse astonned than sorie, to heare such words proceede from him, of whom she neuer had any such suspicion, weepinge saide unto him: “Alas, Amadour, is this the meaning of those vertuous words which sithens the beginning of my youth ye haue vttered vnto me? Is this the honor of the conscience, which you haue many times perswaded me rather to die than lose the same? Haue you forgotten the good examples recited vnto me of vertuous dames that haue resisted foolish loue? And is this the maner of your contempt of Ladies that were foolish and vaine, whose light behauiour you dissembled so much to abhorre? I cannot beleeue Amadour that you are driuen into such madnes and furie, as the feare of GOD, your owne conscience, and the estimacion of mine honor, should be altogether out of your minde and memorie. But if it so be as you say, I do praise the goodnes of God, which hath preuented the mishap that nowe I am fallen into, in shewing me by your words, the hart which I did not know. For hauing lost the sonne of the Infant Fortune, who not onely is maried into another place, but also loued another, andI now maried to him, which I cannot loue, I thought and determined wholly, with all mine hart and affection to loue you, founding the same vpon that vertue which I knew to be in you, which loue by your meanes onelye I haue conceiued, and therfore did more esteeme my honor and conscience, than the price of mine owne life. Vppon assurance of this stone of honestie, I am come hither thinking to build a most sure foundacion. But (Amadour) in one moment thou haste declared, how in place of a pure foundacion, thy buildinge is reared vpon a light sand, and vnconstant ground, or els vpon a filthy and foul quamire. And where I began to erect a good part of the lodgings of this building vpon the ground of the fidelitie, hoping to dwel there for euer, sodenly thou hast ouerthrowen the whole plot. Wherfore, you must immediately breake in sonder the hope and credit that euermore you haue found in me, and determine that in what place soeuer I be, not to pursue me either by worde or countenaunce. And do not thinke, that I can or will at anye time hereafter chaunge this mine opinion, reciting this my last adieu with great sorrow and griefe. But if I had made an othe of this perfect amitie and loue, I know mine harte would haue died vpon this breach, although the astonishment in that I am deceiued, is so great, as I am wel assured it will make my life either short or sorowfull: and therefore I bid you farewel and that for euer.” I purpose not to tel you the sorow which Amadour felt by hearing those words, because it is impossible not only to write them, but also to thincke them, except it be of such as haue had experience of the like. And seing that vppon this cruel conclusion she would haue gone away, he caught her by the arme, knowing well that if he did not remoue that ill opinion, which by his owne occasion she had conceyued, hee should lose her for euer. Wherfore he said vnto her with a very faint chere: “Madame, al the dayes of my life I haue desired to loue a woman endued with honestie and vertue: and because I haue found so few, I would fain haue tried whether your person had bin worthy of estimacion and loue, wherof now I am wel assured, and humblie do praise God therefore, because mine hart is addressed to such perfection: beseching you to pardon this fond and boldattempt, sith you see that the end doth redound to your owne honor and contentacion.” Florinda, which began to know by him the malice of other men, like as she was hard to beleue the euill wher it was, euen so she was more difficile to credite the good where it was not, and said vnto him: “I pray to God your words be true: yet am I not so ignorant but that the state of mariage wherein I am, hath made me euidently to know the strong passion of blind loue which hath forced you vnto this follie: for if God had losed my hande, I am wel assured you would not haue plucked back the bridle: they that attempt to seeke after vertue, do not take the way that you do tread: but this is sufficient if I haue lightly beleeued any honestie in you, it is time for me now to know the truth, that I may rid my self from you.” And in saying so, Florinda went out of the chamber, and all the nighte long, she neuer left weeping, feeling such great griefe in that alteracion, as her hart had much to do, to sustaine the assaults of sorrow that loue had made: for although reason thoughte neuer to loue him againe, yet the hart which is not subiect to our fancie, would not accord to that crueltie: for which consideracion, she loued him no lesse than she was wont to do, and knowing that loue was the cause of that fault, she purposed for satisfaction of loue, to Loue him with all her hart, and yet for the obedience and fealtie due to her honor, she thought neuer to make any semblance. In the morning Amadour departed in this sort, troubled as you haue hearde, neuerthelesse his couragious heart centred not in dispaire, but renued a fresh hope once againe to see Florinda, and to win her fauour: then he toke his iourney towards the Court of Spaine (which was at Tolledo) taking his way by the Countesse of Arande, wher late in an euening he arriued, and found the Countesse verye sicke for the absence of her daughter Florinda: when shee saw Amadour, shee kissed and imbraced him, as if he had beene her owne child, aswel for the loue she bare vnto him, as for the like which she doubted that he bare to Florinda, of whom very earnestly she inquired for newes, who tolde her the best that he could deuise, but not the whole truth, and confessed vnto her the loue betweene Florinda and him, (which Florinda had still conceiled and kept secrete) praying herayde to bring him againe into her fauour: and so the next morning he departed. And after he had done his businesse with the Queene, he repayred to the warres, so sadde and chaunged in all his condicions, as the Ladies, Captaynes and all they that were wonte to keepe him companie, did not know him. His apparell was all blacke, mourning for the death of his wife, wherby he couered the sorrow which was hid in his hart. In this wyse Amadour passed three or 4 yeres before he returned to the Court. And the Countesse of Arande which heard tell that Florinda was so much altered, as it would haue moued any hart to behold her, sent for her, hoping that she would haue come, but her expectacion was frustrate, for when Florinda vnderstode that Amadour had told her mother the good will betweene them, and that her mother being so wise and vertuous giuing credite to Amadour, did beleue his report, she was in marueilous perplexitie, because of the one side she saw that her mother did esteeme him so well, and on the other side if she declared vnto her the truth, Amadour woulde conceiue displeasure: which thing she had rather die than to do: wherefore she thought herselfe strong inough to chastise him of his folly, without helpe of frends. Againe, she perceyued that by dissembling the euil which she knew by him, she should be constrained by her mother and her frends, to speake and beare him good countenaunce, wherby she feared he would be the more encoraged: but seing that he was far of, she passed the lesse of the matter: and when the Countesse her mother did commaunde her, she wrote letters vnto him, but they were such as he might wel gather that they were written rather vpon obedience, than of good wil, the reading wherof bred sorrow vnto him in place of that ioye he was wonte to conceiue in her former wrytings. Within the terme of two or three yeres, after he had done so many noble enterprises as al the paper of Spaine could not containe them, he deuised a new inuention, not to wynne and recouer the harte of Florinda (for he demed the same quite lost) but to haue the victorie ouer his enemy, sithens she had vsed him in that sorte, and reiecting al reason and specially feare of death, into the hazarde wherof he hasted himselfe, he concluded and determined his enterprise in such sorte, as for his behauiour towardes the Gouernour, hee wasdeputed and sent by him to treate with the king of certaine exploytes to be done at Locates, sparing not to impart his message to the Countesse of Aranda, before he told the same to the king, to vse her good aduise therein: and so came in poste straight into the Countie of Aranda, where he had intelligence in what place Florinda remained, and secretly sent to the Countesse one of his frendes to tell her of his comming, and to pray her to keepe it close, and that he might speake with her that night in secrete wise that no man might perceiue: the Countesse very ioyfull of his comming, tolde it to Florinda, and sent her into her husbande’s chamber, that she might be ready when she should send for her after eche man was gone to bed. Florinda whiche was not yet well boldened by reason of her former feare, making a good face of the matter to her mother, withdrewe her selfe into an oratorie or chappell, to recommend her selfe to God, praying him to defend her hart from al wicked affection, and therwithal considered how often Amadour had praysed her beautie, which was not impaired or diminished, although she had bene sicke of longe time before: wherefore thinking it better to doe iniurie to her beautie by defacing it, than to suffer the harte of so honest a personage by meanes thereof wickedly to be inflamed, shee tooke vp a stone which was within the Chappell, and gaue her selfe so great a blowe on the face that her mouthe, eyes and nose, were altogether deformed: and to thintent no man might suspect what she had done, when the Countesse sent for her in going out of the Chappell, she fell downe vppon a great stone, and therewithall cried out so loude, as the Countesse came in and founde her in pitious state, who incontinently dressing her face, and binding it vp with clothes, conueyed her into her chamber, and prayed her to goe into her closet to entertaigne Amadour, tyll she were weary of his companie: whiche she did, thinking that there had bene somebody with hym: but finding him alone, and the doore shut vpon her, Amadour was not so well pleased as she was discontented: who nowe thoughte eyther with loue or force to get that, whiche hee had so long tyme desyred: and after he had spoken a fewe woordes vnto her, and found her in that mynde hee lefte her, and that to dye for it shee woulde not chaunge her opinion, desperatly he sayde vnto her: “By Godmadame, the fruite of my labour shall not be thus taken from me for scruples and doubtes: and sithe that Loue, pacience, and humble desires, cannot preuayle, I will not spare by force to get that, which except I haue it will be the meanes of mine overthrowe.” When Florinda sawe his face and eyes so altered, and that the fairest die and colour of the world, was become so red as fier, with his most pleasaunt and amiable loke transformed into horrible hew and furious, and therewithall discried the very hote burning fier, to sparkle within his harte and face: and how in that fury with one of his strong fistes he griped her delicate and tender hands: and on the other side shee seeing all her defences to fayle her, and that her feete and handes were caught in suche captiuitie as she could neither run away nor yet defend her selfe: knewe none other remedie, but to proue if he had yet remaining in him any griftes of the former loue, that for the honour therof he might forget his crueltie. Wherefore she sayd vnto him: “Amadour, if now you doe accompt me for an enemy, I besech you for the honestie of the loue which at other times I haue found planted in your harte, to geue me leaue to speake before you doe torment me.” And when shee saw him recline his eare, she pursued her talk in this wyse: “Alas, Amadour, what cause haue you to seke after the thing wherof you shall receiue no contentation, inflicting vppon me such displeasure as there can be no greater? you haue many times proued my wil and affection in the time of my youthfull dayes, and of my beautie farre more excellent than it is now, at what tyme your passion might better be borne with and excused, than nowe: in such wyse as I am nowe amased to see that you haue the harte to torment me at that age and great debilitie wherewith I am affected: I am assured that you doubt not but that my wyl and mind is such as it was wont to be: wherefore you can not obtayne your demaunde but by force: and if you sawe howe my face is arrayed, you would forget the pleasure whiche once you conceiued in me, and by no meanes would forcibly approche nere vnto me: and if there be lefte in you yet any remnantes of loue, it is impossible but that pitie may vanquishe your furie: and to that pitie and honestie whereof once I had experience in you, I do make my plaint, and of the same I dodemaund grace and pardon, to thintent that according to theffect of your wonted perswasion and good aduise you may suffer me to liue in that peace and honestie, which I haue determined and vowed during life: and if the loue which you haue borne me be conuerted into hatred, and that more for reuengement than affection, you doe purpose to make me the moste unhappy of the world, I assure you, you shall not be able to bryng your intent to passe, besides that you shall constrayne me against my determination, to vtter and reueale your villany and disordinate appetite towardes her which did repose in you an incredible affiance: by discouering whereof, thinke verely that your lyfe cannot continue without perill.” Amadour breaking her talke sayde vnto her: “If I die for it, I will presently be acquieted of my torment: but the deformitie of your face (whiche I thinke was done by you of set purpose) shall not let me to accomplishe my will: for since I can get nothing of you but the bones and carcase, I will holde them so fast as I can.” And when Florinda sawe that prayers, reason, nor teares could not auayle, but that with crueltie he woulde nedes followe his villanous desire, which she had hetherto still auoided by force of resistence, she did helpe her selfe so long, till she feared the losse of her breath, and with a heauy and piteous voice she called her mother so loud as shee could crie, who hearing her daughter crie and cal with rufull voyce, began greatly to feare the thing that was true: wherfore she ran so fast as she could into the warderobe. Amadour not being so nere death as he saide he was, left of his holde in suche good time, as the Ladye opening her closet, founde him at the dore, and Florinda farre enough from him. The Countesse demaunded of him, saying: “Amadour what is the matter? tell me the truthe.” Who like one that was neuer vnprouided of excuse, with his pale face and wanne, and his breath almoste spent, sayde vnto her: “Alas, madame, in what plight is my lady Florinda? I was neuer in all my life in that amase wherin I am now: for as I sayd vnto you, I had thought that I had inioyed part of her good will, but nowe I know right well that I haue none at all: I thinke madame, that sithe the time she was brought vp with you, shee was neuer lesse wise and vertuous than shee is nowe, but farre more daungerousand squeimishe in speaking and talking then behoueth, and euen nowe I would haue loked vpon her, but she would not suffer me: and when I viewed her countenaunce, thinking that it had bene some dreame or vision, I desired to kisse her hande, according to the fashion of the countrey, which shee vtterly refused. True it is Madame, I haue offended her, wherof I craue pardon of you, but it chaunced only for that I toke her by the hand, which I did in a maner by force, and kissed the same demaunding of her no other pleasure: but she like one (as I suppose) that hath sworne my death, made an outcry for you (as you haue hearde) for what cause I know not, except that shee were afraide I would haue forced some other thing: notwithstanding Madame, whatsoeuer the matter be, I protest vnto you the wrong is myne, and albeit that she ought to loue al your honest seruaunts, yet fortune so willeth as I alone, the moste affectioned of them all, is clerely exempt out of her fauour: and yet I purpose still to continue towardes you and her, the same man I came hither, beseching the continuance of your good grace and fauour, sithens that without desert I haue loste hers.” The Countesse which partely beleued, and partelye mistrusted his talke, went vnto her daughter, and demaunded wherfore she cried out so loud. Florinda answered that she was afrayde: and albeit the Countesse subtilly asked her of many things, yet Florinda would neuer make other answere, for that hauing escaped the handes of her enemy, she thought it punishement enough for him to lose his labour: after that the Countesse had of long tyme communed with Amadour, she lefte him yet once againe to enter in talke with Florinda before her, to see what countenaunce shee would make him. To whom he spake fewe wordes except they were thankes for that she had not confessed the truthe to her mother, praying her at least wise that seing he was dispossessed out of her hart, she would suffer none other to receiue his place: but she answering his former talke, saide: “If I had had any other meanes to defend my selfe from you than by crying out, she should neuer haue heard me, and of me you shall neuer heare worse, except you doe constrayne me as you haue done, and for louing any other man, you shall not neede to feare: for sithe I haue not found in your harte (which I estemed the mostvertuous in all the world) the good successe that I desired, I wyll neuer beleue hereafter that vertue is planted in any man. And this outrage shall make me free from all passions that Loue can force.” And in saying so she tooke her leaue. The mother which behelde her countenaunce, could suspecte nothing, and after that tyme, shee was persuaded that her daughter bare no more affection to Amadour, and thought assuredly that she was voyde of reason, because she hated al those things which she was wont to loue: and from that time forth there was such warre betwene the mother and the daughter, as the mother for the space ofVII.yeares would not speake vnto her, except it were in anger: which she did at the request of Amadour: during which time, Florinda conuerted the misliking of her husband, into mere and constant loue, to auoyde the rigour and checkes of her mother: howbeit, seing that nothing could preuayle, she purposed to beguile Amadour, and leauing for a day or two her straunge countenance towards him, she counselled Amadour to loue a woman, whiche as she sayd, did commonly dispute and talke of their loue. This lady dwelt with the Queene of Spaine, and was called Lorette, who was very ioyfull and glad to get such a seruant: and Florinda founde meanes to cause a brute of this newe loue to be spred in euery place, and specially the Countesse of Arande (being at the Court) perceiued the same, who afterwards was not so displeased with Florinda, as she was wont to be: Florinda vpon a tyme heard tel that a Captain the husband of Loret, began to be ialous ouer his wife, determining by some meanes or other, he cared not howe, to kill Amadour. Florinda notwithstanding her dissembled countenance, could not suffer any hurt to be done to Amadour, and therefore incontinently gaue him aduertisement thereof: but he retourning againe to his former follies, answered, that if it would please her to intertaigne him euery day three houres, he would neuer speake againe to Lorette, whereunto by no meanes shee would consent. Then Amadour saide vnto her: “If you will not haue me to liue, wherefore go ye about to defend me from death? except ye purpose to torment me aliue with greater extremitie then a thousand deathes can do: but for so much as death doth flie from me, I will neuer leaue to seeke him out, by whoseapproche only I shall haue rest.” Whilest they were in these tearmes, newes came that the kyng of Granado was about to enter into great warres against the king of Spain: in suche wyse as the king sent against hym the Prince his sonne, and with hym the constable of Castile, and the Duke of Albe, twoo auncient and sage Lordes. The duke of Cardonne and the counte of Arande not willing to tarie behinde, besought the kyng to geue eyther of them a charge: whiche hee did according to the dignitie of their houses, appointing Amadour to be their guide: who during that warre, did sutche valiaunt factes as they seemed rather to be desperately than hardily enterprysed: and to come to the effect of this discourse, his great valiaunce was tryed euen to the death: for the Moores making a bragge as though they would geue battayle, when they sawe the army of the Christians, counterfaited a retire, whome the Spaniardes pursued, but the olde Constable and the duke of Albe doubting their pollicie, stood still, against the will of the Prince of Spaine, not suffering him to passe ouer the Ryuer, but the counte of Arande and the Duke of Cardonne, (although they were countremanded) did followe the chase, and when the Moores sawe that they were pursued with so small a number, they returned, and at one recountrie kylled the Duke of Cardonne, and the Counte of Arande was so sore hurte as hee was lefte for dead in the place. Amadour arriuing vpon this ouerthrowe, inuaded the battayle of the Moores with sutche rage and furie, as hee rescued the twoo bodyes of the Duke and Countie, and caused them to be conueyed to the Prince’s campe, who so lamented their chaunce, as if they had bene his owne brethren: but in searching their woundes, the Countie of Arande was founde to be aliue, and was sent home to his own house in a horselitter, where of long time he was sicke, and likewise was conueied to Cardonne the dead bodie of the yong Duke. Amadour in rescuing those two bodies, tooke so little heede to him selfe, as he was inclosed with a great number of the Moores, and because he would bee no more taken, as well to verifie his faith towardes God, as also his vowe made to his Lady, and also considering that if he were prysoner to the kyng of Granado, either hee should cruelly be put to death, or els forced to renounce his faith, he determined not to make hisdeath or taking glorious to his enemies: wherefore kissing the crosse of his sworde, and rendring his body and soule to the handes of almighty God, he stabbed him selfe into the body with sutche a blow, as there neded no second wound to rid him of his life: in this sorte died poore Amadour, so muche lamented as his vertues did deserue. The newes hereof was bruted throughout Spaine, and came to Florinda who then was at Barselone, where her husbande in his life tyme ordeined the place of his buriall: and after shee had done his honourable obsequies, without making her own mother, or mother in law priuie, she surrendred her selfe into the monasterie of Iesus, there to liue a religious life, receiuing him for her husband and friende, whiche had deliuered her from the vehement loue of Amadour, and from a displeasaunt life so great and vnquiet as was the company of her husband. In this wise she conuerted all her affections, to pietie and the perfit loue of God, who after she had long time liued a religious life, shee yelded vp her soule in such ioye as the Bridegrom doth when he goeth to visite his spowes.

These hornes I weare and beare for euery man to view,But yet I weare them not in token they be trew.

These hornes I weare and beare for euery man to view,

But yet I weare them not in token they be trew.

The king retourning againe to the Gentleman’s house, finding this title newlye written, demaunded of the gentleman the signification of them.

Who said vnto him:

“If princesse secret things, be from the horned hart concealed,Why should like things of horned beastes, to Princes be revealed.

“If princesse secret things, be from the horned hart concealed,

Why should like things of horned beastes, to Princes be revealed.

But content your selfe: all they that weare hornes be pardoned to weare their capps vpon their heads: for they be so sweete and pleasaunt, as they vncappe no man, and they weare them so light, as they thincke they haue none at all.” The king knew well byhis wordes that he smelled something of his doings, but he neuer suspected the loue betwene the Queene and him. For the Queene was better contented wyth her husbande’s life, and with greater ease dissembled her griefe. Wherefore eyther parts lived long time in this loue, till age had taken order for dissolucion thereof. “Behold Ladyes (quoth Saffredante) this Historye which for example I have willinglye recited to thintente that when your husbands do make you hornes as big as a Goate, you maye render unto him the monstrous heade of a Stagge.” “Peace (quoth Emarsuite smyling) no more wordes, least you reuiue some sleeping sweet soule, which without stur would not awake; with any whispring.”

The rashe enterprise of a Gentleman against a Princesse of Flaunders, and of the shame that he receyued thereof.

Therewas in Flaunders a Lady of an honorable house, which had two husbands, by whom shee had no children that were then liuinge. Duringe the time of her widowhoode shee dwelte within one of her brothers, that loued her very well, which was a noble man, and had maried a king’s doughter. This yong Prince was muche giuen to pleasure, louinge huntinge, pastime, and the company of fayre Ladyes, accordingly as youth requireth. He had a wyfe that was curst and troublesome, whom the delectations of her husband in no wyse did contente and please: wherefore this noble man caused his sister daily to keepe company with his wyfe. This Gentlewoman his sister was of pleasaunt conuersation, and therewithal very honest and wyse. There was in the house of this noble man, a Gentleman whose worship, beautye and grace did surpasse all the rest of his companions. This Gentleman perceyuing the sister of his Lorde and Maister to be pleasaunte and of ioyfull countenaunce, thoughte to proue if the attempt of an honest frende would be vouchsaued, but he founde her aunswere to be contrary to her countenaunce: and albeit that her aunswere was such as was meete for a Princesse and right honest Gentlewoman, yet because she perceyued him to be a goodly personage, and curteous, she easily pardoned his bold attempt, and seemed that she toke it not in ill part when he spake vnto her. Neuerthelesse shee warned him, after that time, to moue no such matter, which he promised, because he would not lose his pleasure, and the honour that hee conceyued to entertaine her. Notwithstanding, by processe of time his affection increased so much as he forgot the promise which he had made her, wherefore he thoughte good not to hazarde his enterprise by wordes, for that hee had to long against his wyll experimented her wyse and discrete aunsweares: and therewithall he thought if he couldfinde her in some conueient place (because she was a yong widow, of lusty yeares and good complexion) it were possible shee woulde take pitie vppon him, and of herself. And that he might bring his purpose to effecte, he said to his Maister that he had besides his owne house very goodlie game, and that if it pleased him to kill three or foure Stagges in the moneth of May, he should see very good pastime. The Lord aswell for the loue hee bare to the Gentleman, as for the pleasure he had in hunting, graunted his request: and went to his house, which was so faire and well furnished, as the best Gentleman in all the countrey had no better. The gentleman lodged his Lord and Lady in one side of the house, and in the other directly against it her whome he loued better than himselfe. The Chamber where his maistres laye, was so well hanged with tapistrie, and so trimely matted, as it was impossible to perceiue a falling dore, harde by the bed’s side, descending to his mother’s chamber, which was an old Lady, much troubled with the Catarre and Rume. And because she had a cough, fearing to disease the Princesse which laye aboue her, she chaunged her chamber with her sonne. And euery night the olde Gentlewoman brought comficts to the Lady for her recreation, vpon whom the Gentleman wayted, who (for that he was well beloued and very familier with her brother) was not refused to be present at her rising and going to bedde. Whereby he daily toke occasion to increase his loue and affection: in suche sorte as one night, after he had caused the Ladye to sit vp late, (she being surprised with sleepe) he was forced to depart the chamber, and to repaire to his own. Wher when he had put on the most brauest perfumed shirt that he had, and his cap for the night so trimmely dressed, as there wanted nothing, he thought in beholding himself, that there was no Lady in the world that would refuse his beautie and comlinesse. Wherefore promising himselfe a happie successe in his enterprise, hee went to his bed where he purposed not long to abide, for the desire that he had to enter into another, whiche should be more honourable and pleasaunt vnto him. And after he had sent his men away, he rose to shut the dore after them, and hearkened a good while, whether he could heare any noyse in the Ladie’s chamber aboue. And when he wassure that euery man was at rest, he began to take his pleasaunt iourney, and by litle and litle opened the falling dore, whiche was so well trimmed with cloth, that it made no noyse at all, and went vp to the Ladie’s bed side, which then was in her first sleepe, and without respecte of the bonde and promise that he made vnto her, or the honorable house wherof she came, without leaue or reuerence, he laid himselfe down besides her, who felt him betwene her armes before she perceiued his comming. But she which was somewhat strong, vnfolded her self out of his handes, and in asking him what he was, began to strike, to bite and scratche, in suche wyse, as he was constrained (for feare least she should crye out) to stoppe her mouth with the couerlet, which was impossible for him to do. For when she sawe him to presse with all his force to despoyle her of her honor, she spared no part of her might to defende and kepe her selfe, and called (so loude as she could) her woman of honor, that laye in her chamber, whiche was a very auncient and sober gentlewoman, who in her smock, ran straight to her maistresse. And when the Gentleman perceiued that hee was discouered, hee was so fearfull to be knowen of the Ladye, as sone as he could hee shifted himself down by his trapdore. And where before he conceiued hope and assuraunce to be welcome, now he was brought in despaire for retourning in so vnhappy state. When he was in his chamber, he found his glasse and candle vpon the table, and beholding his face all bloudy with the scratchings and bitinges, whiche shee had bestowed vpon him, the bloud wherof ran down his fayre shyrt, better bloudied then gilted, he began to make his moone in this wise: “O beautie, thou art nowe payed thy desert, for vppon thy vayne promise haue I aduentured a thing impossible. And that which might haue bene the augmenting of my delight is nowe the redoubling of my sorowe. Being assured that if she knewe howe contrary to my promise I haue enterprised this foolishe fact, I should vtterly forgoe the honest and common conuersation whiche I haue with her aboue al other. That which my estimation, beautie and good behauiour doe deserue, I ought not to hyde in darkenesse. To gaine her loue, I ought not to haue assayed her chaste bodye by force, but rather by seruice and humble pacience, to wayte and attend tillloue did vanquishe. For without loue all the vertue and puissance of man is of no power and force.” Euen thus he passed the night in such teares, griefes and plaintes, as can not be well reported and vttered. In the morning, when he beheld his bloudy face all mangled and torne, he fained to be very sicke, and that he could abide no light, til the company were gone from his house. The Ladye whiche thus remained victorious, knowing that there was no man in all her brother’s Court, that durst attempt a deede so wicked, but her hoste which was so bolde to declare his loue vnto her, knew well that it was he. And when she and her woman of honour had searched all the corners of the chamber to knowe what he was, and could not finde hym, she sayd vnto her woman in great rage: “Assure your selfe it can be none other, but the Gentleman of the house, whose villanous order I wyll reueale to my brother in the morning, in such sorte, as his head shalbe a witnesse and testimony of my chastitie.” Her woman seing her in that furie, sayd vnto her; “Madame, I am right glad to see the loue and affection which you beare to your honor, for the increase wherof you doe not spare the life of one, which hath aduentured himselfe so muche for the loue that hee beareth vnto you. But many times such one thinketh by those meanes to increase loue, which altogether he doth diminishe. Wherefore (Madame) I humbly beseche you to tell me the truthe of this facte.” And when the Ladie had recompted the same at lengthe, the woman of honour sayd vnto her: “Your grace doth say that he got no other thyng of you, but scratches and blowes with your fistes.” “No, I assure you (quod the Ladie) and I am certaine if hee gette hym not a good Surgeon, the markes will be seene to morowe.” “Wel Madame (quod the gentlewoman) sithens it is so, me thinketh you haue greater occasion to prayseGod, then to muse vpon reuenge: For you may beleue, that sithens he had the courage to enterprise so great an exploit, and that despite hath failed him of his purpose, you can deuise no greater death for him to suffer, then the same. If you desire to be reuenged, let Loue and shame alone bring that to passe, who knowe better which way to tormente him than your selfe, and with greater honor to your persone. Take heede Madame from falling into such inconuenience as he is in, for inplace of great pleasure whiche he thought to haue gayned, he hath receiued the extremest anoyance, that any gentleman can suffer. And you Madame, by thinking to augment your honor, you may decrease and diminish the same. And by making complaint, you shal cause that to be knowen, which no man knoweth. For of his part (you may be assured) there shall neuer be anything reuealed. And when my Lorde your brother at your requeste, shall execute the iustice which you desire, and that the poore Gentleman shal be ready to die, the brute will runne that he hath had his pleasure vpon you. And the greatest numbre will say, that it is very difficult for a Gentleman to doe suche an enterprise, except the Lady minister some great occasion. Your grace is faire and yong, frequenting your life in pleasant company, there is none in all the Court, but seeth and marketh the good countenaunce you beare to that Gentleman, whereof your selfe hath some suspicion: which will make euery man suppose that if he hath done this enterprise, it was not without some consent from you. And your honor which hetherto hath borne your port a loft, shall be disputed vpon in all places where this historie shall be remembred.” The Princesse well waying the good reasons and aduise of her gentlewoman, knewe that she spake the truthe: and that by moste iust cause she should be blamed: considering the familiaritie and good countenaunce which dayly she bare vnto the Gentleman. Wherefore she inquired of her woman of honour, what was beste to bee done. Who aunswered her thus. “Madame, sith it pleaseth you to receiue mine aduise, by waying the affection whereof it procedeth, me thinke you ought in your hart to reioyce, that the goodliest, and moste curteous Gentleman that liueth, could neither by loue, or force, despoile you of your greatest vertue and chastitie. For which (Madame) you are bounde to humble your selfe before God, acknowledging that it is not done by your vertue, bicause many women walking in a more paineful and more vnpleasaunt trade then you do, haue humiliated and brought low by men farre more vnworthy of loue, then he which loueth you. And ye ought now to feare more than euer you did, to vse any semblance and take of amitie, bicause there haue bene many that haue fallen the second time into daungers and perils, which they haue auoyded at thefirst. Remember (Madame) that loue is blind, who blaseth mens eyes in such sort, as where a man thinketh the waye moste sure, ther his most readie to fal. And I suppose Madame, that you ought not to seme to be priuie of this chaunce, neither to him, ne yet to any els, and when he remembreth anye thing to you, doe make as though you did not vnderstande his meaning, to auoyde twoo daungers. The one of vaine glorie for the victorie you haue had, the other to take pleasure in remembring things, that be so pleasaunt to the flesh, which the most chaste haue had much a do to defend theimselues from feling some sparkes, although they seke meanes to shunne and auoyde them with all their possible power. Moreouer, Madame, to thende that he thinke not by suche hazard and enterprise to haue done a thing agreable to your minde, my counsell is, that by litle and litle, you doe make your selfe straunge, and vse no more your wonted grace vnto him, that he may know how much you despise his folly and consider how great your goodnesse is, by contenting your self with the victory which God hath geuen you, without seeking any further vltion or reuengement. And God graunt you grace (Madame) to continue that honestie which hee hath planted in your hart, and by acknowledging that all goodnesse procedeth from him, you may loue him and serue him, better than euer ye did.” The Princesse determined to credite the counsayle of her gentlewoman, slepte with so great ioye as the poore gentleman waked with sorrow. On the morrow the noble man ready to depart, asked for his hoste, vnto whom answere was made that he was so sicke, as he could not abide the light, or endure to heare one speake. Wherof the Prince was sore abashed, and would haue visited him, but that it was told him he was a slepe, and was very loth to wake him. Wherefore without bidding him farewell, he departed, taking with him his wife and sister, who hearing the excuse of the Gentleman that would not see the Prince, nor yet his companie, at their departure, was persuaded that it was he, that had done her al that torment, and durst not shew the markes which she had signed in his face. And although his Maister did sende oftimes for him yet came he not to the Court, vntill he was healed of his woundes, except that whiche loue and despite had made in his harte. When he came to the Courte and appearedbefore his victorious enemie, he blushed for shame of his ouer throwe. And he which was the stoutest of all the company was so astonned as many times being in her presence, hee could not tell which way to loke or tourne his face. Wherfore she was assured that her suspicion was certain and true, by litle and litle estraunging her self from him, but it was not done so sleightly or politikely but that he perceiued well enough, and yet he durst make no semblaunce, for feare of worse aduenture. Notwithstanding he conserued both loue in his hart, and pacience in his minde, for the losse of his Ladie’s fauour, which he had right well deserued.

The loue of Amadour and Florinda: wherein be conteined mani sleightes and dissimulations, together with the renowmed chastitie of the said Florinda.

Inthe Countie of Arande, in Aragon, a region in Spaine, there was a Ladie whiche in the best time of her youth, continued the widow of the Earle of Arande, with one sonne, and one daughter, called Florinda. The sayde Lady brought vp her children in all vertue and honestie, meete and conuenable for Lordes and Gentlemen, in such sorte, as her house was renowmed to be one of the most honorable in all the Region of Spaine. Many times she repaired to Tolledo, where the kinge of Spaine helde his Court, and when she came to Sarragosa, which was harde adioyning to the court, she continued long with the Queene, and in the Courte, where she was had in so good estimation as any Lady might be. Vpon a time going towardes the king, according to her custome, which was at Sarragosa, in his castle of Iafferie, this Lady passed by a village that belonged to the Viceroy of Catalongne, who still continued vppon the frontiers of Parpignon, for the great warres that were betwene the Frenche king and him. Howebeit, at that time peace being concluded, the Viceroy with all his captaines were come to do reuerence to the king. The Viceroy knowing that the Countesse of Arrande did passe through his countrie, went to mete her, as well for auncient amitie, as for the honor he bare vnto her being allied to the kyng. Nowe this Viceroy had in his companye diuers honest Gentlemen, whiche through the frequentation and continuance of the long warres, had gotten suche honour and fame, as euery man that might see them and behold them did accompt them selues happy. But amonges all other, there was one called Amadour, who although he was butXVIII.orXIX.yeares of age, yet he had such an assured grace and witte so excellent, as he was demed amongs a thousand persones worthy to haue the gouernement of a common wealth, whiche good witte was coupled with maruellous naturall beautie, so that therewas no eye, but did content it self eftsones to beholde hym. And this beautie so exquisite, was associated with wonderfull eloquence, as doubtfull to say, whether merited greatest honor, either his grace and beautie, or his excellent tongue. But that which brought him into best reputation, was his great hardinesse, whereof the common reporte and brute was nothing impeached or staied for all his youth. For in so many places he shewed his chiualrie, as not only Spain but Fraunce and Italie, did singularly commend and set forth his vertue: bicause in all the warres wherin he was present, he neuer spared him self for any daunger. And when his countrie was in peace and quiet, he sought to serue in straunge places, being loued and estemed both of his frendes and enemies. This Gentleman for the loue of his Captaine was come into that countrey, where was arriued the Countesse of Arande, and in beholding the beautie and good grace of her daughter, which was not then pastXII.yeres of age, he thought that she was the fairest and most vertuous personage that euer he sawe: and that if he could obtaine her good will, he should be so well satisfied as if he had gained all the goods and pleasures of the worlde. And after he had a good whyle viewed her, for all the impossibilitie that reason could deuise to the contrary, he determined to loue her, although some occasion of that impossibilitie might ryse through the greatnesse of the house wherof she came, and for want of age which was not able as yet to vnderstande the passions of loue. But against the feare thereof he was armed with good hope, persuading himselfe, that time and patience would bring happie ende to his trauayle: and from that time gentle Loue whiche without any other occasion than by his own force was entred the harte of Amadour, promised him fauour and helpe by all meanes possible to attaine the same. And to prouide for the greatest difficultie, which was the farre distance of the countrie wher he dwelt, and the small occasion that he had thereby any more to see Florinda, he thought to marry against his determination made with the ladies of Barselone and Parpignon, amonges whom he was so conuersant by reason of the warres, as he semed rather to be a Cathelan, than a Castillan, although he wer borne by Tollede, of a riche and honourable house, yetbicause he was a yonger brother, he inioyed no great patrimonie or reuenue. Notwithstanding, loue and fortune seing him forsaken of his parentes, determined to accomplishe some notable exployt in him, and gaue him (by meanes of his vertue) that which the lawes of his countrey refused to geue. He had good experience in factes of warre, and was so well beloued of al Princes and Rulers, as he refused many times their goodes, being resolued not to care or esteme the benefites of Fortune. The Countesse of whome I spake, arriued thus at Saragossa, was very well intertained of the king, and of his whole Court. The Gouernour of Catalogne, many times came thither to visite her, whom Amadour neuer failed to accompany, for the onely pleasure he had to talke with Florinda: and to make himselfe to be knowen in the company, hee went to Auenturade, whiche was the daughter of an old knight that dwelt hard by the house, whiche from her youth was brought vp with Florinda, in such familiar sorte, as she knewe all the secrets of her harte. Amadour, as well for the honestie that he found in her, as for the liuing ofIII.M.ducates by the yeare which she should haue with her in mariage, determined to geue her such intertaignement, as one that was disposed to marry her. Wherunto the gentlewoman did willingly recline her eare: and bicause he was poore, and the father of the damosell rich, she thought that her father would neuer accorde to the mariage, except it were by meanes of the Countesse of Arande. Wherupon she went to madame Florinda, and saide vnto her: “Madame, you see this Castillan gentleman, which so oftentimes talketh with me, I doe beleue that his pretence is to marry me: you do know what a father I haue, who will neuer geue his consent, if he be not persuaded therunto by my Lady your mother and you.” Florinda which loued the damosell as her selfe, assured her that shee would take vpon her to bring that matter to passe, with so earnest trauaile as if the case were her own. Then Auenturade brought Amadour before Florinda, who after he had saluted her, was like to fall in a sowne for ioy, and although he were compted the moste eloquent persone of Spaine, yet was he now become mute and dumb before Florinda, wherat she maruelled much: for albeit she was butXII.yeares of age, yet she vnderstode that there was noman in Spaine that had a better tongue, or a more conuenable grace than he. And seing that he said nothing vnto her, she spake vnto him in this wise: “The fame which is bruted of you (sir Amadour) throughout the whole countrie of Spaine, is such as it maketh you knowen and estemed in this company, and giueth desire and occasion to those that know you, to imploy themselues to do you pleasure: wherefore if there be any thing wherin I may gratifie you, vse me I besech you.” Amadour that gased vpon the beautie of that lady, was rapt and surprised, not well able to render thankes vnto her. And although Florinda maruelled to see him without aunswere, yet she imputed it rather to bashfulnesse than to any force of loue, and departed without further talke. Amadour knowing the vertue which in so tender yeares began to appeare in Florinda, saide vnto her whome he purposed to marry: “Doe not maruell, though my speache do fayle before Madame Florinda, for the vertues and discretion, hidden in that yonge personage, did so amase mee, as I wiste not what to saye: but I praye you Auenturade (quod he) who knoweth all her secretes, to tell me, if it be otherwyse possible, but that she hath the harte of all the Lordes and Gentlemen of the Court: for they which know her and doe not loue her, be stones, or beastes.” Auenturade whiche then loued Amadour more than all the men in the worlde, and would conceale nothing from him, said vnto him: that Madame Florinda was generally beloued: but for the custome of the countrie, fewe men did speake unto her. “And (quod she) as yet I se none that make any semblance of loue vnto her, but two young Princes of Spaine, which desire to marry her, whereof the one is the sonne of the Infant Fortune, and the other of the Duke of Cadouce.” “I praye you then (quod Amadour) to tell me which of them as you think, doth loue her best.” “She is so wise” said Auenturade, “that she will confesse or graunt her loue to none, but to such as her mother pleaseth. But yet so far as we can iudge she fauoureth muche better the sonne of the Infant Fortune, than the Duke of Cadouce: and for that I take you to be a man of good iudgment, this day you shall haue occasion to consider the truth: for the sonne of the Infant Fortune is brought vp in Court, and is one of the goodliest and perfectestyong Gentlemen in al christendome: and if the mariage do procede, according to our opinion, which be her women, he shalbe assured to haue Madame Florinda: and then shalbe ioyned together the goodliest couple in the world. And you must vnderstand, that although they be both very yong, she ofXII.yeares of age, and he ofXV.yet is there three yeares past since their loue first began: and if you be disposed aboue other to obtain her fauour, mine aduise is, that ye become friend and seruaunt vnto him.” Amadour was very ioyfull to heare tell that his Lady loued some man, trusting that in tyme he should wynne the place, not of husbande, but of seruaunt: for he feared nothing at all of her vertue, but a lacke of disposition to loue. And after this communication, Amadour bent himselfe to haunt the societie of the sonne of the Infant Fortune, whose good will he sone recouered, for all the pastimes whiche the yong Prince loued, Amadour could doe right well: and aboue other, he was very cunning in riding of horsses, and in handling al kindes of armes and weapons, and in all other pastimes and games meete for a yong Gentleman. Warres began in Languedoc, and Amadour was forced to retire with the Gouernour, to his great sorrowe and grief, for he had there no meane to returne to the place where he might se Florinda. For which cause he spake to his owne brother, whiche was Steward of the king of Spaine’s houshold, and declared vnto him what courtesie he had found in the house of the Countesse of Arande, and of the damosel Auenturade: praying him that in his absence he would do his indeuour, that the mariage might proceede, and that he would obtaine for him the credit and good opinion of the king and Queene, and of al his friendes. The Gentleman which loued his brother, as well by nature’s instigation, as for his great vertues, promised him his trauaile and industrie to the vttermoste. Which he did in such wise as the old man her father, nowe forgetting other naturall respect, began to marke and beholde the vertues of Amadour, which the Countesse of Arande, and specially faire Florinda, painted and set foorth vnto him, and likewyse the Yong earl of Arande whiche increased in yeares, and therewithall in loue of those that were vertuous, and geuen to honest exercise. And when the mariage was agreedbetweene the parentes, the said Steward sent for his brother whilest the truce endured betwene the two kings. About this time, the king of Spain retired to Madric, to auoyd the euil aire that was in many places, where by the aduise of diuers of his counsell, and at the request of the Countesse of Arande, he made a mariage betwene the yong Duchesse the heire of Medina Celi, and the yong Earle of Arande, as wel for the vnion of their house, as also for the loue he bare to the said Countesse. And this mariage was celebrated in the Castell of Madric, whereunto repaired Amadour, who so well obtained his suite, as he maried her, of whom he was muche better beloued, than his smal loue toward her deserued, sauing that it was a couerture and meanes for him to frequent the place where his minde and delight incessantly remained: after he was maried, he became well acquainted and familiar in the house of the Countesse, so that he was so conuersaunt amonges the Ladies, as if he had bene a woman: and although hee was then butXXII.yeares of age, he was so wise and graue, as the Countesse imparted vnto him all her affaires, commaunding her sonne and daughter to intertayne him, and to credite all thinges wherein hee gaue counsell. Hauing wonne this great estimation, he behaued him selfe so wyse and politike, that euen the partie whiche he loued knewe no parte of his affection: but by reason of the loue that Florinda bare to the wife of Amadour, whome shee loued more than any other woman, she was so familiar with him, as shee dissembled no part of her thought, declaring vnto him all the loue that she bare the sonne of the Infant Fortune: and he that desired nothing more than throughly to winne her, ceassed not from continuance of talke, not caring whereof he spake, so that he might hold her with long discourse: Amadour had not after his mariage continued a moneth in that companie, but was constrained to retire to the warres, where hee continued more than twoo yeares, without retourne to see his wife, who still abode in the place where she was brought vp. During the time, Amadour wrote many letters vnto his wife, but the chiefest substance therof consisted in commendations to Florinda, who for her part failed not to render like vnto him, many times writing some pretie worde or posie with her own hand, in theletter of Auenturade. Which made her husband Amadour diligent many times to write again vnto her, but in al this doing Florinda conceiued nothing, but that he loued her with such like loue as the brother oweth to the sister. Many times Amadour went and came, but in the space of fiue yeares he neuer sawe Florinda twoo monethes together: notwithstanding, Loue in despite of their distaunce and long absence, ceassed not to increase: and it chaunced that hee made a voyage home to see his wyfe, and founde the Countesse farre from the court, bicause the kyng of Spain was done to Vandelousie, and had taken with him the yong Earle of Arande, whiche then began to bere armes. The Countesse was retired to a house of pleasure, which shee had vpon the frontiers of Arragon and Nauarre, and was right ioyfull when shee see Amadour, who almoste three yeares had bene absent. He was very well recieued of euery man, and the countesse commaunded that he should be vsed and entreated as her howne sonne. During the time that he soiourned with her, she communicated vnto him all the affaires of her house, and committed the greatest trust thereof to his discretion, who wan such credite in the house as in all places where he liste, the dores were opened vnto him: whose wysedome and good behauiour made him to be estemed like a Sainct or Aungell. Florinda, for the loue and good wyll she bare unto his wyfe and him, made muche of him in all places where she sawe him: and therfore tooke no hede vnto his countenaunce, for that her hart as yet felt no passion, but a certen contentation in her selfe, when she was in the presence of Amadour, and of any other thing she thought not. Amadour to auoyde the iudgement of them that haue proued the difference of Louers countenaunces, was very ware and circumspect: for when Florinda came to speake vnto hym secretly (like one that thought no hurt) the fier hydden in his breste, burned so sore, as he could not staye the blushyng colour of his face, nor the sparkes whiche flewe out of his eyes: and to the intent, that through long frequentation, none might espie the same, he intertaigned a very fayre Ladye called Paulina, a woman in his tyme accompted so fayre, as fewe men whiche behelde her, coulde escape her bondes,This Ladye Paulina vnderstanding howe Amadour vsed his Loueat Barselone and Parpignon, and how he was beloued of the fayrest Ladies of the Countrie, and aboue all of the Countesse of Palamons, whiche in beautie was prysed to be the fayrest in all Spayne, and of many other, sayde vnto hym: “That shee had great pitie of hym, for that after so manye good Fortunes, he had maried a wyfe so foule and deformed.” Amadour vnderstanding well by those woordes, that she had desyre to remedy her owne necessitie, vsed the best maner he coulde deuise, to the intent that in makyng her beleue a lye, he should hyde from her the truthe. But shee subtile and well experimented in Loue, was not contente with talke, but perceyuing well that his harte was not satisfied with her Loue, doubted that hee coulde not serue his Lady in secrete wise, and therefore marked hym so nere, as daylye she had a respecte and watche vnto hys eyes, whiche hee coulde so well dissemble, as she was able to iudge nothyng, but by darke suspicion, not without great payne and difficultie to the Gentleman, to whome Florinda (ignoraunt of all their malice) dyd resorte many tymes in presence of Paulina, whose demeaner then was so familiar, as he with maruellous payne refrayned his lookes against his harte and desire: and to auoyde that no inconuenience should ensue, one daye speaking to Florinda, as they were both leaning at a wyndow, sayd these words: “Madame, I beseche you to tell mee whether it is better to speake or to die.” Whereunto Florinda answered readily, saying, “I will euer geue councell to my frendes to speake and not to dye: for there be fewe wordes spoken but that they may be amended, but the life lost cannot be recouered.” “Promise me then” said Amadour, “that not onely ye will accept those wordes which I will say, but also not to be astonned or abashed, till ye haue heard the end of my tale.” To whom she aunswered: “Say what it please you, for if you do affray me none other shall assure me.” Then he began to saye vnto her: “Madame, I haue not yet bene desirous to disclose vnto you the great affection which I beare you, for twoo causes: the one, bicause I attend by my long seruice, to shewe you the experience thereof: the other, for that I doubted you would thinke a great presumption in me (which am but a poore gentleman) to insinuate my selfe in place whereof I am not worthy: and althoughI were a Prince as you be, the loyaltie yet of your harte, will not permitte any other, but him which hath already taken possession (the sonne I meane of the Infant Fortune) to vse in talke any matter of loue: but Madame, like as necessitie in time of great warr constraineth men to make hauoke of their owne goodes, and to consume the greene corne, that the enemy take no profit and reliefe thereof, euen so doe I hazard to aduaunce the frute, which in time I hope to gather, that your enemies and mine may inioye thereof none aduauntage. Knowe ye Madame, that from the time of your tender yeares, I haue in such wyse dedicated my selfe to your seruice as I ceasse not still to aspire the meanes to achieue your grace and fauour: and for that occasion, I did marry her whome I thought you did loue best: and knowing the loue you beare to the sonne of the Infant Fortune, I haue indeuoured to serue him as you haue sene: and that wherein I thought you dyd delighte, I haue accomplished to the vttermoste of my power. You doe see that I haue gotten the good wil of the Countesse your mother, of the Earle your brother, and of all those that doe beare you good wyll: in sutche sorte as in this house I am estemed, not like a seruaunt, but as a sonne: and all the labour whiche I haue sustayned these fiue yeares past, was for none other cause, but to lyue all the daies of my life with you: and vnderstand you wel that I am none of those whiche by these meanes doe pretende to receiue of you anye profite or pleasure, other than that which is good and vertuous: I do know that I can neuer marrie you, and if I could I would not for letting the loue that you beare vnto him, whom I desire to be your husbande, likewise to loue you in vicious sorte, like them that hope to recompence their seruice with dishonour of their Ladies, I am so farre of from that affection, as I had rather be dead than to see you by desert worthy of lesse loue, and that your vertue shoulde by any meanes be diminished for any pleasure that might happen vnto mee. I do pretend and craue for the ende and recompence of my service, but one thing: which is, that you will continue my loyall and faithfull maistresse, neuer to withdrawe from me your wonted grace and fauour, and that you will maintaine mee in that estate wherein I am. Reposinge your trust and fidelitie in me more than in any other, making your selfe soassured of me, as if for your honor or any cause touching your person, you stand in neede of the life of a Gentleman, the same shal right willingly be employed at your commaundement: in like maner all thinges vertuous and honest which euer I shal attempt I beseech you to thinke to be done onely for the loue of you: and if I haue done for Ladies of lesse reputacion than you be, any thing worthy of regard, be assured that for such a maistresse as you be, my enterprises shal increase in such sort, as the things which I found difficult and impossible, shall be easelie for me to accomplishe; but if you do not accept mee to be wholy yours, I determine to giue ouer armes, and to renounce valiaunce, because it hath not succoured me in necessitie: wherfore, Madame, I humblie beseech you that my iust request may not be refused, sith with your honour and conscience you cannot well denie the same.” The yong Lady hearing this vnaccustomed sute, began to chaunge her colour, and to caste downe her eyes like an amased woman, notwithstandinge, being wyse and discrete she said vnto him: “If (Amadour) your request vnto me be none other than you pretende, wherefore have you discoursed this long Oration? I am afraid lest vnder this honeste pretence there lurketh some hidden malice to deceiue the ignoraunce of my youth, wherby I am wrapt in great perplexitie how to make you aunswere: for to refuse the honest amitie which you haue offered, I shall doe contrary to that I haue done hitherto, for I haue reposed in you more trust than in any liuing creature: my conscience or mine honour cannot gainesay your demaunde, nor the loue that I beare to the sonne of the Infant Fortune, which is grounded vpon fayth of mariage: where you say that you pretende nothinge but that is good and vertuous, I cannot tell what thing should let me to make you aunswere according to your request, but a feare that I conceiue in hart, founded vpon the small occasion that you haue to vse that speache, for if you haue alreadye what you demaunde, what doth constraine you to speake so affectuouslie?” Amadour that was not without an aunsweare, said vnto her: “Madame, you speake very wisely, and you do me so much honour, for the confidence and truste which according to your sayinge you do repose in me, as if I doe not content my selfe with such a benefite, I were thevnworthiest man aliue: but vnderstande Madame, that he which goeth about to builde a perpetual mansion, ought to haue regard to a sure and firme foundacion: wherfore I which desire perpetually to remaine your seruaunte, doe seeke not onely the meanes to kepe my selfe neare about you, but also to foresee that none doe vnderstand the great affection that I do beare you: for although my mind be so vertuous and honest, as the same may disclose it selfe before the whole worlde, yet there bee some so ignorant and vnskilfull of louers harts, as manye times will iudge contrary to trouth, wherof proceedeth so ill brute and report, as if the effectes were wicked: the cause which hath made me so bold to say and declare vnto you thus much, is the suspicion that Paulina hath conceyued, for that I cannot loue her: who doth nothing els but marke and espie my countenaunce in euerye place, and when you vse your familiar talke with me before her, I am so afraide to shewe any signe whereby shee maye grounde or verifie her iudgemente, that I fall into that inconuenience, which I would willingly auoyde: wherefore I haue thought good to beseech you (before her and those which you do know to be so malicious) to refraine from talkinge with mee so sodainlye, for I had rather dye, than anye liuinge creature should haue mistrust thereof: and were it not for the loue which I beare vnto your honour, I had not yet declared the same vnto you, for I do hold my selfe sufficiente happy and content of the onely loue and affiaunce that you put in me, crauing nought els butt the continuance of the same.” Florinda wel satisfyed with this aunswere, began to feele in harte a further thing to growe than euer she did before: and hearing the honest reasons alleaged by him, said, that her honestie and vertue shoulde make aunsweare for her, and therewithall assented to his demaunde: whereof whether Amadour were ioyful, Louers neede not doubt: but Florinda credited more his counsell, than he would haue had her. For shee being fearefull and timerous, not onely before Paulina, but in all other places, vsed farre other countenaunce than she was wont to do: and in this alienation of her former familiarity, she misliked the conuersation that Amadour had with Paulina, whose beauty was such, that she could not otherwise beleeue, but that hee loued her: and Florinda to passe ouer herheauinesse, daily vsed the company of Auenturade, that began maruelously to be ialous betweene her husbande and Paulina, whereof shee made complaint many times to Florinda, who comforted her so well as shee coulde, like one attached with the same disease: Amadour coniecturinge by the countenaunce of Florinda, that not onely shee was estraunged from hym through his former aduertisement, but also that there was some other displeasure conceyued, comming vpon a time, from euensong out of the Monasterie, he sayd vnto her: “Madame, what countenaunce do you make me?” “Such as I thincke doth please you best,” answered Florinda. Then Amadour suspecting a matter, to know whether it were true, began to saye: “Madame, I haue so vsed Paulina, as she beginneth to give ouer her opinion of you.” She answered him: “Ye cannot do a better thing either for your selfe or for me: for in doing your selfe a pleasure, you do honour vnto me.” Amadour iudged by these words that she thought he toke pleasure to talke of Paulina, wherewith he became so desperate, as hee could not forbeare to say vnto her in anger: “Madame, you begin very sone to torment your seruante: there was neuer paine more greeuous vnto mee, than to be forced to speake to her whom I loue not: and sithens al that which I do for your seruice is taken in ill part, I wil neuer speake againe vnto her, whatsoeuer happen: and to dissemble mine anger and contentacion, I wil addresse my selfe to some place hereby, till your fancie be ouer past: but I hope I shall receiue newes from my captaine, to retourne to the warres, where I will so longe continue, as you shall well knowe, that nothing els but you alone doth force me to tarrie here.” And in saying so, without attending for her aunswere, hee incontinently departed, and shee remayned so sad and pensive as any woman coulde be: and loue began to shewe his greate force in such wyse as shee knowing her wrong incessantly, wrote to Amadour praying him to retourne home, which he did within a few dayes after that his choler was past, and to tell you what businesse there was, to interrupte and breake the ialousie conceiued, it were superfluous: but in the ende, he wanne the field, so that she promised him, not onely to beleeue that he loued not Paulina, but also helde her selfe assured that it should be to him a martirdome intollerable, tospeake vnto her or any other, except it were to do her seruice: after that loue had vanquished this presente suspicion, and that the two louers began to take more pleasure in their mutuall talke than euer they did before: newes came that the king of Spaine was about to addres his Armie to Saulse, wherfore he that was wont to be there with the first, was not like now to fayle to augment his honour: but true it is, that his griefe was presently more greate, than at other times before, aswell for losinge the pleasure which he enioyed, as for feare to finde some mutacion and chaunge at his returne, because he saw Florinda pursued by great Princes and Lords, and alreadye come to the age ofXV.yeares, and thought that if she were maried in his absence, he should neuer haue occasion to see her againe, except the Countesse of Arande would appointe his wyfe to waite vppon her: for accomplishment wherof he made such frends, as the Countesse and Florinda promised him, that into what soeuer place she were maried his wyfe Auenturade should attende vpon her: and although it was in question that Florinda should be maried into Portugall, yet determined that his wyfe should neuer forsake her: and vppon this assuraunce, not without vnspeakeable sorow, Amadour departed and left his wife with the Countesse. When Florinda was alone, her seruaunt departed, shee gaue her selfe to all vertuous life, hopinge thereby to atteine the fame of a most perfecte Lady, and to be counted worthie the interteignemente of such a seruaunt. Amadour arriued at Barsalone, was banqueted and intertayned of the Ladies after the old maner, but they finding him so altered and chaunged, thought that Mariage could neuer haue had such power vppon man, as it had ouer him: for he seemed then to disdaine, what somtime he greatly desired, and specially the Countesse of Palamons, whom he derely loued, could deuise by no meanes to make him go alone home to his lodging: Amadour tarried at Barsalone so little while as hee coulde, because hee might not come late to the place where hee purposed to winne and atchiue honour: and being arriued at Saulse, great and cruell warres were comenced betwene the two kinges, which I purpose not to recite, ne yet the noble enterprises done by Amadour, whose fame was bruted aboue the rest of his companions. The duke of Nagyers arriuinge at Parpignon, hadcharge of two thousand men, and prayed Amadour to be his Lieuetenaunte, who with that hand serued so well, as no crie was hard in al the skirmishes, other than of Nagyers. It chaunced that the king of Thunis, which of long time had warre with the Spaniards, vnderstandinge howe the kinges of Spaine and Fraunce were together by the eares at Parpignon and Narbonne, thought that in better time he could not anoye the king of Spaine: wherefore he sent a great nomber of Foists and other vessels, to robbe and spoile those frontiers which were ill guarded and kept: they of Barsalone seing a nomber of Shippes passe before the Towne, aduertised the king that was at Saulse, who immediatly sent the Duke of Nagyers to Palamons: and when the shippes discried that the place was well guarded, they made as though they would passe further: but about midnight they retourned, and landed so many men, that the Duke of Nagyers was taken prisoner. Amadour which was very vigilant, hearing allarme, presently assembled so many men as he could, and defended him self so wel, as the force of his enemies a long time could not hurt him: but in thende knowing that the Duke of Nagyers was taken prisoner, and that the Turks were determined to burn the Citie of Palamons, and then to fier the house which he strongly had forced againste them, hee thought it better to render himself, than to be cause of the losse of so manye good souldiors as were vnder his gouernmente, and also by putting himselfe to raunsome, he hoped in time to come to see Florinda: then he submitted himselfe to a Turke called Derlyn, the gouernor of the king of Thunis, who conueyed him home to his maister, where he was well entertaigned, and better kept: for they thought that hauing him in their hands, they had gotten the only Achilles of Spaine. In this sort Amadour continued almost the space of two yeares, in the seruice of the king of Thunis: newes came into Spaine of this ouerthrow, wherof the frends of the Duke of Nagyers, were very sorowfull: but they that loued the honor of their countrie, thoughte Amadour to bee the greatest losse, the brute wherof was noysed in the house of the Countesse of Arande, wher at that time the poore gentlewoman Auenturade lay very sore sicke. The Countesse suspecting very much the affection that Amadourbare vnto her daughter, which he suffered and dissembled for his vertue’s sake, called her daughter aside, and told her the pitious newes. Florinda which could well dissemble said unto her, that it was a great losse for al their house, but specially she pitied the state of his poore wife, because at that time she was so sore sicke. But seing her mother weepe so bitterly, she let fal some teares to keepe her company, least through to much dissimulacion her loue might be discouered. After that time, the Countesse spake to her many times, but she could neuer perceiue by her countenance, any cause of certaine suspicion. I will leaue to speake of the voyages, the prayers, the supplications and fastings, which Florinda did ordinarily make for the safegard and prosperitie of Amadour, who incontinently so sone as he was ariued at Thunis, sent newes to his frends, and by a sure messenger aduertized Florinda, that he was in good health and hope to retourne. Which newes was to the poore Lady, the only meanes to releue and ease her sorow. And doubt ye not, but the meanes of writing, was vtterly debarred from Amadour, wherof Florinda acquited herself so diligently, as by her letters and epistles, he receiued great consolation and comfort. The Countesse of Arande receiued commaundement from the king to repaire to Saragosa, where hee that time was arriued. And there she found the yong Duke of Cardonne making sute to the king and Queene, for mariage of her daughter. The Countesse vnwilling to disobey the king, agreed, thinkinge that her daughter being very yonge, had none other affection, but that which already had taken sure impression. When the accorde was concluded, shee sayde vnto her daughter, that she had chosen that matche, as best worthy to ioyne with her person. Her daughter considering howe in a thing already done it was to late to take counsell, said vnto her, that God was to be praised in all things. And seing her mother so far alienated from her intent, she thought it better to shew her selfe obedient, than to take pitie vpon herselfe. And to comfort her in that sorowe, she vnderstode that the infant Fortune was at the point of death. But before her mother or any other person, she shewed not so much as one signe or token therof, strayning her grief so much, asthe teares by force retiringe to her harte, did cause the bloud to issue forth at her Nose, in such abundance, as her life was in present daunger. And to recouer her of that disease, shee was maried vnto him, for whose sake shee had rather haue chaunged her life for present death. After the mariage, Florinda went wyth her husbande into the Duchy of Cardonne, and in her company Auenturade, to whom she secretly made complaint, as wel of her mother’s rigor, as also of the sorow she conceyued for the losse of the sonne of the Infant Fortune. But of her griefe for Amadour, she spake no worde, but by way of comforting her. This yong lady then determined to haue God and the respect of her honoure before her eies, and so wel to dissemble her griefes, as none at any time should perceiue that shee misliked her husband. In this sort Florinda passed long time, in a life no lesse pleasaunt than death. The report whereof she sent to her good seruaunt Amadour, who vnderstanding her great loue, and wel disposed hart, and the loue shee bare to the Infant Fortune, thought that it was impossible she could liue long, and lamented her state more than his owne. This griefe augmented his paine of imprisonmente, wishinge to haue remayned a slaue all the days of his life, so that Florinda had had a husbande respondent to her desire, forgettinge his owne griefe by feeling that his frende did suffer. And because he vnderstode by a secret friend which he had gotten in the Court of the king of Thunis, that the king was minded to offer him the gibbet, or els to make him renounce his fayth, for the desire hee had to retaine him still, and to make him a good Turke, he behaued himself so well, wyth him that toke him prisoner, that he gaue him leaue to depart vpon his fayth, taxing him at so greate raunsome, as he thought a man of so small substance was neuer able to pay. And so without speaking to the king his maister, hee let him go vpon his fayth. After he had shewed himselfe at the Court of the king of Spaine, he departed incontinently to his frends to get his raunsome, and went straight to Barsalone, whether the yong Duke of Cardonne, his mother, and Florinda, was gone aboute certaine affaires. Auenturade so sone as she heard tell that her husband was come, declared the sameto Florinda, who seemed for her sake greatly to reioyce therat. But fearing that the desire she had to see him would make her chaunge countenaunce, and that they which knew not the cause therof, would conceiue some ill opinion, she stode still at a window to see him come a far of: and so sone as she espied him, shee went downe a paire of darke staires that none mighte perceiue her chaunge of colour. When she had imbraced Amadour, shee led him into her chamber, and from thence to her mother in law, which had neuer seene him before. He had not continued there two dayes, but he was so well beloued, as he was before in the house of the Countesse of Arande. I will omitte the words and talke betwene Florinda and Amadour, and the complaintes which he made vnto her of his ill aduenture, that hee had sustayned in his absence. And after manye teares vttered by her, for the heauines she had taken, aswel for the mariage against her wil, as for the losse of him that she loued so dearely, and for him whom she thoughte neuer to see againe, shee determined to take her consolation in the loue and fidelitie that she bare to Amadour, which notwithstanding she durst not open and declare: but he that much doubted therof, lost no occasion and time to let her know and vnderstande the great loue he bare her. And euen vppon the point that she was ready to receiue him, not as a seruaunt, but for her assured and perfect frend, there chaunced a maruellous fortune: for the king, for certaine matters of importance, incontinently sent forth Amadour, wherof his wyfe conceyued such sorrow, as hearing those newes, she souned and fell from the stayres where she stode, wherewith she hurte herselfe so sore, as neuer after she reuiued. Florinda (that by the death of her had lost all comfort) made such sorrow, as one that was destitute of good frends and kinsfolke, but Amadour toke the same in worst part: for he had not onely lost one of the most honest women that euer was, but also the meanes that he should neuer after that time haue occasion to visit Florinda. For which cause he fell into such sicknes, as he was like to haue died sodainly. The old Duchesse of Cardonne, incessantly did visite him, and alledged many philosophical reasons to make him paciently to receiue death,buit auayled nothing: for if death of thone side did torment him, loue on the other did augment his martirdome. Amadour seing that his wyfe was buried, and that the king had sent for him, (hauing no occasion of longer abode there) he entred into such dispaire, as hee seemed to be oute of his wittes. Florinda which in comforting him was almost desolate, remayned by him one whole afternone, vsinge very honest and discrete talke vnto him, thinking thereby to diminishe the greatnesse of his sorrowe, and assured him that shee would deuise wayes how he might visite her more oft than he did thinke for. And because he must depart the next morning, and was so feeble and weake that he could not rise from his bed, he intreated her to come and se him at night after euery man was retired to bed: which she promised to doe, not knowing that loue’s extremety was voyd of reason. And he that saw no hope euer after that time to see her againe, whom so long time he had serued: and of whom he had neuer receyued other interteignment than that you haue heard, was so beaten and ouercom with loue long dissembled, and of the despaire he conceiued, that (all meanes to vse her company taken away) he purposed to play double or quit, either to lose her, or to win her fauour for euer, and to pay himself at one instant the rewarde which he thought he had right wel deserued. Wherfore he caused the curtaines of his bed to be drawen, that they which came into the chamber mighte not see him, complayning of sicknes more than he was wont to do, wherby they of the house thought he would not haue liued XXIV. houres. After euery one of the house had visited him at night, Florinda (at the special request of her husband) came to see him, thinking for his comfort to vtter vnto him her affection, and how aboue all other she would loue him, so far as her honor did permit: and sitting downe in a chayre at the bed’s head, she began to comfort him, and therwithal powred out many teares. Amadour seing her sorowful and pensife, thought that in her great torment he might easely attaine the effect of his intent, and lifted himself vp in his bed, which Florinda perceyuing, she would haue staied him, because she thought that through weakenes he was not able to moue: and kneeling vpon his knees, he said vnto her: “MustI for euermore forgo your sight mine owne deare Lady?” And in saying so he fel downe betwene her armes like one that fainted for lack of strength. Then poore Florinda imbraced him, and of long time held him vp, doing all that was possible for his comfort. But the medecine she gaue him to ease his sorow, did rather increase the same more strong: for in fayning himself half dead, without speaking any word, he attempted that which the honor of womanhode doth defend. When Florinda perceiued his ill intent, she could scarce beleue the same, considering his honest requests made before time, and therfore asked him what it was that he desired. But Amadour fearing to heare her aunswere which he knew well could be none other but chaste and vertuous, without further talke, pursued his purpose so earnestly as he could, wherwith Florinda beinge astonned did suspect he had bin out of his wittes rather than beleue that he wente about her dishonor. Wherefore with loude voice she called a gentleman that was in the chamber. Which Amadour hearing, vtterly in dispaire, threw himself so sodenly into his bed, as the gentleman thought he had beene dead. Florinda rising out of the chaire, said vnto him: “Goe quickly and fetch some good vineger.” Which the gentleman did. Then Florinda began to say vnto him: “Amadour, what follie hath inchaunted your wisedome? And what is that which you would haue done unto me?” Amadour that through the force of loue had lost al reason, said vnto her: “Doth my long seruice merite a recompence of such cruelty?” “And wher is the honesty then,” said Florinda, “which so many times you haue preached vnto me?” “Ah, madame!” said Amadour: “I beleue it is impossible your selfe more faithfully to loue your owne honour than I do. For when you were vnmaried, I could so wel subdue my harte and affection, as you did neuer vnderstand my will and desire. And now that you be maried, to the intente your honour may reste in couerte, what wrong do I to aske that which is mine owne, for by force of loue I haue won you? He that first enioyed your harte, hath so ill followed the victorie of your bodye, as hee hath well deserued to lose altogether. He that possesseth your body, is not worthy to haue your hart, wherefore your body is none of his, ne yet hehath no title in the same. But I Madame, these fiue or sixe yeares haue susteyned suche paynes and trauaile for your sake, as you are not ignoraunt but to me appertayneth both your body and harte, for whose sake I haue vtterlye forgotten mine owne. And if you can finde in your hart to defende mee from my right, doubt ye not but they which haue proued the forces of loue, wil lay the blame on you, which hath in this sort robbed me from my libertie, and with your heauenly graces hath obscured my sences, that not knowing hereafter what to do, I am constrayned to go without hope for euer to see you againe. Notwithstanding warrante your selfe, that in what place so euer I am, you shall still possesse my harte, which shall continue your’s for euer, be I vppon the lande or water, or betweene the hands of my moste cruell enemies. But if I could recouer before my departure, that surety of you which the greatnesse of my loue deserueth, I shall be strong enough paciently to beare the griefes of my long absence. And if it please you not to graunt me this request, you shal shortly heare tell that your rigor hath rendred vnto me a most vnhappy and cruel death.” Florinda no lesse astonned than sorie, to heare such words proceede from him, of whom she neuer had any such suspicion, weepinge saide unto him: “Alas, Amadour, is this the meaning of those vertuous words which sithens the beginning of my youth ye haue vttered vnto me? Is this the honor of the conscience, which you haue many times perswaded me rather to die than lose the same? Haue you forgotten the good examples recited vnto me of vertuous dames that haue resisted foolish loue? And is this the maner of your contempt of Ladies that were foolish and vaine, whose light behauiour you dissembled so much to abhorre? I cannot beleeue Amadour that you are driuen into such madnes and furie, as the feare of GOD, your owne conscience, and the estimacion of mine honor, should be altogether out of your minde and memorie. But if it so be as you say, I do praise the goodnes of God, which hath preuented the mishap that nowe I am fallen into, in shewing me by your words, the hart which I did not know. For hauing lost the sonne of the Infant Fortune, who not onely is maried into another place, but also loued another, andI now maried to him, which I cannot loue, I thought and determined wholly, with all mine hart and affection to loue you, founding the same vpon that vertue which I knew to be in you, which loue by your meanes onelye I haue conceiued, and therfore did more esteeme my honor and conscience, than the price of mine owne life. Vppon assurance of this stone of honestie, I am come hither thinking to build a most sure foundacion. But (Amadour) in one moment thou haste declared, how in place of a pure foundacion, thy buildinge is reared vpon a light sand, and vnconstant ground, or els vpon a filthy and foul quamire. And where I began to erect a good part of the lodgings of this building vpon the ground of the fidelitie, hoping to dwel there for euer, sodenly thou hast ouerthrowen the whole plot. Wherfore, you must immediately breake in sonder the hope and credit that euermore you haue found in me, and determine that in what place soeuer I be, not to pursue me either by worde or countenaunce. And do not thinke, that I can or will at anye time hereafter chaunge this mine opinion, reciting this my last adieu with great sorrow and griefe. But if I had made an othe of this perfect amitie and loue, I know mine harte would haue died vpon this breach, although the astonishment in that I am deceiued, is so great, as I am wel assured it will make my life either short or sorowfull: and therefore I bid you farewel and that for euer.” I purpose not to tel you the sorow which Amadour felt by hearing those words, because it is impossible not only to write them, but also to thincke them, except it be of such as haue had experience of the like. And seing that vppon this cruel conclusion she would haue gone away, he caught her by the arme, knowing well that if he did not remoue that ill opinion, which by his owne occasion she had conceyued, hee should lose her for euer. Wherfore he said vnto her with a very faint chere: “Madame, al the dayes of my life I haue desired to loue a woman endued with honestie and vertue: and because I haue found so few, I would fain haue tried whether your person had bin worthy of estimacion and loue, wherof now I am wel assured, and humblie do praise God therefore, because mine hart is addressed to such perfection: beseching you to pardon this fond and boldattempt, sith you see that the end doth redound to your owne honor and contentacion.” Florinda, which began to know by him the malice of other men, like as she was hard to beleue the euill wher it was, euen so she was more difficile to credite the good where it was not, and said vnto him: “I pray to God your words be true: yet am I not so ignorant but that the state of mariage wherein I am, hath made me euidently to know the strong passion of blind loue which hath forced you vnto this follie: for if God had losed my hande, I am wel assured you would not haue plucked back the bridle: they that attempt to seeke after vertue, do not take the way that you do tread: but this is sufficient if I haue lightly beleeued any honestie in you, it is time for me now to know the truth, that I may rid my self from you.” And in saying so, Florinda went out of the chamber, and all the nighte long, she neuer left weeping, feeling such great griefe in that alteracion, as her hart had much to do, to sustaine the assaults of sorrow that loue had made: for although reason thoughte neuer to loue him againe, yet the hart which is not subiect to our fancie, would not accord to that crueltie: for which consideracion, she loued him no lesse than she was wont to do, and knowing that loue was the cause of that fault, she purposed for satisfaction of loue, to Loue him with all her hart, and yet for the obedience and fealtie due to her honor, she thought neuer to make any semblance. In the morning Amadour departed in this sort, troubled as you haue hearde, neuerthelesse his couragious heart centred not in dispaire, but renued a fresh hope once againe to see Florinda, and to win her fauour: then he toke his iourney towards the Court of Spaine (which was at Tolledo) taking his way by the Countesse of Arande, wher late in an euening he arriued, and found the Countesse verye sicke for the absence of her daughter Florinda: when shee saw Amadour, shee kissed and imbraced him, as if he had beene her owne child, aswel for the loue she bare vnto him, as for the like which she doubted that he bare to Florinda, of whom very earnestly she inquired for newes, who tolde her the best that he could deuise, but not the whole truth, and confessed vnto her the loue betweene Florinda and him, (which Florinda had still conceiled and kept secrete) praying herayde to bring him againe into her fauour: and so the next morning he departed. And after he had done his businesse with the Queene, he repayred to the warres, so sadde and chaunged in all his condicions, as the Ladies, Captaynes and all they that were wonte to keepe him companie, did not know him. His apparell was all blacke, mourning for the death of his wife, wherby he couered the sorrow which was hid in his hart. In this wyse Amadour passed three or 4 yeres before he returned to the Court. And the Countesse of Arande which heard tell that Florinda was so much altered, as it would haue moued any hart to behold her, sent for her, hoping that she would haue come, but her expectacion was frustrate, for when Florinda vnderstode that Amadour had told her mother the good will betweene them, and that her mother being so wise and vertuous giuing credite to Amadour, did beleue his report, she was in marueilous perplexitie, because of the one side she saw that her mother did esteeme him so well, and on the other side if she declared vnto her the truth, Amadour woulde conceiue displeasure: which thing she had rather die than to do: wherefore she thought herselfe strong inough to chastise him of his folly, without helpe of frends. Againe, she perceyued that by dissembling the euil which she knew by him, she should be constrained by her mother and her frends, to speake and beare him good countenaunce, wherby she feared he would be the more encoraged: but seing that he was far of, she passed the lesse of the matter: and when the Countesse her mother did commaunde her, she wrote letters vnto him, but they were such as he might wel gather that they were written rather vpon obedience, than of good wil, the reading wherof bred sorrow vnto him in place of that ioye he was wonte to conceiue in her former wrytings. Within the terme of two or three yeres, after he had done so many noble enterprises as al the paper of Spaine could not containe them, he deuised a new inuention, not to wynne and recouer the harte of Florinda (for he demed the same quite lost) but to haue the victorie ouer his enemy, sithens she had vsed him in that sorte, and reiecting al reason and specially feare of death, into the hazarde wherof he hasted himselfe, he concluded and determined his enterprise in such sorte, as for his behauiour towardes the Gouernour, hee wasdeputed and sent by him to treate with the king of certaine exploytes to be done at Locates, sparing not to impart his message to the Countesse of Aranda, before he told the same to the king, to vse her good aduise therein: and so came in poste straight into the Countie of Aranda, where he had intelligence in what place Florinda remained, and secretly sent to the Countesse one of his frendes to tell her of his comming, and to pray her to keepe it close, and that he might speake with her that night in secrete wise that no man might perceiue: the Countesse very ioyfull of his comming, tolde it to Florinda, and sent her into her husbande’s chamber, that she might be ready when she should send for her after eche man was gone to bed. Florinda whiche was not yet well boldened by reason of her former feare, making a good face of the matter to her mother, withdrewe her selfe into an oratorie or chappell, to recommend her selfe to God, praying him to defend her hart from al wicked affection, and therwithal considered how often Amadour had praysed her beautie, which was not impaired or diminished, although she had bene sicke of longe time before: wherefore thinking it better to doe iniurie to her beautie by defacing it, than to suffer the harte of so honest a personage by meanes thereof wickedly to be inflamed, shee tooke vp a stone which was within the Chappell, and gaue her selfe so great a blowe on the face that her mouthe, eyes and nose, were altogether deformed: and to thintent no man might suspect what she had done, when the Countesse sent for her in going out of the Chappell, she fell downe vppon a great stone, and therewithall cried out so loude, as the Countesse came in and founde her in pitious state, who incontinently dressing her face, and binding it vp with clothes, conueyed her into her chamber, and prayed her to goe into her closet to entertaigne Amadour, tyll she were weary of his companie: whiche she did, thinking that there had bene somebody with hym: but finding him alone, and the doore shut vpon her, Amadour was not so well pleased as she was discontented: who nowe thoughte eyther with loue or force to get that, whiche hee had so long tyme desyred: and after he had spoken a fewe woordes vnto her, and found her in that mynde hee lefte her, and that to dye for it shee woulde not chaunge her opinion, desperatly he sayde vnto her: “By Godmadame, the fruite of my labour shall not be thus taken from me for scruples and doubtes: and sithe that Loue, pacience, and humble desires, cannot preuayle, I will not spare by force to get that, which except I haue it will be the meanes of mine overthrowe.” When Florinda sawe his face and eyes so altered, and that the fairest die and colour of the world, was become so red as fier, with his most pleasaunt and amiable loke transformed into horrible hew and furious, and therewithall discried the very hote burning fier, to sparkle within his harte and face: and how in that fury with one of his strong fistes he griped her delicate and tender hands: and on the other side shee seeing all her defences to fayle her, and that her feete and handes were caught in suche captiuitie as she could neither run away nor yet defend her selfe: knewe none other remedie, but to proue if he had yet remaining in him any griftes of the former loue, that for the honour therof he might forget his crueltie. Wherefore she sayd vnto him: “Amadour, if now you doe accompt me for an enemy, I besech you for the honestie of the loue which at other times I haue found planted in your harte, to geue me leaue to speake before you doe torment me.” And when shee saw him recline his eare, she pursued her talk in this wyse: “Alas, Amadour, what cause haue you to seke after the thing wherof you shall receiue no contentation, inflicting vppon me such displeasure as there can be no greater? you haue many times proued my wil and affection in the time of my youthfull dayes, and of my beautie farre more excellent than it is now, at what tyme your passion might better be borne with and excused, than nowe: in such wyse as I am nowe amased to see that you haue the harte to torment me at that age and great debilitie wherewith I am affected: I am assured that you doubt not but that my wyl and mind is such as it was wont to be: wherefore you can not obtayne your demaunde but by force: and if you sawe howe my face is arrayed, you would forget the pleasure whiche once you conceiued in me, and by no meanes would forcibly approche nere vnto me: and if there be lefte in you yet any remnantes of loue, it is impossible but that pitie may vanquishe your furie: and to that pitie and honestie whereof once I had experience in you, I do make my plaint, and of the same I dodemaund grace and pardon, to thintent that according to theffect of your wonted perswasion and good aduise you may suffer me to liue in that peace and honestie, which I haue determined and vowed during life: and if the loue which you haue borne me be conuerted into hatred, and that more for reuengement than affection, you doe purpose to make me the moste unhappy of the world, I assure you, you shall not be able to bryng your intent to passe, besides that you shall constrayne me against my determination, to vtter and reueale your villany and disordinate appetite towardes her which did repose in you an incredible affiance: by discouering whereof, thinke verely that your lyfe cannot continue without perill.” Amadour breaking her talke sayde vnto her: “If I die for it, I will presently be acquieted of my torment: but the deformitie of your face (whiche I thinke was done by you of set purpose) shall not let me to accomplishe my will: for since I can get nothing of you but the bones and carcase, I will holde them so fast as I can.” And when Florinda sawe that prayers, reason, nor teares could not auayle, but that with crueltie he woulde nedes followe his villanous desire, which she had hetherto still auoided by force of resistence, she did helpe her selfe so long, till she feared the losse of her breath, and with a heauy and piteous voice she called her mother so loud as shee could crie, who hearing her daughter crie and cal with rufull voyce, began greatly to feare the thing that was true: wherfore she ran so fast as she could into the warderobe. Amadour not being so nere death as he saide he was, left of his holde in suche good time, as the Ladye opening her closet, founde him at the dore, and Florinda farre enough from him. The Countesse demaunded of him, saying: “Amadour what is the matter? tell me the truthe.” Who like one that was neuer vnprouided of excuse, with his pale face and wanne, and his breath almoste spent, sayde vnto her: “Alas, madame, in what plight is my lady Florinda? I was neuer in all my life in that amase wherin I am now: for as I sayd vnto you, I had thought that I had inioyed part of her good will, but nowe I know right well that I haue none at all: I thinke madame, that sithe the time she was brought vp with you, shee was neuer lesse wise and vertuous than shee is nowe, but farre more daungerousand squeimishe in speaking and talking then behoueth, and euen nowe I would haue loked vpon her, but she would not suffer me: and when I viewed her countenaunce, thinking that it had bene some dreame or vision, I desired to kisse her hande, according to the fashion of the countrey, which shee vtterly refused. True it is Madame, I haue offended her, wherof I craue pardon of you, but it chaunced only for that I toke her by the hand, which I did in a maner by force, and kissed the same demaunding of her no other pleasure: but she like one (as I suppose) that hath sworne my death, made an outcry for you (as you haue hearde) for what cause I know not, except that shee were afraide I would haue forced some other thing: notwithstanding Madame, whatsoeuer the matter be, I protest vnto you the wrong is myne, and albeit that she ought to loue al your honest seruaunts, yet fortune so willeth as I alone, the moste affectioned of them all, is clerely exempt out of her fauour: and yet I purpose still to continue towardes you and her, the same man I came hither, beseching the continuance of your good grace and fauour, sithens that without desert I haue loste hers.” The Countesse which partely beleued, and partelye mistrusted his talke, went vnto her daughter, and demaunded wherfore she cried out so loud. Florinda answered that she was afrayde: and albeit the Countesse subtilly asked her of many things, yet Florinda would neuer make other answere, for that hauing escaped the handes of her enemy, she thought it punishement enough for him to lose his labour: after that the Countesse had of long tyme communed with Amadour, she lefte him yet once againe to enter in talke with Florinda before her, to see what countenaunce shee would make him. To whom he spake fewe wordes except they were thankes for that she had not confessed the truthe to her mother, praying her at least wise that seing he was dispossessed out of her hart, she would suffer none other to receiue his place: but she answering his former talke, saide: “If I had had any other meanes to defend my selfe from you than by crying out, she should neuer haue heard me, and of me you shall neuer heare worse, except you doe constrayne me as you haue done, and for louing any other man, you shall not neede to feare: for sithe I haue not found in your harte (which I estemed the mostvertuous in all the world) the good successe that I desired, I wyll neuer beleue hereafter that vertue is planted in any man. And this outrage shall make me free from all passions that Loue can force.” And in saying so she tooke her leaue. The mother which behelde her countenaunce, could suspecte nothing, and after that tyme, shee was persuaded that her daughter bare no more affection to Amadour, and thought assuredly that she was voyde of reason, because she hated al those things which she was wont to loue: and from that time forth there was such warre betwene the mother and the daughter, as the mother for the space ofVII.yeares would not speake vnto her, except it were in anger: which she did at the request of Amadour: during which time, Florinda conuerted the misliking of her husband, into mere and constant loue, to auoyde the rigour and checkes of her mother: howbeit, seing that nothing could preuayle, she purposed to beguile Amadour, and leauing for a day or two her straunge countenance towards him, she counselled Amadour to loue a woman, whiche as she sayd, did commonly dispute and talke of their loue. This lady dwelt with the Queene of Spaine, and was called Lorette, who was very ioyfull and glad to get such a seruant: and Florinda founde meanes to cause a brute of this newe loue to be spred in euery place, and specially the Countesse of Arande (being at the Court) perceiued the same, who afterwards was not so displeased with Florinda, as she was wont to be: Florinda vpon a tyme heard tel that a Captain the husband of Loret, began to be ialous ouer his wife, determining by some meanes or other, he cared not howe, to kill Amadour. Florinda notwithstanding her dissembled countenance, could not suffer any hurt to be done to Amadour, and therefore incontinently gaue him aduertisement thereof: but he retourning againe to his former follies, answered, that if it would please her to intertaigne him euery day three houres, he would neuer speake againe to Lorette, whereunto by no meanes shee would consent. Then Amadour saide vnto her: “If you will not haue me to liue, wherefore go ye about to defend me from death? except ye purpose to torment me aliue with greater extremitie then a thousand deathes can do: but for so much as death doth flie from me, I will neuer leaue to seeke him out, by whoseapproche only I shall haue rest.” Whilest they were in these tearmes, newes came that the kyng of Granado was about to enter into great warres against the king of Spain: in suche wyse as the king sent against hym the Prince his sonne, and with hym the constable of Castile, and the Duke of Albe, twoo auncient and sage Lordes. The duke of Cardonne and the counte of Arande not willing to tarie behinde, besought the kyng to geue eyther of them a charge: whiche hee did according to the dignitie of their houses, appointing Amadour to be their guide: who during that warre, did sutche valiaunt factes as they seemed rather to be desperately than hardily enterprysed: and to come to the effect of this discourse, his great valiaunce was tryed euen to the death: for the Moores making a bragge as though they would geue battayle, when they sawe the army of the Christians, counterfaited a retire, whome the Spaniardes pursued, but the olde Constable and the duke of Albe doubting their pollicie, stood still, against the will of the Prince of Spaine, not suffering him to passe ouer the Ryuer, but the counte of Arande and the Duke of Cardonne, (although they were countremanded) did followe the chase, and when the Moores sawe that they were pursued with so small a number, they returned, and at one recountrie kylled the Duke of Cardonne, and the Counte of Arande was so sore hurte as hee was lefte for dead in the place. Amadour arriuing vpon this ouerthrowe, inuaded the battayle of the Moores with sutche rage and furie, as hee rescued the twoo bodyes of the Duke and Countie, and caused them to be conueyed to the Prince’s campe, who so lamented their chaunce, as if they had bene his owne brethren: but in searching their woundes, the Countie of Arande was founde to be aliue, and was sent home to his own house in a horselitter, where of long time he was sicke, and likewise was conueied to Cardonne the dead bodie of the yong Duke. Amadour in rescuing those two bodies, tooke so little heede to him selfe, as he was inclosed with a great number of the Moores, and because he would bee no more taken, as well to verifie his faith towardes God, as also his vowe made to his Lady, and also considering that if he were prysoner to the kyng of Granado, either hee should cruelly be put to death, or els forced to renounce his faith, he determined not to make hisdeath or taking glorious to his enemies: wherefore kissing the crosse of his sworde, and rendring his body and soule to the handes of almighty God, he stabbed him selfe into the body with sutche a blow, as there neded no second wound to rid him of his life: in this sorte died poore Amadour, so muche lamented as his vertues did deserue. The newes hereof was bruted throughout Spaine, and came to Florinda who then was at Barselone, where her husbande in his life tyme ordeined the place of his buriall: and after shee had done his honourable obsequies, without making her own mother, or mother in law priuie, she surrendred her selfe into the monasterie of Iesus, there to liue a religious life, receiuing him for her husband and friende, whiche had deliuered her from the vehement loue of Amadour, and from a displeasaunt life so great and vnquiet as was the company of her husband. In this wise she conuerted all her affections, to pietie and the perfit loue of God, who after she had long time liued a religious life, shee yelded vp her soule in such ioye as the Bridegrom doth when he goeth to visite his spowes.

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