Exemparie nouells in sixe books. The two damosels. The Ladie Cornelia. The liberall lover. The force of bloud. The Spanish ladie. The jealous husband. Full of various accidents both delightfull and profitable. By Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra; one of the prime wits of Spaine, for his rare fancies, and wittie inventions. Turned into English by Don Diego Puede-Ser.

THE FORCE OF BLOOD. (Book 4)

THE FOVRTH BOOKE. (Book 4)

IN a hot summers night, there retur∣ned from recreating themselues at the river of Toledo, an ancient gentleman accompanied with his Wife, a little young sonne, a daughter of the age of 17. yeares, and a maid-servant. The night was cleare and bright, the houre eleven, the way open, and their pace slow, that they might not loose through wearines, those pleasures which the meadowes lying along the river side of Toledo, did afford them. And relying on the security, which the strict course of Iustice, and the well disposed people of that City did promise, the good old gentleman went wal∣king leasurely along with his small family, farre from any thought of the least disaster that might befall them. But forasmuch as misfortunes commonly then come when wee least thinke on them, contrary wholly to his thought and quite beyond all imagination, there happened one which disturbed their present pleasure, and gave them oc∣casion to weepe many yeares after. There was a gentle∣man

of that City about the age of 22. whom his great wealth, his noblenes of blood, his depraved disposition, his too much assumed liberty, and the loose and licentious company that hee kept, made him to doe such insolent and extravagant actions as did ill beseeme his quality, and gave him the attribute of impudent, and insolent.

This gentleman then (whose name for good respects wee shall conceale, and call Rodolpho) with foure other friends of his, all young men full of iollitie, and aboue all exceeding insolent, was comming downe the same hill which the old gentleman was going up. These two companies met each other, that of the sheepe, with that of the wolves, and in a most uncivill kind of manner, voyde of all shame and honestie covering their owne faces, they discovered those of the mother, daughter, and Mayd: the old man, (and I cannot blame him) was some∣what moved thereat, reproved them for it, and told them they might be ashamed (had they any shame in them) to offet such an affront to gentlewomen. They answered him with mocks and scoffes, and without further misde∣meaning themselues, they went forward on their way. But the great beauty of that fairest which Rodolfo had seene, which was that of Leocadia, (for that was the name of this gentlemans daughter) began in such sort to bee im∣printed in his memory that it drew his affection after her, and stirred him up in a desire to enioy her, in despight of all inconveniences that might follow thereupon, and in an instant, as sudden as his passion, he imparted his mind to his Companions, and both hee and they presently re∣solved to returne backe, and take her from her parents by force onely therein for to please Rodolfo, for your great and rich men, which are lewdly and licentiously given shall never want those that will canonize their evill acti∣ons and qualifie their bad courses for good. And therfore the hatching of this wicked purpose, the communicating it, the approving of it, and the resolving upon it, to carry

away Leocadia, and the putting of it in execution was done as it were all in an instant, they covered their faces with their handkerchers, and drawing out their swords they came backe, and had not gone many steps before they had overtaken those, who had not as yet fully made an end of giving thankes unto God for having freed them from the hands of those bold and insolent persons. Rodolfo seazed on Leocadia, and taking her vp in his armes, ran away with her, with all the hast he could, who had not strength enough to defend her from this violence, and the sudden passion that possessed her was so prevalent that it tooke away the use of her voyce, so that she could not cry out, and likewise the light of her eyes, since that she being in a swound, and without any sense, shee neither saw who carried her, nor whether they did carry her. Her father cryed out, the mother shreeked, her little brother wept and cryed both together, the maid she tare her haires and face; but neither their cryings nor shreekings were heard, neither did their teares move compassion, nor the tearing up of furrowes in their faces doe them any good. For the solitarines of the place, the still silence of night and the cruell bowels of the malefactors, concurred to give way to this deed of darkenes. In a word the one went their way glad and joyfull; and the other sad and mournefull. Rodolfo came home to his house without any let or hinde∣rance: And the parents of Leocadia to theirs grieved, affli∣cted and full of despaire: They were blind wanting their daughters eyes, which were the light of theirs; they were all alone lacking the sweet & pleasing company of Leocadia, they were confounded, and amazed, not knowing what to doe, whether they should give notice of their misfor∣tune to the Iustice, or not: They were fearfull least in so doing, they should bee the principall instrument of pub∣lishing their dishonour. They saw themselues neces∣sitated for any matter of favour as being poore though nobly descended. They knew not on whom to

complaine, but their owne hard fortune. Rodolfo in the meane while, being subtill and craftie brought Leocadia home to his house, and to his owne private lodging. And though she were in a swound when he carried her away; yet for the more suretie did he blind-fold her eyes with a handkercher that she might not take notice of the streets through which she passed, nor of the house nor lodging whereunto he had brought her, having put her thereinto, without being seene of any bodie, because hee had his quarter in his fathers house (who was yet living) to him∣selfe, and kept the key of his chamber doore himselfe, and those of that his whole quarter, An unadvised inconsiderate∣nesse of Parents, to suffer their Sonnes to live in that retyred manner, without witnesses of their conversation.

Before that Leocadia had recovered her swounding, Ro∣dolfo had satisfied his lustfull desire; for the unchaste vio∣lences of youth sieldome or never respect either time or place, but runs on headlong whether their unbrideled lust leades them, letting loose the reines to all licentious∣nes. Having the light of his understanding thus blinded, he robbed Leocadia in the darke of the best jewell that she had. And for that the sinnes of sensualitie reach no further for the most part, then the accomplishing and fulfilling of them Rodolfo presētly resolved to turn Leocadia out of doors, and it entered into his imagination to lay her out in the street, being thus in a swound as she was, and going to put this his purpose in execution, hee perceived that shee was newly come to her selfe, and began to speake, saying.

Oh unfortunate wretch that I am! where am I? what darkenesse is this? what clouds have compassed me about? Lord blesse mee, who is that that toucheth me? am I in bed? what ayleth mee? how comes this to passe? doe you heare me deare Mother? or you my beloved Father? Aye me, unhappie as I am! for I well perceive that my Parents heare me not, and that my enemies touch mee; happie should I be if this darknesse would endure for ever,

not giving my eyes leave to see any more the light of the World. And that this place wherein now I am, whatso∣ever it be, might serve to be the sepulchre to my honour; since that better is that dishonour which is not knowne, then that honour which is exposed to the opinion of the vulgar. Now I call that to minde which before I could not, that but a little while since, I was in the company of my Parents; now I remember that some assaulted mee; now I conceive and see, that it is not meet that the people should see mee. Oh thou! whosoever thou art that art here with mee (and with this shee tooke fast hold on Ro∣dofo's hands) if thou beest such a one whose soule will ad∣mit of entreatie, I entreat and beseech thee, that since thou hast triumphed over my Fame, that thou wilt likewise tri∣umph over my life; quit me of it instantly, for it is fit that I should lose my life, since that I have lost my honour; and consider with thy selfe, that the rigour of that crueltie which thou hast exercised on mee in offending me, will be tempered and moderated by the pitie which thou shalt use towards me by killing me; and so thou shalt show thy selfe at once, both cruell, and pitifull.

The reasons which Leocadia alleadged to Rodolfo, left him in amazednesse, and confusion; and like a raw yong man unexperienced in the world, hee knew not either what to say, or doe: whose silence made Leocadia the more to won∣der, who by her hands sought to dis-deceive her selfe, and to try by touching whether it were a phantasma, or a ghost that was with her; but when she found that she touched a bodie, a very bodie, and did call to her remembrance the force which was done her going along with her Pa∣rents, shee fell into a true reckoning of her misfortune; and with the very thought thereof, shee returned a new to sent those words which her many sighes and sobbes had interrupted, saying.

Oh 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bold daring man▪ for thy actions make me to judge thee to bee of no great yeares, I pardon thee the

wrong thou hast done me, and forgive thee that foule of∣fence thou hast committed; so that thou wilt promise and sweare unto mee, that as thou hast covered it with this darkenesse, so likewise thou wilt cover it with perpetuall silence, without acquainting any bodie therewith. It is a small recompence which I crave of thee, in comparison of so great an injurie. Yet to mee (considering the case that I am in) it will bee the greatest that I can begge of thee, or thou canst give mee; consider besides, that I never saw thy face, neither doe I desire to see it. For though I cannot but still thinke on the offence done mee, yet will I not thinke upon my offender, neither will I lay up in my me∣morie the image of the authour of my hurt; I shall poure forth my complaints between my selfe and Heaven, with∣out desiring that the world should heare them, which doth not judge of things by their successe, but according unto that which is settled in it's opinion. I know not how it is that I utter these truthes unto thee, which usually are wont to be grounded upon the experience of many Cases, and on the discourse of many years, mine amounting to no more then 17; yet doe I understand thus much, that griefe and sorrow doth alike tye, and untye the tongue of the afflicted; one whiles exaggerating the received wrong that others may be therby the better induced to beleeve it, and another whiles burying it in silence, that others may not give any remedy thereunto. So that which way soe∣ver it be, whether I speake, or hold my peace, I perswade my selfe, that I cannot but move thee either to beleeve mee, or to remedie me, since that not to beleeve me were ignorance, and to remedie me impossible. Yet maist thou give me some little ease of my griefe, whereof I will not despaire, since it will cost thee but little to give it me. This then is that which I will say unto thee; see that thou doe not flatter thy selfe with expecting or hoping, that time shall allay or pacifie that just rage and indignation which I beare, and still shall towards thee; neither doe thou goe

about to heape more wrongs upon mee, because thou art not likely further to enjoy me; and having already enjoyed me, me thinkes thy evill desires should be the lesse enfla∣med. Make account that thou offendest me by accident, without giving way to any good discourse, and I will make account that I was not borne and brought forth into the world; or if I were, it was for to be unfortunate Put me therefore presently forth into the street, or at least neere unto the great church, for from thence I shal know how to go directly home. Moreover thou shalt likewise swear unto me, that thou shalt not follow me, nor seek to know where I dwel, nor ask me, neither my Parents, or mine own name, nor of my kinsfolke, and Allies; who for that they are so rich, and so noble, they may not be in me so unhappy, and unfortunate. Return me answer to these my demands, and if thou art afraid that I may hap to know thee by thy voice, I would have thee again to know, that excepting my father and my Confessor, I have not spoken with any man in my life, and very few are they which I have heard speake in their ordinary talk and communication that I could bee able to distinguish them by the sound of their voice.

The answer which Rodolfo returned to the discreet dis∣course of afflicted Leocadia, was no other save his embra∣cing her, and making show that he had a minde to renew in himselfe his lustfull desire, and in her, her further disho∣nour; the which being perceived by Leocadia, with greater force and resistance then her tender age could promise, she defended her selfe with her feet, with her hands, with her teeth, and with her tongue, saying.

Know traytour as thou art, and thou wicked man with∣out soule or conscience whosoever thou beest, that those spoiles which thou hast had of mee, were such as thou mightst have taken from a stocke, or stone, without any sence or feeling; whose conquest and triumph which can∣not but redound to thy reproach. And therfore that which thou pretendest, thou shalt not obtain but by my death.

When I was in a swound, thou took'st thy pleasure, and didst what thou listest with me, but now that I am come to my selfe, and have my spirits and wits about me, thou shalt sooner kill me, then overcome me; for if now being awake, I should without resistance yeeld to thy abhomina∣ble lust, thou mightest (and not without just cause) imagine that my swounding was feigned, when thou wast so bold and insolent in working my utter ruine and destruction.

In conclusion, Leocadia so bestirred her selfe, and made such stout and resistance, that the strength and courage, and with it the desires of Rodolfo began to flagge. And for that the insolencie which hee had used with Leocadia, had no other beginning then from a violent lascivious impe∣tuousnes, from which never springeth that true love which is permanent; but instead of that impetuousnesse which passeth away, there remaineth onely repentance, or at least a coldnesse of will to second it. Rodolfo then growing somewhat cooler, but much more wearie, without speak∣ing any one word, left Leocadia in his bed and lodging, and went to seeke out his companions, for to consult and ad∣vise with them what he were best to doe.

Leocadia perceived that shee was left all alone and fast shut up; whereupon rising from the bed, she went ro∣ming about the roome, groping the walls with her hands, for to see if she could finde a doore to get out at, or a win∣dow to leape down. She found the doore, but too strong∣ly lock't for her to open it, and she lighted on a window which she was able to unhaspe, by which the Moone shi∣ned in so clear and so bright, that Leocadia could distinguish the colours of certaine Damasks which adorned the lodg∣ing. She could discern that the bed was guilded, & so richly furnished, that it seemed rather the bed of a Prince, then of a private gentleman. She reckoned the number of the chairs, and stools, and of the Escritorios, and Cabinets; she no∣ted the place where the door stood, and though she saw ta∣bles hāging on the wals, yet she discerned not the pictures

that were drawne in them. The window was large, well garnished and guarded with a great many barres, the pro∣spect whereof was into a Garden, which was likewise in∣closed with high walls; difficulties which opposed them∣selves to that intention which she had to leape downe in∣to the street. All that she saw and noted of the capacious∣nesse and rich furniture of the roome, gave her to under∣stand, that the Master and owner thereof must needes bee some principall Person, and not of meane wealth, but ex∣ceeding rich. Vpon a Cabbinet which stood neere to the window, she e•…•…pied a little Crucifix all of silver, the which she tooke thence and put it in her sleeve, not out of devo∣tion, and as little out of theft; but onely drawne unto it by a discreet designe which she had in her head. This be∣ing done, she shuts the window, leaving it as it was before, and returned backe to the bed, expecting what end such a bad beginning would have.

It was not to her seeming much more than halfe an houre, when she heard the doore of the lodging open, and that one came unto her, and without speak∣ing so much as one word, with a handkercher hood∣winked her eyes, and taking her by the arme, tooke her out of the lodging, she hearing him shut the doore after him. This person was Rodolfo, who though hee had gone to seeke out his Companions, yet was he not wil∣ling to finde them; it seeming unto him, that it was not fit that he should have any witnesses of that which had pas∣sed with that damosel, but was rather resolved to tell them, that repenting himself of that ill deed, and moved with her tears, hee had put her off, leaving her in the mid-way. Having thus bethought himselfe, hee returned backe with all speed, to place Leocadia neere unto the great Church, as she had formerly entreated of him before it were day, least otherwise it might disappoint his pur∣pose, and hee be enforced to keepe her in his lodging till the next ensuing night; in which space of time,

neither was he willing to use any more force or violence, nor to give occasion of being knowne. Hee brought her then to the place which they commonly call by the name of Ayuntamiento, where the people publickly assemble and meet together; and there in a counterfeit voyce, and in a tongue halfe Portughese, and halfe Spanish, hee told her that she might thence goe securely to her owne house, and that none should follow and tract her whether shee went And before that she had time & leisure to unknit and loosen the handkercher, he had got himselfe farre enough out of her sight.

Leocadia remained all alone, shee tooke away the bend from before her eyes, shee knew the place where hee had left her, she looked round about her on every side, shee saw no person living, but suspecting that some would follow her a loofe off, at every step she made a stand, ad∣vancing her selfe in that manner in her way homeward, which was not very farre from the Church; and for to deceive the spies, if b•…•… chance they should follow her, she entred into a house that she found open; and from thence by little and little went to her owne, where she found her Parents amazed and astonished; and so farre from prepa∣ring themselves to goe to bed, that they had not so much as entertained the least thought of taking any rest at all; who, when they saw her, ran unto her with open armes, and with tears in their eies, lovingly received her. Leocadia's heart boyling with passion, and being much troubled in minde, entreated her Parents to withdraw themselves and to goe a little aside with her; they did so. And then, and there in a few words she gave them an account of that her unfortunate successe, with all the circumstances belong∣ing thereunto, and that she could by no meanes come to the knowledge of him that assaulted her, and robb•…•…d her of her honour. She accquainted them with all that shee had seene in that Theater, wherein was represented and acted that woefull Tragedie of her misfortune. The win∣dow,

the garden, the barres of yron, the Cabinets, the bed, the Damaskes; and last of all she shewed them the Crucifix which she had brought thence with her. Before which Image they renewed their teares, made deprecations, cal∣led for vengeance, and begg'd of God miraculous cha∣stisements. She likewise told them, that although she did not desire to come to have knowledge of her offender, yet if it seemed good unto her Parents to have him known by meanes of that Image, they might doe it by causing the Clerkes of all the Parishes in the Citie, to publish at divine Service in their severall Churches, that hee who had lost such an Image, he should finde it put in the hands of some such person as the party that lost it should nominate and appoint for the receiving of it; and so by knowing the ow∣ner of the Image, they might come thereby to know the he use, as also the person of their enemie. Hereunto her Father replied, what you have sayd, had beene well sayd (Daughter) if the craftie and cunning now adaies did not oppose it selfe to thy discreet discourse, since that it is cleare and manifest that this Image may not suddenly be mist, or if mist, no great reckoning made of it; and the owner thereof will certainely apprehend and imagine that the person who was with him in the lodging had taken it a∣way; and that if it should come to his knowledge that some Religious man hath it in his keeping▪ he will rather serve his turne, and make use of his knowing who it should be that gave it to him that now hath it, then bee willing to declare and make knowne the owner that lost it. And it may likewise happen that another may come for it, to whom the owner thereof hath given some signs and tokens whereby to know and challenge it to bee his. And if this should be so, we should be in worse case then before, and remaine rather confounded, then informed, though wee should use the same artifice and cunning, which we suspect them for, by giving it to a Religious man by a third person. That (Daughter) which is herein

to be done, is to keepe it; that as it was a witnesse of thy disgrace, so it may become an evidence to procure thee ju∣stice, and right the great wrong which thou hast received. And with all consider (deare Daughter) that one ounce of publicke dishonour doth lye heavier upon us, then a pound weight of secret infamie. True dishonour consists in sinne, and true honour in virtue. God is offended with our sayings, our doings, and our desires; and since that thou neither in thought, word, nor deed, hast offended him, account thy selfe honest, for. I shall hold thee so, and shall never looke upon thee but like a kinde and loving Father.

With these prudent reasons did this good Father com∣fort Leocadia; and her Mother embracing her againe, and againe, did likewise endeavour to comfort her. Where∣upon she fell a fresh a weeping, and a crying, and hiding her head (as they say) for shame; she betooke her selfe to a private and retyred course of life, under the shelter and protection of her Parents, being honestly, and decently, though but porely clad.

Rodolfo in the meane while being come home, and sit∣ting him downe in his chamber, casting his eye aside, hee found the Image of his Crucifix missing, and presently ima∣gined who might carry it away; but he made slight of it, and for that he was rich, he did not reckon much of it, neither did his Parents question him for it; when as (being within three dayes after to goe for Italy) he did deliver up by tale to one of his Mothers Chambermaids, all that which hee left behinde him in the lodging, whereof shee tooke a true Inventorie.

It was many daies since that Rodolfo had resolved to tra∣vell into Italy; and his Father who had beene there in his younger yeares, perswaded him thereunto; telling him, that they were not Gentlemen who were onely so in their owne Countrey, but that they must likewise shew them∣selves to be such abroad. For these and other reasons, Rodolfo disposed his will, to cumply with that of his father,

who gave him Bills of credit for good round summes of money for Barcelona, Genoa, Rome, and Naples. And he with two of his Comrad's presently departed, being much ta∣ken with that which he had heard some Souldiers repeate of the great store of Inn's in Italy, and France, and of the li∣bertie which Spanyards tooke in their lodgings. That soun∣ded well in his eare; loe sir, here be good tender Pullets, youug Pigeons, fine white fat Veale, a good Gammon of Bacon, excellent Sausages, and the like; which the Soul∣diers did magnifie in mentioning them unto him; shew∣ing what a great deale of difference they found when they came out of those parts into these, laying before him the scarcitie of Provision, and the discommodities of the Inn's of Spaine. In conclusion, he went away, so little thinking on that which passed betwixt himselfe, and Leocadia, as if there had never beene any such matter.

She in the interim, led her life in the house of her Parents with all possible retyrednesse, without suffering her selfe to bee seene of any, as one that was fearefull, least they might read her misfortune in her forehead. But within a few moneths, she perceived that she was driven to do that by force and constraint, which hitherto she had done wil∣lingly, and of her owne accord. She saw that it was fit and convenient for her to live closely, and retyredly, be∣cause she found her selfe to bee with Childe. A successe which occasioned those teares which in some sort had beene forgotten, to breake forth a new from the fountains of her eyes; and those sighes and lamentations which had layen for a while calme, and quiet, began to rise, and like fierce windes, fell a beating, and waging war one against another; her Mothers discretion, and gentle perswasions, not being able to allay the violence of her passion, nor af∣ford her any comfort.

Time fled away with a swift wing, and the time of her delivery was come; but with that secresie, that they durst not trust a Midwife therewith, so that her Mother usur∣ping

this office, brought forth to the light of the world a little young Son, one of the prettiest, sweetest, and beau∣tifullest babes that thought it selfe could imagine; with the like warinesse, circumspection, and secresie wherwith it was borne, they conveyed it to a Countrie Village, where it continued foure yeares. At the end whereof, with the name of Nephew his Grandfather brought him home to his owne house, where he was bred up, though not very richly, yet at least very vertuously. The Childe was (whom they named Luys, that being his Grandfathers name) of a fayre complexion, a pleasing countenance, a sweet disposition, a gentle nature, a quicke wit; and in all those his actions which in that tender age he could do, he gave apparant signes and tokens, that he was begotten by some noble Father; and in such sort his wit, beautie, and prettie behaviour, did make his Grandfather and Grandmother so farre in love with him, that they came to hold their Daughters unhappinesse, to be a happinesse, in that she had given them such a Nephew. When hee went through the street they did showre downe upon him a thousand benedictions; some blessed his beautie, other∣some the Mother that bare him, these, the Father that be∣gat, and those, him who had brought him up, and given him such good breeding.

With this applause of those that knew him, and knew him not, the Child grew to bee Seven yeares of age. In which time he had learned to read Spanish, and Latine, and to write a very good hand. For his grandfathers and grand∣mothers intention was to make him virtuous, and wise, since that they could not make him rich; not being igno∣rant, that virtue, and wisedome, were the onely riches over which neither theeves, nor fortune had any power.

It happened one day, that the Child was sent by his Grandmother on a message to a kinswoman of hers, and it was his chance to passe through a street where some gentlemen were running careers with their horses, he staied

to looke on them, and for the getting of a better place; he ran athwart from the one side, to the other, just in such an ill conjuncture of time, that he could not avoyd a Hor∣ses running over him, whose rider with all the strength he had, was not able to keepe backe in the furie of his Careere. He ranne over him, and left him stretcht on the ground for dead, pouring out much bloud from his head.

This sad mischance had scarce happened, when loe, an ancient Gentleman, who was beholding the Careere, with extraordinarie dexteritie leapt from his Horse, and went where the Child was; and taking him out of ones armes that held him, tooke him into his owne, and with∣out making any reckoning of his grey haires, or regarding his authoritie, which was much, neglecting the grave Spa∣nish pace, with large steps he hyed him home to his own house, willing his servants to leave him, and to goe and seeke out a skilfull Surgeon for to cure the Childe. Many Gentlemen followed him, grieving and pittying the mis∣fortune that had befallen so sweete and fayre a Childe. For it was presently voyced abroad, that hee that was thus troden downe, was Luisico, the kinsman of such a Gentleman, naming his Grandfather. This voyce ranne from mouth to mouth, till it came at last to the eares of his grandfather, and grandmother, and likewise to those of his retyred Mother; who being fully and truely certified of this unluckie and lamen∣table accident, ranne forthwith out of doores as if they had beene mad, to know what was become of their beloved. And because the gentleman that carried him away, was so well known, and of such principall rank and quallitie, many of those whom they met withall, told them where his house was, whether (being carried be∣tween love and feare) they soon arrived just at that instant when the Child was under the Surgeons hands. The gen∣tleman & his wife, the owners of the house, entreated those

whom they thought to bee his Parents, that they would not weepe, nor fill the ayre with the crie of their com∣plaints, being that it could doe the Childe no good. The Surgeon who was famous for his skill, having dressed him with a gentle hand, and as a Master of his facultie, told them that the wound was not so mortall, as at first he fea∣red it had beene.

When hee was halfe drest, Luisicos memorie came to him, which untill then had left him; and was very glad and cheerie, in seeing his Grandfather and Grandmother there, who with teares in their eyes, asked him how hee did? He answered, well, save that he was much pained in his bodie, and his head. The Surgeon▪ advised them, that they should not speake unto him, but that they would give him leave to take his rest. They did so; and then his Grandfather beganne to give the Master of the House thankes, for that his great charitie which he had extended towards his Nephew. Whereunto the gentleman replied, that he needed not to thanke him; giving him to under∣stand, that when the Childe fell, and was over-borne by the Horse, it seemed unto him, that hee saw the face of a Sonne of his owne, whom hee tenderly loved; and that this moved him to take him up in his armes, and bring him home to his owne house, where hee would that hee should continue till hee were fully cured; and that hee should not want cherishing, nor any thing else that the house could afford, that was needfull and necessarie for him. His Wife who was a noble Ladie, sayd (the phrase a little varied) in effect the very same words, and did somewhat more amplifie and endeare her promises.

The grandfather and grandmother of the Childe did much wonder at, and admire this their great Christianitie. And the Mother much more, for her troubled spirit being somewhat quieted by the Surgeons cōfortable words, she diligently observed the lodging where her Son lay, and by

apparant signes and tokens, clearely knew that that was the roome where her honour had it's end, and her misfor∣tune it's beginning. And though it were not now hung and adorned with Damaske, as then it was; she knew the forme and fashion of it, shee saw the window with the yron barres which looked into a Garden; and though it were shut that the Ayre might not offend the wounded Child, she did aske whether that window did Butt or no upon some garden? and it was told her, it did; but that which she most certainly knew, was, that that was the very same bed which had beene the Tombe-stone to her grave. And moreover, that that very Cabinet whereon stood the Crucifix which shee carried away with her, remained still in the selfe same place. Lastly, the stayres brought to light the truth of all her suspitions, which she had numbered and counted when she was led out of the lodging blinde∣fold; I say those stayres which were from her going out thence to the street, which with discreet advisement shee had told. And when she came home (having taken leave of her Son) she fell to counting of them againe, and found the number of them to fall out right, and just; and compa∣ring some signes with other some, shee was fully perswa∣ded that this her imagination was undoubtedly true. Whereof she gave a large account unto her Mother, who like a discreet woman, informed her selfe whether this Gentleman where her Nephew now was, had any Son, or no? And she found that he whom we call Rodolfo was his Son, and that he was in Italy. And casting up the time, which (as it was told them) hee had beene absent from Spayne; they saw that they jumped just with the same yeers of the Child. Shee gave notice of all this to her Husband, and betwixt them two, and their Daughter, they agreed to expect how God would dispose of the wounded Child, who within fifteene dayes was out of danger of his recei∣ved hurt, and at the end of thirtie, was upon his feet, and able to walke up and downe the chamber. In all which

time, he was visited by his Mother, and Grandmother, and made as much of by the owners of the house, as if hee had beene their owne Child.

And now and then, Dona Estefania (for so was the Gen∣tlemans wife called) talking with Leocadia, told her, that this Child did so well resemble a Son of hers who was in Italy, that shee never look't upon him, but that it seemed unto her that she had her own Son in her eye. From these words of hers, Leocadia tooke occasion on a time to tell her when shee was all alone with her, such things as had be∣fore beene debated and agreed upon by her Parents to sig∣nifie unto her, which were these, or the like.

That day (Madam) wherein my Parents heard that their Nephew was so grievously hurt, they beleeved, and verily thought that Heaven had beene shut against them, and that all the World had fallen upon them; they imagi∣ned that they had lost the light of their eyes, whom they loved so dearely, and in such an extraordinary kinde of māner, that by many degrees it exceeded that which Parents commonly beare to their owne Children. But (as we usu∣ally say) that when God gives the wound, hee likewise gives the me∣dicine to cure it. This Child hath found it in this house, and I likewise therein call to minde somethings which I shall never forget the longest day of my life. I (deare Lady) am noble, because my Parents are so, and so have beene all my Auncestours; who with a mediocritie of the goods of fortune, have happily upheld their honour and reputa∣tion wheresoever they lived.

Dona Estefania was strucken both with wonder, and sus∣pension, heakening to Leocadia's discourse, and how feeling∣ly her words came from her, and could not beleeve though she saw it, that so much discretion could bee comprehen∣ded in so few yeares, judging her to be but some 20. years of age, little more, or lesse; and without saying any thing unto her, or replying so much as one word, she stood ex∣pecting to heare what she would furthermore say, which

was sufficient enough for the informing her of her Sons waggishnesse, and wantonesse, and of her own disgrace, and dishonour; of his stealing, and carrying her away by force, of his blind-folding of her eyes, of his bringing her to that very lodging, and telling her the signes and tokens whereby she certainely knew that the same was the roome which so strongly confirmed her suspitition. For further confirmation whereof, she tooke from out her bosome the Image of the Crucifix which shee had taken thence, and spakethus.

Thou Lord, who wast a witnesse of the force that was offered me; doe thou judge my cause, and make mee that amends and reparation of my honour, as of right is due unto me. From the top of that Cabinet I tooke this Cruci∣fix, with a purpose onely to put me still in minde of the wrong I received, but not to crave vengeance thereof, (for I pretend no such thing) onely I shall entreat and begge of thee, that thou wilt give me some comfort, whereby I may the better bee enabled to beare this my disgrace with patience.

This Child (Ladie) on whom you have exercised the utmost of your charitie, is your true Grandchild; it was Gods will and the permission of Heaven, that the Horse ran over him, to the end, that by his being brought to your house, that I should finde that therein which I hope to finde; and if not the remedie, which is most convenient for the curing of my misfortune▪ yet at least the meanes which may helpe me to beare it the better.

Having sayd this, she fell downe in a swound in Dona Estefania's armes; who like a noble Gentlewoman, (in whom compassion, and pittie is as naturall, as crueltie in men,) had scarce perceived Leocadia's swounding; but shee joyned her cheekes to hers, shedding thereon so many teares, that there was no need o•…•… sprinkling any other wa∣ter in her face to bring her againe to her selfe. These two being thus glued each to other, it was Dona Estefania's Hus∣bands

hap to come into the roome, bringing Luisico in with him, leading him by the hand, and seeing Estefania weepe, and Leocadia lying in a swound, he was very hasty in inqui∣ring what might bee the cause thereof, and whence it proceeded. The Child embraced his Mother as his Cosen, and his Grandmother, as his benefactresse; a•…•…d did like∣wise aske why they did weepe? Great and strange things (Sir) I have to tell you, sayd Estefania to her Husband; the whole summe whereof shall end in telling you, that I must assure you that this gentlewoman who fell into a swound, is your Daughter, and this pretty boy, your grandchilde. This truth which I tell you, was delivered unto mee by this good gentlewoman, and the countenance of this sweet Child hath confirmed it; wherein we have both of us beheld as in a glasse our owne Son. If you tell mee no more then this Wife, replied her Husband, I doe not understand you. By this time Leocadia was come to her selfe, and holding fast still the Crucifix, shee seemed to bee turned into a sea of teares. All which had put the gentle∣man into a great confusion and amazement, from which he was freed by his Wifes recounting unto him all that which Leocadia had imparted unto her; and he by the Di∣vine permission of Heaven, did beleeve it as verily, as if it had been proved and made good by many substantiall and true witnesses.

Hee comforted and embraced Leocadia, and kissed his grandchilde Luisico; and that very day dispatched a Post to Naples, advising his Son to come home with all possible speed, because he had concluded a marriage for him, with a marvellous faire and beautifull gentlewoman; and such a one, as was most fit and convenient for him. Nor would they by any meanes consent, and give way, that Leocadia, or her Childe should backe againe to her Fathers house; who resting beyond measure contented with this good successe of their Daughter, gave infinite thankes therefore unto God. The Post returned from Naples, and Rodolfo out

of greedinesse to enjoy so faire a Wife as his Father had sig∣nified unto him, within two dayes after that hee had re∣ceived his Fathers letters, occasion of passage being offered unto him for his comming into Spayne; taking hold there∣of, he embarqued himselfe, with his two Comrades who had never left him, and with a prosperous wind, in 12. daies he arrived at Barcelona; and from thence, taking Post-horses, in 7. more he came to Tolledo, and entered into his fathers house in such a brave and gallant fashion as did exceed, for in him were met together the extreames of both. His Parents were very much joyed with the welfare and arri∣vall of their Sonne.

Leocadia, who unseene, from a private place had a full view and sight of him, that she might not transgresse the order given her by Dona Estefania, was in a quandarie, and in great doubt and suspension what would bee the issue of this businesse. Rodolfo's Comrades would needes goe pre∣sently home to their owne houses; but Estefania would by no meanes let them, because she had need of them for the effecting of her designe. It was neere night when Ro∣dolfo arrived; and whilest that supper was making readie, Estefania called her Sons Comrades aside, being verily per∣swaded that these must needes be two of those three, who (as Leocadia had told her) accompanied Rodolfo that night when they stole her away; and with great and earnest entreaties▪ shee besought them that they would tell her, whether they did not or no remember that their Son on such a night, so many yeares since stole away such a Wo∣man? For to know the truth thereof much concerned the honour and peace, of not onely his Parents, but of all their Alliance and kindred. And with such and so great e•…•…dear∣ments, she knew how to crave this courtesie of them, and in such sort to assure them, that from the discovering of this stealth, there should no dammage follow thereupon; that in conclusion, they held it fit to confesse the truth, and so told her, that they two, and another friend of Rodolfo's

on a Summers night, the very fame which she had named unto them; had stollen away a young gentlewoman, and that Rodolfo carried her away with him, whilest they de∣tained the rest of their company, who without cries sought to defend her from that violence. And that the next day following Rodolfo told them, that he carried her to his lodg∣ing; and that this was all that they could say in answer to her demand.

The confession of those two, was the key which ope∣ned the doore to all the doubts, which in such a case could offer themselves; and therefore she resolved with herself, to bring that good purpose which she had entertained, to a good end, which was this▪ A little before that they were to sit downe to supper, Rodolfo's Mother went apart with her Sonne into a by-roome, and putting a picture into his hands, she sayd withall unto him; Sonne Rodolfo, I will give you a very savoury and pleasing supper, in shewing thee thy Spouse. This is her true picture; but I must tell you, and would have you to thinke well upon it; that what is wanting unto her in beautie, is superabundantly supplied with her vertues. She is noble, and discreet, and indifferently rich; and since that your Father and my selfe, have made choice of her for you, assure your selfe that she is such a one as is fitting for you.

Rodolfo viewed the picture with a searching and judici∣ous eye; and after hee had done looking upon it, he said; if Painters who commonly are wont to bee prodigall of their bestowing of beauty on those faces which they draw, have dealt so likewise with this; I dare bee bold to say it, and verily beleeve it, that the originall to this counterfeit, must needes bee foulenesse it selfe. In good faith (Ladie Mother) it is just and meete that Children should obey their Parents in all that they shall command them; but withall it is likewise convenient, and much more fitting, that Parents should put their Children into such an estate and condition as shall give them content, and in a lawfull

way stand with their liking. And since that Marriage is a knot which is not undone but by death; it were not amisse, but rather much to bee desired, that the laces wherewith this knot is to bee knit, should bee equall and alike, and wrought of one and the same threds. Vertue, noblenesse, discretion, and the goods of for∣tune, may well please and delight the understanding of him who shall happen to have a wife so quallified. But that the foulenesse of such a one should cheere and glad the eies of her husband, in my opinion it is impossible. I am but a young man, yet I understand my selfe very well in this particular, and know that a just and due delight which married folkes may enjoy and take one in other, may sort and stand very well with the rites of holy Matrimonie •…•…nd if that once fayle and be wanting, Ma∣trimonie haltes and goes lame, and contradicteth it's se∣cond intention.

Now then to thinke or imagine, that a foule face which a man is to have at all houres before his eyes at bed, and at boord, may please and delight; I say againe and againe, that I hold it impossible. Therefore as you are my deare and loving Mother, I humbly beseech you, that you will give mee such a companion, and yoake-fellow, that I may take some delight in entertaining the time with her; and not such a one as may cause a loathing in me as oft as I shall looke upon her; to the end that with∣out resting or turning away to this or that other side, equally, and in a direct way, wee may both of us the more easily draw together, and beare that yoake the better, which Heaven hath allotted and layd upon us. And if this Gentlewoman be noble, discreet, and rich, (as your Ladiship implieth) she cannot want a husband that may happily be of a different humour from me. Some there be, that seeke after noblenes, others discretion, others money, others beauty, and I am of the last. For noblenes, (thankes unto Heaven, my auncestors, and my Parents) that is left to

mee by inheritance. For discretion, so as a woman bee not an ignorant, an Asse, or a Do•…•…te; it sufficeth that shee doe not breake (as they say) her needles point; that shee bee not so witty, as by the subtilnesse thereof, to runne into some absurditie or other to her shame and dishonour; so foolish, that shee should not bee of some good use, and profit. For riches, those like∣wise of my Parents make me not to be fearefull of ever comming to bee poore. It is beautie that I seeke after, it is one that is fayre and well favoured, that I desire; not regarding any other Dowrie then honestie, and a sweet and faire behaviour: for if my wife shall bring this with her, I shall serve God with pleasure and delight, and give a good and contented old age to my Parents.

His Mother rested very well satisfied wi•…•…h Rodolfo's rea∣sons, because by them shee knew that it made all as shee would have it for her designe. And therefore made him answer, that she would procure such a marriage for him, as should be answerable to his desire, and that hee should not trouble •…•…r afflict himselfe about it; for it was an easie peece of businesse to undoe that agreement which was made for his marrying with that gentlewoman Rodolfo ren∣dred her many thanks, and the hour of supper being come, they went forth to supper, and the father and mother and Rodolfo, and his Comrades being already sate down at table, Dona Estefania, as if she had forgotten her selfe, O Lord (quoth she) where was my minde? have I not used my guest kindly think you, to sit down before she comes? go one of you presently, and tell Leocadia, that without using any nicetie, or excusing her selfe that here are strangers, she come presently hither to honour this my Table; and that they who sit at it, are all of them my Children, and her servants. All this was her plott, and of all that which was therein to bee done, Leocadia had beene be∣fore advertised. It was not long •…•…re Leocadia came and entered the roome, presenting on the sudden in her

person the fayrest show, that either artificiall, or naturall beautie could afford. Shee came in clad, (it being then Winter,) in a gowne of blacke Velvet, set with but∣tons of gold, and pearle; a girdle, and chaine of Dia∣monds, her owne haires which were long, and of an auborne colour, did serve her instead of her head-dressings, whose invention of ribbands, tufts of feathers, and glitte∣rings of Diamonds which were interwoven with them, did dazle the eyes of the beholders.

Leocadia was of a gentle disposition, and of a quicke and lively spirit: she brought her Son along with her, leading him by the hand, two Damosells going before her, lighting her in with two waxe lights, in two silver Candlestickes. They al rose up to do her reverence, as if she had been some Deitie sent downe from Heaven, which had thus miracu∣lously appeared unto them. None of those that were there, but stood astonished, beholding so rare a peece; and the more they looked on her, the more they were amazed, in∣somuch that they were not able to speake unto her; such power hath beauty to impose silence.

Leocadia, with a gracefull behaviour, and discreet car∣riage, made lowly curtisie and obeysance to them all; and Estesania taking her by the hand, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her next un∣to her selfe, right over against Rodolfo. The little boy, hee sate by his Grandfather; Rodolfo who now at a neerer distance, beheld the incómparable beauty of Le∣cadia, sayd within himselfe; if shee had but the one halfe of this beautie which my Mother hath made choyce of for to bee my Spouse, I should hold my selfe the happiest man in the World. What is this which I now see? is it happily some Angell that I stand thus gazing on? And in this rapture of his, the faire image of Leocadia went entring in by his eye, to take pos∣session of his soule. Who all the while that supper lasted, seeing him likewise so neere unto her selfe, whom shee now loved more then the light of those her eies which now

and then by stealth looked on him, she began to revolve in her imagination, and to call to minde that which had passed heretofore with Rodolfo. Whereupon those hopes began to wax•…•… weake in her soule, which his Mother had given her of his being her Husband; fearing that the short∣nesse of her fortune would be answerable in the end to his Mothers promises, She considered with her selfe how neere she was of being happie, or unhappie for ever. And so intense was this consideration, and so strong and vio∣lent these her thoughts and imaginations, that they did in such sort trouble and oppresse her heart, that she began to sweat, and to change colour in an instant; whereupon suddenly followed a swounding, which enforced her to let her head fall into Dona Estefania's lappe, had she not re∣ceived it within her armes. Who as soone as she saw her in this trance, much startled therewith, made her bosome her pillow.

A sudden passion seized on them all, and rising from the boord, they addressed themselves to procure her reco∣verie▪ But he who gave best evidence of his sorrow was Ro∣dolfo, who that the sooner he might comein to helpe her, out of meere haste stumbled, and fell twice; but neither with unclasping her gowne, nor unlacing her petticote, nor with sprinkling water on her face, did she come again to her selfe, but rather the rising of her breast, and the fay∣ling of her pulse, which they could not finde to move, or stirre, went giving precise signes, and apparant tokens of her death. And the men and mayd-servants of the house, more passionate, then well advised, cryed out aloud, oh she is dead, she is dead.

This sorrowfull newes, accompanied with such woe∣full lamentations, came at last to the eares of Leocadia's Pa∣rents; whom for a more pleasing occasion, Dona Estefania had kept close and secret, till she saw a fit time for to bring them forth in publicke; who together with the Priest of the Parish, (for he likewise was shut up with them,) break∣ing

the order given them by Estefania, came forth into the roome where they were. The Priest made in quickly, for to see if by any signes, she gave any tokens of repenting her selfe of her sinnes, to the end that he might absolve her of them. And whereas he thought to have found but one in a swound, he found two. For Rodolfo was now in the like case, lying with his face on Leocadia's breast; his Mother gave way unto him, and was willing that hee should draw thus neere unto her, as unto a thing that was to bee his; but when she saw that her Son likewise was without sense, and lay as it were for dead, she was likewise upon the point to lose hers; and had questionlesse lost it, had she not presently perceived that Rodolfo began (as hee did) to come againe to himselfe; who was much ashamed that they had seene him run into such extreames.

But his Mother, as one that divined of that which her Sonne thought, sayd unto him; be not ashamed (Sonne) of these extreames which thou hast committed, but bee a∣shamed of those which thou shouldst not have commit∣ted, when thou shalt come to know that which I will no longer conceale from thee, though I thought to have deferred the doing of it, untill a more joyfull conjuncture.

I would have thee therefore to know (Son of my soule) that this gentlewoman whom you see lying thus in a swound in mine armes, is thy true Spouse. I style her thy true Spouse, because my selfe and thy Father have made choyce of her to be thy wife; for that which I presented to thee in the picture, was a false one.

When Rodolfo heard this, transported with his amorous, and enflamed desire; and the name of Husband removing all those rubbes which the honestie and decencie of the place might lay in his way, he brake through the company, and laying his face to that of Leocadia, remained as one ex∣pecting that his soule should breathe it selfe forth, and ei∣ther bring hers backe againe, or make it's abode with hers for ever.

But when the teares of all, through extreame griefe, went still more and more encreasing; and when through excesse of sorrow, their lamentations and out-cryes augmented more and more, and grew lowder and higher, and that the hayres of the head and beard of Leocadia's Mo∣ther, and Father, by taring and pulling of them up by the rootes, beganne to waxe lesse and lesse, and that the shrill exclamations of their Sonne Rodolfo, with their noyse and clamour peirced the Heavens. Leocadia returned againe unto her selfe; and with her returning to life, re∣turned that joy and content, which had absented them∣selves from the brests of those that were about her. Leo∣cadia found her selfe linked close with fast embracings in Rodolfo's armes, and sought by honest force to unloose her selfe from them. But he sayd unto her, no (sweet Mistresse) it must not bee so; it is not meet that you should strive to get your selfe from forth his armes, who holds you alreadie fo fast in his soule. With these kinde words Leo∣cadia came wholy to her selfe, and perfectly recovered her lost sences; and Dona Estefania made an end of going any further forward with her former determination; spea∣king to the Priest, that he should forthwith without any further delay espouse her Sonne to Leocadia. He did so, be∣cause there was no difficultie that interposed it selfe for the hindering of these Espousalls.

Which being now fully ended and finished, I leave it to some choycer Pen, and to some other wit more re∣fined then mine; to recount the generall joy and gladnes of all those that were there present; the embracements which Leocadia's Parents gave Rodolfo, the thankes which they gave to Heaven, and to his Parents; the fayre of∣fers of love and friendshippe on their parts; the admi∣ration and wonder of Rodolfo's Comrades, who so unex∣pectedly saw the very selfe same night of their arrivall there, so fayre a match made up. And they wondered the more when they knew by Dona Estefania's discourse before

them all that Leocadia was the Damosell which in their company her Sonne had violently stollen and carried away.

Nor did Rodolfo remaine any whit lesse suspensefull; and for the better certifying himselfe of this truth, hee entreated Leocadia that shee would acquaint him with some signe or token, whereby hee might come to the full knowledge of that which hee did not doubt of, because his Parents had so well approved his match∣ing with her, whereunto she made this answer. When I returned and came to my selfe from out another swounding, I found my selfe (deare Sir) in your armes without mine honour; but I thinke it now well employ∣ed, since that in this my latter comming to my selfe, I finde my selfe in the same armes I did then, but with much more honour. And if this token be not sufficient, let that suffice of the Image of a Crucifix, which none could steale from you but my selfe, which you could not chuse but misse the next morning. And if that bee the very same which your Mother hath now in her keep∣ing, you are the Image of my soule which I highly adore, and you shall bee still neerest and dearest unto mee as long (my deare) as God shall permit us to live together. Wher∣upon hee embracing her a new, their Parents bestowed their benedictions upon them, and all the rest that were by, bid God give them joy.

Supper came in, and the Musitians were come, which were before hand provided for this purpose. Rodolfo beheld himselfe in the looking glasse of his Sonnes face. The Grandfathers and Grandmothers on both sides, wept for very joy; nor was there any corner in all the whole house which was not visited with a Iubilee, with exceeding great content and gladnesse, And although night did flie away with it's blacke nimble wings; yet it seemed to Rodolfo, that it did goe and walke, not with wings, but with crut∣ches; so great was the desire which he had to see himselfe

all alone with his beloved Spouse; at last came that desi∣red houre. They all of them went to bed to take their rest, and the whole house remained buried in silence. But so cannot the truth of this storie, by reason that the many Children will not give way thereunto▪ and that noble off-spring which they have remaining in Toledo. And yet these happie couple are still living, and long may they live, to the joy and comfort of themselves, their Children, and Grandchildren. All which was brought to passe by the permission of Heaven, and by the force of that bloud, which the valiant, noble, and Christian Grandfather of Luisico, saw spilt upon the ground.

The end of the fourth Booke.