Now follows the beginning of my peregrination, which (having been too long in this history) I will briefly relate. At the dolorous letter which was written to me of this success (which was discovered as soon as Pamphilus was gone from Toledo) I came from Salamanca to my father's house, which I found all in mourning for the loss of my sister. My father in few words obliged me to revenge it, which I swore that I would, with many words as free as his were grave: and to execute my intent I went to Madrid. I sought Pamphilus in all the houses of his friends, and visited his mother, asking news of him, making show how things had passed. His innocent mother said, it was two years since he went into Flanders, and that from the time of his departure, she never had heard from him, from whence she collected he was dead. I thought that she, knowing what he had done, had disguised the truth: and while I was in this meditation, I casting my eyes upon a young gentlewoman, who sat sewing by this reverend matron. I found her in my mind so fair, that her only look had power to temper my sorrow, and hardly had I fully viewed her perfections, when as I propounded in myself to serve her, and to steal her away, thinking by this means to give satisfaction to our honour, and beginning to my revenge. To recount unto you at this time all the passages and the care which I used to speak with her, and to bring her to my will, would be to trouble you with a long discourse; let it satisfy that I drew her from her house with the same thread wherewith Pamphilus had pulled Nisa from ours, and in a strange and foolish mind led her into France, where her beauty ministered subject unto a knight to serve her and for me to kill him: from whence it followed that for safety of my life I was driven to leave her. Nevertheless, I am resolved whatsoever happen unto me to seek her, because that besides, I do love her more than myself, I owe so much unto her merit and virtue with which she hath faithfully accompanied me, through many and variable successes."
Night had spread his black veil over the face of the Earth, and the houses were as full of candles, as the heaven of stars; men and creatures retired themselves, from their common labour, when as the miserable Pamphilus gave over hearing the tragedy of his love, with the last act of his honour: and to know that he did then but begin to suffer his evils when he thought he was at an end of them. He admired the justice of Heaven, which had suffered that his sister should so lightly have quitted her mother's house to run away with a man; yet finding in himself the example of his own misleading of Nisa, and that the injury which he had done unto Celio was no less than that which he had received, he did not hold it just in himself once to think of revenge, but rather to persuade him that he should not, nor ought to leave her, which he performed with the best words, and the liveliest reasons he could devise. Remonstrating unto him that amongst gentlemen the only condition of nobleness should bind him to seek for her, which Celio allowing for most reasonable, gave him his word to employ his endeavours to that purpose. And being lodged this night together, they supped and slept in one house. The next morning Pamphilus gave him a letter to a French gentleman with whom he had great acquaintance, that he might favour him in finding out Finia, for so was his sister called. But Celio departed not for certain days, during which time there was a perfect friendship knit between those two secret enemies; so that Pamphilus knowing the offence which Celio had done unto him, pardoned him in his heart, and Celio ignorant that this was Pamphilus, was disposed to the pardoning of him. The resolution was with great oaths to enquire out one the other, and to help each other in all accidents as brothers; assigning the rendezvous within six months, in the city of Pamplona.
So went Celio upon his enterprise; and some few days after his departure, Pamphilus' sorrow increasing out of the opinion that it was impossible for him to recover Nisa; it happened that going one night from his lodging in a vain desire he had to see the windows of the prison (where his happiness and joy was enclosed) he heard a knight cry out for help against some who would at advantage have killed him. He suddenly stepped unto him, and drawing out his sword out of his palmer's staff with an incredible dexterity, accompanied with a valiant & brave courage, made them loose him whom they would have killed, and save their own lives by a shameful though a safe flight.
The knight would needs know who he was, who had delivered him from so great danger: and although Pamphilus excused himself from telling his name, yet the knight's desire and courtesy prevailed more than the humbleness wherewith the pilgrim did endeavour to persuade him that he had done him no service: to conclude, he led him to his house, where his good and gentle behaviour being observed, the knight and his parents bore such affection unto him that they did oblige him to become their guest.
There remained Pamphilus some days, at the end of which Jacinth (so was this knight called) told him the history of his love unto fair Lucinda, and the occasion for which these assassinators wold have murdered him, who for this only cause, were come from Seville unto Valencia where the subject of the passion and the sorrow wherein he lived did remain. I do believe that lovers have some sympathy one with another, and that they join and communicate in such manner as you have seen in this discourse, seeing that our pilgrim never came into any house where there was not someone or other tainted with this evil, even though it were in craggy mountains.
By this overture of Jacinth's secret, Pamphilus was bound to reveal his: and after he had made him swear that he would grant him his request, he said that in recompense of his life which he had saved, as he himself confessed, he conjured him to help him to a place, in that prison where the mad folks were shut up. Jacinth, astonished at so strange a request, would needs know the cause. But Pamphilus promising to tell him as soon as he had done him that favour, and casting himself at his feet with most earnest and unheard of words, affirming the good he should doe him to put him in this place, made Jacinth suspect that some secret danger did enforce him into that place. And willing very generously to satisfy the obligation wherein he was tied, after some inconveniences and reasons urged to divert him, having agreed with him of the means which he should use. That very night Jacinth took five or six men of the hospital who entering suddenly into Pamphilus' chamber, put him in a chair, and carried him away in their arms. Miserable condition of this man, who after so many strange successes, being wise (if those who love can be so) to make himself to be taken and shut up willingly, as a madman, where all the mad folks would willingly be accounted wise.
All Jacinth's house admired at this novelty, and all his family complained that this stranger, unto whom Jacinth owed his life, was so unworthily requited by Jacinth himself: but she who most complained of his cruelty and had the truest feeling of it was Tiberia his sister, who was both fair and discreet above all the ladies in Valencia, who affecting the gentleness and fair spirit of our unfortunate pilgrim, did not see but by his eyes, and did not breathe but from him. Jacinth told them that Pamphilus was mad, and that it was necessary he should be cured before the disease increased too far. The father of this knight, who was very learned, blamed exceedingly this precipitate course, saying that in all infirmities there was nothing more dangerous than physic out of season, and swore that he should be had out of the hospital to be cured in his house. Tiberia confirmed this piety, saying that reward due unto him, they being not so poor, but that they had means sufficient to have him cured in their house, with greater care of his health, and less scandal to his honour Jacinth replied that he was a stranger, and that nobody knew him. But all the household were so much against him, blaming him for ingratitude, especially his father and his sister, that he was constrained to tell them what he knew. Whereat in imagining the cause, all of them were astonished, and wondered. They thought that Pamphilus was a spy, who went disguised under the habit of a pilgrim, and that fearing to be known by someone, he used this subtility to save his life: for although he spoke Spanish, nevertheless, by his fair face and exceeding beauty, he seemed a stranger, and by his actions a gentleman. With this confession, Jacinth remained in their good opinion, though the house was much troubled, and Tiberia was full of pitiful grief and care for Pamphilus' life: who being in prison among the mad folks (in the judgement of many, the very centre of greatest misery) imagined himself to be in most glorious happiness.
To this new madman the more ancient gave place, and Pamphilus, with divers feignings and counterfeitings of his face, endeavoured to express his madness; which fashion of his, seeming them as tokens of rashness, they put him into the prison with irons on his hands, where to confirm them the more in their opinion of his madness, he said so many words so far from the matter, that his affliction was believed. There he stayed some few days before he could see his beloved Nisa, suffering most insupportable discommodities, difficult to be spoken of, and almost impossible to be believed; in the meantime Celio went by Saragossa into France, to find his beautiful and beloved Finia whom he had lost, where being come, he heard the news of the peace which was proclaimed between the two nations, which made him rest that night (with more contentment out of the facility which it brought to his design) staying for the light of the morning to clear his passage over the mountains into France.
The End of the Second Book.