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CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV.

pait tge ^ccontr*

fconiiituedj.

PAGE

■irhc ^turiltictll ^toi-y. Setting forth the origin of the Mar-
quesses of Carretto and of other Marquisates in Monferrato
and Le Langhe 8

%\\t ©iir-itn6-'3riucntiftlt ^tovg. The Judge of Lucca lieth
with a lady and letteth put her husband in prison ; to-
gether with various incidents 31

■Jhc 'iEU)iJ-;tn&-'iru.icntirth ^tori}. Carlo Savonaro putteth a
cheat upon his uncle and with the latter's monies maketh
himself counsellor of Toulouse 60

■JThc 'Jhvfc-anb-'iCtDcntictlt ^tovg. The Abbot of Begne maketh
a pig-organ and by his prompt reply unto his king, quitteth
him of a demand 66

%\\t J^our-.tnft-'iEtBCntictlt ^tovg. The loves of Messer Gian
Battista Latuate and the amorous delusion wherein he
was involved, together with the sprightly response of his
mistress 74

%\\,t ^ibc-itlt^-'<Etornti£tIl ^torg. The various adventures of

a lover with a madman and others 86

"Slltc §i.\"-itnl)-i:tocntirth <Ston). The dishonest and ill-omened
amours of ]\Iadame de Cabrio, a Provengal lady, with her
proctor and [how there ensued thereof the] death of many
folk 9^

369313

PAGE

'Zhe §>cbtn-mi>-'iE\)3enticth §torg. Francesco Frescobaldi
showeth hospitality to a stranger and the latter becoming
Constable of England, is well recompensed therefor . . ic6

"iEhr ffiight-anb-ltDJirtittk ^torg. Nicuola, being enamoured
of Lattanzio, goeth to serve him, clad as a page, and after
many adventures, marrieth him ; with that which befell a
brother of hers 121

Ikj |linf-itn6-1tDEntietIt .StovB. Edward III., King of
England, loveth the daughter of a subject of his and
[ultimately] taketh her to wife 161

"She "Slhirtieth ^tcrg. The rash presumption of a lover and
his death, brought about by his own precipitation and
heedlessness 232

Iks Onc-anii-'ChirtictiT ^torg. A woman, having long been
a priest's concubine and being dismissed by him, hangeth
herself in his proper chamber 242

"She '^ItDO-anb-^kirtirth ^torg. An accomplished young lady,
seeing herself abandoned by her lover, thinketh to poison
herself, but drinketh a harmless water 251

%ht "3ih«c-an6-'3Ikivtictk ^torg. Gerardo secretly taketh his
mistress to wife and goeth to Baruti. Meanwhile the
damsel's father seeketh to marry her and she, swooning
for dolour, is entombed for dead; but her true husband
returneth that same day and taking her forth of the
sepulchre, perceiveth that she is not dead ; whereupon he
tendeth her and after formally celebrateth his nuptials
with her 312

Ihe Jfour-«nb-'3;;kirtirtk gltorg. A cheat put by the Queen
of Arragon upon King Pedro her husband, to have children
by him 35°

Part t&e Second

(canti'uuctii).

VOL. IV.

T5anrieUo

t0 i])t tnast illustrious nnH refeerenti prelate fHon*
si'snar Paolo, iiilarquess of Carretto, Bisfjop
anil Count of Caljors.

It useth, my, lord, to be unto every man a source of
exceeding satisfaction and contentment of mind to know
the origin of his lineage, and the higher and nobler the
stock whereof he cometh, of so much piore the account
doth he hold himself. Again, whoso is not plainly certified
of the high and illustrious origin of his family, but knoweth
at the least that his forefathers have lived nobly some
hundreds of years, taketh no small pleasure in this know-
ledge. And we see by experience that, whenas men
are certified of the beginning of some family, that it is
descended of noble ancestors or hath endured many ages,
it abideth in exceeding worship with all, especially whenas
it chanceth to produce in every age men excellent for
dignity, letters or arms and maintaineth jurisdiction over
lands and castles. We are all indeed descended in unbroken
succession from our first parent Adam and Eve his wife,
and our Lord God Almighty giveth unto all rational souls
of one kind, committing unto secondary causes the care
of moulding human bodies, one better organized than other,
even as we daily see many born variously fashioned and
different ; for that some come into the world deaf, some

shield, meseeming I might not better bestow it nor give
it a fitter patron than yourself, setting out, as it doth, the
noble and imperial origin of your most illustrious house.
You may, indeed, my lord, vaunt yourself without leasing
of having all those parts which are required of true nobility,
seeing your house had such a beginning that there be few
to match therewith, it being descended on both sides of
blood royal and imperial and having moreover abidden
most illustrious through many centuries, producing a suc-
cession of men eminent in every kind of worth, and
presently flourisheth as much as ever, degenerating no
whit from its ancient greatness. Who is there knoweth
not the marquesses of Carretto (who were erst styled
Marquesses of Savona, for that with this title they were
invested by Otho the Second, Emperor of Rome,) to be
among the most illustrious and noblest families of Italy?
I will not presently enumerate the many ancestors of
your family who have been famous in every age, for
that in truth there came not so many heroes out of
the Trojan horse as men glorious for shining fame have
issued from your stock ; and not to recount its reverend
antiquity, which would be an overlong story, suffice it to
name to you two or three of your house whom we have
all known. Your own age hath seen Signor Fabrizio
your uncle. Grand Master of Rhodes, whose valour, wit,
authority and prowess were of such sort that, what while
he lived and had the governance, the Emperor of the
Turks dared never assail the island, it being more than
certain that he would have undertaken such an emprise
in vain. What shall I say of your other uncle, the
Cardinal of Holy Church, who was so dear and so
acceptable to Pope Julius the Second and to the Most
Christian King Louis the Twelfth (a judicious appraiser

of men's worth and fidelity) thai he was of the one
inscribed of the number of the cardinals and still honour-
ably employed of the other in affairs of exceeding great
moment? I pass over your third uncle and Alfonso your
father, both Marquesses of Finario, and Giovanni your
brother, a young man nowise inferior to his forbears.
Ah, had not death untimely snatched him from us, he
had given no mean approof of himself ! But, wounded
to the death at Tunis,^ in the emprise against the
enemies of Christ, he passed to a better life and shed
more glory from his wounds than blood. However, he
hath left us of himself and of his dearest wife, the lady
Ginevra Bentivoglia, many children, who, being excel-
lently well reared, will speedily renew for us the paternal
and ancestral virtue. Great, indeed, then, my lord,
should your contentment be, knowing yourself begotten
of so generous, so noble and so honoured a family ; but
greater yet methinketh should be (and I am fain to
believe is) your satisfaction, feeling yourself to be such
as sorteth with the greatness of your ancestors. And if
I wrote of you to other than yourself, I know well that
which I might truthfully say of your shining virtues and
what panegyrics I might indite, if my power of diction
and eloquence were equal unto your merit ; but I am
loath to be holden a flatterer, praising you to your face,
for that I have been ever far removed from the like vice.
Let the time come when I shall see your sacred locks
covered with the red hat- and then I will enforce myself
to drain all the founts of Helicon in your praise. Deign,

1 i.e. at the capture of La Goletta by the Emperor Charles V. ia

1535-

2 i.e. the Cardinal's hat.

8

therefore, for this present, to accept of me this little gift ;
marry, I give you as much as I may, and if the gift
seem to you little worth, look not to your greatness and
your merit, but bethink you of my insignificance and lack
of ableness and remember that poor folk, who cannot
offer up gold and silver before God, enforce themselves
at the least to adorn His holy altars with leaves and
flowers ; in imitation of whom I offer at your shrine
these trifling fruits of my sterile wit. May our Lord
God prosper all your thoughts, giving you that which
you desire ; and so, kissing your reverend hands, I humbly
commend myself to your favour. Fare you well.

SETTING FORTH THE ORIGIN OF THE MAR-
QUESSES OF CARRETTO AND OF OTHER
MARQUISATES IN MONFERRATO AND LE
LANGHE.1

The ancient histories of the kings and dukes of Saxony
relate that Otho, first of that name emperor among the
Germans, was bom of a daughter of the king of that country,
which was after from a kingdom made a duchy and is yet
governed under that title.- This Otho had by his wife
Matilda a son, who was on like wise named Otho and who

' A tract of country in Piedmont, Ij'ing between Alba and Cevi
and anciently divided into numerous small fiefs holden of the Empire.
* Napoleon re-erected the duchy into a kingdom.

also became emperor, under the title of Otho the Second,
and was, for the benignity of his nature, styled of all Amor
Mundi, to wit, the Love of the World, for that he was loath
to aggrieve any and would fain have done all men pleasure ;
algates, he was of a warlike humour and to maintain the
imperial jurisdictions, undertook very goodly emprises. He
had a very fair daughter and higher-hearted than behoved
unto a woman, who was called Adelasia ; and there was at
court, in the emperor's service, a son of the Duke of Saxony,
Aleramo by name, a very goodly youth and exceeding pro-
ficient in letters, whose father, dying, (for that he was not
the first-born,) left him to heritage divers castles in Saxony,
with a good enough revenue. He passed for the prowest
man of his person of all that were at court, and being, to
boot, of lofty understanding, he bore himself in all his
dealings on such wise that there was none might be evened
with him. It chanced, one day amongst others, that, a hunt
being toward, certain of the young courtiers, not content
with the beasts and wild fowl taken by the dogs, boldly set
themselves to make prize of a bear, which was come forth of
its cave, and among them there was none bore himself more
valiantly than Aleramo, who, lighting down from his horse,
(for that the steed would not budge for fear of the wild
beast) went courageously to meet the bear and to the infinite
admiration of the whole court, overcame it, without suffering
any hurt. Adelasia, hearing of this prowess, cast her eyes
upon Aleramo and herseeming he was the debonairest, the
most courteous and the most valiant lord at her father's
court and did everything better than any other, she became
insensibly sore enamoured of him. Now she was but a girl
and Aleramo himself had not yet over-passed twenty years
of age.

Meanwhile Otho I. died and Adelasia 's father was

lO

elected emperor, nor for this her father's advancement
did she change any whit from her love ; nay, she was all
afire therewith and her passion was so much the heavier
upon her as she might the less avail to vent it. Aleramo,
noting the damsel's love, in his turn received the amorous
flames into his breast and that on such wise that he could
turn his mind to no otherwhat day or night, having still
before his eyes her beauty which had so sore enkindled him.
Most wonderful and hard to fathom are the ways of love !
There were at the court of Otho II. a great number of young
and notable men, but none pleased the damsel save Aleramo
alone. Again, there were to be seen there all day long most
fair and lovesome ladies, but among so many Adelasia alone
availed to enkindle Aleramo's heart. The two lovers, then,
loved each other very secretly nor dared confide in any one ;
their eyes only were the trusty secretaries of their passion
and the swift messengers of their hidden thoughts. And
albeit they talked together bytimes, they dared not ever
discover their flame one to other ; nevertheless it seemed to
both that they were exceeding well requited of their love,
the which added fire unto their fire.

Adelasia, who was a girl of fifteen, being tenderer and
more delicate, suffered inexpressible torment, affliction and
annoy from the flames of love ; wherefore, thinking of no
otherwhat than of her dear lover, she said many a time
in herself, whenas she was alone, "What is this that I
feel more than of wont in my heart? Whence cometh it
that my accustomed way of life no longer pleaseth me ? To
take the needle and labour at embroidery, which used to
be so pleasing, is presently a weariness to me ; reading,
which so delighted me, no more contenteth me ; the
company of my damsels, which erst held me so merry,
the frolicking with them, which so diverted me, the going

apleasuring about the gardens, which I so loved, and the
sight of various sports, which I so oft went seeking,
meseemeth are now grown irksome to me and I desire
and seek no othcrwhat than to abide alone and feed my
thought upon this new flame, which consumeth my bones
and my marrow. Alone before my eyes there al)idoth
without cease the fair and noble image of the valiant and
courteous Aleramo of Saxony. Whenas I think of him,
I breathe and am at ease ; if I see him, I burn and freeze ;
and if I see him not, I seek and desire him. When I hear
him speak, his sweetest speech so floodeth my mind and my
breast that I could abide eternally intent upon his lips.
But, woe is me ! What say I ? What think I ? Of what
dreamest thou, Adelasia ? What dost thou desire ? Alack,
my heart, put away from thee these strange and idle thoughts,
neither give way to these flames, which are enkindled
against all right and reason. Ah me, an but I might avail
not to ail, as I presently do ! Alas, what strange might
urgeth me, in mine own despite, to go whither I would
fain not go ! Reason counselleth me one thing, but love
will have me do altogether the contrary and constraineth
me so sore that it suffereth me not breathe an hour. Marry,
what have I to do with Aleramo more than with the other
gentlemen and barons of the court ? If, indeed, his parents
and mine are descended from the house of Saxony, it be-
seemeth not therefor that I should love him more than of
reason ; nay, it behoveth me love him who shall be given
me to spouse, according to ancient usance. But what lady
is there who would not love Aleramo ? W^ho is there so
discreet, so coy, so insensible that, knowing herself beloved
of him, she might avail so to fend herself that she would not
abide subject unto him ? Me, certes, he hath taken on such
wise and bounden with so strait a knot that, an he lend

12

me not aid, needs must I soon miserably end my days. Am
I, then, fain,, being yet unmarried, to submit myself unto
one who, after he is sated of me, will go his ways and leave
me here scorned and dishonoured ? Nay, his gentle aspect,
his pleasant fashions, his infinite courtesy and the goodness
he discovereth in his every action warrant me against such
cruelty and such graceless ingratitude, for that he, being
virtuous and most noble, will be eke constant and faithful.
He shall first pledge me his faith not to abandon me and
shall espouse me to his lawful wife ; and if it be not
vouchsafed us to abide here, the world is wide. So but
I abide with him, I cannot fare other than well, let what
will be said of me after. Enough that I shall not hear that
which will be said ; nay, even did I hear missay of me, what
then ? Shall I be the first that hath abandoned country
and kin for love ? Innumerable are the women who have
voluntarily followed after their lovers. Helen chose to be
carried off and abandoning her husband, to go with her
Paris to Troy. Phcedra and Ariadne of their free will
followed Theseus. None enforced Medea to leave her
father and her native land and flee with Jason ; or if any
enforced these, certes it was love, the which in truth
enforceth me also follow my Aleramo whithersoever he
shall seek to go. Alack, how go I (fool that I am !)
wandering amidst these my idle thoughts ! Even yet I
know not Aleramo's mind, who, albeit meseemeth indeed
he loveth me, will belike shrink from forfeiting my father's
favour, for that, losing it, he will lose therewith his native
land and whatsoever he possesseth in Saxony. "

These and other like thoughts Adelasia revolved a
thousand times day and night and eke changed purpose
again and again. Nor did Aleramo live a life less tormented
with extravagant fancies, for that strange and cruel thoughts

13

of his love still whirled through his head and on each he
dwelt long, except that he could not brook the thought of
not loving her. Adclasia again and again determined in
herself to quell that her strange passion and to turn her
mind elsewhither ; but no sooner did she see her Aleramo
than she straightway changed purpose and repenting her,
burned like as doth flax in the fields, whenas, fire being set
thereto, the north wind bloweth upon it and enkindleth it
on all sides. Leisure added fuel to her flames, whenas she
should have quenched them, and desire still waxed in her
to make that her ardour known to her dear lover ; where-
fore it may be said, with the poet, that chastity harboureth
but in humble and lowly dwellings and that poverty alone
is honest and hath wholesome effects. Modesty seldom
reigneth whereas ease and idlesse prevail, for that love
ariseth of leisure and wantonness, whose food is sweet and
idle thoughts, dulcet glances, soft and wanton words and
(as saith the Florentine) the delighting to do nothing.

Adelasia, then, being all afire and seeing no means of
abating her flames, nay, feeling them wax hourly fiercer,
determined to discover her sufferings to Rodegonda, a very
noble and discreet woman, in whom she much trusted,
having from the cradle been still reared and governed by
her ; wherefore, being one day alone with her, she bespoke
her on this wise, saying, "The trust I have always had in
you, Rodegonda mine, beloved of me as a mother, and your
good qualities, together with the discretion which I have
still noted in you, assure me that I need not fear to share
with you certain thoughts of mine, convinced as I am that
you will keep my counsel of that, be it good or bad, which
I now purpose to impart to you. Accordingly, not to
multiply words, you must know, to come to the fact, that
the prowess, the merit, the discreet fashions and the modest

14

manners of Aleramo of Saxony have long pleased me more
than I could wish and his pleasantness hath so taken hold
upon my heart that, will I, nill I, I am forced to love him
more than myself. I have tried a thousand means to banish
him from my thought; but meseemeth the more I strive
thereat, the farther doth he penetrate into my heart and
lordeth it on such sort over me and my thoughts that it is
impossible for me to live without his memory. Nay, I find
myself come to this pass that, except I foregather with him,
needs must I go mad or die. I know it would avail me
nothing to ask him of the emperor to husband, both because
I understand that he is in treaty with the King of Hungary
to give me to him to wife and eke for that Aleramo is a poor
gentleman and of no such high degree as my father would
have his son-in-law. Of you, then, in this my need, I crave
counsel and aid."

Rodegonda, hearing these words, was all confounded, but
presently, recovering her strayed senses, "Alack, mistress
mine," quoth she, "what is this you tell me? Will you
have me begin, in mine old age, to play the traitor to my
lord and do that, being stricken in years, which I never did
in my youth? Seek not, for God's sake, to make me do
that which would bring eternal reproach and death, belike,
to boot, upon us both; nay, an you will hearken to my
counsel, you will quench the noxious flames enkindled in
your chaste bosom, so I may not bring both you and me to
perdition. Let not vain hope deceive you ; do but resist
these first impulses and you will lightly become mistress
of yourself. He who fostereth this poison of love maketh
himself the slave of a cruel and masterful tyrant and cannot
after, an he will, do his neck free from his most grievous
yoke. Ah me, what would become of you if the emperor
knew the sore default which you think to commit? Know

IS

you nol thai love may not lony abide secret and that the
more you seek to conceal it, the more will it make itself
known and felt on every side?" "Marry," rejoined
Adelasia, "let us speak no more of the matter. Mere is
no room for fear and he dreadeth nought who hath no fear
of death. Let what will ensue of this my love ; I am ready
to endure all with a stout and steadfast mind. I know right
well that I do ill to love one who is not my husband ; but
who putteth a curb upon lovers, who giveth them a law ?
I love Aleramo ; ay, and it pleaseth me to be constrained
thereunto. My father seeketh to give me to wife to the
King of Hungary and I know not who he is, save that they
tell me he is fifty years old and I have not yet seen sixteen.
How is it possible that I should love this old king, having
Aleramo's image so fast fixed in my heart that death alone
may banish it thence? Now, since I see that you are
disposed neither to counsel me nor to aid me how I may
have Aleramo and that you reck no whit of this my love, I
will myself provide for my occasions, and if I may not have
my Aleramo, who shall forbid me from seeking an ultimate
refuge in death ? "

The pitiful Rodegonda, dismayed by this speech, melted
into bitter tears and after she had wept awhile, "Since,
mistress mine," quoth she, "you say you cannot live
without Aleramo, restrain awhile the violence of your
passion and leave the care of this your love to me ; nay,
torment yourself no more, for I will find good means to
speak with him and to let him know your mind." This
promise comforted the enamoured damsel, who bestowed
a thousand kisses upon the old woman and urgently
besought her to set about the matter without delay. But
let us now speak awhile of Aleramo, who loved no less
passionately than Adelasia and burned, nay, rather, he

i6

raved. Perceiving by most manifest signs that his love
was requited of the damsel, he abode more hers than
his own and knew not nor indeed wished to turn his
thoughts elsewhither ; wherefore, one day, being all alone
in his chamber and pondering his case, he began to reason
with himself as follows, saying, "Thou hast, Aleramo,
many a time heard tell, nay, thou hast read for thyself
what manner of thing love is and knowest that in the
end little good is found therein. Knowest thou not that it
is none otherwhat than brief laughter and long mourning,
scant pleasure and exceeding dole ? He who is subject
unto love still dieth and never maketh an end of dying ;
and yet needs must I love. Marry, this is a passion which
all the world feeleth. How many emperors, dukes, mar-
quesses and lords and how many valiant captains have
been the slaves of love? Julius Ctesar conquered so many
kings, peoples, armies and captains and Cleopatra con-
quered him. Augustus, enamoured of Livia, took her from
her husband. Nero, proudest and cruellest of men, yet
bowed his neck unto love. Marcus Aurelius [Antoninus],
he who was so sage, so learned and so good, how was
he entreated of Faustina? What did Mark Anthony in
Egypt for love of Cleopatra? Hercules, who purged the
world of so many monsters, for love of lole submitted
to spin with the distaff at his side.^ The strong Achilles
against love found himself most weak. But why go I
recounting those who have loved, seeing they are innumer-
able? And why, think we, have the divine poets, who
use to hide the truth under fictions, sung the loves of
Jove, of Phoebus, of Mars and other their Gods, except
it be to give us to understand that Love's puissance is
superlative and that his might is invincible? Marry, he

I Bandello here seems to confound loIe with Omphale.

17

who lovcth not is no man ; wherefore I, being a man,
tlo infinitely love the fair and charming Adelasia. And
whoso should say that I do ill to love the daughter of
my lord would show himself ill acquainted with the might
of love. For all she is an emperor's daughter, her father
and mine come both of our lineage of Saxony ; but love
looketh not to high degree and nobility of blood. How
many great and magnificent men have been seen to love
women of mean condition and how many ladies of high
estate have submitted themselves to base-born churls and
the lowest of serving-men ? Of this we daily have ex-
amples galore, so that I need not be dismayed on this
account ; more by token that meseemeth I can e'en see
that Adelasia loveth me. And perdie, what man was aye
so austere, so rigid, so hard of heart and obdurate but
that, knowing himself beloved of so charming and lovesome
a damsel as Adelasia, he would not only love, but reverently
adore her? For that, if the eyes be messengers unto the
heart and if the inward desire may be known by their
signs, then, indeed, I am very certain that I love not
in vain. But how shall I avail to discover my passion,
if, whenassoever I am near her and think to tell her
how I love her, I abide mute and feel myself all a-tremble?
Needs must I unknot my tongue and make known to
her my poignant cares."

On this wise, then, lived Aleramo and oftentimes be-
thought himself how he should do to discover his love.
Meanwhile, Rodegonda debated various things in herself,
bethinking her how she might secretly avail to satisfy the
desire of Adelasia, whom she saw daily pine away for excess
of love ; and at the last, after pondering many devices, she
fixed upon one which herseemed was the aptest and least
perilous ; wherefore she one day let call Aleramo, under

VOL. IV. 2

i8

colour of other business, and after some preamble, dis-
covered to him Adelasia's love, praying him not to confide
in any one alive, lest he should mar their affairs. Then she
showed him what it behoved him do, to foregather with his
mistress ; wherefore he accounted himself the happiest man
that was aye. On like wise, when Adelasia understood
from Rodegonda the order taken for her being with her
Aleramo, she could scarce contain herself for joy, saying
inwardly, "Now shall I e'en have leisure to abide and
discourse with him whom I love more than the light of
mine eyes ; now shall I e'en be able to tell him what I
suffer for him. Marry, I will tell him this and that and
will solace myself with him for all my torments."

Nor was her gladness greater than that of her lover,
who, the appointed time come, clad himself as a porter
and taking a chest on his shoulder, betook himself to
Rodegonda's chamber and fortune favoured him insomuch
that he was not seen of any at his entering in ; whereupon
he was straightway hidden by her in a closet where he might
conveniently abide. There he put off his mean attire and
redonning his own clothes, which were in the chest, awaited
the princess's coming with the greatest allegresse he had
ever felt. It was the dinner hour when he shut himself
in the closet ; the which Adelasia learning, she ate little
or nothing, for stress of thinking upon her desires. After
dinner, she went (as it was oftentimes her custom to do)
with certain of her damsels to Rodegonda's chamber and
there, after they had discoursed and sported awhile, ac-
cording to court-usance, she declared herself fain to take a
noonday nap. Therewithal she dismissed her women for
a while and abode alone with Rodegonda, who, locking the
chamber door and opening that of the closet, gave the lovers
entrance into those lists whereas one battleth without danger

19

of death. When they found themselves together, such
was their mutual rapture that they might not for a pretty
while speak a word, being overcome with excess of joy,
but abode straitly embraced and as they were doves,
exchanged a thousand sweetest kisses with inexpressible
pleasure. Ultimately, recovering their senses, they dis-
coursed ' many things concerning their loves ; and ere
they departed thence, Adelasia willed to be espoused of
Aleramo, resolved to follow him whereassoever he should
go. Then, having taken order of the course which they
should hold for their departure, they, for the more effectual
accomplishment of their espousals, amorously consummated
holy matrimony, to the exceeding pleasure of both parties ;
and so the gallant Aleramo made his Adelasia a woman
from a maid as she was. He abode after shut in the closet
and Adelasia, opening the chamber door, called her women
and returned to her wonted employment.

During the supper hour, Aleramo, not to be known of
any of the court, donned the porter's clothes and departing
the palace, with the chest on his shoulder, returned to
his lodging, where he fell to setting his affairs in order.
Accordingly he sold certain property he had in Saxony,
yielding it good cheap, to sell it the quicklier, and giving
out that he was minded to employ his monies elsewhere.
Then, buying divers precious stones of great value and
having certain monies sewn in his doublet, he and Adelasia
stole forth the court one night and disguising themselves,
with clothes he had provided, as pilgrims on their way to
visit the Holy Places, (the princess having first cut her hair
short and donned a lad's habit), fared joyously towards
Italy, travelling both afoot, to go the better hidden. Marry,
it may well be said that the love of these twain was of the
purest and perfectest that might be found. I speak not of

20

Aleramo, for that he was a man, young, strong, robust and
inured to arms, the chase and other laborious exercises.
But what shall we say of Adelasia, the daughter of an
emperor and intended bride of the King of Hungary (then a
most puissant king), who, having no regard unto aught that
might be, chose rather to go wandering in disguise and to
live in exile with her Aleramo than to become a queen ?
Have you not compassion on her, a youngling maid and
delicate, who fareth all day afoot in a churl's habit? But
Love, which useth to render difficult things easy unto whoso
ensueth him, made all fatigues light to her and caused the
annoys and hardships of the perilous road seem to her
pleasures and diversions. Wherefore it may verily be said
that in all human operations, however difficult and full of
toils and mortal perils, whoso doth them for love feeleth no
displeasance, for that love is the true and savourly condiment
which seasoneth all. Now, let the lovers fare on and God
speed their journey.

On the morrow, Adelasia being missed at court and having
been a good while sought in vain, great was the outcry and
the emperor showed himself infinitely concerned and did
nought all that day but seek her ; then, there being no trace
found of her nor Aleramo appearing and it being understood
from those of his household that he had not been seen that
night, all held it for certain that he had carried off the
damsel, and the emperor, deeming him gone to his castles
in Saxony, sent thither in haste, but could learn nothing ;
wherefore he let proclaim throughout all the empire that
whoso took him with Adelasia should have exceeding great
guerdon. The two lovers were by this at Innsbruck, where
they heard the proclamation cried and laughed thereat,
being so disguised that themseemed impossible they could
be known. Then, departing thence, they took their way

21

towards Trent and as Ihcy fared on merrily, without fear of
hindrance, fortune, not content with bringing them down
from such a height, contrived them a new and sore mishap ;
for that, not far from Innsbriick, they fell in with certain
highwaymen, who in a trice stripped them bare ; nay, but
for the coming up of sundry merchants, they had lightly
known Adelasia to be a woman. In this encounter, then,
they lost all they had and abode well-nigh naked, nor dared
they tell that which had been stolen from them, for fear
of being know n ; wherefore they were constrained to go
begging, and so they made their way into Italy and came to
Le Langhe between Asti and Savona, where there were vast
forests. Here poor Aleramo fell to cutting wood and making
charcoal and gaining his living poorly, as best he might,
and here Adelasia bore her first son, to whom they gave the
name of Guglielmo. Brief, not to go recounting every
particular of [that which befell] these misfortunate lovers,
you must know that they abode more than sixteen years in a
grotto of those mountains, making charcoal and sundry other
small matters with wood, for that all the Germans are skilful
with their hands. During this time they had in all seven
male children, of whom the first, being now biggish, went
often with his father to Savona and Alba, to sell charcoal
and the various toys which they made of wood. All the
sons were very goodly and high-spirited and manifestly
showed themselves to be no German beggars' brats, but
children of noble birth and lineage ; more by token that the
eldest was so like of favour to the emperor that whoso knew
Otho at that age had avouched the lad to be himself.

Now, when Guglielmo was fourteen years old, Aleramo
sent him one day to Asti, to sell charcoal and other
matters of their fashion, as also to recover certain monies
which were owing to him. The lad accordingly went

22

thither and having sold the goods and received the monies,
bought with them a goodly sword ; which his parents
seeing, they fell a-weeping and said, " Ah, unfortunate
child, albeit thou knowest not of what blood thou art
born, nevertheless, natural instinct teacheth thee that thine
origin is most noble ! " Another time he bought a hawk,
for which his father sharply reproved him, telling him
their estate brooked not the keeping of such a bird ;
whereupon he departed his home and there being a fierce
war toward between the Emperor and the Hungarians,
who had made a descent upon Italy and were in act to
waste it with fire and sword, he repaired to the Imperial
camp. Now he was then fourteen to fifteen years old,
well made of his person and much taller than that age
commonly comporteth. The war against the Hungarians
ended, the Emperor went into Provence to order the
affairs of the kingdom of Aries, then a fief of the empire;
which done, he entered Italy by way of Liguria and came
to Savona, still followed by Guglielmo, who was by this
grown a stout soldier.

It chanced, one day, that Guglielmo came to words
with a German soldier, not over-far from the emperor's
lodging, and they defied each other to single combat ;
whereupon a captain, so they might fight out their quarrel
more orderly and without reprehension, made them pledge
him their word of honour [to proceed no farther for the
nonce,] engaging to get them a free field and clear of
all hindrance from the emperor ; wherewith both were
content. The captain, not to fail of his promise, took
his opportunity and brought the twain one day into the
saloon where the emperor was at dinner. Now there was
a very old German present, who had oftentimes seen Otho,
when he was a boy, and who, seeing Guglielmo, straight-

23

way remembered him of the emperor at that age ; nay,
himseemed it was his very self and the more he looked
upon him, the more he was taken with his likeness to
Olho. There also were others who had companied with
the emperor in his youth and they all declared that the lad
most marvellously favoured him. The emperor on like wise,
seeing himself before him, could not take his fill of looking
upon Guglielmo and felt himself all moved to tenderness.
Dinner ended, the captain presented the two young men
to Otho and said, " Most august emperor, these two soldiers
have a quarrel together and have defied each other to void
their difference, arms in hand. I have done my utmost
endeavour to make peace between them, but in vain, for
that this younger one," to wit, Guglielmo, "who accounteth
himself affronted, will not hear of it. Wherefore, to avoid
the disorders and turmoils which might befall between the
companies of which they form part, I have brought them
hither to you, so they may of your favour have leave to
fight."

The emperor would e'en know the cause of quarrel and
having heard it, found that the soldier had sought to take
Guglielmo at a vantage and beat him, albeit the effect had
not ensued ; withal, nature inclining him, as a grandfather,
to seek to preserve his grandson, he was loath to have him
fight and strove with many persuasions to make peace
between them. But Guglielmo knew so well and so aptly
to defend his right and showed such hardihood, that the
emperor assigned them a field before his own lodging and
chose to be himself in person judge of the combat. Accord-
ingly, they entered the lists and for that they had committed
to Otho the question of the arms to be used, he let give
them each a sword and a left-hand gauntlet of mail and
caused them strip to the shirt. Therewithal they joined

24

battle and after divers venues, wherein Guglielmo, to the
general admiration, displayed the utmost courage, the latter,
albeit his adversary was older than he and much more
practised in arms, showed such judgment and dexterity
that, without being touched, he fairly slew the other within
the lists. The which much advanced him in Otho's favour,
more by token that there were many who declared to the
emperor that he himself at Guglielmo's age was of one same
stature, complexion, feature and favour as the latter.
Accordingly, letting call the youth to himself, he publicly
awarded him all such praises as behoved unto his age and
the valour shown by him in the field ; then with his own
hand he dubbed him knight, with a goodly provision, and
natural affection urging him farther, enquired what country-
man he was. Guglielmo, having reverently thanked the
emperor for the honour done him, told how he was son of
two poor Germans banished from Almaine, who harboured
very poorly in a grotto of Le Langhe, not overfar from
Savona.

The emperor, considering Guglielmo's age, bethought
him that these might be Aleramo of Saxony and his own
daughter, nor could he put this conceit out of his head,
albeit Guglielmo called his parents by other names, they
having changed their own, so they should not be known ;
wherefore, ere he chose to depart Savona, he called to him
a baron of his, who was Aleramo's cousin, and said to him,
"This lad, who hath late so valiantly borne himself in my
presence and hath slain his enemy, without losing a drop of
his own blood, resembleth me on such wise that many hold
him for my son. I have asked him the name of his father
and mother, whom he allegeth to be Almains, and albeit
he telleth me they pass by other names, I have taken it into
my head that they may lightly be Aleramo, thy cousin, and

25

my daughter Adclasia ; more by token that, whenassoever
I see Gugliehiio, I feel my blood all astir and take exceeding
great pleasure in viewing him and infinite content in speaking
with him. As thou knowest, I had otherwhiles determined,
if they ^ came to my hands, to wreak myself in their blood ;
but now Guglielmo hath rid me of all despite and if they,
as I am fain to believe, are alive, I pledge thee my faith, as
a true and loyal prince, that I will pardon them all their
defaults and accept Aleramo for my dearest son-in-law and
Adelasia for my loving and beloved daughter. I will have
thee, then, go with Guglielmo whereas he saith these his
poor parents sojourn and certify thyself of this my conceit.
If thou find them those whom I deem them, bring them
hither, so I may do that which I have in mind for their
advancement ; and if they be not those whom we seek, do
thou nevertheless bring back Guglielmo, to whom I purpose
good and honour galore, choosing not that he should resemble
me for nothing."

Then, calling Guglielmo, he charged him bring Guniforte
Scombergh ^ (for so was the baron called) to the grotto
where his father abode. Guglielmo accordingly told Guni-
forte that he was ready to accompany him whenassoever it
pleased him to go ; whereupon the latter, making no delay
about the matter, took certain of his serving-men and
others and set out with him for the cavern. They arrived
there betimes and found Aleramo in act to load certain
asses of his with charcoal, to go to Asti ; whereupon
quoth Guglielmo to Guniforte, "Sir, this is my father,"
and dismounting, ran lovingly to embrace him. He knew
his son and cousin forthright, but Guniforte did not so
soon recognize him ; and what while the latter gazed

1 i.e. Aleramo and Adelasia. * i.e. Schomberg.

26

intently upon him, striving to recall his favour, Aleramo,
moved by the sight of his son, whom he saw thus well
clad and arrayed, and fearful, to boot, for that he knew
not to what end his cousin was come thither, abode
half astonied. However, after awhile, Guniforte, diligently
scanning his kinsman's features, recognized him by a little
scar he had over the left eye, the which had been given
him at sword play by one of his fellows, what time he
learned to fence ; and albeit Aleramo was poorly clad,
smoke-blackened, lean, bearded and so disfeatured that he
showed like one of those chimney-sweepers who come
from the lake of Lugano, nevertheless, Guniforte judged
him to be his cousin and dismounting, cast himself on
his neck and weeping for joy and pity, said to him,
"Thou art e'en Aleramo my cousin; hide thyself no
longer ; thou hast been over-long hidden and it is time
that thou return to thy first, ay, and greater than thy
first estate."

Aleramo, thereupon, somewhat reassured, straitly em-
braced Guniforte and they wept together awhile. Now
there were some in company with the said Guniforte who
had been Aleramo's vassals in Saxony and who all, know-
ing their lord and finding him thus ill in case, reverently
inclined themselves before him, weeping. Aleramo abode
in suspense, unknowing the end of his cousin's coming ;
algates, seeing his son so well accoutred and the caresses
which his cousin so lovingly lavished on him, himseemed
he might hope for nothing but good. Meanwhile Guglielmo
had run to call his mother, who was in act to wash her
clothes at a spring hard by the cavern. When she saw
her son richly clad, as he were some great prince's son,
she left the clothes and running to embrace him, kissed
him tenderly a thousand times, weeping for joy ; where-

27

upon quoth Gugliclmo, " Mother, here is the lord Guni-
forte Scombergh come hither, on a special errand from
the emperor, as you shall hear from himself." At this
Adelasia was troubled, for that she knew not to what
end the emperor had sent for them, Guniforte not having
chosen to tell Guglielmo aught. However, hearing her
husband call her by her proper name, which had thitherto
abidden unknown to her very children, she was some-
what reassured and went with her son to meet the baron
and his company, who came towards her.

The princess might then have been some three-and-thirty
years old and was, like her husband, very poorly clad and
all embrowned, inasmuch as she also handled the charcoal,
putting it in sacks and helping to load it ; nevertheless her
fairest lineaments still showed through the mask of poverty
and majesty breathed from her lovesome countenance, the
poor raiment availing not to hide the royal and generous
fashion of her soul. Guniforte, drawing near her, did her
reverence as humbliest he might, no whit as to a cousin,
but as to an empress's daughter and his sovereign lady and
mistress ; whilst she received him with courteous and most
gracious welcome and on like wise did she with all those
who were with him. The pretty children (six in number,
without Guglielmo) all ran whereas they saw their father
and mother, and albeit they were very ill to do in the
matter of apparel, nevertheless, they were all very hand-
some and showed themselves by their graceful aspect come
of a noble and generous stock. Guniforte then related the
occasion of his coming and all that had happened to
Guglielmo, whilst Aleramo and his wife abode a pretty
while mute and Guglielmo and his two eldest brothers,
who were one thirteen and the other fourteen years old,
were filled with infinite allegresse and wonderment. I

28

know not which was greater in the two lovers, — ^joy at the
recovery of the emperor's favour or shame at the thought
of going before him, albeit they accounted it glory to have
been found in so poor a way of life.

Guniforte, not to tarry longer in that place, mounted
Aleramo and Adelasia upon two hackneys which he had
brought thither in hand, whilst the children he let mount
behind his attendants ; and so he carried them to lodge that
night at the nearest village, having first advised the emperor
of all, who rejoiced exceedingly in his new-found daughter
and son-in-law. Moreover, he sent that same night to
Savona, to fetch clothes for the whole family, and on the
morrow, a bath having been made ready, they were all
washed and well cleaned ; and being after nobly arrayed in
rich raiment, they seemed nowise charcoal-burners, but
showed that which they were, to wit, princes. All the
people of Savona and all the barons of the court came to
meet them, at their entering in, and received them as be-
seemed the daughter and son-in-law of such an emperor ;
whilst Otho himself, so all the world should know that he
had heartily forgiven them their every default, descended the
palace stair and tenderly embraced his daughter, his son-in-
law and his grandchildren, one after another. Aleramo and
Adelasia fell on their knees before him, craving him mercy
of the offence committed against him ; whereupon he raised
them up and embraced them anew, kissing them both in
token of clemency and bidding them speak no more of the
past. Then, causing all seven of his grandsons, (of whom
the eldest was the valiant Guglielmo and who made a very
goodly show,) forego him, he took his son-in-law and his
daughter in his either hand and mounting the stair with
exceeding great allegresse, brought them into the saloon,
where they fell to holding high festival.

29

All the ladies of Savona were assembled at the ]ialacc and
there the emperor willed that the festivities should endure
for eight whole days, saying that it was his daughter's
nuptials that he celebrated. Ultimately, being constrained
to return to Almaine, he made all his seven nephews, the
sons of Aleramo and Adelasia, marquesses. The first, (who,
as you know, was called Guglielmo) he made Marquess
of Monferrato ; to the second he gave the Marquisate of
Savona, with many lands, and from him are descended
all the marquesses of Carretto, of whom the Marquess of
Finario is nowadays head ; the third, whose lineage yet
endureth, had Saluzzo ; the fourth engendered the family
of the marquesses of Ceva ; the fifth was Marquess of
Incisa, where his seigniory endureth to this day; the sixth
had the Marquisate of Ponzone and the seventh that of
Bosco ; but Otho willed that Aleramo and Adelasia should
abide lords and marquesses of the whole what while they
lived. Aleramo thus saw all his sons in exceeding great
estate and he and his wife lived long in the utmost con-
tentment, whilst his lineage hath endured in the male line
unto the present day, with the exception of the house of
Monferrato, which ended in a lady, who married a son of
the Emperor Palceologus of Constantinople, and now like-
wise the house of Palteologus is come to an end in the
person of the Duchess of Mantua, with whom it will be
regraffed upon the most noble stock of Gonzaga. Thus do
families go failing and changing, there being nothing stable
or constant under the moon's sphere ; the which teacheth us
that we should not stablish our thoughts here below, but
turn them all to the sky.

T5antieUo

ta t]^c mast magnificent ilHesser iHarcantonfo
ffii'Slfo.

I have ever, since the beginning of our friendship, wished
for some opportunity of giving you to know how much I love
you and how desirous I am of making you some return for
the many kindnesses which you, of your favour, do me all
day long. Now, it being discoursed, no great while agone,
of the cheats which are put upon jealous folk and of the
many disorders whereof jealousy is the cause, whenas it
taketh hold upon a man of little wit and he useth it ill,
Pietro Galetti, by birth a Pisan, but abiding in Sicily and
bred at Palermo, related, to this purpose, a merry chance
befallen at Lucca, the which, meseeming it was worthy to
be added to my other novels, I wrote down ; wherefore,
it having presently come to my hands, I send it to you, as
an earnest of my desire to approve myself grateful to you,
and dedicate it to your name. It may serve you, an you
come to marry, [teaching you] that you must, without waxing
jealous and blinding yourself with so dire a malady, govern
your wife adroitly and with true conjugal love, giving her
no occasion to spare the household gear and spend that of
others ; nor do I write you this without cause, inasmuch
as it is most whiles the husband who giveth occasion, one
way or another, unto his wife to do that which she should
not. Fare you well.

E^t ©nc^ant)=2Etoentietf) Stotg.

THE JUDGE OF LUCCA LIETH WITH A
LADY AND LETTETH PUT HER HUSBAND
IN PRISON ; TOGETHER WITH VARIOUS
INCIDENTS,

At the time when Pietro Gambacorta ruled over Pisa,^
there was a lad of very noble family, called Buonaccorsio
Gualando, who, having neither father nor mother, fell
enamoured (and that much more ardently than sorted with
his boyish age) of Beatrice, daughter of Neri Malletti, who
was then a young girl, and she on like wise became without
end enkindled with love of him. No sooner was Buonac-
corsio out of school than he addressed himself to see and be
with his Beatrice, and for that they were both children, (the
lad being mayhap twelve years old and the girl having scarce
accomplished her tenth year,) none of the kinsfolk took heed
to their familiarity. After awhile, the lad's kinsfolk, who
had him in tutelage, seeing that he made good profit in
grammar^ and was of high understanding, determined to
send him to Siena, where the study of the civil law then
flourished with great renown, and acquainted him with their
intent, showing him that, albeit he was of ancient and noble
race and of the first families of Pisa, he had no great

' Pietro Gambacorta, tyrant of Pisa, was assassinated in the year
1392 by his secretary or chancellor Jacopo Appiani.
* Ctammatica, i.e. in the Latin language and literature.

32

substance and it behoved him use his abiHties for the
maintenance of his rank. The boy, hearing this and seeing
that they spoke sooth, told them that he would do whatsoever
they should enjoin him ; but, on the other hand, bethinking
him that he must part from his Beatrice, he was sore
chagrined at heart ; wherefore, coming to privy discourse
with her, he acquainted her with the determination to which
his guardians had come concerning him and the dolour
which possessed him by reason thereof. The girl, hearing
this, fell a-weeping bitterly, whereat he also wept and
embracing child-wise, they drank each other's hot tears.
They pledged their troth to love each other always and
what while Buonaccorsio abode in Pisa, they were all day
together. Now the lad had a factor at home, to whom
(with Beatrice's foreknowledge) he committed the care, by
means of a poor neighbouring woman, of conveying to
Beatrice the letters which he should write from Siena and
of sending her answers to himself at Siena.

The time of departure come, Buonaccorsio went to Siena,
where, ere he returned to Pisa, he was kept of his guardians
three whole years. He had without cease his Beatrice in
remembrance and often wrote to her; and she, who loved
him on like wise, sent him letters whenas she might, for that,
instigated by love, she had learned to write very well. Love
waxed in both with age and they ceased not to hold frequent
commerce by letters till the end of the third year, when
the youth returned to Pisa at vacation-time and found his
Beatrice marvellously grown in stature and beauty ; indeed,
she was very fair and charming and so quick-witted that she
had not her match in all Pisa. Buonaccorsio saw her at
a window and she seemed to him so infinitely fair and love-
some that he abode all astonied. Now, they being both
grown, it was no more permitted them to be together

33

familiarly, as of old time ; the which was a cause of sore
chagrin to the two lovers ; but Love, who never leaveth his
followers without some aid, opened their eyes and showed
them how they might speak with each other in a very
lonely alley behind Beatrice's house, at a window not over-
high, which gave light to a place where faggots and other
household necessaries were kept and where also were two
great vats for making wine. Thither, accordingly, Beatrice
resorted bytimes and solaced herself at her leisure by talking
with her lover; for love, which had begun between them
on childish wise, now burned in their hearts after another
fashion and they loved each other on such wise that they
would fain have foregathered and taken that amorous
pleasure which is so ardently sought of lovers ; but they
had no commodity therefor.

What while their love thus waxed with their waxing years,
Buonaccorsio, the vacations ended, returned to Siena, where
he abode other three years, without returning to Pisa ; and
the time drawing near of his coming home, Neri ^ Malletti
married his daughter at Lucca, giving her to wife to a citizen
of that place, by name Fridiano Z. Buonaccorsio, hearing
this, fell into such a melancholy that he was like for despair
to turn friar ; but, after he had already spoken with the
father superior of the Franciscans at Siena and appointed a
time for donning the habit, he had a letter from his Beatrice,
who wrote him that, being constrained of her father, she had
been unable to refuse to marry, but that she loved him more
than ever and that now she would have more liberty than
before and would find means to foregather with him, so but
he would make shift to abide in Lucca ; and to this she
exhorted him the more as herseemed she had in those

1 Dim. oi Ritiieri [¥t. Regnier).
VOL. IV. -X

34

few tlays observed that her husband was a man of little
wit. The young man was somewhat comforted by this
letter and read and re-read it an hundred times ; then,
repenting him of his intent to become a friar, he applied
himself to finish his studies and that same year made
a public repetition ^ with such commendation of all the
University of Siena that he speedily obtained the doctorate
of civil and canon law ; whereupon he came to Pisa and
to get him reputation in his native place, put forth a
great number of theses and argued them with subtlety,
to the satisfaction of the whole city. However; being
unable to put his Beatrice out of his thought, he resolved
to do everything to have the office of Criminal Judge
in Lucca, the which was a post of authority and high
consideration, and accordingly wrought to such purpose, by
means of his kinsfolk and friends, that he was presently
elected judge for two years ; the which was a source of
exceeding great contentment both to himself and to Beatrice.
Having gotten the appointment, he provided himself with
that which he needed, so he might make a worshipful
appearance, and repaired, in the month of January, to
Lucca, where he took possession of the office with all pomp
and ceremony and proceeded to exercise it on such wise that
in a few days he acquired the favour of the whole city. He
being thus at Lucca and seeing his fair Beatrice well-nigh
every day and both being minded to foregather, the lady,
having bribed two of her women, contrived by their means
to give her lover access to her, whilst Fridiano was abroad
in the country, and so they culled the much-desired fruit of
their long and fervent love. My lord judge, if he loved

1 Fece una solenne ripetizionr, nr (as we should say) " underwent
a formal examination."

35

before, was now all passion, having found his Beatrice far
lovesomer and more gamesome than he looked for ; whilst
she, on her side, having tasted her lover's emljraces and
finding them brisker and more delectable than those of her
husband, was all afire for Buonaccorsio and if before she
had little love for her husband, now she had him in such
distaste that herseemed he stank at every pore, so that she
accounted herself ill to pass what week she foregathered
not twice or thrice with the judge.

Now, their commerce being carried on somewhat less than
discreetly, Fridiano became exceeding jealous of Buonac-
corsio. He saw that he was a very goodly youth and passed
daily along the street, and himseemed moreover that, when
Beatrice saw him, she was all rejoiced and showed him an
over-blithe countenance ; wherefore he came oftentimes to
hard words with his wife and did nought but tell her that
she had an amour toward with the judge and that by the
body of the Holy Countenance, ^ he would say and he would
do [this and that]. The lady, knowing what her husband
availed, answered him sharply, railing at him for saying such
things to her and telling him that he was vastly mistaken,
inasmuch as she was plainly certified that my lord judge
frequented that street for a widow, their neighbour, whom
he loved, but that this must go no farther, lest it should
injure the latter's reputation ; moreover, she added that, if
he had so ill an opinion of her, he might keep such watch
as he would over her and that, if he found she did him
wrong, he might deal with her as most liked him. The
husband, though not the shrewdest man in the world, was

1 A vulgar way of swearing by the Vera Icon or true semblant of
Christ's features, as fabled to have been impressed on St. Veronica's
handkerchief, with which she wiped the sweat from his face, as he
was carrying his cross to Calvary.

36

nevertheless so enamoured of his wife and saw her so fair
and so forward that he thought every fly that flew in the
air would steal her from him ; wherefore he listened to no
excuse that she might make, but, bethinking him without
cease how he might provide for his occasions, took it into
his head that his wife must give him somewhat in his meat
or drink, to make him sleep fast by night, and after arise
and open the door to her lover, and himseemed that, could
he but find a remedy for this, all would go well.

Accordingly, he called one of the waiting-women and said
to her, " Harkye, Giovanna," for so was the woman called,
"if thou be faithful to me and keep my counsel, thou shalt
see what I will do for thee. I misdoubt me sore of my wife
and the judge and methinketh she maketh me sleep anights
with some deviltry she giveth me and after ariseth and
openeth the door to her gallant ; wherefore I will have thee
dress my food and draw me wine, for that I will take
nothing except at thy hand ; but look thou be faithful to
me." Giovanna, who was cognizant of the amour between
the judge and her mistress, hearing this extravagance, said,
" Sir, it is my duty to do whatsoever you may command me
and in this I will nowise fail you. I do not indeed believe
that madam is of such a sort, or meseemeth I should by times
have remarked it ; but were she as you deem, it would avail
you nought to keep a watch over your eating and drinking,
for that the Pisan ladies, by that which I heard there, what
while I abode with the Lanfranchi family, are mostly well
versed in incantations ; and I remember to have heard tell
there that, whenas one sleepeth, if the lady touch him with
her hand and bespeak him with certain words which they
learn on the night of the Nativity, he sleepeth as many hours
as she saith the words times."

Fridiano, hearing this, abode as one dead and himseemed

37

he was already put to sleep by Beatrice's enchantments ;
wherefore, "Alack," quoth he, "what is this I hear?"
And Giovanna, "Sir, as I have said, I do not beUeve that
madam is one of those who work malefices ; algates, the
proverb saith that good watch fendeth ill hap. Methinketh
(if, indeed, there be aught in the matter) the judge entereth
not by the door, but overpasseth the garden wall and
climbeth up to where the faggots be and thence cometh
aloft and goeth to your chamber. " Poor Fridiano believed
the artful wench's tale ; wherefore, having advised with her
of the case, he determined to keep watch in the garden that
night ; and she, at her first commodity, punctually reported
the whole to her mistress, who, hearing her husband's
extravagant conceit, made shift to have counterfeit keys of
the house-door and advised the judge of all. Then, if
before she showed her lover a good countenance, she fell to
showing him a yet better, on such wise that the wretched
Fridiano, waxen madly jealous and giving entire credence
to Giovanna, dared not go to sleep beside his wife, for fear
of being enchanted and determined to apply diligently to the
watching of the garden. What while he counted the stars
in the open air, the lady, for her better assurance, let shut
a certain door that gave upon the garden, so he might not
re-enter the house without her knowledge, and admitting
the judge, made with him the conjunction of the planets.
Moreover, to give better colour to the thing, what while the
judge was abed with his mistress, a serving-man of his, who
had accompanied him thither, went round about the garden,
now spitting, now whistling and now doing other like acts and
whiles making a feint of offering to overpass the wall, which
was not over-high, so that the poor jealous wretch abode all
night on the alert, firmly believing him to be the judge,
come to visit his wife ; but, seeing that he climbed not the

369^513

38

wall, he misdoubted him the judge knew that he kept watch
and was at a loss what to do. Then, as soon as the judge
had taken his departure, (the which was still an hour or two
before dawn,) the lady let open the door leading into the
garden; but the jealous man left not watching till past
daybreak.

The thing went on this wise many days, till Fridiano,
getting no sleep, save a little by day and eke bytimes
anights in the garden, became lean and haggard and seemed
as he were possessed ; nay, who had not become thus,
passing as he did so many nights in baying the moon ?
Ultimately the judge, to quit both himself and the lady of
suspect, hatched with her a fine plot, which prospered him
to a thought. He had among his serving-men a young
Pisan, tall and very robust of his person, who was commonly
surnamed Ferraguto ' and had entered upon whatsoever
perilous emprise at a sign from the judge ; he was chief
over certain officers, of those who go about all night to see
that none fareth armed or without light. To him quoth
Buonaccorsio, " Ferrag^ito, as thou knowest, I love the wife
of Fridiano Z. and she loveth me ; but I cannot visit her, as
we would wish, she and I, for the strait watch which her
husband keepeth anights. Nay, for that it were a great
commodity for me to pass through the garden, he still
abideth there armed, so that I cannot draw near thereto but
he is at the wall foot, with a partisan in his hand. Marry,
armed though he be, I warrant he could do thee little hurt,
for that he is so pursy and scant of wind that he hath not
the strength to pierce a cheese-curd. Now I will have thee
tell thy men how thou hast it from thy spies that an outlaw

' Apparently in allusion to his size, Ferragut being a well-known
giant personage of the Charlemagne Romances, who is slain by
Roland.

39

passeth through the garden anights and that thou hast a
mind to take him. It behoveth thee first of all scale the
wall and descend into the garden ; whereupon he will
doubtless attack thee, but can do thee little hurt. Leave
thy fellows order to follow thee, and I will presently be on
the spot with the rest of the watch ; so we will take him
and after I will do that which I have in mind and which will
avail to cure him of jealousy. " "Sir," replied Ferraguto,
"this is a small matter you command me. Leave me do
and fret not yourself with trifles ; ^ it sufhceth that you tell
me the time whenas you purpose to present yourself."

Accordingly, the hour being appointed and the lady
advised of all, my lord judge that day passed twice before
her house and made of set purpose certain signs with his
eyes, laying his hand upon his breast and spitting after a
certain significant fashion, so that Fridiano, who abode on
the look-out and had noted all the signs, held it for certain
that he was to come that night to visit Beatrice. Where-
upon, unable any longer to suffer such an annoy or to brook
that the judge should so impudently signal his wife, he
made a great outcry about her ears, and said to her, in the
presence of her women and of one of the serving-men of
the house, ' ' Wife, wife, thou goest to such lengths that, by
the body of Our Lady of Montenero, I shall slit thy weasand,
and if this judge of thine pass through the street anights,
I will lead him such a dance that he shall remember him of
m£ all his life. Thou wouldst fain play the wanton with
him and set me the stews at the door ; but I will not suffer
it. An you be Pisans, I am a Lucchese. Let me catch thee
again at any of the windows which give on the street, and
thou shalt see how things go." The wily lady, who knew

* Covelle, in modern phrase, " details."

40

full well that which her husband availed and what he could
do, answered him forthright, saying angrily, "What a devil
is this you say, husband mine ? What words are these that
you use so inconsiderately? What have you seen in me
that should put these maggots into your head ? You give
yourself out, for no fault of yours or mine, for an ill man
and me for a lewd woman, and withal there is no harm
toward. Methinketh you doat. Where have you learned
that the judge of this city may not pass day and night
through every street and enter what house soever he will,
seeking to do his office ? Marry, I have heard you yourself
say that this same judgeship is an office much feared and
respected. Have a care how you talk." Whereupon,
" Look you," cried Fridiano, flying out into a violent rage,
"here is this Pisan traitress come to Lucca, bent upon
ruling me ! Would I had been abed .with the quartan ague
the day it entered my head to take a wife from Pisa, for that
all there, all, men and women, are traitors ! May fire come
from heaven to burn thee up, vile woman that thou art ! "

Beatrice, who made little account of her husband,
answered, to enrage him the more, "By Christ His Cross,
you are a fine fellow to speak thus and to ofi"er to even
yourself with the Pisans ! He knoweth not what Pisa is
and that which the Pisans have done by sea and by land,
to compare with the Lucchese ! Go to ; my father was
mighty blind to take you to son-in-law. Cursed be the
hour when I took you to husband ! You are more mis-
doubtful than a gelded mule, for the proverb e'en saith
sooth that the Lucchese are fearful of the flies that flit
through the air. Perdie, apply yourself to live and you
will do wisely ; and look you offer not to lay hands on
me to beat me, for that I will not brook it from you
and will tear your eyes out of your head with these

41

fingers. I have done nothing that you should threaten
me thus. Give cuffs to the dogs and let me be. " In fine,
words waxed many between them and for one Fridiano said,
his wife answered him half a score.

The night come, the goodman supped before the rest of
the household and arming himself, repaired to the garden,
where he abode on the alert, thinking to play the judge
an ill turn, an he offered to climb the wall. Meanwhile,
Buonaccorsio let arm his company, saying that he meant
to go take an outlaw ^ whom he knew by espial to be
in a certain place ; then, sending Ferraguto in advance
with his troop, he followed with the rest and went about
the city, awaiting the stroke of the given hour and not
straying far from Fridiano's house. When the bells gave
the appointed signal, Ferraguto, having lessoned his men,
set the ladder against the wall of the garden, where
Fridiano lay in wait, and climbed up ; but, as he offered
to descend, he felt himself wounded, but not deeply, with
a spear-prick in the thigh ; whereupon he leapt down and
cried in a loud voice, saying, "Traitor, thou art dead!"
Now he had a great partisan in his hand and with this
he fell to belabouring Fridiano on rare wise, but still
flatlong. Poor Fridiano, never doubting but it was the
judge, struck blindfold at him with the spear, but Ferra-
guto parried his thrusts without difficulty; then, his fellows
having by this made their way down into the garden and
the judge coming up, he cried out, saying, "In, in; we
have found the outlaw ! "

Ferraguto's men had already broken in the garden-door
and taken Fridiano, when my lord judge, entering, asked
where the outlaw was. " Here he is," replied the sergeants,

1 Bandito, lit. a banished man.

42

who had not yet perceived that the prisoner was Fridiano.
"Praised be God!" quoth the judge. "Come, let us to
court." Whereupon Ferraguto, knowing how the thing
stood, let himself sink to the earth, as if exhausted, which
one of the others seeing, "Alack," cried he, "Ferraguto is
dead ! " At this speech the judge turned and seeing his
officer's thigh all bloodied, said, "The villain hath slain
Ferraguto ; but he shall pay doubly for it. " Then said
Fridiano to him, " I am no outlaw, but Fridiano Z., a citizen
of this city." "How?" cried the judge. "Thou art
Fridiano ? And what didst thou armed at this hour ?
Come, lads ; do three or four of you carry Ferraguto home
and call the doctor ; you others have a care Fridiano escape
not, and let us search this house, for we shall find the outlaw
there." Accordingly he entered the house with some of his
men and finding all arisen at the noise, called for lights and
searched everywhere. Finally, he called the lady before him
and threatening her severely, said to her, "Madam, tell me
the truth; where is the outlaw who came hither to-night?"
"Sir," replied she, weeping bitterly, "it is many a day
since any lodged in our house. I know not what you mean
with your talk of outlaws." "Enough," quoth the judge;
"you shall speedily learn what I mean; I will soon make
you confess the truth by means of torture. Certes, that is
true which was told me many days agone, to wit, that you
are an ill woman and never speak sooth." " Sir," said she,
"I am a Pisan like yourself and an honest woman."
Whereto, "It irketh me," rejoined he, "that you are a
Pisan ; but needs must I do my duty, be it who it will
Cometh to my hand." Then he bade carry Fridiano to the
court-house, together with his wife, two women and a
serving-man. The lady fell to making the sorest lamenta-
tion in the world and feigned to offer a stout resistance ;

43

hut, availing no more liian she might, needs must she
suffer herself to be carried off.

Poor Fridiano, seeing and hearing these things, said in
himself, "Verily, I was greatly mistaken to think that the
judge loved my wife ; these be no lover's toys ; " and knew
not what to say. With these his thoughts, he was clapped
into a prison where snakes would not have harboured and
his servant was put in another place, whilst his wife and the
two women, who were both cognizant of her amour with the
judge, were lodged in a chamber, where she abode very
commodiously and there my lord judge, the better to
examine her, lay with her on amorous wise the rest of the
night. Meanwhile, Fridiano abode in dire concern, mis-
doubting him he should suffer sore punishment for wounding
a sergeant of the court and being found in arms at that hour.
He asked the guardians of the prison what was come of his
wife and one who knew him said to him, " I heard my lord
say that he meant this morning to put her to the torture of
the rope,^ to learn where you have lodged the outlaw who
came to your house yestereve. She cannot fare other than
ill, for this my lord judge is very severe ; moreover, there is
Ferraguto whom you have grievously wounded and who will
give you ado enough. " Fridiano, hearing this, abode full of
exceeding great fear and it may not be told how much it
grieved him to have so thoughtlessly made an enemy of the
judge, more by token that, firmly believing that his wife was
to be tortured, he felt his heart like to burst ; whilst the
judge, learning that which he had said of him, laughed
amain thereat with Beatrice.

Next morning, the arrest of Fridiano and his wife, being
bruited abroad throughout Lucca, gave occasion for the

1 i.e. the strappado.

44

saying of many things, and if there was e'en some suspicion
of the amour between Messer Buonaccorsio and Beatrice,
this circumstance altogether extinguished it. There came
many of Fridiano's kinsmen and friends to speak with the
judge and enquire the cause of his imprisonment, and he
answered them that, having advice of a parlous knave of
an outlaw, who was in Fridiano's house, he had gone thither
with the police, to take him, and that Fridiano had not only
abetted the villain's flight, arms in hand, but had wounded
one of the officers ; whereat they all abode aghast and knew
not what to say. Awhile before dinner the judge let bring
Fridiano before him and asked him if he knew the reason
why he was incarcerated. The poor man answered, for
that he had wounded one of the police. "Good," quoth
the judge; "what didst thou at that hour armed in cuirass
and sallet,^ halberd in hand and sword at side, in the
garden ? " Fridiano, unknowing what answer to make to
this, cudgelled his brains in vain, but could find no excuse
that might avail. "Look you," quoth the judge, "I will
reserve me to give thee the strappado for a last resource,
for that I mean first to examine thy wife and her two waiting-
women, together with thy serving-man ; after which I shall
look to know of thee the truth, which I warrant thee it shall
behove thee tell me, wilt thou, nilt thou. Go and take
good thought to thine affairs and give me not cause to deal
harshly with thee and put thee to the torture, for that I am
loath to use my authority and the severity of the laws against
the citizens."

Thereupon he let carry him back to prison and pro-
ceeded to examine the serving-man, who could say no
otherwhat than repeat that which he had heard Fridiano

' Celata, a light helmet.

45

say to his wife, when he taxed her with being enamoured,
and acknowledge it to be true that Fridiano had for many
nights past armed himself and gone into the garden. The
judge caused his notary write down the man's whole deposi-
tion and particularly the injurious words which Fridiano
had spoken of himself and his threats to kill him. There-
after he let fetch Beatrice, who confirmed the servant's
confession, adding, to boot, that her husband had many
a time told her he was determined, at any cost, to kill
the judge ; and the two women, being examined in their
turn, deposed to the words which had ultimately passed
between Fridiano and his wife. These depositions taken
and reduced by the notary to writing, the judge, after
dinner, repaired with Beatrice and the notary, who was
all his own, and two trusty serving-men, to the place
where they use to torture criminals ; but first he let put
P>idiano, with shackles on his feet, in a chamber hard
by, whence he might lightly hear all that was said there.
Now he was resolved to use his utmost endeavour to cure
the jealous man of his jealousy and to do away every
suspicion which Fridiano might anywise have of him ;
wherefore, having first fully possessed the lady of all that
he purposed to do, he said in a somewhat loud voice,
"Come, no more words; bind this woman to the rope
and hoist her up. I will soon make her confess the truth. "
Thereupon Beatrice threw herself on the ground and cried
out with a feigned tearful voice, craving mercy and saying,
"Sir, I know no otherwhat than that which I have told
you : you do me wrong ; woe's me, mercy ! For God's
sake, bind me not so hard ! " The judge feigned to give
no ear to her speech and said still, "Come, make no
more delay; hoist her up." The men shook the rope
and she, drawing back somewhat, cried out for mercy

46

as most she might ; whilst the judge rated her, saying,
" Beatrice, tell me the truth if thou know aught of the
murder which thy husband had it in mind to do. What
sayst thou ? " She sobbed and shrieked and said some-
what uneath to apprehend, as do those who are sore
tormented; nor was it long ere the judge said, "Body
of Christ, but I will make thee confess the truth ! Thou
wilt not speak? Ay shalt thou, in thine own despite. I
will soon take the obstinacy out of thy head ; ay, perdie,
will I, nor will I have regard to thy being a Pisan. Hoist
her well up and let her fall with a good jerk, for I am
resolved that this stubborn woman shall tell me the truth
or leave both her arms fast to the rope. " Now there was
a piece of wood bound to the rope, which made it appear
as if some one were hauled up and down, and Madam
Beatrice shrieked aloud even as do the tortured.

The wretched Fridiano knew his wife's voice, as she
screamed and craved mercy, and after he had twice or
thrice certified himself that it was e'en his Beatrice, he
began to cry out like one frantic, saying, "Alas, mercy,
my lord judge ! For God's sake, strappado not my wife ;
torment her no more, for that the poor soul is nowise
at fault. You weary yourself in vain, forasmuch as she
cannot say that which she knoweth not. Alack, dear my
wife, good my wife, chaste my wife, why am I not
tormented in thy place ? " The judge, hearing this and
seeing the thing ensue as he designed it, feigned not to
know that Fridiano had been put in that chamber and
turning angrily to his men, said to them, "Who put
Fridiano in yonder chamber? " Sir," answered one, "you
committed him this morning to the lieutenant of police."
"I committed him?" cried the judge. "God give thee
an ill year ! I was misapprehended ; I bade bring him

47

hither, after this woman had heen strappadoed, and not
before ; for it lieseemeth not that he hear what the others
confess under the torture. Now carry this woman back
to prison and when you return hither, bring me the keys
of this chamber, for I mean to examine P'ridiano. "

The lady, laughing at the cheat put upon her husband,
went to her chaml^er to abide with her women, and the
judge, the keys being come, let fetch Fridiano and said
to him, " I know not an thou have heard that which
thy wife hath said. She would fain have remained obsti-
nate, but this rope made her in part tell the truth, and I
hope that she will presently tell all, whenas I shall have
her hoisted up once more. Thy serving-man and women
have been wiser and have told all they know, without
enforcing me do them a mischief. Now thou art here,
an thou wilt tell the truth, speak ; else this," showing
him the rope, "will make thee tell it in thine own despite.
I wish to know from thee what outlaw it was thou hadst
in thy garden, whom when my officers would have taken,
thou causedst him flee and to boot woundedst one of my
men, for that thou wentest not armed at that hour and
place to husk chestnuts. Thou wilt do well to tell the
truth." Fridiano, who was more dead than alive, fearing
to be maimed by the strappado and bethinking him that
to be armed in his own house, to watch that none came
to lie with his wife, was no hanging matter and that he
had wounded Ferraguto in self-defence, said, weeping,
"Sir, I will tell you all. For God's sake, torture me
not ! The truth is I believed you to be enamoured of
my wife, meseeming I had seen certain signs which led
me to that conclusion ; nay, I came several times to high
words with her thereanent and threatened her severely,
declaring that I would slay both her and you, an I found

4«

you in my house ; wherefore, misdoubting me you entered
the house by way of the garden, I have abidden there
many nights on the watch. Moreover, whenas your men
came thither, I, taking him who cUmbed the wall for your-
self and thinking to kill you, attacked him and wounded
him, meseeming it was lawful to defend myself in my
own house and hinder any from entering against my will.
Marry, I have no otherwhat to tell you, for that indeed
I have no commerce with outlaws nor do I know that
any have ever entered my house."

The judge caused the notary write all this down and said
to him, "How deem you thereof, Messer Paolino ? " For
so was the notary called. " Indeed, my lord," replied the
other, "he is liable to the capital penalty, for he heard the
sergeants cry out, ' Take the outlaw, the outlaw ! ' and
yet he attacked Ferraguto, a minister of justice. Nay, he
confesseth, to boot, that he thought to strike your own
person, the which is crimen Icesce majestatis. Methinketh,
except you deal mercifully with him, he will lose his head
therefor, first for having hindered the taking of the outlaw
and after for having wounded your officer, both which be
capital matters, according to the ordinance of this magnifi-
cent city. Nay, what is more, he hath confessed that he
armed himself yesternight, with deliberate intent to kill you,
and abode awaiting you ; and in these matters of homicide
the doctors say that the will is reputed for the deed." To
this speech of the notary, my lord judge, seeing Fridiano
more dead than alive for fear of losing his head, replied,
saying that he had spoken mighty well and that he would
look into the statutes, but that needs must Fridiano first
have half a dozen bouts of the strappado, to purge himself
of the suspicion of having hindered the taking of the outlaw.
Fridiano, hearing this, was like to die of fear and knew not

49

what to say. He was then carried back to prison and his
kinsfolk, who sought to succour him, understanding how he
liad of his own motion confessed to having awaited the judge
many nights, arms in hand, with dehberate intent to kill
him, were sore concerned, themseeming the matter would
not go overwell and that the judge in this case would
proceed with rigour ; nevertheless they failed not to take
due measures in his behalf. Meanwhile, he abode in strait
duresse, at once in fear of his own life and in concern for
his wife, whom he thought all crippled by the strappado.
But she lived joyously and had gotten never a jog of the
rope, except maybe she was jogged anights upon the
feathers, for that the judge, fearing lest overmuch sleep
should mar her, jumbled her many times a night and played
with her the game of clips.

However, Messer Neri Malletti, the lady's father, being
advertised of the arrest of his daughter and her husband and
of his son-in-law's confession, procured divers letters from
Signor Pietro Gambacorta and from Messer Buonaccorsio's
kinsfolk and despatched them to the judge by the hand of a
Pisan notary, who was the latter's creature and had drawn
up the settlement of Madam Beatrice's dowry, upon the
occasion of her marriage. The messenger accordingly came
to Lucca and took up his lodging in the house of the judge,
by whom he was very lovingly received. Messer Buonac-
corsio, then, seeing Signor Pietro's letters and those of his
own kinsmen and friends and knowing how the notary loved
him, acquainted him with the whole ordinance of the matter
and discovered to him his amours with Madam Beatrice.
Fridiano had now been some eight days in prison ; wherefore
the judge, to make an end of the matter, let bring him one
evening before himself and in the presence of the Pisan
notary, bespoke him thus, saying, " I know not, Fridiano,

VOL. IV. 4

50

what offence I have ever given thee, since I came to this
magnificent city, that thou shouldst (as I learn from the
confessions of thy wife and thy servants and from thine own
lips) have studied with such rancour and persistence to
compass my death. Tell me, what injury hast thou suffered
at my hands that thou shouldst abide so many nights armed
and lie in wait for me to kill me ? May I not, then, in the
exercise of my office, go freely about the city, both by day
and by night, whereas I most know need and occasion to
be? Nay, grant that I have a mind to go thither anent
matters foreign to the magistracy, but for some private
occasion of mine own, or that maybe I love some gentle-
woman not pertaining unto thee and would fain go lie with
her, what should it concern thee ? Shall I then be hindered
of my privy pleasures and holden in constraint, as are
children ? But, to return to our case ; I was advised, some
days since, that one who is banished from this city had
passed through thy garden and gone I know not whither ;
wherefore, in the exercise of my office, I sent to take him
and thou attackedst the chief of the watch and gavest him
a wound, thinking, as thou hast confessed, to slay not him,
but myself. Now I purpose to carry out that which the
municipal laws and statutes of this city require ; firstly, I
will to-morrow have thee put to the strappado, so the
depositions may be completed in due process of law, and
after I will do with thee that which is done with assassins."

At these words the affrighted P>idiano cast himself at the
judge's feet with joined hands and said, weeping, "If your
patience, my lord judge, suffer you hearken to me, I doubt
not a jot but that, whenas you have heard the truth from
me, you will judge that I am not so guilty as you presently
esteem me and that you will have regard to the innocence
of my dearest wife, who in this case is without any manner

SI

of fault and deserveth, poor soul, to be set free." The
judge thereupon made him arise and said to him, "Well,
say what thou wilt, for I will hear thee patiently. What
hast thou to say?" Fridiano accordingly rose to his feet
and said, "Sir, as I have already told you, I suspected you
of loving my wife, for that, whenas you made your entry
this past January, you at once began to pass very often
before my house. I, knowing myself possessed of a very
fair wife (a possession which useth not to afford so much
delight anights but that it causeth far greater annoy by day),
misdoubted sore of your case, you being a Pisan and a
well-favoured youth, more by token that I saw in you and
in her certain matters which made me think that your loves
had had beginning elsewhere. I now know that I was
mistaken ; but, when my wife told me that you were said
to be enamoured of a neighbour of ours, I believed it
not; whence ensued that whereof I told you the other
day. Wherefore meseemeth my case is worthy of com-
passion and that I might go armed as it pleaseth me in
mine own house. Marry, an you wished to pass through
the garden, you should have sent me word and not have
sought thus to scale my wall at unawares ; for, being, as I
was, in such suspicion, what else could I do ? And you,
what would you have done ? As for my wife, now that you
have so cruelly tormented her, you may be assured that you
have ill-used her without reason, she being nowise at fault."
Then said the Pisan notary, "Fridiano, thy father-in-law
hath sent me hither to see how I may procure thy liberation
and that of thy wife, with as least shame and hurt to thyself
as may be possible. I have seen thy process,^ which is

* Processo, i.e. the depositions, forming the record upon which an
arraignment is founded.

52

exceeding foul ; algates, I will confer with my lord judge
and do as best may be." Fridiano thanked him and prayed
him lose no time and was presently carried back to prison.

The judge, the lady and the Pisan notary then took
counsel together of what was to do to make an end of the
business and concluded that the notary should go visit
Fridiano in prison and procure him to crave leave as a
favour to speak with his wife ; the which was duly carried
into execution. The lady, who had made herself pale with
sulphur-fumes, so that she showed as one come forth of the
grave, was accordingly brought in to her husband, with
tears in her eyes, accompanied by the Pisan notary. When
Fridiano saw her thus pallid, he embraced her, weeping,
and craved her a thousand pardons for his suspicions of her,
promising her, if ever he won forth of prison, she should be
mistress over all, since he now knew her for an honest and
virtuous woman. She feigned herself all palsied and made
as if she could not move ; whereat he bemoaned himself
sore, saying, ' ' Dear my wife, sweet my soul, my treasure,
my only comfort, forgive me, for I know I am the whole
cause of thine ill. Alack, iny life, how dost thou ? " She
still played cunning ^ and answered him, in a weak voice,
that she was all broken and could hardly speak. Then said
the notary, " Harkye, Madam Beatrice, you must lose no
time, what while you have leave to speak with your husband ;
I had much ado with the judge ere he would consent to
your foregathering. I will tell you briefly my deeming
concerning your case. That which is past may not be
undone ; nay, God Himself, who might have hindered its
betidement, cannot, after the event, render it unbetided ;
wherefore let us leave things past and take thought to things

1 Lit. "played the dead cat" {faceva la gatia morta).

53

future. I have seen the proceedings in your matter and
indeed your deposition, Beatrice, and those of the waiting-
women and the serving-man much aggravate the case, to
say nothing of thy confession, Fridiano, through which, an
Ferraguto die, thou wilt lose thy head ; and if (which God
grant) he die not, thou wilt have a hand lopped off and an
eye put out and wilt be banished for three years. However,
I hope he will recover. Let us, then, cast about for a
means of saving thee from mutilation, the which, meseemeth,
might be compassed by the payment of a thousand gold
florins to the fisc. "

Fridiano, hearing this, said, "The thing goeth less ill
than I feared ; having with mine own lips confessed that
which I have said, methought I should certainly fare much
worse ; algates it is a grievous matter for the like of me to
pay a thousand florins. I ply no trade nor have I any
craft in hand, and my revenues scarce suffice me for the
maintenance of my household, from year's end to year's end.
But methinketh, if Antonio here,^ who made our marriage-
settlement, would draw up an instrument, purporting to
bear date three or four days after the execution of the latter,
I would make thee, wife mine, a donation in writing inter
vivos of all my property and so render myself unable to pay
[the amercement ;] and when once I am out of prison, all
may be arranged." Beatrice thereupon urgently besought
the notary to do her that kindness and he, after suffering
himself to be long entreated, ultimately promised to do it ;
maybe it was not the first instrument of the kind he had
made. Accordingly they agreed that Antonio the notary
should speak with the judge and study, with the aid of the
letters he had brought with him and by the use of such other

' Apparently the name of the Pisan notary.

54

means as should commend themselves to him, to procure
the sentence to be a lenient one.

Therewithal the lady and the notary departed the prison
and returned to the judge, who, hearing Fridiano's wish to
make the donation to his wife, turned to the latter and said
to her, "Madam, this is a happy thought for you, for that
you will henceforth be mistress of all and needs must your
husband abide with you, nor will he ever more dare to find
fault with you. Marry, the thing goeth well, thanks to
God's grace. We shall have cured Fridiano of the excessive
jealousy into which the poor man had fallen and shall have
brought matters to such a pass that there will be no more
ado in the house. Ferraguto is whole, for that the hurt was
not in a dangerous part, and meseemeth it is time to liberate
Fridiano. Wherefore, in the first place, you and your
women and the serving-man shall go home betimes to-
morrow morning and after dinner I will pronounce judgment
to the following effect, to wit, that Fridiano Z., for having
wounded an officer of the court and wrongfully hindered the
taking of an outlaw, be sentenced to pay the expenses which
Ferraguto hath incurred for medicine and tending and be
to boot bounden to execute for a whole year the office of
[inspector of] contrabands,^ without any salary. And if the
sentence seem light, I will say that, at the instance of
Signer Pietro Gambacorta and of many other my friends and
kinsmen, I have not chosen to proceed with such severity as
I might and that this penalty which is inflicted on him, to
wit, of executing the office of [inspector of] contrabands for
a year without salary, is for having resisted the officers of
the court ; that for the rest (which are my private injuries)
I heartily remit him the whole, in favour of the letters of

1 Apparently, an officer charged to see that goods liable to duty
were not smuggled into the town.

55

recommendation which I have had {torn my friends and
kinsfolk. "

This done, the good judge, according to his usance, kept
his mistress company that night and they laughed together
again and again over the cheat put upon P'ridiano, Beatrice
declaring that the sheepshead had come off overcheap.
Then, Messer Buonaccorsio, being minded to take order
how they should avail to foregather in the future, said to
her, "Look you, sweet my soul," and so saying, he kissed
her two hundred times, " I will have Fridiano serve a year
in the office which he shall be condemned to execute, for
that it will behove him be ahorseback all day in the suburbs,
and whenas meseemeth good, I will keep him four or five
days abroad, so we may be together at our pleasure and
without disturbance. Nay, when he is in the city, I will
e'en contrive that he shall abide four or five hours of a night
with the watch in one or other quarter, whence it shall not
be permitted him stir without my leave and licence ; and
meantime I shall be able to come pass an hour or two with
you, so that we will lead the merriest life in the world,
what while I abide in this office. What say you thereof,
heart of my heart ? Is not our affair well ordered ? " The
lady, who loved him no less than she was beloved of him,
answered him with a thousand sweet and amorous kisses,
saying, "Ay, sweet my lord, you have done excellent well
and I am manifestly certified that you love me heartily,
and I also love you more than my very life. " On this wise
the two lovers passed the night in amorous pleasance and
dulcet talk, and in the morning, the lady returned home with
her women and serving-man. Meanwhile, the Pisan notary
betook himself to the husband and said to him, "Fridiano,
thou mayst presently thank God that thou chancest to have
a Pisan wife ; for that, but for her, I know not how thou

56

hadst done to scape the loss of a hand and an eye. But
the letters her father hath procured to be written from Pisa
have availed thee to such effect that thou wilt this day be
liberated from prison and mayst go home at thy leisure.
Thou wilt be sentenced to pay for the medicines that Ferra-
guto hath taken and the physician for healing him, which
will be but a trifle ; and for the rest of the penalty, it will
behove thee execute the office of Captain of Contrabands
for a year, without receiving any salary from the exchequer.
It is a goodly office and thou wilt derive much advantage
therefrom, forby that thou wilt oftentimes be able to serve
thy friends. Marry, for the love of Messer Neri thy father-
in-law, I have wearied myself amain about the matter. The
judge was much incensed against thee and meseemeth indeed
he had good cause, for that thou soughtest to take his life,
without his having offended thee. He recketh of thy wife
as of a thing that he never saw, for that his love is (as I
know) bestowed otherwhere. Thou must, then, thank him
amain and abide all thy life long beholden to him, for woe
to thee, had he done thee the ill he might ! "

Fridiano, hearing this good news, thought himself raised
up from death to life and thanked the Pisan notary without
end. Accordingly, after dinner, my lord judge took his
seat on the bench at the customary hour and having first
done all such magisterial acts as were required of him, he
pronounced final judgment in the matter of Fridiano Z.
Moreover, to lay him under greater obligation to himself,
he suffered him not pay a penny for prison fees or other
charges, nor, whereas he should have reimbursed Ferraguto
what little he had spent, would he have him pay him aught ;
wherefore the good Fridiano was no sooner free from prison
than he went to throw himself at the judge's feet and thanked
him infinitely, declaring that he should still be master of

57

himself, of his good and of all he had in the world. The
judge rendered him due thanks and gave him to understand
that he was greatly beholden to his father-in-law, who, by
favour of Signor Pietro Gambacorta, had procured him his
liberation. Moreover, he exhorted him to prepare himself
to execute the office which he had assigned him and to do
it with all diligence ; to which Goodman Fridiano answered
him that he would study his utmost to do himself honour
and would still be his servant and order himself in all things
according as he should command. Then he went home
and could not say enough to his wife in praise of the judge ;
and amongst other things, "Wife mine," quoth he, "I will
have my lord judge come to our house at any and every
hour, without any manner of ceremony, for that he is a man
of great worth, and we are all vastly beholden to him ; nay,
had he chosen, he might have done us great hurt." The
lady confirmed all he said and would have Antonio, the
Pisan notary, draw up the act of donation, what while she
saw her husband in this good disposition ; the which the
good notary did, with all such clauses as the judge knew
to put therein. Thereafter, so well did things go for the
two lovers that, for the two whole years of Messer Buon-
accorsio's judgeship, they foregathered whenassoever they
would ; and so pleasing was this commerce to the judge
that, the two years ended, he found means to be lieutenant
of the provostry;^ nay, after, being beloved of all, he was
e'en made provost ; and such was the good opinion that
Fridiano had of him that not only would he have refused
to credit whoso had missaid to him of him, but, had he e'en
seen him and his wife in each other's arms, he had not
believed his own eyes.

1 Lit. "vicar" {vicarid),i.e. Deputy-Provost.

1

'Bantiello

to t]^e excellent toctor oi tnetiictne iHesser ^tanasia
titQii ^tanasi.

Age useth to bring many and various incommodities unto
those who wax old ; nay, not only doth it bring these, but
itself, as wisely saith the comic [poet,] is a corruption of
all the members of the body, and to boot, it engendereth
a thousand ills in the human mind. But let us leave all its
other incommodities and its many vices (inasmuch as, when
an old man is not of a well-ordered and generous mind and
suffereth himself be carried away by the lusts of the flesh,
a long Iliad might be composed thereof) and let us speak
only of the disease of ambition, whenas it layeth hold upon
an old man, especially if he have been poor and chance in
his old age to have amassed some sum of monies. The
wretch, never looking back neither considering how long
he hath lived, hath regard only unto the future and deeming
himself presently in the flower of his years, goeth imagining
a thousand vain conceits and rearing a thousand castles in
the air ; nay, as if he should live as long as he hath already
lived, he either setteth himself to build superb palaces,
thinking to enjoy them long, or goeth about to take a wife
and being himself threescore years old, will have her fifteen,
perceiving not that, were he put in a press and squeezed to
the utmost, one might not extract an ounce of sap from his

59

flesh ; or else, having one foot in the grave, he must needs
buy dignities and offices, though, ere he can enjoy them, he
dieth and loseth his monies and eke his life. The poor old
man, being in his dotage, thinketh himself a Solomon, and
so it betideth him even as it befell the ass, who, thinking his
long ears to be two great horns, accounted himself a very
stag, but, in the jumping of the ditch, he fell to the bottom
and perceived but too well that he was an ass. Now, it
being lately reasoned of such foolish old men in the presence
of our noble countrywoman, the Lady Costanza Rangona
e Fregosa, my patroness, Monseigneur Alain de Frigemont,
of the house of Montpessat, who useth often to visit her
ladyship, related a pleasant story ; which I straightway
committed to writing, meseeming it was worthy of remem-
brance. Thereafter, thinking to add it to the number of
my other stories, I have chosen that it be still read and seen
under your name, in token of my love for you and eke to
the end that (as said Monseigneur Alain, the teller of the
tale,) men may take warning thereby and beware of embark-
ing upon such extravagance out of season. Fare you well.

2rf)£ E^a^nntj-Mixitniitii) Storg.

CARLO SAVON ARQi PUTTETH A CHEAT UPON
HIS UNCLE AND WITH THE LATTER'S
MONIES MAKETH HIMSELF COUNSELLOR
OF TOULOUSE.

Following on the subject whereof it hath been spoken,
you must know that in Toulouse, a very ancient and
populous city, there was no great while agone a priest and
doctor of the canon law, by name Messer Antonio Savonaro,^
who was very rich in benefices and so tall of his person that
there was no man found in all those parts but he overpassed
him by the head and shoulders ; so that he was known
of all for his tallness and was still regarded as a marvel.
He was made Official to the Archbishop,^ and being very
churlish and crabbed and harsher than right required, he
got himself such a name through all the country that every
one styled him the muckle churl of the thirty ribs ; * which
coming to his ears, he was mightily chagrined thereat and
fell into such a passion of choler that he might nowise suffer
it. He bethought him again and again how he should do
to rid himself of this name, and the more he showed himself

1 t.e. Charles Savonieres.

* z'.e. Antoine Savonieres.

' I.e. Judge of the Archiepiscopal Court.

* The common people apparently supposing him, on account of his
great bulk, to have more than the normal number of ribs.

6i

angered thereat, the more berhymed was he in Toulouse and
the l)oys went singing about the streets, " The muckle churl
of the thirty ribs ; " whereat the poor man was like to go
mad. Ultimately, after he had raved amain thereat, he let
jniblish an interdict throughout all the diocese of Toulouse,
to the effect that whoso dared to style my lord the Official
"the muckle churl of the thirty ribs" should be excom-
municated and accursed of God and the Saints. The folk,
enraged, rather than dismayed or amended by the interdict,
did no otherwhat than sing day and night, "The muckle
churl of the nine-and-twenty ribs and a half. " This was the
axe which cut Savonaro's neck and he was like to go mad,
seeing he might not avail to rid his ears of that foul name
and being unable to go anywhither but he still had the
unseemly refrain cast in his teeth ; wherefore, after much
casting about how he should do to quit himself of that
annoy, he bethought him that, if he might win to be made
a counsellor of the parliament, none would any longer dare
to call him by such a name.

Accordingly, he sent for a nephew of his. Carlo by name,
who had no great while before been made doctor of laws,
and said to him, "Nephew, thou hearest the unseemly words
which are spoken of me all day long and which I can no
longer suffer. I have four thousand pounds tournois * ready
money, wherewith I will get me to the court and buying
me a senator's place, will rid me of this foul name. " The
nephew, seeing his uncle in this extravagant humour, albeit
he was over seventy years of age and had little longer to
live, answered him, saying, "My lord, you are old and
should think more of dying than of living ; attend to your
present office and go not about to die and throw away your

1 About ;{J400 sterling.

62

monies. " ' At this the old man fell into the greatest rage
in the world and called his nephew rascal and sorry knave ;
then, refusing to hearken to any counsel, he set out to go to
Paris, where the court then. was. Carlo, knowing this,
followed after him at half a day's distance, so that where
the uncle supped, there the nephew dined the next day.

The old man, being come to Paris, went to lodge at the
Chateau de Milan ;^ which Carlo learning on his arrival
next day, he went to another inn and in two days' time
clapped up a friendship with an archer of the king's guard,
who seemed to him apt to do that which he desired. With
him he agreed for the price of four crowns, and the archer,
being fully instructed of that which he was to do, repaired
to the official's hostelry and understanding that he was in
his chamber, betook himself thither and knocked at the
door. Antonio asked, "Who is there?" and the other
answered, "I am an archer, come to speak with my lord
the Official of the Archbishop of Toulouse on the king's
part." The old man, hearing this, came to meet him and
said, half affrighted and with a trembling voice, "What
is your will?" Quoth the archer, "The king greeteth you;
follow me ; " and turned to leave the chamber, repeating
in an arrogant tone, "Follow me, follow me." The poor
old man, more dead than alive, said, "Wait, wait; what
would the king with me ? " But the archer repeated with
a stern air, "Come, let us be going, my lord; despatch."
"Alack, for God's sake," cried the official, "know you
what he would with me? " " Enough," replied the archer ;

* Sic {izon atidate a morire e buttar via i danari), the meaning
js, " Do not waste your monies in purchasing an office, which you
cannot long live to enjoy."

* An inn of that name.

63

"let us be going and keep me no longer waiting." Then,
the old man still beseeching to know what was to do, he
said to him, " I will tell you; but keep it me secret. The
king would fain make his company of archers of the tallest
men in France, and it hath been told him of you, who are
in truth a goodly man and will make a fine show with a
halberd on your shoulder. Now come, let us be going."
The old man, thinking to pay with his heels, said, " Go you,
and I will come to court." "No, no," rejoined the archer,
"needs must I accompany you." Thereupon there passed
many words between them and in fine the archer got ten
ducats to leave him be. The man gone, Savonaro let saddle
his horses and returned in all haste to Toulouse, saying the
while, "Que te cale, Antoyne Savonieres? Que te cale ?
Tu eres officiao et estaves plan ; que te cale ? Certes, un
vieit d'ase [pels'] pots. "^ These are words of our Gascon
dialect and mean, " What lackedst thou, Antonio Savonaro,
what lackedst thou ? Thou wast Official and abode at thine
ease. What lackedst thou ? Certes, an ass's pizzle over
the chops." Arrived at Toulouse, he fell sick and died,
with these words [on his lips ;] whereupon Carlo his nephew
inherited the four thousand pounds and other gear galore
and buying him a counsellor's place, is presently alive and
senator of the Parliament of Toulouse, having by his ready
wit contrived to hinder his uncle from throwing away his
monies, worn out as he was with old age.

1 I insert this word (meaning "on" or "over the," pi.), which
appears necessary to complete the sense.

2 Pels pots, lit. " over the lips." The exact meaning of this
Provengal speech is not clear ; but the drift appears to be that
Savonieres felt that he deserved a buffet for leaving his comfortable
place to run after chimasras.

15anti0llo

ta tl^e illustrious -Setsnior ffiiana jFrerjcsa.

It is daily made manifest to us how great is the difference
between men and men and we see their natures and inclina-
tions to be so various that they are oftentimes at disaccord in
all their actions. And as we seldom find two who resemble
each other in features and bodily fashion, even so yet rarelier
will both be of one mind in everything ; nay, if they agree in
one thing, they will differ in opinion concerning many
others. One still findeth a difficulty in every action and
everything which is toward, however easy and lightly put
in execution, and will with his arguments depicture it to
thee on such wise that he will make that which is possible
appear to thee impossible and cause thee despair of
accomplishing thy desire. Another, on the contrary, hath
his mind so fashioned that he thinketh nothing to be
impossible, and the more difficult the accomplishment of
the effect which he seeketh, the easier doth he repute it and
is nowhit disheartened by whatsoever contrary argument you
may oppose to him ; nay, oftentimes, aided by the vivacity
and acuteness of a soaring wit, he effecteth without overmuch
difficulty that which all deemed might never be accomplished.
Men of this fashion are commonly high in favour with great
masters, who still seek to do that which is well-nigh impos-
sible, and yet more acceptable unto the common folk, who,

65

seeing an emprise deemed well-nigh impossible of achieve-
ment compassed by their means, believe them more than
human, though, if they knew the subtlety of man's under-
standing, wonderment would cease in them. It was debated
of this matter by sundry gentlemen of the household of my
patroness, the Lady Costanza Rangona e Fregosa, the
occasion being afforded us by Pitigliano Siniscalco, ' who
never answereth nay unto anything which is required of
him, albeit the effect seldom ensueth upon his words.
Command him what thou wilt ; he will still answer that it
shall be done, be that which is required possible or im-
possible ; wherefore, in the course of the talk, Messer
Stefano Coniolio, Canon of Agen, related a goodly anecdote,
which pleasing me, I wrote it down and will have it seen of
the public under your name, so it may bear eternal witness
of my observance unto you. Fare you well.

1 Apparently the lady's steward or majordomo (stmsca/co), though
Bandello gives Siniscalco as his surname, as above.

VOL, IV.

THE ABBOT OF BEGNE MAKETH A PIG-ORGAN
AND BY HIS PROMPT REPLY UNTO HIS
KING, QUITTETH HIM OF A DEMAND.

Being last year at the court at Amboise on the affairs
of the bishopric, I heard a gentleman of Auvergne, who
was very old and alleged that he had been page to King
Louis XL, tell many memorable things of the said king.
Amongst the rest he related how he took marvellous
delight in those who accounted nothing impossible to be
put in execution, albeit the desired effect did not always
ensue, and how it pleased him above all that a man should
apply himself to essay what might succeed. Wherefore,
the lord abbot of Begne, who was a man of exceeding
wit and a most excellent musician, debating one day, in
the presence of the said king, of the virtue of music and
of the sweetness of harmony, the king asked him, by way
of jest, if, since he had invented two or three fashions of
music, never before known, he might contrive to make
a harmony of pigs, thinking the abbot would say no.
The abbot, hearing the king's question, abode nowise con-
founded and bethinking him forthright of how he should
do, answered him very briskly, "Sire, so you will let
give me the monies which will be required for the making

67

of this music, I will engage to produce you a most
marvellous harmony, resulting from the voices of many
pigs, which I will cause sing in regular order." The king,
desirous to see the issue of the matter, caused one of his
treasurers count out to the abbot that same day the
monies he asked, whilst all marvelled at his undertaking
and declared that he was mad to set himself upon such
a venture, inasmuch as the king had agreed with him that,
an he failed of producing the aforesaid porcine music, he
should repay him the monies he had received from the
treasurer, but if he succeeded, he was to keep all. How-
ever, the abbot answered all those [who thus blamed him]
that they were men of little spirit and knew not to do
aright and that they accounted all which they knew not
to do to be impossible.

Now he had stipulated for a month's time to make the
music in question and thereupon bought two-and-thirty pigs
of various ages, choosing eight of them for the tenor, eight
for the bass, eight for the soprano and eight for the alto.
Then he made him an instrument with keys after the
fashion of an organ, fitted with long wires of copper, to
the ends whereof were certain very sharp steel points made
fast on cunning wise, the which, the keys being struck,
pierced such pigs as he chose ; wherefrom there resulted
a marvellous harmony, he having let bind the pigs under
the keyboard of the organ, according to the required
ordinance and on such wise that they must needs be
pricked at the touching of the keys. Of this his instru-
ment he made proof five or six times and finding that
it succeeded to him excellent well, he, four days before
the appointed term, invited the king to hear the porcine
music. The king was then at Tours with all his court
and desirous to see and hear that harmony, repaired to the

68

abbey of Marmoutiers,i founded by Saint Martin, where
the abbot had made all ready and where, seeing a pavilion
set up and an instrument after the fashion of an organ
attached thereto, they all abode wondered, unable to con-
ceive what manner of thing it was and still less what was
under the pavilion. Each took his place and the king bade
the abbot do his office ; whereupon the latter, going up to
his instrument, fell to striking the keys, like as one playeth
the organ, on such wise that, the pigs grunting according
to the order in which they were touched and pierced, there
resulted therefrom a goodly consonance and a music never
yet known, but marvellously delectable to hear, for that
the abbot, who was an excellent musician, played divers
goodly preludes and certain motetts masterly composed.
The king took very great pleasure therein and not content
with one hearing of the new music, would have the abbot
repeat it twice or thrice ; wherefore he and all his lords
and others who were present at the concert judged that
the abbot had perfectly fulfilled his promise and com-
mended him amain therefor. He let raise the pavilion on
one side, so he might see the ordinance of the pigs, and
noting how they were bound and the ordinance of the
copper wires with the steel points, sharp as any needle,
he marvelled amain and judging the abbot to be a man
of high wit and very great invention, rendered him such
praises as himseemed so rare a contrivance merited.

This is the same abbot (to tell you another trait which
I have heard of him) who with a prudent response contrived
to save himself and keep his abbacy. The said King
Louis XL desired above all to gratify a certain foreigner
with an abbey and there being none then vacant, he called

69

this Abbot of Begne to him and prayed him consent to
renounce his abbacy, for that he would give him an
equivalent pension till such time as another should fall
vacant. The abbot, knowing [the value of] that which he
held and hearing his king's proposition, straightway replied
to him thus, saying, "Sire, it hath cost me forty years'
labour ere I might avail to learn my A, B, C ; * I beseech
you give me as much time to learn the rest." The king
understood the abbot's prompt and goodly response, which
meant that he had been made abbot forty years agone and
would fain enjoy the abbacy as long again and that, having
an assured revenue, he cared not to run after the royal
treasurers to recover his pension, the which is oftentimes a
grievous annoy. This reply pleased the king and he let him
enjoy his abbey in peace and made other provision for the
foreigner.

1 i.e. abbacy. Bandello " A, B," i.e. a play upon the sound of the
word abbaye, which would in French be exactly similar in pronuncia-
tion to the first two letters of the alphabet.

IBantieUo

t0 t]}z ricjf)t affable ant) illustrious BEitjnior Sfgnor
iIHarc0 ^10 tii Carpi.

The eyes wherewith the high heavens look clown upon
the earth,' whenas, at their brightest and bluest, purged of
every cloud, they show us their eternal beauties anights, by
the radiance of the clear silvern moon, are not so numerous
nor are the flowers which fair Flora, in the Spring time,
goeth cunningly enamelling with the goodliest natural
colours nor the fruits which sweet and savourly Pomona
bringeth, season by season, to maturity so many and various
as the effects which flattering and many-snareful Love
produceth in the hearts of simple mortals, whenas with his
venomous flamelets he enkindleth them on various wise, for
it is manifest that, according as love cleaveth unto various
temperaments, even so diverse and various ensue thereof the
actions of men in love. Indeed, I should belike say that
it is not love which produceth certain outrageous extrava-
gances which are bytimes done of many, but the suff"ering
ourselves to be overcome of our passions. Wherefore I am
fain to believe (and it pleaseth me to be of this opinion)
that it is unlawful to blame Love, whenassoever an ill-starred
lover heedlessly doth aught out of due course, for that the

1 t'.e, the stars.

n

fault is not Love's, but ours, who, as I have already sung,^
know not how to love. Now every one knoweth that the
oh]e.c\. of love is the thing which is called loveable, the
which can nowise be conceited otherwhat than all that
seemeth to us good, apparent good being (as all the wise
will have it) the true and proper object of our appetite.
Accordingly, no sooner doth this apparent good present
itself unto our senses and flatter them than the greedy
appetite, drunken with pleasure, straightway turneth towards
it, as the giddy butterfly to the beloved light ; whence there
is born in us a certain complacence and delectation which
is commonly called love. This complacence, to speak
logically, it would be incorrect to call desire, albeit it is the
beginning thereof, forasmuch as from the motion it maketh
towards that which appeareth to it good, desire springeth
without doubt, as doth the rill from the fount ; wherefore
the master of those who know ^ hath left it written that all
desire and lust after the fair and the good, to wit, that which
appeareth to us good and fair. When, then, it is reasoned
of this affection, which we call Love, it behoveth that it
be understood, not of the complacence aforesaid, which so
sweetly delecteth us, but of the movement [towards the
desired object], which, according to divers considerations,
we should rightly name desire. From this undoubtedly
ensueth that the thing apparently good is the true object
of love. Now, this same thing may appear to us good in
various ways, now under colour of virtue, now clothed with
that mantle which delight useth to proffer us and whiles

1 Referring, apparently, to some poem of his own, with which I am
not acquainted.

2 i.e. Aristotle. // maestro di color che sanno, Dante, Div. Coram. ;
Inferno, IV. 131. But Bandello apparently refers to Plato in his
" Banquet."

, 72

under the veil of profit, which latter we see all mortals so
eagerly desire and go seeking at the cost of so many toils
and travails and such exceeding perils. But of these three
kinds of love, which are the sum of all, that which is allured
by the profitable and attracted only by the thought of the
advantage which may be derived therefrom, stablisheth itself
therein and there maketh its end, is far less [worthy] than
that which armeth itself with virtue and cleaveth fast there-
unto and eke than that other which draweth and ravisheth
our souls to itself, nay rather cajoleth and overfloodeth them
with pleasure, by means of delight. Beyond these three
loves, (leaving divine love for the nonce out of the question,)
I am convinced that there is none other to be found, for
that, if one offer to reason of animal love or of love bestial,
wild-bestial and eke natural, all these, to my thinking, (such
as it is) may, albeit they depend upon various causes, be
referred to the three aforesaid. But, alack, whither have
I suffered myself be carried away ? For that in truth I
have thoughtlessly strayed into this discourse. Algates, it
misliketh me not to have said so much to you thereof, for
that, you being in the fair flower of your youth, it cannot
but supremely advantage you that you should oftentimes
call to mind the sage saying of fortunate and magnanimous
[Scipio] Africanus to King Masinissa, to wit, that there
was less peril for the youthful age in the armed hosts of its
enemies than is proved to befall from the carnal delights
of love, so that there is far more glory and honour to be
gained by conquering one's amorous passions and oneself
and shunning the wanton pleasures which unnerve and
emaciate the young than is to be gotten by overcoming all
the armies in the world. I have accordingly set myself
to write to you, that I might show you how love whiles
blindeth and falsifieth our senses and oftentimes maketh us

73

see one thing for another. Now, it being reasoned of late
of the many dehisions into which wretched and imprudent
lovers run headlong, our most afiable Signor Carlo Attellano,
who is, as you know, a pleasant and goodly speaker, related,
in the presence of the most urbane and courteous Signor
Alessandro Bentivoglio, your honoured uncle, an adventure
befallen in the city of Milan. The case appeared to me
worthy of being consecrated unto eternal remembrance, for
the admonishment of young men who unwarily suffer them-
selves to be ensnared. I wrote it down incontinent and it
occurred to me to give it to you, in token of our mutual
goodwill. You, in this your flower of youth, are the more
in peril of falling into the amorous involvements, inasmuch
as your age, temperament and natural bent seem all to
incline you to love ; wherefore I would have you live warily
and look your liberty be not stolen from you. An easy
thing it is to stumble into the abyss of servitude ; but to
turn backward and recover the dear lost liberty is a far
harder matter than some believe. Do you, then, accept this
my little gift and impart it to the gentlemen your brothers
Costanzo and Girolamo. May our Lord God long preserve
you all !

2rf)e iF(iut-an"b:=2r&jentt£t]^ Storg.

THE LOVES OF MESSER GIAN BATTISTA
LATUATE AND THE AMOROUS DELUSION
WHEREIN HE WAS INVOLVED, TOGETHER
WITH THE SPRIGHTLY RESPONSE OF HIS
MISTRESS.

There be many, (more's the pity,) most worshipful madam,
who, whenassoever I would speak of my native place Milan,
grudge to hearken to me, especially if I offer to praise that
city, and who, nevertheless, remembering them not to have
bytimes chidden me for wishing to extol my own country,
fall at unawares into the folly of seeking to exalt divers
native places of theirs above the stars, though God knoweth
if they deserve to be commended. And if I ask them why
they will not have me speak well of my native place, they
can make me no other answer than that the Milanese speech
is more clownish than any other which is used in Lombardy
and they are even not ashamed to call it fouler than the
Bergomask. But I never found (to speak generally) that
the Germans used other than their own fashion of speech
and the French that of France, and so every nation speaketh
its native tongue. I will not say that the court-speech is
not more polished than the Milanese, for that methinketh
I should tell an untruth ; but I am fain to believe that no
primitive language, used after the fashion of its birth, is

75

good. Take the Tuscan, the Neapolitan, the Roman or
whatsoever other you will ; all, without exception, need to
be diligently purged and polished ; otherwise they all savour
somewhat of the clownish and offend the listeners' ears.
Even so on like wise methinketh the Milanese speech is in
itself uncultured, but may lightly be polished. Algates I
should not think to blame whosoever speaketh his native
tongue, which he hath sucked in with his mother's milk
from his tenderest years. The first Cardinal Trivulzio, who
was born and bred in Milan and was made a cardinal, when
an old man, went to abide at Rome in the days of Pope
Julius the Second and speaking, could not hide his origin,
so purely did he speak the Milanese dialect. It was told
him by many that he ought to change his speech and
accustom himself to the language of the court ; whereupon
he answered them, smiling, that, if they would show him
a city better than Milan and more abounding in everything,
he would learn the idiom thereof, but that he had never
yet heard tell of another Milan. And indeed he spoke
sooth, for that, at the binding of the bales, ^ there are few
Milans to be found ; wherefore, on the word of a gentleman,
to say that which I sincerely feel on the matter, I, who
have gone so many years wandering about Europe and
Africa, reckon Milan to have few equals among cities and
few that are so abundant in everything necessary unto human
life. Wherefore Ausonio Bordegalese,^ in his catalogue of
cities,^ most marvellously commendeth it and maketh it well-

* i.e. when one cometh to pack up for travel.

* The reader, unaccustomed to Bandello's erratic fashion of treating
non-Italian proper names, will hardly recognize, under this style,
the well-known Latin poet of the fourth century, Decimus Magnus
Ausonius of Bordeaux (Rurdegalensis).

^ Ordo iwbiliinn urbium.

76

nigh the equal of Rome, in the days when Rome had as yet
received no hurt from the barbarians, but flourished entire
and fair. If, then, a Gascon poet praise it, I hold it should
not be forbidden me to do the like, whenassoever the occa-
sion offereth itself.

I say, then, that in Milan, rich and abounding in every
good thing and inhabited by a numerous and gallant nobility,
was a lad called Gian Battista da Latuate, left very rich by
his father's death and brought up under the care of his
mother, a very noble matron of the Caimi family, who used
all diligence and solicitude in rearing that her only son on
gentle wise, so he should grow up adorned with excellent
manners, no less than with good letters. The lad waxed
and flourished and being presently fifteen to sixteen years
old, gave great promise of becoming an accomplished gentle-
man, for that he consorted with other young men of his own
rank, exercising himself amain, now a-horseback, now in the
tennis-court and now at the fencing-school and showing
himself marvellously apt at the manage of all kinds of arms.
He had, as he yet hath, his paternal mansion in the Brera
Street and riding often apleasuring through the city, now on
mules and now on high-mettled horses, it chanced one day
that, as he passed through the Borgo Nuovo quarter, he
espied a damsel sitting at a latticed casement, to see who
passed through the street. Himseemed he had never beheld
so fair and lovesome a girl and he was indeed so dazzled and
captivated with her at first sight that he could turn his head
to no otherwhat ; wherefore he passed twice or thrice before
the house that same day and still saw her in the same place.
The more he saw her, the more himseemed beauty and grace
waxed in her, and making enquiry by one of his serving-men
concerning her father, he learned that he was a gentleman of
no great estate, but a man of worth and good repute.

77

All that day and the ensuing night the enamoured youth
thought of no otherwhat than the girl he had seen and all his
ideas were fixed upon one sole object, to wit, how he might
win to speak with her. He began, accordingly, to court her
every day, now a-foot and now a-horseback, and whenasso-
ever he saw her, which was well-nigh every time he passed
through the quarter, he did her obeisance, bonnet in hand,
and ogled her on such wise, with his eyes fixed upon her,
that whoso saw him had lightly perceived his enamourment.
The damsel, being very courteous and well bred, whenas-
soever the young man doffed his bonnet to her, modestly
bent her head somewhat and with a blithe aspect rendered
him the honour received ; which afforded Gian Battista
marvellous solacement, himseeming she disdained not to be
loved of him. This commerce lasted some days, the youth
becoming daily more enamoured and knowing no rest save
whenas he saw her ; and he presently found means to send
her, by an old woman, a love-letter, wherein he told her
how ardently he loved her and addressed her in such
strenuous and impassioned words as such new-fledged
youths commonly use to write to their mistresses. The
damsel accepted the letter and read it, but returned him
no answer ; whereupon the enamoured Gian Battista wrote
her another letter, full of amorous protestations and humble
supplications, and besought her with the utmost instance to
be pleased to vouchsafe him a privy audience, so he might
possess her of many things which would be dear to her and
which were not to be committed to writing.

It nowise displeased the damsel to be courted and loved
by so noble and rich a youth, and albeit she was no match
for him, she hoped withal he might lightly become so
infatuated as to take her to wife. She was very quick-
witted and well-advised and plainly apprehended the

78

import of his talk of a privy audience ; wherefore she wrote
him again, thanking him for the love which he said he bore
her and avouching that she also loved him in so far as
pertained unto a virtuous maid, but that, as for having
privy audience of her, he must never hope it, for that
such audience was reserved by her unto him whom her
father should give her to husband. Gian Battista, having
this discreet response and being bitten by the amorous
tarantula, whose venom had penetrated deeply into his
heart, felt himself wax yet more enkindled and went the
more from ill to worse that the damsel, every time she
saw him, showed him a very blithe and favourable counte-
nance and seemed to take pleasure in letting herself be
seen of him. Being, then, at this pass and seeing no
remedy for his love, he inwardly determined to speak to
his mistress's father and demand her to wife. Accordingly,
taking his opportunity, he sought out Messer Ambrogio
[for so was the gentleman called] and saluting him, said
to him, " Sir, not to waste time upon fine words and
ceremonies, I will speak with you frankly. I know that
you know who I am and that you have no need to go
seeking information of my circumstances ; wherefore, an
it please you give me your daughter Laura to wife, I
will gladly espouse her, for that she hath long marvel-
lously pleased me and I am firmly resolved to marry
her."

Messer Ambrogio marvelled amain at this proffer and
knowing the great wealth and nobility of the young man,
who might, as he knew, have found a much better match,
with higher rank and more substance, in Milan, abode
somewhat confounded, but presently replied to him thus,
saying, " Signor Gian Battista, I have [as you say,] no
need to take information of your circumstances, knowing

79

full well who you are, and therefore I cannot but marvel
amain that you should stoop to take my daughter, who,
though indeed noble by birth, is yet the child of a poor
father, for that my means are such that I cannot by a
long way give her the dowry which behoveth unto you."
"Speak not to me of dowry," quoth the lover; "I have
gear enough, Godamercy, for her and for me and ask
of you neither marriage-portion nor otherwhat, save only
Laura herself, unto whom I will appoint a sortable dowry,
such as pertaineth unto the like of me. Do you, there-
fore, consent to give me your daughter and have neither
care nor concern for the rest. I would fain have my
mother know nothing of the matter for the nonce ; but,
for your assurance, I will espouse Laura in the presence
of four or five of your nearest kinsfolk." "Sir," replied
Messer Ambrogio, " it were well that, in a case of such
import, you should take five or six days' more thought
thereto and I likewise will consider mine affairs." Quoth
the youth, "Take it that the six days are passed, for
that I have long thought upon this matter and am deter-
mined to do that which pleaseth me." "Well, well,"
rejoined Messer Ambrogio; "another day we will speak
thereof more at leisure ; " and so they parted and the
ardent and impatient lover wrote his mistress all that had
passed between her father and himself; whereat she abode
wonder-glad.

Meanwhile, Messer Ambrogio, turning over the young
man's proffer in his mind, misdoubted him lest, thinking
to make friendship and alliance, he should rather acquire
an eternal enmity. He knew the inequality between the
parties and judged that such a marriage ought not to take
place ; wherefore, having long and diligently pondered the
whole matter, he found means to speak with Madam

8o

Francesca, the enamoured youth's mother, and punctually
recounted to her all that had passed between himself and
her son. The lady was sore chagrined at such ill news ;
withal, she thanked Messer Ambrogio heartily for having
given her to know of her son's intent and exhorted him to
marry his daughter without loss of time. The poor gentle-
man shrugged his shoulders and excused himself for lack of
means, saying that Laura was yet a child and that the time
was unapt thereto. Madam Francesca asked him how much
he was wont to give his daughters to dowry ; whereto,
*' Madam," answered he, " I have married two and have
given each a thousand ducats. I have now but Laura left
and wish to give her the same, whenas it shall be time ;
for that, an I sought to marry her at this present, I might
not avail to pay an hundred florins." Then said Madam
Francesca, "Messer Ambrogio, so you may know how much
I am beholden to you for the advisement you have given
me of my son's purpose, look you out a fitting match for
your daughter, (the sooner, the better,) and I will lend you
the whole thousand ducats of the dowry, the which you
shall at your commodity repay me in five or six years ; nor
will I have of you otherwhat than a writing under your
hand." For this courteous and bountiful offer Messer
Ambrogio returned such thanks as best he knew and pro-
mised the lady to use all diligence to marry Laura ; and so
they abode of accord.

Gian Battista the while still solicited his Laura with letters
and messages, passing through the street whenassoever
commodity offered, and every time he espied her at the
window, himseemed he saw a new paradise opened, for that
he found an inward and marvellous solacement in her sight.
Meanwhile, Madam Francesca, who was sore afeard lest her
son should espouse Laura, found means of speaking privily

8i

with her brother the Lord Abbot Caimo, a man of authority
and repute, and with others of her own kinsfolk, as well as
with divers uncles and kinsmen of her son's, and acquainting
them all with the young man's amours and with that which
had passed between herself and Messer Ambrogio, besought
them all, as well her own kinsfolk as those of her son, of
counsel and aid, so Gian Battista might, with the least
possible incommodity, be hindered from takin|; Laura to wife.
Many things were said and a thousand means proposed,
each telling his deeming, and ultimately they resolved that
the best course was to send the young man for some time out
of Milan and meanwhile to marry Laura. To this all agreed,
albeit Madam Francesca, who was a tender and indulgent
mother, was loath to assent thereto. She loved her only
son very tenderly and herseemed she might not live without
him, for that, an she alrode two or three hours without seeing
him, she felt her heart sink within her. Nevertheless,
moved by the exhortations of her brother and other her
friends and kinsfolk and convinced that this was the only
effectual means of bringing her son altogether to withdraw
from that his amorous emprise, she also consented ; where-
fore they all agreed that the abbot should invite Gian
Battista, with other his kinsfolk and two guardians of his,
to dine with him on the morrow and that, after dinner, they
should exhort him to depart Milan and go for a while to
the Court of Rome.

Accordingly, they all dined together in the abbot's house
and after dinner, one of the guardians said to the youth,
" Tell me, Gian Battista, how doth the usance of our city
please thee ? " The youth answering that it pleased him
amain, " I mean not to tell thee," rejoined the other, " that
it is not good ; but, an thou madest but one essay of the
Court of Rome, thou wouldst maybe have no mind to return

VOL, IV. 6

82

hither in haste." " I know nothing of Rome," ' replied the
youth ; "but meseemeth all the pleasures of the world are
in this our native place." Then, passing from one speech to
another anent this matter, " Harkye, nephew," said the
abbot, "an thou have a mind to sojourn some months at
Rome, I will engage to get my sister's consent and thou
shalt be honourably provided with monies. I warrant thee,
indeed, thou wilt there become another man ; for that, an
thou be presently well-bred, thou wilt there acquire the
height of good breeding and wilt learn a thousand fashions
and see the finest things in the world ; nay, an thou go
thither once, thou wilt not for all the gold in the world
have missed going thither." Ultimately, Gian Battista
declared himself content to go thither, so but he had his
mother's good leave, and accordingly they all went together
to visit Madam Francesca and prayed her consent to this
journey. She feigned herself unwilling, but consented in
the end to her son's going for five or six months whither it
most liked him. The young man thereupon advised his
Laura of all and prayed her be mindful of him and abide
steadfast to his love, for that he would speedily return and
do on such wise that her father should give her to him to
wife. Then, being furnished with that which he needed,
he departed Milan, with an honourable company, and
betook himself to Rome.

As soon as he was gone. Madam Francesco sent to call
Messer Ambrogio and would know from him at what
point things stood in the matter of marrying his daughter.
" Madam," replied he, " I have three matches in hand,
all which are sortable in degree and please me well-nigh

1 Lit. " I know not so many Romes " [lo non so ianie Rome), the
exact meaning of which phrase is not apparent.

83

equally ; hut, since you, of your favour, deign to accommo-
date me with the money, I am determined to choose him
to son-in-law who shall seem to you most to the purpose."
He accordingly told her the names, surnames and con-
ditions of all three and they agreed, after much talk, upon
one of them ; whereupon Madam P^rancesca, according to
promise, lent Messer Ambrogio the thousand ducats and
so enabled him to conclude his daughter's marriage in two
or three days' time. The nuptials were duly celebrated
and a little while after, the husband, who abode in the
Biglia quarter, carried his bride home to his house. Now,
before Gian Battista departed, he wrote several times to
Laura and passing before her house, did her obeisance,
as I have already told you, as it were to take leave of
her, as she stood at the window. Then, having left one
of his serving-men, who was cognizant of his love, in
charge diligently to spy out all that she did, he repaired
to Rome and on his way thither, saw goodly cities and
fair ladies. Moreover, at Rome he saw store of the latter,
but none that seemed to him so fair as Laura.

His mother, when she saw Laura fast married, wrote
forthright to her son to return and he awaited no second
letter, but returned home post haste. As soon as he had
alighted, he embraced his mother and withdrawing to his
chamber, to change his riding-dress, asked the serving-
man how it was with Laura. "Ill," replied the man;
"for she is married to such an one and the nuptials are
accomplished." At this news Gian Battista was like to
die of grief; nevertheless, he took heart and mounting
to horse, went in search of Laura, whom he found at the
door with a kinsman of her husband's. He knew her
incontinent, but marvelled amain to see her blinded of one
eye. Then, going up to her, he saluted her and she bade

84

him welcome back. He gave her joy of her marriage and
professing himself rejoiced at her happiness, said presently
that he condoled with her over the mishap which had be-
fallen her. "What mishap?" asked she. "The mishap
of the eye," quoth he, "which I see you have lost."
Whereupon the damsel, who was quick of wit, said to
him, " And I give you joy with all my heart of having
recovered both your eyes." Now Laura had still from a
child had one eye marred ; but, whether it was that the
youth was overmuch blinded by love of her or that the
lattice which was over the casement hindered him there-
from, he had never observed it. Thus, then, doth love
blind unwary lovers.

l5antieUo

to t!)e ticflt marjnificEnt anti excellent in e&erg brnncfj
of learning, Signot Julius Ccesar Scalirjer.

There use oftentimes to betide certain unlooked-for
circumstances, against which the wisest man alive might
uneath avail to provide, and yet bytimes a sudden chance
will in a trice solve the whole difficulty. Now, if this, as
is daily seen, happen in various cases, it appeareth withal
to occur with most frequency in love-matters ; wherefore,
there being a very goodly company of Gascon gentlemen
and fairest ladies come with Madam Costanza Rangona e
Fregosa, my patroness, to the Chateau de Bassens, to enjoy
its agreeable situation and the freshness of the air in the
fashious season of the dog-days, and it being discoursed,
at the time of the midday-rest, of untoward love-chances,
Messer Girolamo Aieroldo, a Milanese gentleman and master
of the horse to the most serene King of Navarre, seeing,
after the matter had been variously debated, that well-nigh
every one was silent, said, "I purpose to tell you an
adventure which befell no great while agone in Gascony
and whereby you will see that chance or fortune whiles
applieth a remedy and provideth against a difficulty in cases
where Solomon with all his wisdom had been lost. But,
for apt considerations, I will suppress the true and proper
names of the persons concerned and will avail myself of

86

feigned names." Accordingly, he, to the pleasure of the
worshipful company, related his story in the French language,
there being none of us Italians but understandeth that
tongue, for the long sojourn we have made here. I that
same day wrote down the story related by Aieroldo and
resolved that it should be seen under your learned name,
not, certes, that I am so fond as to account the thing worthy
of your merit, of your learning and of your ancient and
noble lineage, but to certify you, by this slight mark of
respect, of the desire of my soul, which would fain avail to
do you a far greater honour, knowing you to be deserving,
for your innumerable gifts, of every great thing. Fare you
well.

THE VARIOUS ADVENTURES OF A LOVER
WITH A MADMAN AND OTHERS.

There was once in these parts, not far from this place,
a gentleman of France, whom we will for the nonce call
Gian Cornelio Salvinco, and he, having settled in Gascony
and being a man of high spirit and lofty understanding,
contracted an intercourse with a very fair gentlewoman, the
wife of a baron, who much delighted in hawking and who,
amongst his other birds, had a goshawk, the best in all the
country, with which he took great pleasure in fowling. He
had a brother, who had fallen mad, on such sort that he
most times harboured in the woods, but, according as the
humour took him, he would come home whiles at midnight
and needs must the mansion be opened to him at what hour

87

soever he would ; otherwise he fell into a parlous fury and
wrought incredible mischief among the ncighljouring houses,
howling, shrieking and raging after such a fashion that he
seemed a very devil of hell. It had been essayed to keep
him locked up in a chamber, Ijut he raged on such wise that
he gnawed his own hands and would have fretted himself all
away, had it not been opened to him ; wherefore he had
liberty to go and come night and day, according as it most
pleased him. By day in the sun and anights by the light of
the moon, he battled with his own shadow, keeping the
strangest coil in the world, and many a time he gave his
shadow to drink and seeing that it drank not, but moved in
accordance with his own motions, he cast the wine over it
and after fell a-laughing immoderately and doing other like
extravagances of his fashion, the which afforded great
diversion unto whoso saw these his antics. By day, an he
were not molested, he gave none annoy or hindrance, but
by night he came to blows with all whom he encountered,
laying about him at random and dealing and taking cudgel-
strokes galore.

Now, Gian Cornelio, going often a-hunting with the
baron, became a familiar of the house, where, by dint of
long frequentation, he fell in love with the gentlewoman
and had fortune so favourable to him that she also became
enamoured of him ; and for that, when two are of one
same mind, it seldom chanceth but the effect ensueth
according to their wish, there passed no great while ere
they took amorous pleasure one of other. This nowise
quenched the flames of love in the desireful lovers, but
rather added fuel thereto, so that they would fain have
been together by night ; but this might not be, save when
the baron went abroad, the which he did often enough,
but the multitude of the folk who abode in the house

88

was of great hindrance to them. The lady had a trusty
chamber-woman, whom she had already made cognizant
of their loves and in whom she confided as in none other
in the world, and this said chamber-woman slept with her,
whenas the baron was not there. Things standing thus,
Gian Cornelio, having pondered various ways of availing
to be with his mistress and himseeming none might stand
him in stead, bethought him that, a means once found
of entering the house by night, the rest might lightly
succeed to him, for that he would go thither at such
hours as the household were abed, and of the dogs he
needed not to be in fear, he having made them familiar
with him through the chase. This his thought he im-
parted to the lady, whom it misliked not, and told her
how he meant to procure himself garments of the same
colour and fashion as those of the madman, so he might
have the more liberty to go and come anights. More-
over, he found means to take an impression of the key
of a certain door, which gave access to the house, but
was not much used, and let make thereby a like key
which availed him excellent well. He let also make him-
self in another hamlet garments like those of the madman,
who was well-nigh his match in bigness and other bodily
features. Now, as he went about by night, he fell in
often enough with the madman, and whenassoever they
encountered, needs must he fall to with him and wag
his hands. The madman was lusty, but fought without
art or skill and dealt his blows at random ; whilst Gian
Cornelio was mighty robust of his person, well-thewed and
long practised in arms, and struck with the flat of his
sword, studying as most he might to fend himself and
parry the fool's blows ; nevertheless, he gave him bytimes
some wounds, for that blows cannot still be kept within

89

measure. The fool, being after asked with whom he had
fought, replied, that he had fought with himself, him-
seeming it was he, for the likeness of the clothes, and
said all manner extravagances, laughing without end, what
while he told how he had put his shadow to flight.

In this disguise Gian Cornelio succeeded whiles in fore-
gathering with his mistress and whiles not. Now it chanced
that, what while he abode in this practice, one of the house-
hold, having the goshawk on his wrist, said, in the fool's
presence, "By my faith, this bird is as fat as a dormouse and
were good eating for whoso should set him a-roast. " The
fool, hearing this, said, laughing, " Cock's body, but I will
eat him;" but made no movement [to do it for the nonce].
That night, at the wonted hour, Gian Cornelio entered the
house and himseeming he heard some one in the kitchen,
he stole thitherward, to see who was afoot at that hour.
Coming softly to the kitchen door, he saw the fool in act
to put a bird on the spit and abode on the watch till he was
certified that he had killed the goshawk, for that its head
lay at the door, and so he saw him fall to roasting it, he
having put off his cassock and remaining in his doublet. I
need not tell you how the gentleman marvelled ; nay, seeing
such an extravagance, there took him of a sudden a desire
to laugh. Then, perceiving that there was none about the
house save the fool, he repaired to the lady's chamber,
where he put off his clothes arid lying down with her in
the bed, began amorously to divert himself with her, accord-
ing to his wont. Now, the falconer, having an ailing falcon,
to which it had behoved him give a purge aforenight, arose
about midnight, to see how the bird fared and what it had
voided, and coming to the kitchen, to light his candle, saw
the fool in act to turn the spit ; then, entering, he stumbled
over the goshawk's head and taking it up, "Alack," quoth

90

he, "who hath killed the goshawk?" The fool, seeing the
falconer enter the kitchen, misdoubted him he came to take
the bird from him and starting up from his seat in a fury,
ran, with the spit, goshawk and all, at the falconer, who,
seizing a bar on which he chanced to lay his hand, began
a great affray with the fool. The latter cried out in a loud
voice, making the greatest clamour in the world, whilst the
falconer roared no less lustily for aid.

The lady, hearing the noise of the blows and the outcry
which was toward, aroused her lover, who, donning his hose
and doublet in haste, remembered him not to take his cas-
sock, which lay on a press at the bedfoot, but went forth, in
his doublet, by a door, which gave upon a garden, and made
his way into the highway ; where, perceiving that he was
cassockless, he halted to hear an he might apprehend the
cause of the outcry. The lady then let open the chamber-
door by her chamber-woman, just as the falconer, unable to
stand against the fool, fled away from him and hearing the
lady cry, "What is this?" entered the chamber, where
there was still a light burning, followed by the madman,
spit in hand. The latter, seeing his sister-in-law, had so
much respect for her that he offered the falconer no farther
hindrance, but declared that he had gone to roast the bird
and that the other had offered to take it from him. Mean-
time the lady espied her lover's cassock and was sore dis-
mayed ; but the fool, seeing it and thinking it his own,
took it, without saying aught, and left the room. The
falconer, seeing the contention at an end and the fool gone
into the saloon to eat the half-roasted goshawk, went off to
see the sick falcon and found the fool's cassock ; whereat
he marvelled amain and said in himself, "How is this?
Marry, I saw the fool's cassock on his shoulders, whenas he
departed Madam's chamber, and now meseemeth I see it

91

here ; but I will take it and have it dyed black. " As he
said, so he did, on such wise that none ever perceived it,
save Gian Cornelio, who was certified that he had left his
cassock in the lady's chamber and knowing it, Ijy a certain
mark in the lining, on the fool's back, laughed more than
once over the chance, he and his mistress, with whom, what
while he sojourned in Gascony, he gave himself a good
time, whenassoever they had commodity thereof.

T5antiello

t0 JHatfemofselle tit UauTj, i!Hal(am ^nna tiella

Uf^ueria.^

Madam Fregosa, Signora Costanza Rangona [that was,]
was late at Montbrano, a castlewick of this diocese of
Agen, [whither she came] to avoid the heats, which are
at this season very intense in the city, and whither you
yourself used often to resort for your pleasure and to keep
her said ladyship company. There chanced one day to
come letters to her ladyship from Grasse, a city in Pro-
vence, and she thereupon asked the messenger if there
were aught new in those parts ; to which he answered
that there was no otherwhat than that a gentlewoman
had let slay her husband and the murder discovered, had
taken to flight. There was then present Monsignor Barto-
lommeo Grimaldo of Nice, Canon of Agen, who had that
day dined with her ladyship and who related the story
as it had happened, avouching himself to have heard the
whole in detail from one of his brothers, who came from
Nice to visit him, that town being very near unto Grasse.
The case seemed to us all who were present very strange
and you yourself, being in company with us, said to me
that the story was in truth well worth to be added to
the number of my novels and that I ought anywise to

' De la Vig^iere ?

93

commit it to writing ; the which I promised to do and
accordingly wrote it down even as it had been recounted.
Then, bethinking me to whom I should dedicate it, I
determined in myself that, since you had induced me to
write it, it ought justly to be yours ; wherefore I have
entitled it in your name and give it to you, not indeed
as anywise in requital of the many kindnesses I have,
of your favour, received from your family, but to show
forth at the least the gratefulness of my soul, which is
ever mindful of you and still avoucheth itself your debtor.
And who knoweth not that. Madam and we all being
foreigners newly come from Italy, we have still been most
lovingly seen and entreated of you, as if indeed we had
been born of your blood ? Certes, your courtesies towards
us have been so many and so great that they need not
to be recounted, being notorious unto all. Do you, then,
take this my little gift with that magnanimity which
rendereth you lovesome and acceptable unto all and
[prompteth] you so freely and courteously to bestow your
substance upon others, and may our Lord God prosper
your every thought ! Fare you well.

2rf)e Sii*ant(=2rtoentietfj Storg.

THE DISHONEST AND ILL-OMENED AMOURS
OF MADAME DE CABRIO, A PROVENCAL
LADY, WITH HER PROCTOR AND [HOW
THERE ENSUED THEREOF THE] DEATH
OF MANY FOLK,

I will relate to you, most excellent Madam, the case
whereof the messenger hath bespoken you, as having
occurred at Grasse, neither more nor less than as it was told
me of my brother, who, for that Grasse is near unto Nice,
useth very often to resort thither and hath much acquaint-
ance there, nay, familiarly knoweth many of those who are
concerned in the story. Grasse, as you have heard, is a city
not over-great, but exceeding delightsome of situation, for
that it is seated partly on the plain and partly on a pleasant
and fruitful hill, wherein are very cool and limpid springs
and most goodly and agreeable groves of oranges, citrons,
lemons and all other sorts of fruits, [in all which it
aboundeth] as much as any other [city] in Provence. ' Life
there is very domestical ' and [is still enlivened] with
cheerful converse. Now in the county of Grasse is a castle-
wick, some two miles distant from the city, called Cabrio,*
to the lord whereof was married a gentlewoman of the

1 i.e. familiar and unceremonious [domesiico).
* Quiere Cabriols ?

95

country, who was sister to my lord [Bishop] of Calliam' and
Mas. She lived a long while with he husljand and bore
him many children, of whom I know two, one a canon of
Grasse and sacristan'^ of the Cathedral Church there and
another who presently abideth at Toulouse and occupieth
himself with the study of civil and canon law.

Now, when somewhat advanced in years and whilst her
husband yet lived, Madame de Cabrio from a good gosling
as she was (having from her youth upward still borne the
name of a chaste and modest matron) became a very goose,
for that, whatsoever might have been the cause thereof, her
husband began to be odious and fashions to her and being
unsatisfied with his embraces, she determined to procure
herself otherwhere one who should jumble her furbelows
for her. There was in Grasse a doctor [of the law] and
a townsman of the place, by name Messer Gian Tolonio,
of whom she became passionately enamoured ; and he
resorted daily to Cabrio, for that he was advocate and
proctor to the seignior and ordered all his affairs. With
him she became so familiar that they often and again took
amorous pleasure one of other ; wherefore, the better to
enjoy her doctor, she agreed with him to have her husband
assassinated, herseeming it was not enough to have planted
the horns on his head, an she did him not eke to death.
Having come to this determination, they sought out one
Giovan Tros, a man of very ill life, to whom they gave
a certain sum of monies, and he, taking to himself a fellow
of his own sort, imparted to him that which he purposed to

1 Qiitere Cavaillon in Lower Provence, which was a bishoprick in
Bandello's time ?

^ The sacristan of a Cathedral Church was anciently a very im-
portant official ; he was always a priest, having the charge of the
church treasures and the ordering of the services and festivals.

96

do ; wherefore, having agreed together and masked them-
selves, they one day most barbarously murdered the hapjess
seignior before the very gate of the castle of Cabrio, and
matters passed on such wise that neither were the murderers
known nor was any suspicion soever had of the lady or the
doctor. The wicked woman feigned herself in public sore
grieved for the death of her husband and together with the
doctor made a great show of seeking after the murderers ;
nay, the assassins themselves were the ministers who made
the inquisition by commandment of the lady, as Seignioress
of Cabrio.

Meanwhile, having a free field for her converse with her
gallant, she applied to give herself a good time ; but, the
pair carrying on their intercourse with less discretion than
behoved, one of her sons became aware of his mother's
unchaste life and chagrined beyond measure, one day
lovingly rebuked her thereof. She strove with false argu-
ments to do away her son's suspicions, telling him that
Tolonio was a man of worth and a very fast and faithful
friend of the family, that he had all their affairs in hand
and that it was necessary she should converse with him at
all hours of the occasions which momently befell, there
being none who had such long cognizance as he of the law-
suits and jurisdictions of their castlewick and other family
matters, for that he had still governed the whole during
the lifetime of his father of blessed memory ; and many other
things she said to this purpose till herseemed the lad's
suspicions were quieted. But this new Medea, fearing lest
he should say aught to his brethren and others and noting
that he was used to walk an hour or two every day in a
certain gallery or balcony, imparted the whole to Tolonio
and loosened a board of the gallery on such wise that the
youth, going to walk according to his wont and having

97

made two or three turns, chanced to set foot on the un-
fastened l)oard, whereupon he fell from top to bottom of the
castle and striking upon certain great rocks, was dashed to
pieces.^ Great was the outcry in the castle and the un-
natural mother, who rejoiced in her heart, made a show of
being like to go mad for despair and filled the air with
cries and lamentations, seeming as she would receive no
consolation.

Having thus cruelly rid herself of her hapless son, she
addressed herself to lead a merry life with her advocate,
wearying, but never sating herself.^ However, she taking
more assurance than behoved, no great while elapsed ere
another son became suspicious of his mother's overmuch
familiarity with Tolonio ; whereof the wicked woman be-
coming aware, she determined to do with this one as
she had done with the other, nor waited for otherwhat
than an opportunity of carrying her nefarious design into
effect. Now she had by means of monies debauched a
serving-man, with whom her said son was oftentimes used
to go a-pleasuring, and the folk being one day a-hunting
and running, as of wont, one hither and another thither,
for that there were many in company, it chanced that the
lad came to the top of a hill, which had a very steep
peak or horn. Thinking to see that which his companions
did below, he stationed himself on the summit to look upon
the plain ; whereupon the serving-man, who was with him,
perceiving that he was seen of no one, gave him a push
in the back, so that he fell headlong down and striking

1 Bandello adds, "and broke his neck," an anticlimax of a kind
not uncommon with our author.

2 Potius fessani guani concubitu sattaiant, Suetonius's words
respecting Messalina.

VOT,. IV. - 7

98

his head and body upon very hard rocks, was all dashed in
pieces and died ere he reached the bottom. The villainous
serving-man, turning in another direction, followed after
certain huntsmen ; nor was it long ere they began to hear
the cries of their companions who had found the dead
youth, all broken, whereupon they betook themselves
thither and seeing the cause of the outcry, abode all aghast
and full of compassion. The murderer feigned himself more
grieved than the rest and with the aid of some of the others,
carried the son's body to his mother, who did nor less nor
more with this one than she had done with the first.
Look you now what ills proceed from a disorderly appe-
tite ! But the death of her husband and two sons sufficed
not the wicked woman, for that she procured sundry others
to be killed. There was in the house a page, who, whether
he became aware of the lady's unchaste life or of the murder
of her two sons or of sundry serving-men who had been
slain by her contrivance, let fall certain words, which, being
overheard by him who had cast the second son down from
the hill-top, were by him reported to the lady and Tolonio ;
whereupon, taking counsel together, they resolved that the
page should eat no more bread and Tolonio undertook to
carry their wicked will into effect. Nor did he lose time
about the thing, but calling Giovan Tros, him, to wit, who
had murdered the Seignior of Cabrio, the wicked woman's
husband, charged him slay the page at his earliest com-
modity, the which was speedily accomplished ; for that the
poor lad, being sent by the lady I know not whither and
passing through a certain coppice, was there butchered by
the assassin like a very lamb.

Madame de Cabrio much desired to have her gallant to
husband and he also would fain have espoused her, knowing
that, over and above her goodly dowry, she was full of

99

monies ; ' Intt whnt stood in the way of their wishes was
that Tolonio was married to the daughter of one Giovanni
Turhaire, who abode at Jenas, a woman of worth and
adorned with excellent fashions, by whom he had already
had children ; nay, it is no great while since a son of his
was at Bassens in your castle, most illustrious madam,
having come thither in company of an Italian perfumer.
Now, after many discoursements between them, Tolonio,
determined to be even with his mistress in wickedness,
agreed with her to rid himself of his good wife, but knew
not on what wise to compass her death. He bethought
himself more than once to cause Giovan Tros, his ordinary
minister of such wickednesses, cut her throat, but knew not
how to do, so the thing might be kept secret. He thought
of poisoning her, but this way also was not to his liking,
for that he feared to take the poison from the druggists
and knew not himself to distil any sort thereof. Finally,
blinded by his desire to marry the adulteress, he determined
to be himself the murderer of his wife ; whereupon, one
night, being abed with her, he most barbarously strangled
her with his own hands and gave out that she had died of
a sore spasm ^ which had befallen her, what while he was
unable to succour her.

Giovanni Turbaire, the murdered woman's father, chanced
to be that day in Grasse and seeing his daughter somewhat
swollen in the face and her throat covered with livid
blotches and full of finger-marks, suspected the thing as it
was ; but he dissembled and discovering nothing to his son-
in-law, adroitly questioned a woman of the household, who
could say no otherwhat than that her mistress had been in

1 Sic [plena di danari).
* Fiero accideiite.

lOO

excellent case aforenight and had gone to bed cheerful and
well disposed, adding, moreover, that she had heard a noise
in the chamber and the lady cry out once or twice ; where-
upon the woeful father was certified that his daughter had
been niurdered by her perfidious husband. However, he
made no stir about the matter, but no great while after he
said to his son-in-law, "I leave thee to provide obsequies
and mourning befitting thyself and my daughter, as I am
assured thou wilt do. Meanwhile I will go do an occasion
of mine and return speedily. " Therewith he went in quest
of the criminal judge and acquainted him with his suspicions,
telling him of the serving- woman's story and the marks on
the dead lady's throat ; whereupon the judge let lay hands
upon Tolonio and had the body examined by physicians,
who declared the poor woman to have, without a doubt in
the world, been done to death by violence.

Tolonio, finding himself in the hands of justice, either
cared or knew not effectually to deny his misdeed ; the
which Madame de Cabrio understanding and knowing her-
self to be also guilty, not only of the death of the lady, as
instigatrix of the crime, but stained with many other
murders, whereof Tolonio was cognizant and participant,
determined not to wait to be arrested by the ministers of
justice and punished as a murderess ; wherefore, taking a
great sum of money, together with the household plate
and other precious moveables, she retired to a castle of the
Duke of Savoy's, called Poggetto, feigning to those of her
household that it behoved her do this for certain specious
reasons. She departed Cabrio betimes in the morning and
reached Poggetto, which is not very far distant, at one
flight. Tolonio was carried to Aix, a very ancient city,
where there be hot springs and which was founded aforetime
by [Caius] Sextius [Calvinus] the Roman, wherefore the

lOI

Latins call it Aquoe Sexlise. There the Most Christian King
holdeth a worshipful parliament for all Provence, whither
appeals are carried from all the province, and from the final
judgment of this parliament, as representing the king's
person, there is no appeal. Tolonio being, then, in the
hands of the parliament, his enormous process was formed "■
and in the course of his examination, he accused Madame
de Cabrio of the adultery and of all the murders which he
had committed. The senate, hearing the villain's confession
and his voluntary ratification thereof, adjudged him to be
taken back to Grasse and there, as he deserved, beheaded
and quartered and exposed upon the gallows for food to the
crows ; the which was rigorously executed. The senators
then let cite Madame de Cabrio by the officers of the parlia-
ment, assigning her a fitting term for her appearance, and
seeing that she had fled and chose not to obey, they con-
demned her iji contumaciam, (for that all law and reason cry
out against the contumacious) to suffer death, whenassoever
she should come into the hands of justice, after the same
fashion as her gallant. Then, she not appearing, they
caused behead and quarter her in effigy, as is the custom
of the realm, and so she is to be seen depictured in the
market-place at Grasse.

She, being advertised of all this and feeling herself not
fully secure at Poggetto, determined to depart thence and
betake herself elsewhither ; and accordingly taking with
her one Giacomo Pagliero, for that all her serving-men and
women had left her, she made for Genoa with her monies
and gear. By the vvay, not to lie alone, she kept Giacomo
with her, to such a pass was the wretched lady reduced,

* Fu formafo il siio enornie processo, i.e. he was put upon his trial
for his enormous crimes.

I02

who bitterly bewept her misdeeds, repenting her, when too
late for this world, of the many crimes she had committed.
She arrived in due course at Genoa, where she abode some
days with Pagliero ; but whether it was that she, being
somewhat advanced in years, satisfied him not, he being
a young man, or that he was moved, as is credible, by
greed of the lady's money and gear, he, one day, when she
was abroad, took all she had and made off, nor is it yet
known whither he went. The wretched lady, coming home
and perceiving that all had been stolen, bitterly bewept her
mishaps and knew not whither to turn for comfort or
succour. Then, being left destitute of all worldly substance,
save what she had on her back, and having no other means
of procuring a livelihood, she hired herself to servant with
a gentlewoman in Genoa and is yet there, so that she, who
was nobly born and delicately reared and bred and used to
command and be served, now obeyeth and serveth others.
To this wretched way of life hath she brought herself by
seeking to satisfy all her dishonest appetites and certes it
would behove us to have compassion on her, had she not,
like a Medea or a Progne, wreaked such barbarous cruelty
upon her husband and sons and upon so many others.

iBanUello

t0 tl^e iIIu0trt0U3 ILotti (Count 3Latiobic0 Eartcjane.

It is accounted of all wise men of the world far worthier
to do good unto others and to repair another's losses than
to receive benefits and be succoured in one's own needs.
And as it is a much harder and rarer thing to open our
hands and give away our own good than to take that which
is given us, those who give are still far fewer than those who
receive ; whence it may be said that true liberality con-
sisteth more in well giving than in receiving ; which said
liberality is founded upon indifference towards riches or
upon the pleasure which is taken in giving or the possession
of the things wherewith benefit may be done to others and
by means whereof the nature of the liberal is most mani-
fested, and is a virtue in truth always laudable, having
place between prodigality and avarice. Nay, even should
it overpass the mean and run into one of the extremes, I am
firmly persuaded that it is a far lesser ill to fall into pro-
digality than into avarice, for that the prodigal, giving
out of measure and where he ought not, will most times,
whenas he seeth his substance dwindle, open his eyes and
return without difficulty to the mean, becoming liberal ;
whereas the miser, the older he groweth, the more doth
avarice increase in him and he will never return to the
mean. Liberality, then, was ever a laudable thing, especially
when it is found in persons who are unused to practise that
virtue, nature giving most folk more of the miser than of

i04

the liberal ; and such for the most part are women, who,
being commonly unapt unto great gains, fear to fail of the
means of living at their ease as they would fain do and
therefore covet more and are less liberal [than men]. Never-
theless there be some women found who have a generous
and magnificent heart and far excel men [in liberality] ; and
how greatly these deserve to be commended and exalted to
the top of all praise, is best known of those who know of
what praise and glory virtue is deserving. Now, if our age
can boast any lady who hath by her proper worth merited
the title of liberal, methinketh your honoured mother,
Signora Bianca Bentivoglia of happy memory, was one
and belike the chiefest ; for that she, what while she lived,
applied to give lavishly and to do fair courtesies to every
one ; nay, amongst other things, who knoweth not that your
house was the very hostelry of whoso passed through Modena,
were he of Italy or from beyond the mountains ? But how
can I overpass in silence the generous and liberal welcome
accorded by her to the Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, after
Leo X., whenas he had escaped from prison, having been
taken at the memorable rout of Ravenna,^ and was on his
way back to Rome? The cardinal arrived at Modena,
unattended and without any commodity, and knowing your
mother's courtesy and hospitality, came straight to your
house, where he was received with the benignest of wel-
comes ; nay, your mother re-equipped him with everything,
clothing him honourably as became a cardinal and giving
him monies, horses and mules and a mighty rich and fine
cupboard of silver plate. To those who reproved her for

1 A battle gained, nth April, 1512, by the French under the Due de
Nemours over the combined armies of Spain and Pope Julius II. and
said to have been the bloodiest ever fought in Italy.

I05

these her unbounded courtesies, telling her she remembered
her not that she was burthened with children, having eight
sons and two daughters, and that she ought to add for them
to their patrimony and not throw it away so prodigally,
she sagely replied that she would not on any account fail of
being courteous and liberal, whereas she might, inasmuch
as she trusted in God that one only of her courtesies should
some day produce such fruit that it would repay all the others
and that all she gave was a gain accomplished, since thus
she daily provided new friends for her children ; and so she
still persevered from good to better. Whence it may be
said that she was a prophetess, for that the Cardinal Gio-
vanni de' Medici, when he was made pope, mindful of the
benefits received, sent to fetch her and bring her worship-
fully to Rome, where he assigned her a sortable pension,
made one of her sons Cardinal of Holy Church with a
great revenue, advanced Count Guido to high rank in his
army and bestowed on Count Annibale a rich and noble
wife and the captaincy of his body-guard, besides many
other benefits and favours which he did your family ; and
Clement VII. (who had likewise been harboured and
succoured in his need by your mother,) following in the
footsteps of his predecessor, still applied to the advancement
of the Rangone house. Now, it being discoursed, here in
Bassens, in the presence of your sister, the Lady Costanza
Fregosa, of the courtesies practised by your mother, there
chanced to be in company Giovanni di Nello of Plorence,
who had long sojourned in the island of England and who
narrated a story upon a like subject, which much diverted
the hearers. Meseemed it deserved to be numbered with
my other novels ; wherefore, after I had written it down,
I set your name thereto for shield, and so I send and give
it to you. Fare you well.

Cfje Sc6en=ant(--3r$33entiet!) Storg.

FRANCESCO FRESCOBALDI SHOWETH HOSPI-
TALITY TO A STRANGER AND THE LATTER
BECOMING CONSTABLE OF ENGLAND, IS
WELL RECOMPENSED THEREFOR.

There was n.t Florence, not many years since, a man
named Francesco, of the ancient and noble family of the
Frescobaldi and a very loyal and honourable merchant, who,
according to the usance of the country, although very rich,
trafficked in various parts and carried on a great business.
He sojourned well-nigh always in England and had his
residence in London, where he lived very splendidly and
practised great hospitality, not looking so closely to it as do
many merchants, who look to the least farthing, Ansaldo
Grimaldi of Genoa to wit, who, I understand, keepeth count
even of the least sheet of paper and of an end of twine for
tying packets of letters. It chanced one day that, Francesco
Frescobaldi being in Florence, a poor man presented himself
before him and craved him charity for the love of God.
Frescobaldo, seeing him so ill accoutred and noting signs
of gentle breeding in his countenance, was moved to pity,
more by token that he knew him to be English; and
accordingly he asked him what countryman he was. He
answered that he was English and Frescobaldo asking him
divers particulars concerning England, as one who was
throughly conversant therewith, the young man very aptly

107

satisfied him of the whole, saying, " I am called Thomas
Cromwell ' and am the son of a poor clothdresser.- I fled
away from my father and coming to Italy with the French
army, which was routed at II Garigliano,^ abode with a foot-
soldier, after whom I carried the pike. " Frescobaldo carried
him home to his house and there very hospitalily entertained
him some days for the love of the English nation, from
whom he had received many kindnesses, clothing him and
entreating him kindly ; moreover, when he was minded to
depart and return to his native country, he gave him sixteen
gold ducats in Florentine money and a good hackney.

The young man, seeing himself so well furnished, returned
Frescobaldo such best thanks as he might and betook him-
self home to England. Now he knew, according to the
excellent usance of well-nigh all the Ultramontanes,'' to
read and wrote very aptly after the English fashion. He
was a youth of exceeding high spirit, quick-witted and
prompt of resolution, knowing excellent well to accommo-
date himself to the wishes of others, and could, whenas
himseemed to the purpose, dissemble his passions better
than any man in the world. Moreover, he endured all
bodily fatigue with patience, so that, having engaged for
counsellor^ with the Cardinal of York,^ a prelate of very great

1 Bandello, with his usual inaccuracy, styles his hero here and
throughout the story Tommaso Cremonello; but the details of the
story make it evident that the person intended is the celebrated
minister of Henry VIII.

^ Incorrect. Cromwell's father was a blacksmith.

3 Where the "Great Captain" (Gonsalvo de Cordova) destroyed
the French army on the 27th December, 1503.

■• i.e. the non- Italians.

^ Consigliere. He was the cardinal's solicitor.

« i.e. Wolsey. Bandello fantastically calls him Cardinalc Ebora-
cense, i.e. Cardinal (Archbishop) of Eboracum or York.

io8

authority, he in a little while grew to great repute with him
and was much employed by him in all his affairs. The
cardinal was then in exceeding credit with the English
king and governed the whole island, holding a court so great
and so worshipful that it had sufficed a most puissant prince ;
whence it befell that he oftentimes sent Cromwell to speak
with the king of affairs of the utmost moment and the
young man knew so well to ingratiate himself with the
latter that he began to show him a good countenance, him-
seeming he was a man apt to the manage of whatsoever
most important business. Now the king, with the cardinal's
connivance, had then late repudiated Catherine his wife,
daughter of Ferdinand the Catholic, King of Spain, and
mother's sister of the Emperor Charles of Austria, in the
expectation that the pope would confirm the writ of re-
pudiation and dissolve the marriage, for the reasons assigned
by him ; but the pope, accounting the repudiation unlawful,
would not confirm it ; wherefore the cardinal fell into dis-
grace with the king and was dismissed the court.

After his departure from court, the cardinal reduced his
household, keeping but a small number of folk about him,
and daily rid him of one servant or another ; wherefore
the king, remembering him of Cromwell, who had aforetime
given him such satisfaction, let summon him and said to
him, "Cromwell, as thou seest, the cardinal hath retired
[from office] and hath no longer need for so many servants
as when he managed the affairs of my kingdom ; and thou
art presently out of employ, having nothing to treat for
him. Hast thou a mind to serve me?" " Sire," replied
the other, "I have still served the cardinal very faithfully
and will do the like with yourself, an you deign to avail
yourself of me." "It is well," rejoined the king; "even
so would I have thee do, for that such is the expectation I

I09

have of thy dealings. " With this he made him his principal
secretary, employing him in whatsoever occasions of im-
portance betided him ; wherein he bore him so well that
the king gave him his privy seal in keeping and there
were few in the kingdom had such influence with him as
Cromwell, who to his mind was worth all those at court.
Moreover, it seeming to that blind trull Fortune that she
had not done enough in raising Cromwell from the earth
and uplifting him to such a height, she must needs exalt
him yet higher ; wherefore she caused the king create him
Constable of the realm, an office of supreme dignity, with
which none other may be evened, under the kingship.*
Having made him Constable, the king gave all the govern-
ance of the realm into his hand and so Cromwell came
to such a height that it was a thing incredible. Being
grown to such a pitch of greatness, he showed himself
a bitter enemy unto all the nobility of the island ; nay,
whenassoever he might avail to do some gentleman a
mischief, he failed not thereof, and if the king took a spite
against any of them, he still added fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, the king determined (his wife, Catherine of
Spain, being yet alive,) to take another wife at all risks
and unable at any price to obtain the pope's dispensa-
tion, he dispensed withal for himself; whence there arose

1 This is another inaccuracy. Cromwell was never Constable of
England, for the simple reason that Henry VIII. himself abolished
the office in question (that of Lord High Constable) in the early part
of his reign, long before he took Cromwell into his service, and it
has never since been granted to a subject. The highest dignity
conferred upon Cromwell was that of Lord Chamberlain of England,
which is probably that meant by Bandello or his informant ; he
appears to have been misled by the fact that, among the many minor
offices held by Cromwell, was that of Constable of Carisbrook
Castle, granted him a year before.

no

infinite disorders in the kingdom of England and it became
altogether severed from the Holy Catholic Mother Church
of Rome, on such wise that innumerable monks and friars,
refusing to consent to that his pleasure, were beheaded
and many gentlemen and barons put to death. Many pre-
lates and others of very godly life were also beheaded and
matters came to such a pitch that few days passed but some
one's head was smitten off and the nobility of England
became well-nigh extinguished, the nobles being much more
rigorously persecuted than men of low degree. Of all these
ills Cromwell was generally believed to be the instigator,
inasmuch as he hated the nobility beyond measure and
sought to have it altogether extinguished, knowing him-
self begotten of very mean blood. But I purpose not for
the nonce to recount to you the heinous and unrighteous
cruelties and butcheries which were at that time done in
England ; nay, I began this story, to relate to you that
which betided Frescobaldo of the hospitality shown by him
to Cromwell.

You must know, then, that, in the days when Cromwell
was master and governor of the island, Francesco Fresco-
baldi chanced to be in Italy, where, having, as often
happeneth to merchants, suffered many disasters and great
losses of his merchandise, he became very poor ; for that,
being a loyal and worthy man, he paid all to whom he
was indebted and could not recover that which was owed
him of others. Finding himself reduced to such poor estate,
he cast up his accounts and found that he had more
than fifteen thousand ducats owing him in England ;
wherefore he determined to betake himself thither and
apply to recover the most that should be possible, purpos-
ing to pass the rest of his life in quiet. Accordingly he
passed over from Italy into France and from France into

Ill

England and took up his abode in London, remember-
ing him not withal of the kindness which he had erst
done Cromwell in Florence ; a thing in sooth worthy
of a truly liberal man, who keepeth no account of the
courtesies he doth others, but graveth in marble those
which he receiveth, so he may repay them whenassoever
the occasion offereth itself to him. He busied himself,
therefore, in London with the transaction of his affairs and
as he went one day through a certain street, it befell
that the constable himself passed through the same street
from an opposite direction. No sooner did he set eyes
upon Frescobaldo's face than he remembered him to be
certainly he of whom he had received such courtesy in
Florence ; wherefore, being a-horseback, he dismounted and
to the exceeding wonderment of those who were with him,
(for that there were more than an hundred mounted men
in his train of the chiefest of the kingdom,) he embraced
him very lovingly and said to him, well-nigh weeping,
"Are you not Francesco Frescobaldi of Florence?" "Ay
am I, my lord," replied the other, "and your humble
servant." "My servant!" cried the constable. "That
are you not nor will I have you for such, but for my
dear friend. Nay, I must tell you that I have just reason
to complain sore of you, for that you, knowing who I
am and where I was, should have let me know your
coming hither, so I might have paid some part of the
debt in which I confess myself beholden to you. Now
God be thanked that I am yet in time ! You are very
welcome. I go presently upon the king my master's affairs
and can make no longer stay with you ; wherefore do you
hold me excused, but look you come dine with me this
morning and that without fail." And therewithal he re-
mounted to horse and repaired to the king at court.

112

Frescobaldo, the constable gone, remembered him that
this was the young Englishman whom he had aforetime
harboured in his house at Florence and began to be of good
hope, bethinking him that the interest of so great a man
would much avail him in the recoverance of his monies.
Accordingly, at dinner-time, he betook himself to the
constable's palace and waited but a little while in the
courtyard ere he returned. As soon as he was dismounted,
he embraced Frescobaldo anew on friendly wise and turning
to the [Lord High] Admiral and other princes and gentle-
men who were come to dine with him, "Sirs," said he,
"marvel not at the love which I show this Florentine
gentleman, for that this is in payment of infinite obligations
in which I acknowledge myself beholden to him, it being by
his means that I am in my present rank ; and you shall hear
how. " Then, in presence of all, still holding the Florentine
by the hand, he told them how he had arrived at Florence
and the kindnesses he had received from Frescobaldo ; and
so they mounted the stairs and entering the saloon, sat
down to table. The constable would have Frescobaldo sit
beside himself and still entreated him most lovingly.

When they had dined and the guests had departed, he
desired to know the occasion of Frescobaldo's return to
London ; whereupon the latter related to him the whole
story of his mischances and how, there being left him,
beyond his house in Florence and an estate in the country,
well-nigh nothing save those fifteen thousand ducats which
were owed him in England, (and belike some two thousand
in Spain,) he had betaken himself to that island to recover
them. "It is well," said the constable. "As for things
past, they may not anywise be undone ; I can indeed
condole with you of your misfortunes, as I do with all my
heart. For the rest I will take such order that you shall

113

recover all the monies which are owing to you here, nor
shall you lack aught of that which is in my power, for I
assure you that the courtesy you showed me, whenas you
had no knowledge of me, rendereth me so much beholden
to you that I shall still be yours and you may dispose of me
and mine as if you were myself. The which an you do not,
the loss will be your own, nor do I make you any farther
proffer, meseeming it were superfluous. Suffice it that this
be said to you once for all. But now let us arise and go
to my chamber." [Accordingly they went thither], where
the constable, shutting the door, opened a great coffer full
of ducats and taking sixteen thereof, gave them to Fresco-
baldo, saying, " Here, my friend, are the sixteen ducats you
gave me on my departure from Florence and here other ten
which the hackney cost you, which you bought for me, and
yet other ten, which you spent in clothing me. But since
you are a merchant and meseemeth fair and right that your
monies should not have lain so long dead, but should have
profited, according to your usance, here be four bags, in
each of which are four thousand ducats. Do you take them
in return for yours and enjoy them for the love of me."

Frescobaldo, albeit he had fallen from great wealth to
great poverty, had withal not lost his generosity of mind and
would not accept the sixteen thousand ducats, thanking the
constable none the less for that his great courtesy ; but in
the end, constrained by Cromwell, he must perforce take
them and the constable would eke have him give him a note
of the names of all his debtors ; to which he very willingly
consented and set down the same in writing, together with
the sums which they owed him. Cromwell thereupon called
a man of his household and said to him, " Look who these
be that are set down in this schedule and see thou find them
all out, be they where they may in this island, and give

VOL. IV. 8

114

them to understand that, except they pay their whole debt
within fifteen days' time, I will put my hand to the matter,
and that to their hurt and displeasance ; wherefore let them
consider that I am their creditor." The man did his
master's commandment very diligently, so that by the
appointed term there were some fifteen thousand ducats
recovered ; nay, had Frescobaldo required the interest which
had run in so long a time, he had had it to the uttermost
farthing ; but he contented himself with the capital and
would have no interest whatever ; the which gained him
exceeding good repute and favour with all, especially as it
was already known of the whole island what interest he had
with the constable. Meanwhile he was the constant guest
of the latter, who daily studied to honour him as most he
might and for that he would fain have had him constantly
abide in London, his converse much pleasing him, he
proffered him the loan of threescore thousand ducats for
four years, so he might set up a house and bank in London
and trade withal ; nor did he require aught of profit or
usance therefor and he promised him, to boot, every possible
favour in matters of merchandry. But Frescobaldo, being
desirous of returning home and passing the rest of his life
in ease and quiet, thanked him infinitely for such exceeding
courtesy and remitting all his monies to Florence, returned,
with the constable's good leave, to his native place, where,
being now rich enough, he applied himself to live a very
quiet life ; this, however, he enjoyed but a little while,
inasmuch as he died that same year at Florence.

What shall we say, now, of Cromwell's gratitude and
liberality ? Certes, as to that which he did with Fresco-
baldo, meseemeth it was worthy of the utmost commenda-
tion ; and had he loved the nobility of his country as he
seemed to love foreigners, belike he had been yet alive ;

"5

but he haled the Engli.sh noljlcs overmuch and this in the
end was the cause of his death. Nay, since there is no
otherwhat to say, I will e'en tell you how he died. He
abode some years in favour with the king and blinded by
fair fortune, was mighty ready at letting cut off this and the
other's head ; nay, the nobler and greater they were, the
fainer was he to show his power over them, whether they
were churchmen or laymen. Now it befell that, thinking to
have the Bishop of Winchester put to death (for what reason
I know not) and being in the king's privy council, he bade
the prelate in question render himself the king's prisoner at
the Tower, a place where, according to that which is said
of the people of the country, none ever entered but he was
slain. The bishop, aghast at such a commandment, replied
that he knew not what cause he had given to be thus
entreated and that he would first speak with the king.
"That can you not," replied the constable; "get you gone
whither I tell you," and bade four of his men hale him off
to prison. What while they were a-wrangling, the Duke
of Suffolk, who was Cromwell's enemy, went to speak
with the king in an adjoining chamber and told him of
the contention between the constable and the bishop. The
king, who knew nothing of the matter, sent one of his
gentlemen of the chamber to call the bishop ; which the
constable, hearing, was sore despited and going home, abode
four days without showing himself at court or at the council-
table. The bishop accordingly presented himself before the
king and declared that he knew not in what he had offended,
but that he was in the king's hand, who should let do justice
upon him, if he had made default. The king, seeing that
Cromwell appeared not at court and that nothing was found
against the bishop, released him, saying, in the hearing of
the whole court, " I will e'en see who best knoweth to

Ii6

keep his choler, I who am king or Thomas Cromwell."
Meanwhile, he being known to be angered, many complaints
were presented to him against the constable and it was
found that he had been guilty of many misdeeds, especially
in matters of law and justice. At the end of the four days,
the constable repaired to the privy council and the place
of assembly being shut, the king sent a councillor to bid
Cromwell's retinue go dine and after return, for that their
lord dined that morning with the king. Accordingly, they
all went away and the king sending for his archers, posted
them before the door of the council-chamber. The council
ended, the constable came out and was taken by the archers
and told that he was the king's prisoner ; then, being
carried to the Tower, he was there kept in strict custody,
whilst his trial was set afoot, and a few days thereafterward
his head was, by the king's commandment, smitten off in
the Castle Green. Now, had he known to put a spoke ^ in
Fortune's wheel, that is to say, to live as a gentleman and
not be so greedy of human blood, his end had belike been
a better and a more honourable.

1 Lit. " the nail " (?7 chiodo).

IBannello

t0 tfje flittstriaus nnti accomplisfietr Set'sniar STfje
3£ottf ffiount ^iaala ti'^lrco.

We were, a year or two agone, in company at Pineruolo,
sitting in a little meadow without the town, full of very fine
and green grass, wherethrough in a channel ran a very cool
and limpid stream and with its soft and pleasant murmur
made a dulcet and delectable music. Thither, as we
reasoned of many things, came the Lord Count Guido
Rangone of goodly memory, then lieutenant-general in
Italy for the Most Christian King, who was presently in
act to go round about the city walls, attended by many
gentlemen and captains and other officers, marking out
here a sconce, here a platform and there a bastion or other
fortification, according as the diversity of the site required
it, for that Pineruolo is situated partly on a hill, partly on
the slope of the mountains and partly on level ground. In
attendance on him were divers engineers, with whom he
debated the whole and would have each one's opinion ;
then he put in execution that which seemed the best and
most advantageous for the security of the fortress, so that
in a very brief space of time he made the place exceeding
strong. When we saw him, we all rose to our feet, to do
him reverence, and he, being a most urbane and courteous
gentleman, saluted us very graciously and went his way.

ii8

Now there was with hkii Vespasiano da Esi, a most zealous
and gallant soldier, who, besides being doughty of his
person, had many other good parts such as befitted a
gentleman, being courteous and well-bred, a man of ripe
judgment, adorned with goodly letters, and a great enemy
of sloth, for that he was still occupied, either with matters
military or reasoning in company of matters of pith and
pregnancy, or else you found him with some book in hand.
When he saw us, he turned to me and asked me if he might,
without hindering our discoursements, be of our company ;
whereupon we all answered him that he was welcome and
that he was like sugar, which never yet marred meat.
Accordingly he came and saluted us and being of us in
turn saluted, sat down and asked us what had been the
subject of our discourse ; whereto Messer Gian Battista
Rinucci, who was in act to tell us the story of Lodovico of
Florence and Madam Beatrice, wife of Egano dei Galluzzi
of Bologna,' replied that he was in act to tell the said story
and that, if he wished, he would begin it again from the
beginning. " No, no," said Vespasiano ; "do you e'en
follow on where you left off, for methinketh there be many
here who have heard it told or read it and peradventure
there may be those who know it not. To the first a repe-
tition would belike be irksome and to the others it will
suffice to hear it once." Messer Gian Battista was well-
nigh at the end of his telling ; wherefore he speedily made
an end thereof, and some of the listeners fell to saying
that themseemed it was ill done of a gentleman, such as
Lodovico, to engage for servant with another, his peer and
maybe his inferior. Others said that it was no great matter,
if it be considered how great is the puissance of love,

1 See my " Decameron of Boccaccio," Vol. II. pp. 343-50.

119

whenas it strikelh root in a noble and generous heart ; and
upon this there were many things said, according to the
various opinions of those who discoursed of the matter.
The debate being protracted, Vespasiano related to us a
pleasant story to the purpose, the which much pleased me ;
wherefore, as soon as I returned to my lodging, I wrote
it down and laid it by in a coffer with mine other novels.
Now, having let fetch from Italy sundry chests of my goods,
together with such of my compositions, both in the Latin
and the vulgar tongue, as were left me, when the Spaniards
plundered my lodging at Milan and everything went to
rack and ruin, but these were saved by a friend of mine,
I set about revising those novels which I found there and
Vespasiano's said story coming to my hand, I bethought
myself to entitle it in your name ; the which I then and there
put into execution, setting your name upon the forefront
thereof, after my wonted fashion of dealing with all the
others. Moreover, by letters received from the Lady Auriga
Gambara, sometime wife of the illustrious Signor Pietro
Fregoso of Novi, I find you marvel that I have not sent
you one of my books, containing stanzas composed in praise
of the illustrious princess the Lady Lucrezia Gonzaga of
Gazuolo,^ and this is indeed a thing that hath caused me
more wonderment and chagrin than it can have done
yourself; for that I, my lord, some two years agone,
despatched into Italy, by the hand of the said Lady Auriga's
secretary, thirty copies of the said book, amongst which was
one for you, inscribed with your name at the beginning ;
but as, by that which I see, it hath gone to Persia,^ like

1 See ante. Vol. III. p. 248, note.

* i.e. disappeared. Ho in Persia, a play upon the word Persia,
quasi perdita, loss, as if formed from the preterite [persi) of the verb
perdere, to lose.

I20

sundry others, my cousin Messer Giacomo Francesco Bandello,
to whom I addressed divers copies at Mantua, having written
me that he had received only some thereof and those half
spoiled, I will send you one by the first commodity that
betideth me. Algates, I thank you infinitely for the re-
membrance which you preserve of me, for that, to speak
frankly, I could have sworn you had altogether forgotten
me, it being well-nigh a generation since you saw me ;
nevertheless I have still had you in mind and whenassoever
it hath fallen to me to speak of the loftiest wits of our time
in Italy, I have still numbered you among the first ; nay,
in corroboration of what I said, I have shown many the
Elegy, emended in sundry places by your own hand, which
you, whilst yet a boy, composed at Padua upon the con-
secration of your down ^ to Venus. ^ I have also shown the
Sylva,^ which you sang (or rather wept) for the death of our
most accomplished Messer Marcantonio Torre, together with
the epitaph [composed by you upon the same occasion ;] not
to speak of other pastorals, hendecasyllabics, iambics and
epigrams, which I have by me, with that of the R.
Quinziano.* These things approve the purity and loftiness
of your understanding and accordingly, moved by my testi-
mony, Signor Julius Cresar Scaliger hath given you an
honourable place among his heroes, as at my instance he

* i.e. the first hair on the face.

2 A pagan custom, revived with many others in the fantastic
enthusiasm for Greek and Roman fashions which followed the revival
of letters.

3 Latin Pastoral Poem. Milton's Lycidas is a Sylva in English.
•* Sic. D'Arco's collection of Latin Verse (1546), in which we

may suppose this poem (?) to have been included, is either not extant
or so rare as to be unknown to most bibliographers. It is therefore
impossible to ascertain what Bandello meant by "quelle del R.
Quinziano."

121

hath done with others and (in the heroines) with certain
most lovesome ladies.^ Ills book I will send you together
with mine. But it is now time that we hearken to Vespasiano.
Do you therefore accept this my novel with that same
generosity of heart which, when we were at Pavia, showed
your noble breeding, and hold me still of the nunil)er of
your friends ; wherewith I commend me to you and pray
God vouchsafe you whatsoever you desire. Fare you well.

NICUOLA, BEING ENAMOURED OF LATTANZIO,
GOETH TO SERVE HIM, CLAD AS A PAGE,
AND AFTER MANY ADVENTURES, MAR-
RIETH HIM ; WITH THAT WHICH BEFELL
A BROTHER OF HERS.

I cannot deny that which Lodovico did, in that, being
noble and rich, he went to serve another, to have been
an act worthy of wonderment ; but when we hear that he
was in love, wonderment straightway ceaseth, for that same
passion of love is exceeding great of puissance and causeth
us do things far more wonderful and extravagant than this.
Nor must you think that the ancient Greeks feigned the
Gods, when in love, to have done so many blameworthy
follies as are read of them, with other intent than to give
us to understand that, when a man subjecteth himself to
love and suffereth the amorous poison penetrate to his heart

1 Probably in bis great work upon Latin Literature, Be Causis
Linguce Latince, 1540.

122

and there take root, he may be said to have staked and lost
his liberty and it is no miracle if he after commit a thousand
errors. Now, if it seem to you that what Lodovico did was
a great matter, he who was a man nor feared that any
should reprove him for his actions, were they good or ill,
how will you deem if you hear that a girl did the like and
went, clad as a page, to serve her lover, and that without
being known? Marrj', I am fain to believe that her act
will seem to you more marvellous than that of Lodovico.

Now, not to hold you longer in suspense, methinketh there
is well-nigh none of us in this delectable and honourable
company but must well remember him how shamefully the
Germans and Spaniards sacked Rome in the year of our
salvation 1527; and albeit the sins of that city deserved
a sharp chastisement, nevertheless those who sacked it,
being Christians, did not well ; indeed, I understand that
they were for the most part Lutherans, Infidels and Jews.
Be that as it may, they demeaned themselves far worse than
Turks and did such enormous and shameful things against
God and His saints as may not be recalled without grievous
chagrin. Algates, vengeance from on high tarried not to
overtake them, for that, of five to six-and-twenty thousand
footmen, who committed so many wickednesses in that city,
methinketh there were scarce two or three thousand to be
found alive four years after ; and the Duke of Bourbon
himself (a prince of the blood royal of France, who had
been made by Francis, first of the name king of that realm,
the chiefest man of the state and turning rebel to his king,
had entered the service of the Emperor Charles of Austria)
was the first to suffer the penalty of the sin which he caused
to be done ; for that, being captain-general of the imperial
army, he was miserably slain by an arquebusade, ere he
might have the joy of seeing Rome taken. And albeit the

123

most part of the sackers and pillagers of things sacred and
profane and violators of the Marial Virgins,' were, as hath
been said, enemies of the faith of Christ, could not their
governors have bethought them that many an one hath come
to an ill end through violated religion and forl)iddcn such
sacrileges, incests, rapes, murders and other crimes ? Is it
not known that Pompey the Great, a most excellent man,
after he violated the holy Temple of God in Jerusalem, still
went failing from his wonted greatness nor ever again did
any emprise worthy to be evened with the many which he
had achieved theretofore and whereby he had earned so
many triumphs ? But whither do I suffer myself to be
carried away? You are not here nor did I come hither to
beweep the ruins of Rome.

Accordingly, I having promised you a story, you must
know that in Rome, whenas it was taken by the Imperialists
and everything was put to the sack, there was a Marchegan ^
made prisoner, a native of Jesi and a countryman of mine
own,^ Ambrogio Nanni by name, a man of fair wealth and
a most loyal merchant, whose wife, dying, had left him two
children, a son and a daughter, both born in Rome. They
were both fair beyond belief and so like the one to the
other that, when clad alike either as boys or as girls, it
was mighty difficult to know them ; wherefore their father
himself, who bytimes for diversion let dress them now on
one wise and now on another, could not distinguish them,
and having been born at one birth, they were of equal
growth. Ambrogio let teach them letters and to play and
sing and bred them as well as their age comported, they

1 I.e. of the nuns under the special invocation of the Virgin ?

* z'.e. a. native of the Marches of Ancona.

* Jesi is the modern form of Esi, a town near Ancona.

124

being then fifteen years old or a little more. The boy,
who was called Paolo, was made prisoner by a German,
a man doughty of his person and high in esteem among
his countrymen, who, having made other prisoners of great
value and gotten much monies by their ransom, beside much
other booty he had made of gold and plate and rich raiment
and precious stones of great value, departed Rome and
betook himself to Naples, whither he carried Paolo with
him and entreated him as a son. There he busied himself
with selling the raiment and the greater part of the plate
he had gotten and turning the whole into money, left the
keys of all to Paolo. The girl, whose name was Nicuola,
fell into the hands of two Spanish footmen and telling them
she was the daughter of a rich man, was fortunate enough
to be honourably entertained of them, the two fellows
hoping to make great profit by her.

Ambrogio, by the favour of certain Neapolitans his friends,
who served in the Spanish regiments, escaped being made
prisoner and found means to save his monies and plate, which
he had buried in a stable of his ; but the rest that was in
his house was all plundered. Thereafter, enquiring after his
children, he found Nicuola, whom he ransomed with five
hundred gold ducats; but of Paolo, how much diligence
soever he used, he could never learn anything ; wherefore he
abode sore disconsolate, the loss of his son grieving him in-
comparably more than that of all the rest, great as was the
value thereof. After he had done all he knew and might to
find his son, but could get no news of him nor came there
any message from him from any quarter, he sore misdoubted
him the lad had been slain and caring not to abide longer in
Rome, returned, woeful beyond measure, to Jesi, where,
having put his house in order and being well to do for
lands and monies, he chose no longer to busy himself with

125

merchandry, l)ut applied to settle his accounts with every
one, as best he might. Now there was in our city a rich
burgess called Gerardo Lanzetti, a great friend of Ambrogio's,
who, being a widower and seeing Nicuola's charms, fell so
ardently in love with her that, without regard to the fact that
she was very young and he nearer threescore than fifty, he
presently demanded her of her father to wife, agreeing to
take her without dowry. Look you now, sirs, what that
traitor Love doth, when he entereth the hearts of such
doting old men. He so blindeth their eyes and dazzleth
them on such wise that, as we daily see, they fall into
the most extravagant errors in the world and in effect
well-nigh all old men who take girls to wife are sooner
or later invested with the freedom of Cuckoldshaven.^
Ambrogio, albeit himseemed ill to give Nicuola to an
old man, said neither ay nor nay, for that he was yet
in hopes of finding Paolo and would fain have forborne
to marry his daughter till he should have news of him.
Meanwhile great was the report of Nicuola's beauty in
Jesi and it was indeed talked of no otherwhat ; nay,
whenassoever she went forth, she was pointed at of all
with the finger and many passed before the house to look
upon her.

Now it chanced that Lattanzio Puccini, a youth without
father and mother, who was very rich in the goods of fortune
and had not yet overpast his one-and-twentieth year, saw
Nicuola and she him, whereupon each fell straightway in
love with other and he attended to no otherwhat than to see
her daily and show her with his eyes how he pined for love
of her. She still showed him a very good countenance,
which the youth perceiving, doubted not but he was beloved

* Corneto, i.e. are cuckolded ; see ante, passim.

126

of her in turn and held himself the happiest lover that was
aye. Nicuola, on her part, Lattanzio's good looks and
manners pleasing her more than those of any she had ever
seen, received the amorous flames on such wise into her
soft and delicate bosom that, without his sight, she knew
not how to live, and forasmuch as it rarely chanceth that,
whenas two lovers are of one mind, there ensueth not that
which they desire, Lattanzio found means to write to her and
to have a reply from her ; but scarce had they agreed upon
a means of conversing together when it befell that Ambrogio
was constrained to return to Rome upon certain business
and to abide many days abroad ; wherefore, choosing not
that Nicuola should remain without fitting company, he sent
her to Fabriano to the house of a brother-in-law of his,
who had a wife and daughters, and that so suddenly that
she could not make shift to advise her lover of her departure.
Ambrogio himself went off to Rome ; whereupon Lattanzio,
hearing he was gone away, doubted not but he had carried
his daughter with him and used all diligence to find out the
truth of the matter, but, learning nothing certain, was in
despair and abode sore chagrined. Algates, being a high-
spirited and hot-blooded youth, it was no great while ere he
set eyes on another damsel, to wit, the daughter of Gerardo
Lanzetti, a very fair and agreeable girl, with whose sight
he did away the memory of his mistress and altogether
forgot her.

Meanwhile, the disconsolate Nicuola abode in great
affliction, seeing she had left Jesi on such wise that she
had been unable to bid her lover farewell either by letters
or messages, and did no otherwhat than bemoan herself,
Lattanzio being still in her mind. She thought of him day
and night and every hour seemed to her a thousand years
V until her father should come and carry her back to Jesi,

127

so she might see him whom she loved more than her very
eyes. But, her uncle at Fabriano, in whose house she was,
l)eing an austere man and a stern, whom it liked not that
marriageable girls should have liberty to speak with any
one, except he were well known, nor that they should go
trapesing hither and thither, and who would have had them
rather attend to their woman's works, she could find no
means of communicating with Lattanzio, for the damsels her
cousins still kept her company and thinking her melancholy
arose from her father's absence, comforted her as best they
might. In this most bitter life the disconsolate Nicuola
abode some seven months' time, for that so long did her
father tarry ere he returned from Rome and passed through
Fabriano, to take his daughter and carry her back to Jesi.
She, thinking to come forth of hell and return into Paradise,
went with him as blithely as you may imagine ; but, when
she came to Jesi, all her joy was turned to lamentation
and to such sore jealousy that she came nigh to die of
heartsgrief; for that she found her lover pledged to other
than the Jews, and (what was worse) he seemed to
remember him of herself no more than as he had never
seen her. Now I would fain have those girls here who
give such ready credence to the messages of young men of
Lattanzio's kidney, who are like the potter's ass, that
thrusteth his head into every door.^ Marry, I would show
them (pardon me, you young men who are here,) that of an
hundred, ninety-and-nine abide deceived. To such a pass
was it come with the enamoured Nicuola that she might
e'en write and send messages to Lattanzio, recalling to his
memory their past loves and that which had befallen
between them ; but all in vain ; whereat she was beyond

' A simile borrowed from Boccaccio.

■y

128

measure aggrieved ; yet, for that the worm of amorous
wistfulness still gnawed at her heart and fretted it with
the utmost affliction, she determined to do and say to such
purpose that she should regain her lover's lost favour or else
live no longer ; for that herseemed impossible to brook that
he should love another than herself. What while she was
in these tribulations, it behoved Ambrogio return to Rome ;
but, Nicuola altogether refusing to go back to her uncle's
house at Fabriano, she was placed by her father with a
cousin of his, one Sister Camilla Bizza, in a nunnery, which
was otherwhiles in repute for exceeding great sanctity.
There, hearing that, instead of discourse of the lives of the
fathers, of their abstinences and other virtuous dealings, it
was wantonly prated all day long of things amorous and
that the nuns thought no shame to say, one to other,
"Such an one is my intendment,"^ and "Such a man lay
last night with such a woman," she abode both wondered
and scandalized. Moreover, she saw that they, on their
dainty skins, in lieu of hair-cloth, wore shifts of very fine
linen from beyond the mountains ^ and very costly raiment,
and not content with their natural charms, polished and
embellished their faces with washes and compositions of
a thousand distilled waters and musks and powders galore ;
nor was there an hour of the day but they were in strait
converse with divers young men of the city. At these
things Nicuola marvelled sore, having thitherto beheved all
nuns to be saints ; and so becoming familiar now with
one and now with another, she found them well-nigh all
wanton and very lascivious. Meseemeth, indeed, a great folly
in a father to bestow his daughter in such nunneries, which

1 i.e. lover ; see ante, Vol. III. p. 361, note.
* i.e. from foreign countries.

129

should rather be called public brothels ; but the authorities
of our city, in consequence of a scandal which befell no
great while after in this particular nunnery, having with the
Pope's licence ousted all who were there, have let reform
the place, so that the nuns at this present live holily.

Lattanzio himself frequented the nunnery in question,
letting oftentimes sew his shirts and other his linen there
and Sister Camilla was accordingly one day called to speak
with him ; the which Nicuola hearing, herseemed she felt
a fire run through her veins that all inflamed her ; then,
all at once, there spread an icy coldness over her whole
body, and certes, whoso had taken note of her had seen
her turn a thousand colours, so disordered was she at the
mention of her lover's name. She presently betook herself
to a place where, without being seen of Lattanzio, she saw
him and heard that which he said ; whence it befell that
(once amongst other times that Lattanzio came thither and
she, from her wonted place of vantage, fed her eyes upon
his sight and her ears with his talk,) she heard him complain
sore of the loss of a Perugian page, who had lately died of
fever in his house, saying that he had been served of him,
during the three years he had abidden with him, as best
could be conceived and declaring that he should account
himself very fortunate if he found another like unto him.
When he was gone, it occurred to Nicuola (see now how
love had served her !) to clothe herself as a boy and enter
her lover's service ; but, knowing not how to procure herself
men's apparel, she abode sore perplexed. Now she had
a foster-mother, whose milk she had sucked in her years
of infancy ; and this her nurse was cognizant of her love
and came daily to the monastery to see her, Ambrogio
having, before his departure, prayed her visit her often
and whiles, if Nicuola so willed it, carry her home with

VOL. IV. 9

I30

her; the which was well known to the nuns. For her,
then, she sent and coming to privy converse with her,
discovered to her her intent. Pippa^ (for such was the
nurse's name) did her utmost endeavour to put that ex-
travagance out of her head, showing her the peril and
scandal which might lightly ensue thereof, but she might
nowise avail to convince her ; wherefore she carried her
home to her house, where the girl found means to dress
herself like a poor lad with the clothes of a son of Pippa's,
who had died a little before ; then, on the morrow, to make
no delay about the matter, Nicuola, no more a girl but
a boy, repaired to her lover's lodging and was fortunate
enough to find him all alone at his door.

Romolo (for thus Nicuola chose to be called,) seeing him,
plucked up courage and began to pass through the street,
looking hither and thither, as do stranger lads on their
arrival in a place never before seen. When Lattanzio saw
him 2 go thus wandering, he judged him to be some lad
who had never yet been in Jesi and who was perad-
venture in quest of a master ; wherefore, coming forward
from the doorway where he stood, he said to him, "Harkye,
boy, art thou of this place?" " Sir," replied Romolo, " I
am a Roman," and here he spoke the truth, inasmuch
as he had been born and bred in Rome, "a poor lad,
who, since the sack of the city, whereat I lost my father,
(for that my mother died many years before,) go hitherto
wandering meknoweth not whither, for that I set myself
to serve certain folk and they would have me curry mules
and horses, which I, being unused to such work, know

1 Dim. of Fill p pa.

* Henceforward Bandello speaks of Nicuola in the masculine
gender, so long as she personates a boy.

/

'31

not to do. I did indeed serve a master in Rome to page
and attended to his person and chamber ; but the poor
gentleman was wounded at the sack and being cast into
the Tiber, was there drowned ; and for that I bewept
him, an infidel Spaniard gave me many buffets ; so that,
sir, I presently fare very ill." Quoth Lattanzio, "An
thou have a mind to abide with me and serve me, as
thou sayest thou didst thine old master, I will gladly
entertain thee ; and if thou please me, I will entreat thee
on such wise that thou shalt still have reason to be content
with me." "Sir," replied Romolo, "I will abide here
nor do I ask otherwhat than to be requited of you accord-
ing to my service." And so he entered the house with
his master and addressed himself to serve him with such
diligence, address and good breeding that he speedily
effaced from his mind all regret for the Perugian. Lat-
tanzio was marvellously content with him and flattered
himself he had found the prettiest, the best-bred and the
discreetest page that was aye. He clad him bravely and
amongst other apparel he let make him, he clothed him
from head to foot all in white ; whilst Romolo accounted
himself most happy, himseeming he was in Paradise.

Now, as you have already heard, Lattanzio was passion-
ately enamoured of Catella, daughter of Gerardo Lanzetti,
and passed every day before her house, showing her by
signs and gestures that he was all afire for her. Catella,
albeit she showed him a good countenance, nevertheless
recked not overmuch of him neither opened her breast to
the amorous flames. He had sent her letters and messages
galore, but could never get any certain reply, whether good
or ill, for that the girl refused to commit herself to anything
particular. Her father was very rich in the goods of fortune,
but avaricious beyond measure, and kept no household save

132

a decrepit old woman, born in the house before himself, a
little maid and a lad, the son of one of his husbandmen,
whom for the most part he carried with him, so that Catella
had abundant leisure and commodity to stand at the case-
ment and speak with whoso most liked her, for that the old
crone abode without cease a-watch over the kitchen fire.
As for the maid, she left the field free and favoured
Lattanzio, having been debauched by him with sundry
small presents ; wherefore he might, whenassoever it pleased
him, ply Catella (whom in effect he loved beyond measure)
with letters and messages, and himseeming Romolo was a
very goodly speaker, he sent him to speak with his mistress,
having first duly instructed him of that Vhich he would
have him do.

Romolo, who had many a time passed before Catella's
house, knew where it was and was acquainted with her
maid, having now and again seen his master speak with
her ; wherefore, having gotten this commission, he set out, all
despited and disconsolate as can be told. But ere he went
to visit Catella, he betook himself to Pippa's house and after
some talk, bespoke her thus, saying, " Nurse mine, I find
myself in the most desperate plight in the world, for that,
having never dared discover myself to my lover and seeing
him ardently enamoured of Catella Lanzetti, I live in such
miscontent of this my love that I cannot look for a- happy
issue thereof. And what is worst for me and most tor-
menteth me is that needs must I go presently bespeak her
in Lattanzio's name and persuade her consent to love him,
so he may require her of her father and take her to wife.
Look you now, nurse, to what pass I am reduced and if
Fortune could use me worse than she doth. If Catella be
disposed to love him and consent to take him to husband, I
shall not live an hour longer, nor can I see any shift for the

^33

saving of my afflicted life, for it is impossible that I should
see him another's than mine and live. Counsel me, then,
dear my nurse, and lend me aid in this my urgent need.
I had e'en hoped, seeing my service to be very acccptal)le to
Lattanzio, one day to discover to him my case and persuade
him to have pity on me ; but now^ all my hopes are scattered
to the winds, inasmuch as I see him so passionately enamoured
of this girl that he thinketh but of her day and night nor
ever talketh of otherwhat. Woe is me, if my father should
return and learn this that^I have done, what would become
of my life ? Certes, he would kill me ; help me for God's
sake, dear my nurse ; " and so saying, she wept sore.

Pippa, who loved her more than her own child, began
herself to weep, moved by her lamentation ; but presently,
drying her eyes, she said to her, " Harkye, daughter, thou
knowest what I have so many a time said to thee concerning
this thy love, but thou hast never chosen to hearken to me.
Certes, thou wert best remain here and I will carry thee
back to the nunnery, against thy father return, and will
order things on such wise that all shall be well. For, were
it ever known that thou hadst served Lattanzio in man's
apparel and slept so many nights in his chamber, what
thinkest thou would be said of thine affair ? I warrant thee
thou wouldst never find a husband. And for all thou
swearest to me that none hath recognized thee for a woman,
I believe thee not thereof; nay, thou mayst say what thou
wilt ; I will e'en believe that which meseemeth is reasonably
credil)le. I know full well what these young masters use
to do with their pages ; wherefore it would please me that
thou shouldst put this maggot out of thy head and attend
to otherwhat. Thy father cannot long tarry to return, and
come when he will, I would not for all the gold in the
world he should know aught of these extravagances ; else

134

woe to thee and to me ? Since thou seest Lattanzlo's mind
set upon Catella and hast daily proof how infatuated he is
with her, why weary thyself in vain? Why shouldst thou
expose thy life and honour to such a risk, if thou art to have
no fruit whatsoever thereof? All pains demand recompense ;
it is folly to labour in vain, especially whereas so much harm
may ensue. And thou, what recompense expectest thou for
such service ? Thou expectest eternal infamy, not only for
thyself, but for all thy family ; nay, (what is of no small
account) thou expectest to lose thy life thereby. Why love
him who loveth thee not ? Why ensue him who fleeth from
thee ? I for my part have never been so fond as to be fain
to run after any one. Leave yonder man, daughter mine,
and turn thy thought elsewhither, for that in this our city
thou wilt not lack for young men, thine equals, who will
love thee and account themselves favoured to have thee to
wife. And who knoweth but yonder man, if he have e'en
not known thee hitherto, may one day know thee and take
of thee what pleasure he will and after concern himself no
more with thee and do on such wise that thou wilt become
a common woman and be pointed at with the finger for a
shameless strumpet? W'herefore, daughter mine, take counsel
and abide here with me."

Nicuola abode awhile in thought ; then, heaving an ardent
sigh, " Dear my nurse," quoth she, " I confess thou speakest
very lovingly ; but I have gone so far that I will e'en see
the end thereof, come what will. I will go now to speak
with Catella and see how she will take it ; for hitherto
Lattanzio hath gotten none but general replies from her ;
and for the rest God shall aid me, who knoweth my heart
and knoweth that I strive for no otherwhat than to have
Lattanzio to husband. I will come every day to speak with
thee here, and if my father return, we will provide for our

135

affairs as best may be, for that meseemeth needless for the
nonce to take thought unto evil ere it betide. " Therewithal
she took leave of Pippa and repairing to Lanzetti's house,
arrived there even as Gerardo had gone to the market-place
on certain of his occasions. Catella's maid was at the door
and Romolo, giving her the signal which his master had
taught him, was admitted into one of the ground-floor
rooms whilst the girl went up and said to her mistress,
" Madam, come down, for that Lattanzio hath sent his
handsome page to speak with you, who you told me so
pleased you." Catella straightway came down and entering
the chamber where Romolo awaited her, no sooner saw him
than she thought to behold an angel, so fair and graceful did
he appear to her. He did his obeisance to her and began
to tell her what he had in charge from his master, whilst she
took an extreme pleasure in hearing him talk and ogled him
amorously, dying of desire to kiss him and herseeming there
issued an unwonted sweetness from his fair eyes.

Romolo addressed himself to bespeak her of Lattanzio's
case ; but she paid little heed to that which he said to
her, being all intent upon his sight and saying in herself
that she had never seen so handsome a youth. In fine,
she viewed him so amorously and so deeply did the lad's
beauty and grace penetrate into her heart that, unable to
restrain herself longer, she threw her arms about his neck
and kissing him five or six times ardently on the mouth,
said to him, " Seemeth it well to thee to bring me such
messages and expose thyself to the risk which thou
runnest, an my father find thee here?" He, seeing her
turn a thousand colours and plainly perceiving that she was
enamoured of him, answered her, saying, "Mistress mine,
needs must he who abideth with others and serveth do
these and the like offices, according to the will and

136

commandment of his master, and I for my part do it very
unwillingly ; but he who can command me willing this,
needs must I also will it. Wherefore I pray you vouch-
safe me an acceptable answer and have compassion on
my master, who loveth you so dear and is so much your
servant, so on my return I may gladden him with good
news. "

On this wise they talked for a time together, what while
it seemed to Catella that the page's beauty waxed ever
goodlier and greater and bethinking her that needs must
she part from him, she felt certain stings at her heart,
which pierced her through and through ; wherefore she
determined to discover her passion to him and began on
this wise to bespeak him, saying, " I know not what thou
hast done to me; methinketh thou must have bewitched
me." "Madam," replied he, "you mock me; I have
done nothing to you and am neither vnzard nor sorcerer ;
I am e'en your servant and pray you give me a fair answer,
whereby you will keep my master on life and will cause
him tender me dearer than he presently doth." Where-
upon quoth Catella, who could hold out no longer and was
like to melt for desire, as she kissed the page, " Harkye,
my life and soul of my soul, I know no youth in the world
who could have made me do that which I have presently
done with thee ; but thy beauty and the infinite love which
I bear thee, since first I saw thee behind thy master, have
moved me to this. I desire thee not to servant, but will
e'en have thee (an it mislike thee not) be lord over me
what while I live and dispose of me at thy pleasure. I
ask not who thou art nor if thou be poor or rich nor of
what blood thou art born. My father, Godamercy, is rich
enough for thee and for me and so old that he can live
little longer ; wherefore do thou look to thyself and let

137

Lattanzio go, for that I, for my part, am never like to
love him and shall henceforward leave showing him a
good countenance." Romolo, after some farther talk, him-
seeming the thing went as he would have it, promised
Catella to do what she wished and returned her infinite
thanks for her profi'ers, avouching himself eternally beholden
to her, but declaring that it behoved to proceed cautiously,
so Lattanzio should perceive nothing. Then, having agreed
with her of that which was to be said to the latter, he, after
many amorous kisses given and received, took his leave,
going in sore fear lest Catella should put her hand to such
a part of him as should give her to know that he was no
male.

Returning home, he found his master awaiting him
impatiently and began by excusing himself for his tardiness,
saying that it had been a good while ere he might get speech
of Catella and that, whenas he came to speak with her, he
had found her in a great fume, as well because she had that
same day been severely rated by her father for that her love as
also because she had heard he was enamoured of another girl.
*' I did my utmost endeavour," said Romolo, "to oust this
conceit from her head, adducing to her a thousand reasons,
and argued long with her ; but all proved in vain."
Lattanzio at this news abode sore dismayed and chagrined
and made Romolo repeat to him a good half score times
all that had passed between himself and Catella. Moreover,
he prayed him take an opportunity of returning to her and
assuring her that he loved no other woman in the world than
herself, that he was ready to give her all possible proofs
thereof and that, do what she would, he was never like to
love another, being resolved to be eternally her most loyal
servitor ; and Romolo accordingly promised to do all he
knew and might to get speech of her.

138

On the morrow, Catella being at the window, Lattanzio
passed through the street and as he drew near the house,
the damsel with a disdainful gesture retired from the case-
ment and withdrew indoors. This act added new assurance
to the story told by Romolo to his master, who returned
home, full of chagrin, and fell a-complaining to the page
of his ill hap and sorry fortune ; then, goaded by anger, he
went on to say that Catella was not withal the fairest damsel
in the world nor the noblest that she should bear herself so
arrogantly and misprise him after such a fashion ; and to
this purpose he said many things. Hereupon Romolo began
very adroitly to remind his master that these were things
which were mostly used to happen, either for despite or
through ill tongues or because of unconformity of humours,
it being oftentimes seen that a man loveth a woman, who
will never incline to love him, whilst another will love
him, whom he can nowise bring himself to love. " Indeed,
Romolo," quoth Lattanzio, "thou sayest sooth, for some
months agone I was beloved of one of the fairest damsels of
this city, who was newly come from Rome and who I know
willed me all her weal;^ nay, I also loved her very ardently;
but she went I know not whither and abode many days
absent ; and in the meantime I chanced to set eyes on this
proud baggage of a Catella;^ whereupon, leaving the other's
love and altogether casting her behind my back and into
oblivion, I applied to serve this ingrate. The other damsel,
on her return to the city, sent me letters and messages, but
I took no heed of aught." "My lord," rejoined Romolo,
"you are rightly served and have gotten the requital you

1 Mi voleva iuiio tl suo bene, i.e. loved me with all her heart. For
examples of this common idiom, see my " Decameron of Boccaccio "
passim.

2 Dialectic dim. of Caterina.

139

deserved ; for that, an you were beloved as you say of so
fair a damsel, you did exceeding ill to leave her for this one,
who, without knowing it, wreaketh vengeance for the other.
We should love those that love us and not ensue those who
flee from us. Who knoweth but this fair damsel yet loveth
you and liveth in sore affliction for your sake? More by
token that I have many a time heard say that girls, in their
first loves, love far more tenderly and with much greater
fervour than do men. My heart forebodeth me this hapless
lass must needs languish for you and live a life of anguish
and misery." "That I know not," replied Lattanzio ; "I
only know that she loved me passing dear and that she is
very fair. Catella would seem to thee well-nigh foul in com-
parison with her ; nay, to tell thee more, it hath many a
time occurred to my mind that, wert thou clad as a woman,
I could swear thou wast herself, so much meseemeth dost
thou favour her in everything, and methinketh there is Init
little difference betwixt thee and her as to age, albeit me-
seemeth indeed she is a thought taller than thou. But let
us return to our talk of yonder trull of a Catella, whom I
cannot avail to put out of my head ; nay, I think of her day
and night and can turn my mind to no otherwhat. Tell me ;
doth thy heart warrant thee to bespeak her and throughly
to discover my love to her? " "I will do what I may and
know," replied Romolo, "nay, were I certain to receive
death at her hands, I would return thither. "

Now let us leave these awhile to their affairs and speak
of Ambrogio's son Paolo, for that without him our story may
not be finished. It chanced, then, that the German, Paolo's
master, departing Naples, came to Acquapendente, meaning
to go thence into Lombardy and after into Almaine ; but,
when he would fain have quitted Acquapendente, he was
taken with a sore colic and died thereof in three days, having

I40

first made his will and left Paolo heir to all he had. Paolo
let honourably bury his master and satisfied the host ; then,
taking the right-hand road, he set out for Jesi, where he had
aforetime abidden some months' space, having been sent
thither by his father. When he arrived there, whatever
might have been the reason, he went not home, but betook
himself with his equipage to the inn, where, letting unload
his baggage and giving it in charge to the host, he refreshed
himself and leaving his servants, set out all alone to go
about the city. Now he was, for a vow of his, clad all in
white, after the same fashion as Romolo. He went first to
see if his father's house was open and on his way, he passed
before Catella's house and espied her at the window, but
made her no sign, not knowing who she was ; whereat she
marvelled sore, never doubting but he was Romolo, and
straightway sent her maid after him to call him, it being
presently about the hour of none and few people passing
through the street. The maid accordingly calling to him
for Romolo and saying, " Ho there, come hither, for madam
calleth you," he perceived that he was mistaken for another
and was the more certified of this that he saw the maid
bespoke him as they had long been familiar together ;
wherefore he resolved in himself to see who was this madam
that sought him and thinking her to be a woman of pleasure,
said in himself, ' ' Let us go try our luck ; she cannot gain
much by me, beyond a carlino ^ or a giulio ^ at most."

As he was making for the house, behold, Gerardo came to
the head of the street, whom when the maid saw, "Romolo,"
quoth she, " see, yonder cometh master ; go thy ways now
and return by and by." Accordingly he went off, noting

* A Neapolitan coin, worth about ^d.

* A Papal coin, worth about 6d.

141

the while the door at which the maid entered and what
manner of man was the master of the house. The maid
entered the house and shut the door, feigning not to see
her master, who, coming slowly along, as old men do, had
not observed her. Gerardo presently reached the door and
knocked ; whereupon it was opened to him and he entered
the house.

Now Paolo had taken good note of the house and seen
Catella at the window, who pleased him beyond measure,
himseeming she was very fair and agreeable ; wherefore there
passed many thoughts through his mind. Then he made for
his father's house and found it closed and the windows shut,
which made him think that his father was not in the town.
Algates, the better to certify himself, he enquired of a
certain tailor, who had his shop hard by, what was come
of Ambrogio Nanni, and he answered him that it was many
days since he had been seen in Jesi. Paolo accordingly
returned to the hostelry, still revolving in his thought various
things of the damsel he had seen and having a mind to
return to visit her, he abode in doubt if he should go alone
or carry with him certain serving-men whom he had of his
dead master.

No great while after Ambrogio returned from Rome and
on his way to his house, fell in with Gerardo, who bade
him welcome back and added, "Ambrogio, thou comest in
time, for that, hadst thou been in the city these past days,
methinketh we should have concluded the match between
thy daughter and myself or at the least I should have been
certified if thou art willing to give her to me or not, for
that I am determined to abide no longer in this doubt."
"As thou seest," replied Ambrogio, " I am but now arrived
and shall abide here many days, without going away again.
We shall be together and will speak more at leisure of this

142

matter. " As they were in discourse, Ambrogio ahorseback
and Gerardo afoot, it befell that Romolo, on his way to
speak with Catella, as his master had charged him, espied
his father and turning in another direction, went off to
Pippa and said to her, "Alack, minnie mine, I am dead ;
for that my father is returned and I know not what to do. "
"Marry," quoth Pippa, "with God be it; leave not the
house and let me do ; but first put off these clothes and
don thine own, which are in this chest." Thereupon Pippa
went straight to Ambrogio's house and finding him in act
to dismount, saluted him with a blithe visage, saying,
"You are welcome, sir, a thousand times; how do you?"
"O welcome, Pippa mine!" cried Ambrogio. "What
goest thou about in this haste?" "I come," replied she,
"straight to you, for that Giannelloccio Bindi told me
you were returned, so I may do what is needful, for
meknoweth not how these your serving-men can cook."
Quoth Ambrogio, "I thank thee; but it needed not that
thou shouldst take these pains, for that I have sent to fetch
Margarita, who used to abide in the house, and she will be
here out of hand. But tell me ; how long is it since thou
sawest our Nicuola?" "Sir," replied Pippa, "I see her
every day and only this morning I abode a good while
with her. Marry, she dieth of longing for your return and
I have often carried her home with me and kept her two
or three days. In truth, she is a good girl and a fair and
worketh marvellously with her hands, more so, indeed, than
I can tell you. "

Meanwhile up came Margarita, who fell to doing various
household matters, and Pippa wrought a good while with
her, helping her ; then, herseeming every hour was a
thousand years till she was quit of the house, "Sir," said
she, "with your good leave I will go this evening to fetch

'43

Nicuola from the nunnery and will carry her home with me,
till you have gotten the house in order." "Do as seemcth
best to thee," replied Ambrogio. "Commend me amain to
Sister Camilla and kiss my daughter for me ; and now go
and good luck go with thee. " Pippa accordingly departed
and ere she went home, she repaired to the nunnery to
visit and speak with Sister Camilla, with whom she ordered
everything that was needful for the safeguarding of Nicuola,
in case Ambrogio should go thither, and the sister, who was
a past mistress in such crafts, bade her be of good courage,
for that all should go well. She then returned whereas
Nicuola, Romolo no more, awaited her with exceeding
impatience, to hear how the thing had gone, having already
donned her own clothes and tired her head as our girls use
to do. Pippa acquainted her with that which she had done
and told her that it was in her discretion if she would go
home next day to her father or abide a day or two with
her ; whereupon Nicuola concluded to abide another day
with her nurse and did nought but plague her with talk of
Lattanzio, showing such a desire to have him to husband
that greater might not be.

Pippa still exhorted her to turn her thoughts elsewhither,
for that she saw plainly she wearied herself in vain, knowing
Lattanzio to be so passionately enamoured of Catella that
he thought of nothing else and would in the end have his
intent, demanding her of Gerardo to wife. "It is that,"
rejoined Nicuola, "which tormenteth me, nor do I ever think
thereof but I despair. But, had not my father returned so
soon, I warrant me I would have brought Lattanzio so in
disfavour with Catella that she had rather chosen a peasant
to husband than him ; but my father's unexpected coming
hath marred all." " Marred ?" cried Pippa. "Nay, it
hath rather set all right. An that be true which thou

144

tellest me, anent that which passed between Catella and
thee, methinketh thine affairs were at an ill pass, inasmuch
as, hadst thou gone again to speak with her, she had doubt-
less been fain to pass from kisses to hand-play and finding
thee a girl, how deemest thou she would have judged of
thee? Hadst thou not abidden for ever shamed in her
eyes ? Would she not forthright have concluded thee to be
Lattanzio's whore?" "That," replied Nicuola, "is the
very thing which I would have had happen. Had she e'en
discovered me, as thou sayest, to be a girl, she had not
withal known me for Nicuola, daughter of Ambrogio, and
Lattanzio had fallen into such ill savour with her that she
would never again have brooked the sight of him or the
mention of his name ; so that I might have hoped to
regain his love. " Pippa could not forbear from laughing at
Nicuola's reasonings and said to her, "Daughter mine, set
thy heart at rest. An it be ordained of God that Catella
is to be Lattanzio's wife, neither art nor address, no, nor any
shift that thou canst devise, will avail thee to hinder such a
marriage. Thou art yet very young, thou art fair, thou art
rich, for there can be little doubt that, were Paolo thy
brother alive, something had by this been heard of him ;
but the poor lad must certainly be dead, our Lord God
have his soul ! So that, an thou govern thyself sagely,
thou wilt abide sole heir to thy father ; wherefore thou wilt
not lack for suitors of the noblest and richest young men
of the Marches. Put away from thee, therefore, these extra-
vagant fancies, which are more like to bring thee hurt and
vexation than profit or advantage."

What while these things were in doing, Paolo bethought
himself to go alone to see Catella and accordingly he passed
before her house late that afternoon and failing to get sight
of her, returned to the hostelry nor would go abroad again

145

for that day. Meanwhile, Lattanzio, to whom waiting was
supremely irksome, seeing night darken, marvelled amain
that Romolo returned not to render him an account of that
which he had done with Catella. He awaited his coming
an hour or two of the night, but, seeing that he came not,
he abode sore chagrined and misdoubted him some ill
chance had befallen the lad ; however, he could conceive
nought for certain and abode well-nigh all night without
sleep, revolving various thoughts in his mind. He indeed
loved Romolo greatly, for that he had been mighty well
served of him and had found him a discreet and well-
mannered lad, who had never made words with any in the
house and had diligently applied to do whatsoever was
bidden him ; wherefore it grieved him sore to have lost
him. On the other hand, Catella, who was passionately
enamoured of Romolo, having tasted his dulcet kisses, was
eager to come to closer quarters with him ; but, seeing him
no more that day after Gerardo's coming home (for that
she had mistaken Paolo for him), she went to bed sore
miscontent. Nicuola talked all night with her nurse of
Lattanzio, sighing and tossing from side to side, so that
she neither slept herself nor suffered Pippa to sleep, and
knowing that the latter had told her father she would keep
her a day or two, she resolved to remain with her.

The day come and Romolo not returning, Lattanzio sent
hither and thither in search of him and let diligently enquire
on various wise if aught might be learned of him, giving the
particulars of his raiment and his age, till he found one who
professed to have seen him on the previous day enter the
house of Pippa di Giacomaccio, who abode hard by the
Cathedral Church. Lattanzio, who knew the latter, having
this clue, went to visit her about dinner-time and knocked
at the house-door ; whereupon Pippa came to the window

VOL. IV. lo

146

and recognizing the young man, marvelled and misdoubted
her he knew belike that Nicuola was in the house and said
to him, "Young man, what seek you?" "Dame Pippa,"
replied he, "an it mislike you not, I would fain speak half
a score words with you." " Five-and-twenty, an you will,"
rejoined she and telling Nicuola that Lattanzio was below,
went straightway down and opened the door. The young
man entered and seating himself beside Pippa, in a place
where Nicuola might, without being seen herself, see him
and hear what he said, bespoke her thus, saying, "Dame
Pippa, albeit I have never done you any service which
warranteth me in presuming to require you of a kindness,
nevertheless, my usance, which is to complease every one,
and my knowledge of you as a woman beloved of many
gentlemen (the which showeth you to be courteous and
obliging,) emboldeneth me to have recourse to you, in the
steadfast hope that you will fully satisfy my desire ; where-
fore, without more words or ceremonies, I pray you instantly
vouchsafe to tell me what is come of a lad of maybe
seventeen years old, by name Romolo, clad all in white
and mighty well-favoured and sprightly of aspect, who came
hither yesterday to visit you. He abode with me to page
and hath not returned home since yesterday. I prithee be
pleased of your favour to give me news of him, for you will
do me a singular kindness and I shall be eternally beholden
to you." " My son," replied Pippa, " I thank you for the
goodly and courteous mind which you show me ; marry, it
is passing dear to me and I am well pleased that you should
have deigned to visit this poor house, for I have this many
a day desired to have an opportunity of talking with you ;
the which being presently afforded me by your courtesy, I
would fain not lose it. But first, to answer your enquiry,
I must tell you that I can render you no account of your

147

lad, for that neither yesterday nor these many days hath
there been any boy or youth here that I know ; and I should
certainly know it if any such person had been here." Quoth
Lattanzio, "You fear behke I shall deal the page some
chastisement for that he returned not home ; but I pledge
you my solemn troth to give him no annoy, so but he tell
me truly for what reason he came not back to me yesterday."
"It booteth not to weary yourself anent that," rejoined
Pippa ; "for that no man is in this house nor was here
yesterday, and it grieveth me infinitely that L cannot serve
you in this matter, gladly as I would do it. "

Lattanzio sighed heavily, what while Pippa talked with
him ; wherefore, "Young man," quoth she, "you seem sore
distressed and no one who heard those ardent sighs but
would judge you to be overmuch enamoured of yonder page
of yours, albeit my having otherwhiles understood that you
loved a fair damsel forbiddeth me to believe that you are
such an enemy of the ladies." "Alack," cried Lattanzio,
"would God I were not in love, for I should be blither and
happier than I presently am ! Nor must you deem that I
refer to my page, for I think not of him ; nay, I speak of a
damsel whom I love more than mine eyes, yea, more than
my very soul." With these words, the hot tears brimmed
up his eyes in his own despite and some e'en bathed his
cheeks, and still he sighed sore ; whereupon Pippa, her-
seeming she was given an opportunity of essaying that which
it had already occurred to her to do, said to him, " I know
right well, my son, that what you tell me must needs be
true, an you love as you avouch ; more by token I am
firmly convinced that there is no misery in the world sharper
or more grievous than to love and be unloved. Moreover,
I know that the damsel whom you love nowise loveth you,
nay, she hateth you rather, for that she loveth another."

148

"How know you that, Dame Pippa?" asked Lattanzio,
all full of wonderment. "Ask not," replied she, "how I
know it ; suffice it that I know you presently love one who
loveth you not, albeit it is not many months since you loved
another damsel far fairer than this and I know that she loved
you most ardently ; nay, more, she loveth you yet more than
ever, and you love her not and remember you of her no
more than as she had never been seen of you." "Verily,"
rejoined Lattanzio, "I know not what to say, since you
have hit so aptly on the truth and are e'en so well acquainted
with my affairs. But prithee, of your favour, be pleased to
tell me how you know that she whom I presently love loveth
me not and loveth another." "That," answered Pippa, " I
may not tell you, for that methinketh it were unbehoving ;
but meseemeth right to remind you that in this you are justly
served, since you scorn her who loveth you and love her
who loveth you not, the which is permitted of God for the
chastisement of your sin and of your heinous ingratitude ;
and so but worse betide you not thereof, the thing will stand
well. Alack, unfortunate Nicuola, whom hast thou loved
and lovest ? Thou hast e'en done the greatest things in the
world to acquire this man's favour and all hath been in vain ;
whilst you, Lattanzio, love Catella more than yourself and
she recketh no whit of you. Go to, now, follow on this
emprise, for in the end you will become aware of your error,
and belike, when you will, there may be none to amend it. "
The young man, hearing what Pippa said, was well-
nigh beside himself and knew not what to answer her ;
whilst Nicuola, who saw and heard the whole, would fain
have come forth and said her own say anent the matter ;
however, being resolved to await the issue of the talk,
she abode quiet. Pippa likewise awaited that which
the young man should say ; whereupon, as if aroused from

149

ft heavy sleep, " Uame Pippa," quoth hu, "I will e'en
deal frankly with you, since you know my affairs l)etter
than I myself. True it is that I once loved Nicuola
Nanni and know that she loved me ; Ijut she was sent
forth the city by her father, I know not whither, and
in the mean time I fell in love with Catella, daughter
of Gerardo Lanzetti, who for some days made a show of
loving me ; then, I know not wherefore, she showed her-
self altogether averse to me and contrary to my desires,
so that, an she be at the door or the window, whenas
I pass through the street, she withdraweth indoors, so
soon as she seeth me, and will no longer hearken to
my letters or messages. Yesterday, more by token, I sent
my page to see an he might avail to speak with her ;
but he hath never returned to render me an answer, so
that I find myself bereaved at once of my mistress and
of a good and most engaging servant. Had he returned
and brought me news that she still persisted in her wonted
obduracy, I was resolved to importune her no longer, but
to seek me another lady, to whom my service should be
more acceptable, since, to tell the truth, meseemeth a
great folly to ensue one who shunneth me, to love one
who loveth me not and to seek one who will none of
me." "You may take your oath of that,"^ rejoined
Pippa. " A fine thing, indeed ! Certes, for my part, I
would not be so fond as to love one who wished me
not well. But tell me, an it please you ; if Nicuola yet
wished you well, nay, loved you more than ever, what
would you say thereof .'' Think you she would deserve
to be loved of you?" "Indeed," replied the young man,
"she would deserve that I should love her even as myself.

' Pij^liate allora le parole.

ISO

But it may not be as you say, for that she must certainly
be despited against me, inasmuch as she wrote to me
again and again after her return to Jesi and I took no
manner heed of her, nor know I where she is, so long
is it since I saw her." "Nay, for that matter," rejoined
Pippa, "I know you have seen her innumerable times in
the last few days and have spoken very familiarly with
her." Whereupon quoth Lattanzio, "Dame Pippa, you
are mistaken in this." And she, "Nay, I am not mis-
taken, for that in good sooth I should know what I say
and speak not to the wind. But harkye, an it were as
I tell you and I caused you see for yourself that Nicuola
loveth you more than ever, what would you do? And
if she had been in your house and had served you and
had done that which every least servant must do and had
never been known of you, what would you think ? Nay,
make not such a show of wonderment, for the thing is
e'en as I say. And so you may see I have told you
the truth, I am ready to certify you thereof on such wise
that you shall say as I say. But first answer me ; if
Nicuola had done as I tell you, what would she deserve?"
"You tell me fables and dreams," answered Lattanzio;
"but, if this were true, I know not what to say, save
that it would behove me love her infinitely and make
her mistress of myself." Quoth Pippa, "It is well," and
calling Nicuola, bade her bring with her the page's clothes
which she had worn.

Accordingly, Nicuola, who had heard all, took up the
clothes and presented herself, all rosy in the face, before her
nui^se and her lover; whereupon quoth Pippa, "Here,
Lattanzio, is your Nicuola ; here is your Romolo ; here is
your so much desired page, who hath abidden with you day
and night and hath for your love exposed herself to exceed-

151

ing great risk of her honour and her life. Here is she who,
scorning all the world, hath recked of you only ; and withal
you have never known her in all this time." With this she
told him the whole story of Nicuola's turning page, adding,
•' Now what say you ? " Lattanzio abode as one half beside
himself and stared at Nicuola, himseeming he dreamed, nor
knew what to say, hearing that she had abidden with him,
clad as a boy. However, he presently recovered himself
somewhat and bethinking of the cruelty of Catella, than
whom Nicuola was far fairer, and considering the latter's
devotion and the risk to which she had exposed herself for
excess of love, he said, well-nigh weeping, "Nicuola, I will
not presently enter upon the labyrinth of vain excuses ; but,
an you be of such mind as Dame Pippa affirmeth, I will
take you to wife, whenas you will. " Nicuola, who desired
nothing in the world more than this, could scarce contain
herself for joy and casting herself at his feet, replied to him
on this wise, saying, " My lord, since you, of your favour,
deign to take me for yours, here am I at your service,
for that myself and my pleasure will still be yours in every-
thing. " With this Lattanzio drew a ring from his finger and
espoused her to his lawful wife in the presence of Pippa,
saying, " So our affairs may be ordered with the more
repute and honour, I will, as soon as I have dined, go speak
with your father and demand you of him to wife. I am fain
to believe that he will give you to me without opposition,
and so we will celebrate the nuptials as it behoveth."
Moreover, the better to substantiate the marriage thus
contracted by word of mouth. Dame Pippa, ere Lattanzio
departed, put the twain to bed in a chamber, and there they
consummated holy matrimony, to the exceeding satisfaction
of both parties. Then, having taken order for that which
he purposed to do, Lattanzio departed and went to dinner ;

152

after which he set out to visit Nicuola's father, whilst she
herself went home with Pippa to meet Messer Ambrogio,
by whom she was joyfully received.

Meanwhile, Paolo, so soon as he had dined, went forth
the inn and made, all alone, for Catella's house. When
he reached the head of the street, he saw Gerardo come
out of the house and go I know not whither. Scarce was
he gone when Catella showed herself at the window and
saw Paolo ; whereupon, thinking him her Romolo, she
beckoned to him to enter, as soon as he was near the door,
and he accordingly entered the house, resolved to certify
himself what this meant. Catella in a trice came down the
stairs and embracing him, kissed him amorously, for that she
believed him to be Romolo; then, "Dear my life," quoth
she, "and ultimate end of all my thoughts, thou makest
thyself over-scarce. Certes, thou wiliest me not so much
weal as I thee. Marry, I told thee my mind two days
agone and that I would have none other than thyself to
husband ; let us go into this ground-floor room." Therewith
she bade the maid watch for my lord's return and advise
her thereof, what while she fell to kissing Paolo wantonly
and bespeaking him with the softest of words, biting him
sportively and seeming to languish in his arms. He, being
nowise dull-witted and perceiving that she mistook him for
another, feigned himself all inflamed and fallen well-nigh
dumb for excess of love and kissed her again and again,
sighing the while. Then, " My soul," quoth she, " I would
fain have thee rid thyself of yonder master of thine, so we
may be together whenassoever it liketh us." And he, " Let
that not trouble you, for I will e'en find means to do
without him." "Ay do thou, my life," rejoined Catella
and still strained him to her breast and kissed him. Paolo,
who was young and all disposed to satisfy her, feeling the

IS3

grass grow in the meadow, put his hand to her bosom and
softly handled her breasts, which were yet, as a girl's,
somewhat unripe, but round and firm as two apples ; and
seeing that she showed herself nowise coy, he took some-
what more courage and fell to plying his hands in those
parts where is the ultimate goal of all amorous desire.
Catella, who was all afire with love, seeing herself in the
arms of so fair a youth, felt a pleasure she had never yet
known and suffered him do as he would ; whereupon
Paolo, taking the occasion, threw her on a pallet bed and
caused her taste a bitter sweetness the first lance he broke ;
but after, returning to the lists, he made shift to shiver other
four lances, to the exceeding pleasure of the damsel, who
would fain have run as many more. Thus engaged, they
perceived not the flight of the hours and the servant-maid,
going to do her occasions about the house, left the street-
door open.

Meanwhile Gerardo came home and entered the house.
As he passed the door of the chamber where the two lovers,
weary with the jousts, had seated themselves on a bench to
talk, he heard folk within and to say, "Who is there?"
and to open the chamber-door with a thrust of his foot
were one and the same thing. When he saw Paolo with
his daughter, he mistook him for Nicuola, of whom, as hath
already been said, he was sore enamoured ; wherefore, the
anger forsaking him into which he had entered, thinking
a man to be with Catella, he stared at Paolo, and the more
he eyed him, the more was he stablished in his opinion
that it was Nicuola. Catella was half-dead at her father's
appearance and Paolo trembled all over; but, when they
saw the old man stand fast, without saying aught, they
awaited the result with better courage. As hath already
been said, Paolo and Nicuola his sister were so alike that

154

it was exceeding uneath for whoso was most familiar with
them to discern which of them was the male and which
the female ; wherefore Gerardo, after he had considered
Paolo with the utmost wonderment, abode certain, knowing
Ambrogio's son to be lost, that Nicuola had clad herself as
a man and said to Paolo, "Nicuola, Nicuola, wert thou not
who thou art, I warrant thee I had played thee and Catella
an ill trick ; " then, turning to his daughter, he bade her
go aloft and leave Nicuola there, for that he would bear the
latter better company than she.

Catella accordingly departed, herseeming she had thitherto
come off good cheap, since her father had nowise chidden
her nor beaten her, but knew not nor might divine to what
end he called Romolo Nicuola. Paolo, on the other hand,
misdoubted him the old man had a mind to do with him as
he had done with his daughter and said in himself, " This
old fellow would fain fare a-pattens through the dry ; but
the thing shall not go as he thinketh." Catella being gone,
"Dear my Nicuola," quoth Gerardo, "what habit is this
in which I see thee ? How can Ambrogio thy father suffer
thee go thus alone ? Tell me the truth ; what earnest thou
to do here ? Camest thou belike to see how I order the
house and how I live ? It is two days since I spoke with
thy father, who was but then arrived in Jesi, and prayed
him be pleased to resolve me an he would e'en give me
thee to wife or not ; whereto he answered me that he would
speak with me farther. Marry, I assure thee thou shalt have
a good time with me and I will leave thee the governance
of the house. " He went on to declare that he could have
of him none other than fair treatment ; what while Paolo
said in himself, " I have e'en been twice mistaken to-day
for some one else. This old fellow's daughter thinketh
I am a certain Romolo of her acquaintance and he him-

155

self taketh me for my sister. Algates, the daughter can
scarce have been altogether deceived. " Then said Gerardo,
*' Nicuola, dost thou answer me nothing? Tell me thy
mind, for I will set everything right ; " and offered to kiss
her; but Paolo pushed him away, saying, "An you will
aught, speak with my father and let me go, for I came
hither I know not how." Whereupon the old man, never
doul)ting him to be Nicuola, answered, "Ay, ay, begone;
I will speak with thy father and make an end of the matter."
Paolo accordingly went away and repairing to his father's
house, there found Lattanzio, who had presently sought
Nicuola in marriage and to whom Ambrogio, knowing him
for a rich and noble youth, had promised her. When Paolo
entered, Lattanzio, seeing him, abode dumbfounded, and
but that at that moment Ambrogio caused him touch his
daughter's hand, he had taken him for Nicuola. The joy
which Ambrogio felt at the coming of Paolo, whom he
accounted dead, was beyond measure and description, more
by token that he had not only recovered his son, but had
honourably married his daughter. Great was the rejoicing
and many the caresses which passed between the four ; then,
the collation being brought, behold, in came Gerardo, who,
seeing Nicuola seated by Lattanzio and Paolo, whom he
thought to be Nicuola, speaking with his father, cried, well-
nigh beside himself, "God aid me ! I know not if I sleep
nor what I do ! " and clasping his hands, abode all full of
wonderment. Paolo, to whom Catella's savoury kisses had
been supremely grateful, told his father he would do him a
favour to marry him with Gerardo's daughter and Ambrogio,
knowing that the match could not but be a good one, there-
upon told Gerardo how he had married Nicuola to Lattanzio
and prayed him consent to give Catella to Paolo to wife.
Accordingly, this match also was concluded and so, out of

156

all hope, Ambrogio found himself to have recovered his son
rich and well married and to have, to boot, honourably
established his daughter. Meanwhile, Paolo let fetch his
gear from the hostelry and keeping two serving-men for
himself, requited the others on such wise that they avouched
themselves content. All were full of joy, except Gerardo,
who would fain have had Nicuola ; however, in the end he
resigned himself to his lot ; whilst the two lovers and their
wives applied to give themselves a good time and yet live
merrily to this day.^

' This is the story on which Shakspeare is supposed to have
founded his " Twelfth Night."

T5anDello

ta tfje most illustrious anti reijcrenti lor"ti prelate
JHonsefgneur ©eorgcs ti'^rmacjnac/ Cartimal
of tf)e title of Saints Joljn ant) Paul.'

The news coming of the death of Henry, Eighth of the
name King of England, and letters to that effect being
read in the presence of the magnanimous princess.
Madam Costanza Rangona e Fregosa, it was thereupon
variously discoursed, according as it occurred to those
present, of the said king's life and acts ; whence there
were some, who justly likened the said island of England
to a meadow, which produceth various herbs, some good
and some ill ; for that, when we read the histories of the
country, it is seen to have produced kings most eminent
in arms, in courtesy and in integrity of life and truly
worthy to be consecrated by good writers unto eternal
remembrance, whilst, on the other hand, there have been
others of whom may be affirmed that which that most
impartial historian Livy writeth of Hannibal, to wit, that
the many virtues which he ascribeth to him were counter-

1 Bandello, " Armignacco?'

2 i.e. the church of that name at Rome, it being customary for each
cardinal to be nominally appointed to the service of some church in
the capital, the name of which constitutes his title. The prelate in
question, who was successively Bishop of Rhodes and Archbishop of
Toulouse and Avignon, received the red hat in the year 1544.

158

balanced by very great defaults. But methinketh it may
justly be recorded that in many of the English kings their
wickedness far overpassed such few good parts as they had,
more by token that some showed themselves, not rulers,
princes and kings, but most fell and cruel tyrants. Amongst
the many other shameful and abominable vices wherewith
they were sullied and defiled, cruelty and lust have still
holden the chief place ; nay, there have been some of them
who showed themselves more athirst for human blood and
more desirous thereof than the bee is of thyme. How many
have there been of them aforetime who, without compassion
and (what is worse) without cause, have wasted the most part
of the nobility of the island, beheading this prince and
strangling that and daily putting some nobleman or other
to a cruel death ! Nor were they content to rid themselves
of those whom they called enemies ; nay, they slew their
own kinsfolk and those of their proper blood and cast their
bodies for food to corbies, wolven and vultures. And it not
sufficing their barbarous and inhuman cruelty to exterminate
the good, they upraised most vicious men, taken from the
lowest dregs of the populace, and made them barons and
seigniors. King Edward,' father of that Edward who had
King John of Prance to prisoner, was a very bad man and so
full of vices that, except the name of King, there was no part
in him which a good and upright man might commend. He
let ignominiously behead the Duke of Lancaster, his uncle,
for no otherwhat than to complease a favourite of his, no less
ribald and wicked than himself; and no great while after
he caused two-and-twenty of the chief English seigniors and
barons to be beheaded in one day. But God dealt this same
Edward and his Hugh [Despenser], who was a most seditious

1 i.e. Edward II.

159

man and full of every wickedness, a fitting chastisement,
for that the king's own son laid him in prison and there let
put him to death, and Hugh was, after many torments,
burned in a great fire. He,' who thus did to death his
father in prison, slew his own mother on like wise and
beheaded one of his uncles, hallowing the beginning of his
reign with such abominable sacrifices. I pass over that
Henry, who, to despoil the church of its temporal goods,
let slaughter Thomas [a Becket,] Archbishop of Canterbury,
a man of very holy and approved life ; wherefore he was after
constrained to render the realm of England tributary to the
see of Rome. He was succeeded by John his son, who
was like unto him and who, having usurped the crown,
which pertained unto his elder brother's son Arthur,
cruelly slew the latter with a mace of iron, as they rode
together along the sea-shore, and cast him into the waves
to feed the monsters of the deep. Nor was he content
with this fratricide, Ixit slew many other nobles and ex-
pelled well-nigh all the English bishops and prelates from
the kingdom, for that they would not consent to his dis-
orderly appetites. Moreover, in Aquitaine, which he then
possessed, he exiled a great number of the prelates and
clergy and robbed and spoiled the churches. It is known
also that King Richard [the Third] let drown the Duke of
Gloucester his uncle, he being then at Calais, in a butt of
malmsey;^ but his tyranny endured but a little while, for

1 i.e. Edward III.

2 It need hardly be said that this is a misstatement. Bandello
seems to allude to the well-known story of George, Duke of Clarence,
being by order of his brother Edward IV. and (it is supposed) by the
machinations of his other brother, the Duke of Gloucester (afterwards
Richard III.), put to death in the fantastic manner mentioned in the
text, five years before the latter's accession to the throne.

i6o

that Henry the Seventh ousted hun from the throne and
he was slain, fighting. Now, should I offer particularly
to recount all the crimes of so many past kings, it would
behove me make a long Iliad thereof and time would fail
me rather than matter. Suffice it, then, to relate a part
of that which is told of Henry VH., father of that Henry
VHI. who is newly dead. He, being banished the kingdom,
repaired first to Fran9ois, Duke of Brittany, and after to
Charles VIH., King of France, who gave him men, ships
and monies and with whose favour and aid he dethroned
Richard, King of England, and made himself master of the
island. He was no less athirst for human blood than the
others and showed himself most ungrateful unto Charles
VHI. Accordingly, it being discoursed of him and the
other English kings and some new cruelty being still
recounted, Messer Giulio Basso, saying that it behoved to
change the discourse, related an adventure which befell one
of the past kings of England. I listened attentively thereto
and wrote it down, when it was finished ; then, meseeming
it was not unapt to be joined to my other novels, I
bethought myself to give it a patron, as I have still done
with all the rest. Wherefore, remembering me how readily
you, of your favour, used, when you were here, to read
these my said novels, I determined that this present one
should be yours and should make bold to present itself to
the eyes and hands of the public under your famous and
glorious name, beseeching you, my lord, not to take it ill
that I venture to avail myself, in so slight a thing as is this,
of the favour of your name. For in truth it is not that
I know not the loftiness and excellence of your exalted
degree, which is justly deserving of every great and honour-
able title ; but what else can I give you ? The field of my
feeble wit is so sterile that it produceth very few things ;

i6i

and these few are so ill cullivated and so mean and rude
that, of my sheer unableness to do more, needs must I
give my lords and patrons of those fruits which my barren
soil bytimes produceth. And since you deign so courteously
to accept me to yours, lay the blame upon your own election,
which forbore to choose a more profitaljle servant in my
stead. Vouchsafe, therefore, to accept this my little gift
in that gracious spirit wherewithal you use so benignly to
receive whosoever recurreth unto you ; and so, kissing your
hands, I commend myself to your favour, praying God to
cause that which my muse hath already prognosticated of
you ' to be speedily seen of the world and long endure.
Fare you well.

EDWARD III., KING OF ENGLAND, LOVETII
THE DAUGHTER OF A SUBJECT OF HIS
AND [ULTIMATELY] TAKETH HER TO
WIFE.

I having heard the many and various discoursements
which have here been holden, meseemeth that of these
Kings of England, be they of the White Rose or the Red,
coming as they do all of one stock, it may be said that
other men's wives pleased them well-nigh all and that
they were greedier of human blood than ever Crassus of
gold. Nay, an we had no cognizance of the others, this
one, who is said to be presently dead, hath shed so much

^ Referring apparently to some poem in praise of the cardinal,
with which I am not acquainted.

VOL. IV. II

1 62

blood that it may indeed be said that neither among Chris-
tians nor barbarians hath there been any prince or tyrant in
this our age so cruel but he may, compared with him,
be accounted pitiful. That a prince, to maintain himself
in his dominion, should slay whoso seeketh to oust hirii
therefrom, is not a thing unused or strange, for that, to
tell the truth, the kingship suffereth not two. And were
it permitted me so to speak and to mingle things sacred
with those profane, I would call to mind that our Lord
God Almighty suffered not proud Lucifer in heaven,
inasmuch as the wretched and ambitious angel thought
to even himself with Him. But that it is good or even
lawful to slaughter any (as it is used to say) in cold
blood and because one refuseth to comply with my dis-
orderly appetites, to kill him, I can never anywise believe ;
wherefore bytimes I think shame in myself whenas I see
some so ready to deprive men of their lives, not by way
of justice, but only to satisfy their unnatural humours.
Not so did Soliman, nowadays emperor of the Turks ;
he is not yet known to have imitated his father and fore-
fathers, who were all inclined to slaughter these and those
and especially those of their own Ottoman blood ; for that
never, to our knowledge, hath he put any to death of
caprice, but only by way of justice and to preserve
military discipline. And yet he is a Mahometan and hath
reigned seven-and-twenty years. Some belike will say that
he let slaughter Abraino Bassa ^ his especial favourite ;
and I will tell you what is said thereof at Venice of men
versed in the Turkish Court. They affirm that Soliman,
finding himself ill-served of Abraino in the wars against
the Persians, he having failed to execute certain orders

1 i.e. Ibrahim Pasha.

1 63

which he had given him, determined to rid himself of
him ; but for that, in the beginning, whenas Abraino
was in favour, he had given him a very ample safe-
conduct and was loath to fail of his word and troth, he
several times took counsel with his priests, who (I know
not on what laws they founded that their decision) resolved
him that, an he let slaughter Abraino in his sleep, he
would not break the safe-conduct ; and certain it is that
the hapless Abraino was put to death, whilst asleep. But
it irketh me to go straying thus amongst slain folk, you
others having told of so many thereof and I myself of
some ; wherefore, wishing henceforth to leave these melan-
choly matters, full of blood and tears, and tell that for
which I set myself to speak, I will say but this word, to
wit, that, like as it was natural to the Appii to be enemies
of the Roman populace and as the Scipios were fated to
conquer in Africa, even so meseemeth it is proper unto
these English kings to exterminate those of their own
blood and persecute the nobility, to massacre ecclesiastics
and steal the good of the church.

Now, to come to my proposition, you must know that
Edward, King of England, he, I mean, who was so dire an
enemy to the realm of France, waged also sore war with the
Scots and harassed them amain, as is to be read in the
English chronicles. He took to wife the daughter of the
Count of Hainault and begat on her divers sons, of whom
the first-born, called also Edward, Prince of Wales, a young
man very famous in war, overcame the French army not far
from Poitiers and taking King John prisoner at that feat of
arms, sent him to his father in England. King Edward,
then, being at war with the Scots, bestowed upon William
Montague, his captain, the earldom of Salisbury, for that
he had fortified Roxburgh in the Marches of Scotland and

164

achieved other goodly emprises, and honourably married
him to a very noble young lady ; after which he despatched
him into Flanders in company of the Earl of Suffolk, where
they were both made prisoners by the French and carried
to the Louvre at Paris. Meanwhile the Scots laid siege to
Salisbury Castle, where the countess comported herself no
whit as a delicate young lady or as a timid woman, but
approved herself a Camilla or a Penthesilea ; governing
her soldiers with such prudence, valiance and fortitude and
harassing her enemies on such wise that they were con-
strained, hearing that the king was on his way to succour
the place, to raise the siege.

The king, who had already departed Warwick and came
towards Salisbury, to offer the Scots battle, hearing that
they were gone away, was about to turn back, but, being
notified of the great breaches which they had made in
Salisbury Castle, determined to go view it. The countess,
whose name was Alice, being advertised of the king's
coming, made such necessary preparations as were possible
in so short a time and so soon as she heard that he drew
near the castle, went incontinent to meet him, having first
let open all the gates of the place. Now she was the
fairest and lovesomest lady of all the island and much as
she overpassed all the others in beauty, she was no less
superior unto all in modesty and goodly manners. When
the king saw her so fair and so richly apparelled, the
ornaments of her head and of all her person marvellously
adding to her native charms, himseemed he had never in
his life beheld a fairer or lovesomer creature, and accordingly
he fell incontinent enamoured of her. She bowed herself
reverently before him and offered to kiss his hands ; the
which he suffered not, but courteously, I will not say
amorously, catching her in his arms, kissed her. All the

i65

barons and seigniors and other gentlemen, who were with
the king, abode beyond measure astonied at the sight of
such incomparable beauty and thought to see, not a mortal
woman, but something divine. But over all the rest the
king was full of extreme marvel and could not turn his eyes
elsewhither ; when the lady, who was a goodly and sweet
speaker, after she had done him reverence, thanked him
heartily and in apt terms for the succour which he had
prepared, saying that the Scots, so soon as they heard him
to have departed Warwick, had raised the siege, having no
heart to await him, and so, discoursing together of things
late occurred, they entered the castle in triumph and
rejoicing.

What while the dinner was making ready, the king, who
came to see the breaches made by the Scots artillery, felt
himself so battered by excess of love and so vast a breach
opened through the sight to his heart by the flashing of the
lady's fair eyes that he could find no means of restoring
himself; nay, the more he thought thereon, the greater
waxed the ruin done and himseemed momently he felt
himself smitten with the beams of those bright orbs nor
could turn his mind to otherwhat. He leant, all alone,
against a casement, thinking upon his love and debating
how he might acquire the lady's good will ; whereupon she,
seeing the king thus alone and pensive, accosted him
reverently and said to him, "Sire, why stand you thus in
deep thought and wear so melancholy a countenance ? It
behoveth you presently to rejoice and abide in mirth and
gladness, for that, without breaking a lance, you have driven
off your enemies, who avow themselves vanquished, since
they have not dared to await you, so that needs should you
be of good cheer and gladden with your blithe aspect
your soldiers and all your people, who depend upon your

1 66

countenance. For how shall they be gladsome, seeing that
you, who are their head and chief, show them not a good
countenance ? "

The king, hearing the sweetness of her angelical voice and

hearkening to what she said, determined to discover to her

his love and render her, if possible, amenable to his desires.

Marvellous, certes, and most searching are the flames of

love and exceeding various of operation, working divers

effects according to the various natures of those upon whom

they take hold. See yonder man, inflamed with most ardent

love, who day and night doth no otherwhat than complain

of the tormenting fire wherein he miserably consumeth, and

bemoaning himself to his friends and fellows, hath a river

of words in his mouth, which floweth without stint and

never drieth up ; but, whenas he seeth his mistress and

thinketh to tell her how involved for her he is in mortal

anguish, he trembleth like a boy before his master and

falleth dumb on such wise that he cannot avail to utter a

word ; and so, burning in silence, he will "consume months

and years. Yet he, who thus trembleth and is silent in

the presence of a woman, would not budge a step for an

armed man or two and would not only well, but with a

bold and assured voice, speak out his reasons ^ before great

princes and kings. Another, again, no sooner falleth

enamoured and feeleth the liquid, subtle and venomous

fire of love course through all his veins, leaving not a

drachm [of blood] in him but is all a-boil, than he becometh

so valiant that, whenassoever he hath occasion to bespeak

his mistress, he boldly discovereth to her all his suff"erance ;

nay, oftentimes, the first day of his love is also the first to

discover his flame.

> Syn. " declare his rights."

1 67

Of this latter sort was King Edward, who, seeing the
countess silent, thus bespoke her with piteous speech,
saying, with eyes full of tears, "Alack, dear my lady,
how far removed (woe is me !) are my thoughts from that
which you belike conceive ! " Thus saying, he was con-
strained to let sundry tears drop from his eyes ; then,
"I have a most tormenting thought," quoth he, "which
importuneth me sore nor is it possible for me to banish
it from my heart. It hath been born in me since I came
hither to you and I know not how to resolve myself thereof. "
The lady, seeing these the king's strange fashions, was silent
and dared not speak nor knew what to say ; whereupon,
with a piteous sigh, "How say you, lady?" asked he,
"can you not give me any comfort?" She, somewhat
reassured and thinking everything save that which was in
effect, answered, saying, "Sire, I know not what succour
to proffer you, unknowing what ill it is which seemeth so
to oppress you. An you be sorrowful that the King of
Scotland hath wasted our country, the hurt is not such in
truth as to merit that so great a person should afflict
himself ; more by token that, Godamercy, you are in case
to requite the Scots therefor with double scathe, as you have
otherwhiles done. Sire, it is time to come dine and leave
these thoughts."

The king, thereupon, taking courage, said to her, "Alack,
dear my lady, I feel my heart burst in my body for excess
of anguish and must needs, an I would live, discover to
you the secret of my soul and the cause of my tormenting
pain, meseeming it were unfitting both to you and to myself
that I should make others cognizant thereof. I must tell
you, then, that, when I arrived at Salisbury and saw your
incredible and divine beauty, your discreet and modest
manners, your grace and valiance and all the other gifts

, i6S

which shine in you like gems enchased in bright and
burnished gold, I felt myself incontinent your prisoner
and was enkindled on such wise by the divine rays of those
your fair eyes that I am no longer mine own master, but
depend upon you in and for all ; so that my life and death
are in your hands. If it please you receive me for yours
and have compassion upon me, I shall live the gladdest
and joyfullest man in the world ; but, if, of my ill fortune,
you show yourself contrary to this my love and deign not
to solace the fierce pain which goeth visibly consuming me,
little by little, like wax before the fire, I shall speedily end
my days, it being as little possible to me to live without
your favour as it is to a man to live without a soul. "

With this the king made an end of his speech, awaiting
the lady's response, and she, when she saw that he was
silent, with grave and modest countenance thus replied to
him, saying, "If, sire, other than you had held this
discourse to me, I know well what my reply should have
been ; but, knowing you do but divert yourself and take
your disport of me by way of jest, nay, beHke you do it to
try me, I will tell you, to end this parley, that meseemeth
contrary to all right and reason that so generous and exalted
a prince as yourself should think (much less offer) to bereave
me of my honour, which should be dearer to me than my
life. Nor can I anywise believe that you make so little
account of my father and my husband, who for you are
prisoners in the hands of the King of France, our mortal
enemy. Certes, sire, you would be very little valued, if
this your ill-regulated desire were known, and eke of me
you would never gain aught, inasmuch as I have never
thought (and still less do I presently think,) to put my
consort to shame, for that the marriage-faith, which I vowed
to him, when he espoused me, I mean to keep pure and

\

169

bright, what while I abide on life. Nay, were it in my
thought to do such wickedness with whosoever it might
be, it would behove you, sire, for the sake of the services
of my father, my husband and all my kinsfolk, sharply to
rebuke me thereof and deal me due chastisement therefor.
Wherefore do you, noble sir, you who use to overcome and
subjugate others, overcome and subdue yourself; put away
from your heart these disorderly and dishonourable desires
and take thought to the conservation and augmentation of
the realm."

Meanwhile, those who were with the king, seeing these
strait discoursements between himself and the countess,
imagined that they spoke of the siege and of the past
war ; and at this juncture up came the seneschal and
announced that the dinner was ready. The king ac-
cordingly went and seated himself at table, but ate little
or nothing, al^iding all pensive and miscontent. Whenas-
soever he had commodity thereof, he fixed his greedy and
impassioned eyes upon the lady and so, seeking to assuage
the poignant flames which cruelly consumed him, he still
made them fiercer and like the bird taken in the lime,
entangled himself the faster in the amorous snare. The
barons and others marvelled amain to see this un-
wonted constraint on his part, but knew not withal to
hit upon the true cause thereof. The king sojourned that
day at Salisbury, viewing the breaches made by the Scots
and reasoning at length thereof with his officers, but still
had in mind the lady's sage replies, and the truer and
honester he esteemed them, the more he fretted himself
therefor, despairing of being able to accomplish his intent,
which was all fixed upon taking amorous pleasure with her.
Marry, it is a significant thing that well-nigh all these
wanton lovers, whenas they are in company with their

I70

fellows, if they have any spark of civility or gallantry,
still praise those ladies whom they love, uplifting them
with words of honour to the third heaven, and are never
weary of exalting and commending them. Moreover, in
general, when they have given them all the praises which
occur to them, for beauty, lovesomeness, gentilesse, modesty,
sprightliness, prudence, fair fashions and urbanity, the rarest
and sublimest virtue which they most magnificently extol
in them and study to celebrate in song is that (never
sufficiently to be praised in every woman) of chastity and
modesty. This virtue is holden of such worth and such price
in women and rendereth them so worshipful and worthy
of true admiration that, had they all the graces and laud-
able parts which behove unto the feminine sex, yet lacked
this alone, they would altogether lose their reputation and
their honour and become common women. Now these
lovers, albeit in their mistresses they so praise the precious
treasure of chastity, are nevertheless, if in effect they
know them to be chaste, sore chagrined thereat and would
have them be most chaste, rigid and severe with all other
men, so but they themselves find them pliable and amen-
able unto their own dishonest appetites ; wherefore, availing
not to accomplish their lascivious desire, that chaste mind
and modest resolution, which they used before so to praise
and commend, they presently call cruelty, arrogance and
pridefulness. So was it with King Edward, who, seeing
that the lady persevered in her chaste purpose and nowise
inclined unto his prayers, but showed herself ever frowarder
and more unpliant, declared her to be a fierce tigress, a
most intractable and cruel woman. Then, having no time
to sojourn at Salisbury, for other affairs which befell, but
hoping to find a better occasion to accomplish his purpose,
he arose on the morrow betimes and departed. At taking

171

leave of the lady, he bespoke her softly, beseeching her
be pleased to take better thought to his case and have
pity upon him, and she reverently answered him, saying
that she prayed God to put that fantasy out of his head
and give him the victory over his enemies.

Meanwhile, the earl her husband was liberated from
prison and being a little after, whether for hardships
suffered or for whatsoever other cause, assailed with a very
grievous sickness, presently died thereof, no succour avail-
ing him ; whereupon, he having no children, or male or
female, by Alice his wife nor other heir to succeed him,
the earldom of Salisbury reverted to the king's hand. The
lady, beyond measure woeful at the death of her husband,
retired, after some days, to the house of her father,
Richard, Earl of Warwick, who, for that he was one of
the king's councillors, abode in London. There was then
war in Brittany between Charles of Blois, who had usurped
the duchy, and the Countess of Montfort, the sometime
Duchess. The King of France favoured Charles of Blois
and Edward lent all the aid in his power to the countess,
having first made a truce with the Scots. Now by reason
of this war he then abode in London and knowing that
Alice had retired thither, he thought to get some solace-
ment of his love, for that he still had this thought at
heart and might nowise turn his mind elsewhither. The
lady was now from five to six-and-twenty years old and
was (as hath before been said) beyond measure fair, con-
joining with her extreme beauty and lovesomeness and her
goodly fashions supreme honesty ; the which for a while
occasioned the king a very bitter life and in the end
brought her eternal glory, as you shall hear.

The king, then, being more in love than ever and doing
all that was apt to gain a lady's love and favour and

172

withal winning to nothing profitable for his desires, was
like to despair, but, being either unwilling or unable to
do himself free from loving, neither knew to die, nor did
it anywise profit him to abide on life. He had now more
than nine months loved thus unhappily and yet, whenas-
soever he saw her, he was afire with new desire, loving
her over every created thing and doing her honour and
reverence, not as his subject, but as the sole empress of
the world. Algates, he so far restrained himself and
held the curb of his appetite on such wise in hand that,
as most he might, he kept that his most fervent passion
hidden from all but one most trusty chamberlain of his,
whom he had made cognizant of all and with whom he
oftentimes discoursed of the lady and of her cruel obduracy
and rigour, himseeming he thus somewhat allayed his
amorous sufferance.

Every lover, indeed, should be secret, for that love re-
quireth secrecy and fidelity, and not only doth it behove
him to be sparing of words which may give others cognizance
and token what lady he loveth, but he should eke be very
discreet in his actions, so he may not by over-many passings
before his mistress's house or frequent paying court to her
with ravings and rodomontades after the Spanish fashion,
show forth to the vulgar that which should be kept most
secret. I will not presently speak of those who no sooner
see a woman who pleaseth them than they begin to court
her with more ceremonies than are practised in the [Sistine]
chapel at Rome and demean themselves on such wise that
in less than a week the whole city is ware that they
have set their thoughts upon such a lady. Such men, an
their mistress go to church, follow in her footsteps and
forsake not her traces night or day. Moreover, in church
they post themselves over against her, fixing their eyes

173

on her face on such wise that it seemeth they are all
intent thereon and are altogether absorbed in contempla-
tion thereof. The same fashion they keep at balls, sports
and entertainments and accompany her aljout the streets
with hot and heavy sighs, so that she can take no step
but she still hath the noyous sound of sighs in her ears
and the unseemly fashions of these gallant lovers before
her eyes. Nor are they content with these public ex-
travagances, fearing belike lest men remark not that which
they do, but they must e'en notify them thereof with
their own mouths ; inasmuch as they can speak of no
otherwhat, whereassoever they find themselves, than of
their mistresses, and themseemeth they should be holden
of more account for these their fooleries. But God keep
all ladies, who have aught of gentilesse, from these brag-
gart crackbrains, who are all, to boot, so sage that, an
they get but a kind look, they publish it in the market-
places. You may conceive, then, what they would do,
should they receive of their mistresses any especial favour.
Methinketh they would send trumpeters through every
corner of the quarter, to proclaim aloud these their
amorettes. Now, because I blame these shameless lovers
and admonish ladies to keep themselves from them, as
from the plague, you must not think but that I com-
mend (and that yet more earnestly) those who love secretly
and order themselves on such wise that they contrive to
give their mistresses to know that they are their servants,
without making an outcry, without filling the air with
sighs, as if they had a volcano in their entrails, and
without making the folk aware of aught. There be some
who, an a man love a lady of quality, will not have
him manifest his love to any one in the world, but hold
that he should burn and sufier in silence, except he have

174

of his own resort a means of discovering himself to the
beloved lady ; but I am of a contrary opinion and am
convinced that it behoveth whoso loveth, be he high or
low, to have one trusted friend and no more, who shall
be the confidant of his thoughts ; inasmuch as it is beyond
doubt that whoso loveth fervently hath oftentimes his eyes
and mind blinded on such wise that, in many cases which
betide, he may not of himself avail to disentangle or help
himself without others' aid. Certain it is that, except he
have some one to counsel him, he will commit enormous
errors and hurried away by blind passion, will recklessly
carry his unbridled wishes into execution ; nay, belike he
will do such a folly that Solomon, with all his wisdom,
might not avail to amend it. But, an he have a friend,
whom he hath by long experience proved faithful and
prudent, he may freely discharge and unburthen himself
into his bosom of every oppression of his thoughts and
every secret of his heart ; whereupon the friend, having
the eyes of his understanding unobscured of amorous
passion, will know to counsel him of the whole without
peril and will, according to need, devise a thousand oppor-
tune expedients, whereof whoso is enamoured and tangled
in the toils of love is unapt to avail himself. Moreover,
an the lover find himself involved by shifts of adverse
fortune in a thousand annoys, if he see himself scorned
and his service undear to the lady of his thoughts, how,
I say, may he avail, alone and unaided, to succour him-
self and to find a remedy for his chagrins, except he
have one to whom he may impart his sufferances and
with whom he may bytimes take counsel which way is
the surest and which means the aptest to be taken ?
For a pleasure and a contentment which the lover hath,
but knoweth not to whom to impart it, yieldeth not half

175

the joyance afTorded l)y that which is shared with a friend ;
for that the joys and consolations which Love giveth his
followers, an they remain shut in one sole breast, fall sadly
short of complete fruition and abide cold and languid ;
whereas those which are discovered to a trusty friend wax
ever greater and afford new solacement, whenassoever they
are recalled. And that which I say of a man, I am fain
to believe behoveth no less unto a woman in love, women
being in general weaker and more delicately fashioned
than men and by nature more compassionate and pitiful
and less apt to support the amorous flames, an they be
excessive ; nay, they love (forgive me, you men,) more
fervently and with more tenderness than we, unknowing
to feign and dissemble as many men do, who account
it a triumph to beguile this woman and that.

To return to our story, every one knew the king to be
afire with love, for the unwonted life which he led ; but
whom he loved there was none might divine, for that he,
not to betray himself, paid great court to all ladies and did
all reverence, according as their degree merited ; but over
all and far more than all was the fair Alice revered and
adored by him. She, being very shrewd and quick-witted,
lightly perceived that the king's thought had not changed
for change of place and that he was still the same as he
had discovered himself to her at Salisbury. Algates, she
recked nothing of his love and was no whit moved from
her chaste purpose, but inclined herself unto him as king
and seignior, whenas it behoved her do him honour and
reverence, showing withal I know not what in her
countenance, which gave him to understand that he laboured
in vain to acquire and enjoy her love. However, the coyer
and more contrary she showed herself, the more enkindled
waxed he and the more did he enforce himself with

176

amorous gestes and open demonstrations to possess her of
that which was already most manifest in her eyes. Where-
fore the discreet and lovesome AHce, seeing the king's
malady wax greater and go from ill to worse nor having
withal the least thought of compleasing him, determined,
so she might afford him no occasion of doing aught which
might bring reproach upon herself, to eschew everything
which might foster his passion for her. Accordingly, she
fell to going seldom out of the house and showed herself
but rarely at the window ; and whenas it behoved her go
abroad, she clad herself very meanly and avoided all streets
and places where herseemed she might encounter the king.

Edward soon became aware of this her practice and
feeling himself like to die for excess of amorous chagrin,
was well-nigh for using force ; but, for that the true lover
never despaireth, nay, still goeth with every endeavour
ensuing his mistress's steps, as doth a sagacious dog the
tracks of a wild beast, and seeketh till he e'en find some
vestige of her, he wrought to such purpose that Alice
seldom left the house but he knew both when and whither
she went ; wherefore he went three or four times to meet
her and at the least to feed his eyes on her sweet and
lovesome sight. She, as hath been said, put off her wonted
habiliments and wore coarse clothes, that savoured more of
the nun than of the laywoman ; but the canker had already
eaten so deep into the king's breast that all the lady's
devices to allay it brought him no whit of profit ; for that,
as truly saith our gentlest Petrarch, never was arrow-wound
abated for bow-slacking ; and moreover, such was Alice's
native beauty that, had she in very deed donned the
roughest and meanest stuff in the world, she had still
showed most fair. The king, then, seeing that for nothing
he could do would she vouchsafe to take pity of his love.

177

let sundry whiles bespeak her by his trusty chamberlain,
promising her all that she might avail to ask him by word
of mouth and plying her with such loving words as men
•ire wont to use on the like occasions. But she, being
steadfastly established in her chaste purpose, gave the
chamberlain the same replies as she had given the king at
Salisbury ; he might say what he would and use as much
eloquence and art in speech as ever Demosthenes or Cicero,
but never could he get of her a fair answer. When the king
learned this her obduracy, which himseemed was over-harsh,
it caused him infinite chagrin ; nevertheless, he forbore not
to try the lady's mind afresh and that thrice or four times ;
but all was labour in vain, inasmuch as she was resolved
rather to die than lose her chastity.

Now Edward, seeing that nothing he might do profited
him aught, nay, that the thing went daily from bad to
worse, misdoubted him her father was the cause of that
her great rigour, for he might not believe that such
unyielding obduracy might anywise harbour in a young
woman's heart, except it were assiduously fostered and
fomented by some person of authority. This belief was to
him a cause of infinite melancholy and of supreme chagrin,
forasmuch as strict justice is a grievous offence unto whoso
loveth ; wherefore, after revolving various thoughts and
devices in himself and concluding to reserve force for a
last resort, he bethought himself, being blinded with concu-
piscence, frankly to bespeak her father and ply him with
cajoleries, blandishments and promises of advancement in
estate to such effect that he should by his means get posses-
sion of his daughter. See, now, to what blindness and to
what enormous error doth this lustful and disorderly passion
bring the man who suffereth himself to be overcome withal,
so that it maketh him believe it a light thing to persuade a

VOL. IV. 12

178*

father to make traffic of his own daughter and lend her
out at hire, as she were a hackney. Marry, such as these
seem altogether to have lost the use of their reason ; for
that, if indeed there be whiles found fathers (and far oftener
mothers) who are so ribald and so little worth that they
sell their own daughters for a price, as butchers sell meat
at the shambles, we cannot withal but blush for ourselves,
whenassoever we think to offer to persuade them to so
shameful a wickedness, much more impudently to bespeak
them of such a thing. King Edward, indeed, was throughly
overcome with blind appetite and beside himself, when he
bethought himself to bespeak Earl Richard of his case ;
wherefore, having come to this determination and pondered
and repondered that which he should say, he imparted the
whole to his trusty chamberlain and sought his counsel of
this also. The chamberlain, who was a discreet and well-
advised youth, himseeming out of all reason to seek to use
a father's help in debauching his daughter, declared that it
were ill done of the king to unbosom himself of the matter
to Earl Richard and counselled him to be rather on his
guard against him, of all men, alleging many reasons
which moved him to say this and avouching himself firmly
persuaded that the father would never consent to do such
a wickedness. Moreover, come thereof what might, him-
seemed, quoth he, it was an exceeding dishonourable act
and one that might belike one day engender some parlous
error, to require the earl of such a thing. But he preached
to deaf ears ; the king, having gotten this maggot in his
head and himseeming it should profit him, would e'en put
it in execution at all hazards.

Now Earl Richard was a very doughty man of his person
and renowned for warlike prowess, whose skill and valour
had, a little before, been signally approved in the wars

179

waged in Guienne and had contributed no little to the
advantage of the English. He had been reared from a
boy with the king's father and had long sojourned at court
in high repute and consideration, having been oftentimes
set to execute honourable emprises, of which he had still
acquitted himself with worship ; wherefore he was beloved
and respected of all in the island. Edward, then, being
resolved to bespeak him of his case and to require him of
aid, sent to him, saying that he had matters of confidence
to impart to him, and the earl thereupon came forthright
to the palace, where the king awaited him all alone in
a privy closet. There, having made due obeisance to his
sovereign and the door being shut by the latter's command-
ment, he abode expecting his commands. Edward, who
was seated upon a camp-bed, bade the earl sit by his side,
and albeit he, for reverence, consented not thereto, in the
end he seated himself there, by commandment of the king,
who would e'en have it so. The latter abode awhile,
without saying a word ; then, after heaving many broken
sighs, he thus began to speak, with eyes full of tears. "I
have caused you, earl mine," quoth he, "come hither on
a most grave occasion of mine, which importeth no less to
me than my proper life ; nay, meknoweth not if in any
chance that hath aye befallen me (and withal there have
befallen me very many parlous chances) I have ever found
myself in so fashions and noyous a predicament as this
wherein I presently am ; for that I feel myself so outwarred
and overmastered of my sufferings that, except some succour
be shortly afforded them, they will most certainly bring me
to the miserablest death ever man died. Happy, indeed,
may he be styled who governeth his senses with the curb
of reason nor sufiereth himself be carried away of his
unbridled desires, and whoso deemeth otherwise, I hold

i8o

should be called not a man, but rather an animal without
reason ; for that in this alone are we different from the
beasts, that all they do they do and carry into execution
in obedience to their natural instinct and in all things ensue
appetite ; but we can and should measure our actions with
the measure of reason and choose that which seemeth to
us justest and most in conformity with rectitude. And if
bytimes we stray from the true and right road, the fault
is e'en our own, who, enamoured of a seeming and false
delight, suffer ourselves be drawn by our disorderly appetites
out of the right path and the sure way and run headlong
into profound abysses. Wretch that I am and thrice
wretched, who see and apprehend all these things and
know how parlously my unruly appetite lureth me forth of
the straight road, yet cannot nor may return to the true
path and turn my back upon these fond thoughts ! I say,
I cannot, but I should say, I will not ; nay, indeed, I would
e'en, but I have suffered myself to be so far carried away
of my passions, of my appetites and of my ill-regulated
desires and have given so loose a rein to my unseemly
wishes that I may no longer avail to turn back. I am
as one allured into a thickset wood in pursuit of a wild
beast, who followeth so far that he after knoweth not
to find his way back ; nay, the more he goeth about
therein, the more he entangleth and loseth himself in the
wood and the farther he strayeth from the true road.
Now I have said this much to you, earl mine, not
because I am unaware of my grievous error, but for that
you, seeing that I am no longer mine own master nor
have my liberty in hand, may concern yourself for me
and have compassion on me ; for that, to tell the truth,
I am so entangled in the snare of my unbridled desires
that, although I see the good, nevertheless I cleave fast

I8i

unto the ill. I, woe is me, I, who have so gloriously
overcome mine enemies by land and by sea, I who have
made the English name revered, honoured and dreaded
throughout all France, feel myself so boundeii and over-
come and brought low by a headstrong and disorderly
appetite that it is no longer in my power to loose and
uplift myself anew. This my life, which may rather be called
death, is so full of pain and mortal anguish that I am the
harbourage of all ills and the sole receptacle of every
misery. And what availing excuse can be found for my
default? Certes, were there any to be found therefor, it
were exceeding weak, frivolous and vain. Only one there
is that, I being yet young and a widower, meseemeth
not unnatural that I should have suffered myself be en-
snared in the toils of love. And since I have striven sore
to regain the reins and curb of my desires and my every
endeavour hath proved vain, I know not what remedy
to essay for my tormenting pains, save to cast myself,
dear my earl, into your arms. You, of your favour, in
my father's time, often and often risked and whiles shed
your blood in a thousand emprises, which were no less
perilous than glorious, and but a little while agone you have
abundantly done the like for me in Scotland and in France ;
nay, you have upholden me (who knoweth it better than
I ?) in many parlous cases with the best of counsel and have
shown me the right way to bring my undertakings to the
easiest and most desirable issue ; nor have you once shown
yourself anywise backward or laggard in doing me service
or advantage. Why, then, should I not look to you in my
grievous need for all such aid as man may expect from
man? Who is there will refuse to spend his speech in
my favour, when he hath already spent his blood for my
profit ? For I, O earl, seek of you none other succour

l82

than of words, for the which, an they bear that fruit which
I may hope and expect, so but you consent to serve me
with a good heart, I proffer you to share my kingdom
with you and to give you such part thereof as shall be
most to your liking. And if belike that which I shall
ask of you seem to you over-hard to put in execution,
consider, I pray you, that a service is the more accept-
able, the more difficult it is to do, the more travail and
unease are endured thereanent and the more pains he
taketh who studieth to serve his friend. Think likewise
what it is to have a king at your command, of whom
you may avail yourself at your every will and of whose
all you may dispose as it shall most please you. You
have four sons and cannot honourably content them all ;
wherefore I pledge you my faith that I will make such
provision for the three younger that they shall have no
cause to envy their elder brother. You know, moreover,
how I know to gratify him who serveth me. Where-
fore, an you be of my mind anent that which I desire
of you, you shall speedily see the fruit that will ensue
to you thereof; for, if I have not been ungrateful unto
others, much less will I be so unto you, in whose hands
I put my life and my death." Here the king was silent,
hindered with heavy sobs and choked with hot tears,
could speak no farther.

The earl, hearing these words from his king, whom he
no little loved, and seeing the tears which bore manifest
witness of his enduring and grievous sufferance, nor knowing
the cause thereof and imagining everything save that for
which he was summoned, was moved with the utmost com-
passion and made the king so ample a proffer of himself,
of his sons and of all he had that to do more was im-
possible. "Do but command me, my lord," quoth he,

i83

without any hesitation, " that which you would have me do ;
for I swear to you and pledge you my faith, the which is
already bounden to you by homage, that in so far as my
tongue, my wit and my powers may avail, you shall be
faithfully and loyally served by me. Nor am I bounden
to serve you with these alone ; nay, but, in case of need,
I am ready to expose my life for you to the hazard of a
thousand deaths." Who indeed in like case had answered
his prince otherwise ? And who had thought that the king
should make such a request of Earl Richard, whom he knew
to be a gentleman of honour ? But oftentimes there betide
things past all human belief, as in truth was this.

The king, thereupon, all dyed a thousand colours in the
face, but yet made bold by love, bespoke him on this wise,
saying, in a voice that trembled withal somewhat, " With
your Alice alone, dear my earl, it resteth to make me
infinitely content and you and all your house happy; for
that I love her more than my life and am so enkindled by
her divine beauties that I cannot live without her. Where-
fore, an you desire to serve me, an my life be dear to you,
do you persuade her to love me and have compassion upon
me. Nor must you think that I ask such a service of so
loyal and perfect a servant and friend as I have still reputed
and now more than ever repute you without extreme hearts-
grief and infinite shamefastness ; but be love my excuse in
your eyes, love which can far more than you or I and which
hath so bewitched me and ravished me forth of myself with
the goodly fashions of your Alice and hath so fixed my soul,
my heart and mine every thought upon her that without
her it is impossible for me to live. I have used mine every
endeavour and done all in my power to banish this love and
purge myself of so pestilent a venom ; but all my strength
hath proved vain and my wisdom hath profited me nothing.

i84

I who thought to conquer the whole world, who made no
account of a thousand armies and who thought to enter upon
a ball whenas I entered into battle, I am overcome and
captived, woe's me, by a young lady ! I, who have gloriously
overcome others, am presently unable to overcome myself!
Remember you not how many a time you and the Duke of
Lancaster have bespoken me, nay, whiles, to boot, chidden
me, for that I overwearied myself and that my much going
in chase of stags, boars and other wild beasts might bring
me great hurt ? Think you I underwent those fatigues,
those fasts, those vigils and exposures to the wind, the rain
and the freezing snows and ice of winter for my pleasure
and that I took delight in coursing, like one frenzied,
through valleys and over hills and mountains and passing
this and that water, without taking aught of repose ? Nay,
my earl, I sought by dint of ceaseless riding and going
bytimes afoot, of tireless exercising, of enduring such sore
hardships and toils as I underwent all day long and in fine
leading so hard and weariful a life, to tame and mortify
this my raging appetite, to the end that, if I broke not
or unlinked the mighty chains of so fervent and obstinate
a love, I might at the least somewhat loose them, and if
peace were not vouchsafed me, I might yet purchase me
some little truce. But meseemeth all was thrown away
and nothing availeth me ; nay, this my lively love thriveth
on hardships and waxeth hourly greater. Indeed, I live
not neither enjoy weal or repose save only in so much as
I see her or speak or think of her ; in fine, I am reduced
to such a pass, since she will no more hearken to my
messages nor reply to my letters, that needs must I either,
at the risk of shame and ruin to all our house, find a remedy
for my so anguishful, dire and tormenting sufferings or else
die thereof. Yet would I have death tarry as long as

I8S

possible and lie the last thing to which I have recourse ;
wherefore let it not irk you, my earl, to take that care of
my life whereof you see I have need, and if you desire
towns, lands, castles, offices, treasures, benefices of the
church or otherwhat in my power, here is a blank patent
subscribed with my hand and confirmed with my seal. Go
and let one of my secretaries write therein that which you
will, for all shall be no otherwise than well." With this
he placed the parchment, which he had made ready before-
hand, in the earl's hand and abode, with a fearful and
palpitating heart, all intent upon his lips, awaiting his
response.

The earl, hearing his lord's unseemly and dishonourable
request, waxed all red in the face, and cast the patent upon
the bed ; then, full of trouble, of wonderment, of stupefaction
and eke of honest indignation, he could not awhile unknot
his tongue to speak ; however, in the end, collecting himself,
he thus replied to the expectant and enamoured king,
saying, " 111, sire, at the pass whereat I presently find
myself, do I know what to say, seeing myself reduced to
a most strait and perilous dilemma ; for that, an I offer to
do either one of the two things which occur to my mind,
it cannot but be to me a cause of exceeding great peril. I
am bounden to you by the bond of my troth that there shall
be nothing in the world, how hard and difficult soever it be,
but I will do it for your service and your assainment ; the
which I am resolved and intend to observe, for that I had
rather die than anywise fail of my faith. I will accordingly
set out to my daughter all that you require of me, together
with the manner on which I have heard it from you ; but
I must e'en remind you that I may pray her thereof, but
not enforce her ; suffice it that from my lips she shall learn
your whole mind. But, to enter upon another discourse, I

1 86

must tell you that I marvel and grieve no little at you. Be
it permitted me, my lord, rather freely to vent my bitter
chagrin with yourself than to have occasion to complain
unto others. It grieveth me infinitely that you should think
to put such an affront upon my blood, which was never
in whatsoever emprise sparing of itself for your service,
honour and benefit, whereas a worthy and honourable
guerdon might be looked for from you. Tell me, is this
the recompense which I and my children should have
expected for our devotion ? An you choose not to give us
of your own, an it please you not to greaten us, at the
least seek not to bereave us of honour and brand us with
eternal infamy. Nay, what worse could we expect from
our chiefest enemy ? Will you, sire, go about at one blow
to despoil my daughter of honour, me of every contentment
and my sons of courage to show themselves in public and
would you bereave our house of its every glory ? Do you
offer to put so unseemly a blot upon the lustre and limpidity
of my blood ? Are you minded to commit so great an error
and would you have me be the minister of mine own total
ruin and like a shameless pander, lead mine own daughter
to the stews ? Think, sire, think that unto you it pertaineth,
should others seek to injure me, to address yourself to my
defence and to lend me every aid and favour ; and if you
offend against me, whither can I recur for succour ? If the
hand which should heal me is that which woundeth me,
who shall give me solace and who shall apply medicine
thereto. Wherefore, judge you yourself if I am aggrieved
at you and if you give me just cause to complain and to
send up piteous cries to heaven, putting aside carnal
appetite awhile and looking right and reason in the face,
for that other judge I seek none than your own un-
conquered and valiant soul. Moreover, I feel the utmost

iS7

wonderment at your case, bethinking me of the things said
by you ; nay, I marvel thereat more belike than would
another, for that meseemeth I have, better than any other,
known your usances from our boyhood unto these days
and never, meseemed, were you addicted unto amorous
pleasures, but were still occupied with arms and other
exercises ; wherefore it seemeth to me so rare and strange
a chance that you should now have become the prisoner
of love that I know not what to think thereof and if it
pertained to me to reprove you thereof, I should say to
you things which would put you beside yourself; but these
I leave it to your own conscience to set before you. Bethink
you, sire, of that which, whilst yet a lad, you did with
Roger of Mortimer, who governed Queen Isabella, your
mother and sister of Charles the Fair, King of France ;
and how, not content with the cruel death inflicted on him,
you caused your said mother also die miserably in prison,
albeit God knoweth if your suspicions of them were well
founded. Pardon me, sire, if I bespeak you so boldly and
consider your case better. Have you forgotten that you
are yet in arms and involved in the utmost concern
and anxieties by reason of the great preparations which
the King of France maketh by land and by sea, to try an
he may avail to render you the counterchange of the ever-
memorable victory which God gave you over his troops,
both by sea and in France ? And now that you are daily
to pass the seas and forestalling your enemy, to assure your
dominions of Aquitaine, have you given yourself in prey
to deceitful love, have you opened your bosom to its noxious
flames and suffered them little by little to consume your
bones and your marrow ? Where, my lord, is the loftiness
of your bright, subtle and ingenious understanding ? Where
is the courtesy, the magnanimity and the many other gifts,

i88

which, joined to your valour, render you formidable and
dreadful to your enemies, lovesome to your friends and
venerable to your subjects ? That, moreover, which you told
me you purpose ultimately to do, an my daughter complease
you not, I can nowise allow to be an act worthy of a true
and valiant king ; nay, but I must frankly avouch it to be the
baseness of a lewd and pusillanimous man and the fashion
of the worst and cruellest of tyrants. Ah, sire, God put
such a thought out of your head ! For that, an you begin,
for idle appetite of lust, to force the wives and daughters of
your subjects, this island will be no more a kingdom, but
will deserve to be called a den of thieves and assassins ; for,
where justice is not, what fair or good thing can be said to
be ? If you can, with blandishments, with promises and
with gifts, persuade my daughter to comply with your
desires, I may indeed complain of her, as of a young
woman little continent and unmindful of her ancestors'
honour ; but of you I could say no otherwhat than that you
have done as men commonly do, who seek to have as many
women as they may at their pleasure, whilst she will abide
with such shame as commonly resteth upon unchaste women.
Nor can I believe that a woman should have such empery
over you as you tell me Alice hath ; nay, these are but
words such as every lover useth to say, to show that he
loveth fervently. But think a little if this be seemly ; nay,
it is e'en out of all seemliness and reason that she who
should be a subject be a superior and that he obey who
should command. Is this the constancy, sire, is this the
fortitude, is this the strength of mind and the assurance
for which the people of England look from you, that they
may live with a mind at ease, trusting to have a valiant
and magnanimous king ? I misdoubt me sore the prudence,
the justice, the liberality, the urbanity and courtesy, the

i89

foresight to see and provide for future chances and the
untiring and continual diligence, wherewithal, whenas we
were in the land of Picardy, you governed your army and
maintained it in such harmony that, albeit it consisted of
various and divers peoples assembled, there was never the
least discord therein, no longer exist in you ; no, nor that
soldierly craft and subtlety which did you so much honour
aforetime and brought you so much profit. But meseemeth
the worst of all is that you know your error and confess it
with your own mouth and yet you seek not to amend it ;
nay, you go seeking to cast a veil and a semblance of
honesty over the sin and the default which are in you and
cannot avail thereto. Marry, sire, I would lovingly remind
you that you acquired exceeding great glory by overcoming
King Philip at sea, routing and dispersing that great arma-
ment of his, which numbered four hundred sail, and laying
siege, under his very eyes, to Tournay, that famous city,
whose inhabitants were whilom holden in such esteem and
were anciently called Nervii. Nor gat you less glory by
conquering him at Cressy, near to Abbeville, where on the
French side there died the King of Bohemia, come to
Philip's succour, and many barons, whom it were longsome
to recount, name by name ; and eke much honour accrued
to you by the taking of Calais and by innumerable other
emprises of you achieved. But I tell you, sire, that you will
achieve a far greater and more glorious triumph by conquer-
ing yourself, for that this is the true victory and that which
bringeth most honour. It little availed Alexander the Great
to have conquered so many provinces and discomfited so
many armies and after to suffer himself be overcome and
subdued of his own passions ; nay, this made him much
less than Philip his father, albeit the latter won not so many
kingdoms as his son. Wherefore, my lord, do you, I

I go

prithee, conquer this fond appetite and seek not by so
dishonourable an action to lose that which you have so
gloriously acquired nor to put so foul a stain upon the
brightness of your glory. Think not that I say so much
to you thereof because I am loath to execute that which I
promised you, for that I fully intend to do it ; but, being
grown much more jealous of your honour than you yourself
are either of yours or of mine, I counsel you and remind you
of that which meseemeth is to your honour and profit.
Marry, if you reck not of yourself, who, in God's name,
should reck thereof? Who shall concern himself with your
affairs, an you take not thought to them and to yourself?
But, if you have understanding, as I know you have, you
will bethink yourself that a brief, dishonourable and fleeting
pleasure taken by force with a woman can afford you scant
delight and may belike be the cause of infinite mischief.
For myself and my sons I desire of you neither wealth nor
rank nor other good, save that which my services and theirs
rightfully deserve. Wherefore keep you your script and
give it to others, who, so but they have monies and dignities,
reck not how they are come by. For my part, inasmuch as
I may, I will never have aught cast up against me or against
my children or descendants which may with reason make us
blush and change countenance ; for you well know how
some are scorned and pointed at with the finger who have,
under past kings, waxed rich and great by the doing of
dishonourable offices, though they were erst of mean con-
dition and most ignoble. Bethink you, sire, that it is no
great while since you yourself, being with the army against
the Scots, rebuked one of these latter to his face, in that he
had, being your father's pimp, been from a barber made an
earl, and how you threatened him, an he changed not his
fashions, to send him back to his ancient craft. With this,

sire, I will make an end of my long discourse, huml)ly
craving you of pardon, if I have said aught that mispleaseth
you, and beseeching you receive all in such spirit as I have
spoken ; and now, with your leave, I will get me home to
my daughter and will punctually do that which you require
of me." Thereupon, awaiting no other reply from the king,
he departed the chamber and went his ways, revolving many
and various thoughts upon that which had passed.

His reasonings stung the king's sick and impassioned
soul to the quick, so that he was well-nigh beside him-
self and knew not what to say, and indeed they pierced
him the sharplier inasmuch he was not so blind but that
he saw the earl said sooth and had bespoken him as a
loyal, affectionate and faithful servant. Accordingly he
began very particularly to consider all that had passed
between them and many of the things said touched him
on such wise that he repented him sore of his rashness
in requiring his mistress's father of means to compass his
desire, himseeming withal his request was unseemly and
dishonourable; wherefore he well-nigh determined to leave
that his amorous enterprise and altogether to rid himself
thereof. But, whenas he thought upon Alice's lovesome
beauty and upon those her goodly fashions and manners,
he changed his mind in a trice and said in himself, "Ah,
woe is me ! I should indeed be fond and foolish an I
thought to be able to live and not love this woman. I
feel but too surely that all my powers and all those of
my realm, to boot, might not suffice me to leave her
and put her forth of my heart. How can I pretend so
lightly to loose myself from this indissoluble bond and
do myself free from so tenacious and fervent a love ?
How shall this be anywise possible ? Who is there
can procure but that I shall eternally hold her for my

192

sovereign lady and mistress? Certes, methinketh, no one.
Alice was born to be she unto whom I was still to
abide subject and her alone to love and none other
woman. If, then, I know that I could do no otherwhat,
though I would, and that, an I could, I would not, what
booteth it to cudgel my brains ? I love Alice and shall
still love her, betide thereof what will. The earl is her
father and hath spoken as a father, and I ought not to
have discovered myself to him. But what then ? I am
the king and meseemeth it is no great crime for me to
love my vassal's daughter ; I am not the first who hath
done this, nor yet shall I be the last." On the other
hand, as the fervour of his heated thought began to
abate, there entered his brain some ray of reason, which
made him see the ill and scandal which might ensue of
that his love and in some measure took the edge off the
keenness of his amorous intent ; so that, torn by conflicting
opinions, now full of hope and anon altogether bereft
thereof, passing from one thought to another and him-
seeming impossible even to quench his passion for the
lady whom he so fervently loved, he ultimately determined
to await that which the earl should do with his daughter ;
wherefore he came forth of the closet and albeit all
heavy at heart and woeful and oppressed with grievous
thoughts, he enforced himself withal to hide his inward
sufferance under a blithe countenance.

Meanwhile the earl went straight to his lodging, pondering
and repondering that which the king had imparted to him,
and betook himself to his chamber ; where, after he had
debated many things in himself, knowing his daughter to
be at home and resolved to speak with her at length, he
let call her to him and she incontinent came thither without
delay. Her father caused her seat herself overagainst him

193

and began on this wise to l)espcak her, saying, " I am con-
vinced, dearest daughter mine, that thou wilt marvel no
little at that which I have presently to say to thee ; nay,
thou wilt the more marvel thereat and abide full of extreme
wonderment inasmuch as it will with reason seem to thee
that it nowise pertained unto me to do such an office with
thee. But for that of two ills it behoveth still to choose the
lesser, I doul^t not Init thou, being sage, even as I have
known thee from thy childhood, wilt make that same
election which I have myself made. As for me, daughter,
from the time when meseemed I began to have some cog-
nizance of good and evil, being yet a lad, to this present,
I have still made more account of honour than of life, for
that, in my judgment (such as it is), it is a far lesser evil to
die innocent and unsullied than to live dishonourably and
become the byword of the vulgar. Thou knowest what it is
lo be subject unto another's empery, whereas needs must
one oftentimes do the contrary of that he hath in mind and
do on a new habit, according to the nature of the times and
the will of his masters. Now what I have to say to thee is
that my lord the king let call me to him to-day and instantly
besought and constrained me with very warm prayers to
serve him in that which he should require and which (he
said) was of vital import to him, proffering me all I might
ask that was in his power. I, having been born the vassal
and servant of this crown, freely pledged him my sincere
faith that I would use mine every endeavour to execute all
he should command me, and he, hearing my free promise,
after many words, accompanied with sighs and tears, dis-
covered to me that he is so sore enamoured of thee and of
thy charms that he can nowise live without thy love. Now
who, in God's name, could ever have conceived that the
king would have bespoken me of such a matter ? " There-
VOL. IV. 13

194

upon the earl recounted the whole stor^ word for word,
of the discourse which had passed between the king and
himself and added, "Thou seest, daughter, to what a pass
my lavish and simple promises and the king's unbridled
desires have brought me. I told him that it is in my power
to entreat thee, but that enforce thee I cannot ; wherefore
I pray thee (and may the prayer avail a thousandfold !) that
thou consent to complease the king our lord. Bethink thee,
daughter mine, to make thy father a gift of thine unsullied
honour and chastity. The thing shall be done on such wise
that it will be kept hidden from all and it will, to boot, be
the means of making thy brothers the first barons of this
island. All this, daughter mine, I have been fain to tell
thee, not to fail of my word to the king ; but thou art sage
and discreet and if thou ponder that which I have said to
thee, I doubt not a jot but thou wilt make a choice worthy
of thee." And with this he was silent.

The young lady, what while her father bespoke her, waxed
on such wise red in the face for shame and was so enkindled
with chaste indignation that whoso saw her had accounted
her incomparably fairer and more charming than of wont.
Her two fair eyes showed like two sparkling stars, flashing
and darting their ardent rays ; her cheeks resembled two
incarnate roses, culled in April at that hour whenas the sun,
lashing his coursers forth of the Ganges, beginneth little by
little to dry the dewy grasses and to open all the flowers,
shut for the night-damp ; and her ivory neck, her marble
shoulders and alabaster bosom, suffused with the modest
vermeil of native and unsophisticated beauty, approved her
such as the poets feign Venus to have appeared on Ida to
the Trojan shepherd, between the other two goddesses, for
that she then showed herself far fairer than of wont, so she
might the lightlier overpass her companions in beauty and

195

grace. Now, when Alice perceived her father to have made
an end of his speech, she softly unloosed her tongue and
breaking her speech between orient pearls and precious
rubies,' began on this wise to answer him, saying all
disdainfully, "So sore do I marvel at you, father mine,
hearing you say a thing which I never thought to hear from
your lips, that, if every particle of my body were a tongue
of steel and my voice adamantine and untiring, methinketh
they would not suffice to express the least scantling of my
wonderment. Nay, indeed, I have cause at once to marvel
at and complain of you for ever and ever, seeing the little
account you make of mine honour, for that, whatsoever you
may command me as your daughter and servant, you should
know withal and call to mind that you never yet saw act
in me nor heard word from me which might embolden you
to say aught to me other than honourable. But tell me,
see you not that you invite me, nay, well-nigh exhort me
to do a thing, the which had I the least thought of doing,
I should deserve to be slaughtered of you without pity, an
you were to me that honourable father you should be ?
Marry, father mine, what time the king was at Salisbury-,
I perceived that he made a show of being enamoured of
me, and the like have I known in this city, inasmuch as he
pursueth me all day long with amorous looks and hath
sundry times essayed me with letters and messages, seeking
to debauch me with the most lavish promises ; but all hath
availed him nothing, for that, whenassoever he bespoke me
or sent me letters or messages, I have still avouched mine
honour to be dearer to me than my life. To you I chose

1 La lingua dolcemente snodando e tra perle orientali e finissimi
rubini le parole rompendo, a typical example of Bandello's awkward-
ness in the use of the' concetti-style of his day, in which his plain
homely manner is about as much at home as a bear in a ballet.

196

not to say aught concerning this affair, and still less to my
mother and my brothers, lest I should give you occasion
of despite against our king, knowing, as I do, how many
scandals have ensued from the like causes and how many
cities and kingdoms have been ruined by reason thereof.
But, praised be God, it needed not that I should fear to
put you arms in hand, since I see you thus prompt and
diligent in so dishonourable an office. I was silent, then,
deeming silence the lesser evil, and eke restrained myself
from showing aught, in the hope that the king, seeing my
firm and incorruptible honesty, would desist from so ill
begun an emprise and suffer me to live as beseemeth the
like of me [and in accordance] with my chaste purpose.
Wherefore, if of late you have seldom seen me leave the
house and have noted how meanly I clothe myself, I have
done this to none other end than to avoid, in so far as was
possible to me, encountering with the king and to the
intent, moreover, that he, seeing how humbly I was clad,
might conclude my thoughts to be set upon otherwhat than
love-matters. Since, however, he is obstinate and I am
nowise minded voluntarily to complease him in aught other
than honest, I will, so he may not (which God forfend) do
his will of me by force, ensue your counsel and of two evils
elect the lesser, choosing rather to kill myself than anywise
to suffer so foul a stain and reproach to be put upon mine
honour and myself to be pointed at in the streets as the
king's whore. I have heard say a thousand times (and you
also have presently told it me) that honour should still be
esteemed far above life ; and certes life without honour is
as a foul and infamous death. God forbid that I should
ever become any man's harlot, whoever he may be, or that
I should do aught in secret which, being after made publicly
manifest, might cause me change colour ! Marry, father mine,

iy7

what honour were yours, if I did aught other than honest,
that, whenas you went through the city or to court, you
should hear it said of the vulgar, whereassoever you passed,
'Yonder is such a woman's father; yonder is he who hath
waxen in rank and riches for having sold his daughter.'
Think you belike so great a misdeed should abide hidden ?
Nay, though men for fear should not dare open their mouths,
who might avail to hold their hands, so they should not
write bills and libels^ and scatter them about the streets
and stick them up at every corner of the city ? When
the king, according to what I have heard tell, let behead
his uncle, my lord of Kent, and (a little after) Roger
Mortimer, and put his mother to death in prison, there
were bills stuck up about the streets in censurement of
him ; and albeit he was sore enraged thereat and caused
behead sundry, whom he suspected to be the authors
thereof, there stinted not withal many who had a mind to
missay of him from sowing abroad other writings in divers
ways. Certes, then, of you and me would be said the
foulest things in the world. But put it that the thing abode
secret; know you not that all men (and especially princes)
desire to-day one woman and to-morrow another, accord-
ing as appetite taketh them ? And let be the offence
against God, which is e'en the first thing we should have
before our eyes, an we would fain be rational creatures
and not beasts, what know I, when the king shall be
surfeited with me or when this his libidinous appetite
shall have passed from him (and indeed such appetites
use for the most part very lightly to cool and pass away
in men in general, so soon as they have gotten their
intent,) but he will esteem me that which you will have

1 Cedule e bolletini.

198

made me, to wit, a common strumpet ? Moreover, were
I assured and certified that he should love me long and
fervently, must I not bethink me that this commerce will
some time or other have an end, forasmuch as there is
nothing under the sphere of the moon but tendeth to be
finished ? So that, turn it how you will, I see nought
of good therein ; nay, I apprehend right well that I
should abide the rest of my life fringed o' the face with
otherwhat than pearls and jewels and should nevermore
dare show myself in public. To that, again, which you
tell me, that you have pledged the king your faith, I
answer you that, in so doing, you very ill apprehended a
father's authority over his children in such a case, they
being not bounden to obey him in things which are un-
pleasing to God ; more by token that such dishonourable
and incestuous promises are not valid, and of things ill
promised it behoveth to break the plighted faith. I acknow-
ledge that I am your daughter and bounden to obey you,
whenassoever you shall command me, but in things lawful
and honourable. And I must also remind you (though you
know it better than I) that you and I and all who were,
are and shall be have, according to that which I have
oftentimes heard affirmed from the church-pulpits of
worthy and authoritative preachers, a Father and Lord,
whom we are bounden to obey more than our fleshly
fathers, and moreover that it is not lawful unto whatso-
ever person, be he who he will, to make laws or edicts
in contradiction of the Divine laws and ordinances. Where-
fore, you being in this most shameful thing, which you
exhort me to do, altogether and most manifestly rebel-
lious against the Divine authority, how will you have me
obey you and should I not rather be to you a rebel and
a mortal enemy? Bethink you, then, and if you will

199

have me hold you for my father and honour you as good
fathers should be honoured, be never again so bold as
to recjuire me of such baseness neither bespeak i:ie one
sole word thereof ; else, by Christ His Cross, I will,
before all the world, render you such honour thereof as
you deserve. But God forbid that it should ever come
to this ! Oh ! how far better were it that you had promised
and sworn to the king rather to cut my throat with your
own hand than suffer me fall into so abominable a default !
This had been more honourable to you and far eather to
do, and certes the king and I had accounted and esteemed
you far more of worth therefor ; ay, and the world, under-
standing the cause of my death, had exalted you for ever
to the skies with the sincerest praises. So that, to end
these parleyings, which have perforce aroused my sore
despite and whose remembrance will ever be to me a
cause of the bitterest chagrin, this is my final and con-
stant resolution, made with mature consideration, and do
you hold it for true as the Evangel, that I am ready
rather to let myself be slain and to suffer every penalty
and what torment soever may be imagined than anywise
to consent unto aught dishonourable ; and if the king
seek to take amorous disport of me by force, I will do
on such wise that his power and that of all others shall
be in vain, having ever in remembrance that a goodly
death glorifieth all the past life."

The earl, by the discreet and magnanimous reply of his
daughter, knew the valiance and greatness of her soul and
inwardly gave her many praises therefor, blessing her and
holding her of far more account than before, and himseeming
he had spoken freelier and more at large than it beseemed
a father to bespeak his daughter, he offered not for the
nonce to say othervvhat to her, but arose from his seat and

200

let her go about her occasions. Then, having taken counsel
with himself and straitly considered how he should answer
the king, he repaired to court and said to him, " Sire, not
to fail of that which I promised you, I swear to you, by the
fealty I owe God and you, that, as soon as I came home,
I summoned Alice to my chamber and set forth to her your
wishes, exhorting her to complease you ; but she, after much
debate holden, most steadfastly answered me that she was
resolved rather to die than to do anything dishonourable ;
nor might I avail to draw aught else from her. You know
I told you that I might pray her, but not force her ; where-
fore, having faithfully done that which was enjoined me of
you and that which I bound myself to do, I will, with your
good leave, go do certain occasions of mine at my castles. "
The king granted him leave to depart and abode all beside
himself, revolving various things in his mind. The earl,
accordingly, thinking, an it were possible, to rid himself
of this business, without incurring the king's disfavour,
departed the court and on the following day betook himself
with his sons to his earldom, leaving his wife and daughter
in London, with part of his household. His daughter he
chose not to carry with him, lest he should despite the king
farther and so likewise he might see that he left her at his
discretion, being firmly convinced withal that he would use
no manner of violence with her. Moreover, he put much
trust in her virtue and magnanimity, doubting not but she
would know so well to defend herself that she would come
off with honour from that sore predicament.

As for the king, he no sooner heard that the earl had
departed London and left Alice than he divined the true
state of the case ; wherefore he fell into such despair of that
his love that he was like to go mad. He passed night and day
on like wise, without taking any jot of repose ; he ate little

20I

or nothing, never laughed, l)ut sighed alway ; nay, whenas-
soever it was possilile to him, he stole away from his
company and shutting himself alone in his chamber, had no
mind unto otherwhat than his lady's dire and cruel rigour,
for thus did he style her pure and steadfast chastity. Living
this life, he fell to giving audience by proxy, ^ the which it
had been his former usance to afford to his subjects thrice
a week in person and publicly. And certes one of the most
laudable parts which any true prince can have is that he be
prompt and ready to hear the complaints and petitions of
his people and to learn that which is doing in his dominions ;
nor should he trust over-absolutely in his ministers, for that
they oftentimes commit many errors and very great injustices,
and if the prince were solicitous to understand on what wise
his state is governed and how the governors apply them-
selves to their office, these latter would govern much better
and would refrain from doing aught that might be blamed.
The king, then, fell into this error of giving audience well-
nigh unto none. Journeying, jousting, tilting at the ring
and hunting, things which were erst so acceptable to him,
especially the chase, in which he had been wont to take so
much delight, now pleased him no more ; nor did he any
longer take pleasure in other sports.

He had on the Thames, the river on which London is
situate, a very goodly garden, with a commodious and
pleasant palace, which he had built there, so he might go
thither for his diversion ; and for that, on the way from the
court to this place, whether one went by land or by water, it
behoved to pass overagainst Earl Richard's house, the king
daily betook himself thither, now by the river and now
through the street before that house where he knew that

1 Lit. interpreter {interpreie).

202

Alice abode, of his desire to see her whose love was still
fast stablished in his heart. Withal, it seldom happened
that she was to be seen ; for that, an she chanced to be at
the windows giving upon the street or upon a balcony
which overlooked the Thames, no sooner did she espy
the king coming than she straightway hid herself indoors ;
whereat he was beyond measure afflicted, and yet it
rejoiced him to have seen the walls which harboured
his proud and cruel mistress. But, for that it is the
nature of ardent lovers that, the straitlier the sight of the
beloved lady is denied them, the more do they yearn and
long to see her, the more the king, who desired to look
upon Alice more than to make himself master of France,
found himself debarred therefrom, the more he strove to see
her, essaying every means which seemed to him apt to that
end. Accordingly, putting off all disguise, he not only fell
to passing three or four times a day, or more or less,
according as love urged him, before the house, but often-
times applied to walk there ; so that his passion became
speedily patent unto every one and that which was before
known to none, he discovered unto all the folk. Where-
fore, this his enamourment getting wind amongst great and
small and all being possessed of the obduracy and cruelty
of the lady, who well-nigh never suffered herself to be seen
at the balconies or windows, she was generally blamed, one
reproaching her with this and another with that, and all
would fain have had her yield herself to the king's pleasure.
It pleaseth most folk to go to others' entertainments and to
take part in balls and concerts ; but none would willingly
have such revels at home. On like wise, all would fain have
their princes live merry and lead an amorous life, for that,
when a prince is in love, it seemeth all his subjects abide in
joy and merriment ; but it liketh none that his women be

203

wantoned withal in his own house. Accordingly, all the
English would fain have had the king obtain his intent and
give himself a good time ; but none had cared to have him
enamoured of his own wife, daughter, sister or other woman
of his family.

Now, the king persevering in leading so sorrowful and
weariful a life and his hopes waxing daily less and less for
Alice's unconquered and inexpugnable chastity, he fell into
so dire a melancholy that he was liker to a wild beast of the
woods than to a man. "Wherefore not only the city of
London, but all the island, which was by this made cog-
nizant of that his love, abhorred and censured the lady's
chaste purpose, the vulgar being still readier to blame good
than evil. Moreover, there were some of the court who
essayed her with letters and messages in favour of the king,
part cajoling and part threatening ; others urgently bespoke
her mother on his behalf, showing her the good which would
ensue thereof, if Alice consented to do his pleasure, and on
the contrary how much and how great the harm which would
abide, an she persisted in such obduracy. And so one on
this wise and another on that studied to induce the countess
to pray her daughter do the king's pleasure and the daughter
to lay aside her extreme rigour and cease to be so contrary
unto such and so great a love. But Alice, for aught that
was said or shown to her, nowise budged nor swerved from
her purpose ; nay, misdoubting her the king might one day
offer her violence, she made shift to procure a sharp and
trenchant knife, which she carried at her girdle under her
clothes, resolved, should force be offered her, to kill herself
rather than be violated. Her mother abode meanwhile
between two minds, for that, opening her ears to the
lavish promises and proffers made her on the king's part,
ambition assailed her, showing her that, if her daughter

204

became the king's mistress, she herself would be the first
lady and baroness of the island ; wherefore she sundry
whiles entered into discourse with her daughter and studied,
with certain fables of her fashion, to induce her to yield
to the king's prayers, but still found her of one same tenor
and firmer than the hardest and most immoveable rock,
when beaten of the swollen and threatening waters of the
sea. Brief, the king, understanding that all essays had been
in vain and that, an he took not other means, he was farther
out than ever in his reckoning, knew not whither to turn,
himseeming not well to use violence, albeit he had often-
times a mind to carry her off by main force. This his love
was now grown so notorious and so patent unto all that it
was spoken of no otherwhat at the court of London and he
himself was come to such a pass that, with whomsoever he
talked, he did nought but prate of his mistress's cruelty,
beseeching every one to succour him with counsel and aid.

Here needs must I digress a little and say a few words
which presently occur to me. If those courtiers, who
spoke with the king, had been true men of court, ^ they
had with all their might counselled him to desist from
so fond and vain a love and in giving him so useful a
counsel, they would at the same time have aided him.
Courtiers of old were loyal and well-bred men, full of
courtesy and endowed with every virtue, but those who
nowadays call themselves by that name (I speak of the
ill and not of the good) have nothing of the courtly,
save that they live at court, and so but they make a
braver show than others and ruffle it more sprucely in
the matter of clothes, themseemeth they are the first men
in the world. For, whereas the true and good courtiers

1 Uomhit di corte ; see the definition of a courtier which follows.

205

of old delighted in martial exercises, in the practice of
letters and of other accomplishments, spending all their
time in courtesies, such as making peace between enemies,
according those who were at variance and uniting the
estranged, these do altogether the contrary and so but
they play the Miles Gloriosus^ with whoso can less than
they, themseemeth they are very Tamburlaines the Great.
Again, whereas true courtiers, by dint of practice, made
themselves agile, skilful and doughty cavaliers, these of
whom I speak reck not of being, but of appearing with
a goodly sword by their side, making more account of
being said to avail much than to avail in good earnest.
To be lettered they account well-nigh a shame and say
that to study and wax pale over books is a matter for
doctors, priests and friars ; nevertheless, they are so brazen-
faced and so foolhardy that, if they chance to be whereas
it is debated, between men of lofty wit, of some curious
matter of learning, as well human as divine, they (for
that they would fain appear learned) are e'en the first, with
their would-be wiseacre speech, presumptuously to offer to
decide the whole ; nay, they oftentimes say the greatest
dunceries and the ineptest fustian ever was heard and
would have us believe them upon the sole authority of
their names, as they were Aristotles and Platos. More-
over, that which holdeth not in their ignorant brain, they
will not hear of, setting it down as a thing impossible.
They are courteous in words, but the effects thou wilt
find altogether contrary to their speech, for they will freely
promise thee to further thine interests with the prince
and will do nought thereof, thine adversary having given
them more than thou. Nor is he who pleadeth with

^ The allusion is, of course, to the well-known comedy of Plautus.

2o6

thee^ always more favoured than thou, inasmuch as, like
as thou art deceived, even so doth the other also
bytimes find himself befooled. It sufficeth these scurvy
courtiers that the vulgar believe them to be in high
credit with the prince and to draw monies from these
and those. They will promise thee to bespeak the prince
of thine affairs and will in thy presence whisper him in
the ear of other matters ; giving thee to believe that they
have spoken of thee ; and still they will sell thee a thousand
fables. Such an one as these was Vetronius Turinus about
the person of Alexander Severus, Emperor of Rome, whose
iniquity, being discovered and approved more than true
by the astuteness of the said Alexander, had such a
chastisement as it merited, it being adjudged that he
should be bounden to a great stake amiddleward the
market-place, round about which was a slow fire kindled
with vine-stalks and green twigs, so as to give out a dense
and clinging smoke, which should slowly suffocate the
wretched Turinus. What while the unfortunate abode in
such torment, a sergeant of the court did nought but cry,
•'Turinus is put to death by means of smoke, because he
hath sold smoke ; " and on this wise by smoke died the vain
and notorious Turinus. Were it done thus in our time, courts
would be in more esteem than they are, and not only would
the selling of smoke be less practised, but courtiers would not
be so apt to vend lies nor would become like unto dogs, biting
and tearing one another ; for that, whenas they have the
prince's ear, I warrant you they chant it finely, missaying
of these and of those, who are maybe better than them-
selves ; but jealousy so benumbeth them that they cannot
brook the sight of one who availeth more than they, lest

1 i.e. thine opponent in a lawsuit.

207

he come into favour with the prince and they themselves
fall in degree. Moreover, if perchance they see the prince
to be deceived or in error anent whatsoever it may be, so
but it touch them not, think not that they seek to undeceive
him ; nay, all follow their master's humour, betide thereof
or good or ill. The cause of this is the pusillanimity of
many men, who have not courage to tell the truth ; but, if
the prince say ay, they affirm it ; and if he say nay, they
sing the same tune, having no regard to that which they say,
whether it be apt or unapt. Again, I will not speak of
those kitchen-hawks, who betake themselves to court for
no otherwhat than to sit at princes' rich and fat tables, being
good for nought save to devour that which should pertain
unto doughtier knights and men of more deserts than they.
Would at the least they were styled buffoons and parasites
and arrogated not to themselves the name of gentleman,
thus doing scant honour unto civility and gentilesse ! And
albeit all those who assume to rank themselves under the
standard of courtiership and yet live not as true courtiers
should be blamed without stint and their converse shunned
by all the good, nevertheless, meseemeth their lords deserve
no less blame, who live on such wise that they will not have
the truth told ; nay, they account those [only] goodly and
acceptable who never contradict them. These latter, more-
over, it is that counsel and order everything with their open
and false adulation ; whence arose the byword, which some
use to say, that " Who cannot flatter well, at court he may
not dwell;" and yet there is no greater plague and no
deadlier venom in a court than flattery. Withal it pleaseth
me not that a courtier, how great soever he be, should
anywise presume to reprehend the prince in public and
chide him in the presence of others ; nay, I affirm that
a faithful servant, an he see his lord fall into error, should

208

admonish him with address and reverence, taking an oppor-
tune season, and on fair and gentle wise possess him of the
truth. Ah, how far happier and more fortunate would
princes be if they had who should frankly show them the
evil which ensueth of many things which they do, the
opinion which the people have of them, that which is
murmured among these latter and the sorry governance of
many ministers, who concern themselves with no otherwhat
than to despoil the treasury and convert everything to their
own use ; things which did princes but understand, their
dominions would be excellently governed ! Marry, it is not
to be doubted but that Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ
knew all that the people said of Him, for that He knew
everything and nothing thereof was nor will ever be hidden
from Him ; and yet He disdained not to question His
disciples what men said of Him. And why, think you,
did He this ? Certes, for no otherwhat (His every action
being our witness) than to instruct those who govern and the
faithful in general that they should be diligent to learn what
opinion is had of them, so they may persevere in good and
desist from ill. And in truth princes have httle need of
otherwhat than upright, sincere and virtuous persons, who
shall lovingly tell them the truth, without heat or hypocrisy.
Such counsellors they should still keep about them and not
do as many do, who think to make an orange-tree of a
bramble, not to say a courser of an ass. But I have
wandered overfar afield, for that, having from my boyhood
till now frequented many courts, I know but too well how
men use most whiles to do there.

You must know, then, that those courtiers who abode
about King Edward were not of the good school, but were
flatterers and men of little judgment and evil disposition ;
for that, without taking thought to the issue of things, they

209

all proclaimed a crusade against Earl Richard, his wife,
sons and daughter, and whoso said most ill of them held
himself of most account and thought to have spoken mighty
sagely ; though belike, had the earl and his sons been there
present, many of these latter had kept their tongues between
their teeth and had (as is proverbially said) put their tails
between their legs nor dared to open their mouths. Now
the end of the matter was that the greater part of them
exhorted the king to send to take Alice by force and
carrying her to the palace, do his every desire of her in
her despite, avouching that it ill beseemed a woman to
make mock of her king and to show herself so contrary to
his wishes. Moreover, there were some who had seen the
fish and who offered to go in person to take her and hale
her away by the hair, an she chose not to come with a good
grace. The king, however, was loath as yet to use force
and reserving violence for a last resource, thought first to
try the mind of Alice's mother. Accordingly, he despatched
his trusty chamberlain to her, fully instructed of all, and he,
betaking himself forthright to the countess, said to her, after
the due salutations, "The king our lord, my lady countess,
saluteth you very lovingly and giveth you by me to under-
stand that he hath done everything possible to him (and
maybe more than beseemed him) to gain the love and
favour of your daughter and to procure that all should
ensue secretly, so the thing may not come into the mouths
of the vulgar ; but, seeing that he cannot compass this
his desire by aught that hath been done and finding no
expedient that availeth him, except he use force, he sendeth
presently to you, saying that, except you make due pro-
vision for your affairs and procure that he have his intent,
you may be assured that he will, in your despite, publicly
and with scant honour to you all, cause carry off your
VOL. IV. 14

2IO

(laughter from your house by main force and that, whereas
he was minded to befriend and advantage the earl and all
his house, he will be to them a mortal enemy. He will
let you know what he can do, when he is angered and is
resolved, as he now is, to have his desire, himseeming it
behoveth him not to languish all day long and suffer others
to laugh and mock at him. And with this, my lady countess,
I commend you to God. "

The countess, hearing so unlooked-for and direful a
speech, was overcome with such affright that already her-
seemed she saw her daughter dragged forth the house by
the hair and torn limbmeal before her eyes and heard her
cry aloud for mercy ; wherefore, all tearful and trembling,
she urgently besought the chamberlain to commend her to
the king's good grace and beseech him not to hasten thus
furiously to dishonour the house of the earl, who had still
been a most faithful servMit to him, adding that she would
speak with her daughter and persuade her to complease the
the king. With this fair answer the chamberlain departed
and the countess, weeping, repaired to Alice's chamber,
where she found her awork with her maidens and dismiss-
ing the latter, seated herself by the side of her daughter,
who had arisen to do her honour and receive her, full of
marvel at her tears. Then, causing Alice sit, she told her
that which she had heard from the king's chamberlain and
bespoke her thus, weeping the while. "Dear my daughter,"
quoth she, "there was a time when, seeing thee the fairest
among the fair ladies of this realm and virtuous over all
others, I accounted myself a most happy mother and was
fain to believe that honour and advantage would ensue to
us of thy most rare gifts. But I was far mistaken and e'en
misdoubt me sore, on the contrary, that thou wast born
for our destruction and for the general ruin of our house

211

and that (which God forfcnd) thou wilt 1)C the cause of the
death of us all. Now, if thou wouldst but somewhat relax
thy rigour and suffer thyself to be persuaded, all our grief
and affliction would be turned to joy and gladness. Knowest
thou not, daughter mine, that I have still tenderly loved
thee over all my other children and rememberest not that
which thou haddest of me privily, whenas the Earl of
Salisbury (whom God have in glory) took thee to wife ?
Why, then, wilt thou not for the love of me unbend this
thine olxluracy and suffer thyself be governed of me, who
am thy mother and a loving one? Bethink thee that the
king is not only enamoured of thee, but, being well-nigh
mad for thy dire cruelty, fareth very ill and goeth in sore
peril of his life. Every one knoweth that thine obstinacy
is the cause of his malady and of his miscontent, so that
we are odious to whosoever desireth the king's health ; and
all, except thou, desire it. Rememberest thou not that
we have many a time, as we went to mass and abroad
upon other occasions, heard exceeding evil spoken of us,
both of great and small? 'Here,' quoth they, 'be the
murtheresses of our king, here be the wicked women, who
have never vouchsafed him the courtesy of a kind look or
a pleasant word. Marry, they would e'en play the saint
and at bottom, an one kept good watch, it would be found
that some groom or bargeman enjoyed them. May thunder
and lightning come from heaven and burn and consume
them both !' These words I well know thou hast heard
as well as I, and God only can tell the chagrin and affliction
which I suffered and still suffer therefor. Wherefore, dearest
daughter mine, with clasped hands I beseech thee show
thyself somewhat compliant unto my prayers and persist
not in willing our ruin and destruction. Thou must know
that princes and kings, when they have besought one of

212

their lieges, whom they might e'en command, and see that
their prayers avail not that which they should, have resort
unto force and do all that pleaseth them, maugre who
willeth not, to the scant pleasure of their subjects. Our
king also will do the like ; nay, he hath already menaced
me withal ; so that what might have been done with
commodity and secrecy will be carried into effect on such
wise that all the island and France, to boot, will know it,
to our eternal ignominy, and of aught that the king may
do, he will owe thee nor gree nor obligation, nay, we shall
get nought but dishonour and scorn for our pains. Where-
fore, daughter mine, I prithee, let it not come to this pass.
Bethink thee a little how we abide here scanted of servants
about the house, since thy father and thy brothers departed
hence, for that all fear the king's fury. Seest thou not that
on thine account I am left well-nigh a widow ? Thy father
and thy brethren are gone forth of London, foreboding them
of some great scandal and loath to see such a disgrace with
their own eyes ; the which will most certainly betide, to
the shame and ruin of all of us, an thou change not thy
fashions. How far better were it for us that the first day
when I brought thee to life had been thy last or that I had
died in childbed, rather than see myself at this hour in such
affliction ! Alack, why, when the Earl of Salisbury died
at his coming forth of prison, why was it not thou that
died in his stead ? I beseech our Lord God to take me
away from all these troubles and tribulations, since thou
art resolved to persist in thine obduracy and reckest not
of the ruin of all thy kin. Thinkest thou I perceive not
that thou desirest my death, cruel and ungrateful daughter
that thou art, scant of courtesy and lovingkindness towards
thy parents? And certes I would presently die more than
willingly, knowing it were a lesser pain to me to die than

213

to abide in these tormenting chagrins, which transpierce
my heart without cease with the cruellest stings."

The afflicted lady could say no more, for that a sore swoon
overcame her, straitening her heart with such exceeding
pain and so oppressing her that she fell into Alice's lap, as
she were more dead than alive. Indeed, she seemed
altogether passed to the other world, so pale was she in
the face, so stirless and so cold in every part of her body,
that she had moved wild beasts and senseless stones to pity,
much more her daughter, who, seeing her thus strangely and
cruelly stricken, judged her or dead or nigh unto death and
could not contain her tears. However, having somewhat
loosed her afflicted mother's clothes, weeping bitterly the
while, she called her piteously by name and strove, by dint
of chafing her hands and shaking her, to recall her strayed
vital spirits. Then, summoning her women, she let fetch
hot cloths and water to sprinkle upon the countess's face,
by means whereof she presently came to herself, gasping for
breath, and said, "Alas, where am I?" whilst Alice kissed
her and comforted her with all such caresses and endear-
ments as she knew and might. Thereupon a second swoon
overcame the countess, together with so dire a spasm of the
heart that every sign of life was extinguished anew in her
and needs must the others once more renew their endeavours
to bring her back to herself, the which they ere long
succeeded in doing.

At this piteous sight Alice could not so far contain herself
but that, in her own despite, her entrails were all moved by
filial pity and her adamantine hardness became in some
measure softened and her rigour relaxed. Her unconquered
soul and her steadfast will, against which so many other
assaults and impediments had spent themselves in vain,
could not stand out against her mother's piteous plight ;

214

but, overcome with internal compassion, she bethought her-
self to deliver her folk from tribulation. Wherefore, the
countess being now altogether recovered, though still she
wept and sighed, Alice, having sent the waiting-women
forth of the chamber, bespoke her mother on this wise,
saying, " Dry your tears, mother mine, and afflict yourself
no longer, but take heart and be comforted, for that I am
disposed and ready to do that which you wish. God
forbid it should ever be said that I was the occasion of
bringing upon my folk such affliction as you seem to suffer !
I will not have my father and brothers expose themselves
for me to the risk of any hurt ; for that it behoveth me with
mine every endeavour to ensue their advantage and die,
myself, that they may live. Behold, I am ready to go with
you seek the king, so we two may order our affairs, without
others' intervention ; for that we shall do it better than any
else. Wherefore, come, lose no more time in weeping, but
let us make a beginning of despatching that which is to
do." The countess, hearing this unlooked-for and unhoped
response, was filled with such joy that she could scarce
believe her ears and like as a little before the sharpness of
her affliction had put her beside herself, even so excess of joy
was like to do the same ; wherefore, raising both her hands
to heaven, she heartily thanked God that He had informed
her daughter with such a resolve, as if God were a fosterer of
adulteries and fornications. Oh, how fond oftentimes are
wretched and ignorant mortals, laughing when they should
weep and sorrowing whenas they should rejoice ! So did
this good lady, who thought, in turning bawd to her
daughter, to make a sacrifice to God. W^herefore, embrac-
ing Alice tenderly and weeping for joy, she kissed her again
and again and could scarce loose her arms from her neck.
Now it was the month of June and the hour whenas

215

many use, for the heat which prevaileth, to sleep away the
noontide. The countess let forthright make ready a boat,
so they might go by water to the king's garden whereof
I have already bespoken you and whither he had presently
retired, to abide more alone and without noise ; whilst
Alice repaired to her chamber and without anywise changing
her dress, took her trenchant knife and made it fast to a
girdle under her clothes ; then, falling on her knees before
an image representing the Queen of Heaven, Mother of
God and Refuge of the afflicted, holding in her arms the
figure of her most precious little son, she most devoutly
besought Her to render Her son propitious to her, so she
might maintain her chaste purpose, and rising, returned,
full of confidence and steadfastness, to her expectant mother,
who had already let make everything ready. Now the
garden of Earl Richard's house abutted upon the Thames and
had a water-gate, where lay the barge. The countess and
Alice accordingly descended thither with two waiting-women
and all embarked in the barge, which was rowed by two
serving-men, and faring down stream with the tide, the
little vessel presently arrived at the marges of the royal
garden, where the river-banks were dighted on such wise
that one might ascend thither by one only gate and all the
rest was shut on every side by high walls. The gate had
a little before been opened by the chamberlain, the king's
confidant, who had presently attended his lord to the river-
bank, for that the latter, the better to think upon his love,
had stolen away from his courtiers and abode not far off,
seated upon odoriferous grasses, under the cool shade of the
trees ; whilst he himself sat under the shrubs overagainst
the open door, at once to enjoy the coolness of the soft
lireeze which breathed from the rippling waters and also for
that none should enter in.

2l6

The ladies landed on the river-beach and bade the boat-
men abide there with the barge ; then, mounting sundry
steps, they entered in at the gate. When the chamberlain
saw them and recognized the countess, he marvelled amain,
but yet more wonderment overcame him when he espied the
fair Alice ; wherefore, making towards them, he received
them with reverence and saluting them, asked them what
they did. Quoth the countess, "We come to do our
reverence to the king, our lord and master, even as I told
you a little agone I would endeavour to do. " The chamber-
lain, hearing this, was filled with infinite allegresse and
caused the two serving-men carry the boat into a little
basin, where the royal barges lay ; then, shutting the garden
door, he betook himself [with the two ladies] to the place
where the king sat, discoursing the while with the countess.
Edward was at that moment, as we have said, seated in
the shade, thinking upon Alice's cruelty and rigour and at
the same time contemplating, with the eyes of the under-
standing, her lovesome beauty, which himseemed was e'en
the goodliest and most miraculous he had ever seen or heard
tell of, and was so absorbed in his thoughts, revolving a
thousand things in his mind, that he took heed unto nought
else ; whilst the chamberlain brought the ladies so far
forward that they saw the king, ere he heard or saw them.
Then, turning to the fair Alice, "Yonder," quoth he,
"mistress mine, is your king, who most assuredly thinketh
upon no otherwhat than yourself, and now, an no one
disturbed him, he would abide three or four hours thus
alone and pensive, so sore is he netted in the toils of your
love." The young lady, inflamed with virtuous despite,
felt the blood course through all her veins colder than ice
and waxed at the same time all afire, the which rendered
her countenance fairer, rosier and more lovesome than of

^

217

wont ; then, they being now come less than five paces from
the king, the trusty chamberlain, advancing, said to him,
"Sire, here is the fair company, so much desired of you,
come to do you reverence. "

The king raised his head, as if awakened from deep
sleep, and recognizing the countess, marvelled amain at
her coming ; then, rising to his feet, " Welcome, my
lady countess," said he; "what good tidings bring you
hither at this sultry season ? " Whereupon she, after due
obeisance made, replied, in a low and trembling voice,
saying, " Here, my lord, is your much-desired Alice, who,
repenting her of her coyness and obduracy, is come to
do you such reverence as behoveth and to abide awhile
with you, or more or less, as it shall please you."
When he heard that Alice was with her mother and saw
herself standing between her waiting-women, shamefast
and somewhat despited, he was overcome with such joy
that he could scarce contain himself, nor himseemed had
he ever felt such pleasure ; wherefore, drawing near to
the young lady, who still kept her fair eyes bent upon
the earth, "Welcome," said he, "my life and my soul!"
and kissing her, as best he might, in despite of her manifest
unwillingness, he took her by the hand. Now who might
tell the king's exceeding satisfaction and inexpressible joy
and Alice's extreme miscontent and infinite chagrin? As
for him, he thought himself in Paradise and aswim in
a boundless sea of happiness, whilst herseemed she was
in hell and immersed in its tormenting fires.

The king, seeing that the lady, all trembling and shame-
fast, had drawn away her hand nor greeted him with a
single word, thought that she abode thus coy for the
presence of her mother and the others ; wherefore, taking
the countess by the hand and bidding her cause the women

2l8

follow, he took his way towards his lodging and so
brought them all by a privy way into the royal chamber ;
for that the garden and the palace were on such wise
situate that the king might by privy paths descend to the
stream and return to his chamber, unseen of any, save
those whom he carried with him. Then, they being all
in the chamber, the king said to the countess, "Madam,
with your good leave, the Lady Alice and I will enter
this closet to converse together ; " and accordingly taking
the young lady by the hand, he very courteously invited
her to enter with him. Alice entered, all shamefast, but
with a lion's heart, and the king, following her, made
the door fast with the bolt. No sooner had he done
this than Alice, so he might not do her violence, fell
on her knees before him and with a firm voice and an
undaunted spirit said to him, "Sire, a strange instinct^
hath brought me before you, whereas I thought never to
come on this wise ; but, being minded to rid myself of
the annoy of your letters and messages and to content
my kinsfolk, who, debauched by you, exhort me all day
long to complease you (whereas they ought rather to
strangle me) and being inwardly resolved of that which
I purpose to do with myself, here am I ready to obey
your commandments ; but, ere I put myself at your abso-
lute disposition and suffer you take of me that delight
whereof you have shown you so desirous, I would fain
certify myself by experience if your love for me is so
fervent as you avouch by the many letters you have
written to me and as you have sundry whiles sent to me

1 Bandello here uses isiinto in a sense which is not clear. I know
no other English equivalent of the word than " instinct," which does
not seem to fit the context.

219

to say. And if it be as you will have me believe,
you will grant me a slight favour, which will cost you
nothing and will afford me the greatest content I may
ever hope to have. However, in case that which I shall
require of you may belike seem to you grievous and hard
to put in execution, I would fain know from you if you
will do it or not, else hope not that I am ever like,
what while I have breath in my body, to do aught to
complease you. Remember you, sire, of that which you
said to me aforetime at Salisbury and that which you
have since given me to understand in writing and by
word of mouth, to wit, that, did you but know how to
do me a pleasure, I could not command of you so much
as should forthright be put of you in execution. Now
I command you not, {for that I may nowise presume to
do,) nay, but very humbly I pray and beseech you that
you will vouchsafe me your word and your faith to do
that which I shall ask of you, remembering you that a
king's word should not lie nor be in vain."

The king, who, what while she spoke, had kept his eyes
fixed upon her lovely face and to whom she seemed beyond
compare fairer and more charming than he had ever 5een
her, hearing himself so urgently entreated of that mouth,
from which he so ardently desired an amorous kiss, would
have promised her, not a little favour alone, but his whole
kingdom ; wherefore, calling God and all the saints of
paradise to witness of that which he was about to say and
promise her, he replied to her in these terms, saying, "My
only lady and mistress, of me infinitely and above all created
things beloved, since you, of your grace, have deigned to
come hither to our house and ask me to do you a favour,
ere I accomplish my will of you, I am ready to complease
you and I swear to you by the sacred chrism which I have

220

on my head ^ and by the love which I bear you (for a more
solemn pledge I cannot give you) that all you shall require
of me I will do without excusement, so but you command
me not to leave loving you or to cease from being to you
(as I am and for ever shall be) a loyal and faithful servant ;
for that such a thing, though I should promise it you and
affirm it with thousands and thousands of oaths, I might
never anywise observe ; nay, if a man might live without
a soul, then might I not love you and everything impossible
might be ere I could leave loving you. Ask, then, boldly
that which pleaseth you, for that I and all my kingdom are
at your disposition ; and if ever I think not to fulfil to you
that which you shall ask of me, it being in my power or
in that of any man in my kingdom, I devoutly pray God
that He may never give me any contentment of Edward,
Prince of Wales, my first-born, nor of my other sons nor
of aught that I desire."

The fair Alice, though invited thereto, would not arise,
but, kneeling as she was, modestly took the king's hand
and said to him, "And I, sire, kissing your royal hand,
return you thanks without end for this favour that you do
me and abide infinitely beholden to you ; wherefore, trusting,
as behoveth me, in your royal word, I will ask of you the
boon which I crave as my very life." The king, who was
in very deed touched with true passion and who loved Alice
more than the apple of his eye, anew most solemnly swore
to her that he would royally and without any fraud or
deceit do all she should ask ; whereupon she pulled out
the trenchant knife, which had a blade more than two

1 Lit. " the baptism " (// baiiesimo eke ho in capo), but the evident
reference is to the Holy Unction that forms the most important part
of the ceremony of coronation.

221

hanclsbreadths long, and shedding burning tears, which
furrowed her fair and rosy cheeks, said piteously to the
king, who abode all full of stupor and wonderment, "Sire,
the boon which I crave of you and which you have bounden
yourself to grant me is this ; to wit, with all my heart I pray
you and urgently beseech you not to seek to bereave me of
mine honour, but rather with your sword to take from me
this frail and fleeting life, so that, like as I have hitherto
lived blamelessly as became my condition, even so I may
die honourably and worthily of myself. So but you will
grant me this favour that you will rather kill me than
dishonour me, I pray our Lord God still to keep you
happy and give you the perfect accomplishment of your
every desire ; else, I vow to God and with my whole heart
I certify you that, an you fulfil not your promise to me, I
will slay myself with this trenchant knife, nor, what while
I have breath, will I ever suffer myself to be violated by
force. Think, sire, that this which you seek of me, you
may without any difficulty obtain from a thousand other
most beautiful women, who will gladly complease you,
whereas I am steadfastly resolved to lose life rather than
honour and repute. And what will be your pleasure, an
you take of me by force that which you feign to desire,
knowing as you will that you have my body only in bail
and not my soul nor my will, the which will still offer
you resistance, nay, will have you in hate, what little
while I shall live, and will unceasingly cry to God for
vengeance upon you ? But God of His goodness forbid
that you should do me violence ! Think, sire, think that
your libidinous delight will pass away like snow before
the wind, leaving you an undying remorse for the heinous
outrage done upon me and a biting worm at heart, which
will never cease to fret and torment you. Moreover, the

222

abominable shame which you will do me and the igno-
minious stain which you will cast upon the limpidity of
my honour, together with my untimely death, which will
ensue thereof, will bring eternal blame and perpetual infamy
upon your name. Nor must you think that the report of this
misdeed will be confined within the boundaries of England
and the neighbouring islands ; nay, but, passing the ocean,
it will proclaim aloud throughout all Europe, nay, through-
out the universe, the disloyalty and cruelty of so great a
prince as you are, and in the future ages, your dishonour
will go waxing with those who shall come after us, holding
you infamously alive in the mouth of the people. This your
pleasure will occupy scarce an atom of time, whereas the
infamy [of your deed] will be proclaimed in every age and
every inhabited place ; nor will you alone be blamed, but
your descendants will abide sullied withal. Will you have
it said that I, born of a most noble and generous race, of
ancient and stainless lineage, whose fathers, forefathers and
kinsfolk have so many and many a time shed their blood
for the crown of England, have been of you deforced and
strumpeted ? Have you forgotten how many you have
punished, who were of one accord adulterers ? ' Bethink
you of my husband, who was so faithful and so loyal to
you and who died in your service ; certes, dead as he is,
he will cry to God for justice against you. Is this the
guerdon which you would give him and the recompense
which, an he were alive, he might expect for his labours ?
But, to come to the conclusion, do you now, my lord, one
of two things ; or fulfil to me that unto which you have
bounden yourself by oath and trothplight or spare to rob
me of that which, when you shall have stolen it from me,

1 Referring to Edward's treatment of his mother and her paramour.

223

you may never, with all your might and all your treasures,
avail to restore to me. Whichever of these two things
you do, I shall al)ide as well satisfied with you as can he
told. How think you, sire ? At what do you look ?
Either keep me your promise or draw your sword and slay
me. Here is my throat, here is my breast ; why tarry
you ? "

So saying, she undauntedly profifered her fair and snowy
throat and her marble bosom to the king and softly prayed
him kill her. He abode beside himself, stricken immove-
able by so sad and rueful a spectacle ; whereupon she,
whose piteous looks and gestures might have availed to melt
a mount of iron with compassion, having made an end of
speaking, let herself fall at the king's feet, like a penitent
Magdalen before Christ, never withal loosing the knife, and
bathing them with hot tears, awaited, with an assured and
unconquered mind, or the desired response from him or
death. The king abode, awhile irresolute, without saying
aught, revolving various things in himself and torn by a
thousand conflicting thoughts, whilst Alice still prayed him
do one of the two things. Finally, considering the con-
stancy, the steadfastness and the valiance of his mistress,
whom he loved more than himself, and convinced that there
were very few to be found of such worth and that she was
deserving of all honour and reverence, he put out his hand
to her with a heavy sigh and said to her tenderly, " Rise up,
lady mine, and have no fear lest I should anywise seek of
you aught save that which pleaseth you. God forfend that
■ I should slay her whom I love as mine own soul, nay, far
more ; inasmuch as I would strangle, as a mortal enemy,
whoso should anywise molest, not to say seek to slay her.
Arise, for God's sake, my lady, arise. Let this trenchant
and (to my seeming) truly fortunate knife remain in your

224

hands, as a manifest witness to God and men of your noble
and unconquered chastity, whose modest aspect, earthly and
lascivious passion, unable to brook, hath fled from me, full
of shame and despite, and given place to sincere and true
love. If in the past I have availed to conquer mine
enemies, I will presently show that I know how to conquer
myself, overcoming and curbing my unseemly lusts, and to
do with myself and my appetites that which I will. That
which I am presently resolved to do and shortly to carry into
effect, you shall, with God's aid, speedily see, to your (as I
am fain to believe) supreme contentment and belike no less
wonderment, as also to mine own inexpressible satisfaction.
Nor for this present do I seek otherwhat of you than a chaste
kiss, in earnest of that which all the world will see with
wonderment and will doubtless praise."

Therewithal, having kissed Ahce with great pleasure, he
opened the chamber-door and admitted the countess, the
chamberlain and the waiting-women, who, seeing Alice in
tears, with the naked knife in her hand, abode all full of
marvel and amazement, unknowing what was to do. As
soon as they were entered, the king bade the chamberlain
assemble in the chamber all the courtiers and gentlemen
in the palace, the which was very speedily done ; and
amongst those who came thither was the Bishop of York,
a man of great parts and singular learning, together with
the admiral of the sea and the king's chief secretary. These
three and no more the king would have enter the closet
with the chamberlain, there being many barons and lords
in the chamber without. The bishop and the others abode
full of the utmost amazement, seeing the countess with her
daughter, whose tears were yet undried and who still by the
king's commandment held the knife in her hand, and unable
anywise to conceive the meaning of so extraordinary a

225

spectacle, awaited the issue in silence and suspense of mind.
The door of the closet was now shut and those who abode
in the chamber waited to hear to what end they had been
summoned. The king had at the first thought to do in the
presence of all that which he after did, but changing his
mind, would have no other witnesses than those of the
closet. To these latter, therefore, he punctually recounted
the whole story of his love and that which had presently
befallen him with Alice ; then, after he had infinitely
extolled her divine honesty and constant mind and the
invincible steadfastness of her chaste and never enough to
be commended purpose and exalted her with praise above
all modest women that had ever been, he turned to her with
a blithe visage and said urbanely to her, "Madam Alice,
an it please you take me to your lawful husband, here am I
ready to espouse you to my true and lawful wife. In this
case nor you nor I need counsel nor advisement of the
importance of the matter ; for that you, having already been
married, know by experience what manner chain and bond
it is to a woman to have a husband, and I know what a
burthen it is to have a wife at one's side, whenas the lady
is fashious. But, be that as it may, an you will have me,
I will e'en have you."

The young lady, full of infinite content and joyful amaze-
ment, could not utter a word, whilst the countess, hearing
such unhoped and glorious news, was all agog with rapture
and was like to answer for her daughter and say Ay ; when
the king once more addressed the same words to Alice, who,
seeing that he spoke in earnest, reverently inclined herself to
him and modestly replied that she was his servant and that,
albeit she knew it behoved her not to hope or presume to
have a king to husband, nevertheless, an he would have
it so, she was ready to obey. Whereupon "And you, my

VOL. IV. 15

226

lord of York," quoth the king, "do you say the accustomed
words which are used in espousals. " The prelate accordingly
put the wonted questions to them and both saying Ay, the
king drew from his finger a costly ring, wherewith he
espoused his beloved Alice ; then, kissing her amorously,
he said to her, "Madam, you a're now Queen of England
and I assign you to dower thirty thousand angels of yearly
provision and this coffer here, full of gold and jewels,
whereof this that I give you is the key. Moreover, the
duchy of Lancaster being lapsed to the crown, I give it
to you and will that it be freely yours to dispose of and
that you may give and sell it at your pleasure. " And turning
to the secretary, he bade him draw up a most ample decree
of these donations. Then, commanding that the espousals
should not be divulged without his leave and causing those
who were with him withdraw into the privy passage, he
abode alone with the queen and consummated his marriage
with her, culling with inexpressible pleasure somewhat of
the fruit of his long and fervent love ; after which he went
down with her into the privy way, where the bishop and
the others were, and thence, without being seen of any,
they joyously escorted the new queen to her barge. The
king abode with his people, whilst the ladies returned
home, the fair queen praising and thanking God, who had
vouchsafed her so glad an ending to her troubles and so
splendid a recompense ; and so the mother, who had carried
her daughter to the king, to make her a harlot, brought
her home, a queen.

Ten days thereafterward, the king, having ordered every-
thing, despatched his trusty chamberlain, with letters from
himself, from the countess and from the queen, to the
earl his father-in-law, bidding him and his sons to the
nuptials. The earl, hearing such good and unhoped

227

news, made much of the chamberlain and gave him many
goodly gifts ; then, with him and his sons, he repaired
forthright to London, glad and rejoicing beyond measure.
The greetings between the father and his daughter tlie
queen and between the brothers and their sister were ex-
ceeding warm and repeated again and again ; nor might
they take their fill of rejoicing together. The earl was
especially rejoiced, seeing the opinion which he had of
his daughter's greatness of mind approved to the honour
and exaltation of his house, and blessed the hour of
her birth ; moreover, he caused her tell him again and
again the whole history of that which had passed between
herself and the king ; wherefore the countess could not
forbear from blushing, whenas she heard recount her ex-
hortations to her daughter to complease the king and how
she it was who had taken upon herself to carry her
thither. Algates, she adduced divers arguments in her
defence, alleging that she had gone very unwillingly, l)ut
that the fear of seeing her husband and sons and all her
house ruined constrained her of two ills to choose the
lesser ; and so they contended merrily among themselves.
But, above all, the new queen most devoutly thanked
God that He had had regard to her chaste intent and
had of His infinite goodness upraised her to so sublime
and royal an altitude. Meanwhile, Earl Richard went
with his sons to do honour to the king, who received
them with all worship and courtesy, honouring the earl
as his father and his sons as his proper brethren, and
took counsel at length with the former of the fashion to
be observed in bringing the queen to the palace and
crowning her. Then, due preparation being made for the
nuptials, the king let publish the new marriage and sum-
moned all the dukes, marquesses, earls and barons of the

228

realm and other his vassals to be present in London at
the calends of July for the nuptials and coronation of
the queen. Meanwhile he repaired privily to the earl's
house and there abode an hour or two of the day in joyance
with his dearest wife.

On the morning of the appointed day, the king betook
himself with a most worshipful company to the house of the
earl his father-in-law, where he found the joyful Alice clad
as a queen and the mansion sumptuously arrayed, and
thence they went to church, she being attended by many
ladies and lords, to hear mass ; which ended, the king
publicly re-espoused his wife. Thereafterward she was
with the utmost pomp and splendour crowned Queen of
England in the great place, having a very rich crown on
her head, and thence they presently returned to the royal
castle, to dine. The banquet was goodly and sumptuous
and such as beseemed unto such a king, and Edward kept
open court a whole month long, with exceeding great
triumphs and entertainments, holding such festival as if the
daughter of a king or an emperor had been the bride. The
queen in a little became in such favour with the people and
barons that all supremely commended the king for that he
had made a good choice of a wife, whilst he also waxed
daily more content and it seemed his love for her still
redoubled. He willed that the knife wherewith she had
armed herself should still be borne naked before her by an
esquire, whereassoever she went in public and whenassoever
she ate, in testimony of her unconquered chastity. More-
over, he wrought so that the earl his father-in-law became
ere long the richest and most worshipful baron of the island,
and all his brothers-in-law he provided with dignities and
revenues, on such wise that they avouched themselves for
ever content. Thus, then, was the fair and sage Alice

229

exalted to high estate, becoming queen, and in truth
she was worthy to be celebrated without end. Nor doth
the magnanimous and illustrious king deserve less com-
mendation, for that, in doing as he did, he approved
himself a true king and no tyrant ; and certes, in this that
he did with Alice, he is worthy of every goodly praise,
inasmuch as his glorious victory over himself rendered him
his subjects loving and most obedient and afforded others
an example of well-doing, teaching all that thus are im-
mortal fames acquired. Nay, I for my part believe and am
firmly persuaded that no less glory should be awarded him
for that he knew so well to regulate his disorderly appetites
and to overcome his amorous passions than for the many
and famous victories which he achieved by force of arms. ^

• It need hardly be remarked that this story is a complete per-
version of history. Edward III. never married again after the death
of his queen, Philippa of Hainault, and Bandello appears to have
confounded him with his son, Edward the Black Prince, who in
1371 married Joanna, formerly the wife of William de Montacutc,
Earl of Salisbury, and also perhaps with his successor, Edward IV.,
who married Elizabeth Woodville under circumstances much re-
sembling those of the present story. The attribution to the heroine
of the name of Alice may be ascribed to a confused recollection of
the story of Edward III.'s amours with Alice Ferrers or Ferrers, one
of his deceased queen's ladies of the bedchamber, a woman of easy
virtue, who became and remained his mistress till his death, and the
description of her as Countess of Salisbury to the old fable of the
origin of the order of the Garter, in which the king figures as
picking up a garter dropped by a lady of that name. Cf. Dumas'
novel "La Comtesse de Salisbury."

iBannello

ta tfje masniSccnt JHesser jFrancesco Eabascljfero.

Like as it is commonly said that all the psalms end in
glory, so also may we say that well-nigh all parleyings
between people of gentle breeding resolve themselves in
the end into talk of love, as of the sweet condiment and
solacement of all melancholy humours. And who is there
findeth himself absorbed in such noyous thoughts or so
shaken and battered of the blasts of contrary fortune but
that, hearing tell of amorous chances, as they befall
diversely, he openeth his ears and giveth heed unto whoso
speaketh, to the end that he may learn how to govern
himself upon occasion or note that which it behoveth him
eschew, an he find himself in a like predicament ? Certes,
methinketh it is of the utmost advantage to a man to hear
others' discoursements, so but the listener avail to separate
the good from the ill, even as one sifteth wheat from tares.
You must know, then, that a company, as well of men as
of ladies, being lately come hither to Montebrano, to visit
Madam Fregosa, my patroness, there came thQ news of the
untimely death of the Count Gian Aloisio Fiesco,' who
was last month drowned at sea. According to that which

* The hero of the celebrated conspiracy, famous through Schiller's
tragedy, to deliver Genoa from the rule of Andrea Doria and conse-
quent dependence upon the Spanish crown. He was accidentally
drowned in the moment of success, whilst passing from one galley to
another, on the night of the 2nd January, 1547.

231

was said of him, he had not yet overpast five-and-twenty
years of age and was a young man of a very high spirit,
exceeding eloquent and sound of judgment beyond his years,
thanks to his proficiency in good letters and to the teaching
of the learned and virtuous Messer Paolo Pansa ; and it
was the general opinion that, had he not died at that
juncture, he had made himself absolute master of Genoa.
Thereupon it was variously reasoned of his case, according
to the various opinions and sentiments of the speakers ;
nevertheless there was none present, whether of our own
countrymen or of the French, but marvellously commended
him, recounting his many rare gifts and virtues and extolling
the greatness of his soul, in that he had at so youthful an
age of his own proper motion so masterly conceived and
ordered the measures apt and necessary to make himself
master of his native place, an emprise never essayed of his
many ancestors, wise, warlike and puissant as they were.
Now there was in our company Cataldo of Rimini, who
had long sojourned in Genoa and the neighbouring parts
and had been familiarly acquainted with the count ; and
he, after he had told us some particulars of the latter, finally
related an adventure befallen in your own native place of
Chiavari, so that all our discourse ended in love-matters.
And for that one of your Ravaschieri family hath a part in
the story, I, having written it down, thought that it justly
pertained unto you ; wherefore I have dedicated it to your
name, so you may see that I am mindful of the endearments
and kindnesses received by me at your hands, as well at
Carcassonne as also at the abbey of Caones in Languedoc,'
what time you were governor thereof. You shall hear, then,
that which he of Rimini recounted. Fare you well.

1 Queers Cannes in Provence ?

SEIjc €fjirti£tf) Storg.

THE RASH PRESUMPTION OF A LOVER AND
HIS DEATH, BROUGHT ABOUT BY HIS
OWN PRECIPITATION AND HEEDLESSNESS.

You, sirs, have justly commended Count Gian Aloisio
Fiasco, for that he was in truth a young man who deserved
it ; yet methinketh the most part of you are moved to praise
him by the loud resounding report of him and of his virtues
and singular gifts which is presently in all men's mouths.
But, had you known him as I have and had familiar converse
with him in divers affairs, methinketh this whole day would
not suffice you to expound his due praises, the which an I
offered to enter upon telling, it were an easy thing to me
to begin, but meknoweth not how I should do to make an
end thereof ^Yherefore I will say nothing of his breeding,
apt unto every greatest emprise nor of how, whilst yet a
lad, he began to insinuate himself unto the thoughts of the
Genoese and to implant in all men's hearts an infinite
expectation of himself; I will be silent of the prudence,
mature beyond his age, which he used in making the people
of Genoa friendly to him and in cultivating the good will
of his peers, so that the populace loved and revered him
and the nobility honoured him and all had him in con-
sideration. I will pass over the credit and repute which
he had with the countryfolk of the Riviera di Levante
and of the mountains bordering upon the Parmegian and
the Placentine. ' I will not recall how he was adored as
a God of his vassals, to whom he never failed of justice

1 i.e. the territories of Parma and Piacenza.

233

111 ihc least particular antl whom he succoured in their
occasions, and had in the utmost respect of whoso marched
with him in jurisdiction ; * nor will I tell how he loved his
brothers as himself and would have them honoured like
himself and much more, nor how benevolent, how familiar,
how easy and how succourable he showed himself to his
friends and how sternly he avenged injuries and affronts ;
wherein he was very dissimilar from Julius Csesar, who
was used to forget nothing save offences suffered. And for
that in this particular the story which I am about to tell
you will show you what manner of man he was, I will
pass over in silence many other his parts and will go on
to bespeak you of his last emprise. I am not presently
minded to debate an it be good or bad to usurp the
liberties of one's fatherland, choosing not to oppose myself
unto those who blame the usurper thereof nor to Julius
Caesar, who, usurping the Republic, begat the Roman
Empire and oftentimes cited the verses of Euripides, to
the effect that, if there be a case in which it behoveth
to violate right, it is when one doth it for the sake of
acquiring dominion. There be some, withal, who say that
he usurped not the fatherland, but was made perpetual
dictator by the laws and the people and that he closed
not the tribunals nor shed the blood of the citizens, nay,
that he forgave many his enemies. But, to return to Count
Gian Aloisio, I say that, an we consider the emprise which
he achieved and the time at which he did it, we cannot
but account him a young man of very great courage and
worthy to be praised, for that it is much to have sought
to put hand to great things. Now he applied himself to
this undertaking, at a time when the Emperor Charles

' i.e. his neighbours, the seigniors of adjoining fiefs.

234

is in arms and in the heyday of his victories in Germany
and lord and master of well-nigh all Italy, except only
that corner possessed by the Venetians. Marry, he ' hath
in his power the kingdoms of Naples and Sicily and the
duchy of Milan ; Mantua looketh him in the face and
obeyeth his every sign ; and as for Ferrara, what can it
do otherwise than be to him a helper? More by token
that he is said to have humbled the pride of Saxony and
clipped the wings of the most part of the German princes,
drawing to himself part of the Free Towns and sowing
discord among the Switzers. You will tell me maybe
that the pope might do him hindrance ; but I see not
that His Holiness armeth himself nor know I what con-
federates he hath and the Church of itself can offer him
no resistance, it being presently a time when spiritual
arms (to such a pass are we come) are little or not at
all feared. That a stripling, then, should at such a time
have sought to take the dominion of his fatherland, it being
in the emperor's dependence, argueth a truly Coesarean
soul ; and had he not fallen into the sea, he had doubtless,
as the saying is, put the beak to the goose,^ having already
made himself master of the galleys and occupied two gates
of the city. Consider a little the capacity of his mind,
which, without (as far as I know) imparting it to any, hath
so long masticated ^ and finally digested ^ so grave and
difficult an enterprise. Is it not known that, on the evening
of the night when he made his attempt, he in part discovered
his purpose to his guests and that, the learned and worthy
Paolo Pansa, who had reared him and his father from
childhood, asking him what he had in mind to do and

1 i.e. the Emperor.

^ i.e. made an end of the matter.

^ Sic {niasticata e digesia).

avouching himself greatly surprised that he should not
have discovered the matter to him, he answered him, saying,
"An I thought my shirt knew the conceits of my heart, I
would burn it," the which had been long before said of
Cato? Is it not known, moreover, that he commanded that
no annoy should be offered to Messer Andrea Doria what
while he lived, saying that from him, as his testamentary
guardian, he had received many kindnesses ? Again, it
is known that he discovered not to Count Girolamo, his
brother, his intent to seek to make himself master of
Genoa, but told him only that he sought to avenge himself
of an enemy of his and bade him go towards Banchi and
there wait till he should send to tell him what he would
have him do. But it is an established thing that in this
our mortal life a man is rarely (whether he will not or
know not or cannot) altogether good or altogether bad.
An he sought to make himself master of his native land,
it behoved him remove all obstacles which might hinder
him of his purpose or make the emprise difficult to him ;
but he could not be entirely perfect. Algates, that which
he did showeth the valour and magnanimity of his heart,
and if such great parts and gifts as his would be praised
in an old man, far more should they be admired and
celebrated in a stripling. One only thing, to my judgment,
was lacking in him, to wit, that he was no diviner and
provided not for the emprise remaining in his brother's
hands in the case [which befell] of his death in the hour
of victory ; but he was a man and not a God, and one
man is worth a thousand and a thausand are not worth
one. Now I have suffered myself be carried away, I know
not how, into discourse of this peerless youth, and it had
well-nigh escaped my mind what I promised to tell you.
You must know, then, that Count Sinibaldo Fiesco,

236

(beside his legitimate sons, Count Gian Aloisio and his
brothers, ) had by a fair gentlewoman of Genoa, his mistress,
a son called Cornelio and a daughter named Claudia, a fair
and graceful damsel, well bred and very engaging. She
was given in marriage, whilst yet very young, to Simone
Ravaschiero, son of Messer Manfredi, a rich man and one
of the first of Chiavari. Manfredi gladly made this alliance,
to have the count's interest against Count Agostino Lando,
with whom he was at law concerning the jurisdiction of a
castlewick on the borders of the Placentine, and the bride
was accordingly brought to Chiavari, where the nuptials
were held on such wise as sorted with the bridegroom's
quality and her own. She, being accustomed to the honest
freedom and sprightly fashion of converse which married
women and marriageable damsels use in Genoa, lived very
blithely and entreated all with an affable and pleasant
familiarity. Of her and her fair fashions and sprightly
manners, Giovanni Battista dalla Torre, a man of great
wealth and consideration in Chiavari, became sore en-
amoured and seeing her fair and blithe, began to follow her
whithersoever she went ; and for that he saw her every day
and talked with her very often, he studied with fair words
to make his love manifest to her. Claudia, who was nowise
dull, but very alert and quick-witted, jested and sported
with him, when he bespoke her of love, but never answered
him to the purpose and passed from that talk to another,
often giving him the flout. Nevertheless, the young man,
who sought otherwhat than jests and talk and would fain
have wrestled with her abed, still applied himself to tell
her his case and openly to discover to her the torment in
which he lived, using such words as young men in love are
wont to say to their mistresses ; but the poor lover wearied
himself in vain, for that she was not disposed to do him

237

any favour other than honest ; wherefore he abode sore
disconsolate.

The thing standing thus and his desire waxing daily, the
more hope failed in him of compassing that his love and
possessing the beloved object, he continued to pay court
to her and strove, whenassoever he had commodity thereof,
to make her aware of the pains which he said he suffered,
albeit she still replied to him on one wise, to wit, that she
had no mind to such toys. The infatuated lover, seeing
his affairs go from bad to worse and finding no manner of
solace for his cruel sufferings, abode sore ill-content and
knew not what to do. To withdraw from the emprise and
to leave loving her of whom he was so fervently enamoured
was impossible to him, albeit he applied himself thereto
again and again and studied to quench the devouring flames
which without cease miserably consumed him. Bytimes he
resolved not to go whereas she was nor bespeak her and to
eschew her sight as most he might ; but no sooner did he
set eyes on her again than the smouldering fire incontinent
blazed up anew and he doated more than ever on the
sprightly lady's charms, himseeming eke dead hope revived.
What while he abode between these alternatives, still going
from ill to worse, it chanced that one day the lady's husband
took boat and went off to Genoa upon certain business of
his ; the which Gian Battista hearing, he took counsel with
himself and resolved, betide thereof what would, to essay
by practice to obtain that which he might not avail to have
by other means ; to which end he bethought himself to
enter the lady's house in secret and hide himself under her
bed. He tarried "Tiot to give effect to his rash purpose ;
but, knowing how the house stood, he entered and hid
himself, without being seen of any, under the bed where
he knew the lady slept.

238

Evening come and bedtime, Madam Claudia entered the
chamber with her maid and began to undo herself; then,
mounting upon the bed and being about to put off her
shift, — whether it was her usance or whether some instinct
foreboded her of the case, — she bade the maid look that
there was none in the chamber. The maid, accordingly,
bent down to look under the bed and seeing one hidden
there, gave a loud scream and said, all trembling, "Alack,
madam, alack, there is a man hidden under your bed ! "
Claudia, who had already put off her shift, wrapped it
about her and without otherwise clothing herself, sprang
out of bed and ran, shrieking, to the mezzanine chamber
where Messer Manfredi her father-in-law slept and there
took refuge, all affrighted and trembling. Great was the
clamour which arose in the house and she and her maid
abode a good while, ere either could take breath to speak,
so dismayed were they. The hapless lover, who had fondly
flattered himself he might avail without difficulty to lie with
the lady, hearing her flee, was all aghast and opening a
window that overlooked a courtyard and was very high,
leapt down therefrom to the ground. He was grievously
hurt and crippled in the fall and abode so wried and
broken that he could not move ; but a neighbour, running
to the noise, let carry him away ; else he had been
slain.

The case was next morning bruited abroad everywhere
and Messer Manfredi straightway by letters and messengers
advised his son thereof post haste. Simone, who was at
Genoa, read his father's letter to Count Aloisio, in the
presence of many ; at which foul news the count was sore
despited and could not brook in quiet that such an affront
should be put upon his sister. However, like a wise man,
he dissembled his anger and falling a-smiling, said, as if

239

in jest, "Such are the extravagant pranks of these mad
young lovers, who take no thought to the issues of things.
CJian Battista should have come to an accord with my
sister and not have gone thither thus rashly and fool-
hardily ; however, he hath done both sin and penance at
once, for Messer Manfredi writeth that, if he live, he
will abide all crippled and palsied of his person, but it
\ is thought he will die." On this wise, then, concealing

the despite he felt against Gian Battista, he gave those
present to believe that he recked not of the matter ; but
\^ at heart he was all full of rancour and malice and was

inwardly resolved that such presumption should not remain
unpunished. And indeed great and marvellous are the
effects which are oftentimes seen to ensue of a generous
spirit, whenas it feeleth itself unjustly affronted, for that
the irascible appetite spurreth it on such wise and so in-
flameth it to avenge itself that it never resteth nor is
anywise appeased till it knoweth itself avenged, though
it see manifest ruin before its eyes ; whereof patent ex-
amples are daily to be seen.

Accordingly, the count, being inwardly resolved upon
vengeance, let call Cornelio his brother and Simone his
brother-in-law to him and said to them, " Thou hast heard,
Cornelio, the affront which yonder crackbrain, Gian Battista
dalla Torre, hath put upon our sister Claudia, and me-
thinketh that, — an thou have the spirit which, thou being
born of most noble parents, reason willeth thou shouldest
have, — thou wilt take order with Simone to wreak such
vengeance on the offender as the case requireth. I will
give you two pinnaces well equipped, with five-and-twenty
stout and well-armed men. Do you embark therein and
betake you to Chiavari this coming night two or three hours
before daybreak. Enter the place and make no delay about

240

the matter, but go straight to yonder accursed fellow's house
and hew him in pieces, as he deserveth. This done, do you
retire to our castles and I will provide for the rest. But,
an you do not that which I enjoin you, do thou, Cornelio,
never more come before me nor call thyself my brother ;
else be assured that, the first time thou darest draw near
me, I will slay thee with mine own hand ; and thou,
Simone, an thou do it not, I will no longer have thee to
brother-in-law or kinsman, still less to friend. "

The two brothers-in-law promised to do that which he
bade them ; and accordingly, being furnished with that
which they needed, they set out for Chiavari, the weather
being fair, and arrived there at the appointed hour. Land-
ing, they repaired to the city-gate and three of them, going
forward, called to the warders, who opened the wicket to
them. No sooner were they entered than they let down
the drawbridge ; whereupon all the others sprang up and
threatening the warders with death, an they cried out,
committed them to the care of certain of their number.
These latter they left in charge of the gate, whilst Cornelio,
Simone and the rest went straight to their enemy's house
and casting down the door with their engines, made their
way to the chamber where the hapless Gian Battista lay,
all broken and mangled, and slew him without mercy,
hewing him limb from limb and cutting his body into a
thousand pieces. Then, without being hindered of any,
they all issued safely out of Chiavari and retired, according
to the count's order, to the latter's castles, for fear of the
Genoese seigniory. Such, then, was the end of the rash,
and foolhardy presumption of the luckless lover, who chose,
without the lady's accord or that of her maid, to try his luck
and found it such as you have heard ; and in effect whoso
reckoneth without his host must reckon twice over.

T5annello

ta tijc facncrable iiMonsicjuor Stcfana Coniolfo.

Since you returned to your house in Monferrato and
Madam Fregosa, our common patroness, betook herself to
the court of the Most Christian King, I have still abidden
in my wonted lodging of Bassens. There, these latter days,
I heard how Priest Antonio Bartolommeo, called Cascabella,
was imprisoned at the Bishopry, for that, having, some thirty
years agone, taken a wife and had children by her, he after
let himself be ordained a priest and not only abode with his
said wife, but entertained a concubine, to boot. The wife
liveth, the legitimate son liveth and the concubine liveth,
together with sundry children, begotten of Cascabella. The
thing seemed to me passing strange nor indeed had I ever
heard of such a case in the Western Church. But the
wretch will now have to render an account of his doings.
There chanced to be certain of our officials there and various
things being discoursed of Cascabella and of his many vices
and malignant nature, Messer Barnabo Casanuova told a
story of another priest, which befell no great while agone ;
wherefore, having written it, I have chosen to send it to
you and to make you a gift thereof, so it may be read under
your name, in witness of our mutual goodwill and of many
kindnesses received from you. Fare you well.

VOL. IV. 1 6

A WOMAN, HAVING LONG BEEN A PRIEST'S
CONCUBINE AND BEING DISMISSED BY
HIM, HANGETH HERSELF IN HIS PROPER
CHAMBER.

It is beyond doubt, sirs, that there daily betide cases
after the nature of that whereof you have spoken ; and
I might tell you of many thereof, for that proceedings
are daily instituted anent the like matters. This betideth
for that men, being still sharply assailed of carnal appe-
tites, lightly suffer themselves to be overcome thereby and
go following them whithersoever they carry them. And
albeit all our passions are the occasion of great ills, it
seemeth withal that those of love and hate cause men
make the most extravagant errors ; for that a man, drawn
by some false semblant, whether of vengeance or of carnal
pleasure, thrusteth his head into the snare and goeth so
far forward that he hath much ado to withdraw. But,
speaking of the priest Cascabella, who hath so recklessly
fallen into so great an error, I have compassion upon
him, for that we are all frail and subject to the venereal
passion. I marvel indeed, that, at his age, he showeth
so little contrition. His wife is disposed to do that
which shall be ordered her ; but the concubine showeth
scant wish to do well and meknoweth not an she will
seek to imitate Priest Elia's baggage, of whom I shall
presently tell you. I chanced to be present at the ex-
amination and saw that he still goeth seeking to excuse

243

his error, which admitteth of no excuse ; the which
showeth the wound to be festered, his long and sorry
usance of lewd living having become to him as it were
a second nature, so that the habit formed in an ill hour
hath more power to keep him in the sin than exhorta-
tions to draw him to amendment ; for habits of whatsoever
kind may very uneath be done away. Wherefore whoso
desireth to live a Christian life, an bytimes he fall into
sin, should incontinent seek to raise himself up again
nor suffer himself wax hardened in vice ; else he becometh
a slave of sin and in a manner loseth his liberty, sub-
mitting himself to the misgovernance of his corrupt and
vicious nature, which is still prone to go from bad to
worse. Now I, thinking to tell of Priest Elia's concu-
bine, am become in a manner a preacher, as if there
were any in this honourable company who stand in need
of my exhortations.

I must tell you, then, that, in the days of our late bishop
of good and pious memory, Monsignor Antonio dalla
Rovere, of the family of the Seigniors of Vinuovo, hard by
Turin, a man of chastened life and learning. Priest Elia da
Alto Pino was vicar of the parish of Ameto, a village under
the jurisdiction of Monseigneur de Caumont and in the
diocese of Agen. The said priest entertained a concubine,
with whom he had lived more than nine years, still keeping
her in the house, as she had been his wife ; the which gave
rise to scandal in the village and the neighbouring parishes
and there was much murmuring thereat. But he recked
nothing of others' talk and persisted in his lewdness, nay,
went from bad to worse. Now it was the usance of my lord
bishop, whenas he found any priest who sinned in secret, to
endeavour with the utmost urbanity, modesty and clemency
to bring him back to well-doing and draw him forth of his

244

sin, correcting him with love and charity and secret pen-
ances, whereas the fault was hidden. Those, however,
whose sins were public and scandalous, he chastised with
more severity and punished with public penances or with
imprisonment, still withal using more mercy than justice,
like a good shepherd as he was, and seeking rather the life
of the delinquent than his death. Accordingly, understand-
ing Priest Elia's lewd and filthy life, he let cite him before
his tribunal ; whereupon he came and being examined of
the bishop, freely confessed his most grievous error and with
humility and tears besought pardon thereof.

My lord, hearing his free confession and seeing the sorrow
which he showed for his sin, he promising to send away
the woman and never more to fall into a like default,
but thenceforward to lead a godly life, had compassion
on him and having left him awhile in prison, mortifying
him with fasts and other penances, let once more bring
him before himself; whereupon Elia prostrated himself
at his feet and besought him anew of pardon and mercy.
"Priest Elia," quoth the bishop, "thine enormous, libidinous
and grievous sin and the long time thou hast abidden therein,
together with the scandal given to thy parishioners and to
many others, deserved that I should let perpetually mortify
thee in a darksome prison upon a pittance of bread and
water ; but, forasmuch as thou showest contrition for thy
wickedness and promisest me to do thyself free from this
fetid quagmire of lust and never more to return thereto
and as moreover I have good witness that thou governest
the souls committed to thy care aright and that, albeit
thou thyself livest ill, thou nevertheless exhortest the people
to live catholically and rebukest vice, I have chosen to
use more clemency with thee than severity and justice.
Look, then, that thou approve thyself grateful for the in-

245

diligence I show thee and let me hear no more complaints
of thee ; else will I use thee after such a fashion that thou
wilt repent thee of having fallen into my hands. Go with
God's blessing and mine and sin no more. "

Now the priest had already let dismiss his concul)ine
his house, giving her to understand that he would have
no more to do with her ; and accordingly, returning home,
he applied to change his life and manners, living as a good
priest should and showing that he heartily repented him.
The concubine, who would fain have returned to live
under the shadow of the belfry, essayed by many ways
to draw the priest to the old lure, but might nowise avail
thereto ; wherefore at last the poor wretch, seeing that
she wearied herself in vain and that he would no more
of her converse, waxed desperate and resolved (whether
it was that she was enamoured of him or whatever was
the cause thereof) to live no longer. Accordingly, hearing
one day that Elia was gone to carry the most precious
and holy body of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ to
a countryman, who was at the point of death, at some
distance from the parish church, the despairful woman
repaired to his house, every part of which she knew,
having dwelt there nine years, and entering, broke open
his chamber with her tools, then hanged herself with the
well-rope to a beam there and broke her neck. The priest
presently returned and entering his chamber with sundry
folk, saw that frightful spectacle. There flocked many
thither and great was the clamour ; and the wretched
woman was, as she deserved, drawn to the asses' burial-
place. I myself went thither by the bishop's commandment
and saw her hanging, and there were those who testified
to having seen her hasten towards the priest's house, what
while he was gone with the Corpus Domini.

iBantJello

to t^z most illustrious anti excellent lalig IHatiame
^nne "bz ^olignac, ffl^ountess tie la 5^ocl^e=
foucault et "be Saucerte, princess tie iiHarsillac
et ©ame tie iiKontasnac, Eautian, ©njen,
Fetteutl, etc.

How many and how various, most noble and accomplished
madam, are the chances which daily betide in matters of
love, may lightly be conceived of whoso considereth how
diverse are the understandings and how various the appetites
and desires of men and women. And albeit Love often-
times exerciseth its divine and invisible might on such wise
that the lover is seen to be transformed into the beloved
and altogether to change his nature and usances, becoming
other than that which he was before, nevertheless it for the
most part worketh on one wise in a choleric and on another
in a melancholy man. Again, we see the behaviour of the
phlegmatic to be different from that of the sanguine, whenas
love harboureth in their breasts, for that with all its forces
and all its flaming fires it may not avail so throughly to
burn, smelt and transmute a man and refine him in its fiery
and unslackening furnaces, but the soul mostwhiles goeth
ensuing the passions of the body by its natural way.
Wherefore it is no marvel if we see one lover abide still
in joy and allegresse and albeit his mistress flouteth him

247

and showeth herself still froward to him, rejecting his
service, he for all that dcspaireth not, but taketh in good
part whatsoever he seeth and suffereth, for that such is
his native disposition. Another, on the contrary, caressed
though he be by his terrestrial idol and like to touch the
skies with his finger for excess of contentment, abideth
yet without cease all aflood with amorous sufferance and
midmost a sea of allegresse, weepeth and sigheth, still
fulfilled with freezing fears. A third now laugheth, now
weepeth, now abideth in suspense between the two and
changeth humour, governing and ordering himself by the
countenance of her whom he loveth, like as the sailor
steereth his course through tempest and foul weather by
the gelid sign of the Pole-star. Thus variously, then, is
pleasure tasted, is dolour scorned and life shunned and
abhorred, nay, oftentimes death is desired and sought both
of happy and unhappy lovers, according to the different
temperaments of these and of those. But of these differences
among men and of these various fashions of love I purpose
not to discourse at this present, for that another place
were needful point by point to discuss them and ampler
space to treat of them as a whole, and I set myself,
worshipful madam, to write to you at this present, not to
debate of philosophical questions but to acquaint you with
the strange chances that daily betide in the ample domain
of love. Now, like as lovers differ in appetites, in nature,
in fashions, in habits (which in the long run become a second
nature) and actions, even so we still see that which is done
to be like unto the doer. Education and our freewill may
indeed change the bodily passions ; but I speak of that
which is usual and customary. Wherefore, if in this our
age men delighted to write down all the notable and
excellent things which happen day by day and which are

248

worthy of eternal remembrance, they would not only do a
worthy work, but would eke be the means of instructing
those who read their writings, and the time, which is now
mostly wasted in useless talk and squandered upon idle toys
not worth a straw, would be spent in reading things delect-
able and profitable ; nay, oftentimes, many occasions of
evil would be eschewed. Nor need they fear that subjects
and matter for writing would ever fail them, for that Love's
domain being immeasurably great and he having servants
innumerable and of various dispositions, divers effects must
of necessity arise every day, the which, an they be goodly
and honourable, invite mankind to just and virtuous dealings
and being known sorry and blameworthy, are a sure bridle
to curb disorderly appetites and hinder us from precipitating
ourselves headlong into the like errors. Now there was,
in Lombardy, some years agone, a very honourable and
gallant company assembled by way of disport in a most
delightsome garden and seated, under a trellis of sweet-
scented jessamine, upon the fresh and cool green grass,
enamelled with a thousand kinds of lovesome and fragrant
flowers, and there being sundry courteous and accomplished
ladies and divers well-bred and virtuous youths present, the
talk, after many discoursements, turned upon love, that
sweetest and most dulcet condiment of all converse which
is toward in merry companies. Messer Luca Valenzano,
a man of good letters, blithe and mirthful in company
and a most dulcet speaker, being there present, was
prayed, if he had aught in hand that might afford them
delectation, to be pleased to tell it, so the time might
agreeably be whiled away ; whereupon he, being courteous
and a great servant of the ladies, related a piteous case,
which had befallen no great while before. The company
showed themselves mightily pleased with Valenzano's story

249

and all of one accord urged me to commit it to writing
and add it to the number of my other novels ; where-
fore I set it down point by point as the thing was told.
Now, going about to gather my scattered novels together,
that I might put the last touch to them, I found this
and inasmuch as it will be viewed and read with art,^
meseemed prudent not to send it forth without a tute-
lary shield, such as I use to give to all the others, so
it may avail to cover itself against yonder critical railers
and cruel carpers at other folk's productions. Marry,
indeed, an things were ruled by my counsel, it and its
fellows would on no account let themselves be seen of
those who have (as they would have us believe) so sub-
dued and overcome their passions and mortified their
appetites that they vaingloriously boast themselves of
doing nothing save by the governance of reason and that
the senses have no part in their actions. Such as these
I would have my novels shun as the pest and eschew
them to the utmost of their power, inasmuch as they
would but be scorned and I without end blamed and
holden foolish. But they shall go only into the hands
of those men and those women who, being of flesh and
blood, think no shame to suffer themselves to be bytimes
overcome of amorous passions, so but they rule them as
temperately they may. With these I will have them
sojourn day and night and never more depart from them;
but, in case it should e'en behove them whiles show
themselves otherwhere, it is my will that this one appear
armed with your noble and illustrious name, whose rever-
ence and repute shall safeguard it against yonder super-
stitious hypocrites ; for that, in truth, that generous name

1 Sic (con Varte, i.e. with critical eyes?). Var. con ^'aUre, Vi'ith
the rest.

2SO

of yours bringeth with it such assurance that it may, under
such a safeguard, let itself be seen in any place, without
being bitten. Nor, madam, should it appear strange to
you, who are so great a lady, that I, a man of mean
estate and little account, presume so far as to avail my-
self of you, albeit I have paid my respects to you but
once, to wit, what time you came to Bassens in company
of the most illustrious and reverend prelate. Cardinal
d'Armagnac, a man never to be named without a prefix
of honour, and lodged in the house of the most illus-
trious princess. Madam Costanza Rangona e Fregosa, my
mistress and patroness ; for that there, where I live to
myself and the Muses, you then gave us such a taste
of your urbanity, of your gentilesse and your courtesy
that I may reasonably venture, without fear of blame or
rebuke, to avail myself in this of your illustrious and
famous name. But what should I fear, having in re-
membrance the lavish and most courteous proffers, which,
without desert on my part, you deigned, at your departing
hence, so graciously to make me and in such engaging
terms ? Moreover, the renown of your high worth, which
resoundeth everywhere, and that which is daily most
worshipfuUy reported of your conversation and usances
by those who know you familiarly, give me to believe
that, albeit indeed I have never done you any service,
this my novel will not be unwelcome to you ; nay, I am
firmly persuaded that you will hold it dear. I have eke
been moved to give it to you and to inscribe it unto
your name for that, in these six years that I have still
abidden in this realm of France, I have seen no lady
who delighteth more than you in the Italian tongue or
who hearkeneth more gladly to that which is written
therein, as you fully showed, whenas you listened with

251

close attention to the reading of sundry of my novels
and (what seemed to me no small thing) ajJiJrovcil the
soundness of your judgment by your judicious selection
of the good and the best. This novel, then, I send you
and dedicate to your name, assured that it will of your
favour be graciously accepted by you. May our Lord
God prosper all your thoughts ! Fare you well.

AN ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY, SEEING
HERSELF ABANDONED BY HER LOVER,
THINKETH TO POISON HERSELF, BUT
DRINKETH A HARMLESS WATER.

Since, by virtue of those fair eyes which were my true
and fostering sun upon earth, I began to feel the flames of
love and by most manifest experience to prove their divine
puissance, I have still holden it for certain that there is
nothing in the world, how grievous, hard and perilous soever
it be, but appeareth, to a lofty, generous and noble spirit,
forged and smelted in the purging fires of love, safe, light
and eath to put in execution. I for my part have ever
accounted all for nought, save the compleasing in every-
thing of the person truly beloved, especially whenas love
is known to be in part requited, though it should behove
me be lavish, nay, prodigal, not only of the goods of fortune,
but of my very life. Wherefore, an bytimes we see men
or women, for excess of love or bereavement of the beloved

252

object, run greedily to precipices, to waters, to fire, to steel,
to the cord and to poison and become their own murderers,
meseemeth the case is worthier of pity and compassion than
of blame and chastisement and that we should all take
warning by these woeful chances to govern ourselves sagely
and not to give so loose a rein to our unruly appetites but
that we may in case of need avail to resume the governance
thereof and steer our course by the compass of sovereign
reason. As for those who stick not to avouch that they do
with love as liketh them and can love and unlove at will,
methinketh (and my opinion, an it be debated, is not
without a foundation of reason) they have never loved nor
known by experience what it is to open the breast to the
amorous flames, for that, albeit it is possible for a lover in
course of time to do himself loose from the toils of love,
whereas he seeth his service to be unaccepted, Time being
the devourer of all created things, I am convinced that there
are few true lovers so fortunate that they can of a sudden,
though they should see themselves scorned and flouted of
their mistresses, quench the amorous flames and from slaves
become freemen. If any there be so master of his passions
and sentiments that he can dispose them as he will to his
every wish, of such an one I say that he is no man of this
world ; nay, I afiirm that he holdeth far more of the celestial
and the divine than of the terrestrial and the human. Now,
albeit I might by many examples approve the justness of
this mine opinion, I will proceed to the narration of a case
newly betided in a city of Lombardy and worthy to be
published by a more worshipful and learned mouth than
mine own, the which is scarce sufficient to tell what
happened, far less to adorn with a sprightly and agreeable
style the particulars of this most noble passage, which
deserveth indeed to be celebrated and commended by the

253

fluent and dulcet eloquence of our divine Boccaccio. Here
shall you see how a virtuous damsel chose rather to lose her
life than the love of her lord and how she quaffed the death-
dealing poison with a blither and gladsomer countenance
and a wholer and more steadfast heart than that wherewith
the pilgrim, whenas, wearied with a long and toilsome
journey and parched with the heat of the mid-day sun, he
arriveth under some shade, drinketh the sweet and limpid
waters of a cool and clear fountain, as it welleth forth of the
live rock and fareth with a grateful murmur through the
green grass. This she did for that she loved beyond
measure and made more account of her lover than of her
own life. Here shall you see, to boot, what mischief may
be done by the ignorant malignity and the shallow brain
of a worthless woman, who, thinking of no otherwhat than
of her own advantage and of the satisfaction of her un-
chaste desires, showed that she recked neither of honour
nor of shame nor of harm that might ensue thereof. But,
for that to blame women was never pleasing to me and
that of respect for her, who, whilst she lived, was my
pole-star, I desire to have all women in honour and to see
them honoured of all, I will keep you no longer in suspense,
but will come incontinent to the fact.

You must know, then, that in a city of Lombardy there
was (and yet is) a gentleman by name Camillo, whom some
of you know and who is honourably endowed with the
gifts of nature and of fortune and very fortunate in love,
being by nature much inclined to the service of the ladies.
He made the acquaintance of a very well favoured and
accomplished damsel, called Cinzia, who excelled in touching
the harpsichord, and had not long companied with her ere
their familiar converse turned to that kind of love which
Calandrino would have had his comrade Bruno tell to

254

Niccolosa.* Camillo, to boot, much delighted in music,
so that, being daily in the damsel's house, (the which was
frequented by many gentlemen and especially by the virtuosos
of the city, for that there was still playing and singing
there and some pleasant discourse toward) he became
ardently enamoured of her and she of him. This being the
case, there was no great difficulty in giving accomplishment
to their loves and having amorous joy of each other ; for
that the young lady, being in no fear of her husband, who
had for some misdeed or other been banished the city, left
every other love and gave herself altogether into Camillo's
power. Moreover, this she did with the cognizance of her
father and mother, and they, constrained by poverty and
making great profit by Camillo, who largely provided for the
household occasions in well-nigh everything, freely suffered
him to be with their daughter whenassoever it pleased him,
whether by day or by night. She, as I have already said,
recked of none other than Camillo, but loved him most
fervently and was altogether dependent upon his will ;
wherefore, no great while after, she conceived with child
and was presently brought to bed of a fair daughter.

Camillo on his part loved his accomplished Cinzia very
dearly and let her want for nothing ; wherefore, so she
should not be at pains to suckle the child and might with
greater commodity attend to her pleasures and sing and
play whenassoever it pleased her, he provided her with
a very young nurse, a malapert minx, who was none too
chary of conceiving and bearing children without a husband
nor might ever abide without one or two husbandmen to
water her little hortyard ; and for that she was well favoured,
it chanced eke that some gentleman or other had bytimes

1 See my " Decameron of Boccaccio," Day IX. Story V.

255

to do with her. There came ever many to hear Cinzia
phxy and Caiiiillo oftentimes brought folk thither, especially
if any gentleman or nobleman came to the city, so that
the house was seldom empty. Goody nurse accordingly
proceeded to clap up with one and another of the servants
of those gentlemen who frequented the house and bytimes
to prove which of them weighed the most and was the
doughtiest ; whereof Cinzia chid her sharply, for no other-
what than of her fear lest she should mar her milk
for her daughter, and the nurse, loath to lose her pasture,
cast about for a device whereby she might get a hold upon
her mistress and dispose of her at her will, for that she
had her share of cunning and thought by this means to
compass her intent. Accordingly, she sounded sundry
youths and strove to persuade them to require Cinzia of
love, assuring them that the emprise was easy of achieve-
ment and that she would aid them in all that was possible
to her ; so that, if Cinzia hearkened to other than Camillo,
she might still hold her under her thumb and have her
pliable to her wishes nor fear any more to be chidden or
reproved of her, an she chose to give herself amorous
pleasure with whoso most liked her. However, for all she
essayed many young men, she might not accomplish the
affair, for that none dared expose himself to the hazard of
such an emprise, as well of respect for Camillo as for fear
lest he should cause give them buffets good measure.

The nurse, seeing that this fashion succeeded not to her,
was nowise moved from her purpose, but bethought herself
to try another way, as I will tell you out of hand, an you
will hearken patiently unto me. Camillo had a friend and
more than a brother to him, called Giulio, a young man of
very noble family in that city and beyond measure high
minded and magnanimous, with whom he shared his every

256

secret ; nay, to such a pitch was this brotherly privacy waxen
between them and so strait was the bond of their friendship
that they might verily be said to be one soul in two bodies ;
wherefore they mostwhiles abode together and it seemed as
if one might not live without the other. Giulio marvellously
delighted in music and sang his part mighty surely by the
book,^ forby that he also played on sundry instruments; by
reason whereof he was grown so familiar with Cinzia that,
were Camillo there or not, he abode day and night without
scruple to converse with her and loved her as his proper
sister, of his regard for his friend. The nurse, seeing this
loving familiarity between them, determined to do her utmost
endeavour so Giulio should take amorous pleasure with
Cinzia ; wherefore, finding him standing one noonday at
a window, ogling, by way of jest and diversion, a damsel,
who abode overagainst Cinzia's lodging, she drew near to
him and said, laughingly, "Alack, Giulio, I know not what
to think of thine affairs ; thou goest fretting thy jesses ^ for
yonder damsel, who is such a jade that thou wilt never get
the wind of her, more by token that her brother is exceeding
jealous of her and keepeth her under the straitest guard and
an aunt of hers never letteth her out of her sight, as thou
mayst plainly see. How much better were it that thou
shouldst leave yonder minx and turn thy thoughts else-
whither and love her who loveth thee and supremely desireth
to complease thee, once she seeth that thou art minded to
love her, as she loveth thee." "And who," asked Giulio,
"is this of whom thou bespeakest me? Who is she?"
" Marry, " answered the nurse, "it is Cinzia, my mistress,

1 A libra, i.e. "from notes," as opposed to "by ear."

2 One of the metaphors taken from the practice of falconry which
so frequently occur in mediaeval and Renaissance literature.

257

who lovcth thee far more than herself, as I can most
certainly testify, seeing she hath more than once confessed
as much to me. But she dareth not tell it thee, lest thou
shouldst discover it to Camillo." Whereupon Giulio, who
had set his thoughts otherwhere and whiles, for pastime,
feigned to be enamoured of the girl in question, but had
died rather than do such a wrong to his Camillo, said to her,
"I do not believe that Cinzia hath in her head such thoughts
of me, knowing as she doth that I love her as a sister, nor
would the regard I have for Camillo suffer me hear of such
an emprise. She may rest assured that I would do every-
thing possible for the love of her, so but it involved not
wrongdoing to Camillo." Then, thinking to certify him-
self of Cinzia's mind and advertise Camillo of the whole,
"Harkye, nurse," added he, "I believe not in these fables
for many reasons ; but, if Cinzia will have aught of me, let
her tell it to me, seeing she hath commodity to speak with
me at her pleasure whenassoever she will, without any
intermediary. "

The treacherous nurse, who had hatched the whole plot
of her own fancy, without Cinzia's knowledge, cared not
for the nonce to press the matter farther, finding the soil
over-hard ; but taking her opportunity, what while Cinzia
was undoing herself to go to bed, one night when Camillo
was not to be there, she entered, after some indifterent
talk, upon discourse of matters amorous and passing from
one subject to another, said to her, " I know for certain,
mistress mine, that Giulio loveth you more than his soul
and greatly desireth that you should command him, for
that you will still find him most ready to serve you."
"Good," replied Cinzia; "I know full well that he loveth
me heartily and I also love him, as he were my brother."
"Nay," quoth the other, "I mean it not on that wise;

VOL. IV. 17

258

I tell you he loveth you with that love which men
generally bear women, to lie with them. So Giulio loveth
you to enjoy this your person and hath already bespoken
me somewhat thereof, beseeching me intercede with you
and induce you to complease him, whenassoever there
shall be commodity thereof; the which may still be, an
you will." "That I believe not," answered Cinzia, "for
I deem not Giulio so disloyal and so hare-brained that
he would seek to do Camillo so enormous an affront."
" I know nothing of all these niceties," rejoined the
knavish nurse ; " I only know well that he is enamoured
of you and would fain lie with you, so he may at his
pleasure hold you in his arms and enjoy you ; and you
are a simpleton, an you do it not. And what a devil
think you to do ? He is young and loveth you heartily
and will still abide your servant. Why, then, should you
not complease him ? Are you so fond and simple as to
think that Camillo contenteth himself with you alone and
with your kisses and amorous embracements ? Faith, an
you think that, you are mistaken. I know full well the
life he leadeth and that which he doth. He goeth
every day seeking new amours and is never satisfied with
one or two ; and whenas he hath not whither to go to
his liking or some appointed rendezvous faileth him, he
cometh hither. Are you so blind that you are unaware
thereof? Egad, the blind themselves would perceive it.
An he keep not his faith to you, why should you keep
it to him ? Remember that, these days past, he could
not deny to you that he had lain the night with such
a woman. Whoso cheateth me once, I repay him in kind
and double measure, an I may ; and an I may not, I
keep it in mind till the opportunity offer to avenge myself.
But I must warn you that opportunities left are lost.

2S9

Give yourself a good time, whilst you are young, and wait
not for old age, for you know well what is used to be
proverbially said, to wit, ' Tidbits for wenches young, Gags
for the old wife's tongue.'^ You have otherwhiles com-
pleased many of your person, who are not to be evened
with Giulio, and now you would fain play Saint Touch-
me-not and show yourself coy of pleasure, whenas you should
seek it with all diligence. Meseemeth I have said enough
to you and have put you in mind of your advantage ; do
now that which seemeth good to you. An you have occasion
for my services, both in this and in otherwhat, you will
ever find me most ready to oblige you."

Cinzia, hearing the nurse talk on this wise, concluded
her to be an arrant bawd and doubted not but she had
corrupted more than one lady ; then, being in two minds
if she should believe that which was told her of Giulio
or jiot, she said to her, " Let there be an end of thy
talk and never more bespeak me a word of such fables.
An Giulio be (which I believe not) such as thou tellest
me, he converseth with me at all hours and will know very
well to tell me his case." And the nurse offering to say
I know not what, "Go to," quoth Cinzia; "be silent
and let me hear no more from thee." It seemed to the
nurse that Cinzia was somewhat coyer than she had thought ;
nevertheless, she forbore not withal to make two or three
more assaults as well upon her as upon Giulio, but was
sharply rebuffed. Giulio had determined to advertise
Camillo of all and was like to have told him how the
case stood, but forbore, being not altogether assured of
the truth of that which the nurse had told him of Cinzia's
mind, and to the latter he dared not say a word of the

' See my " Decameron of Boccaccio," Vol. II. p. 2

34-

26o

matter, lest he should make her think what was not and
put a maggot into her head. Cinzia, on like wise, abode
in doubt of that which should be done, whether to advise
Camillo of the matter or not, and could not resolve herself,
still fearing to err, whether she did this or that. But the
wicked nurse, seeing that she did but incense the dead ^
and misdoubting her lest her plot should be discovered
and her tricks known, determined to take the vantage
and feign herself very jealous and tender of Camillo's
honour, so she might at the least abide in favour with
him. Accordingly, she let give him to understand, by
one of his serving-men, that she was solicited of certain
young men to leave the house-door open anights, under
promise of a good sum of monies, but that she would
never do such a thing ; wherefore she advertised him
thereof, lest Cinzia should be debauched of some one of
the many folk who still frequented her and admit whoso
was to her liking, unknown of him.

Camillo, hearing this fable, and believing it, (for that
he knew by experience how women are whiles fain to
spare the household gear and seek to spend that of others,
the neighbours' good still seeming to them more savoury
than their own,) bade the nurse come to an accord with
some one and bring him thither and leave the care of the
rest to him. The false jade, however, alleged all manner
of excuses and never caused any one come, for that, as
was afterwards known, the fact was altogether contrary to
that which she had represented to Camillo. She had
indeed sounded divers men and promised them to leave
the door open, exhorting them to come in by night and

1 Or, as we should say, " floggfed a dead horse," i.e. wasted her
endeavours upon those who were insensible to her persuasions.

26 1

assuring them that they would not find Cinzia contrary.
This she did, so she might after say that they had come
by Cinzia's appointment and eke for tliat she herself would
fain have brought in certain of her own garden-tillers, of
whom she had a horde ; but there was none dared adventure
himself for fear of Camillo, who dwelt hard by. Where-
fore, seeing that this device availed her not, she let tell
Camillo that needs must she bespeak him of a privy matter
and one of no small importance. He accordingly came
to the house and Cinzia being in company with many
folk, he went, under colour of wishing to see his daughter,
to seek the nurse in her chamber ; whereupon she, being
alone with him, bespoke him on this wise, saying, "Sir,
you having given me your daughter in charge, methinketh
I am bounden to discover to you all that which I see
prejudicial to your honour. Yestereve, you being abroad,
Giulio came hither at dusk and aljode till past three of
the night, 1 although it is the month of June, when, for
the shortness of the nights, the season requireth that men
should go sleep betimes. Nevertheless, for that he is used
to abide here otherwhiles in your absence, I took no heed
thereto, knowing that you hold him so dear and that you
have more than once, whenas it behoved you depart hence,
prayed him remain with Cinzia ; but, meseeming yester-
night I saw I know not what which mispleased me and
hearing certain words which he said to Cinzia and which
were, sooth to say, neither fair nor good, there occurred
to my mind that which I after found to be the case, to
wit, that Cinzia, whenas she hath commodity thereof,
taketh amorous pleasure with Giulio and compleaseth him
of her body. I must tell you, sir, that young as you see

262

me, I know how things go and am not lightly to be
deceived. Suffice it that, wishing to certify myself of the
truth and (as the saying is) to take the hen on the egg,
I feigned to betake myself to bed ; then, having waited
awhile, I came softly out and repaired barefoot in the dark
to the door of Cinzia's sleeping-chamber, which I found
shut, but not made fast with the bolt. Accordingly, I
opened it a little so adroitly that I was not heard and
plainly perceived (albeit they had set the light, which
burneth in the chamber, behind the curtains,) that they
were on the bed, dallying amorously together, whereof
the creaking of the bed and their broken words and sighs
bore manifest witness. I abode there a good while and
heard t^eir repeated kisses and the various amorous endear-
ments which passed between them, together with many other
little things, which use, as you know, to be done in like
cases ; then, meseeming I was sufficiently certified of their
doings, I returned in silence to my chamber. Presently,
feigning the lamp, which I still burn anights for the child's
occasions, to be extinguished, I came out, making a scuffling
with my feet, and repaired to Cinzia's chamber, where I
found the door open and the light restored to its place,
and they had seated themselves on the bed, which, all
tumbled and undone as it was, bore witness of that which
had been done there ; and having rekindled my light, I
returned to my chamber. God knoweth how little I slept
that night and how it irketh and grieveth me to have to
give you such news, for that I loved and respected Giulio
for your sake. But I am overmuch beholden to you and
ought not to fail of advising you of that which pertaineth
unto your honour. Marry, I pray you keep it me secret,
for many reasons which you may imagine, so Giulio may
not do me an ill turn. "

263

Moreover, the rascally nurse, not content with this treason
and the better to carry out her villainous design, related this
fable to many, so it might be carried by other mouths to
Camillo's ears ; and the device succeeded but too well,
inasmuch as Camillo's mother, his brothers and other his
kinsfolk took him very sharply to task of the matter and
would fain have constrained him to rid himself of Cinzia's
commerce, alleging that not only had she to do with Giulio,
but that she made free of herself to others and that the thing
was so notorious that it needed no confirmation ; which
belief arose from the fact that the nurse had whispered about
I know not what of divers other young men, who declared
that they had oftentimes enjoyed Cinzia's favours. Camillo,
hearing these cunningly devised tales and believing them
to be true, felt the earth fail under his feet and was so
amazed that he knew not what to do. He loved Cinzia
supremely, as well for the love himseemed she bore him
and the amorous caresses he received from her as also for
the virtues and good parts which distinguished her and
which rendered her very lovesome ; wherefore, to hear that
she had abandoned herself to others afflicted him overmuch
and himseemed he felt his heart torn up by the roots. But
that which more than aught else stung him to the quick
and miserably tormented him was that so dear a friend as he
held Giulio should have done him such an outrage and so
enormous a wrong, and his chagrin made such an impress
on his heart that he was like to fall grievously sick. He
lost sleep and appetite and did nought but rave and con-
jecture and imagine all manner of extravagances, resolving
now one thing, now another. When he remembered him
of the heartfelt love and the strait friendship that was
between himself and Giulio, himseemed impossilile that the
latter should ever have done him so great an injury and

264

shame ; nay, though he had seen it, he would not have
credited it. On the other hand, recalling the nurse's words
and accounting them true, he was constrained to believe
that, if indeed any amorous privacies had ensued between
Giulio and Cinzia, she ^ was the occasion thereof and had
drawn him thereto perforce ; and withal it was over-grievous
to him to feel himself wronged on such wise by so dear
a friend. Affronts are ever irksome and grievous to endure
unto those who suffer them ; nevertheless, meseemeth there
is a great difference between the offence which thine enemy
doth thee and that which thou receivest from thy friend.
The enemy doth but his office, whenas he injureth his
adversary ; but if he, whom thou thoughtest thy friend,
turn against thee and work thee harm under the veil of
friendship, verily, such an offence, inasmuch as he faileth
of his duty, striketh its venomous dart deep into the heart
and is uneath to endure ; yet can a man's prudence, an he
will, provide for such cases and cause reason have the upper
hand.

Camillo's commerce with Cinzia had now lasted some
years and he was daily taken to task by his kinsfolk
therefor with sharp reproofs, nay, the bishop of the city,
a man of godly life, had more than once besought him
to make an end of that practice, which, besides offending
God, was a hurt and a dishonour to himself; wherefore,
after he had pondered and repondered the matter, feeling
it overhard that his friend should have used him thus
and himseeming this was an apt occasion to set himself
at liberty, he resolved rather to lose Cinzia's converse
than Giulio's friendship and accordingly wrote her a letter
to the following effect : " Cinzia, thou must not think

1 I.e. Cinzia.

265

with thine insatiable lust to cause me abandon a gentle-
man, wiio is my friend and more than brother, for all
he hath been drawn perforce to lie with thee by thy
false blandishments and whorish fashions ; nay, I will that
he be mine more than ever and will still love and
revere him as the divine instrument of my recovered
liberty, recognizing, as I now do, the unworthiness of
my servitude ; wherefore do thou think no more of me
(such as I am) nor count upon me for the future.
Henceforth thou art at liberty and mayst have whomso-
ever thou wilt to lie with thee night and day ; and
albeit I might with just cause reproach and complain of
thee, I will not do it ; suffice it that of deliberate purpose,
moved by sure and sufficient reasons, I take myself from
thee and leave thee for ever."

This letter he despatched by a serving-man to Cinzia,
who, having read it with infinite pain, abode awhile so
aghast and so stupefied that she rather resembled a marble
statue than a live woman ; then, remembering her of the
nurse's words, she suddenly bethought herself that what
Camillo wrote to her came all of that woman and that
he meant it of none other than Giulio, wherefore she
sent to call the latter to her and awaited his coming,
all full of tears and sighs. Giulio presently came to her
and finding her thus afflicted, asked her what ailed her ;
whereupon she showed him what Camillo had written her.
The sight of this struck Giulio with a grievous and un-
expected wound and he abode a pretty while silent, hiding
as most he might the inward and infinite pain which this
calumny caused him ; then, after some talk, having told
one the other that which the nurse had before said to
each separately, they came to the conclusion that it was
she who had hatched the whole plot and had with her

266

lying tales made Camillo believe that which was not.
Giulio accordingly comforted her with good words as best
he might and assured her that the truth would ultimately
be known ; then, taking leave of her, he went in quest of a
friend of his, who also was a great friend and familiar of
Camillo's and was called Delio and finding him in act to
write sundry letters, said to him, after the wonted saluta-
tions, " I know, Delio mine, that thou marvellest at my
coming at so early an hour, the sun being scarce yet risen
in the East ; but thou wilt marvel yet more, when I tell thee
the occasion thereof. Thou knowest the -friendship that is
between Camillo and myself nor doth it need that I inform
thee thereof, inasmuch as thou hast had many occasions of
seeing that I make no difference between him and my natural
brothers, for that certes I love him as my very life. I know
also that thou knowest how much in mine own despite,
I having been bred at the court of Rome and having
sojourned long at those of France and Spain and com-
merced in many parts of those kingdoms, I abide in
this my native land, where the life is very foreign to
my nature and to the manners of the places where I
was reared and where I have long lived. Wherefore
thou rarely seest me consort with the townsfolk here, for
that they savour nothing of the courtier and their mode
of life is very different from the usance which I would
fain see in my native land, but I have made my life with
Camillo and one or two others, who also have been abroad
and have learned a thousand fair fashions of living and civil
usances, as likewise to entertain strangers and honour them.
Moreover, these our fellow-citizens have one and all this
maggot in their heads, that each would fain be accounted
the chiefest man of the city, and thou seest them go strutting
along the streets, with crest erect and puffed-out breast, look-

267

ing hither and thither to see who giveth them the bonnet,
who inclineth himself to them, as they were great counts
and cavaliers and seigniors of the city. Methinketh there
be no folk in Italy, who delight more in titles of honour,
such as marquess, count and cavalier, than do these, for
that they marvellously rejoice to be called by the like names,
though they may not have the means to live like gentlefolk.
Now I am one of those, to whom these empty grandeurs
and vain titles are more irksome than the pest and I set
more store by the goodly substance which our ancestors
have by ancient inheritance left to my brothers and myself
than by being called cavalier or count ; marry, indeed, I
would fain have the roast and not the smoke, for that the
roast nourisheth and the smoke stifleth and killeth us. But,
for that we have oftentimes devised of this, blaming the
way of living of this place and wishing, though in vain,
that there were here those honourable and laudable privacies
which obtain in many other cities of Lombardy, I will say
no more upon this subject save that, being unemployed and
whiles knowing not whither to betake myself, I oftentimes
resorted to Cinzia's lodging, where I passed the time in
playing, singing, jesting and story-telling ; and eke I went
thither more frequently and tarried there longer than others
for a reason whereof thou knowest I have more than twice
or thrice bespoken both Camillo and thyself. Now I know
not what is to do nor what I am to think. This morning,
very early, Cinzia sent for me and I found her in the utmost
affliction, consuming herself in groans and lamentations and
refusing to be anywise comforted. As soon as I came, she
gave me this letter that Camillo hath written to her ; take
it and read it. " And here he proffered the letter to Delio,
who took it and read it forthright.

When he had read it, Giulio took up again the thread

268

of his speech and said, " Camillo, as thou mayst apprehend,
hath taken a strange fantasy into his head (I know not on
what foundation) that I have, contrary to all right and
behoof, become possessor of Cinzia ; whom God knoweth
I have still loved as an own and dear sister and may God
wreak all manner of ruin upon me if I ever thought to do
with her aught other than honourable. Now, by the tenor
of this his letter that thou hast read, I am fain to believe
that he can speak of none other than myself, for that none
other frequenteth the house who is united with him by
friendship as I have still been. Now I would have thee
lend me thine aid and counsel me how I should govern
myself in this case ; for that, being in effect innocent, I
would not for all the gold in the world have Camillo abide
with such an ill opinion of me at heart. Marry, I would
rather die than commit such a folly against so dear a friend,
and indeed I know not what greater injury than this might
be done him. Nay, I will say more ; if I am e'en to be
defamed, without the means of justifying mine innocence
in the eyes of the world, I should deem it a lesser evil to
have at the least tasted the little pleasure in question than
thus to abide reproach without cause. Algates, to speak
seriously, when a man hath done no wrong and feeleth
that others blame him unjustly, he recketh little of his
detractors, knowing himself to be without fault. But, to
return to my case, I shall never rest content, what while
I think that Camillo hath this suspicion of me. He and
thou know e'en where my thoughts are set and if I love
loyally, believing myself beloved. Indeed, till death close
these mine eyes, I shall persevere in my faithful service
and shall ensue it with that sincerity which I would have
observed towards myself; nay, methinketh I should deserve
to be called the most disloyal gentleman in the world and

269

confess myself worthy of the severest chastisement if I
should, for any woman alive, forsake my mistress and clap
up with another lady. Can Camillo, then, think that I
should, to boot, do Jtim this wrong ? God forbid that
I should ever fall into such an error ! So that, Delio
mine, I am here in thy hands for counsel and for aid,
unknowing whither else to recur than to thee, for that I
know thou lovest me."

Delio, having intently hearkened to this strange and
fashious story, abode awhile silent, full of amazement and
revolving various things in himself. Knowing how Camillo
loved Giulio and how throughly he was requited of him,
himseemed none should anywise suffer so loyal a fraternity
to be marred ; and knowing, moreover, by long experience,
(for that he was a man advanced in years and had seen much
of the world in Italy and abroad and had sojourned at
divers courts and with various princes) how uneath it is to
find a friend who may with truth be called such, it grieved
him sore to see Camillo's heart invaded by the fretting
canker of despite against Giulio ; wherefore he resolved,
what while the malady was not yet over-fast rooted, to use
every endeavour to tear it up and altogether eradicate it,
and that so much the gladlier for that he was firmly per-
suaded of Giulio's innocence in the matter. Accordingly,
after many words, he concluded to go with Giulio to seek
Camillo and use all possible means to do away that conceit
from his head ; and so they both went thither after dinner
and found Camillo in his chamber, reading in a certain
book.

After due greetings given and rendered, Delio offering to
speak, Camillo took the words out of his mouth and turning
to Giulio, bespoke him on this wise, saying, "I am exceed-
ing well pleased, Giulio mine, that Delio is here present

270

with you, inasmuch as, he being a friend unto us both, I
would fain, for thy satisfaction and mine own, have him
bear eternal witness of that which I purpose to say to thee.
Accordingly, not to waste time, I must tell thee I am
certified that Cinzia amorously compleaseth others than
myself of her person and know that thou thyself hast sundry
whiles lain with her. With her I know full well what I
have to do and have already given her to understand what
I have resolved in mine own mind ; and for that I tender
the least hair of thy beard far more than all the Cinzias in
the world, I declare and affirm to thee that I shall never
for this hold thee less dear than I have always done ; nay,
an it fail not for thee, I will have our friendship be as it
was before ; wherefore, an thou have occasion to make
proof of me, as well in the matter of my life as of my
substance, thou wilt find no man, be he who he may, of
whom thou mayst so freely dispose at thine every pleasure
as thou shalt still do of me. Do but prove me and thou
wilt see the effect conformable unto these my words ; and
of that which I say to thee may our Lord God be my witness
in heaven and Delio here upon earth. Marry, I will not
have it be in the power of a lewd and false woman to sever
our ancient friendship, which began with our earliest years
and hath hitherto still gone indissolubly waxing. And so
I pray God that thou remember thee of that which hath
happened as little as I shall do, for that I have already cast
it behind my back and buried it in eternal oblivion. Let us
leave these vile and sorry women to live as beseemeth
the like of them (God give them an ill year !) and let us
apply to live together in pleasance and allegresse. I was
the slave of yonder strumpet, deeming her other than she is ;
but she is e'en of those ribald women, who study nought
save to do whatsoever occurreth to their thought, be it good

271

or ill. Let her do what she will ; henceforth she will be at
liberty and may abide day and night with whoso most liketh
her. "

Here Camillo was silent and Giulio thus replied to him,

saying, "It grieveth me far more than thou thinkest,

Camillo mine, that there should have arisen between us so

sinister an occasion of loosing the bond of our more than

brotherly friendship ; for I am very certain that, an it remain

fixed in thy belief that I have been so disloyal as to have

amorous commerce with Cinzia, it cannot be but thou will

still hold me for treacherous and insensible of that which

friendship importeth between two comrades, who may and

should have everything in common, except women. I for

my part judge thus and am fain to believe that every one is of

the same mind, inasmuch as I would never brook that either

thou or others should wanton it with her whom I love and

shall love as long as I live. Thou mayst indeed say (as thou

hast said) that thou hast cast the matter behind thy back ;

but I must remind thee that these are things very easy to

say, but that to put them in execution is far more difficult

than folk think ; and I for my part shall always believe that

he who receiveth an injury such as thou thinkest I have done

thee still hath it before his eyes and never forgetteth it. I

will then have the thing put to the straitest possible proof,

for that I am ready to certify thee that I never thought to

stand otherwise with Cinzia than as with one of my sisters,

far less to come to any act with her other than honourable.

And thou mayst be convinced that, an I left thee with this

suspect in thy head, I should never live content nor could I

ever be assured that thou wast that loyal friend to me thou

hast hitherto been. Nay, who can doubt it to be impossible

but that thou shouldst still hold me a most perfidious man

and little honourable ? Marry, I know that thou art not so

272

scant of wit nor of such mean mind as to choose to love one,
who hath, to thy thinking, dishonoured thee, and to be
pointed at with the finger of scorn by the vulgar as a wittol
and one who maketh little account of his reputation and his
honour. Camillo mine, I am a gentleman and a man of
honour and would rather die than commit such a wickedness
against thee. Moreover, knowest thou not how much I love
her who is the mistress of my heart and whom alone I serve
and honour with all reverence ? Albeit I find myself
presently far distant from her, nevertheless, thou knowest
well if I have ever yet chosen to make private with any
other woman. And wilt thou now have me fallen so horn-
mad as to commit this folly ? God forbid that I should ever
think of such a thing ! Wherefore do thou apply thee to
make trial thereof, so thou mayst be certified that Giulio is
to thee a true and most faithful friend. But who told thee
that I committed this default against thee ? " Quoth
Camillo, "The nurse told it me." "Then," rejoined
Giulio, "it is yonder she- wolf of a nurse who hath palmed
off this fable upon thee ! She is a tipsy trull and knoweth
not what she saith. Were she a man, as she is a woman,
I would put out her eyes and make her eat her words at the
sword's point, like a liar as she is. "

Now Camillo held it to be for certain as the traitress of
a nurse had told him, but was loath (albeit the thing had
been to him a cause of exceeding annoy) to lose his friend,
and accordingly he replied on this wise to Giulio, saying,
" I have already told thee and now tell thee anew that, be
the thing as it may, I set far more store by thee than by
all the Cinzias in the world, and will ever, an it fail not
for thee, be to thee that brother and friend which I have
hitherto been. Prithee, then, let us speak no more of this
matter ; it sufficeth me to do myself loose from yonder

273

woman, since she will have it so. Now, to answer thee a
part of that which thou hast said, I tell thee that, albeit
some may have heard of thy having to do with Cinzia,
nevertheless, when they see that we abide friends and consort
together as before, they will give no credence to the tales
which may be set afloat among them. Moreover, thou must
not think that I shall keep the thing in rememljrance ; put
that fancy out of thy head, for I hope to God that ere a
month hath passed I shall have altogether forgotten Cinzia
and all that pertaineth to her."

Delio was nowise content that the matter should abide
in this confusion, but, taking Camillo, who had already risen
to leave the chamber, by the hand, he made him sit down
again and bespoke him on this wise, saying, " Camillo, I am
assured that thou speakest from the heart and doubt not a
jot but thou art minded to be with Giulio as thou hast
avouched. But, for God's sake, put away from thine eyes
awhile the thick veil of passion which obscureth thy
judgment and bethink thee if Giulio should abide thus
entangled in this inextricable labyrinth. Thou speakest,
indeed, like a gentleman and wilt have him and me be
certified that, even though he had done thee this outrage,
thou wilt nevertheless still have him to friend and brother ;
but the thing goeth not aright. An thou desire to show
the greatness of thy soul, show it in otherwhat and seek
not, whilst approving thyself magnanimous and generous,
to have Giulio accounted disloyal and ill bred and thyself of
little judgment, that of thy free choice thou takest one to
friend, who, an he have done that which is said, meriteth
not that thou shouldst anywhit value him and still less that
thou shouldst love him or hold him dear. Nay, who is there
but, knowing thee to have been wronged of him, will say
that thou wouldst fain overrun the mark and do more than

VOL. IV. 1 8

274

beseemeth unto a gentleman, so Glulio may not be pointed
at with the finger of scorn for a sorry and discourteous man
and scouted and blamed of all? But tell me, a' God's name,
how canst thou but account him the most disloyal and
traitorous gentleman in the world, an thou persist in
believing that he hath had possession of Cinzia? For
thy saying that thou wilt cast the whole behind thy back
and bury it in perpetual oblivion, thou mayst e'en say it,
but needs must thou find those who will believe it thee.
Thou art a man of flesh and blood like other men and hast
passions as well as I ; the which I warrant thee thou wilt not
so easily avail to subdue but they will do their office. Now,
for that these first movements of the soul bounden to the
body are not ordinarily in our own power and that this
thy wound yet bleedeth and showeth over-fresh and deep
to brook any medicament which may advantage it, I will
for the nonce say no otherwhat to thee, save this alone,
that thou bethink thee of Giulio's quality and hers who hath
missaid to thee of him and put thyself in his place.
To-morrow we will be together with more commodity and
less choler and belike I shall find thee more open to receive
succour and remedy than thou presently art. I know well
that, an thou ponder the matter to-day and this coming
night and put despite aside, thou wilt form such a judgment
of the case as beseemeth unto thy prudence."

This said, Delio and Giulio took their leave and went
a-pleasuring about the city, discoursing various things of
that which had passed with Camillo ; in conclusion whereof
quoth Giulio, "I find myself, Delio mine, in the greatest
tribulation in the world, nor do I ever remember me to
have been, for whatsoever adverse chance hath betided me,
in such confusion of mind as I presently feel ; nay, I am
more irresolute and dubious than before and racked by so

275

many conflicting thoughts that I know not what to do.
I see Camillo firmly convinced that I have done him this
wrong and albeit he still saith he will e'en be my friend
as he was, I know not (even as thou toldest him) how this
may be possible. Meseemeth (and my opinion is founded
upon reason) that what while he remembereth him (and
he will ever remember him) of this thing, he will never
more regard me with a friendly eye ; nay, thinking I have
done him a mortal injury, he will still have this humour
on his stomach, which will never suffer him to rest, but
will, except it be promptly purged, go daily waxing. I
would, then, beseech thee to take upon thyself the burden
of bespeaking him again and doing thine utmost endeavour
to persuade him apply to certify himself of the fact as it
is and not persist in lending such credence to a brazen-
faced strumpet." Delio promised to do everything in his
power, but said that himseemed well to abide yet three
or four days, so that, the first passions having subsided,
he might find Camillo more open to persuasion of the
truth. His opinion commended itself to Giulio and ac-
cordingly, having made an end of their talk, they went
each to do that which most pleased him.

Camillo was on the morrow constrained by sundry gentle-
men to visit Cinzia and had with her a long conference
anent the matter. She, knowing herself guiltless and it
being over-grievous to her to lose her beloved lord without
her fault, protested her innocence as most solemnly she
might and still, as she talked, her face was channelled with
hot and bitter tears ; but Camillo to all she could say
answered her only that she must provide herself with another
man, assuring her that, whereas he might pleasure her, he
would still do it with all his heart, so but he had no more
love-dealings with her ; and with this declaration he took

276

leave of her and returned home. Delio spoke with hira
once or twice, but could get nothing from him save that he
meant to continue Giulio's friend and that, if he had a mind
to confront the nurse, he would produce her to that end.
As for Cinzia, whoso sought, one by one, to tell what were
her thoughts, what the tears she shed, what her woeful
words, her wakeful nights and her fasting days, would have
overmuch to do and would not lightly make an end withal ;
suffice it to say that the wretched damsel, losing sleep and
appetite, grew pale and lean and haggard, as she were a
ghost, and could do no otherwhat than weep and woefully
bemoan herself, nay, so piteous were her tears and lament-
ations that they had moved Hyrcanian tigers to pity.
Camillo, on like wise, albeit he sought to show that the
thing concerned him not, was nevertheless seen to be pale
and afflicted, the native colour of his face being changed
and he being well-nigh always full of heavy sighs, which
bore witness of inward grief.

Giulio, on his side, could find no repose, unable to brook
the thought that it lay in the power of a vile woman to
make him lose so good a friend as he accounted Camillo,
and was still instant with Delio to procure it to be come
to all possible proofs and explanations. Delio, who had
again and again essayed Camillo, but had found him still
of one tenor, was passing weary of the business and it
nowise pleased him that they should resort to confrontation
with the nurse; wherefore he said to Giulio, "I would fain
know what thou wilt do. an thou come face to face with
the nurse and she (as she doubtless will) persist in her
obstinacy, affirming anew that which she hath already said.
Knowest thou not that there is no pertinacity or obstinacy
in the world to compare with that of a perverse woman ?
Methinketh she will rather die than unsay herself j nay,

277

she will heap lies upon lies. An she declare that she saw
thee abed with Cinzia, what wilt thou say ? The more thou
deniest it, the more boldly will she affirm it. Wilt thou
offer to come to the ordeal of arms and do battle with
a whore ? " At this Giulio abode stupefied and well-nigh
beside himself, acknowledging that Delio spoke the truth ;
nevertheless, impatient to rid himself of the annoy wherein
he found himself, " I know very full well," quoth he, " that
thou sayest sooth and that, if this wicked woman choose to
be obstinate and persist in her lies, I can nowise misprove
her by evidence and we shall be worse off than ever ; but
meseemeth Camillo should put far more trust in my most
true words than in the lies of a woman of the vilest sort,
whom he hath again and again proved to be a liar. Again,
who knoweth but she may repent her of having so falsely
misspoken and may choose to tell the truth and discover to
what end she hath forged this fable? Or belike she may
change countenance and say after another fashion or give
some sign whereby Camillo may lightly know my loyalty
and the malignity and perfidy of this ribald quean. Where-
fore prithee look it be come to such trial as may be, so
Camillo may manifestly see that I lack not of goodwill to
convince him of my innocence by such means as are in my
power. "

Delio, having found Camillo persist in his belief and still
give him one same answer, knew not how to govern himself;
for that, indeed, in such a case as this, the nurse having laid
her web so well and there being no witness to affirm the
contrary, it seemed (albeit she alone should not have availed
more than Giulio and Cinzia, who denied the fact) that all
who heard the tale inclined rather to believe the ill than the
good ; wherefore he knew not what to do. Nevertheless,
being constantly urged by Giulio, he told him that he would

278

essay anew what he might do and that he was firmly per-
suaded that Camillo in a little while would of himself
recognize the truth nor persist in lending overmuch credence
to a vile baggage of a woman. But Giulio still insisting
that Camillo should be spoken with and the thing brought to
the proof, Delio said to him, " Since thou art e'en resolved
to enter the lists with the nurse, meseemeth we should both
go seek Camillo and learn if he will have thee confronted
with her in his house or in that of Cinzia. " Accordingly,
they repaired to Camillo and having entered upon discourse
of the matter, Delio said to him, "Camillo, I have told
thee again and again that, albeit thou allegest thyself dis-
posed to hold Giulio in such and the same account as that
wherein thou haddest him aforetime, he is no whit content
in his own mind to leave thee in thy present opinion ;
wherefore, to see an it be possible to put this maggot out
of thy head, he is here ready to make thee all such proofs
thereof as thou mayst devise." Quoth Camillo, "I know
no better way than to go to Cinzia's lodging and there send
for the nurse and hear what she shall say and what Giulio
will reply to her."

Therewithal they all three betook themselves to Cinzia's
house, where they found her abed and still weeping bitterly,
and seated themselves about the bed, whilst Camillo pro-
ceeded to bespeak her thus, saying, "I was resolved, Cinzia,
that it should be no more spoken of that which it was given
me to understand had befallen between thyself and Giulio,
inasmuch as, for that which pertaineth to me, I have buried
the whole in eternal oblivion and would eke have had Giulio
do the like and that we should remain friends and brothers as
we were before. However, by request of Delio, unto whom
I may deny nothing, how grave soever it be, we are come
hither, and the reason of our coming is that Giulio allegeth

279

that to be untrue which the nurse with her own lips discovered
to me of him and thee and would e'en disprove it to her
face." Scarce had he made an end of his speech ere Cinzia,
all in tears, said, "I would our Lord God might vouchsafe
to hearken to me in this case and make such a sign as
should suffice to show forth my innocence and the false-
hood and lying craft of the nurse, so it might publicly be
known whether of us twain meriteth blame and chastise-
ment ; and of this I beseech Him as heartily as of aught
whereof I ever besought Him. But, an it be allowed me,
Camillo, to speak the truth, I believe and hold it for certain
that thou wast weary of my converse and soughtest but an
excuse to abandon me, but thinkest by this means to give
whoso shall know the thing to believe that thou haddest
just cause therefor. Now God pardon it to thee ! Thou
mightest e'en have ensued thine intent by another way
and not have done me this undeserved dishonour. Thou
wast still at liberty to leave me and mightest have done
so whenassoever it pleased thee, saying, ' Cinzia, I will
have no more to do with thee, for that thy converse pleaseth
me no longer.' Knewest thou not that I could not enforce
thee to love me in thine own despite nor against thy will ?
But it sufficed thee not to be no more mine; thou hast
chosen to defame me and cause me be accounted a lewd
woman, whereas by God's faith I am not ; for that, since
I became thine, I have never failed of my duty to thee
nor done thee wrong ; nay, more, never had I a thought
of sinning against thee. If thou or others have seen me
familiar with Giulio and have seen us bytimes make merry
together and rally each other laughingly, there hath never
been aught other than honest to be seen or heard between
us, no, nor aught that is not used between friends. Nay,
who forsooth hath commended him to my favour more

28o

than thou, who hast so many a time praised and extolled
him to me, still affirming to me that thou hadst never
known nor proved a worthier or more loyal man than he ?
Now I, from the first day I became thine, resolved in
myself to will no otherwhat than that which thou willedst ;
wherefore, knowing how much thou lovedst him and how
dear thou tenderedst him and seeing how greatly thou
desiredst that he should be made much of, I, as well to
complease thee as also for that I saw he deserved it, made
myself familiar with him, but still as with my brother. And
so much the fainer was I to converse with him as I still
found him all thine and clearly apprehended that he loveth
thee far better than his own brothers. But with God be
it ! In this sore affliction wherein I find myself, I have
e'en this scantling of comfort (if indeed my infinite dolour
admit of any solace) that thou canst never with reason
complain of me ; but I have just cause to complain and
bemoan myself of thee." Quoth Camillo, "I will not fail
thee of all that can succour thee, as by effect thou shalt
prove ; but I will have no more love-commerce between
us, it being presently time that I attend to my affairs. Now,
come ; we are here to confront Giulio with the nurse and
make an end of this idle talk."

The nurse was accordingly called and being exhorted
to speak the truth, for that no hurt should be done her,
repeated, in a low voice and with broken speech, the lying
tale which she had already told Camillo, but not so orderly
and precisely as before. Certes, it is a hard thing to avail
so well to colour a lie that it shall have the semblant of truth
and to tell it still after one fashion ; wherefore it is said
that it behoveth a liar have a good memory. The nurse
having made an end of her tale, Giulio turned to her, all
full of choler and despite, and with a stern air said to her

28 1

wrathfully, " I will not set myself to dispute and wrangle
with thee of this that thou falsely avouchest, inasmuch as
it would avail me nothing to deny that which thou art
disposed to affirm, be it good or bad ; for I know that there
is no obstinacy under the stars greater than that of tliy like.
Marry, I say thou nowise tellest the truth, and albeit it
grieveth me incredibly to abide with this stain in the eyes
of Delio and Camillo, for that I know not what they will
believe of this thy falsehood, yet my conscience somewhat
consoleth me, knowing myself as I do innocent of this
thing, and I trust in God that time, which is the father of
truth, will make the whole manifest, even as it is, and
discover thy lies. "

Cinzia said the same, weeping the while ; but the villainous
nurse abode with her eyes on the ground, oftentimes changing
colour, nor answered them a single word ; and Camillo, after
many words, said to the lady, " I have told thee, Cinzia,
and I tell thee now again, that thou art free and mayst
provide thee at thy guise and take who shall most please
thee to lover, for tiiat I will henceforth be mine own man
and do with myself as I will, nor will I be private with thee
more ; but whereas I may advantage thee, I will well so to
do that thou shalt know that I am a gentleman." Where-
upon quoth Cinzia, "Since, then, thou art resolved to be
no more to me that which thou wast in the past, I prithee,
at the least, vouchsafe me a favour, which will be nothing
to thee and will be to me a source of the utmost content-
ment." "Ask," said Camillo. "If it be aught wherein I
may avail to complease thee, I freely grant it thee. " And
she, " I would have thee be pleased to leave me thine and
my little daughter and promise me not to take her from me. "
"That will I do very readily," replied Camillo, "more by
token that I am persuaded I have nought to do with her, not

\

282

accounting her mine, for that, as thou hast presently corn-
pleased another of thy body, I may with reason believe that
thou hast otherwhiles done the like ; so that she shall be
left to thee. Now, no more talk, for that overmuch hath
been said. I leave thee nor will on any terms have it said
that thou art mine any more. Abide with God and look
to give thyself pleasure. " And so he left her, he and all the
rest, and departed thence ; whereupon the wretched and
disconsolate damsel was so overcome with excess of grief
that she swooned away and gave no sign of life. Her
mother, seeing her daughter at so ill a pass, fell to weeping
bitterly and cried out, "Ah, woe is me, Cinzia is dead!"
Whilst the old father, who chanced to be below, hearing
the piteous voice of his weeping wife, mounted the stairs
and entered the chamber, where he also, supposing his
daughter to have given up the ghost, fell a-weeping and
making a sore lament. Meanwhile the nurse with an ill
grace exhorted the poor old folk to succour the damsel,
saying that she was aswoon ; whereupon they busied them-
selves as best they knew about her, chafing her hands and
body in divers places and sprinkling water on her face, and
enforced themselves by these and other means to recall her
strayed vital spirits. Cinzia's scant and feeble faculties being
thus with exceeding pains brought back to the afflicted body,
the disconsolate damsel, refusing all consolation, long bewept
and bemoaned her sorry fate ; then, seeing that she wearied
herself in vain, she turned her mind to thinking on what
wise she might deliver herself from those her grievous
tribulations and make an end by death of so dour and
woeful a life.

But now let us leave her awhile to this her fell purpose,
giving her leisure the better to ponder her case, and return
to Delio, who, what while he abode in Cinzia's chamber,

283

would on no wise sny aught ; but, whenas they had left her
house, he bespoke Camillo thus, saying, "Since all things
are possible, it may be that the nurse hath told the truth ;
but it followeth not therefor that she hath in effect told it,
for that between maybe and is * there is a great distance and
a wide difference nor can it be affirmed that, because a thing
may be, therefore it is. However, be it as it may, I cannot
bring myself to believe that, if Giulio had a mind to take
carnal delight with Cinzia, he would ever have left the door
open, especially as he had otherwhiles abidden with her in
the chamber with the door shut. Bethink thee, Camillo,
how many a time, departing the chamber, there being none
other therein than Giulio and Cinzia, thou hast closed the
door, which, thou knowest, locketh itself, an it be drawn to
the jamb. Wherefore I cannot think Giulio so crackbrained
as to leave the door unlocked, an he had a mind to ply such
a craft ; nay, I believe that yonder trull of a nurse hath
forged this lie for some purpose of her own. Nor do I tell
thee this, to induce thee to clap up again with Cinzia, for
that thou well knowest how many a time, both in mine own
name and in that of my lord bishop, I have exhorted and
yet again at this present exhort thee to desist from that little
honourable commerce ; nay, I say it for that I would not
have the grudge abide which meseemeth hath arisen between
thee and Giulio and which will be cause that there will no
longer be that sincere friendship which was erst between
you. Moreover, by that which I have heard from the nurse
(and thou sawest how coldly and well-nigh as in a dream she
told her story) I apprehend that she knoweth not what she
saith and that this is a plot hatched, I know not to what

1 Dal potere alV essere, i.e. between a possibility and an actual
fact.

284

end, and I am fain to believe that, an thou make her tell it
once more, thou wilt see that she will either add or abate
somewhat and that she will vary the particulars. Marry, I
warrant thee she hath lost all credit with me and for my
part, whatever she might say to me, I would not believe the
Evangel from her lips ; nay, but that thou hast for the nonce
thine eyes so veiled with dire despite and that thou art so
blinded by overmuch passion, thou wouldst certainly be of
the same opinion as myself." Quoth Camillo, " It booteth
not to say otherwhat, I having plainly manifested my mind
as well towards Giulio as towards Cinzia. " Then, the
discourse ended, Delio and Giulio took their leave ; where-
upon the latter, seeing the thing go from bad to worse and
that it was not like to take a favourable course, said to the
former, " I see that Camillo is set upon believing falsehood
from yonder hussy of a nurse rather than truth from me ;
wherefore I am resolved to betake me for a while forth of
the city, to eschew these many vexatious and poignant
annoys, which do away my wit. Maybe time will open
Camillo 's eyes and cause him recognize my innocence and
the wickedness of the treacherous nurse."

Meanwhile, Cinzia, who suffered the direst affliction,
herseeming she might not live without her lover, sent for
Flaminio Astemio, who was a friend of Camillo, Delio and
Giulio. He, having heard her story and accounting it
true, spoke several times with Camillo, but still in vain ;
which Cinzia understanding and knowing herself wrong-
fully accused, she fell into the abyss of despair and resolved
to abide no more on life, herseeming it was far easier to
die than to live in such torment ; but of the manner of her
death she was doubtful, knowing not on what wise to cut
the thread of her troubled life. Her heart suffered her not
to slay herself with her own hand by means of steel, seeing

285

she feared her weak and trembling hand would not suffice
unto such an office; neither had she the courage to hang her-
self up hy the neck and to make so miserable a spectacle of
herself. It remained to her to mortify herself with hunger
and to waste herself away little by little or to cast herself
down from the windows to the earth and break her neck
or throw herself into a stream which passeth through the
city and drown herself in the water ; but none of these
fashions of death was to her liking ; wherefore, after much
consideration, still persisting in her dire purpose, she
ultimately elected to end her days by poison and so rid
herself of her miseries. Alack, unwary youths and you,
simple women, who think it sport to lead a lover's life,
beware lest you suffer yourselves to be limed on such wise
of excessive love that you may not after draw back, and
above all despair not. Be this hapless damsel a warning
to you, who of her despair, herseeming she might no more
avail to enjoy her lover, hath elected to poison herself

Now there frequented the house an official of the court,'
by name II Greco da Santa Palma and a great friend of
Camillo's. She sent for him and asked him if he were
acquainted with one Gerone Sasso, who, by that which
was bruited about in all the city, was an arrant rogue and
passed for being, among his other knaveries, without peer in
distilling and refining poisons. Moreover, it was the pulilic
report that, wishing to make proof of a certain poison of
his composition, he essayed it upon a serving-wench of his,
who had been more than twenty years in his service and
who in a brief space died. Nay, I chanced to be present
one day when a great lord said to him, "Marry, Gerone,
it was a fine recompense thou gavest thy maid, who had

' Uomo di palazzo.

286

served thee so many years, whenas, with four drops of
water of thy distilling, thou sentest her to the other world ; "
and the villain dared not deny it, but grinned and feigned
to take it for a jest. But to return to II Greco, he answered
Cinzia that he knew him familiarly, and she, " I have a
service to ask of thee and will require thee thereof in due
time." However, on consideration, she bethought herself
not to seek to make use of II Greco in the matter, for
that he was over-familiar with Camillo, and presently
remembering her of Mario Organiero, who also had the
repute of distilling and compounding death-dealing waters,
the which, being swallowed in wine or otherwise, killed
whoso drank thereof in two or three days' time and with-
out outward and visible sign, resolved to have recourse to
him. Accordingly, for that he was her friend, she wrote
him a billet, alleging certain reasons of her invention, to
wit, that she was constrained, at the instance of a gentle-
man, to beseech him be pleased to give her a spoonful of
his water, assuring him that the thing should be most secret
and that thereby she would gain fifty gold crowns.

Now Mario knew that Camillo had renounced his com-
merce with Cinzia and reading her letter, misdoubted him
she was minded to poison him ; wherefore he went to visit
him and said to him, " I know not who hath given Cinzia
to understand that I distil poisonous waters, the which is
no business of mine, nor indeed should I wish to be able
to do it, for God keep me from such wickednesses ! But,
because I delight in distilling odoriferous waters and making
scented oils and compounding washes and cosmetics for
ladies, some have fastened this ill name on me ; God make
them as sorry as I would fain be glad ! ^ Now, see what

I Lit. "good."

287

Cinzia writeth me ; for that, an she would have other than
poisonous water, there were no need to tell me that she
will he secret and that she will gain fifty crowns thereby."
Camillo, having read the letter, judged Mario's opinion to
be correct, but could not believe that she was anywise
minded to poison herself. P"or himself he feared not a
jot, being resolved to eat and drink no more with her.
Accordingly, he abode perplexed concerning the matter nor
could resolve himself to what end she sought such a water.
Nevertheless, the better to learn her intent, he prayed Mario
entertain her with fair words and feign not to understand
what water she wished and advertise him of what she
should answer ; wherefore he wrote to Cinzia that he knew
not what sort of water she required ; that, an she sought
a cosmetic water, to purge and soften the skin and make it
white, rosy and lustrous or to do away hair, he had thereof,
but that a spoonful was not like to produce any good
effect.

Cinzia, having this reply and being firmly convinced that
Mario made poisons, wrote back to him that she wanted
a poisonous water ; whereupon he showed her letter to
Camillo and asked him what he should do. "Faith, sir,"
answered he, "let us e'en serve her as she deserveth. Do
thou write to her that thou hast not of such water made,
but that, albeit it is a very grave matter and incredibly
difficult to make, yet, for the love of her, thou wilt, in four
or five days' time, make her a little vial thereof. When
she shall want the poison, send her nothing without my
knowledge, and then I will have thee send her mere well-
water, with some slight admixture to give it a little
smell, that can do her no hurt." However, Cinzia, —
wishing to try everything rather than die and to essay an
she might avail to recover Camillo's favour and bring him

288

to see that she had never sinned against him nor done him
any wrong, — albeit she was very weak, betook herself as
befet she might, upborne more by desire than by strength,
to II Greco's house and entering into discourse with him,
related to him, with eyes full of tears, all that had ensued
between Camillo and herself, studying to make it plain to
him how she for her part had nowise made default and that
she was wholly innocent of that whereof the nurse accused
her. II Greco, wishful to make peace between them,
laboured thereat amain, but could effect nothing ; the which
the afflicted damsel hearing and unknowing what other
means to try or whither to turn, she began again to urge
Mario, being resolved without fail to die.

Meanwhile the nurse, repenting her of what she had told
Camillo and urged by I know not what, that left her no
peace, sent to him to meet her in a church alone and
there said to him, " I know not, sir, what god or demon
of hell importuneth and tormenteth me day and night,
so that I can find no repose, and meseemeth I still have
a sharp knife in my heart. I know not whence this may
arise, except it be that I falsely impeached Giulio and
Cinzia of that whereof I myself know nothing whatever
and which I never anywise saw ; so that all I told you
otherwhiles and repeated to you in the presence of those
gentlemen is a lie and an invention of mine own nor
did ever other bespeak me a word of the matter. I
crave your pardon and entreat you to grant me my life,
which I confess to have justly forfeited, having dared to
commit so enormous a wickedness with my false words.
Behold, I cast myself at your feet, humbly beseeching
you of mercy." Camillo, at this unhoped speech, abode
full of infinite allegresse, seeing that Giulio was not guilty,
and after he had once or twice caused the nurse repeat

289

the thing to him, " Certes, wicked woman," quoth he
to her, " I know not what punishment and what cruel
torment were sufficient to give thee due chastisement, so
the punishment might match with the sin ; for that, as
far as in thee lay, thou appliedst thyself to sow an
eternal enmity between Giulio and myself and to cause
otherwhat than words ensue thereof; but I will not commit
myself with the like of thee and will leave to our Lord
God the care of this vengeance ; for that I myself might
not avail to find any torment equal to thine enormous
wickedness. Now I will have thee repeat this that thou
hast presently discovered to me in the presence of Delio and
Giulio and of divers other men of worth whom I shall
bring with me, and look moreover thou say no word of
this to Cinzia nor to whosoever else, save in so much as
I shall enjoin thee."

She promised to do all that should be commanded her of
him ; whereupon Camillo went straight to find Delio and
full of joy, related to him how the nurse had unsaid the
infamous accusation made by her against Giulio and Cinzia
and told him likewise of the poison which the latter sought.
Moreover, he showed him a letter from her, whereby she
prayed him be pleased to visit her once more only, for that
she would fain bespeak him of somewhat, which would be
the last words she should ever say to him, and bring with
him Delio, Flaminio, Giulio, II Greco and certain others,
adding that she would advise him of the day when he should
do this. They both held it for certain that the afflicted
damsel was minded to poison herself in despair ; wherefore
they agreed together to wait and see what she should go
about to do. Camillo accordingly let Mario know whenas
he should send the water to Cinzia, whereupon the distiller
wrote to her that the water would be ready on such a day

VOL. IV. 19

290

and bade her send for it in the morning, when she should
have it without fail. Cinzia, having this assurance/ wrote
to Camillo that she expected him that same day after dinner,
with those friends whom she had named to him, for that
the day so much desired of her was come, wherein she
purposed to certify the whole world of her innocence and
trusted to have it recognized that she had never failed of
her faith. The evening before the day when she was to
send for the water, Camillo went with Delio to visit Mario,
and taking a very small glass vial, filled it with well-water,
wherein they put somewhat of powdered cloves to flavour
it. On the morrow, Cinzia sent a maid-servant to fetch
the water and Mario wrote to her that, constrained by her
urgent prayers, he sent her the water, the which indeed he
would have denied to his own father ; wherefore he charged
her very straitly not to discover to the gentleman, to whom
she said she was to give it, that she had it from him, adver-
tising her, to boot, that it would give no pain nor do other
apparent hurt, but would cause whoso drank it die suddenly
in one or two hours at the most thereafterward, without
leaving any mark on the body ; and so he gave the servant
the water and the letter.

Cinzia, who was abed, took the vial and hid it under the
pillow on such wise that, being stoppered, it might not be
overset ; then, being resolved to make one last attempt to
recover Camillo's favour and failing of it, to die, she awaited
the coming of her lover with the others bidden to those
funereal nuptials. As the appointed hour drew nigh, she
felt a freezing chill in all her limbs, together with certain
spasms of the heart, as she were about to be overcome

1 Fermezza for assicuranza, a typical instance of Randello's
ignorance of his own language and lack of skill in handling it.

291

with the quaking cold of the quartan ague. Moreover,
when she heard those whom she had bidden mount the
stairs, — whether it was her strong and lively conceit of death
near at hand or eke the approach of her lover, or what-
ever was the cause thereof, — there spread an ice-cold sweat
all over her, so that she began to tremble neither more nor
less than as she had been naked in January midmost a
courtyard, under a fall of frozen snow-flakes,' and eke
herseemed her heart should cleave asunder in her breast
for very anguish and oppression. The friends presently
entered and seeing Cinzia abed, trembling and covered with
sweat, saluted her and asked her how she did. She
answered in a low voice that she did as it pleased God
and Camillo ; whereupon quoth the latter, " This is idle
talk, to hearken to which we are not here ; nay, we are
come hither to learn that which thou wrotest us thou
wouldst fain say to us." And she, " I will say it when all
are here, and I see neither Delio nor Giulio ; " for that the
latter was obstinate and would on no account enter Cinzia's
house again.

However, Giulio's house being near at hand, Camillo
wrote to Delio, bidding him bring the former without fail
and by any means in the world and assuring him that he
should hear that which would give him exceeding content-
ment ; and Delio accordingly wrought to such effect that he
brought Giulio thither. All being thus assembled in the
chamber, they seated themselves in silence about the bed
and awaited that which the damsel should say to them.

1 This reminiscence of the Story of the Student and the Lady (see
my "Decameron of Boccaccio," Day VIII. Story 7) is a curious
exemplification (one out of thousands which might be cited) of the
completeness with which Bandello was (so to say) supersaturated
with the Decameron.

292

She, — being, as hath already been said, resolved rather to
die than lose her lover, — desired withal, before she put her
fell purpose in execution, to essay, in the presence of the
friends there assembled, if Camillo were minded to put off
his suspicion of her and Giulio and continue with her as
before, which if he did, she would abide on life ; else she
was resolved, swerving no whit from her dire intent,
undauntedly to drink the prepared poison and under the
eyes of her dearly loved Camillo to depart to the other
world, herseeming she might not die better nor softlier and
feather rid herself of that her sore and cruel heartbreak
than in his presence whom only she loved and who was her
God upon earth. Wherefore, after many sighs, composing
herself as best she might, she proceeded to speak thus,
" Camillo, since it hath pleased God suffer me come to this
hour so much (since I have for no fault of mine fallen into
disfavour with thee) desired and awaited of me and since
belike it is the last time I shall ever speak with thee or with
others, I would fain first know what thy mind is at this
present towards me ; for, an it be as it should be, I having
never offended against thee, it will be that which I
supremely desire. If, however, I see thee yet persist in
believing of me that which never was, I have some favours
to ask of thee and after that shall be which God willeth. "
To this Camillo replied that, ere he made her an answer, he
would fain have the nurse sent for to the chamber, for that
he had some questions to put to her.

The nurse was accordingly called and came as the adder
Cometh for charming ; to whom quoth Camillo, ' ' Nurse, I
certify thee and pledge thee my faith that none shall give
thee annoy nor do thee any manner of hurt ; wherefore
I will have thee, in the presence of these gentlemen, my
friends and brethren, tell us all that which thou latterly

293

toldest me in the church. Come, speak and fear not."
The sorry good-for-nothing wench was all confounded and
knew not what to do, but, ultimately, trembling like the
leaf in the wind, she confessed the wickedness which she
had plotted, declaring that to be altogether false whereof
she had erst accused and impeached Giulio and Cinzia and
openly avowing that she had laid that vile plot, so she
might have Cinzia under her thumb and be more at
liberty to wanton it with whoso most pleased her ; more-
over she related the attempts she had made upon Giulio
and Cinzia and to what end, even as I have before told
you. How much the vile and wicked woman was blamed
by all and especially by Cinzia, each may imagine for
himself. Giulio abode all full of despite, and such was
the rage which overwhelmed him and the rancour which
possessed him against the nurse that he was all puffed
up with over-fulness of choler and could avail to say
nought. Then, the nurse being sent forth the chamber,
"Now, praised be God," quoth Delio, "we are certified
that yonder trull of a nurse had over-drunken herself and
related that which she dreamed as a thing happened.
May God pardon her, since, repenting her of so much
evil, she hath confessed her sin ! Certes, it behoveth not
to deal her any chastisement, since the thing hath ended
well, but to leave her be, so she may the better see for
herself into what an error she hath fallen." "Nay,"
interrupted Flaminio, " she ought to be strangled or
burned alive ; I for my part know well, an she had
spoken of me as she hath of Giulio, I would dight her
on such wise that she should play no more such tricks.
If she must e'en talk at random, she should prate of
herself and her peers." "Indeed," quoth Cinzia, "Fla-
minio saith sooth and speaketh like a good man and a

294

true ; marry, the jade ought to be banished the world
and have her slanderous tongue torn out by the roots.
Nay, were it not that my little daughter will not suck
any other than her, she should not be in the house at
this moment ; but the love of my child maketh me keep
her." In fine, every one would fain have stoned her and
called a crusade against her; wherefore, "For God's sake,"
quoth Delio, "leave the wretch be; nay, since Cinzia saith
the child will suck none but her, it behoveth to have
regard to her, for that, an she were presently chidden
or if any hurt were offered her, she might lightly spoil
her milk, the which would be the little one's death. And
what vengeance will you take of a vile quean of a woman?
Know you not that nature and their sex make women
secure from men and that it never beseemeth us to imbrue
our hands in their blood ? Let us leave her to the judg-
ment of God and the world. It should well suffice us
for the present that Giulio is known for a good man
and a true and Cinzia on like wise for a woman who
hath not been unfaithful unto Camillo ; whereat, indeed,
for innumerable reasons, I feel an extreme pleasure, seeing
the way estopped against many scandals which might other-
wise have ensued."

Scarcely had Delio made an end of speaking when Cinzia,
turning to Camillo, said, "What thinkest thou to do now,
Camillo, now thou mayst be certain that I am innocent and
that I deserve not to be abandoned of thee ? Wilt thou
be to me that which thou wast aforetime, or what is thy
mind?" "Harkye," replied Camillo; "nothing could be
more grateful to me than to be certified of the nurse's
malice and to know Giulio for that gentleman I have still
accounted him ; and so have I more than once said to
Delio, since the nufse hath unsaid the lies told by her.

295

For that which pertaincth lo thy case, I will have thcc ever
in regard and succour thee in thine occasions in so far as
I may ; whereof an thou make proof, thou wilt still find
the effect conformable to my words." Cinzia thereupon
rejoined with a plaintive voice, saying, "Then, woe is me,
I am, without my fault, to lose that which I most love in
this world ? Must I lose thee, Camillo, my lord ? Alack,
wretch that I am ! Woe's me, unhappier than whatsoever
other unhappy woman ! What will become of this troubled
and wretched life, seeing that I already desire death as a
lesser evil, nay, as a remedy and a solacement for mine ills,
since he, whom I love beyond all created things and far
more than the light of mine eyes, spurneth and abandoneth
me without my fault ? Welaway, who will give these mine
eyes an ample vein of bitter tears, so they may quickly
consume this my weak and infirm body, the receptacle and
harbourage of every misery and calamity,' since he, on
whom my life dependeth, denieth me his pity and will have
me live without life ? But, certes, without life one liveth
not. Yet, what say I ? To whom do I proffer my vain
prayers? To whom do I address these woeful words, an
they shall bring me no profit ? I see well that I ear the
sea and strow seed upon the sand. With God be it ; now,
Cinzia, it behoveth thee be constant and nowise swerve from
thy steadfast purpose. It behoveth thee show an thou love
or not."

Therewithal, drying her eyes, she turned anew to Camillo
and bespoke him on this wise, saying, "Since thou art
resolved to be no more mine as I would fain be thine,
prithee, at the least abandon not our poor daughterling,
who, whether thou wilt or not, is as much thine as mine,

1 P>occaccio affain.

296

for thou art her father as surely as I am her mother, and
thou knowest that I bore her. On like wise I commend
to thee these poor old folk, to wit, my father and mother,
who have been to thee such faithful, loving and constant
sen'ants, and I heartily beseech thee, if my commerce was
ever in the past dear and pleasing to thee (and thou didst
e'en feign to love and tender me, as indeed a thousand
tokens were witness to me thereof) that thou wilt, of thy
courtesy, have them in thy protection and do with them as
thou wouldest with me ; for that, if they find themselves
abandoned of thee, I know not how they may avail to
sustain their wretched and disconsolate lives ; nay, I com-
mend them amain to thee." " Meseemeth," quoth Cam.illo,
smiling, "thou art about to sail for the islands of the New
World and never more to return to these our parts. What
is all this ? Whither wilt thou go ? An thou have a mind
to make a will, let me know thine intent, for that I will
send to fetch Ser Cristoforo, who is, as thou knowest, a
very famous notary, and we will all be witnesses. Come,
wilt thou have me send for him?" "I am but a poor
damsel," replied Cinzia, "and have neither lands nor sub-
stance, whereof to make a will, and all these moveables
here in the house thou well knowest are not mine, thou
having sent them hither to furnish me the place. And
since thou hast taken it into thy mind to abandon me and
to break the pledge, so oftentimes confirmed to me with
solemn oaths, that thou wouldst never leave me, how
know I an thou wilt leave these goods to my father and
mother ? So that I have not wherewithal to make a will ;
but by way of testament I will that all the world shall
know how wrongfully I have been abandoned of thee and
see no less thy dire and fell cruelty and thy little faith ;
for thou well knowest, Camillo, without my repeating it to

297

thee, how grievously thou hast wronged me. Remember
thee of that which thou hast so oftentimes said, promised
and sworn to me ; but I see indeed and know by experience
that the wind carried away thy words. God is above and
in Him I trust that He, being a just judge and one who
leaveth no good unrequited and no ill unpunished, will
avenge me, and thou wilt know, in the end, that thou hadst
no cause to use me after this fashion. But thy repentance
will then profit neither thee nor me any whit. Thou wilt
still have at thy heart this gnawing worm of remorse which
will without cease torment thee, still picturing to thy mind's
eyes this thy present cruelty to me, who have never anywise
merited it. Pardon me, my friends who are here, an I say
aught which causeth you annoy, and forgive my just and
insupportable sufferance. I would that all simple and
unwary women were here present, for that I would give
them a counsel I have not known to take myself, to wit,
that they put no trust in the flattering words of these young
men who feign themselves enamoured and dupe as many
women as they may have ; nay, I myself can bear the
truest testimony thereof. " Quoth Camillo, "It booteth not
to enter upon these arguments. Meseemeth it is time that
I should comply with the demands of mine honour and with
my kinsfolk's wishes and attend to otherwhat than to these
toys. Thou well knowest that thou canst not become my
wife and that some time or other needs must we come to
this pass. Marry, I leave thee not for any default that
I impute to thee ; that which I do, I do that I may apply
to live after anothergates fashion than that on which I have
lived hitherto ; for that I am no longer a new-fledged lad
and know full well how much blame the life I have led till
now hath brought upon me and the rebukes which I have
at divers times suffered therefor from friends and kinsfolk ;

298

so that for the future do thou hold me in a brother's stead
and I will love thee as a sister. The child I will, as I
have hitherto done, let rear for mine and will look to find
another nurse, for that I will not have yonder drunken
hussy suckle it me more. As for thee, thou mayst, whenas
it seemeth good to thee, look thee out one who shall please
thee, for thou wilt not lack of young men, handsome, rich,
courteous and gallant, with whom thou mayst give thyself
the best time in the world and abide without cease in
pleasure. Nor for this wilt thou be less dear to me, for
that, if I mean for the future to live after mine own fashion
and do that which is most to my liking, it is but right and
just that thou do that which most pleaseth thee ; and with
this I signify to thee my final and determinate resolution
and steadfast will."

Cinzia, hearing this, heaved a heavy sigh from the deeps
of her heart and giving up all hope, said aloud, " Since
Camillo will no longer have me for his on such wise as I
have hitherto been and as I wish and infinitely desire, I,
being unable to do otherwise, do, by that means which I
most easily may and which is vouchsafed to me, take, snatch
and tear myself away from him and eke from myself and the
world ; for that far better is it for me to die once than to
perish a thousand times an hour. Behold, then, the last act
of my life." Scarce had she made an end of these last words
when, taking up the vial and setting it to her mouth, she at
one draught swallowed all the water that was therein and
threw the vial behind the bed. Whereupon, "What is this?
W^hat is this ? " cried the friends who were seated about her
and "Certes," cried II Greco, "she hath poisoned herself;
and now I remember me that, a few days agone, she asked
me an I knew that knave, Gerone Sasso, and I replying to
her that I did, she rejoined that she would fain ask a service

299

of him by my means. By my soul, it was the water she
would have had from yonder rascal, the which she hath now
gotten liy other means ! Sirs, you may hold it for certain
that she hath drunken poison." "Ay, alas!" said all;
then, rising to their feet, they asked her what it was she
had drunken.

Cinzia, nearer, as she thought, to the other world than to
this and firmly believing that she had taken poison, com-
posed herself in the bed to await death and waxing for
imagination all pale in the face, answered them in a low
voice on this wise, saying, "Be assured, dear my friends,
that this water which you have seen me drink is on such
wise composed and distilled that in less than two or three
hours it will send my troubled spirit to the deepest deep of
the infernal abyss, inasmuch as, seeing Camillo persistent in
no longer willing me for that which I was to him aforetime,
I have chosen no more to be mine own, still less another's.
I die and depart this life as willingly and blithely as I would
have abidden therein, so but Camillo had willed me for his
servant, as I was aforetime. And believe me of that which
I say to you, for that I tell you the truth ; never meseemed
was I so content in my life as I am at this present, being, as
I am, assured that in a very brief space of time I shall leave
all these troubles and afflictions, the which have beyond
compare tormented me far more than now doth death near
at hand. I still had a most acute and poignant canker at
my heart, which ceased not day or night to deal me the
cruellest stings, so that meseemed I was pierced through
and through in an hundred places and felt myself languish
and pine away a thousand times a minute. Now is the end
of all ills come. And in truth, my friends, death seemeth
not to me so terrible as many will have it ; nay, methinketh
it is passing sweet and dear and that it is far better to leave

;oo

the world on this wise than to abide the coming of old age,
which is so odious to the young, and wait for the divers
grievous infirmities and the many kinds of ills, which attend
upon it, to cause us rot in our beds. Abide ye in peace and
God grant you a better lot than hath been mine ! "

Camillo feigned himself the woefullest man that was aye
and made as he were all aghast at so grievous a sight. But,
as I have already told you, he and Delio had, with Mario,
put the water in the vial and knew that it could do no
harm ; and they would e'en see if Cinzia was so mad as
to go about to poison herself or others. Camillo, then,
feigned himself sore afflicted and made as if his eyes were
brimmed and blinded with bitter tears. As for Delio, he
had so great a mind to laugh that he could scarce contain
himself; however, the better to adorn the tale, he also
feigned to be beyond measure woeful, whilst Camillo went
up to the bed where Cinzia lay and making as he were
overcome with excessive grief, said to her, in a very
languorous voice, " Ah me, Cinzia mine, God pardon thee,
what a thought was this of thine to commit so mad and
cruel an extravagance and to become thine own murderess !
IIovv could thy heart suffer thee to poison thyself?" Where-
upon she turned to him with a piteous gesture and said,
"Camillo, none who is or will be holden wise should
nor may with reason complain of that which hath been
by him procured. Of those circumstances only doth it
behove to complain which befall untowardly against our
will. Wherefore feign thyself not woeful nor pitiful over
my case, thou having willed it ; hadst thou desired that
I should live, thou shouldst not have abandoned me. Thou
wast e'en certified by a thousand proofs that I should
not live without thee ; wherefore do thou reserve this thy
tardy pity for cases undesired of thee and concern not thyself

30I

for me, who am presenLly at tlic term ot my ills. I have
this comfort, which marvellously rejoiceth me, that, in
thy despite, I die thine and close mine eyes under thine ;
and if in the other life there abide aught of feeling, I
shall there will to be thine, as I have been here." Quoth
II Greco, "There is no time to lose; quick, we must
succour this mad woman. Needs must antidotes be ad-
ministered and that without delay. An we had somewhat
of unicorn's horn, relief might lightly be afforded her
and she might be saved, for that it hath been proved
by long experience that this horn, reduced to powder and
drunken, is of marvellous efficacy in pestilential maladies,
in cases of poisoning and worms in children and other
ailments, albeit some say that Hippocrates and Galen make
no mention thereof" Quoth Camillo, " I have of this
horn," and straightway sent to his house to fetch it.

Now such was the strength of Cinzia's imagination and
so throughly was she persuaded that she had taken poison
that she felt herself overcome with an icy cold and trembling
and herseemed all her vitals irked her sore and her bowels
were knotted up into a thousand knots, so that there broke
out on her many drops of cold sweat, as big as a vetch.
Moreover, so sore and heavy a drowsiness overcame her
that she might on no wise keep her eyes open. Camillo
and the others stood round about her and comforted her
with soft words, exhorting her to seek to cast up the poison
and prepare herself to take some remedy. Now there was
already procured a beaker of common oil, made lukewarm,
so she might swallow it and vomit ; but she, still oppressed
with the violence of the fit, gave no ear to aught that was
said to her. And so she abode a good while, so true is
it that imagination oftentimes produceth effect. Then, the
paroxysm over, she sighed and opening her eyes, was

302

exhorted anew to arouse herself and endeavour, by drinking
the oil, to vomit ; but it was all preached to the deaf.
She was altogether determined to die and would hearken
to no talk of antidote nor might anywise be persuaded to
drink the oil.

Meanwhile the unicorn's horn had been brought and
somewhat of powder taken therefrom by means of a file ;
then, the rest of the horn being laid in a beaker so well
washed that it seemed of silver, there was poured thereon
fair fresh water, as clear as crystal. Delio then took the
beaker and proffered it to Cinzia, saying, "Here, Cinzia,
is the antidote of the poison thou hast swallowed ; the
which an thou drink, thou wilt speedily feel a marvellous
assuagement of thine ills ; wherefore do thou, pluck up
a good heart and drink boldly. Come, tarry no longer ;
look how this water boileth and how it sendeth up its
bubbles without heat of fire, such is the occult virtue which
sovereign nature hath given to this horn." But she gave
no sign of offering to drink and making Delio no answer,
reclosed her eyes and fell anew to sweating and trembling ;
all which proceeded from her lively conceit of having poisoned
herself. The horn was taken forth of the water and the
powder cast therein ; whereupon Camillo took the beaker
in hand and drawing near the damsel, who, the paroxysm
over, was now somewhat come to herself, said to her,
" Cinzia, look up and speak to me ; I am Camillo. Hearest
thou not ? Feelest thou not ? Prithee, hearken to that
which I have to say to thee. Do me this pleasure, an
thou love me any whit, and drink a good draught of this
blessed and salutary water and fear nothing ; nay, be assured
that it will give thee new life, as thou shalt presently see
by the evident and clear effect thereof. What dost thou ?
Anon thou openest thine eyes and anon thou shuttcst them.

303

Marry, it is no time for sleep ; lift thy head and open thine
eyes ; see, we are all here to succour thee and deliver thee
from peril. Come, tarry no longer ; see, here I proffer
thee with mine own hand the water, with the powder
therein. Come, drink. What dost thou ? See, here it is."

At these words, the damsel raised her head somewhat
and opening her eyes, fixed them very piteously upon
Camillo's face and said to him in a low and languorous
voice, "Camillo, these thy remedies and succours are too
late and can no more avail me aught. As thou seest,
I am arrived at the desired end of this my weary life,
which I may well name a living death. Marry, I am
infinitely glad to be come to this extreme pass, which
filleth all the world with dread and trembling, but me
it rejoiceth and comforteth, as the term of every ill.
And albeit I am fully convinced that all the medicines
in the world are insufficient and come too late for this
mine ill and that nothing can any more avail me, the
death-dealing venom having already invaded all parts of
my body and usurped my very heart, nevertheless, to show
thee that this which I have done I did but for that I
might not live without thee and for none other reason,
I now tell thee my last will, the which is this. An
thou be still resolved, according as thou hast declared,
to be no more mine as thou wast before, keep these thy
remedies to thyself, for that I will have none of them,
and leave me be ; inasmuch as, if I am not to be thine,
death is far liefer to me than life. But an thou be
minded to be mine, I will content thee and do what
thou wiliest, drinking that which thou shalt proffer me ;
and albeit, as I believe, no solace whatsoever should ensue
to me thereof, algates, to feel myself die in thy favour
will bring me such contentment that I shall die the

304

happiest and most fortunate lover that ever came into the
realms of blissful love. So that, an thou wilt have me
take any antidote, understand me well and clearly, I will
that thou, in the presence of these our friends, resolve
nie of thy mind and tell me, in plain words, an thou
wilt be mine or not." To this Camillo answered that
he had spoken very plainly and that it booted not to
say other what, he having already said enough, wherewith,
for the reasons alleged by him, she might very well rest
content; and with this he was silent. "With God be it,"
rejoined she ; "do thou after thy fashion and I will do
after mine. Thou choosest not to be mine and I choose
not to take any manner of remedy, for that, without thee,
all medicines would be to me deadly poisons, and living
in thy favour, poison might not avail to do me hurt."
With these words she laid her head again on the pillow
and there abode in act to die.

Those who were there, seeing her constancy and misliking
that she should die in despair, came round about Camillo
and urgently besought him to satisfy her and to bethink
him at what a pass she was. He abode awhile obdurate
and would no more bind himself to her ; but, at the last,
overcome with so many prayers, he bespoke her on this
wise, saying, "Cinzia mine, be of good heart; drink this
water with the powder, for that, an (as is to be hoped) it
make thee whole, I pledge thee my faith to tender thee as
before." She, at these words, raised herself, all rejoiced,
and took the cup from Camillo's hands ; but, ere she set it
to her mouth, "Since thou, my lord Camillo," quoth she,
" promisest me for the future to be to me that which thou
wast aforetime and hast loyally pledged me thy faith thereof
in the presence of these our friends, I will take this remedy,
and if it profit me, as you all tell me it will, and if its

305

virtue avail more than the mah'gnity of the poison, I will
gladly live, not of any desire that I have to abide on life,
but to be with thee and see myself thine and thee mine,
the which I desire above all other good. If, again, it avail
nie nothing, I shall at the least, dying, have this satisfaction,
that thou and these our friends will have been visibly
certified that I have left nothing undone to be thine, either
alive or dead. Moreover, I certify thee that, if this remedy
save my life and thou anywise fail me of the promise which
thou hast presently made me, I will not fail unto myself,
but will undauntedly ensue the determination of my soul ;
for that, Godamercy, he who hath furnished me with this
present poison will, whenas I wish, give me as much again
thereof and that same mind and will, which have presently
moved me to poison myself, will still be ready to work the
same effect. Now will I drink the water."

With these words, she blithely set the beaker to her
mouth and swallowed all the water at one draught; what
while Camillo bespoke her with many fair words, gently
reproving her for the folly committed and exhorting her
for the future to be sager and to expose herself no more to
such risks, inasmuch as, for once the thing goeth well, an
hundred cases go from ill to worse ; and so he reasoned
with her a good while, giving her the while a thousand
caresses and loving endearments. Now, whether it was
fancy or the firm belief she had of having poisoned herself,
or that she had in her stomach abundance of bile and
phlegm and other superfluities, which the unicorn-potion
had stirred up, she having drunken a great beakerful
thereof, or whatever was the cause thereof, she travailed
all that day and could get no rest, complaining without
cease of pains in her stomach and bowels and of many
and various fumes mounting to her head, which stupefied

VOL. IV. 20

\

3o6

her ; but ultimately, having vomited twice or thrice much
phlegmatic and bilious matter, she marvellously purged
her stomach. If any ask me vv'hence this evacuation pro-
ceeded, I am fain to believe that the water, aided belike
by the occult virtue of the horn, in part stirred up these
matters, especially in a weak stomach, such as she then
had ; but meseemeth certain that the undoubting belief she
had of having swallowed the poison was the most potent
cause of all. Nay, to this very day, according to that
which I understand of her, she yet firmly believeth that
she poisoned herself, but that the unicorn-horn antidote
brought her forth of danger, Camillo not having chosen to
discover to her how the affair was ordered. Moreover,
being asked, on the morrow, by the friends who came to
visit her, how she could have dared voluntarily to drink
the poison, she replied to them on this wise, saying, "I
was altogether resolved, so soon as I saw myself abandoned
of Camillo, to abide no longer on life ; wherefore, not
having the heart to slay myself with the steel and having
debated many kinds of death, I chose this of poison, as
the easiest and least irksome. Meseemed, moreover, that
death would not be very grievous to me, dying as I did in
his presence for whose sake I was become mine own
murderess. And for that I did nought but conjecture and
fantasize, I took into my head that it was impossible
Camillo could be so cruel but that, seeing me come to so
extreme a pass, he would enforce himself to succour me
and have compassion upon me. This conceit of seeing
him have pity on my pain was a salve to all my torments
and in this hope I was ready to die cheerfully." "Go to,"
quoth Flaminio, "look thou play no more such pranks
neither suffer these maggots to enter thy head ; but, if
they arise there, let them evaporate ; else wilt thou do it

307

once too often and the unicorn's horn will not always be
at hand. Do it not again ; for, if thou return thereto,
thou wilt pay for this and that and wilt appear a fool."

Camillo, then, abode with his Cinzia as before and lived
in peace and joyance. Many and various were the discourse-
ments among those who knew not how the case stood and
they spoke as well of the might of love (the which in truth
is most puissant and worketh marvellous effects) as also of
the resolute spirit of a woman in love. Some praised and
some blamed that which Cinzia had done ; this one called
her bold, that mad and a third foolhardy and desperate,
according to the various sentiments and opinions of the
speakers, whose discourse meseemeth for the nonce un-
necessary to recount, for I fear me I have already been over-
longsome and have wearied you with my much talk ; but
indeed I could do no less, an I would give you to know how
the case befell. Now, to make an end of my tale, I must
tell you that, what while my terrestrial sun' lived, I still
desired to be loved as much as I loved and that my lady and
mistress should be even such to me as I was to her ; but I
would fain not happen on such desperate souls as Cinzia,
inasmuch as I might have good cause to believe that, if they
scrupled not to be their own murderers, still less would they
stick to take the lives of others, M'henassoever there occurred
to their mind the least suspicion of being unloved. Let us,
then, pray God to keep us from such women, who should
rather be styled desperate than valiant, and let each, an
he desire to be loved, apply himself to love ; for that I know
of no better philter than this,'- albeit it hath profited me

' i.e. his mistress.

^ Comment, disaient ils,
Sans philtres subtils,
Etre aime des belles ?
— Aimez, disaient elles. — V. Hugo.

3o8

little ; and indeed our wise Dante saith that Love to none
beloved pardoneth loving.^ Nay, an love be not so soon
seen to be repaid in kind, a man should not therefore desist
from the begun emprise, but persevere with loyalty ; for that
it is still seen in the end that, sooner or later, whoso loveth
is beloved.

' Amor ch' a nulV amato amar perdona.

IBanDello

to tf)e most fllustrfaus sefcjntor Sirjnor Carlo Bra*
cci)ietta, SEirjncur t(c fHarfgng anti Councillor
of t!)E most C{)rtstt'an iltinu in \}i& ?^{g!j
Council.

These days newly past, Messer Gian Giordano, being
on his way back from Paris, where for some years past
he hath daily laboured to good effect before the High
Council on behalf of the Lord Bishop of Agen, gave me
to understand not only in what lively remembrance you
keep my name at heart, but eke (the which proceedeth
from your infinite courtesy) in what honourable and affec-
tionate terms you speak of me. This, indeed, I have not
merited by any act or desert of mine own nor by any
service rendered you, no occasion having offered for you
to command me aught, nor have I of mine own motion
taken one, seeing not in what my lowliness may advan-
tage one of your exalted rank. It is true, indeed, that,
regard had to the desire of my heart and to my intent,
which, since I made acquaintance with you, hath still
been most prompt to do you service, in so far as hath
been possible to me, I deserve to be by you no little
loved and holden of the number of your dearest friends,
for that it oftentimes behoveth take the will for the deed.
Now, the magnificent cavalier Messer Gerardo Boldiero

310

having of late narrated a piteous story in the presence of
a worshipful company and I having already committed to
writing a goodly number of such novels, I have bethought
me to add this to the others and to give it, according
to my wonted usance, a patron ; wherefore I dedicate it
unto your name. May it please you accept it in that
spirit wherewith you are wont to accept and defend the
interests of such clients as recur to your effectual and
loyal patronage ; nor let any marvel that I make bold
to send these my toys to a man much occupied with
public business and with the momentous affairs of so vast
a realm ; inasmuch as I do this not to the intent that
you, neglecting the matters which you have all day long
in hand, should waste the precious hours in the reading
of this novel ; nay, had I such an intent, I were indeed
fond and deserving of severe reprehension ; but I have
been moved thereto of my knowledge that human nature
should not nor can labour without cease and apply itself
to the contemplation of the most noble sciences nor abide
long in speculation anent things natural and celestial,
without bytimes taking some relaxation of mind. Scsevola,
a most eminent jurisconsult among the Romans, after he
had made an end of matters of religion and had ordered
the ceremonies and debated of the civil law and decided
such suits as he had in hand, was wont, to solace his
wearied mind and to render himself livelier and apter
unto study, to exercise himself in the game of tennis and
eke played often at tables and passed in other pleasant
and lowly sports such little leisure as the vacation of the
courts vouchsafed him, showing himself Sc^evola in grave
and important affairs and in matters of relaxation a man
like other men. What shall we say of the wise Socrates,
to whom no kind of knowledge was obscure and who

311

was one of the best-bred men of his time? It was often-
times his usance, whenas he returned home after his dis-
putations in the schools of philosophy, to play with his
little children at those games which are common to child-
hood. Scipio Africanus, a man without peer in his time,
whose splendid deeds of arms and the integrity of whose
life the Greeks and Latins have celebrated in a thousand
volumes, nowise disdained to disport himself, in company
with Laelius, his most trusted friend, upon the sea-shore
of Gaeta and of the city of Laurentum and to go gather-
ing stones and shells among the fine sand. But, an I
sought to adduce other instances to this purpose of men
illustrious in every kind of action, time would fail me
rather than examples. It is not, then, forbidden unto
whatsoever man bytimes to unbend his mind from matters
serious and to stoop to pleasant sports for his recrea-
tion and for the solacement and fortification of the mind,
so it may after avail more vivaciously to resume the
burthen of affairs, full as they are (some more and some
less, according to circumstances,) of care and anxiety.
You, then, my lord, whenas, wearied of your graver
occupations, you would fain take a little recreation, may
peradventure read this my novel by way of pastime.
Fare you well and be mindful of me. May our Lord
God prosper your thoughts.

E\)t 2i:|)rec=antJ=5rf)irtietfj Storg.

GERARDO SECRETLY TAKETH HIS MISTRESS
TO WIFE AND GOETH TO BARUTI. MEAN-
WHILE THE DAMSEL'S FATHER SEEKETH
TO MARRY HER AND SHE, SWOONING
FOR DOLOUR, IS ENTOMBED FOR DEAD ;
BUT HER TRUE HUSBAND RETURNETH
THAT SAME DAY AND TAKING HER FORTH
OF THE SEPULCHRE, PERCEIVETH THAT
SHE IS NOT DEAD ; WHEREUPON HE
TENDETH HER AND AFTER FORMALLY
CELEBRATETH HIS NUPTIALS WITH HER.

It hath to-day, most lovesome ladies and you, courteous
youths, been spoken at length of the great variety of
chances which are wont, often beyond all human foresight,
to betide in amorous emprises and how, when a man hath
lost all hope of compassing that which he most ardently
desireth, it is oftentimes found that hope is requickened
and that which was mourned for lost is suddenly regained.
And indeed these same chances are mostwhiles exceeding
marvellous unto whoso perpendeth them and very uneath
of belief unto whoso considereth not the unstableness of
sublunary things. Such an one, who held himself assured
of seeing the much-desired end of his emprise, findeth him-
self of a sudden far therefrom and altogether deprived
thereof. Another, after long and harassing fatigues, thinketh

313

to have toiled in vain, but, what while liis mind doffeth its
first desire and turneth aside into another way, behold, the
thing of which he despaired falleth unexpectedly into his
hand and he findeth himself in entire possession of that
which he never thought to have. Thus doth blind fortune
go oftentimes sporting in human affairs with the turns of
her inconstant wheel, and changeful and unstable as she is
in all her dealings, in love-matters it is that we see her most
inconstant. But, for that, according to the trite saying,
examples are far more effectual than words and give
indubitable assurance of that which is alleged, it pleaseth
me, in corroboration thereof, to recount to you an adventure
which befell in the famous city of Venice and which may
to this day be seen recorded in the archives of the august
tribunal of the Counsellors ' of the Commonweal.

You must know, then, that in the city aforesaid there
abode two gentlemen who were abundantly endowed with
the goods of fortune and had their palaces upon the Grand
Canal, well-nigh overagainst one another. One of them
was called Messer Paolo and had a wife, with one daughter
and one son only, which latter was named Gerardo ; the
other was called Messer Pietro and had no child of his
wife save one only daughter of thirteen to fourteen years
old, Elena by name, who was fair beyond all belief and
who, as she grew in age, waxed marvellously day by day
in grace and beauty. Gerardo, who was about twenty years
old, held a strait amorous commerce with a barber's wife,
who was very well favoured and agreeable and to visit
whom he well-nigh every day took gondola with his serving-
man and crossed the canal, entering a smaller canal, which
flowed by the palace of Elena's father, and passing, on

' Avvogadori.

314

his wonted journey, under Messer Pietro's windows. It
chanced (even as misfortunes use oftentimes to happen,
whenas they are least expected,) that Elena's mother fell
sick and in a brief space of time died, to the exceeding
grief of her husband and only daughter. Now on the
other side of the little canal, overagainst Messer Pietro,
dwelt a gentleman and his wife, with four daughters, and
Messer Pietro, one festival-day, some weeks after his wife's
death, thinking to cheer his daughter with sortable company,
sent the nurse whom he kept in the house and who had
suckled the latter, to pray the father of the four damsels
suffer his daughters come divert themselves with Elena ;
to which the courteous gentleman consented, and so well-
nigh every holiday the four sisters repaired very willingly
and easily to Elena's house, inasmuch as, without being
seen, they embarked at their own water-gate and crossing
the little canal, landed at that of Messer Pietro's house,
which was overagainst their own. The five damsels, when
they were together, diverted themselves with divers sports
befitting their sex and age, and amongst the rest they played
at forfeits ; to wit, they played with a ball which they threw
one to another and whoso failed to catch it in the air
and let it fall to the ground was understood to have made
default and lost the game. The four sisters were from
seventeen to twenty or one-and-twenty years of age and
were each enamoured of some young man ; wherefore often-
times, as they played, now one, now another, nay, oftentimes
three or all four at once, would mn to the balconies, to
see their lovers and others who passed in gondolas along
the canal ; the which no little displeased Elena, who was
very simple and had never yet felt the amorous flames,
and she was sore chagrined thereat, pulling them back
by the clothes to the wonted game. They, to whom the

315

sight of their lovers afforded much more delight than the
ball, recked little of Elena, but abode still fast at the
windows and cast whiles flowers or the like trifles, according
to the season, to their gallants, whenas they passed under
the balconies ; and one day, one of the four sisters, being
importuned by Elena, because she would not remove from
the balcony, said to her, *' By Christ His Cross, Elena, didst
thou but taste a particle of the pleasure that we feel in
diverting ourselves here at these windows, thou wouldst
abide here as gladly as we and wouldst reck no whit of
forfeits ; but thou art a silly lass and knowest nought as
yet of this traffic." Elena, however, paid no heed to
aught that was said to her, but still persisted in calling them
back to the game and importuning them on childish wise.

It chanced one holiday that the four sisters, hindered
by other occasions, could not come play with Elena ; where-
fore she abode sad and melancholy and posting herself at
one of the windows, overagainst their house on the other
side of the little canal, sat there all solitary and dis-
consolate at not being with her friends, as she was used
to be at these times. What while the simple girl abode
on this wise, it befell that Gerardo, passing with his
boat on his way to visit the barber's wife, espied the
damsel at a window and cast a chance look at her ; which
she seeing, turned towards him and fell to gazing upon
him with a blithe countenance, such as she had sundry
whiles seen her friends show their lovers. Gerardo, marvel-
ling at this, (for that belike he had never before seen her
nor taken heed to her) ogled her amorously and she, thinking
that to do thus was part of the game, smilingly returned his
glances. However, he passed on nor had gone far when
the boatman said to him, "Master mine, saw you yonder
fair damsel and did you note how she ogled you with blithe

3i6

semblants and courteous greetings? By St. Zachary his
Evangels, meseemeth she is anotherguess morsel and far
daintier than the barberess ! I warrant me she would give
you a merry night and an ill sleep." Gerardo feigned
not to have noted her and said to the man, "I would fain
see who she is and if she be such as thou sayest ; turn the
gondola round and go slowly close under the house." Elena
had not left the balcony, where she had been seen of the
young man, who, faring on softly with his barge uncovered,^
fell to looking upon her with a blithe visage and ogled her
wantonly out of the corner of his eye ; whereupon she took
out a fine clove gillyflower, which she chanced to have at
her ear, and as the gondola came under the balcony, let the
fair and fragrant blossom fall as near the young man as she
might.

Gerardo, beyond measure rejoiced at such a chance, took
the sweet flower and making a seemly obeisance to the
damsel, kissed it joyously again and again. Its fragrance
and Elena's beauty took such possession of his heart that
every other ardour which burned therein was in a trice
extinguished and the flames of love for the fair damsel
enkindled him with such might that it was nowise possible
to him to abate them in the least particular, far less to
quench them ; wherefore, burning with a new fire, he alto-
gether forewent his commerce with the barberess and gave
himself wholly up to the charming girl. But she, being
very simple and having not yet opened her breast to the
amorous shafts, saw Gerardo indeed with pleasure, whenas
he passed before her window, but regarded him neither
more nor less than as if the looking one at other were a
game. The enamoured youth fell to passing that way daily,

* i.e. with the head of the cabin thrown open.

317

nay, five or six times a day, but never chanced to see Elena
save on holidays, for that the girl, love being as yet un-
awakened in her, accounted workadays unapt unto her sport.
Gerardo, being passionately in love, abode exceeding mis-
content, finding no way to see his mistress, still less with
words or letters to discover to her his love, and so burned
and longed in vain. Whenas, indeed, he saw her on
holidays, he strove as best he might to discover to her, by
means of gestures, the flames that so cruelly consumed him ;
but she understood little of such signs. Nevertheless, in
the long run, she came to take no little pleasure in his sight
and would fain have had him show himself twenty times
an hour, but only on holidays ; wherefore, not to be hindered
of her companions and taking more pleasure in Gerardo's
sight than in the game of forfeits, she began, now with one
excuse, now with another, to rid herself of the four sisters'
company.

Things being at this pass, it chanced one day that the
disconsolate lover, passing along the footway or fundament,'
as it is used to say at Venice, saw Elena's nurse (who had
aforetime been his own) knock at the door of the damsel's
house ; whereupon he, being somewhat afar from her, fell
to calling her and crying, "Nurse! Nurse!" But she,
for the knocking she made at the door, heard nothing and
the door being presently opened, she entered in. The
young man made haste to overtake her, ere she entered
the house, calling her the while, and she, thinking to shut
the door and turning round, saw him coming ; whereupon,
she forbearing to shut the door and Gerardo, who came
up incontinent, reaching the threshold, he saw Elena,

1 Fondamento, i.e. the narrov? paved footway between the houses
and the canals.

who had come down on some occasion or other, in the
courtyard. Whether it was of the excessive joy he had
in seeing himself near her or whatever was the cause
thereof, he was overcome with such oppression that he fell
to the ground senseless and waxed so pale in the face that
he seemed a dead body. At this dismal and unlooked-for
sight the nurse and Elena and a serving-maid who was
with the latter were all aghast and began to call for help ;
whilst the damsel, drawn by I know not what, cast herself
weeping upon the youth ; but the prudent nurse made her
arise forthright and enter a midstair chamber, what while
she busied herself with Gerardo, shaking and chafing him
and calling him by name ; then, seeing that he answered
nothing, she, with the help of the maid, drew him within
and shut the door. Now she loved the swooned youth,
having fostered him with her own milk, and was inexpres-
sibly afflicted at that which had befallen him. Accordingly,
she wept sore and Messer Pietro, being at home and
hearing the sobs and lamentations of the woebegone nurse,
ran down, with others of the household, and would e'en
know what was to do. The nurse acquainted him with
that which had happened and he, being a courteous and
pitiful gentleman, let softly take up the young man and
carry him aloft, laying him on a rich bed ; then, having
used all fatherly diligence in seeking to recover him and
seeing that no remedy availed, he bethought himself to
have him carried to the house of his father, Messer Paolo,
Accordingly, he laid him in a gondola and let carry him
across the canal, sending with him the nurse and a discreet
messenger, to advertise his father how the case had befallen.
Messer Paolo, learning what had chanced and seeing his
son as he were dead, was overcome with extreme anguish
and was like to swoon away himself. What tears he shed

319

and what piteous lamentations he made, let each one think
who should see a very dear son in such a pHt^ht ; more by
token that, although he had a daughter already married,
nevertheless he accounted Gerardo his only child and loved
liim supremely. Accordingly, amid the general lamentation
of his father and mother and all the household, the afflicted
youth was carried to his chamber and laid abed, whilst
divers physicians and an apothecary of repute, being fetched,
applied themselves with all diligence to recall, by various
means, the strayed vital spirits, which sought to forsake him,
and wrought to such effect that, after many pains, Gerardo
began to breathe again and recover his senses little by little.
As soon as he availed to unknot his tongue, he faltered
out, "Nurse! Nurse!" and she, being there, answered
him, saying, "Here am I, my son; what wilt thou?"
The young man, being not yet altogether restored to him-
self and belike still imagining himself in act to run after
her, still called her ; however, presently, perceiving where
he was and seeing his father and mother, together with his
sister and her husband and other kinsfolk and friends, who
had been summoned, round about the bed nor knowing for
what reason, (since he remembered him not of that which
had betided him,) he had yet understanding enough to see that
the place was unapt to bespeak the nurse of that which he
would fain discover to her. Accordingly, entering upon
other talk, he declared that there irked him nothing more,
which filled all his folk with incredible pleasure ; and being
asked of his father and the physicians what it was that had
so affected him and had taken him out of himself, he replied
that he knew not.

Then, all having avoided the chamber and leaving him
alone with the nurse, he turned piteously to her and heaving
sundry ardent sighs, bespoke her on this wise, saying, " You

320

may lightly apprehend, sweetest mother mine, from the
sore accident which hath befallen me, at what a pass I find
myself ; for that, in truth, except I find succour, my life
will speedily have a bitter end. Nor know I whither to
turn for aid, save to you alone, in whose hands I manifestly
know my death and life to be. You alone can, an you •
will, afford me such aid as will suffice to keep me alive ;
but, an you deny me your succour, you will without fail
bereave me of life and become my murderess." The loving
and pitiful nurse exhorted the afflicted Gerardo to be of
good heart and apply himself to recover his lost strength,
professing herself most ready to serve him with all her
heart in all that might be done by her and freely promising
him that she would do her every endeavour to aid him nor
would ever tire in his service. The young man, hearing
these lavish promises, took heart again and rendered her
such warmest thanks as he might for that her kind and
generous intent. Then, falling anew to praying and con-
juring her as most strenuously he might, he recounted to
her the strange circumstance of his love, inasmuch as he
knew not his mistress's name [nor aught of her] save that
she was one of the five whom he saw on holidays at the
windows of Messer Pietro's house, now one at a time and
now in company.

The nurse diligently hearkened to that which the young
man told her and debating in herself who the damsel was,
with the love of whom he was so sore inflamed, held her
to be for certain one of Elena's playmates, inasmuch as she
knew them for forward and sprightly ; for of Elena, whom
she knew to be simple and innocent, she might never have
imagined the like. Gerardo was much heartened and
comforted by the nurse's promise and abode all full of hope.
Accordingly, they agreed that, on the first ensuing holiday,

321

the nurse should abide with the girls at the windows and
be on the watch to see which of them was Gerardo's
beloved, so she might, in due time and place, carry fowls '
(as it is used to say) in his interest ; whilst he was on the
same day to pass many times along the canal. This was
on a Monday ; wherefore Gerardo, albeit he felt himself in
good case, betook himself, at his father's instance, to an
estate of theirs on the mainland, some six or seven miles
distant from Venice, and there abode, diverting himself with
various pleasures, till Friday morning, when he returned to
Venice. The Sunday, so impatiently awaited by the lover
and the nurse, being come, the four sisters gave Elena to
understand that they had a mind to foregather with her,
according to their usance ; but she, — who already began to
be somewhat heated with love of the young man, having
still, since his swooning, felt I know not what at heart and
borne him great compassion, and who took pleasure in
thinking of him and would fain have seen him again, —
excused herself as best she might, alleging certain excuses
of her fashion. And this she did, to the intent that if, as
she hoped, her lover should pass, she might not be hindered
of any from viewing him at her leisure.

The nurse, understanding that the sisters were not to
come play with Elena, was mightily chagrined, unknowing
how she might avail to satisfy Gerardo ; but, seeing that the
girl, after dinner, might not abide still and ran a thousand
times an hour to the windows, she began to misdoubt her
she was enamoured of some young man, and the better to
certify herself of the fact, said that she had a mind to sleep
awhile ; the which pleased Elena, as leaving her a free
field to abide at the windows, and she lovingly exhorted

1 Portar polli, i.e. to carry love-letters, play the go-between. Cf.
French " poulets."

VOL. IV. 21

322

her to take rest. Then, when she saw the nurse withdrawn
into one chamber, she forthright betook herself to another,
to begin her desired amorous game ; wherein fortune was very
favourable to her, inasmuch as scarce had she posted herself
at the window when Gerardo, who was nowise asleep, but
most watchful over his affair, showed himself on the little
canal. Now the shrewd nurse had also stationed herself
at a window and seeing the young man appear in his
gondola, turned her eyes to where Elena was, who was
all rejoiced at the sight of her lover and showed by certain
girlish gestures as she would fain give him joy of his
recovered health. She had in her hand a bunch of flowers
and this, as the gondola passed below her, she with a
blithe countenance threw to the young man. The nurse,
seeing this, doubted not but that Gerardo's beloved was
Elena ; wherefore, knowing that a match between them
might very fitly be made, an they were minded to marry
each other, she entered Elena's chamber of a sudden and
finding her still at the window, gazing upon her lover,
said to her, "Tell me, daughter, what is this I saw thee
do ? What hast thou to do with the youth who passed but
now along the canal ? A fine, modest wench, indeed, to
abide all day at the windows and cast bunches of flowers
to whoso Cometh and goeth ! Woe to thee, should thy
father hear of it ! I warrant me he would dight thee on
such wise that thou wouldest envy the dead."

The girl, well-nigh beside herself for this severe rebuke,
knew not neither dared to say a word ; however, seeing from
the nurse's face that, though she chid her sharply, she was
not withal very angry, she cast her arms about her neck
and kissing her on childish wise, bespoke her with soft and
coaxing words, saying, "Nannie,"' (for so do the Venetians

1 Nena.

323

call their nurses) "sweetest mother mine, I crave you humbly
pardon if I have been at fault (which I believe not) in the
game you have presently seen me play. But, an you would
have me live merry, may it please you hearken a little to
what I have to say ; and after, an it seem to you that I
have erred in playing, give me such chastisement therefor
as you think fit. Know that on holidays my lord father
letteth the four sisters who dwell overagainst us come
hither, so we may divert ourselves in company and play
together. They first taught me the game of forfeits and
after told me that a much more delectable game was to
go to the windows and whenas young men pass through
the canal in gondolas, to play with them by casting them
roses, gillyflowers and the like toys ; the which greatly
pleased me and of all the others I elected to play with him
whom you saw but now. I for my part would have him
pass here often and meknoweth not why you should go
about to rebuke me for such a play ; algates, an there be
any wrong in it, I will abstain therefrom."

The nurse could not contain her laughter, hearing how
simply and without any malice the girl spoke and bethought
herself to bring to a good issue the emprise begun in sport ;
wherefore she replied to Elena on this wise, saying, "Dearest
daughter mine, I will have thee know that I suckled with
my milk the young man who passed but now and who
is called Gerardo. He is the son of Messer Paolo, who
hath yonder goodly and commodious palace on the other
side of the Grand Canal, and I abode in his house more
than two years ; nay, I love him as a son and have still
been a familiar of his house and am well seen and caressed
of all. Wherefore I desire his weal, honour and advantage
no less than mine own ; even as also I desire thine every
contentment and would still weary myself for thee and for

324

him as much as for any one I know." Therewithal, she
went on to make the girl aware of the snares that underlie
the amorous play and how simple lasses and other women
abide oftentimes cozened and flouted of men, and showed
her how much it behoved every woman, of what degree
soever she might be, to treasure her honour and preserve
it with all care and diligence. Ultimately, to come to
her intent, when she had shown her many other things,
she told her that, if she had a mind to terminate that her
amorous game (since game she called it) on honourable
wise, she would engage to do so featly that she should
become the wife of her Gerardo. The girl, though simple
and innocent, was nevertheless quick of wit and throughly
apprehended all that the nurse said to her ; wherefore the
love she bore Gerardo awakening in her and gathering
strength, she repHed that she was content to take him
for her husband, rather than whatsoever other gentleman
in Venice.

The nurse, having gotten this favourable reply, took her
opportunity to go visit the enamoured youth, who abode
betwixt hope and fear; but, when he saw her come in
to him with a blithe visage, he augured of good and doubted
not to compass his intent ; wherefore he received her with
warm and loving greetings, saying, "Welcome, sweetest
mother mine ; what good news do you bring me ? " And
she, "I bring thee the best of news, my son, an it fail
not for thee." Then, beginning from the beginning, she
told him all that had passed betwixt Elena and herself
and concluded by assuring him that, whenassoever he would
have her to wife, the damsel was most ready to take him
to husband. Gerardo, who loved the girl most ardently,
was mighty well contented to take her for his lawful wife,
more by token that he knew her to be Messer Pietro's

325

only child. Accordingly, he thanked the nurse as best he
might and they proceeded to take order together of the
means and time of foregathering with Elena, so they
might make a happy and goodly end of the much-desired
nuptials; which done, the nurse returned home. Meanwhile
Elena, who had never proved love, but yet felt awaken in
her I know not what, which at once softly burned her and
stung her, at the thought that she should ere long be the
wife of her dear Gerardo, could find no place to contain
her, being spurred by the desire of playing a game with
her lover, whereof she knew not yet what manner thing
it was, albeit she imagined it most delectable. On the
other hand, the thought of doing this without her father's
knowledge and license dismayed her and made her blood
run cold and she feared lest some great scandal should
ensue thereof. So, torn by conflicting thoughts, she
travailed, now hoping, now fearing, now saying in herself,
" Shall I be so bold, nay, I might rather say so foolhardy,
as to presume to do such a thing in secret ? " And anon
banishing that thought, "Nay," quoth she, "should I not
do everything, so but I may still sport joyously with my
Gerardo ? " And so she went variously conjecturing and
debating in herself, but concluded in the end to seek to
espouse her lover, ensue thereof what might. Accordingly,
understanding from her dear nurse her lover's goodly dis-
position, she abode exceeding content ; then, after debating
various devices, they agreed to hold a great washing one
day, at an hour whenas Messer Pietro was abroad, and
set all the serving-women awork, so Gerardo might enter
without hindrance; and of this determination he was advised
by the sagacious nurse.

The appointed time come and Messer Pietro being at the
Senate, the nurse and Elena set all the women of the

326

house awork upon the washing and held them so busy
therewith that Gerardo, coming to the house and softly
pushing the door, which he found open, entered in and
without being seen of any, mounted the stairs and betook
himself to a chamber which the nurse had appointed him.
There he abode the coming of the latter, who tarried not
long ere she came and carried him by a little secret stair
to the chamber where Elena awaited him. The simple
and timid girl trembled and overcome with icy fears, which
bathed all her limbs in cold sweat, stirred not nor knew
what to say, Gerardo, on like wise, full of excessive joy
and scarce able to contain himself, abode awhile without
availing to utter a word ; then, recovering himself and un-
knotting his tongue, he saluted her with due reverence and
trembling voice ; whereupon she answered him all shame-
fastly that he was welcome. The nurse, seeing the two
lovers abide silent, said to them, smiling, " Meseemeth you
have a mind to play the mute; but, since each of you knoweth
why you are come hither, we were better lose no time,
inasmuch as meseemeth well that honourable accomplish-
ment be given to your desire. Here at the head of this
bed is the image and presentment of the glorious queen of
heaven, with her son, our Saviour, in her arms, whom I
pray, as should you also, to give a good beginning, a better
middle and a best ending to the marriage which you are
about to contract by word of mouth." With this, she spoke
the goodly words which are wont, according to the laudable
usance of the Roman Catholic Church, to be used in such
espousals ; whereupon Gerardo gave his dear Elena the
ring and you may picture to yourselves the joy of the newly-
wedded pair. The nurse, seeing the thing brought to a
good issue, exhorted them to divert themselves together,
since they had commodity thereof; then, departing the

327

chamber, she left the champions in the lists and went below
whereas the washing was toward. What the newly-wedded
pair did, shut in the chamber, I might not tell you, since
there were no witnesses there ; but there is none here
but may imagine it as it was, judging by himself, if he
had found himself in the like case.

After awhile, the nurse, herseeming the combatants had
abldden long enough together, returned to their chamber
and iinding them not indeed yet sated, though peradventure
weary, entered into various talk and mirthful discourse for
the enhancement of their merry cheer ; then, order being
taken for the future, so they might foregather without peril
till the occasion should come to discover the marriage
contracted and consummated between them, Gerardo, after
many sweetest kisses, departed the chamber and with the
aid and escort of the sagacious nurse, made his way out
of the house, without being seen, scarce able to contain
himself for the sovereign allegresse which possessed him.
Elena abode woebegone for the departure of her bridegroom,
but was else as gladsome as can be said, holding herself
the happiest woman in Venice and blessing the hour and
the moment when she first saw Gerardo. But what shall
we say of the wonder-working might of Love ? The which,
if, entering Cimon's^ breast, it in a trice, from a rude,
ignorant and savage, not man, but brute as he was, rendered
him accort, quick-witted, gentle, discreet and urbane,
wrought on like wise with Elena ; for that, whenas she
began to taste the amorous disport and to feel her heart
warmed and enkindled of love's divine flames, the eyes
of her understanding were suddenly opened and she became
so sprightly, quick-witted, shrewd and engaging that she

1 See my " Decameron of Boccaccio," Daj' V. Story i.

328

had few equals and no superior in Venice for grace, beauty
and womanly wit ; nay, her qualities waxed daily goodlier
and greater. Gerardo, growing hourly happier, with the
aid of the wily nurse, went by night to lie with his dear
wife, whenassoever he might, and both gave themselves
the goodliest time and led the gladsomest life in the world.
But, what while the two lovers thus blithely enjoyed each
other, untoward fortune, which never leaveth any (and
especially lovers) overlong in peace, prepared unto Gerardo
and Elena a strange disturbance and impeachment, to the
end that, if they had lived together most happily some two
years, they should e'en begin to taste the bitter gall of
mischance, the which she is so apt of a sudden to mingle
with the goodliest sweets of life.

It was the yearly usance of the Venetian Seigniory to
despatch sundry galleys to Baruti^ and of this their intent
to make public proclamation beforehand, so that those
who had a mind to such a voyage might, by making certain
payments to the Commonwealth, take such of the said
galleys as pleased them. Now Messer Paolo, Gerardo's
father, desirous, as good fathers generally are, that his son
should begin to use himself to traffic and merchandry and
make himself acquainted with the affairs and fashions
of the city, agreed upon a price and- took one of the said
galleys in Gerardo's name, without saying aught thereof
to the latter. He chanced to have in the house a good
quantity of wares for Baruti and would fain have his son
carry them thither and bring back other merchandise for
Venice, thinking thus to add no little to his substance
and after to give Gerardo a wife and leaving to him the
whole care of the household matters, devote himself solely

1 Apparently Beirout in Sjria.

329

to the affairs of the Seigniory. Having, flicn, agreed, as
hath been said, for the galley, Messer Paolo came home
and after dinner, the tables being removed and he left alone
with his son, he, after some [indifferent] talk, thus bespoke
Gerardo, saying, "Thou knowest, my son, the goods which
we have in store to send to Baruti, to exchange for such
wares as are in demand here and have a good despatch ; ^
wherefore I have this morning hired a galleon in thy name,
so thou mayst go see the world and begin henceforth
honourably to exercise thyself and make thyself a practical
man ;- for that there is nothing which lightlier rendereth
a man quickwitted and avvakeneth his understanding than
to see foreign cities and countries and the manners and
customs of this nation and that. Nay, thou seest daily
in this our city that those who have conversed abroad, in
the Levant, in the Ponent and in other parts, whenas after
they return home, if they have managed their affairs well
and bear the name of men of quick wit, practised and apt
for matters of importance, thou seest, I say, that such men
are elected to divers magistracies and offices of the Republic.
The which betideth not of those who reck of no otherwhat
than to abide all day long idle and consort with women of
loose life. The voyage to Baruti commonly lasteth six months
or seven at the most. Wherefore, dear my son, take order of
that which behoveth unto thee therefor, for I will provide thee
with all ; and on thy return, we will make such disposition
of our affairs as God shall put it into our hearts to do."

Messer Paolo looked for his son to answer blithely that
he was ready to do his bidding, himseeming he had put in
his hands a voyage no less honourable than useful; but
Gerardo, to whom it seemed impossible to live a day apart

1 BuoHo spaccio, i.e. a ready sale. ^ sic [uomo pratico).

330

from his mistress, was sore troubled in his mind, albeit he
gave no outward sign of the chagrin and despite which
possessed him, and abode without saying a word. Where-
upon, "Thou answerest me not," quoth his father and
he, ' ' I know not what to say, inasmuch as I would fain
obey you, but it is impossible to me to do what you wish,
for that sea-travel is to me exceeding irksome and contrary ;
nay, did I go a-seafaring, it would seem to me I ran
voluntarily upon my manifest death ; wherefore may it
please you pardon me and accept my just excuse, albeit it
most certainly grieveth me not to be able to obey you."
Messer Paolo, who never thought to have such a reply,
abode full of wonderment and chagrin and addressed himself
anew to persuade him, essaying him both with soft words
and sharp ; but he wearied himself in vain nor could get of
him other than the first answer ; and so, arising from table
in disaccord, they went, one hither and the other thither.
The father, beyond measure chagrined at that which had
befallen, repaired to the Rialto and seeking out his son-in-
law, a rich and noble young man, said to him, after much
discourse, "Lionardo," for such was the other's name, "I
had chartered a galleon to send Gerardo to Baruti with
certain goods which I have ; but, when I bespoke him
thereof, he alleged me certain excuses of his fashion, where-
for he giveth me to understand that he cannot go thither.
Now, an thou have a mind to go in his stead, there is no
occasion for many words between thee and me ; suffice it to
say that I will appoint thee such part of the gain as thou
wilt." Lionardo warmly thanked his father-in-law and
declared himself ready to do whatsoever pleased him ;
wherefore they came to an accord forthright.

Gerardo, on his side, awaited the coming night and made
Elena the accustomed signal of his desire [to be with her].

331

Then, the appointed hour come, he entered the house and
made his way to his wife's cliamber, wliere, after the due
greetings and tlie wonted embraces and kisses, they sat
down and Gerardo said to Elena, "Wife mine, dearer to
me than my proper life, you marvel belike that I have
made so great a point of coming to visit you to-day, having
been with you last night ; but, over and above my desire
to be continually here with you, which you may lightly
have perceived, another reason hath presently brought me
hither ; " and with that he told her all that had passed
between himself and his father. Elena, whose breeding and
intelligence far overpassed her tender age, hearkened to her
husband's words ; then, seeing his speech to be ended, she
thus, after a piteous sigh, replied to him, saying, "Woe's
me, husband mine, if I knew not the greatness of your love
for me otherwise than by this that you now tell me and
the most poignant wound which you presently deal me !
For that, in refusing to obey your father, you shut against
me every way by which I may ever hope to be happy."
Thereupon her voice was broken with grievous and woeful
sobs and she gave herself up to weeping without stint ;
then, the tears she shed having somewhat assuaged the
bitterness of her chagrin, she regained a little breath and
thus, still weeping bitterly, bespoke her husband, saying,
"Alack, dear my life, how grievously you have erred in
not promptly obeying your father ! Alas, wretched, more
than thrice wretched me, since, being as yet unknown, nay,
even unseen [of him], I am the cause of such hurt, such
dishonour and such sharp affliction to my honoured father-
in-law ! W^ill he not, whenas he knovveth me, have just
cause to love me little? Will he not say that I am the
discomfort, nay, what is of more import, the manifest ruin
of his house ? Certes, he may well say it. I beseech you,

332

then, (and let my prayers, an you love me, as I am fain to
believe you love me, avail a thousandfold,) at any cost to
obey your father and patiently to endure this few months'
absence from my sight. Wherefore, dear my husband, get
you gone happy, mindful of me as I shall be of you, for
that I shall still go following you in thought whithersoever
you fare, as she who eternally desireth to live and die yours.
Nay, God forbid that I should anywise be the occasion of
your abiding with your father otherwise than in that peace
and concord which behoveth unto both ! "

There were many other words said, but in the end Gerard o
suffered himself to be overcome by the true arguments of
the sage and prudent damsel and at the wonted hour, taking
leave of her with many tears, he went to do his occasions.
He presently sat down to table with his disconsolate father
and after dinner, he rose to his feet and falling on his knees
before Messer Paolo, with uncovered head, bespoke him
on this wise, saying, "Magnificent and honoured father, I
have thought much this past night over the going to Baruti,
■whereof you bespoke me yesterday, and plainly perceive
how grievous an error I made in not obeying your prayers,
•which should for me at every time and place have the effect
of commandments ; wherefore, with all my heart I humbly
crave your pardon of my ignorance and folly, praying you
have no regard to the scant reverence I showed you, but
to be pleased to restore me to your wonted favour. Behold,
most reverend father mine, I am here ready to obey you
and not only to sail to Baruti, but to go into every place
whither it shall please you send me ; for that I am resolved
rather to die than ever again to oppose myself to your
•wishes." The affectionate father, hearing these words,
willed his son arise and felt his eyes brim over with tears
of love and tenderness, which with their lavish flow hindered

333

him on such wise that he could not avail to utter a word,
but, clasping his son about the neck, abode a good while
thus. The father's hot and loving tears moved the son to
weep likewise for pity and affection ; nevertheless, taking
somewhat of breath and drying his eyes, he left weeping
and fell to comforting his father with dulcet words. Messer
Paolo, then, putting an end to his tears and full of immense
gladness, determined to send for his son-in-law and procure
his consent to let Gerardo go, against he should provide
him with another voyage. Accordingly, Lionardo came
and his father-in-law, discovering to him the joy he felt
in that his son had consented to make the voyage to
Baruti, instantly prayed him be pleased for the nonce to
abide at home, for that he would provide him at the first
commodity, as in effect he did a little after. This was
unwelcome news to Lionardo, who much loved to make
that voyage ; algates, like a prudent youth as he was, he
dissembled his chagrin and answered his father-in-law that
he was content with that which pleased him and that, to
oblige him and his brother-in-law, he was ready to do
much more than this. Messer Paolo and Gerardo thanked
him amain for his goodwill and applied themselves to the
embarkation of the goods and the equipment of the galleon
with all that was necessary.

But whoso should offer to tell the story of the few nights
which passed between Gerardo's determination to go and
the day of his departure, the amorous pleasures taken
by the lovers and the tears shed at their last leavetaking,
would have enough to do ; for that belike those which the
disconsolate Fiammetta allegeth to have shed for Pamfilo^

1 Referring to Boccaccio's opuscule, " L'Elegi'a di Ufadoinia
Fianitnetta"

334

were not so many as those of Gerardo and Elena. I will,
then, leave whoso truly loveth, or hath loved, to imagine
how it would be with him, if he found himself in the like
case. The time of departure come, the sailors cast off
the galleon's moorings and set out on their voyage with
a fair wind. If Gerardo, as he sailed, had still his every
thought fixed upon his dearly loved wife, she did on like wise ;
but she had this consolation that she spoke with her faithful
nurse of her dear husband and if bytimes she fell into any
doubt of his love, the good woman comforted her and
certified her that Gerardo loved none other woman than
herself; the which was not the case with Gerardo, who
felt his passion wax fiercer, the closelier he kept his flame
shut in his breast. He had none to whom he might vent
his amorous troubles, having never chanced to make any
one a confidant of that his love. But now let us leave him
go his voyage, and we will after bring him home again in
safety.

Some six months having passed since Gerardo's departure,
Elena, who counted the hours, the days, the weeks and the
months, abode in expectation of her dear husband's return
and was all rejoiced thereat, herseeming each hour was a
thousand years that he tarried and would say to her trusty
nurse, "But fifteen, or at the most, twenty days more and
my much-desired husband will be in Venice. He will,
besides the merchandise, bring a thousand goodly things,
and he told me at parting that he meant to bring you store
of precious gifts." On this wise the amorous damsel went
comforting herself, unknovi'ing that a plot was hatching
against her, which would be to her a cause of extreme
dolour and infinite melancholy. Her father, seeing his
daughter grown engaging and quickwitted beyond her age,
as well as out of measure fair, and bethinking him that she

335

had no sufficient female governance at home, determined,
of his fears lest somewhat should befall her against his wish
(the which indeed had already happened), to marry her ;
nor had he far to go to find a fitting son-in-law, for that,
he being rich and noble and his daughter very fair and
lovesome, many of his own quality had gladly allied them-
selves to him by marriage. Accordingly, he chose out,
from amongst others, a young man who most pleased him
in the matter of wealth and noble family and agreed with
him, by means of common friends and kinsfolk, that he
should see Elena that next Saturday and that, if she pleased
him, he should on the ensuing Sunday give her the ring
and after consummate the marriage that same night. This
settled, Messer Pietro began to make great preparations for
the coming nuptials and notified his daughter of the match
he had concluded for her. At this heavy and unexpected
news (which was as grievous to Elena as if it had been said
to her, "To-morrow the Seigniory purposeth to let hang
thee in St. Mark's Place, between the two high columns,")
she became beyond measure woeful and overcome with un-
endurable dolour, could answer her father nothing ; the
which he, suspecting nothing, ascribed to girlish shame-
fastness and said no more to her, but proceeded to order
that which behoved to be done, so the nuptials might be
sumptuously celebrated with goodly ordinance and delicate
viands, as beseemed unto his own wealth and quality and
those of his son-in-law.

On the Saturday evening, Elena, having been seen of the
young man and having pleased him, supped little or nothing
and withdrawing to her chamber with the nurse, began
to make the woefullest lamentation that can be conceived ;
nor might the nurse anywise avail to comfort her, for that
she could think of no means or device whereby she might

336

eschew being on the morrow wedded and put to bed to
her new husband ; the which, come what would, she was
resolved never to suffer. Discover to her father that she
was already married she dared not, not for dread lest he
should deal cruelly with her, for that she had gladly died ;
but because she feared, by divulging the marriage contracted,
to harm her Gerardo. Nay, she was like that night to leave
the house, with the nurse's aid, and go seek her father-in-law,
and throwing herself into his arms, acquaint him with that
which had passed between Gerardo and herself, but knew
not if this would please her husband. Now whoso should
offer to recount, one by one, the thoughts which passed
through her mind that night might as easily number the
stars anights, whenas the heavens are serenest and thickliest
studded withal ; but you may well conceive that her
sufferings were incredible and inexpressible. All that
night, then, the wretched and disconsolate Elena travailed
and laboured, without ever availing to take rest.

The new day come, the nurse, going forth the chamber,
addressed herself to do those offices about the house which
pertained unto her, still racking her brains anent the
despairful damsel's case and unable to devise aught which
might avail to deliver her, and indeed her affliction was no
less than that of Elena. The latter, who had not undone
herself all that night, finding hei-self alone and assailed with
strange and sinister thoughts, locked the chamber-door from
within and mounting her bed, clad as she was, composed
her garments about her as most decently she might ; then,
collecting all her thoughts in one, she resolved in herself,
for that she knew not when Gerardo should return and her
heart suffered her not to espouse him whom her father
proposed to her, to live no longer. Accordingly, having
no poison at hand and lacking the heart to strangle herself

337

or kill herself by means of steel, she gathered herself
straitly together and held her breath as most she knew
and might, so that, oppressed as she was, to boot, with
grief, she presently swooned away and abode as if dead ;
and there being none to afford her aid, her dismayed
vital spirits, straying at their will, well-nigh forsook her
altogether.

The hour of rising come, the nurse went to the chamber
to cause Elena dress herself and finding the door bolted,
knocked again and again as loudliest she might, but could
get no answer. The noise she made aroused Messer Pietro,
who, hearing this, came thither and after long knocking,
let cast down the door by main force. Thereupon he
entered the chamber and the windows being opened, all
saw the hapless Elena lying clothed on her bed, as if dead.
Great was the outcry which ensued and the wretched father,
weeping piteously, sent up his woeful cries even to the
heavens ; whilst the nurse cast herself upon the body,
screaming and howling like one distraught, nor was there
any in the house but wept sore. The physicians and the
new bridegroom and his kinsfolk were sent for and many
things were done and innumerable remedies essayed to bring
Elena to her senses ; but all in vain. The nurse was straitly
questioned and said that Elena had travailed sore that night
and tossed from side to side, as she were sick of some
most grievous fever, declaring that, when she herself left the
chamber, the girl was awake ; but in secret she held it for
certain that she had died suffocated with infinite dolour and
wept most bitterly nor might anywise be comforted. The
disconsolate father also wept sore and said things which
would have moved stones to pity, much more men. The
physicians, after trying a thousand remedies, seeing that
nothing availed to recover the damsel, concluded that she

VOL, IV. 22

/

338

had died of apoplexy/ caused by a subtle catarrh, distilled
from the head to the heart. Accordingly, she being of
all holden for dead, it was appointed that she should that
evening be honourably borne by her peers to the Patriarchate
in Castello and there laid in the marble sepulchre of her
forefathers, which stood without the church ; and so the
hapless damsel was entombed, with general mourning of
all who knew her. Look you now what strange chances
betide bytimes and consider how no joy may ever be
complete but some sorrow will still be mingled withal and
its honey tempered with so much wormwood that the
sweetness of the pleasure may not be tasted. That same
day Gerardo was to arrive at the sea-shore^ near to
Venice with his galleon, having so happily accomplished
his voyage that he could have desired no more and returning
very rich.

It is a laudable usance at Venice that, whenassoever ships
or galleys return after a long voyage, especially when they
have made an honourable despatch of their business, the
friends and kinsfolk [of those aboard] go out to meet them
and give them joy of their happy and prosperous return.
Accordingly, many citizens, both young and old, went out
to receive and rejoice in Gerardo, who came, glad beyond
all others, not so much for that he returned rich and
well despatched as that he looked to see again his dearest
consort, by him loved and desired over all else, unknowing,
poor wretch, that, at that same hour whenas he reached
the land, sepulture was being given to her. The voyagers,
then, arriving at the port between eleven and twelve of the

^ La goccia.

'^ Al lito, i.e. at the Lido, the natural dyke which separates the
Lagoons from the open sea.

r

339

niglit, what time an end was making of the unhappy Elena's
funeral exequies, saw afar off the radiance of the lighted
torches and enquired of those who came to meet them what
was the meaning of so much light at that hour. Now
amongst these latter were many young men, who knew
the hapless case of the ill-fated Elena and told how the
damsel had that same morning (which was to have been
her wedding-day) been found dead in her chamber and
that doubtless her kinsfolk were presently in act to bury
her. At this woeful and piteous news there was none but
was moved to compassion of the poor girl ; but Gerardo
over all was so overcome with grief and anguish and felt
himself so transpierced that it was a miracle he could con-
tain his tears and forbear from discovering with piteous
cries the inward dole which consumed him ; algates, he
had such command over himself that he abode firm and dis-
engaging himself as quickliest he might from his comrades
of the galleon and those who came to do him honour and
who presently returned to Venice, he determined nowise
to survive his beloved Elena. He was convinced that the
hapless damsel had poisoned herself, rather than espouse
him whom her father would have given her to husband ;
but, ere he poisoned himself or put an end to his days by
other means, (being yet undetermined by what death he
should die,) he resolved to go open the sepulchre where
Elena lay and see her, dead as she was, and after abide
dead by her side. Unknowing how he might alone avail
to open the tomb, he bethought him to make a confidant
of the boatswain of the galleon, who was his fast friend,
and to discover to him the story of his love ; wherefore,
calling him aside, he imparted to him that which had passed
between Elena and himself and what he purposed to do,
saying nothing of his wish to die. The boatswain dissuaded

340

him as most he might from seeking to open sepulchres, by
reason of the scandals which might ensue thereof, but, seeing
him fixed in his purpose, professed himself ready to do his
every will and to share one same fortune with him.

Accordingly, they twain, without other company, took
boat and leaving the care of the galleon to a man of their
choice, betook them to Venice, where they alighted at the
boatswain's house and there provided themselves with tools
apt for their purpose ; then, reembarking, they repaired to
Castello to the Patriarchate. It was about midnight when
they opened the sepulchre and propped up the lid ; where-
upon Gerardo entered the tomb and threw himself upon his
wife's body, on such wise that whoso saw them had been
ill able to discern whether of the twain more resembled
a dead body. Then, presently recovering himself, he bathed
his lady's face and mouth with bitter tears and covered them
with kisses ; what while the boatswain, who feared to be
taken in the act by the officers of the watch, still called
to him to come forth, but he could not bring himself to
arise. However, being in the end enforced by his friend
to depart, he was so beside himself that he would e'en,
despite all the other could say, carry his wife with him,
and accordingly lifting her up, they closed the tomb and
bore the young lady to the boat. There Gerardo laid
himself anew by his Elena's side and could not take his
fill of clipping and kissing her ; but, being sharply chidden
of the boatswain for his folly in seeking to carry off the
body, unknowing whither, he ultimately gave ear to his
friend's true counsel and resolved to restore it to the tomb.
They accordingly turned the boat's head anew towards the
Patriarchate, but, by the way, Gerardo being unable to tear
himself from his wife's embracements, himseemed he felt
some motion in her, wherefore, "Dear my friend," quoth

341

he to tlie boatswain, "I feel I know not what in her,
which giveth me hope that she is not yet dead." The
boatswain, bethinking him, by reason of the strange chances
which oftentimes betide, that this might well be, laid his
hand on the damsel's left breast and finding it yet warm
and some slight fluttering of the heart, said to Gerardo,
" Master, feel here and thou wilt find that she is not
altogether dead."

At this happy announcement Gerardo, all joyful, laid
his hand on her heart, whose motion momently increased,
nature seeking to recall the strayed vital spirits, and said,
"Truly, she is alive; what shall we do?" "We shall do
well enough," replied the boatswain; "be of good heart
and never fear but all necessary provision shall be made.
"We must nowise carry her back to the tomb ; let us go to
my house, which is not far distant. There I have my
mother, who is a woman advanced in years and of good
counsel." Accordingly they betook themselves to the boat-
swain's house and knocking hard at the door, were heard
and the boatswain known, for that, the first time he came
thither, his mother had heard nothing thereof. The good
old woman, beyond measure rejoiced at her son's return,
caused her maid kindle a light and open the door and the
boatswain, embracing his mother, despatched the girl on
certain errands, whilst he and Gerardo, unseen of her,
carried Elena into a spacious chamber and laid her,
unclad, in an excellent bed ; where, kindling a fire and
heating linen cloths, they fell to chafing and rubbing the
damsel softly therewith nor gave over their labours till
she began to recover her senses and returning to herself,
uttered some half words with a faltering tongue. Then,
opening her eyes and little by little recovering her sight,
she recognized her Gerardo, but, being not yet fully

342

restored to herself, she knew not if she dreamed or if what
she saw was true. Gerardo, seeing such evident signs of
life, tenderly embraced and kissed his dearest wife, shedding
hot tears the while for excess of joy ; but, when the damsel
learned from her husband and the boatswain what had
passed and how she had been entombed and brought forth
of the sepulchre, she was like to swoon away anew for
mingled fright and allegresse. Now, whoso should think
to tell the joy and contentment of the two lovers would
be much mistaken, for that indeed none might avail to
express the thousandth part of their consummate bliss.
Elena, being restored to herself, was fed with new-laid
eggs, pistachios ^ and succades and with malmsey of great
price. Then, the dawn drawing near, she was prayed
of all to sleep and recruit herself somewhat with rest.
Accordingly, she laid herself down to repose and having
slept not that night and still less the night before, lightly
fell asleep.

By this the new day was come, wherefore Gerardo, leaving
Elena to repose, sent the boatswain back to the galleon
and himself, taking a gondola, repaired to the house of his
father, who, being already risen, embraced his son with
the utmost joy. The glad and fortunate Gerardo briefly
acquainted his father with all his prosperous voyage and
how he had profited vastly by the sale of the merchandise
carried to Baruti nor had gained less by that which he
brought back ; wherewithal Messer Paolo was fully satisfied
and blessed his son a thousand times. That morning he
dined at home with his father and mother in all joy and
gladness and after addressed himself for awhile to bring his

1

I.e. a

sovereign restorative

confection of pistachio-kernels, anciently considered
estorative.

343

galleon into Venice and to do what was necessary. He
then went with the boatswain to visit his Elena, with whom
he supped joyously and slept tliat night. On the morrow
he took counsel with the faithful boatswain of that which
was to do anent the damsel's governance and concluded,
after much debate, that it would be far more for her
commodity and honour that she should, against the marriage
■were made public, sojourn with Lionardo his brotlier-in-law.
Accordingly, he went that day to dine with him and his
sister and prayed them after dinner withdraw with him into
a chamber apart, for that he had to speak with them in
secret ; which being done, he bespoke them on this wise,
saying, "Noble brother-in-law and thou, dearest sister, I
have brought you hither for a matter which is of the greatest
import to myself and which demandeth secrecy and aid ;
and for that I know how you love me and that, to get a
kindness of you, I have no need of these ceremonies which
I should use, an I required any stranger of service, I will
come to the fact." With this he recounted to them the
•whole story of his love, from beginning to end, and the
dreadful chance which had befallen his wife. Moreover, he
told them how he had sheltered the latter in the house of
his boatswain and besought them to suffer him bring her to
their house and entertain her till such time as the marriage
should be made public, inasmuch as he knew not where he
might for the present more honourably and securely bestow
her than in their hands. Lionardo and his wife, hearing
the strange and perilous adventure which had befallen their
sister-in-law, abode full of extreme W'onderment and them-
seemed (ierardo told them a fable ; but, being certified that
the fact was as they had heard, they very readily accepted
the charge of the young lady and embarking all three in
a gondola, went to fetch Elena and carried her to Lionardo's

344

house. But what shall we say of the disconsolate nurse ?
She, knowing Gerardo to be returned, dared not present
herself before him, such was her grief for the loss of her
Elena.

There passed not many days after Gerardo's return ere
his father began to bespeak him of his wish to marry
him, but he still excused himself, saying that he was
young and that it was not yet time to bind himself with
the strait knot of matrimony, himseeming good and fitting
to enjoy his youth in liberty, even as his father had done,
who, M'hen he married, was much older than he. Some
days passed in these debates between father and son and
Gerardo went well-nigh every night to enjoy his wife.
Messer Paolo was ware that his son slept well-nigh always
abroad and unknowing where, misdoubted him he had
a commerce with some courtezan or other lewd woman,
by reason whereof he recked not of marriage. To resolve
himself of this suspicion and eke for that, being in effect
an old man, he desired to see his son married, he one
day called the latter to himself and bespoke him in
these terms, saying, "Gerardo, I have many a time be-
spoken thee of giving thee a wife and thou hast still
shown thyself unwilling to complease me. Now I would
fain have the consolation of seeing thee married ere I
die ; wherefore tell me an thou have a mind to com-
please me or no, so I may resolve myself of that which
I have to do. An thou wilt take a wife, I will comply
with thee insomuch that thou mayst take her after thine
own fashion, so but she be sortable unto thee ; but, an
thou wilt not, I swear to thee, by the Evangels of Saint
Mark, that I will adopt one of the sons of Lionardo
and my daughter to heir and will not leave thee a marklet
of my substance." Gerardo, seeing his father disordered

345

in countenance and himseeming it was no longer time to
keep that which he had done concealed, briefly related
to him the manner of his marriage, the swooning of his
wife and her recoverance. Messer Paolo heard his son's
story like one adream and could not believe it ; but ulti-
mately, seeing Gerardo steadfast in what he said, he
declared that he would on the morrow, after dinner, certify
himself of the truth with the sight of Elena and that,
an the case were indeed thus, he was well pleased withal.
Gerardo then craved his forgiveness for marrying without
his leave, the which he lightly obtained from the affec-
tionate father, and going that same day to visit his wife,
acquainted her and his brother-in-law and sister with that
which had passed between his father and himself.

On the morrow, after dinner, Messer Paolo and
Gerardo, without other company, repaired, by the quay-
way, to Lionardo's house and knocked at the door, which
was straightway opened to them. Hardly had they entered
when Elena, hastily descending the stair, cast herself at
her father-in-law's feet and weeping, craved him pardon
if, being yet unknown of him, she had been to him an
occasion of trouble or disquietude. The good old man,
seeing his fairest daughter-in-law, wept for tenderness and
raising her up, kissed her and blessed her and accepted
her to his dearest daughter. They then mounted the stair
and Messer Paolo abode a good while with his daughter
and son-in-law nor might take his full of talking with
Elena, himseeming in effect she was very engaging and
discreet of speech and prompt in reply. Now a few days
thence there was a very goodly festival to be holden at a
neighbouring church ; wherefore he willed that the nuptials
should be celebrated on that day and that Elena should
be escorted thither to mass in rich array and after brought

346

home with honour. Accordingly, all being set in readiness,
many ladies were invited and it was given them to under-
stand that the bride vi?as a foreigner. Moreover, Gerardo
invited the boatswain, his confidant, and divers very noble
gentlemen, all supposing that the bride was a stranger ; and
so, on the appointed day, they escorted her with great pomp
and magnificence to the church aforesaid, where she was
of all who saw her accounted the fairest damsel in Venice
and was beholden of every one with no small marvel. As
chance willed it, he, to whom Elena had been promised by
her father to wife, was present at the mass, with a dear
friend of his, who was with him when he went to see
her on the Saturday. The two young men, considering
the bride intently, as is the usance on such occasions,
commended her for very fair and said that in effect she
marvellously favoured Elena dead ; wherefore they viewed
her the more fixedly and it seemed they sought to devour
her with their eyes. She, seeing and knowing them, could
not forbear from laughing somewhat and after turned her
face elsewhither ; whereupon the two friends began to
suspect that the bride was in very deed Elena herself.
Accordingly, departing the church, they betook themselves
to the Patriarchate and prevailed with the Patriarch to
suffer them open the tomb wherein Elena had been buried.
There finding neither bones nor flesh, the two young men
raised a great outcry and returning to the place where the
nuptials were toward, would have Elena at all hazards, one
of them declaring that she had been promised him by her
father ; whereupon Gerardo and his rival, coming to high
words, pledged each other their faith to meet at twenty
o' the clock, with sword and target, in one of the squares
of Venice ; but, the thing coming to the cognizance of the
Council of Ten, arms were prohibited and the matter

347

referred to the arbitrament of the lav/. Accordingly, the
case being brought before the courts and the claimant being
unable to allege otherwhat than her father's promise, whilst
his rival proved by the nurse's witness and that of the young •
lady herself that he had espoused Elena and consummated
the marriage, she was adjudged to be Gerardo's lawful wife.
Messer Pietro, who was then absent from Venice, hearing
the news and knowing Gerardo for a noble youth and a rich,
accepted him, not only to son-in-law, but to son ; so that
he, from rich, became very rich and lived long in peace
and allegresse with his Elena, oftentimes recalling the past
tribulations with her and the dear nurse. '

1 Bandello adds here the incomprehensible words, "the which,"
i.e. the past tribulations ? " were a very least part of all their
losses " or troubles, " [they] going ever after from good to better "
(I quail niinhnissiina parte furono di tutti lor datini, andando poi
sempre di bene in me^lio).

laantiello

to tlje magnificent Captain ifHessev ffiioijanni
Battista ©Ifba.

This August last past my patroness, Madam Costanza
Rangona] e Fiegosa, departed the county of Agen, to
avoid the parlous tumults foolishly and without any cause
raised by the dregs of the populace of the city of Bordeaux, '
whenas they murdered Monseigneur de Monin, lieutenant
of the Most Christian King, the which cost them exceeding
dear, for the severe and deserved chastisement which was
given them. Her ladyship retired to Saint Nazaire, a
castlewick of the Abbey of Fontfroid, some five or six
Lombard miles distant from the ancient city of Narbonne,
which gave its name to the province so called. There she
established herself (for that the abbacy pertaineth unto one
of the lords her sons and hath many castlewicks, with
jurisdiction of bloodshedding,- and there be most goodly
hunting- places, with great plenty of stags, wild goats,
boars and other beasts of the chase, as well as of land
and waterfowl, it being near the sea-shore) and was daily
visited by the neighbouring gentlemen and barons. Now,
it is a custom of the country that these said lords and

1 In 1548. The revolt in question was caused by the oppressive
incidence of the gabelle or salt tax.

* i.e. with right of justice high and low.

349

gentlemen go visiting one another in company with their
wives and ladies and banishing melancholy and jealousy,
lead a blithe and joyous life together, dancing and plying
a thousand merry sports at all hours and seasons and kissing
each other many a time in the course of every dance. It
chanced one day that, it being discoursed of the cheats put
upon Henry, Eighth of that name, King of England, by
certain of his wives and of the vengeance wreaked by him
on them, Signor Ramiro Torriglia, a Spaniard, who hath
abidden long in Italy, related a story on the subject of the
tricks that women play their husbands. His story pleased
the listeners ; wherefore I bethought me to write it down
and remembering me that I had not yet dedicated to you
one of my many novels, I accused myself of heedlessness
and i-esolved that this should bear witness unto all of our
mutual goodwill and of your most debonair courtesy. I
will not for the nonce offer to tell of your lovingkindness,
of the unfailing diligence which you show in the service
of your friends and of your many other laudable parts,
for that it were an overlong business and I took pen in
hand to write to you with intent, not to recount your
praises, but to give you this little story and certify you
that, whereassoever I may be, I am and still shall be my
generous Olivo's. Fare you well.

Wi)z Jour-ant-'STfjitttetl) .Stcirg.

A CHEAT PUT BY THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON
UPON KING PEDRO HER HUSBAND, TO
HAVE CHILDREN BY HIM.

In the year of our salvation one thousand one hundred
and ninety, a little more or a little less, Don Pedro of
Arragon was Count of Barcelona and the seventh King of
the Arragonese realm. He had to wife Donna Maria di
Monte Pesulino, a niece of the Emperor of Constantinople.
Donna Maria was very fair, but yet more lovesome and
accomplished and was much beloved and revered of the
people of Arragon for her goodly fashions and the gracious
reception she gave unto all who had recourse to her,
according to their degree and their worth, compleasing
them in every right and reasonable request. King Pedro,
however, appeared to set very little store by her and leaving
her well-nigh always alone abed, applied to diverting him-
self with other women ; wherefore, albeit the queen might
do many things in the kingdom and was much honoured of
the barons, cavaliers and others and obeyed by all and the
king never annulled aught that she did, nevertheless, she
was nowise satisfied, but abode sore disconsolate, inasmuch
as she had gladly contented herself with less authority in
the manage of the realm, so but she might have had the
due company and embracements of the king her husband
anights in bed. Of this her miscontent she complained to
no one; nay, if bytimes any bespoke her of the king's

351

amours and of the women with whom he commerced, she,
like a discreet lady as she was, feigned to reck nothing
thereof and answered only that she was excellent well
entreated and cherished of the king, her husband and
seignior, and that all he did was well done, inasmuch as he
was lord and master of all. However, there were certain
of the barons, to whom the king's manner of life was very
ill-pleasing, for that, he having no legitimate son, them-
seemed passing strange that he should not apply himself to
beget a lawful heir and successor to his most illustrious
crown ; nay, of this his heedlessness there was a great
murmuring among the folk and every day there was some
one complained thereof to the queen, who could say no
otherwhat than that what the king willed, she also willed.
Nevertheless, herseemed a grievous thing that he should
reck so little of leaving an heir after his death. On the
other hand, being e'en of flesh and blood, like other
women, it irked her sore that he should entreat her so
ill and should make more account of other women, who
were not to be evened with her, either for beauty, for
birth or for breeding ; and so, the poison of jealousy
entering her breast, she fell to making sore complaint in
herself of the life which the king led. Algates, herseeming
it were ill done to complain thereof unto others, she
sundry whiles expostulated with himself as most tempei'ately
she might ; but she preached to deaf ears ; for the king,
unheeding her sincere remonstrances, ensued his wonted
way of life and gave himself a good time, now with this one
and now with that of his favourites.

The queen, her eyes being opened by honourable jealousy,
began to keep a more diligent watch upon his actions and
amours and found that he had a trusty chamberlain, who
was his confidant and was used, according to his wish.

352

to bring him now this woman and now that, conveying her
privily into the palace and bestowing her in some chamber or
other, against the king withdrew to sleep, when he brought
her to bed to him and that mostwhiles without a light ;
whereupon she bethought herself to bribe the chamberlain
privily to put her to bed with her husband, in the stead
of one of his paramours. Accordingly, she at divers times
did and said to such purpose and promised the chamberlain
so much that he consented to put this honourable cheat upon
his master nor tarried overlong to carry the thing into effect,
but, being presently commanded by his master to bring him
that night one of his accustomed women, he advised the queen
thereof, who made herself ready for the coming nuptials and
abode expecting the hour. Now the king and queen lay
in the same palace, but in separate chambers, no great
distance apart, and accordingly, the appointed time come, the
chamberlain carried the latter to the king's chamber and
laid her beside her consort, who, thinking to have one of
his wonted concubines, several times amorously disported
himself with her ; then, the dawn drawing near, he gave
her leave to depart and called the chamberlain to carry
her away ; whereupon she, having thus accomplished her
desire, bespoke her thus, saying, " My lord and husband,
I am not she you deem me, for that you, thinking to
lie with one of your paramours, have lain with me, who
am your lawful wife. Methinketh, indeed, you should
not take it ill if, unable by fair means to obtain that which
is mine by right, I have gone about to compass it by means
of an honourable deception, seeing that those who make
use of their rights do no wrong unto any. You, as my
king, my husband and my lord, may, an it please you,
inflict every torment upon me and slay me ; but you can-
not withal make that which is done undone. Wherefore,

353

if God so favour me that of the couplings which have
this night been between us I become with child and in
due time give birth to a son, to inherit this realm of
Arragon, I pray you, — lest it be said that I have en-
gendered him by adultery, it being notorious to all the
folk that you lie not neither couple with me, — be pleased
to give the chief barons of the kingdom who are at court
to know that I have been with you this night and to
let them see me here with you, so they may bear witness
that the fruit of my womb is of your seed."

The queen's innocent deception pleased the king and
he would have all the barons and courtiers enter the
chamber in the morning and see her abed with him, dis-
covering unto all the shrewd device used by her. All
with one accord commended their liege lady's wit, in
that with such astuteness and foresight she had virtuously
cozened her husband, and praised the latter for that he
had taken that pleasant cheat in good part. Moreover,
the king, thenceforward, altogether changed his manner
of life and leaving his wonted paramours, began to love
the queen amain and was so well satisfied with her em-
bracements that from that time forth he lay with no other
woman. Meanwhile, our Lord God so favoured the good
queen that she conceived with child of a son and in due
season gave birth to him on the first day of February,
1 196, whereat all the Arragonese were inexpressibly rejoiced,
seeing the succession assured to a legitimate heir of their
native king. The child was [incontinent] carried to the
church, according to the custom of those parts, and it
chanced that, as those entered in that bore him, the
priests of the place, who knew nothing of the fact, struck
up with that most goodly canticle, Te Deum Laiidanms,
which those two holy doctors of the Catholic Church, Saint

VOL. IV. 2\

354

Ambrose and Saint Augustine, composed aforetime by turns,
upon the baptism of the latter, Ambrose beginning and
Augustine responding. Moreover, the child being after
carried from that church to another, the priests of the
latter, at his entering in, intoned the canticle of Zach-
ariah the prophet, father of the Precursor of the Redeemer
of the human race, saying, Benedidus Domimis Dens Israel ;
the which was a most evident sign that the newborn child
should be a king of great goodliness and justice. Then,
the boy coming to be baptized and the king and queen
knowing not what name to give him, they, at the last,
after much debate, agreed upon this device; to wit, they
let take twelve candles of an equal size and weight and
kindle them all at once in honour of the twelve Apostles,
there being written on each candle the name of an Apostle,
to the intent that his name whose candle was first spent
should be given to the babe ; wherefore, that dedicated
to Saint James burning out before the others, the boy
was accordingly called Jayme. He grew up and proved
a man of exceeding excellence and good governance both
in war and in peace. He made very stern and fierce
war upon the Moors, expelling them by main force from
the Balearic Islands, to wit, Majorca and Minorca ; more-
over, he reconquered the kingdom of Valencia and pass-
ing the straits of Gibraltar, did exceeding great hurt to
the infidels, exalting the Christian faith as most he might.

END OF VOL. IV.

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