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and, taking his arms, he struck into the wildest part . of the mountain. All night he went, and the next day till vespers, then he came to a plain at the foot of a mountain : there were two high trees there that grew over a fountain, and there he went to give his horse drink, for they had found no water all that day. When he came up to the fountain, he saw an old man in a religious habit, who was giving his ass water; his beard and hair were grey, and his habit was very poor, being made of goat's hair. Amadis saluted him, and asked him if he was a priest. The good man answered that he had been one forty years. God be praised ! quoth Amadis : I beseech you for the love of God stay here to-night and hear my confession, of which I am in great need. In God's name ! said the old man. Then Amadis alighted, laid his arms upon the ground, and took the saddle from his horse and let him feed; and he disarmed, and knelt before the good man, and began to kiss his feet. The good man took him by the hand and raised him, and made him sit by him; and, beholding him well, he thought him the goodliest knight that ever he saw, but he was pale and his face and neck were stained with tears, so that the old man had great pity, and said, Sir knight, it seems that you are in great affliction : if it be for any sin that you have committed, and these tears spring from repentance, in a happy hour came you here ! but if it be for any worldly concerns, from which by your youth and comeliness it seems you cannot be removed, remember God, and beseech him of his mercy to bring you to his service. He then raised his hand and blessed him, and bade him relate all the sins he could call to mind. Hereon Amadis began the whole discourse of his life, without letting anything
the goodle, and, behd and rais
pass. The good man then said, seeing that you are of such understanding, and of so high a lineage, you ought not to despair and cast yourself away for anything that may befal you, much less for the action of a woman, for they are as easily won as lightly lost. I counsel you to lay aside such folly, for the love of God, to whom it is displeasing, and even for worldly reason, for man ought not to love where he is not beloved. Good sir, replied Amadis, I am now in such extremity that I cannot live any long time: I beseech you, by that God whose faith you hold, take me with you for the little while I have to live, that I may have comfort for my soul. My horse and arms I need no longer : I will leave them here, and go with you on foot, and perform whatever penitence you enjoin. If you refuse, you will sin before God, for else I shall wander and perish in this mountain. When the good man saw him thus resolute, he said to him, with a heart wholly bent to his good, Certes, sir, it becomes not a knight like you to abandon himself as if he had lost the whole world, by reason of a woman : their love is no longer than while they see you with their eyes, and hear such words as you say to them, and that past, presently they forget yok; especially in those false loves that are begun against the Lord : the same sin which makes them sweet at first, gives them a bitterness in the end, as you experience. But you, who are of such prowess, and have such power, you who are the true and loyal protector of such as are oppressed, great wrong would it be to the world if you thus forsake it. I know not what she is who hath brought you to this extremity, but if all the worth and beauty of the sex were brought together in one, I know that such a man as you ought not to be
lost for her. Good sir, quoth Amadis, I ask not your counsel upon this, where it is not wanted ; but, for my soul's sake, I pray you take me in your company, for else I shall have no remedy, but to die in this mountain. The old man hearing this, had such compassion on him that the tears fell down his long white beard. Sir, my son, said he, I live in a dreary place, and a hard life; my hermitage is full seven leagues out at sea, upon a high rock, to which no ship can come except in summer time. I have lived there these thirty years, and he who lives there must renounce all the pleasures and delights of the world, and all my support is the alms which the people of the land here bestow upon me. I promise you, said Amadis, this is the life I desire for the little while I shall live, and I beseech you, for the love of God, let me go with you. The good man, albeit against his will, consented ; and Amadis said, Now, father, command me what to do, and I will be obedient. The good man gave him his blessing, and said vespers, and then taking bread and fish from his wallet, he bade Amadis eat; but Amadis refused, though he had been three days without tasting food. You are to obey me, said the good man, and I command you to eat, else your soul will be in great danger if you die. Then he took a little food ; and when it was time to sleep, the old man spread his cloak and laid him down thereon, and Amadis laid himself down at his feet.
The most part of the night Amadis did nothing but turn from side to side, but at last being sore wearied he fell asleep, and in that sleep he dreamt that he was fastened in a dark chamber, where there was no light at all, neither could he find any way to come out thereof, whereat he greatly lamented; then he thought that his cousin Mabilia and the Damsel of Denmark came to him, and there was a sun-beam before them which dispelled the darkness, and they took him by the hand, saying, Come forth, sir, to this great palace. And he thought that he was right joyful ; and going out he saw his lady Oriana surrounded with a great flame of fire, whereat he cried out, Holy Mary, help her! and ran through the fire to save her, feeling no hurt, and took her in his arms and carried her into a garden, the greenest and pleasantest that ever he had seen. At the loud cry which he made the good man awoke, and took him by the hand, asking him what he ailed ? Sir, said he, I felt such pain in my sleep that I was almost dead. So it seemed by your cry, said the old man, but it is time to set out; then he got upon his ass. Amadis would have walked by him, but the good man with great entreaty made him mount his horse, and so they fared on together.
As they went, Amadis besought him to grant one boon, which should be no-ways hurtful, the which the old man granted. I pray you then, said Amadis, that so long as we are together you will not tell any man who I am, nor anything concerning me, and that you will call me by some other name, not my own; and when I am dead you tell my brethren of me, that they may take my body into their country. Your life and death, said the good man, are in the hands of God, so talk no more of this, he will help you if you know and love and serve him as you ought; but tell me, by what name will you be called ?—Even by whatever it shall please you.—So the old man, seeing how fair he was, and in how forlorn a condition, replied, I will give you a name conformable to your appearance and distress, Beltenebros. Now Beltene
bros being intrepreted, signifyeth, the fair forlorn. The name pleased Amadis, and he admired the good sense of the old man in chusing it; so by this name he was long known till it became as renowned as that of Amadis. Thus communing they reached the seaside just as the night closed in ; there they found a bark, wherein the good man might cross to his hermitage. Beltenebros gave his horse to the mariners, and they gave him in exchange a cloak of goat skin, and a garment of coarse grey woollen. They embarked, and Beltenebros asked the good man what was his own name, and the name of his abode. They call my dwelling-place, said he, the Poor Rock, because none can live there without enduring great poverty : my own name is Andalod. I was a clerk of some learning, and spent my youth in many vanities, till it pleased God to awaken me, and then I withdrew to this solitary abode : for thirty years I have never left it, till now that I went to the burial of my sister. At length they reached the rock and landed, and the mariners returned to the mainland. Thus Amadis, now called Beltenebros, remained on the Poor Rock, partaking the austerities of the hermit, not for devotion, but for despair, forgetful of his great renown in arms, and hoping and expecting death,-all for the anger of a woman !
When Gandalin awoke in the mountain, he looked round him, and seeing only his own horse, started up, misdoubting what had happened; he called aloud, and searched among the shrubs in vain, he could find nei. ther Amadis nor his horse. Then, knowing Amadis was departed, he turned to his horse to ride after him, but the saddle and bridle were gone! upon that he cursed himself and his evil fortune, and the day