The Palace of Pleasure, Volume 2
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Title: The Palace of Pleasure, Volume 2
Translator: William Painter
Editor: Joseph Haslewood
Joseph Jacobs
Release date: October 10, 2010 [eBook #34053]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PALACE OF PLEASURE, VOLUME 2 ***
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* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
THE
PALACE OF PLEASURE
VOL. II.
* * * * *
*Ballantyne Press*
Ballantyne, Hanson and Co.
Edinburgh and London
* * * * *
The
*PALACE OF PLEASURE*
_Elizabethan Versions of Italian and French Novels_
_from Boccaccio, Bandello, Cinthio, Straparola,_
_Queen Margaret of Navarre,_
_and Others_
Done Into English
By WILLIAM PAINTER
_Now Again Edited For The Fourth Time_
By JOSEPH JACOBS
VOL. II.
[Illustration (Publisher's Device):
IN NUCE LIBELLUS]
_London: Published by David Nutt in the Strand_
MDCCCXC
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
VOLUME II.
TOME I.--_Continued._
Novel Page
XLVII. Galgano and Madonna Minoccia 3
XLVIII. Duke of Venice and Ricciardo 8
XLIX. Filenio Sisterno 18
L. Muleteer's Wife 29
LI. King of Naples 32
LII. Princess of Flanders 38
LIII. Amadour and Florinda 45
LIV. Duke of Florence 75
LV. Francis I. and Count Guillaume 81
LVI. Lady of Pampeluna 84
LVII. Strange Punishment of Adultery 97
LVIII. President of Grenoble 101
LIX. Gentleman of Perche 104
LX. Gentleman That Died of Love 107
LXI. Lady of the French Court 113
LXII. Rolandine 116
LXIII. The Prudent Lady 135
LXIV. Lady of Tours 139
LXV. Doctor of Laws 142
TOME II.
Title 147
Dedication 149
Contents 154
Authorities 158
I. Amazons 159
II. Alexander and Sisigambis 166
III. Timoclia of Thebes 172
IV. Ariobarzanes 176
V. Aristotemus the Tyrant 209
VI. Tanaquil 221
VII. Sophonisba 236
VIII. Poris and Theoxena 252
IX. Lady of Hidrusa 256
X. Empress Faustina 260
XI. Two Maids of Carthage 264
XII. Letters of Trajan 279
XIII. Lamia, Flora, and Lais 301
XIV. Zenobia 311
XV. Euphemia and Acharisto 320
XVI. Marchioness of Monferrato 338
XVII. Ansaldo and Dianora 342
XVIII. Mithridanes and Nathan 348
XIX. Katharine of Bologna 355
XX. Thorello and Saladin 363
XXI. Anne of Hungary 383
XXII. Alexander De Medici 406
THE PALACE OF
_Pleasure Beautified_
*adorned and well furnished*
vvith plea[s]aunt Hi[s]tories and
*excellent Nouels, [s]elected out
of diuers good and commendable Authours*
*By William Painter, Clarke*
of the Ordinaunce and Armorie
¶ Eft[s]ones peru[s]ed corrected
and augmented
1575
IMPRINTED AT LONDON
_by Thomas Mar[s]he._
*The Palace of Pleasure.*
THE FORTY-SEUENTH NOUELL.
_A gentleman called Galgano, long time made sute to Madonna
Minoccia: her husband sir Stricca (not knowing the same) diuers
times praised and commended Galgano, by reason whereof, in the
absence of her husband, she sent for him, and yelded herself vnto
him, tellinge him what wordes her husbande had spoken of him, and
for recompence he refused to dishonest her._
In the Citie of Siena in Italie there was a rich yong Gentleman
called Galgano, borne of noble birth, actiue, and wel trained in
al kinde of exercise, valiaunt, braue, stoute and curteous, in
the maners and orders of all countries verye skilfull. This
Galgano loued a Gentlewoman of Siena named Madonna Minoccia, the
wyfe of sir Stricca a comely knight, and wore in his apparell
the colour and deuises of his Lady, bearing the same vppon his
helmet and armour, in all Iustes, Tourneyes and triumphes,
obseruing noble feastes and banquettes for her sake. But for all
those costly, sumptuous and noble practises, this Lady Minoccia
in no wyse would giue eare vnto his sutes. Wherfore Galgano at
his wittes ende, was voyde of aduise what to do or saye, seing
the great crueltie and rigor raigning in her breste, vnto whom
hee dayle prayed for better successe and fortune than to
himselfe. There was no feast, banquet, triumph, or mariage, but
Galgano was there, to do her humble seruice, and that daye his
minde was not pleased and contented, wherein he had not seene
her that had his louing harte in full possession. Very many
times (like a Prince that coueted peace) he sente Ambassadours
vnto her, wyth presentes and messages, but she (a proude and
scornefull Princesse) dayned neither to heare them or receiue
them. And in this state stode this passionate Louer a longe
time, tormented with the exceeding hote Loue and fealtie that he
bare her. And many times making his reuerent complaints to loue,
did say: "Ah Loue, my deare and soueraigne Lorde, how cruell and
hard harted art thou, how vnmercifully dealest thou with me,
rather how deaf be thine eares, that canst not recline the same
to my nightly complaintes, and dailye afflictions; How chaunceth
it that I do in this maner consume my ioyfull dayes with pining
plaintes? Why doest thou suffer me to Loue, and not to be
beloued?" And thus oftentimes remembringe the crueltie of loue,
and his ladies tyrrany, hee began to dye in maner like a wight
replete with despaire. But in fine, he determined paciently to
abide the good time and pleasure of Loue, still hoping to finde
mercie: and daily gaue himselfe to practise and frequent those
thinges that might be acceptable and pleasant to his Lady, but
shee still persisted inexorable. It chaunced that sir Stricca
and his fayre wyfe, for their solace and recreation, repaired to
one of their houses hard by Siena: and upon a time, Galgano
passing by with a Sparhauke on his fiste, made as though he went
on Hauking, but of purpose onely to see his lady. And as he was
going by the house, sir Stricca espied him, and went forth to
meete him, and familiarly taking him by the hand, prayed him to
take parte of his supper with his wyfe and him: for which
curtesie Galgano gaue him thanckes, and said: "Sir, I do thancke
you for your curteous requeste, but for this time I pray you to
hold me excused, because I am going about certaine affayres very
requisite and necessary to be done." Then sayde sir Stricca: "At
least wise drincke with mee before you depart." But giuing him
thankes he bad him farewell. Maister Stricca seing that hee
could not cause him to tary, toke his leaue, and retourned into
his house. Galgano gone from maistre Stricca, sayd to himselfe:
"Ah, beast that I am, why did I not accept his offer? Why should
shamefastness let me from the sight of her, whom I loue better
than all the world besides." And as he was thus pensife in
complaintes his spaniells sprong a Partrich, wherat he let flee
his Hauke, and the Partrich flying into sir Stricca his garden,
his Hauke pursued and seassed vppon the same. Maister Stricca
and his Ladye hearinge that pastime, ranne to the garden window,
to see the killing of the Partrich: and beholding the valiante
skirmishe betweene the foule and the hauke, the lady asked whose
hauke it was: her husband made aunswere that he knew well
inoughe the owner, by the goodnesse and hardines of the same.
"For the owner of this hauke (quoth hee) is the trimmest and
most valiaunt gentleman in all Siena, and one indued with beste
qualities." The lady demaunded what he was? "Maister Galgano
(said her husband,) who euen now passed by the gate, and I
prayed him very earnestly to supper, but hee woulde not be
intreated. And truly wyfe, he is the comliest gentleman, and
moste vertuous personage, that euer I knewe in my life." With
those wordes they wente from the windowe to supper: and Galgano,
when he had lured his Hauke, departed awaye. The Lady marked
those words and fixed them in minde. It fortuned within a while
after, that sir Stricca was by the state of Siena sent in
ambassage to Perugia, by reason wherof, his Lady at home alone,
so sone as her husband had taken his iourney, sent her most
secrete and trustie maide, to intreat maister Galgano, to come
and speake with her. When the message was done to Galgano,
(if his heart were on a merie pinne, or whether his spirits
dulled with continuall sorrowe were againe reuiued, they knowe
that most haue felte the painefull pangues of Loue, and they
also whose flesh haue beene pearced wyth the amorous arrowes of
the little boy Cupide:) he made aunswere that hee would
willingly come, rendringe thanckes both to the maistresse and
maide, the one for her paine, and the other for her good
remembraunce. Galgano vnderstanding that sir Stricca was gone to
Perugia, in the eueninge at conuenient time, repaired to the
house of her whose sight he loued better than his owne eyes. And
being come before his Lady, with great submission and reuerence
hee saluted her, (like those whose hartes do throbe, as
foretellinge the possession of good tournes and benefites, after
which with longe sute and trauaile they haue aspired) wherewith
the Lady delighted, very pleasantly took him by the hande, and
imbracing him, said: "Welcome mine owne sweet Galgano, a hundred
times I say welcome." And for the time with kisses, makinge
truce with their affections, the lady called for comfictes and
wyne. And when they had dronke and refreshed themselues, the
lady toke him by the hande and said: "My sweete Galgano, night
beginneth to passe awaye, and the time of sleepe is come,
therefore let vs yeld our selues to the seruice and commaundment
of our very good Ladye, madame Cytherea, for whose sake I
intreated you to come hither." Galgano aunswered, that he was
very wel contented. Being within the chamber, after much
pleasaunte talke and louing discourse betweene them, the Lady
did put of her clothes, and went to bed. Galgano being somewhat
bashfull, was perceyued of the Lady, vnto whom she said: "Me
thincke, Galgano, that you be fearful and shamefast. What do you
lacke? Do I not please you? Doth not my personage content you?
Haue you not the thing which you desire?" "Yes madame," said
Galgano: "God himself could not do me a greater pleasure, than
to suffer me to be cleped within your armes." And reasoning in
this sort, he put of his clothes also, and laide himselfe by
her, whom he had coueted and desired of long time. Being in the
bed, he said: "Madame, I beseech you graunt me one resquest."
"What is that, Galgano?" (quoth she.) "It is this, madame," said
Galgano: "I do much maruell, why this night aboue all other, you
haue sent for mee: considering how long I haue bin a suter vnto
you, and although I haue prosecuted my sute, by great expence
and trauaile, yet you would never yelde before now: what hath
moued you now thus to do?" The Lady answered: "I wil tell you
sir: true it is, that not many dayes agoe, passing by this
house, with your Hauke on your fiste, my husband told me that so
sone as he sawe you, he wente oute to meete you, of purpose to
intreate you to supper, but you would not tarrie: then your
Hauke pursued a Partrich, euen into my garden, and I seing the
Hauke so egerly seasing vpon the same, demaunded of my husband
whose Hauke it was. He told me that the Hauke did belong to the
most excellent yong man of all Siena: and that he neuer in all
his life knewe a gentleman better accomplished with all vertues
and good qualities, and therewithal gaue vnto you singuler
prayse and commendacion. Whereuppon hearing him in such wise to
prayse you, and knowing righte well your affectionate minde and
disposition towards mee, my hart attached with loue, forced me
to sende for you that I mighte hereafter auoyde disdaine and
other scornefull demeaner, to impeache or hinder your loue: and
this briefely is the cause." "Is this true?" said Galgano. "Most
certaine and true," aunsweared the Lady." "Was there no other
occasion?" "No, verely:" said the lady. "God defend," (quoth
Galgano,) "that I should recompence the curtesie and good will
of so noble a gentleman (as your husband is) with reproch and
villany. Is it meete that good turnes should be requited with
vnkindnes? If euer man had cause to defende the honor of his
vnknowen frend, cause haue I right good and apte. For now
knowinge such a frende, that would by vertuous reportes haue
aduaunced me to higher matters, than wherof I am in possession,
should I reward with pollucion of his stocke and wife? No, no,
lady! my raginge sute by loue, is by vertue quenched. Vertue
onely hath staunched the flames of vile affections. Seeke
another frende, to glut your lecherous minde. Finde out some
other companion, to coole thy disordinate loue. Shal I be
disloyal to him, that hath been faithfull vnto me? Shall I be
traytor to him, that frendly hath commended me? What can be more
required of humane hearte, or more desired of manlike mind, but
wilfull bente, and fixed to do him good, that neuer erst by
iuste desert deserued the same." With which wordes sodenly hee
lept out of the bed, and when he had furnished himselfe againe
with his apparell, hee also put vppon him vertuous friendship,
and takinge his leaue of the Lady, neuer after that time he gaue
himself to matters of Loue. And maister Stricca he continually
obserued both with singuler loue and dutifull friendship:
whereby it is vncertaine whether was most singuler in him, his
continency at the very instante by refrayning that vehement
heate of loue, which so long time with great trauaile and coste
he had pursued, or his regard of frendship to sir Stricca vppon
wordes of commendacion spoken behinde his backe. Both no doubte
be singuler vertues meete for all men to be obserued: but the
subduing of his affections surmounted and passed.
THE FORTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.
_Bindo a notable Architect, and his sonne Ricciardo, with all his
familie, from Florence went to dwell at Venice where being made
Citizens for diuers monuments by them done there, throughe
inordinate expences were forced to robbe the treasure house. Bindo
beinge slaine by a pollicie deuised by the Duke and state, Ricciardo
by fine subtelties deliuereth himselfe from foure daungers.
Afterwards the Duke (by his owne confession) vnderstandinge the
sleightes, giueth him his pardon and his doughter in marriage._
In the goodly citie of Venice there was once a duke, that was a
noble gentleman and of greate experience and wisedome, called
Valeriano di messer Vannozzo Accettani. In the chiefest Churche
of which Citie called San Marco, there was a steple, very faire
and sumptuous, and of greatest fame of any thinge at that time
that was in Venice, which steeple was like to fall downe by
reason of certaine faultes and decayes in the foundacion.
Wherfore the Duke caused to be searched thorow out all Italie,
some cunning workeman that would take in hand the reparacion and
amendmente of the same: with promise of so much money as he
would demaund for doing thereof. Whereuppon an excellent
Architect of Florence, named Bindo, hearing tel of this offer,
determined to go to Venice for the accomplishmente of that
worke, and for that purpose with his onelye sonne and wyfe, hee
departed Florence. And when he had seene and surueyed the
steeple, he went straight to the Duke, and told him that he was
come thither to offer his seruice for repayringe of the same,
whom the Duke curteously intertayned and prayed him, that he
would so sone as he coulde begin that worke. Whereunto Bindo
accorded, and wyth great diligence and small time he finished
the same, in better forme and surety than it was at the first:
which greatly pleased the Duke, and gaue Bindo so much money as
he demaunded, making him besides a Citizen of Venice, for the
maintenaunce of whose state, hee allotted him a sufficient
stipend: afterwards the Duke called him vnto him, and declared
that he would haue a Treasure house made, wherein should be
disposed and layde vp all the Treasure and common ornamentes for
the furniture of the whole Citie, which Bindo by and by toke
vppon him to do, and made it of such singuler beautie, as it
excelled all the monuments of the Citie, wherein all the said
Treasure was bestowed. In which worke hee had framed a stone by
cunninge, that mighte be remoued at pleasure, and no man
perceiue it: meaning thereby to goe into the Chamber when he
liste: whereunto none in all the world was priuie but himselfe.
When this Palace and Treasure house was done, he caused all the
furnitures of Silkes, hanginges, wrought with Golde, Canapees,
clothes of state, riche Chayres, Plate, and other Ornaments of
Golde and Siluer to be caried thither, whiche he called La
Turpea del Doge, and was kept vnder fiue keyes: whereof foure
were deliuered to foure of the chiefe Citizens, deputed to that
office, which were called Chamberlaynes of the Treasure house,
and the fift keye the Duke himselfe did keepe, so that the
Chamber coulde not bee opened excepte they were all fiue
presente. Nowe Bindo and his famelie dwelling at Venice, and
beinge a citizen there, beganne to spende liberallye and to liue
a riche and wealthye life, and hys sonne Ricciardo consumed
disordinatelye, whereby in space of time, they wanted Garmentes
to furnishe their bodies, whiche they were not able to maintaine
for their inordinate expences: wherefore the father vpon a night
calling his sonne vnto him, got a ladder, and a certaine yron
instrumente made for the purpose, and taking also with him a
litle lime, went to the hole, which Bindo artificially had made,
who taking out the stone, crept in, and toke out a faire cup of
gold, which was in a closet, and afterward he wente out,
cowching the stone againe in due place. And when they were come
home, they brake the cup and caused it to be solde by peece
meale, in certaine Cities of Lombardie. And in this sorte, they
maintayned their disordinate life begonne. It chaunced not long
after, that a Cardinall arriued at Venice, about affayres with
the Duke, and the state, who the more honorablie to receiue him,
opened the Treasure house to take oute certaine furnitures
within, as plate, clothes of state, and other thinges. When the
dore was opened, and had taken out the saide necessaries, they
founde a cuppe lesse than oughte to be, wherewith the
Chamberlaines contended amonge themselues, and wente to the
Duke, telling him that there wanted a cuppe: whereat the Duke
marueiled, and said that amonges them it must needes be gone.
And after many denialls, and much talke, he willed them to saye
nothing, till the Cardinall was departed. When the Cardinall was
come, he was receyued with honorable interteignemente, and
beinge departed, the Duke sente for the foure Chamberlaines, to
consult about the losse of the cup, commaunding them not to
departe the Palace before the same was found, saying that amongs
them it muste needes be stolen. These four persons being
together, and debating how and by what meanes the cup should be
taken away, were at their wittes ende. At length one of them
saide: "Let vs consider whether ther bee anye comminge into the
Chamber besides the doore." And viewinge it they coulde not
perceiue anye entrie at all. And to proue the same more
effectuallye, they strawed the chamber aboute with fyne fifted
chaffe, setting the same on fier, which done, they shutte fast
the windowes and doores, that the smoke and smoulder might not
goe out. The force of which smoke was sutche as it issued
through the hole that Bindo made, whereby they perceiued the way
howe the robbery was committed, and went to the Duke to tell him
what they had done. The duke vnderstanding the fact, wylled them
to saye nothing, for that he woulde deuise a pollicie how to
take the theefe: who caused to be brought into the chamber a
caldron of pitche, and placed it directly vnder the hole,
commaunding that a fyre should be kept daye and night vnder the
caldron, that the same might continually boyle. It come to passe
that when the money was spent which the father and sonne had
receiued for the cup, one night they went agayne to the hole,
and remouing the stone, the father went in as he did before, and
fell into the caldron of pitche (which continually was boyling
there) vp to the waste, and not able to liue any longer, he
called his sonne vnto him, and fayde: "Ricciardo myne owne
sweete sonne, death hath taken me prysoner, for halfe my body is
dead, and my breath also is ready to departe. Take my head with
thee, and burie it in some place that it be not knowen, which
done, commend me to thy mother, whome I pray thee to cherishe
and comforte, and in any wyse take hede that warely and
circumspectlye thou doe departe from hence: and if any man do
aske for me, say that I am gone to Florence about certaine
businesse." The sonne lamentably began to lament his father's
fortune, saying: "Oh deare father, what wicked furie hath thus
cruelly deuised sodaine death." "Content thy selfe, my sonne,"
sayd the father, "and be quiet, better it is that one should
dye, than twoo, therefore doe what I haue tolde thee, and fare
well." The sonne tooke vp his father's head, and went his waye,
the reste of his bodye remayned in the caldron, like a block
without forme. When Ricciardo was come home, he buried his
father's head so well as he could, and afterwardes tolde his
mother what was become of his father, who vnderstanding the
maner of his death, began piteously to cry out, to whom her
sonne holding up his hands, sayd: "Good mother holde your peace,
and geue ouer your weeping: for our life is in great perill and
daunger, if your outcrie be heard. Therefore good mother, quiet
yourselfe, for better it were for vs to liue in poore estate,
than to die with infamie, to the vtter reproche and shame of all
our familie." With whiche woordes he appeased her. In the
morning the bodye was founde and caried to the Duke, who
maruelled at it, and could not deuise what he should be, but
sayd: "Surely there be two that committed this robberie, one of
them we haue, let vs imagine how we may take the other." Then
one of the foure Chamberlaines sayd: "I haue found out a trap to
catche the other, if it will please you to heare mine aduise,
which is this: Impossible it is, but this theefe that is dead,
hath either wife, children, or some kinsman in the citie, and
therfore let vs cause the bodie to be drawen throughout the
streates, and geue diligent hede whether anye persone doe
complaine or lament his death: and if any such be found, let him
be taken and examined: which is the next way as I suppose, to
finde out his companion." Which being concluded, they departed.
The body was drawen throughout the citie with a guard of men
attending vpon the same: as the executioners passed by the house
of Bindo, whose carcasse laye vppon the hurdle, his wyfe stode
at the wyndowe, and seing the body of her husband so vsed, made
a great outcrie. At whiche noyse the sonne spake to his mother
and sayde: "Alas, mother, what do you?" And beholding his
father's corps vpon the hurdle, he toke a knife and made a great
gashe into his hande, that the bloud aboundantly issued out. The
guarde hearing the noyse that the woman made, ran into the
house, and asked her what she lacked. The sonne answered: "I was
caruing a peece of stone with this knife, and by chaunce I hurt
my hande, which my mother seeyng cryed out, thynking that I had
hurt myselfe more than I haue." The guarde seeing his hande all
bloudy and cut, did belieue it to be true, and from thence went
round about the liberties of the Citie, finding none that seemed
to lament or bewayle that chaunce. And returning to the Duke,
they tolde him howe all that labour was imployed in vayne,
whereupon he appointed them to hang vp the dead body in the
market-place, with secret watche in like maner, to espie if any
person by day or night, would come to complaine or be
sorrowefull for him. Which body was by the feete hanged vp
there, and a continuall watche appointed to kepe the same. The
rumor hereof was bruted throughout the Citie, and euery man
resorted thither to see it. The woman hearing tell that her
husbandes carcasse should be hanged vp in the market-place,
saide diuerse times to her sonne, that it was a very great shame
for him to suffer his father's body in that shamefull sort to be
vsed. To whom her sonne made answere, saying: "Good mother, for
God's sake be contented, for that whiche they do is for none
other purpose, but to proue me: wherefore be pacient a while,
till this chaunce be past." The mother not able to abide it any
longer, brake out many times into these words: "If I were a man
as I am a woman, it should not be vndone now: and if thou wilt
not aduenture thy selfe, I will one night giue the attempt." The
yong man seing the froward nature of his mother, determined to
take away the body by this policie. He borrowed twelve friers
frockes or cowles, and in the euening went downe to the hauen,
and hired twelue mariners, and placed them in a backe house,
geuing them so much meate and drinke as they woulde eate. And
when they had well whitled and tippled themselues, he put vpon
them those friers cowles, with visards vppon their faces, and
gaue euery of them in their hands a burning torch, making them
to seme as though they had ben Diuels of hel: and he himself
rode vpon a horse al couered with blacke, beset rounde about
with monstrous and vglie faces, euerye of them hauinge a burnyng
candle in his mouthe, and riding before with a visarde of
horrible shape vpon his head, sayde vnto them: "Doe as I doe:"
and then marched forward to the market-place. When they came
thether they ran vp and downe with roring voyces crying out like
Deuils being then past midnight and very darke. When the watche
sawe that straunge sight they were affrayde, thinking that they
had bene Deuils indeede, and that he on horsebacke in that forme
had ben the great Deuill Lucifer himselfe. And seing him runne
towardes the gibet, the watche toke their legges and ran away.
The yong man in the shape of the great Deuill toke downe the
body and layd it before him on horsebacke, who calling his
companie away, roode before in poste. When they were come home,
he gaue them their money, and vncasing them of their cowles sent
them away, and afterwardes buried the body so secretly as he
could. In the morning newes came to the Duke that the bodye was
taken awaye, who sent for the guarde to knowe what was become
thereof. To whome they sayde these wordes: "Pleaseth your grace,
about midnight last past there came into the market-place a
companie of Deuils, among whom we sawe the great deuil Lucifer
himselfe, who as wee suppose did eate vp the bodye, which
terrible sight and vision made vs to take our legges." The Duke
by those wordes perceiued euidently that the same was but a
practise to deceiue them of their purpose, notwithstanding he
determined once again to deuise some meanes in the ende to knowe
the truthe, and decreed a constitucion that for the space of xx
dayes no fresh meate shoulde be solde in Venice: at which decree
all the citie marueiled. Afterwardes he caused a verie faire
fatte calfe to be solde, sessing the price of euery pounde at a
fiorino, which amounteth to a French crowne or thereaboutes, and
willed hym that solde it to note and marke them that bought it:
thinking with himselfe, that he which is a theefe is licorous of
mouth delicate in fare and would not stick to geue a good price,
although it cost him a French crown for euery pound: making
proclamation, that he which would buye any fresh meate should
resort to the market-place where was to bee solde. All the
Marchaunts and Gentlemen repaired to buye some of the veale, and
vnderstanding that euery pound would not be solde under a
Frenche crowne, they bought none at all. This calfe and the
price was bruted in all places, and came to the knowledge of the
mother of this yong man, who said vnto her sonne: "I haue a
minde to eate some of the veale, now solde in the market."
Ricciardo aunswered. "Mother make no haste to buye it, first let
it be cheapened by other, and at length I will deuise a meane
that you shall have it: for it is not wysedome for vs to be the
firste that shall desire it." The mother like an ignoraunt and
vnskilfull woman, was importunate to haue it. The sonne fearing
that his mother would sende for some of the veale, by other,
caused a Pie to be made, and prepared a flagon full of wyne,
both which were intermixed with thinges to cause sleepe, and
taking bread, the sayd Pie, and the flagon of wyne, when it was
night, putting on a counterfait beard, and cloke, went to the
stall where that veale was to bee solde, which as yet was whole
and vnbought. And when he had knocked at the shop dore, one of
the guard asked who was there. To whom Ricciardo said: "Can you
tel me wher one Ventura doth kepe his shop?" Of whom one of them
demaunded what Ventura? "I know not his surname," sayde
Ricciardo, "that I would he had bene hanged, when I came first
to dwell with him." "Why who sent thee?" said one of the guarde.
"His wyfe (quod Ricciardo) who bade me cary him this meate and
wyne for his supper: but I pray you (sayde Ricciardo,) let me
leaue the same with you, till I goe home to know better where he
kepeth his stall. And maruell not, my maisters, though I know
not where his shop is, for it is not long sithens I came to
dwell in this Citie." And so leauing behind him the Pie, and the
bread with the flagon of wyne, he made haste to departe, and
tolde them that he wold come againe by and by. When he was gone,
one of them toke the flagon and drancke, and afterwardes gaue it
to his companion, and said: "Drinke, for thou neuer diddest tast
of better wyne in all thy life." His companion dranke, and
merily communing of this matter, they fel a sleepe. Ricciardo
loking in at a hole of the dore, seing them a slepe, went in,
and toke the calfe, and caried it home whole as it was, and
saide to his mother: "Hold, mother, there is your luste, cut it
out:" and by and by she cut out a great pece. The duke so sone
as he heard that the calfe was stolen, and the maner howe, did
wonder very muche, purposing yet to knowe what hee was: and
caused a hundred poore people to come before him, whose names
being written, he said vnto them: {"}Get ye to all the houses in
Venice, vnder colour to begge almes. And marke if you see in any
house fleshe dressed, or any pece in making ready to be eaten at
the fier, which if you doe, ye must be importunate in begging,
till they giue you either flesh or broth. And he among all you
that shal bring me the first newes, I wil giue him xx crownes."
These beggers dispersed themselues into euery corner of the
Citie, crauing their almes, amongs whom one of them asked his
almes at the house of Ricciardo, and approching nere, espied
openly fleshe at the spit, and besought a morsell thereof for
God's sake: to whom the vndiscrete woman seeing that she had
plentye, gaue a litle pece. The poore man thanked the good wife,
and prayed God to saue her life. And as hee was going down the
steps of the dore, Ricciardo met him with the flesh in his hand.
Wherewithal astonned, he willed him to retourne, and sayde he
would giue him more. The begger glad of that, went in againe,
whome Ricciardo caried into his chamber, and when he was within,
he strake suche a full blowe vpon his head with an axe, as he
killed hym, and threwe him into a iakes, shutting the doore
after him. In the euening, these poore men retourned to the
duke, according to their promise, and sayde they coulde finde
nothing. The Duke called them by their names, and compting the
number founde one lesse than he had sent, whereat he maruelled.
And after he had well aduised with himselfe, what should become
of him that lacked, he sayde: "Certainely the poore man is
Slayne." Then causing the councell to be assembled, he declared
what he had done: and yet sayde that it were meete the party
were knowen. Whereunto one of the Senatours sayde: {"}Your grace
hath duely made search by the belly and mouth, to finde out this
verlet: I thinke it nowe necessarie that triall be made by
lechery, whiche commonly accompanieth licorous mouthes." Then it
was concluded that the moste riotous and lecherous yong men,
suche as the Duke had in greatest suspicion, to the number of
XXV. should be warned to appeare before him: whiche accordingly
was done, amonges whome was this Ricciardo. These yonge roisters
assembled in the palace, euery of them maruelled wherefore the
Duke had caused them to come thether. Afterwarde the Duke
commaunded XXV. beddes to be made in one of his great chambers,
to lodge euery of the sayd XXV. persons by hymself, and in the
middes of the chamber he commaunded a riche bed of estate to be
set vp and furnished, wher was appointed to ly his own daughter,
which was an exceading faire creature. And in the night when
these yong men were layde in their beddes, manye gentlewomen
attendant vpon the Lady, came in to bryng her to her lodging:
and her father deliuered to her a sawcer full of black die, or
stayning, and saide vnto her: "If any of these yong men that doe
lie here by thee, doe offer to come to thy bedde, looke that
thou marke him in the face with this staining colour, that he
may be knowen." At which wordes all the yong men maruelled and
therefore durste not attempt to goe vnto her, but said one to
another: "Surely this commaundement of the Duke hath some
secrete misterie in it." Notwithstanding Ricciardo determined
about midnight to go to her bedde: and when the candle was out
being a wake of purpose, he rose vp and went to the
gentlewoman's bedde and began to imbrace and kisse her. The
maiden when she felt him, sodainly dipped her finger in the
colour and stained his face, not perceiued of him. When he had
accomplished the thing he came for, hee retourned to his place:
and then began to imagin vpon the Duke's wordes, and for what
policie he spake them. And lying a litle while still musing vpon
the same, he went againe to the gentlewoman's bedde, hauing
throughly disposed himself to the pleasures of this paradise
lambe: and perceiuing her to dippe her finger in the sawcer and
rubbe his face, Ricciardo toke away the sawcer from the bedde's
side, and round about bestowed the colour vpon the faces of his
felowes, who were so faste a sleepe that they did not fele him.
Some he marked with two spottes, some with six and some with X.
himselfe he painted but with foure besides those wherewith
already he was berayed by the gentlewoman: whiche done he set
the saucer agayne by the bedde's side, and when he had bidden
her farewell, faire and softly he returned againe to his bedde.
In the morning betimes, the damosels of the chamber came in to
helpe the ladye to make her readye, which done they wayted vpon
her to the duke, who asked her how the matter stode. She
aunswered well, for she had done his commaundement: and tolde
him howe one came vnto her three times, and euery time she gaue
him a tainte in his face. The duke by and by sent for them that
were of his counsell. To whome he said: "Sirs, I haue founde out
this good fellow, and therfore I haue sent for you, that we
altogether may goe to see him." They went all into the chamber,
and viewing them round about, they perceiued all their faces
coloured, whereat they fell into a great laughter: then one of
them sayde to another: "Suerly this fellowe hath the subtilest
head that euer was knowen:" and concluded that one of the
company had set that colour in their faces. The yong men
beholding one another paynted in that sorte, brake into great
sporte and pastime. Afterwardes the duke examined euery of them,
and seeing that he was not able by any meanes to vnderstande by
whome it was done, he determined to knowe the man before he
departed, and promised to him that should confesse the truthe,
to giue his daughter to him in mariage, and with her a very
great dowrie, and a generall pardon. Wherefore Ricciardo
vnderstanding the duke's minde, toke him asyde, and tolde hym
the whole matter particularly from the beginning to the ende.
The duke imbraced hym, and gaue him his pardon, and with great
ioye and triumphe he solemnized the mariage betwene hym and his
daughter. Wherewithal Ricciardo encouraged, proued a very stoute
and valiaunt man in suche wyse almoste as the affaires of the
whole state passed through his handes. And liued a long time
after, with the loue and good wyll of the whole cominaltie of
Venice.
THE FORTY-NINTH NOUELL.
_Philenio Sisterno, a Scholler of Bologna, being mocked of three
faire Gentlewomen, at a banket made of set purpose he was reuenged
on them all._
At Bologna, whiche is the noblest citie of Lombardie, the mother
of studies, and accomplished with al things nedefull and
requisite for sutch a florishing state, there was a yong
scholler, a Gentleman of the countrie of Crete named Philenio
Sisterno, of very good grace and behauiour. It chanced that in
his time, there was a great feast made in the citie, wherunto
were bidden the fayrest dames, and beste of reputation there:
there was likewyse many Gentlemen and Schollers of Bologna,
amonges whom was this Philenio Sisterno: who followyng the
manner of young men, dallying sometime with one, sometime with
another, and perceiuing them for his purpose determined to
daunce with one of them: and comming to one whiche was called
Emerentiana, the wyfe of sir Lamberto Bentiuoglia, hee prayed
her to daunce: who, beyng verie gentle and of no less audacitie
than beautiful, refused not. Then Philenio leading forth the
daunce very softly, sometymes wrynging her by the hand, spake
somewhat secretly vnto her these wordes: "Madame, your beautie
is so great, that without doubt it surmounteth all that ever I
sawe, and there is no woman in the world to whome I beare so
great affection, as to your persone, whiche if it were
correspondent to me in Loue, I would thinke myself the beste
contented man in the world, otherwyse I shall in shorte tyme bee
depriued of life, and then you shall be the cause of my death:
and louing you (Madame) as I doe, and as my dutie requireth, you
ought to take me for your seruaunt, vsing me and those litle
goodes whiche I haue as your owne: and I doe assure you, that it
is impossible for me to receiue greater fauour from heauen, then
to see myselfe subiecte to sutch a gentlewoman, as you be,
whiche hath taken me in a nette lyke a byrde." Nowe Emerentiana,
whiche earnestly had marked those sweet and pleasaunt woordes,
like a wyse gentlewoman, semed to geue no eare thereunto, and
made him no aunswere at all. The daunce ended, and Emerentiana
being set down in her place, this young scholler went to take
another gentlewoman by the hand, and began to daunce with her:
whiche was not so sone begonne, but thus he said vnto her: "It
nedeth not Madame, that by woordes I doe expresse the feruant
Loue which I beare you, and will so doe, so long as my poore
spirite shall gouerne and rule my members: and if I could
obtaine you for my Maistresse and singuler Ladye, I would thinke
myself the happiest man aliue. Then louing you as I do, and
being wholly yours, as you may easely vnderstand, refuse me not
I besech you for your humble seruaunt, sithe that my life and
all that I haue dependeth vpon you alone." The yong gentlewoman,
whose name was Panthemia, perceiuing his meaning, did not
aunswere him any thing at that time: but honestly proceded in
her daunce: and the daunce ended, smyling a litle, she sat downe
with the other dames. This done, amorous Philenio rested not
vntil he had taken the thirde by the hand, (who was the
gentlest, fairest, and trimmest dame in all Bologna,) and began
to daunce with her, romyng abrode, to shewe his cunning before
them that came to behold him. And before the daunce was
finished, he saide thus vnto her: "Madame, it may so be, as I
shall seme vnto you very malapert to manifest the secret Loue
that I haue and doe beare you at this instant, for which you
ought not to blame me but your beautie, which rendreth you
excellent aboue al the rest, and maketh me your slaue and
prysoner. I speake not of your commendable behauiour, of your
excellent and maruellous vertues, which be such and of so great
effect, as they would make the gods descend to contemplate the
same. If then your excellent beautie and shape, so well fauoured
by nature, and not by art, may seeme to content the immortall
Gods, you ought not to be offended, if the same do constraine me
to loue you, and to inclose you in the priuie cabane of my
harte: I beseeche you then, gentle Madame (the onely comfort of
my life) to haue pitie vpon him that dieth a thousand times a
daye for you. In so doing, my life shall be prolonged by you,
commending me humbly vnto your good grace." This faire
gentlewoman called Simphorosia, vnderstanding the sweete and
pleasaunt woordes vttered from the very harte of Philenio, could
not dissemble her sighes, but waying her honor, because she was
maried, gaue him no answere at all. And the daunce ended, she
retourned to her place. Nowe it chaunced, as these three ladies
did sit together iocundly disposed to debate of sundrie mery
talke, behold Emerentiana, the wife of Seignior Lamberto, not
for any euill, but in sporting wise said vnto her companions:
"Gentlewomen, I haue to tell you a pleasaunt matter which
happened to this day." "What is that?" said her companions.
"I haue gotten this night, (said she) in dauncing, a curteous
louer, a very faire Gentleman, and of so good behauiour as any
in the worlde: who said that he was so inflamed with my beauty
that he tooke no rest day nor night:" and from point to point,
rehearsed vnto them, all that he had said. Which Panthemia and
Simphorosia vnderstanding, answered that the like had chaunced
vnto them, and they departed not from the feaste before eche of
theim knewe him that was their louer: whereby they perceiued
that his woordes proceded not of faithfull Loue, but rather of
follie and dissimulation, in suche wise as they gaue so lyghte
credite thereunto, as of custome is geuen to the woordes of
those that bee sicke. And they departed not from thence vntill
all three with one accorde, had conspired euery one to giue him
mocke. Philenio continuing thus in Loue, sometime with one,
sometime with another, and perceiuing that euery of them seemed
to Loue him, hee determined with himselfe, if it were possible
to gather of them the last frute of his Loue. But he was greatly
deceyued in his desire, for that all his enterprise was broken:
and that done, Emerentiana whiche could not any longer dissemble
the loue of the foolishe scholer called one of her maydes, which
was of a fayre complexion and a ioly wenche, charging her that
she should deuise meanes to speake with Philenio, to geue him to
vnderstande the loue which her maistresse bare vnto him: and
when it were his pleasure she willingly would one night haue him
at home at her house. Which newes when Philenio heard, he
greatly reioyced, and said to the maid: "Returne to your
Maistresse, faire maide, and commend me vnto her, telling her in
my behalf, that I doe praye her to loke for me this euening, if
her husband be not at home." During which time, Emerentiana
caused a certaine number of fagots of sharpe thornes to be made,
and to be layd vnder her bedde still wayting for her minion.
When night was come, Philenio toke his sworde, and went to the
house of his enemy, and calling at the dore with the watchworde
the same incontinently was opened: and after that they had
talked a litle while together, and banketted after the best
maner, they withdrew themselues into the chamber to take their
reste. Philenio had no soner put of his clothes to goe to bedde,
but Seignior Lamberto her husband came home: which the
Maistresse of the house perceiuing, made as though she had bene
at her wittes ende, and could not tell whether to conuey her
minion, but prayed him to hide himself vnder the bedde. Philenio
seeing the daunger, wherein both he and the wife were, not
taking with him any other garmentes, but only his shirte, crept
vnder the bed where he was so cruelly prickt and scratched with
the thornes, as there was no parte of his body (from the toppe
of his head to the sole of his foote) free from bloud, and the
more he sought to defende himselfe in that darke place, the more
sharpely and piteously he was tormented, and durst not crie for
feare least Seignior Lamberto would kill him. I will leaue to
your consideration in what plight this poore wretche was in, who
by reason of his miserable being, as he was brechelesse in that
terrible purgatorie, even so was he speachlesse and durst not
speake for his life. In the morning when Segnior Lamberto was
gone forth, the poore scholler put on his clothes so well as he
could, and all bloudy as he was, returning to his lodging, was
like to die: but being deligently cured by phisicians, in short
time he recouered his former health. Shortly after, Philenio
began to pursue again his loue towardes the other two, that is
to say, Panthemia and Simphorosia, and found conuenient time one
euening to speake to Panthemia, to whom he rehearsed his griefes
and continuall tormentes, praying her to haue pitie vpon him.
The subtile and wise wenche Panthemia, fayning to haue
compassion vppon him, excused her selfe by lacke of meanes to
content his desire, but in thend vanquished with faire
supplications and maruellous sighes, shee made him to come home
to her house, and being vnready, dispoyled of al his apparell to
go to bed with his Lady she required hym to go with her into a
litle closet, wher all her swete smels and perfumes were, to the
intent he might be well perfumed before he went to bedde. The
yong dolt not doubting the subtiltie of this wicked woman,
entred the closet and setting his foote vpon a borde vnnnayled
from the ioyst, fell so depe into a store house where
marchauntes vse to lay there cottons and wolles, as he thought
he had broken his necke and his legges, notwithstanding as
fortune would he had no hurt. This poore scholler being in that
darke place, began to seke for some dore or ladder to go out,
and finding nothing for his purpose he cursed the houre and time
that euer he knew Panthemia. When the dauning of the day began
to appeare, the simple sot discried in one place of the
storehouse certain ventes in the wall, which gaue some light,
because they wer old and couered ouer with mosse, in such wise,
as he began with maruelous force, to pluck out the stones in the
moste decaied place of the wall, and made so great a hole, as he
went out. And being in a lane hard by the great streate,
barefoote and bare legged, and in his shirt, he went home to his
lodging vnknowen of any. A litle whyle after Simphorosia
vnderstanding of the deceits whiche the other twoo had done to
Philenio, attempted to geue hym the thirde, whiche was not
inferior to the other twayne. And for that purpose, she began a
farre of to caste her amorous lokes vpon him, letting hym to
knowe that shee was in great distresse for his Loue. This poore
soule hauing already forgotten his fortune paste, began to walke
vp and downe before her house, like a man altogether tormented
and pained with Loue. Then Simphorosia, seing him to be farre in
loue with her, sent hym a letter by an old woman, whereby she
aduertised hym, that his beautie and good behauior, so
puissantly did gouerne her affections as she could take no rest
night nor day, for the earnest loue that she bare him: wherefore
she praied him if it were his pleasure to come and speake with
her. Philenio receiuing that letter, and perusing the contentes,
not considering the deceite prepared for him, ne yet any longer
remembring the iniuries past, was more ioyfull and glad then
euer he was before: who taking pen and paper, aunswered her
againe, that he for his parte suffered no lesse tormentes for
her sake, yea and in respect of vnfayned Loue, that he loued her
farre better than she did hym, and at al tymes when shee
pleased, hee woulde be at her commaundement to doe her seruice:
the aunswere read, and oportunitie found, Simphorosia caused him
to come home to her house, and after many false sighes, she
saide vnto him: "My deare frend Philenio, I knowe none other in
all the world, that hath brought me into this state and plighte
wherein presently I am, but you, because your beautie, good
grace and pleasaunt talke, haue so sette my harte on fyre as I
feele it to kindle and burne like drye woode." Which talke
Maister scholler hearing, thought assuredly that she consumed
for loue of him: this poore Nodgecock, contriuing the time in
sweete and pleasaunt woordes, with his dareling Simphorosia, the
time approched that he should go to bed with his faire lady, who
said vnto him: "My swete frend Philenio, abide a whyle, and let
vs make some banket and collation:" who taking him by the hande,
caried him into her closet adioyning, wher was a table ready
furnished with exquisit conficts and wynes of the best. This
gentlewoman had made a composition in the wyne, to cause this
yong gallant to sleepe for a certain time. Philenio thinking no
hurte, toke the cup and filled it with the wyne, and dranke it
vp at one draught. His spirits reuiued with this refreshing,
after he had bene very well perfumed and washed in swete waters,
he went to bedde and within a while after this drinke began to
woorke, and hee slepte so soundly, as canon shot, or the
greatest gonnes of the worlde were not able to wake hym: then
Simphorosia perceiuing the drinke beginne to woorke, called one
of her sturdy maides that wel was instructed in the game of this
pageant: both whiche carying this poore sleepy scholler by the
feete and armes, and opening the dore very softlye, they fayre
and well bestowed hym in the middeste of the streete, a good
stone's caste of from the house, where he lay all the nighte.
But when the dawning of the daye dyd appeare, or an houre
before, the drynke lost his vertue, and the poore soule began to
awake, and thinking that he had bene a bedde with the
gentlewoman he perceiued hymself brechelesse and in his shirt
more dead then aliue, through the colde that he had endured, by
lying starke naked vppon the earth. The poore wretche was not
able to help himselfe so much as with his armes and legges,
ne yet to stande vppon his feete without great paine:
notwithstanding, through creping and sprawling, hee got home to
his house, vnseene of anye, and prouided so well as hee could
for recouery of his health: and had it not been for his youth,
which did helpe him at that instant, his sinewes had been
benommed for euer. In the ende, hauing atteined his former state
of health he still remembred the iniuries past, and without
shewing any signe of anger or displeasure, made as though he
loued them all three better then euer he did before, and
sometime seemed to be in loue with the one, and sometime with an
other: they againe for their part nothing mistrusting the malice
of Philenio, set a good face on the matter, vsinge amorous
cheere and countenance towards him, but when his backe was
tourned, with mockes and floutes they toke their pleasure. He
bearing in his brest secrete despite, was still desirous with
his hand to marke them in the face, but like a wise man, waying
the natures of women, he thought it woulde redounde to his
greate shame and reproche, if hee did them any hurt: and
therefore restrayning the heate of his choler vsed pacience. And
yet by deuising and practising, how he might be euen with them
and reuenged, hee was in great perplexitie. Very shortly after
it chaunced that the scholler had inuented a meane, easely to
satisfie his desire, and so sone as hee had fully resolued what
to do, fortune therunto was fauorable: who hyred in the citie of
Bologna a very faire house which had a large hall, and comodious
chambers: and purposed to make a greate and sumptuous feast, and
to inuite many Ladies and Gentlewomen to the same: amongs whom
these three were the first that should be bidden: which
accordingly was done: and when the feast day was come the three
gentlewomen that were not very wise at that instante, repaired
thither nothing suspecting the scholler's malice. In the end a
litle to recreate the Gentlewomen and to get them a stomacke,
attendinge for supper time, the Scholler toke these his three
louers by the hand, and led them friendly into a chamber,
somewhat to refresh them. When these three innocent women were
come into the Scholler's Chamber, hee shut fast the doore, and
going towards them, he sayde: "Beholde faire ladies, now the
time is come for me to be reuenged vpon you and to make you
suffer the penaunce of the torment wherwith ye punished me for
my great Loue." The Gentlewomen hearing those cruell woordes,
rather dead then aliue, began to repent that euer they had
offended him, and besides that, they cursed themselues, for
giuinge credit vnto him whom they ought to haue abhorred. The
Scholler with fierce and angry countenaunce commaunded them vpon
paine of their liues to strippe themselues naked: which sentence
when these three goddesses heard, they began to loke one vppon
another, weeping and praying him, that although he woulde not
for their sakes, yet in respect of his owne curtesie and
naturrall humanitie, that hee woulde saue their honor aboue all
thinges. This gallant reioysing at their humble and pitifull
requestes was thus curteous vnto them, that he would not once
suffer them to stand with their garmentes on in his presence:
the women casting themselues downe at his feete wept bitterly,
beseeching him that he woulde haue pitie vpon them, and not to
be the occasion of a slaunder so great and infamous. But he
whose hart was hardened as the Diamonde, said vnto them, that
this facte was not worthy of blame but rather of reuenge. The
women dispoyled of their apparel (and standing before him, so
free from couering as euer was Eue before Adam) appeared as
beautifull in this their innocent state of nakednes, as they did
in their brauerie: in so much that the yong scholler viewing
from toppe to toe, those fayre and tender creatures, whose
whitenesse surpassed the snow, began to haue pitie vppon them:
but calling to his remembraunce the iniuries past and the
daunger of death wherein he was, he reiected all pitie and
continued his harde and obstinate determination. Then he toke
all their apparell, and other furnitures that they did weare,
and bestowed it in a little chamber, and with threatning words
commaunded all three to lie in one bed. The women altogether
astonned, began to say to themselues: "Alas, what fooles be we?
what wil our husbands and our frendes say, when they shal
vnderstand that we be found naked and miserablie slaine in this
bed? It had been better for vs to haue died in our cradels, than
apprehended and found dead in this state and plight." The
Scholler seeing them bestowed one by another in the bed, like
husband and wyfe, couered them with a very white and large
sheete, that no part of their bodies might be seene and knowen,
and shutting the Chamber doore after him Philenio went to seeke
their husbands, which were dauncing in the hall: and the daunce
ended, he intreated them to take the paines to goe with him: who
was their guide into the Chamber where the three Muses lay in
their bedde, saying vnto them: "Sirs, I haue broughte you into
this place to shewe you some pastime and to let you see the
fayrest thinges that euer you saw in your liues.{"} Then
approching neere the bed, and holding a torch in his hand, he
began fayre and softly to lift vp the shete at the bed's feete,
discouering these fayre ladies euen to the knees. Ye should haue
seen then, how the hushands did behold their white legges and
their wel proporcioned feete, which don he disclosed them euen
to the stomack, and shewed their legges and thighes farre whiter
than alablaster, which seemed like two pillers of fine marble,
with a rounde body so wel formed as nothing could be better:
consequently he tourned vp the sheete a litle further, and their
stomackes appeared somewhat round and plumme, hauing two rounde
breasts so firme and feate, as they would haue constrayned the
great God Iupiter to imbrace and kisse them. Whereat the
husbandes toke so great pleasure and contentmente, as coulde be
deuised: I omitte for you to thincke in what plighte these poore
naked women weare, hearinge theyr husbandes to mocke them: all
this while they laye very quiet, and durst not so much as to hem
or coughe, for feare to be knowen: the husbands were earnest
with the Scholler to discouer their faces, but hee wiser in
other mennes hurtes than in his owne, would by no meanes consent
vnto it. Not contented with this, the yong scholler shewed their
apparel to their husbands, who seing the same were astonned, and
in viewing it with great admiration, they said one to another:
"Is not this the gowne that I once made for my wife? Is not this
the coyfe that I bought her? Is not this the pendant that she
weareth about her necke? be not these the rings that set out and
garnisht her fingers?" Being gone out of the chamber for feare
to trouble the feast, he would not suffer them to depart, but
caused them to tarie supper. The Scholler vnderstandinge that
supper was ready, and that the maister of the house had disposed
all thinges in order, he caused the geastes to sit downe. And
whiles they were remouing and placing the stooles and chayres,
he returned into the chamber, wher the three dames lay, and
vncouering them, he sayd vnto them: "Bongiorno, faire Ladies:
did you heare your hushandes? They be here by, and do earnestly
tarie for you at supper. What do ye meane to do? Vp and rise ye
dormouses, rubbe your eyes and gape no more, dispatche and make
you ready, it is time for you now to repayre into the hall,
where the other gentlewomen do tarie for you." Behold now how
this Scholer was reuenged by interteigning them after this
maner: then the poore desolate women, fearing least their case
would sorte to som pitiful successe, dispayring of their health,
troubled and discomforted, rose vp expecting rather death than
any other thing: and tourning them toward the scholler they said
vnto him: "Maister Philenio, you haue had sufficient reueng vpon
vs: the best for you to do now, is to take your sword, and to
bereue us of oure life, which is more lothsome vnto vs than
pleasaunt: and if you will not do vs that good tourne, suffer vs
to go home to our houses vnknowen, that our honours may be
saued." Then Philenio thinking that he had at pleasure vsed
their persons, deliuered them their apparel, and so sone as they
were ready, he let them out at a litle dore, very secretlye
vnknowen of anye, and so they went home to their houses. So sone
as they had put of their fayre furnitures, they folded them vp,
and layd them in their chestes: which done, they went about
their houshold busines, till their husbands came home, who being
retourned they founde their wives sowing by the fire side in
their chambers: and because of their apparell, their ringes and
iewels, which they had seene in the Scholler's Chamber, it made
them to suspect their wiues, euery of them demaunding his
seuerall wife, where she had bin that nighte, and where their
apparell was. They well assured of themselues, aunswered boldly,
that they were not out of their house all the euening, and
taking the keyes of their cofers shewed them their aparell,
their ringes and other things, which their husbandes had made
them. Which when their husbandes saw, they could not tell what
to say, and forthwith reiected all suspicion, which they had
conceiued: telling them from point to point, what they had seen
that night. The women vnderstanding those woordes, made as
though they knew nothing and after a little sport and laughter
betweene them, they went to bed. Many times Philenio met his
Gentlewomen in the streates and sayde vnto them: "Which of you
was most afraide or worste intreated?" But they holding downe
their heads, passed forth not speaking a word: in this maner the
Scholler was requited so well as he could of the deceites done
against him, by the three Gentlewomen aforesaid.
THE FIFTYETH NOUELL.
_The piteous and chaste death of one of the muleters wiues of the
Queene of Nauarre._
In the citie of Amboise, there was a muleter that serued the
Queene of Nauarre, sister to king Fraunces the firste of that
name, which was broughte a bedde of a sonne at Blois: to which
towne the said muleter was gone to be paide his quarter's wages:
whose wyfe dwelled at Amboise beyond the bridges. It chaunced
that of long time one of her husband's seruauntes did so
disordinately loue her, as vppon a certaine day he could not
forbeare but he muste vtter the effect of his loue borne vnto
her. Howbeit shee being a right honest woman, tooke her man's
sute in very ill part, threatning to make her husband to beat
him, and to put him away, and vsed him in suche wyse, that after
that time he durst not speake thereof any more, ne yet to make
signe or semblance: keeping yet that fier couered within his
brest, vntill his Maister was ridden out of the towne, and that
his Maistresse was at euensong at Saint Florentine's, a Church
of the Castle, farre from her house: who now being alone in the
house, began to imagine how he might attempt that thinge by
force, which before by no supplication or seruice he was able to
attaine. For which purpose, hee brake vp a borde betweene his
Maistresse chamber and his: but because the curteins of his
maister and maistresse bed, and of the seruauntes of the other
side couered and hid the walles betweene, it could not be
perceyued, nor yet his malice discried vntill suche time as his
Maistresse was gone to bed, with a litle wenche of XII. yeares
of age: and so sone as the poore woman was fallen into her first
sleepe, this varlet entred in at a hole which he had broken, and
conueyed himself into her bed in his shirt, with a naked sworde
in his hande: who so sone as she felt him layed downe by her,
lepte out of her bed, perswading him by all possible meanes
meete for an honest woman to do: and he indued with beastly
loue, rather acquainted with the language of his mulets than
with her honest reasons, shewed himselfe more beastly then the
beasts with whom he had of long time bin conuersant: for seing
her so oft to runne about the table that he could not catch her,
and also that she was so strong, that twise she ouercame him, in
dispaire that he should neuer enioy her aliue, hee gaue her a
great blow with his sword ouer the raines of the back, thinking
that if feare and force could not make her to yeld, paine and
smart should cause her. Howbeit, the contrarie chaunced: for
like as a good man of armes when he seeth his owne bloud, is
more set on fier to be reuenged vpon his enemies to acquire
honor: euen so the chaste hart of this woman, did reenforce and
fortefie her courage in double wise, to auoyde and escape the
hands of this wicked varlet, deuising by all meanes possible by
fayre words to make him acknowledge his fault: but he was so
inflamed with furie, there was no place in him to receiue good
counsell. And eftsones with his sword, he gashed her tender
bodye with diuers and sondry strokes, for the auoydiug wherof,
so fast as her legges could beare her, she ran vp and downe the
chamber: and when through want of bloud she perceiued death
approch, lifting vp her eyes vnto heaven, and ioyning her hands
together, gaue thanckes vnto God, whom she termed to be her
force, her vertue, her pacience and chastitie, humblie
beseeching him to take in good part the bloude whiche by his
commandemente was sheade in honor of that precious bloude, which
from his owne sonne did issue vppon the Crosse, whereby shee did
beleeue, firmelye and stedfastlye that all her sinnes were wiped
awaye and defaced from the memorye of his wrathe and anger, and
in sayinge: "Lorde receiue my soule which was dearely bought and
redeemed with thy bounty and goodnes:" shee fell downe to the
ground vpon her face where the wycked villaine inflicted her
bodye with manifold wounds: and after she had lost her speache
and the force of her body, thys most wicked and abhominable
varlet toke her by force, whiche had no more strength and power
to defende herselfe: and when he had satisfied his cursed
desire, he fled away in such hast, as afterwards for all the
pursute made after him he could not be found. The yong wench
which lay with her, for feare hid herselfe vnder the bed. But
when she perceyued the villaine departed, shee came vnto her
Maistresse and finding her speachlesse and without mouing, she
cryed out at the window vnto the nexte neighbours to come to
succour her: and they which loued her and esteemed her so wel as
any woman in the towne, came presently vnto her, and brought
diuers surgeons with them, who findinge vpon her body XXV.
mortall woundes, they did so much as in them laye to helpe her:
but it was impossible. Howbeit shee laye one houre without
speache, makinge signes with hir eyes and hands, declaring that
she had not lost her vnderstanding: being demaunded by the
priest, of the fayth wherin she died, and of her saluacion, she
aunswered by such euident signes, as her liuely speach and
communication coulde not haue declared it better, howe that her
trust and confidence was in the death of Iesus Christ, whom she
hoped to see in the Celestiall citie, and so with a ioyfull
countenaunce, her eyes erected vp to the heauens, she rendred
her chast body to the earth, and her soule to her Creator: and
when shee was shrouded ready to the buriall, as her neighbours
were attending to followe her to the Church, her poore husbande
came home, and the first sight he sawe, was the body of his dead
wife before his doore, wherof before that instant hee had no
newes. And when he vnderstode the order of her death, he then
doubled his sorrowe, in such wyse that he was also like to die.
In this sort was this marter of chastitie buried in the church
of S. Florentine, where all the honest dames and wiues of the
citie endeuoured themselues to accompany her, and to honour her
with suche reuerence as they were able to do: accomptinge
themselues most happie to dwell in that towne, where a woman of
such vertuous behauiour did dwell. The foolish and wanton seing
the honour done to that deade bodye, determined from that time
forth to renue their former life, and to chaunge the same into a
better.
THE FIFTY-FIRST NOUELL.
_A king of Naples, abusing a Gentleman's wife, in the end did weare
the hornes himselfe._
In the citie of Naples when king Alphonsus raigned, in whose
time wantonnesse bare chiefest sway, there was a Gentleman so
honest, beautifull and comely, as for his good conditions and
wel knowen behauiour an old Gentleman gaue to him his daughter
in mariage, which in beautie and good grace was passingly well
beloued and comfortable to her husband. The Loue was great
betwene them, till it chaunced vpon shrouetide that the king
went a masking into the citie, where euery man endeuoured to
intertaine him the best he could. And when he came to this
Gentleman's house, he was best receyued of any place in all the
towne, aswell for banqueting, as for musicall songes, and the
Gentlewoman, the fayrest that the king sawe in all the citie to
his contentacion. And vpon the end of the banket, she sang a
song with her husbande, with a grace so good as it greatly
augmented her beautie. The king seeing so many perfections in
one body, conceyued not so great pleasure in the sweete accords
of her husband and her, as he did howe to deuise to interrupt
and breake them: and the difficultie for bringinge that to
passe, was the great amitie that hee sawe betweene them,
wherefore he bare in his hart that passion so couert, as he
possibly could. But partly for his owne solace and comforte, and
partly for good will of all, hee feasted all the Lords and
Ladyes of Naples, where the Gentleman and his wife were not
forgotten. And because man willingly beleeueth that he doth see,
he thought that the lokes of that gentlewoman promised vnto him
some grace in time to come, if the presence of her husband were
no let therunto. And to proue whether his coniecture were true,
he sent her husbande in commission to Rome, for the space of XV.
dayes or III. wekes. And so sone as he was gone, his wyfe which
hitherto had not felt any long absence from her husband, made
great sorrow for the same, whereof she recomforted by the king,
many times by sweete perswasions and by presents and gifts, in
such sort, that she was not onely comforted, but contented with
her husbande's absence. And before the three weekes were expired
of his returne, she was so amorous of the king as she was no
lesse sorowful of his comming home, then she was before for his
departure. And to the intent the king's presence might not be
loste, they agreed together, that when her husband was gone to
his possessions in the countrie, she should send word to the
king, that he might haue safe repair vnto her, and so secretly
that his honour, (which he feared more then he did the fact)
might not be impaired. Vpon this hope, this Ladie's hart was set
on a merie pin: and when her husband was come home, shee
welcomed him so wel, that albeit he knewe how the king made much
of her in his absence, yet he would not beleeue that he so did
for any dishonest fact. Howbeit by continuance of time, this
fier that could not be couered, by litle and litle began to
kindle, in such wise as the husband doubted much of the truth,
and watched the matter so neere, as he was almost oute of doubt.
But for feare, least the partie which did the wrong, should do
him greater hurt, if he seemed to know it, he determined to
dissemble the matter: for he thought it better to liue with some
griefe, then to hazard his life for a woman that did not loue
him: notwithstanding, for this displeasure, he thought to be
euen with the king if it were possible. And knowinge that many
times despite maketh a woman to do that which Loue cannot bring
to passe, specially those that haue honourable harts and stoute
stomacks, was so bold without blushing, vpon a day in speaking
to the Queene, to say unto her, that he had pitie vpon her, for
that shee was no better beloued of the king her husband. The
Queene which heard tell of the loue betwene the king and his
wife: "I cannot (quoth she) both enioy honour and pleasure
together: I knowe well that honor I haue, whereof one receiueth
the pleasure, and as she hath the pleasure, so hath not she the
honor." He which knewe wel by whom those words were spoken, said
vnto her: "Madame, honor hath waited vpon you euen from your
birth, for you be of so good a house, as to be a queene or
Empresse, you cannot augment your nobilitie, but your beautie,
grace, and honestie, hath deserued so much pleasure, as she that
depriueth you of that which is incident to your degree, doth
more wrong to her self then to your person. For she for a glorie
that hath turned her to shame, hath therewithall lost so much
pleasure, as your grace or any Lady in the realme may haue. And
I may saye vnto you (Madame) that if the kinge were no king as
he is, I thincke that he could not excel me in pleasing of a
woman: being sure that to satisfie such a vertuous personage as
you be, he might exchaunge his complexion with mine." The Queene
smiling, answered him: "Although the king be of more delicate
and weaker complexion than you be, yet the loue that he beareth
mee, doth so much content mee, as I esteeme the same aboue all
thinges in the world." The gentleman said vnto her: "Madame, if
it were so, I woulde take no pitie vpon you, for I know wel that
the honest loue of your hart, would yeld vnto you great
contentment, if the like were to be found in the king: but God
hath foreseene and preuented the same, least enioyinge your owne
desire, you would make him your God vppon earth." "I confesse
vnto you (saide the Queene) that the Loue I beare him, is so
great, as the like place he could not find in no woman's hart,
as he doth in mine." "Pardon me, madame (saide the Gentleman) if
I speake more francklye, your grace hath not sounded the depth
of ech man's harte. For I dare be bold to say vnto you, that I
do know one that doth loue you, and whose loue is so great, as
your loue in respecte of his is nothing. And for so much as he
seeth the kinge's loue to faile in you his doth grow and
increase, in such sort, that if your loue were agreable vnto
his, you should be recompensed of all your losses." The Queene
aswel by his words as by his countenaunce, began to perceiue,
that the talke proceded from the bottom of his hart, and called
to her remembraunce that long time he had endeuored to do her
service, with such affection, as for loue he was growen to be
melancolike, which she thought before, to rise through his
wiue's occasion, but now she assuredly beleued that it was for
her sake. And thus the force of Loue, which is well discryed
when it is not fayned, made her sure of that, which was vnknowen
to all the world. And beholding the gentleman which was more
amiable than her husband, and seing that he was forsaken of his
wife, as she of the king, pressed with despite and ialousie of
her husband, and prouoked with loue of the gentleman, began to
say with finger in eye, and sighing sobbs: "O my God, must
vengeaunce get and win that at my hand, which Loue cannot doe?"
The gentleman well vnderstanding her meaning, aunsweared:
"Madame, vengeance is sweete vnto him which in place of killinge
an ennemye, giueth life to a perfecte freinde. I thincke it time
that trouth doe remoue from you the foolishe loue, that you
beare to him which loueth you not: and that iust and reasonable
loue should expell from you the feare, which out not remaine in
a noble and vertuous hart. But now madame, omittinge to speake
of the greatnesse of your estate, let vs consider that we be
both man and woman, the most deceiued of the world, and betrayed
of them which we haue most dearely loued. Let vs now be reuenged
(madame) not onely to render vnto them, what they deserue, but
to satisfie the loue which for my part I can no longer beare,
except I should die. And I thincke, that if your harte be not
harder than flinte, or Diamont, it is impossible but you must
perceiue som sparke of fier, which increaseth more than I am
able to dissemble: and if pitie of me which dieth for your loue,
doth not moue you to loue me, at least wyse let loue of your
self constraine you, which (being so perfect a creature as
you be) doth deserue to enioy the hartes of the noblest and most
vertuous of the world. Suffer I say, the contempt and forsaking
of him, [to] moue you, for whom you haue disdayned al other
persons." The Queene hearing those wordes, was so rauished, as
for feare to declare by her countenaunce the trouble of her
spirite, leaning vppon the Gentleman's arme, went into a garden
hard by her Chamber, where she walked a long time not able to
speake a woord. But the Gentleman seeing her halfe wonne, when
he was at the ende of the Alley where none could see them, hee
certified her by effect, the loue which so long time he kept
secrete from her. And both with one consent reioyced in reuenge,
whereof the passion was importable. And there determined, that
so oft as hee went into the Country, and the king from his
Castell into the Citie, he should retourne to the Castel to see
the Quene. Thus deceyuing the deceyuers, all foure were
partakers of the pleasure, which two alone thought to enioy. The
accord made, they departed, the Lady to her Chamber, and the
Gentleman to his house, with such contentacion, as they had
quite forgotten al theyr troubles past. And the feare which
either of them had of the assembly of the king and of the
Gentlewoman, was tourned to desire, which made the Gentleman to
go more oft then he was wonte to doe into the countrye, being
not past halfe a mile of. And so sone as the king knew therof,
he fayled not to visite his Lady, and the gentleman the night
following went to the Castle to salute the Queene, to do the
office of the kinge's Lieutenaunt, so secretly as no man did
perceiue it. This voyage endured long time, but the king because
he was a publike person, could not so well dissemble his Loue,
but all the worlde did vnderstand it, and all men pitied the
gentleman's state. For diuers light persons behinde his backe
would make hornes vnto him, in signe of mockerie, which he right
well perceyued. But this mockerie pleased him so wel, as he
esteemed his hornes better then the king's Crowne. The king and
the Gentleman's wife one day, could not refraine (beholding a
Stagge's head set vp in the Gentleman's house) from breaking
into a laughter before his face, saying, how that head became
the house very well. The gentleman that had so good a hart as
he, wrote ouer that head these words.
_These hornes I weare and beare for euery man to view,_
_But yet I weare them not in token they be trew._
The king retourning againe to the Gentleman's house, finding
this title newlye written, demaunded of the gentleman the
signification of them.
Who said vnto him:
_"If princesse secret things, be from the horned hart concealed,_
_Why should like things of horned beastes, to Princes be revealed._
But content your selfe: all they that weare hornes be pardoned
to weare their capps vpon their heads: for they be so sweete and
pleasaunt, as they vncappe no man, and they weare them so light,
as they thincke they haue none at all." The king knew well by
his wordes that he smelled something of his doings, but he neuer
suspected the loue betwene the Queene and him. For the Queene
was better contented wyth her husbande's life, and with greater
ease dissembled her griefe. Wherefore eyther parts lived long
time in this loue, till age had taken order for dissolucion
thereof. "Behold Ladyes (quoth Saffredante) this Historye which
for example I have willinglye recited to thintente that when
your husbands do make you hornes as big as a Goate, you maye
render unto him the monstrous heade of a Stagge." "Peace (quoth
Emarsuite smyling) no more wordes, least you reuiue some
sleeping sweet soule, which without stur would not awake; with
any whispring."
THE FIFTY-SECOND NOUELL.
_The rashe enterprise of a Gentleman against a Princesse of
Flaunders, and of the shame that he receyued thereof._
There was in Flaunders a Lady of an honorable house, which had
two husbands, by whom shee had no children that were then
liuinge. Duringe the time of her widowhoode shee dwelte within
one of her brothers, that loued her very well, which was a noble
man, and had maried a king's doughter. This yong Prince was
muche giuen to pleasure, louinge huntinge, pastime, and the
company of fayre Ladyes, accordingly as youth requireth. He had
a wyfe that was curst and troublesome, whom the delectations of
her husband in no wyse did contente and please: wherefore this
noble man caused his sister daily to keepe company with his
wyfe. This Gentlewoman his sister was of pleasaunt conuersation,
and therewithal very honest and wyse. There was in the house of
this noble man, a Gentleman whose worship, beautye and grace did
surpasse all the rest of his companions. This Gentleman
perceyuing the sister of his Lorde and Maister to be pleasaunte
and of ioyfull countenaunce, thoughte to proue if the attempt of
an honest frende would be vouchsaued, but he founde her aunswere
to be contrary to her countenaunce: and albeit that her aunswere
was such as was meete for a Princesse and right honest
Gentlewoman, yet because she perceyued him to be a goodly
personage, and curteous, she easily pardoned his bold attempt,
and seemed that she toke it not in ill part when he spake vnto
her. Neuerthelesse shee warned him, after that time, to moue no
such matter, which he promised, because he would not lose his
pleasure, and the honour that hee conceyued to entertaine her.
Notwithstanding, by processe of time his affection increased so
much as he forgot the promise which he had made her, wherefore
he thoughte good not to hazarde his enterprise by wordes, for
that hee had to long against his wyll experimented her wyse and
discrete aunsweares: and therewithall he thought if he could
finde her in some conueient place (because she was a yong widow,
of lusty yeares and good complexion) it were possible shee
woulde take pitie vppon him, and of herself. And that he might
bring his purpose to effecte, he said to his Maister that he had
besides his owne house very goodlie game, and that if it pleased
him to kill three or foure Stagges in the moneth of May, he
should see very good pastime. The Lord aswell for the loue hee
bare to the Gentleman, as for the pleasure he had in hunting,
graunted his request: and went to his house, which was so faire
and well furnished, as the best Gentleman in all the countrey
had no better. The gentleman lodged his Lord and Lady in one
side of the house, and in the other directly against it her
whome he loued better than himselfe. The Chamber where his
maistres laye, was so well hanged with tapistrie, and so trimely
matted, as it was impossible to perceiue a falling dore, harde
by the bed's side, descending to his mother's chamber, which was
an old Lady, much troubled with the Catarre and Rume. And
because she had a cough, fearing to disease the Princesse which
laye aboue her, she chaunged her chamber with her sonne. And
euery night the olde Gentlewoman brought comficts to the Lady
for her recreation, vpon whom the Gentleman wayted, who (for
that he was well beloued and very familier with her brother) was
not refused to be present at her rising and going to bedde.
Whereby he daily toke occasion to increase his loue and
affection: in suche sorte as one night, after he had caused the
Ladye to sit vp late, (she being surprised with sleepe) he was
forced to depart the chamber, and to repaire to his own. Wher
when he had put on the most brauest perfumed shirt that he had,
and his cap for the night so trimmely dressed, as there wanted
nothing, he thought in beholding himself, that there was no Lady
in the world that would refuse his beautie and comlinesse.
Wherefore promising himselfe a happie successe in his
enterprise, hee went to his bed where he purposed not long to
abide, for the desire that he had to enter into another, whiche
should be more honourable and pleasaunt vnto him. And after he
had sent his men away, he rose to shut the dore after them, and
hearkened a good while, whether he could heare any noyse in the
Ladie's chamber aboue. And when he was sure that euery man was
at rest, he began to take his pleasaunt iourney, and by litle
and litle opened the falling dore, whiche was so well trimmed
with cloth, that it made no noyse at all, and went vp to the
Ladie's bed side, which then was in her first sleepe, and
without respecte of the bonde and promise that he made vnto her,
or the honorable house wherof she came, without leaue or
reuerence, he laid himselfe down besides her, who felt him
betwene her armes before she perceiued his comming. But she
which was somewhat strong, vnfolded her self out of his handes,
and in asking him what he was, began to strike, to bite and
scratche, in suche wyse, as he was constrained (for feare least
she should crye out) to stoppe her mouth with the couerlet,
which was impossible for him to do. For when she sawe him to
presse with all his force to despoyle her of her honor, she
spared no part of her might to defende and kepe her selfe, and
called (so loude as she could) her woman of honor, that laye in
her chamber, whiche was a very auncient and sober gentlewoman,
who in her smock, ran straight to her maistresse. And when the
Gentleman perceiued that hee was discouered, hee was so fearfull
to be knowen of the Ladye, as sone as he could hee shifted
himself down by his trapdore. And where before he conceiued hope
and assuraunce to be welcome, now he was brought in despaire for
retourning in so vnhappy state. When he was in his chamber, he
found his glasse and candle vpon the table, and beholding his
face all bloudy with the scratchings and bitinges, whiche shee
had bestowed vpon him, the bloud wherof ran down his fayre
shyrt, better bloudied then gilted, he began to make his moone
in this wise: "O beautie, thou art nowe payed thy desert, for
vppon thy vayne promise haue I aduentured a thing impossible.
And that which might haue bene the augmenting of my delight is
nowe the redoubling of my sorowe. Being assured that if she
knewe howe contrary to my promise I haue enterprised this
foolishe fact, I should vtterly forgoe the honest and common
conuersation whiche I haue with her aboue al other. That which
my estimation, beautie and good behauiour doe deserue, I ought
not to hyde in darkenesse. To gaine her loue, I ought not to
haue assayed her chaste bodye by force, but rather by seruice
and humble pacience, to wayte and attend till loue did
vanquishe. For without loue all the vertue and puissance of man
is of no power and force." Euen thus he passed the night in such
teares, griefes and plaintes, as can not be well reported and
vttered. In the morning, when he beheld his bloudy face all
mangled and torne, he fained to be very sicke, and that he could
abide no light, til the company were gone from his house. The
Ladye whiche thus remained victorious, knowing that there was no
man in all her brother's Court, that durst attempt a deede so
wicked, but her hoste which was so bolde to declare his loue
vnto her, knew well that it was he. And when she and her woman
of honour had searched all the corners of the chamber to knowe
what he was, and could not finde hym, she sayd vnto her woman in
great rage: "Assure your selfe it can be none other, but the
Gentleman of the house, whose villanous order I wyll reueale to
my brother in the morning, in such sorte, as his head shalbe a
witnesse and testimony of my chastitie." Her woman seing her in
that furie, sayd vnto her; "Madame, I am right glad to see the
loue and affection which you beare to your honor, for the
increase wherof you doe not spare the life of one, which hath
aduentured himselfe so muche for the loue that hee beareth vnto
you. But many times such one thinketh by those meanes to
increase loue, which altogether he doth diminishe. Wherefore
(Madame) I humbly beseche you to tell me the truthe of this
facte." And when the Ladie had recompted the same at lengthe,
the woman of honour sayd vnto her: "Your grace doth say that he
got no other thyng of you, but scratches and blowes with your
fistes." "No, I assure you (quod the Ladie) and I am certaine if
hee gette hym not a good Surgeon, the markes will be seene to
morowe." "Wel Madame (quod the gentlewoman) sithens it is so, me
thinketh you haue greater occasion to prayse GOD, then to muse
vpon reuenge: For you may beleue, that sithens he had the
courage to enterprise so great an exploit, and that despite hath
failed him of his purpose, you can deuise no greater death for
him to suffer, then the same. If you desire to be reuenged, let
Loue and shame alone bring that to passe, who knowe better which
way to tormente him than your selfe, and with greater honor to
your persone. Take heede Madame from falling into such
inconuenience as he is in, for in place of great pleasure whiche
he thought to haue gayned, he hath receiued the extremest
anoyance, that any gentleman can suffer. And you Madame, by
thinking to augment your honor, you may decrease and diminish
the same. And by making complaint, you shal cause that to be
knowen, which no man knoweth. For of his part (you may be
assured) there shall neuer be anything reuealed. And when my
Lorde your brother at your requeste, shall execute the iustice
which you desire, and that the poore Gentleman shal be ready to
die, the brute will runne that he hath had his pleasure vpon
you. And the greatest numbre will say, that it is very difficult
for a Gentleman to doe suche an enterprise, except the Lady
minister some great occasion. Your grace is faire and yong,
frequenting your life in pleasant company, there is none in all
the Court, but seeth and marketh the good countenaunce you beare
to that Gentleman, whereof your selfe hath some suspicion: which
will make euery man suppose that if he hath done this
enterprise, it was not without some consent from you. And your
honor which hetherto hath borne your port a loft, shall be
disputed vpon in all places where this historie shall be
remembred." The Princesse well waying the good reasons and
aduise of her gentlewoman, knewe that she spake the truthe: and
that by moste iust cause she should be blamed: considering the
familiaritie and good countenaunce which dayly she bare vnto the
Gentleman. Wherefore she inquired of her woman of honour, what
was beste to bee done. Who aunswered her thus. "Madame, sith it
pleaseth you to receiue mine aduise, by waying the affection
whereof it procedeth, me thinke you ought in your hart to
reioyce, that the goodliest, and moste curteous Gentleman that
liueth, could neither by loue, or force, despoile you of your
greatest vertue and chastitie. For which (Madame) you are bounde
to humble your selfe before God, acknowledging that it is not
done by your vertue, bicause many women walking in a more
paineful and more vnpleasaunt trade then you do, haue humiliated
and brought low by men farre more vnworthy of loue, then he
which loueth you. And ye ought now to feare more than euer you
did, to vse any semblance and take of amitie, bicause there haue
bene many that haue fallen the second time into daungers and
perils, which they haue auoyded at the first. Remember (Madame)
that loue is blind, who blaseth mens eyes in such sort, as where
a man thinketh the waye moste sure, ther his most readie to fal.
And I suppose Madame, that you ought not to seme to be priuie of
this chaunce, neither to him, ne yet to any els, and when he
remembreth anye thing to you, doe make as though you did not
vnderstande his meaning, to auoyde twoo daungers. The one of
vaine glorie for the victorie you haue had, the other to take
pleasure in remembring things, that be so pleasaunt to the
flesh, which the most chaste haue had much a do to defend
theimselues from feling some sparkes, although they seke meanes
to shunne and auoyde them with all their possible power.
Moreouer, Madame, to thende that he thinke not by suche hazard
and enterprise to haue done a thing agreable to your minde, my
counsell is, that by litle and litle, you doe make your selfe
straunge, and vse no more your wonted grace vnto him, that he
may know how much you despise his folly and consider how great
your goodnesse is, by contenting your self with the victory
which God hath geuen you, without seeking any further vltion or
reuengement. And God graunt you grace (Madame) to continue that
honestie which hee hath planted in your hart, and by
acknowledging that all goodnesse procedeth from him, you may
loue him and serue him, better than euer ye did." The Princesse
determined to credite the counsayle of her gentlewoman, slepte
with so great ioye as the poore gentleman waked with sorrow. On
the morrow the noble man ready to depart, asked for his hoste,
vnto whom answere was made that he was so sicke, as he could not
abide the light, or endure to heare one speake. Wherof the
Prince was sore abashed, and would haue visited him, but that it
was told him he was a slepe, and was very loth to wake him.
Wherefore without bidding him farewell, he departed, taking with
him his wife and sister, who hearing the excuse of the Gentleman
that would not see the Prince, nor yet his companie, at their
departure, was persuaded that it was he, that had done her al
that torment, and durst not shew the markes which she had signed
in his face. And although his Maister did sende oftimes for him
yet came he not to the Court, vntill he was healed of his
woundes, except that whiche loue and despite had made in his
harte. When he came to the Courte and appeared before his
victorious enemie, he blushed for shame of his ouer throwe. And
he which was the stoutest of all the company was so astonned as
many times being in her presence, hee could not tell which way
to loke or tourne his face. Wherfore she was assured that her
suspicion was certain and true, by litle and litle estraunging
her self from him, but it was not done so sleightly or
politikely but that he perceiued well enough, and yet he
durst make no semblaunce, for feare of worse aduenture.
Notwithstanding he conserued both loue in his hart, and pacience
in his minde, for the losse of his Ladie's fauour, which he had
right well deserued.
THE FIFTY-THIRD NOUELL.
_The loue of Amadour and Florinda: wherein be conteined mani
sleightes and dissimulations, together with the renowmed chastitie
of the said Florinda._
In the Countie of Arande, in Aragon, a region in Spaine, there
was a Ladie whiche in the best time of her youth, continued the
widow of the Earle of Arande, with one sonne, and one daughter,
called Florinda. The sayde Lady brought vp her children in all
vertue and honestie, meete and conuenable for Lordes and
Gentlemen, in such sorte, as her house was renowmed to be one of
the most honorable in all the Region of Spaine. Many times she
repaired to Tolledo, where the kinge of Spaine helde his Court,
and when she came to Sarragosa, which was harde adioyning to the
court, she continued long with the Queene, and in the Courte,
where she was had in so good estimation as any Lady might be.
Vpon a time going towardes the king, according to her custome,
which was at Sarragosa, in his castle of Iafferie, this Lady
passed by a village that belonged to the Viceroy of Catalongne,
who still continued vppon the frontiers of Parpignon, for the
great warres that were betwene the Frenche king and him.
Howebeit, at that time peace being concluded, the Viceroy with
all his captaines were come to do reuerence to the king. The
Viceroy knowing that the Countesse of Arrande did passe through
his countrie, went to mete her, as well for auncient amitie, as
for the honor he bare vnto her being allied to the kyng. Nowe
this Viceroy had in his companye diuers honest Gentlemen, whiche
through the frequentation and continuance of the long warres,
had gotten suche honour and fame, as euery man that might see
them and behold them did accompt them selues happy. But amonges
all other, there was one called Amadour, who although he was but
XVIII. or XIX. yeares of age, yet he had such an assured grace
and witte so excellent, as he was demed amongs a thousand
persones worthy to haue the gouernement of a common wealth,
whiche good witte was coupled with maruellous naturall beautie,
so that there was no eye, but did content it self eftsones to
beholde hym. And this beautie so exquisite, was associated with
wonderfull eloquence, as doubtfull to say, whether merited
greatest honor, either his grace and beautie, or his excellent
tongue. But that which brought him into best reputation, was his
great hardinesse, whereof the common reporte and brute was
nothing impeached or staied for all his youth. For in so many
places he shewed his chiualrie, as not only Spain but Fraunce
and Italie, did singularly commend and set forth his vertue:
bicause in all the warres wherin he was present, he neuer spared
him self for any daunger. And when his countrie was in peace and
quiet, he sought to serue in straunge places, being loued and
estemed both of his frendes and enemies. This Gentleman for the
loue of his Captaine was come into that countrey, where was
arriued the Countesse of Arande, and in beholding the beautie
and good grace of her daughter, which was not then past XII.
yeres of age, he thought that she was the fairest and most
vertuous personage that euer he sawe: and that if he could
obtaine her good will, he should be so well satisfied as if he
had gained all the goods and pleasures of the worlde. And after
he had a good whyle viewed her, for all the impossibilitie that
reason could deuise to the contrary, he determined to loue her,
although some occasion of that impossibilitie might ryse through
the greatnesse of the house wherof she came, and for want of age
which was not able as yet to vnderstande the passions of loue.
But against the feare thereof he was armed with good hope,
persuading himselfe, that time and patience would bring happie
ende to his trauayle: and from that time gentle Loue whiche
without any other occasion than by his own force was entred the
harte of Amadour, promised him fauour and helpe by all meanes
possible to attaine the same. And to prouide for the greatest
difficultie, which was the farre distance of the countrie wher
he dwelt, and the small occasion that he had thereby any more to
see Florinda, he thought to marry against his determination made
with the ladies of Barselone and Parpignon, amonges whom he was
so conuersant by reason of the warres, as he semed rather to be
a Cathelan, than a Castillan, although he wer borne by Tollede,
of a riche and honourable house, yet bicause he was a yonger
brother, he inioyed no great patrimonie or reuenue.
Notwithstanding, loue and fortune seing him forsaken of his
parentes, determined to accomplishe some notable exployt in him,
and gaue him (by meanes of his vertue) that which the lawes of
his countrey refused to geue. He had good experience in factes
of warre, and was so well beloued of al Princes and Rulers, as
he refused many times their goodes, being resolued not to care
or esteme the benefites of Fortune. The Countesse of whome I
spake, arriued thus at Saragossa, was very well intertained of
the king, and of his whole Court. The Gouernour of Catalogne,
many times came thither to visite her, whom Amadour neuer failed
to accompany, for the onely pleasure he had to talke with
Florinda: and to make himselfe to be knowen in the company, hee
went to Auenturade, whiche was the daughter of an old knight
that dwelt hard by the house, whiche from her youth was brought
vp with Florinda, in such familiar sorte, as she knewe all the
secrets of her harte. Amadour, as well for the honestie that he
found in her, as for the liuing of III.M. ducates by the yeare
which she should haue with her in mariage, determined to geue
her such intertaignement, as one that was disposed to marry her.
Wherunto the gentlewoman did willingly recline her eare: and
bicause he was poore, and the father of the damosell rich, she
thought that her father would neuer accorde to the mariage,
except it were by meanes of the Countesse of Arande. Wherupon
she went to madame Florinda, and saide vnto her: "Madame, you
see this Castillan gentleman, which so oftentimes talketh with
me, I doe beleue that his pretence is to marry me: you do know
what a father I haue, who will neuer geue his consent, if he be
not persuaded therunto by my Lady your mother and you." Florinda
which loued the damosell as her selfe, assured her that shee
would take vpon her to bring that matter to passe, with so
earnest trauaile as if the case were her own. Then Auenturade
brought Amadour before Florinda, who after he had saluted her,
was like to fall in a sowne for ioy, and although he were
compted the moste eloquent persone of Spaine, yet was he now
become mute and dumb before Florinda, wherat she maruelled much:
for albeit she was but XII. yeares of age, yet she vnderstode
that there was no man in Spaine that had a better tongue, or a
more conuenable grace than he. And seing that he said nothing
vnto her, she spake vnto him in this wise: "The fame which is
bruted of you (sir Amadour) throughout the whole countrie of
Spaine, is such as it maketh you knowen and estemed in this
company, and giueth desire and occasion to those that know you,
to imploy themselues to do you pleasure: wherefore if there be
any thing wherin I may gratifie you, vse me I besech you."
Amadour that gased vpon the beautie of that lady, was rapt and
surprised, not well able to render thankes vnto her. And
although Florinda maruelled to see him without aunswere, yet she
imputed it rather to bashfulnesse than to any force of loue, and
departed without further talke. Amadour knowing the vertue which
in so tender yeares began to appeare in Florinda, saide vnto her
whome he purposed to marry: "Doe not maruell, though my speache
do fayle before Madame Florinda, for the vertues and discretion,
hidden in that yonge personage, did so amase mee, as I wiste not
what to saye: but I praye you Auenturade (quod he) who knoweth
all her secretes, to tell me, if it be otherwyse possible, but
that she hath the harte of all the Lordes and Gentlemen of the
Court: for they which know her and doe not loue her, be stones,
or beastes." Auenturade whiche then loued Amadour more than all
the men in the worlde, and would conceale nothing from him, said
vnto him: that Madame Florinda was generally beloued: but for
the custome of the countrie, fewe men did speake unto her. "And
(quod she) as yet I se none that make any semblance of loue vnto
her, but two young Princes of Spaine, which desire to marry her,
whereof the one is the sonne of the Infant Fortune, and the
other of the Duke of Cadouce." "I praye you then (quod Amadour)
to tell me which of them as you think, doth loue her best." "She
is so wise" said Auenturade, "that she will confesse or graunt
her loue to none, but to such as her mother pleaseth. But yet so
far as we can iudge she fauoureth muche better the sonne of the
Infant Fortune, than the Duke of Cadouce: and for that I take
you to be a man of good iudgment, this day you shall haue
occasion to consider the truth: for the sonne of the Infant
Fortune is brought vp in Court, and is one of the goodliest and
perfectest yong Gentlemen in al christendome: and if the mariage
do procede, according to our opinion, which be her women, he
shalbe assured to haue Madame Florinda: and then shalbe ioyned
together the goodliest couple in the world. And you must
vnderstand, that although they be both very yong, she of XII.
yeares of age, and he of XV. yet is there three yeares past
since their loue first began: and if you be disposed aboue other
to obtain her fauour, mine aduise is, that ye become friend and
seruaunt vnto him." Amadour was very ioyfull to heare tell that
his Lady loued some man, trusting that in tyme he should wynne
the place, not of husbande, but of seruaunt: for he feared
nothing at all of her vertue, but a lacke of disposition to
loue. And after this communication, Amadour bent himselfe to
haunt the societie of the sonne of the Infant Fortune, whose
good will he sone recouered, for all the pastimes whiche the
yong Prince loued, Amadour could doe right well: and aboue
other, he was very cunning in riding of horsses, and in handling
al kindes of armes and weapons, and in all other pastimes and
games meete for a yong Gentleman. Warres began in Languedoc, and
Amadour was forced to retire with the Gouernour, to his great
sorrowe and grief, for he had there no meane to returne to the
place where he might se Florinda. For which cause he spake to
his owne brother, whiche was Steward of the king of Spaine's
houshold, and declared vnto him what courtesie he had found in
the house of the Countesse of Arande, and of the damosel
Auenturade: praying him that in his absence he would do his
indeuour, that the mariage might proceede, and that he would
obtaine for him the credit and good opinion of the king and
Queene, and of al his friendes. The Gentleman which loued his
brother, as well by nature's instigation, as for his great
vertues, promised him his trauaile and industrie to the
vttermoste. Which he did in such wise as the old man her father,
nowe forgetting other naturall respect, began to marke and
beholde the vertues of Amadour, which the Countesse of Arande,
and specially faire Florinda, painted and set foorth vnto him,
and likewyse the Yong earl of Arande whiche increased in yeares,
and therewithall in loue of those that were vertuous, and geuen
to honest exercise. And when the mariage was agreed betweene the
parentes, the said Steward sent for his brother whilest the
truce endured betwene the two kings. About this time, the king
of Spain retired to Madric, to auoyd the euil aire that was in
many places, where by the aduise of diuers of his counsell, and
at the request of the Countesse of Arande, he made a mariage
betwene the yong Duchesse the heire of Medina Celi, and the yong
Earle of Arande, as wel for the vnion of their house, as also
for the loue he bare to the said Countesse. And this mariage was
celebrated in the Castell of Madric, whereunto repaired Amadour,
who so well obtained his suite, as he maried her, of whom he was
muche better beloued, than his smal loue toward her deserued,
sauing that it was a couerture and meanes for him to frequent
the place where his minde and delight incessantly remained:
after he was maried, he became well acquainted and familiar in
the house of the Countesse, so that he was so conuersaunt
amonges the Ladies, as if he had bene a woman: and although hee
was then but XXII. yeares of age, he was so wise and graue, as
the Countesse imparted vnto him all her affaires, commaunding
her sonne and daughter to intertayne him, and to credite all
thinges wherein hee gaue counsell. Hauing wonne this great
estimation, he behaued him selfe so wyse and politike, that euen
the partie whiche he loued knewe no parte of his affection: but
by reason of the loue that Florinda bare to the wife of Amadour,
whome shee loued more than any other woman, she was so familiar
with him, as shee dissembled no part of her thought, declaring
vnto him all the loue that she bare the sonne of the Infant
Fortune: and he that desired nothing more than throughly to
winne her, ceassed not from continuance of talke, not caring
whereof he spake, so that he might hold her with long discourse:
Amadour had not after his mariage continued a moneth in that
companie, but was constrained to retire to the warres, where hee
continued more than twoo yeares, without retourne to see his
wife, who still abode in the place where she was brought vp.
During the time, Amadour wrote many letters vnto his wife, but
the chiefest substance therof consisted in commendations to
Florinda, who for her part failed not to render like vnto him,
many times writing some pretie worde or posie with her own hand,
in the letter of Auenturade. Which made her husband Amadour
diligent many times to write again vnto her, but in al this
doing Florinda conceiued nothing, but that he loued her with
such like loue as the brother oweth to the sister. Many times
Amadour went and came, but in the space of fiue yeares he neuer
sawe Florinda twoo monethes together: notwithstanding, Loue in
despite of their distaunce and long absence, ceassed not to
increase: and it chaunced that hee made a voyage home to see his
wyfe, and founde the Countesse farre from the court, bicause the
kyng of Spain was done to Vandelousie, and had taken with him
the yong Earle of Arande, whiche then began to bere armes. The
Countesse was retired to a house of pleasure, which shee had
vpon the frontiers of Arragon and Nauarre, and was right ioyfull
when shee see Amadour, who almoste three yeares had bene absent.
He was very well recieued of euery man, and the countesse
commaunded that he should be vsed and entreated as her howne
sonne. During the time that he soiourned with her, she
communicated vnto him all the affaires of her house, and
committed the greatest trust thereof to his discretion, who wan
such credite in the house as in all places where he liste, the
dores were opened vnto him: whose wysedome and good behauiour
made him to be estemed like a Sainct or Aungell. Florinda, for
the loue and good wyll she bare unto his wyfe and him, made
muche of him in all places where she sawe him: and therfore
tooke no hede vnto his countenaunce, for that her hart as yet
felt no passion, but a certen contentation in her selfe, when
she was in the presence of Amadour, and of any other thing she
thought not. Amadour to auoyde the iudgement of them that haue
proued the difference of Louers countenaunces, was very ware and
circumspect: for when Florinda came to speake vnto hym secretly
(like one that thought no hurt) the fier hydden in his breste,
burned so sore, as he could not staye the blushyng colour of his
face, nor the sparkes whiche flewe out of his eyes: and to the
intent, that through long frequentation, none might espie the
same, he intertaigned a very fayre Ladye called Paulina, a woman
in his tyme accompted so fayre, as fewe men whiche behelde her,
coulde escape her bondes, This Ladye Paulina vnderstanding howe
Amadour vsed his Loue at Barselone and Parpignon, and how he was
beloued of the fayrest Ladies of the Countrie, and aboue all of
the Countesse of Palamons, whiche in beautie was prysed to be
the fayrest in all Spayne, and of many other, sayde vnto hym:
"That shee had great pitie of hym, for that after so manye good
Fortunes, he had maried a wyfe so foule and deformed." Amadour
vnderstanding well by those woordes, that she had desyre to
remedy her owne necessitie, vsed the best maner he coulde
deuise, to the intent that in makyng her beleue a lye, he should
hyde from her the truthe. But shee subtile and well experimented
in Loue, was not contente with talke, but perceyuing well that
his harte was not satisfied with her Loue, doubted that hee
coulde not serue his Lady in secrete wise, and therefore marked
hym so nere, as daylye she had a respecte and watche vnto hys
eyes, whiche hee coulde so well dissemble, as she was able to
iudge nothyng, but by darke suspicion, not without great payne
and difficultie to the Gentleman, to whome Florinda (ignoraunt
of all their malice) dyd resorte many tymes in presence of
Paulina, whose demeaner then was so familiar, as he with
maruellous payne refrayned his lookes against his harte and
desire: and to auoyde that no inconuenience should ensue, one
daye speaking to Florinda, as they were both leaning at a
wyndow, sayd these words: "Madame, I beseche you to tell mee
whether it is better to speake or to die." Whereunto Florinda
answered readily, saying, "I will euer geue councell to my
frendes to speake and not to dye: for there be fewe wordes
spoken but that they may be amended, but the life lost cannot be
recouered." "Promise me then" said Amadour, "that not onely ye
will accept those wordes which I will say, but also not to be
astonned or abashed, till ye haue heard the end of my tale." To
whom she aunswered: "Say what it please you, for if you do
affray me none other shall assure me." Then he began to saye
vnto her: "Madame, I haue not yet bene desirous to disclose vnto
you the great affection which I beare you, for twoo causes: the
one, bicause I attend by my long seruice, to shewe you the
experience thereof: the other, for that I doubted you would
thinke a great presumption in me (which am but a poore
gentleman) to insinuate my selfe in place whereof I am not
worthy: and although I were a Prince as you be, the loyaltie yet
of your harte, will not permitte any other, but him which hath
already taken possession (the sonne I meane of the Infant
Fortune) to vse in talke any matter of loue: but Madame, like as
necessitie in time of great warr constraineth men to make hauoke
of their owne goodes, and to consume the greene corne, that the
enemy take no profit and reliefe thereof, euen so doe I hazard
to aduaunce the frute, which in time I hope to gather, that your
enemies and mine may inioye thereof none aduauntage. Knowe ye
Madame, that from the time of your tender yeares, I haue in such
wyse dedicated my selfe to your seruice as I ceasse not still to
aspire the meanes to achieue your grace and fauour: and for that
occasion, I did marry her whome I thought you did loue best: and
knowing the loue you beare to the sonne of the Infant Fortune,
I haue indeuoured to serue him as you haue sene: and that
wherein I thought you dyd delighte, I haue accomplished to the
vttermoste of my power. You doe see that I haue gotten the good
wil of the Countesse your mother, of the Earle your brother, and
of all those that doe beare you good wyll: in sutche sorte as in
this house I am estemed, not like a seruaunt, but as a sonne:
and all the labour whiche I haue sustayned these fiue yeares
past, was for none other cause, but to lyue all the daies of my
life with you: and vnderstand you wel that I am none of those
whiche by these meanes doe pretende to receiue of you anye
profite or pleasure, other than that which is good and vertuous:
I do know that I can neuer marrie you, and if I could I would
not for letting the loue that you beare vnto him, whom I desire
to be your husbande, likewise to loue you in vicious sorte, like
them that hope to recompence their seruice with dishonour of
their Ladies, I am so farre of from that affection, as I had
rather be dead than to see you by desert worthy of lesse loue,
and that your vertue shoulde by any meanes be diminished for any
pleasure that might happen vnto mee. I do pretend and craue for
the ende and recompence of my service, but one thing: which is,
that you will continue my loyall and faithfull maistresse, neuer
to withdrawe from me your wonted grace and fauour, and that you
will maintaine mee in that estate wherein I am. Reposinge your
trust and fidelitie in me more than in any other, making your
selfe so assured of me, as if for your honor or any cause
touching your person, you stand in neede of the life of a
Gentleman, the same shal right willingly be employed at your
commaundement: in like maner all thinges vertuous and honest
which euer I shal attempt I beseech you to thinke to be done
onely for the loue of you: and if I haue done for Ladies of
lesse reputacion than you be, any thing worthy of regard, be
assured that for such a maistresse as you be, my enterprises
shal increase in such sort, as the things which I found
difficult and impossible, shall be easelie for me to
accomplishe; but if you do not accept mee to be wholy yours,
I determine to giue ouer armes, and to renounce valiaunce,
because it hath not succoured me in necessitie: wherfore,
Madame, I humblie beseech you that my iust request may not be
refused, sith with your honour and conscience you cannot well
denie the same." The yong Lady hearing this vnaccustomed sute,
began to chaunge her colour, and to caste downe her eyes like an
amased woman, notwithstandinge, being wyse and discrete she said
vnto him: "If (Amadour) your request vnto me be none other than
you pretende, wherefore have you discoursed this long Oration?
I am afraid lest vnder this honeste pretence there lurketh some
hidden malice to deceiue the ignoraunce of my youth, wherby I am
wrapt in great perplexitie how to make you aunswere: for to
refuse the honest amitie which you haue offered, I shall doe
contrary to that I haue done hitherto, for I haue reposed in you
more trust than in any liuing creature: my conscience or mine
honour cannot gainesay your demaunde, nor the loue that I beare
to the sonne of the Infant Fortune, which is grounded vpon fayth
of mariage: where you say that you pretende nothinge but that is
good and vertuous, I cannot tell what thing should let me to
make you aunswere according to your request, but a feare that I
conceiue in hart, founded vpon the small occasion that you haue
to vse that speache, for if you haue alreadye what you demaunde,
what doth constraine you to speake so affectuouslie?" Amadour
that was not without an aunsweare, said vnto her: "Madame, you
speake very wisely, and you do me so much honour, for the
confidence and truste which according to your sayinge you do
repose in me, as if I doe not content my selfe with such a
benefite, I were the vnworthiest man aliue: but vnderstande
Madame, that he which goeth about to builde a perpetual mansion,
ought to haue regard to a sure and firme foundacion: wherfore I
which desire perpetually to remaine your seruaunte, doe seeke
not onely the meanes to kepe my selfe neare about you, but also
to foresee that none doe vnderstand the great affection that I
do beare you: for although my mind be so vertuous and honest, as
the same may disclose it selfe before the whole worlde, yet
there bee some so ignorant and vnskilfull of louers harts, as
manye times will iudge contrary to trouth, wherof proceedeth so
ill brute and report, as if the effectes were wicked: the cause
which hath made me so bold to say and declare vnto you thus
much, is the suspicion that Paulina hath conceyued, for that I
cannot loue her: who doth nothing els but marke and espie my
countenaunce in euerye place, and when you vse your familiar
talke with me before her, I am so afraide to shewe any signe
whereby shee maye grounde or verifie her iudgemente, that I fall
into that inconuenience, which I would willingly auoyde:
wherefore I haue thought good to beseech you (before her and
those which you do know to be so malicious) to refraine from
talkinge with mee so sodainlye, for I had rather dye, than anye
liuinge creature should haue mistrust thereof: and were it not
for the loue which I beare vnto your honour, I had not yet
declared the same vnto you, for I do hold my selfe sufficiente
happy and content of the onely loue and affiaunce that you put
in me, crauing nought els butt the continuance of the same."
Florinda wel satisfyed with this aunswere, began to feele in
harte a further thing to growe than euer she did before: and
hearing the honest reasons alleaged by him, said, that her
honestie and vertue shoulde make aunsweare for her, and
therewithall assented to his demaunde: whereof whether Amadour
were ioyful, Louers neede not doubt: but Florinda credited more
his counsell, than he would haue had her. For shee being
fearefull and timerous, not onely before Paulina, but in all
other places, vsed farre other countenaunce than she was wont to
do: and in this alienation of her former familiarity, she
misliked the conuersation that Amadour had with Paulina, whose
beauty was such, that she could not otherwise beleeue, but that
hee loued her: and Florinda to passe ouer her heauinesse, daily
vsed the company of Auenturade, that began maruelously to be
ialous betweene her husbande and Paulina, whereof shee made
complaint many times to Florinda, who comforted her so well as
shee coulde, like one attached with the same disease: Amadour
coniecturinge by the countenaunce of Florinda, that not onely
shee was estraunged from hym through his former aduertisement,
but also that there was some other displeasure conceyued,
comming vpon a time, from euensong out of the Monasterie, he
sayd vnto her: "Madame, what countenaunce do you make me?" "Such
as I thincke doth please you best," answered Florinda. Then
Amadour suspecting a matter, to know whether it were true, began
to saye: "Madame, I haue so vsed Paulina, as she beginneth to
give ouer her opinion of you." She answered him: "Ye cannot do a
better thing either for your selfe or for me: for in doing your
selfe a pleasure, you do honour vnto me." Amadour iudged by
these words that she thought he toke pleasure to talke of
Paulina, wherewith he became so desperate, as hee could not
forbeare to say vnto her in anger: "Madame, you begin very sone
to torment your seruante: there was neuer paine more greeuous
vnto mee, than to be forced to speake to her whom I loue not:
and sithens al that which I do for your seruice is taken in ill
part, I wil neuer speake againe vnto her, whatsoeuer happen: and
to dissemble mine anger and contentacion, I wil addresse my
selfe to some place hereby, till your fancie be ouer past: but I
hope I shall receiue newes from my captaine, to retourne to the
warres, where I will so longe continue, as you shall well knowe,
that nothing els but you alone doth force me to tarrie here."
And in saying so, without attending for her aunswere, hee
incontinently departed, and shee remayned so sad and pensive as
any woman coulde be: and loue began to shewe his greate force in
such wyse as shee knowing her wrong incessantly, wrote to
Amadour praying him to retourne home, which he did within a few
dayes after that his choler was past, and to tell you what
businesse there was, to interrupte and breake the ialousie
conceiued, it were superfluous: but in the ende, he wanne the
field, so that she promised him, not onely to beleeue that he
loued not Paulina, but also helde her selfe assured that it
should be to him a martirdome intollerable, to speake vnto her
or any other, except it were to do her seruice: after that loue
had vanquished this presente suspicion, and that the two louers
began to take more pleasure in their mutuall talke than euer
they did before: newes came that the king of Spaine was about to
addres his Armie to Saulse, wherfore he that was wont to be
there with the first, was not like now to fayle to augment his
honour: but true it is, that his griefe was presently more
greate, than at other times before, aswell for losinge the
pleasure which he enioyed, as for feare to finde some mutacion
and chaunge at his returne, because he saw Florinda pursued by
great Princes and Lords, and alreadye come to the age of XV.
yeares, and thought that if she were maried in his absence, he
should neuer haue occasion to see her againe, except the
Countesse of Arande would appointe his wyfe to waite vppon her:
for accomplishment wherof he made such frends, as the Countesse
and Florinda promised him, that into what soeuer place she were
maried his wyfe Auenturade should attende vpon her: and although
it was in question that Florinda should be maried into
Portugall, yet determined that his wyfe should neuer forsake
her: and vppon this assuraunce, not without vnspeakeable sorow,
Amadour departed and left his wife with the Countesse. When
Florinda was alone, her seruaunt departed, shee gaue her selfe
to all vertuous life, hopinge thereby to atteine the fame
of a most perfecte Lady, and to be counted worthie the
interteignemente of such a seruaunt. Amadour arriued at
Barsalone, was banqueted and intertayned of the Ladies after the
old maner, but they finding him so altered and chaunged, thought
that Mariage could neuer haue had such power vppon man, as it
had ouer him: for he seemed then to disdaine, what somtime he
greatly desired, and specially the Countesse of Palamons, whom
he derely loued, could deuise by no meanes to make him go alone
home to his lodging: Amadour tarried at Barsalone so little
while as hee coulde, because hee might not come late to the
place where hee purposed to winne and atchiue honour: and being
arriued at Saulse, great and cruell warres were comenced betwene
the two kinges, which I purpose not to recite, ne yet the noble
enterprises done by Amadour, whose fame was bruted aboue the
rest of his companions. The duke of Nagyers arriuinge at
Parpignon, had charge of two thousand men, and prayed Amadour to
be his Lieuetenaunte, who with that hand serued so well, as no
crie was hard in al the skirmishes, other than of Nagyers. It
chaunced that the king of Thunis, which of long time had warre
with the Spaniards, vnderstandinge howe the kinges of Spaine and
Fraunce were together by the eares at Parpignon and Narbonne,
thought that in better time he could not anoye the king of
Spaine: wherefore he sent a great nomber of Foists and other
vessels, to robbe and spoile those frontiers which were ill
guarded and kept: they of Barsalone seing a nomber of Shippes
passe before the Towne, aduertised the king that was at Saulse,
who immediatly sent the Duke of Nagyers to Palamons: and when
the shippes discried that the place was well guarded, they made
as though they would passe further: but about midnight they
retourned, and landed so many men, that the Duke of Nagyers was
taken prisoner. Amadour which was very vigilant, hearing
allarme, presently assembled so many men as he could, and
defended him self so wel, as the force of his enemies a long
time could not hurt him: but in thende knowing that the Duke of
Nagyers was taken prisoner, and that the Turks were determined
to burn the Citie of Palamons, and then to fier the house which
he strongly had forced againste them, hee thought it better to
render himself, than to be cause of the losse of so manye good
souldiors as were vnder his gouernmente, and also by putting
himselfe to raunsome, he hoped in time to come to see Florinda:
then he submitted himselfe to a Turke called Derlyn, the
gouernor of the king of Thunis, who conueyed him home to his
maister, where he was well entertaigned, and better kept: for
they thought that hauing him in their hands, they had gotten the
only Achilles of Spaine. In this sort Amadour continued almost
the space of two yeares, in the seruice of the king of Thunis:
newes came into Spaine of this ouerthrow, wherof the frends of
the Duke of Nagyers, were very sorowfull: but they that loued
the honor of their countrie, thoughte Amadour to bee the
greatest losse, the brute wherof was noysed in the house of the
Countesse of Arande, wher at that time the poore gentlewoman
Auenturade lay very sore sicke. The Countesse suspecting very
much the affection that Amadour bare vnto her daughter, which he
suffered and dissembled for his vertue's sake, called her
daughter aside, and told her the pitious newes. Florinda which
could well dissemble said unto her, that it was a great losse
for al their house, but specially she pitied the state of his
poore wife, because at that time she was so sore sicke. But
seing her mother weepe so bitterly, she let fal some teares to
keepe her company, least through to much dissimulacion her loue
might be discouered. After that time, the Countesse spake to her
many times, but she could neuer perceiue by her countenance, any
cause of certaine suspicion. I will leaue to speake of the
voyages, the prayers, the supplications and fastings, which
Florinda did ordinarily make for the safegard and prosperitie of
Amadour, who incontinently so sone as he was ariued at Thunis,
sent newes to his frends, and by a sure messenger aduertized
Florinda, that he was in good health and hope to retourne. Which
newes was to the poore Lady, the only meanes to releue and ease
her sorow. And doubt ye not, but the meanes of writing, was
vtterly debarred from Amadour, wherof Florinda acquited herself
so diligently, as by her letters and epistles, he receiued great
consolation and comfort. The Countesse of Arande receiued
commaundement from the king to repaire to Saragosa, where hee
that time was arriued. And there she found the yong Duke of
Cardonne making sute to the king and Queene, for mariage of her
daughter. The Countesse vnwilling to disobey the king, agreed,
thinkinge that her daughter being very yonge, had none other
affection, but that which already had taken sure impression.
When the accorde was concluded, shee sayde vnto her daughter,
that she had chosen that matche, as best worthy to ioyne with
her person. Her daughter considering howe in a thing already
done it was to late to take counsell, said vnto her, that God
was to be praised in all things. And seing her mother so far
alienated from her intent, she thought it better to shew her
selfe obedient, than to take pitie vpon herselfe. And to comfort
her in that sorowe, she vnderstode that the infant Fortune was
at the point of death. But before her mother or any other
person, she shewed not so much as one signe or token therof,
strayning her grief so much, as the teares by force retiringe to
her harte, did cause the bloud to issue forth at her Nose, in
such abundance, as her life was in present daunger. And to
recouer her of that disease, shee was maried vnto him, for whose
sake shee had rather haue chaunged her life for present death.
After the mariage, Florinda went wyth her husbande into the
Duchy of Cardonne, and in her company Auenturade, to whom she
secretly made complaint, as wel of her mother's rigor, as also
of the sorow she conceyued for the losse of the sonne of the
Infant Fortune. But of her griefe for Amadour, she spake no
worde, but by way of comforting her. This yong lady then
determined to haue God and the respect of her honoure before her
eies, and so wel to dissemble her griefes, as none at any time
should perceiue that shee misliked her husband. In this sort
Florinda passed long time, in a life no lesse pleasaunt than
death. The report whereof she sent to her good seruaunt Amadour,
who vnderstanding her great loue, and wel disposed hart, and the
loue shee bare to the Infant Fortune, thought that it was
impossible she could liue long, and lamented her state more than
his owne. This griefe augmented his paine of imprisonmente,
wishinge to haue remayned a slaue all the days of his life, so
that Florinda had had a husbande respondent to her desire,
forgettinge his owne griefe by feeling that his frende did
suffer. And because he vnderstode by a secret friend which he
had gotten in the Court of the king of Thunis, that the king was
minded to offer him the gibbet, or els to make him renounce his
fayth, for the desire hee had to retaine him still, and to make
him a good Turke, he behaued himself so well, wyth him that toke
him prisoner, that he gaue him leaue to depart vpon his fayth,
taxing him at so greate raunsome, as he thought a man of so
small substance was neuer able to pay. And so without speaking
to the king his maister, hee let him go vpon his fayth. After he
had shewed himselfe at the Court of the king of Spaine, he
departed incontinently to his frends to get his raunsome, and
went straight to Barsalone, whether the yong Duke of Cardonne,
his mother, and Florinda, was gone aboute certaine affaires.
Auenturade so sone as she heard tell that her husband was come,
declared the same to Florinda, who seemed for her sake greatly
to reioyce therat. But fearing that the desire she had to see
him would make her chaunge countenaunce, and that they which
knew not the cause therof, would conceiue some ill opinion, she
stode still at a window to see him come a far of: and so sone as
she espied him, shee went downe a paire of darke staires that
none mighte perceiue her chaunge of colour. When she had
imbraced Amadour, shee led him into her chamber, and from thence
to her mother in law, which had neuer seene him before. He had
not continued there two dayes, but he was so well beloued, as he
was before in the house of the Countesse of Arande. I will
omitte the words and talke betwene Florinda and Amadour, and the
complaintes which he made vnto her of his ill aduenture, that
hee had sustayned in his absence. And after manye teares vttered
by her, for the heauines she had taken, aswel for the mariage
against her wil, as for the losse of him that she loued so
dearely, and for him whom she thoughte neuer to see againe, shee
determined to take her consolation in the loue and fidelitie
that she bare to Amadour, which notwithstanding she durst not
open and declare: but he that much doubted therof, lost no
occasion and time to let her know and vnderstande the great loue
he bare her. And euen vppon the point that she was ready to
receiue him, not as a seruaunt, but for her assured and perfect
frend, there chaunced a maruellous fortune: for the king, for
certaine matters of importance, incontinently sent forth
Amadour, wherof his wyfe conceyued such sorrow, as hearing those
newes, she souned and fell from the stayres where she stode,
wherewith she hurte herselfe so sore, as neuer after she
reuiued. Florinda (that by the death of her had lost all
comfort) made such sorrow, as one that was destitute of good
frends and kinsfolke, but Amadour toke the same in worst part:
for he had not onely lost one of the most honest women that euer
was, but also the meanes that he should neuer after that time
haue occasion to visit Florinda. For which cause he fell into
such sicknes, as he was like to haue died sodainly. The old
Duchesse of Cardonne, incessantly did visite him, and alledged
many philosophical reasons to make him paciently to receiue
death, bu{t} it auayled nothing: for if death of thone side did
torment him, loue on the other did augment his martirdome.
Amadour seing that his wyfe was buried, and that the king had
sent for him, (hauing no occasion of longer abode there) he
entred into such dispaire, as hee seemed to be oute of his
wittes. Florinda which in comforting him was almost desolate,
remayned by him one whole afternone, vsinge very honest and
discrete talke vnto him, thinking thereby to diminishe the
greatnesse of his sorrowe, and assured him that shee would
deuise wayes how he might visite her more oft than he did thinke
for. And because he must depart the next morning, and was so
feeble and weake that he could not rise from his bed, he
intreated her to come and se him at night after euery man was
retired to bed: which she promised to doe, not knowing that
loue's extremety was voyd of reason. And he that saw no hope
euer after that time to see her againe, whom so long time he had
serued: and of whom he had neuer receyued other interteignment
than that you haue heard, was so beaten and ouercom with loue
long dissembled, and of the despaire he conceiued, that (all
meanes to vse her company taken away) he purposed to play double
or quit, either to lose her, or to win her fauour for euer, and
to pay himself at one instant the rewarde which he thought he
had right wel deserued. Wherfore he caused the curtaines of his
bed to be drawen, that they which came into the chamber mighte
not see him, complayning of sicknes more than he was wont to do,
wherby they of the house thought he would not haue liued XXIV.
houres. After euery one of the house had visited him at night,
Florinda (at the special request of her husband) came to see
him, thinking for his comfort to vtter vnto him her affection,
and how aboue all other she would loue him, so far as her honor
did permit: and sitting downe in a chayre at the bed's head, she
began to comfort him, and therwithal powred out many teares.
Amadour seing her sorowful and pensife, thought that in her
great torment he might easely attaine the effect of his intent,
and lifted himself vp in his bed, which Florinda perceyuing, she
would haue staied him, because she thought that through weakenes
he was not able to moue: and kneeling vpon his knees, he said
vnto her: "Must I for euermore forgo your sight mine owne deare
Lady?" And in saying so he fel downe betwene her armes like one
that fainted for lack of strength. Then poore Florinda imbraced
him, and of long time held him vp, doing all that was possible
for his comfort. But the medecine she gaue him to ease his
sorow, did rather increase the same more strong: for in fayning
himself half dead, without speaking any word, he attempted that
which the honor of womanhode doth defend. When Florinda
perceiued his ill intent, she could scarce beleue the same,
considering his honest requests made before time, and therfore
asked him what it was that he desired. But Amadour fearing to
heare her aunswere which he knew well could be none other but
chaste and vertuous, without further talke, pursued his purpose
so earnestly as he could, wherwith Florinda beinge astonned did
suspect he had bin out of his wittes rather than beleue that he
wente about her dishonor. Wherefore with loude voice she called
a gentleman that was in the chamber. Which Amadour hearing,
vtterly in dispaire, threw himself so sodenly into his bed, as
the gentleman thought he had beene dead. Florinda rising out of
the chaire, said vnto him: "Goe quickly and fetch some good
vineger." Which the gentleman did. Then Florinda began to say
vnto him: "Amadour, what follie hath inchaunted your wisedome?
And what is that which you would haue done unto me?" Amadour
that through the force of loue had lost al reason, said vnto
her: "Doth my long seruice merite a recompence of such cruelty?"
"And wher is the honesty then," said Florinda, "which so many
times you haue preached vnto me?" "Ah, madame!" said Amadour:
"I beleue it is impossible your selfe more faithfully to loue
your owne honour than I do. For when you were vnmaried, I could
so wel subdue my harte and affection, as you did neuer
vnderstand my will and desire. And now that you be maried, to
the intente your honour may reste in couerte, what wrong do I to
aske that which is mine owne, for by force of loue I haue won
you? He that first enioyed your harte, hath so ill followed the
victorie of your bodye, as hee hath well deserued to lose
altogether. He that possesseth your body, is not worthy to haue
your hart, wherefore your body is none of his, ne yet he hath no
title in the same. But I Madame, these fiue or sixe yeares haue
susteyned suche paynes and trauaile for your sake, as you are
not ignoraunt but to me appertayneth both your body and harte,
for whose sake I haue vtterlye forgotten mine owne. And if you
can finde in your hart to defende mee from my right, doubt ye
not but they which haue proued the forces of loue, wil lay the
blame on you, which hath in this sort robbed me from my
libertie, and with your heauenly graces hath obscured my sences,
that not knowing hereafter what to do, I am constrayned to go
without hope for euer to see you againe. Notwithstanding
warrante your selfe, that in what place so euer I am, you shall
still possesse my harte, which shall continue your's for euer,
be I vppon the lande or water, or betweene the hands of my moste
cruell enemies. But if I could recouer before my departure, that
surety of you which the greatnesse of my loue deserueth, I shall
be strong enough paciently to beare the griefes of my long
absence. And if it please you not to graunt me this request, you
shal shortly heare tell that your rigor hath rendred vnto me a
most vnhappy and cruel death." Florinda no lesse astonned than
sorie, to heare such words proceede from him, of whom she neuer
had any such suspicion, weepinge saide unto him: "Alas, Amadour,
is this the meaning of those vertuous words which sithens the
beginning of my youth ye haue vttered vnto me? Is this the honor
of the conscience, which you haue many times perswaded me rather
to die than lose the same? Haue you forgotten the good examples
recited vnto me of vertuous dames that haue resisted foolish
loue? And is this the maner of your contempt of Ladies that were
foolish and vaine, whose light behauiour you dissembled so much
to abhorre? I cannot beleeue Amadour that you are driuen into
such madnes and furie, as the feare of GOD, your owne
conscience, and the estimacion of mine honor, should be
altogether out of your minde and memorie. But if it so be as you
say, I do praise the goodnes of God, which hath preuented the
mishap that nowe I am fallen into, in shewing me by your words,
the hart which I did not know. For hauing lost the sonne of the
Infant Fortune, who not onely is maried into another place, but
also loued another, and I now maried to him, which I cannot
loue, I thought and determined wholly, with all mine hart and
affection to loue you, founding the same vpon that vertue which
I knew to be in you, which loue by your meanes onelye I haue
conceiued, and therfore did more esteeme my honor and
conscience, than the price of mine owne life. Vppon assurance of
this stone of honestie, I am come hither thinking to build a
most sure foundacion. But (Amadour) in one moment thou haste
declared, how in place of a pure foundacion, thy buildinge is
reared vpon a light sand, and vnconstant ground, or els vpon a
filthy and foul quamire. And where I began to erect a good part
of the lodgings of this building vpon the ground of the
fidelitie, hoping to dwel there for euer, sodenly thou hast
ouerthrowen the whole plot. Wherfore, you must immediately
breake in sonder the hope and credit that euermore you haue
found in me, and determine that in what place soeuer I be, not
to pursue me either by worde or countenaunce. And do not thinke,
that I can or will at anye time hereafter chaunge this mine
opinion, reciting this my last adieu with great sorrow and
griefe. But if I had made an othe of this perfect amitie and
loue, I know mine harte would haue died vpon this breach,
although the astonishment in that I am deceiued, is so great, as
I am wel assured it will make my life either short or sorowfull:
and therefore I bid you farewel and that for euer." I purpose
not to tel you the sorow which Amadour felt by hearing those
words, because it is impossible not only to write them, but also
to thincke them, except it be of such as haue had experience of
the like. And seing that vppon this cruel conclusion she would
haue gone away, he caught her by the arme, knowing well that if
he did not remoue that ill opinion, which by his owne occasion
she had conceyued, hee should lose her for euer. Wherfore he
said vnto her with a very faint chere: "Madame, al the dayes of
my life I haue desired to loue a woman endued with honestie and
vertue: and because I haue found so few, I would fain haue tried
whether your person had bin worthy of estimacion and loue,
wherof now I am wel assured, and humblie do praise God
therefore, because mine hart is addressed to such perfection:
beseching you to pardon this fond and bold attempt, sith you see
that the end doth redound to your owne honor and contentacion."
Florinda, which began to know by him the malice of other men,
like as she was hard to beleue the euill wher it was, euen so
she was more difficile to credite the good where it was not, and
said vnto him: "I pray to God your words be true: yet am I not
so ignorant but that the state of mariage wherein I am, hath
made me euidently to know the strong passion of blind loue which
hath forced you vnto this follie: for if God had losed my hande,
I am wel assured you would not haue plucked back the bridle:
they that attempt to seeke after vertue, do not take the way
that you do tread: but this is sufficient if I haue lightly
beleeued any honestie in you, it is time for me now to know the
truth, that I may rid my self from you." And in saying so,
Florinda went out of the chamber, and all the nighte long, she
neuer left weeping, feeling such great griefe in that
alteracion, as her hart had much to do, to sustaine the assaults
of sorrow that loue had made: for although reason thoughte neuer
to loue him againe, yet the hart which is not subiect to our
fancie, would not accord to that crueltie: for which
consideracion, she loued him no lesse than she was wont to do,
and knowing that loue was the cause of that fault, she purposed
for satisfaction of loue, to Loue him with all her hart, and yet
for the obedience and fealtie due to her honor, she thought
neuer to make any semblance. In the morning Amadour departed in
this sort, troubled as you haue hearde, neuerthelesse his
couragious heart centred not in dispaire, but renued a fresh
hope once againe to see Florinda, and to win her fauour: then he
toke his iourney towards the Court of Spaine (which was at
Tolledo) taking his way by the Countesse of Arande, wher late in
an euening he arriued, and found the Countesse verye sicke for
the absence of her daughter Florinda: when shee saw Amadour,
shee kissed and imbraced him, as if he had beene her owne child,
aswel for the loue she bare vnto him, as for the like which she
doubted that he bare to Florinda, of whom very earnestly she
inquired for newes, who tolde her the best that he could deuise,
but not the whole truth, and confessed vnto her the loue
betweene Florinda and him, (which Florinda had still conceiled
and kept secrete) praying her ayde to bring him againe into her
fauour: and so the next morning he departed. And after he had
done his businesse with the Queene, he repayred to the warres,
so sadde and chaunged in all his condicions, as the Ladies,
Captaynes and all they that were wonte to keepe him companie,
did not know him. His apparell was all blacke, mourning for the
death of his wife, wherby he couered the sorrow which was hid in
his hart. In this wyse Amadour passed three or 4 yeres before he
returned to the Court. And the Countesse of Arande which heard
tell that Florinda was so much altered, as it would haue moued
any hart to behold her, sent for her, hoping that she would haue
come, but her expectacion was frustrate, for when Florinda
vnderstode that Amadour had told her mother the good will
betweene them, and that her mother being so wise and vertuous
giuing credite to Amadour, did beleue his report, she was in
marueilous perplexitie, because of the one side she saw that her
mother did esteeme him so well, and on the other side if she
declared vnto her the truth, Amadour woulde conceiue
displeasure: which thing she had rather die than to do:
wherefore she thought herselfe strong inough to chastise him of
his folly, without helpe of frends. Againe, she perceyued that
by dissembling the euil which she knew by him, she should be
constrained by her mother and her frends, to speake and beare
him good countenaunce, wherby she feared he would be the more
encoraged: but seing that he was far of, she passed the lesse of
the matter: and when the Countesse her mother did commaunde her,
she wrote letters vnto him, but they were such as he might wel
gather that they were written rather vpon obedience, than of
good wil, the reading wherof bred sorrow vnto him in place of
that ioye he was wonte to conceiue in her former wrytings.
Within the terme of two or three yeres, after he had done so
many noble enterprises as al the paper of Spaine could not
containe them, he deuised a new inuention, not to wynne and
recouer the harte of Florinda (for he demed the same quite lost)
but to haue the victorie ouer his enemy, sithens she had vsed
him in that sorte, and reiecting al reason and specially feare
of death, into the hazarde wherof he hasted himselfe, he
concluded and determined his enterprise in such sorte, as for
his behauiour towardes the Gouernour, hee was deputed and sent
by him to treate with the king of certaine exploytes to be done
at Locates, sparing not to impart his message to the Countesse
of Aranda, before he told the same to the king, to vse her good
aduise therein: and so came in poste straight into the Countie
of Aranda, where he had intelligence in what place Florinda
remained, and secretly sent to the Countesse one of his frendes
to tell her of his comming, and to pray her to keepe it close,
and that he might speake with her that night in secrete wise
that no man might perceiue: the Countesse very ioyfull of his
comming, tolde it to Florinda, and sent her into her husbande's
chamber, that she might be ready when she should send for her
after eche man was gone to bed. Florinda whiche was not yet well
boldened by reason of her former feare, making a good face of
the matter to her mother, withdrewe her selfe into an oratorie
or chappell, to recommend her selfe to God, praying him to
defend her hart from al wicked affection, and therwithal
considered how often Amadour had praysed her beautie, which was
not impaired or diminished, although she had bene sicke of longe
time before: wherefore thinking it better to doe iniurie to her
beautie by defacing it, than to suffer the harte of so honest a
personage by meanes thereof wickedly to be inflamed, shee tooke
vp a stone which was within the Chappell, and gaue her selfe so
great a blowe on the face that her mouthe, eyes and nose, were
altogether deformed: and to thintent no man might suspect what
she had done, when the Countesse sent for her in going out of
the Chappell, she fell downe vppon a great stone, and
therewithall cried out so loude, as the Countesse came in and
founde her in pitious state, who incontinently dressing her
face, and binding it vp with clothes, conueyed her into her
chamber, and prayed her to goe into her closet to entertaigne
Amadour, tyll she were weary of his companie: whiche she did,
thinking that there had bene somebody with hym: but finding him
alone, and the doore shut vpon her, Amadour was not so well
pleased as she was discontented: who nowe thoughte eyther with
loue or force to get that, whiche hee had so long tyme desyred:
and after he had spoken a fewe woordes vnto her, and found her
in that mynde hee lefte her, and that to dye for it shee woulde
not chaunge her opinion, desperatly he sayde vnto her: "By God
madame, the fruite of my labour shall not be thus taken from me
for scruples and doubtes: and sithe that Loue, pacience, and
humble desires, cannot preuayle, I will not spare by force to
get that, which except I haue it will be the meanes of mine
overthrowe." When Florinda sawe his face and eyes so altered,
and that the fairest die and colour of the world, was become so
red as fier, with his most pleasaunt and amiable loke
transformed into horrible hew and furious, and therewithall
discried the very hote burning fier, to sparkle within his harte
and face: and how in that fury with one of his strong fistes he
griped her delicate and tender hands: and on the other side shee
seeing all her defences to fayle her, and that her feete and
handes were caught in suche captiuitie as she could neither run
away nor yet defend her selfe: knewe none other remedie, but to
proue if he had yet remaining in him any griftes of the former
loue, that for the honour therof he might forget his crueltie.
Wherefore she sayd vnto him: "Amadour, if now you doe accompt me
for an enemy, I besech you for the honestie of the loue which at
other times I haue found planted in your harte, to geue me leaue
to speake before you doe torment me." And when shee saw him
recline his eare, she pursued her talk in this wyse: "Alas,
Amadour, what cause haue you to seke after the thing wherof you
shall receiue no contentation, inflicting vppon me such
displeasure as there can be no greater? you haue many times
proued my wil and affection in the time of my youthfull dayes,
and of my beautie farre more excellent than it is now, at what
tyme your passion might better be borne with and excused, than
nowe: in such wyse as I am nowe amased to see that you haue the
harte to torment me at that age and great debilitie wherewith I
am affected: I am assured that you doubt not but that my wyl and
mind is such as it was wont to be: wherefore you can not obtayne
your demaunde but by force: and if you sawe howe my face is
arrayed, you would forget the pleasure whiche once you conceiued
in me, and by no meanes would forcibly approche nere vnto me:
and if there be lefte in you yet any remnantes of loue, it is
impossible but that pitie may vanquishe your furie: and to that
pitie and honestie whereof once I had experience in you, I do
make my plaint, and of the same I do demaund grace and pardon,
to thintent that according to theffect of your wonted perswasion
and good aduise you may suffer me to liue in that peace and
honestie, which I haue determined and vowed during life: and if
the loue which you haue borne me be conuerted into hatred, and
that more for reuengement than affection, you doe purpose to
make me the moste unhappy of the world, I assure you, you shall
not be able to bryng your intent to passe, besides that you
shall constrayne me against my determination, to vtter and
reueale your villany and disordinate appetite towardes her which
did repose in you an incredible affiance: by discouering
whereof, thinke verely that your lyfe cannot continue without
perill." Amadour breaking her talke sayde vnto her: "If I die
for it, I will presently be acquieted of my torment: but the
deformitie of your face (whiche I thinke was done by you of set
purpose) shall not let me to accomplishe my will: for since I
can get nothing of you but the bones and carcase, I will holde
them so fast as I can." And when Florinda sawe that prayers,
reason, nor teares could not auayle, but that with crueltie he
woulde nedes followe his villanous desire, which she had
hetherto still auoided by force of resistence, she did helpe her
selfe so long, till she feared the losse of her breath, and with
a heauy and piteous voice she called her mother so loud as shee
could crie, who hearing her daughter crie and cal with rufull
voyce, began greatly to feare the thing that was true: wherfore
she ran so fast as she could into the warderobe. Amadour not
being so nere death as he saide he was, left of his holde in
suche good time, as the Ladye opening her closet, founde him at
the dore, and Florinda farre enough from him. The Countesse
demaunded of him, saying: "Amadour what is the matter? tell me
the truthe." Who like one that was neuer vnprouided of excuse,
with his pale face and wanne, and his breath almoste spent,
sayde vnto her: "Alas, madame, in what plight is my lady
Florinda? I was neuer in all my life in that amase wherin I am
now: for as I sayd vnto you, I had thought that I had inioyed
part of her good will, but nowe I know right well that I haue
none at all: I thinke madame, that sithe the time she was
brought vp with you, shee was neuer lesse wise and vertuous than
shee is nowe, but farre more daungerous and squeimishe in
speaking and talking then behoueth, and euen nowe I would haue
loked vpon her, but she would not suffer me: and when I viewed
her countenaunce, thinking that it had bene some dreame or
vision, I desired to kisse her hande, according to the fashion
of the countrey, which shee vtterly refused. True it is Madame,
I haue offended her, wherof I craue pardon of you, but it
chaunced only for that I toke her by the hand, which I did in a
maner by force, and kissed the same demaunding of her no other
pleasure: but she like one (as I suppose) that hath sworne my
death, made an outcry for you (as you haue hearde) for what
cause I know not, except that shee were afraide I would haue
forced some other thing: notwithstanding Madame, whatsoeuer the
matter be, I protest vnto you the wrong is myne, and albeit that
she ought to loue al your honest seruaunts, yet fortune so
willeth as I alone, the moste affectioned of them all, is
clerely exempt out of her fauour: and yet I purpose still to
continue towardes you and her, the same man I came hither,
beseching the continuance of your good grace and fauour, sithens
that without desert I haue loste hers." The Countesse which
partely beleued, and partelye mistrusted his talke, went vnto
her daughter, and demaunded wherfore she cried out so loud.
Florinda answered that she was afrayde: and albeit the Countesse
subtilly asked her of many things, yet Florinda would neuer make
other answere, for that hauing escaped the handes of her enemy,
she thought it punishement enough for him to lose his labour:
after that the Countesse had of long tyme communed with Amadour,
she lefte him yet once againe to enter in talke with Florinda
before her, to see what countenaunce shee would make him. To
whom he spake fewe wordes except they were thankes for that she
had not confessed the truthe to her mother, praying her at least
wise that seing he was dispossessed out of her hart, she would
suffer none other to receiue his place: but she answering his
former talke, saide: "If I had had any other meanes to defend my
selfe from you than by crying out, she should neuer haue heard
me, and of me you shall neuer heare worse, except you doe
constrayne me as you haue done, and for louing any other man,
you shall not neede to feare: for sithe I haue not found in your
harte (which I estemed the most vertuous in all the world) the
good successe that I desired, I wyll neuer beleue hereafter that
vertue is planted in any man. And this outrage shall make me
free from all passions that Loue can force." And in saying so
she tooke her leaue. The mother which behelde her countenaunce,
could suspecte nothing, and after that tyme, shee was persuaded
that her daughter bare no more affection to Amadour, and thought
assuredly that she was voyde of reason, because she hated al
those things which she was wont to loue: and from that time
forth there was such warre betwene the mother and the daughter,
as the mother for the space of VII. yeares would not speake vnto
her, except it were in anger: which she did at the request of
Amadour: during which time, Florinda conuerted the misliking of
her husband, into mere and constant loue, to auoyde the rigour
and checkes of her mother: howbeit, seing that nothing could
preuayle, she purposed to beguile Amadour, and leauing for a day
or two her straunge countenance towards him, she counselled
Amadour to loue a woman, whiche as she sayd, did commonly
dispute and talke of their loue. This lady dwelt with the Queene
of Spaine, and was called Lorette, who was very ioyfull and glad
to get such a seruant: and Florinda founde meanes to cause a
brute of this newe loue to be spred in euery place, and
specially the Countesse of Arande (being at the Court) perceiued
the same, who afterwards was not so displeased with Florinda, as
she was wont to be: Florinda vpon a tyme heard tel that a
Captain the husband of Loret, began to be ialous ouer his wife,
determining by some meanes or other, he cared not howe, to kill
Amadour. Florinda notwithstanding her dissembled countenance,
could not suffer any hurt to be done to Amadour, and therefore
incontinently gaue him aduertisement thereof: but he retourning
againe to his former follies, answered, that if it would please
her to intertaigne him euery day three houres, he would neuer
speake againe to Lorette, whereunto by no meanes shee would
consent. Then Amadour saide vnto her: "If you will not haue me
to liue, wherefore go ye about to defend me from death? except
ye purpose to torment me aliue with greater extremitie then a
thousand deathes can do: but for so much as death doth flie from
me, I will neuer leaue to seeke him out, by whose approche only
I shall haue rest." Whilest they were in these tearmes, newes
came that the kyng of Granado was about to enter into great
warres against the king of Spain: in suche wyse as the king sent
against hym the Prince his sonne, and with hym the constable of
Castile, and the Duke of Albe, twoo auncient and sage Lordes.
The duke of Cardonne and the counte of Arande not willing to
tarie behinde, besought the kyng to geue eyther of them a
charge: whiche hee did according to the dignitie of their
houses, appointing Amadour to be their guide: who during that
warre, did sutche valiaunt factes as they seemed rather to be
desperately than hardily enterprysed: and to come to the effect
of this discourse, his great valiaunce was tryed euen to the
death: for the Moores making a bragge as though they would geue
battayle, when they sawe the army of the Christians,
counterfaited a retire, whome the Spaniardes pursued, but the
olde Constable and the duke of Albe doubting their pollicie,
stood still, against the will of the Prince of Spaine, not
suffering him to passe ouer the Ryuer, but the counte of Arande
and the Duke of Cardonne, (although they were countremanded) did
followe the chase, and when the Moores sawe that they were
pursued with so small a number, they returned, and at one
recountrie kylled the Duke of Cardonne, and the Counte of Arande
was so sore hurte as hee was lefte for dead in the place.
Amadour arriuing vpon this ouerthrowe, inuaded the battayle of
the Moores with sutche rage and furie, as hee rescued the twoo
bodyes of the Duke and Countie, and caused them to be conueyed
to the Prince's campe, who so lamented their chaunce, as if they
had bene his owne brethren: but in searching their woundes, the
Countie of Arande was founde to be aliue, and was sent home to
his own house in a horselitter, where of long time he was sicke,
and likewise was conueied to Cardonne the dead bodie of the yong
Duke. Amadour in rescuing those two bodies, tooke so little
heede to him selfe, as he was inclosed with a great number of
the Moores, and because he would bee no more taken, as well to
verifie his faith towardes God, as also his vowe made to his
Lady, and also considering that if he were prysoner to the kyng
of Granado, either hee should cruelly be put to death, or els
forced to renounce his faith, he determined not to make his
death or taking glorious to his enemies: wherefore kissing the
crosse of his sworde, and rendring his body and soule to the
handes of almighty God, he stabbed him selfe into the body with
sutche a blow, as there neded no second wound to rid him of his
life: in this sorte died poore Amadour, so muche lamented as his
vertues did deserue. The newes hereof was bruted throughout
Spaine, and came to Florinda who then was at Barselone, where
her husbande in his life tyme ordeined the place of his buriall:
and after shee had done his honourable obsequies, without making
her own mother, or mother in law priuie, she surrendred her
selfe into the monasterie of Iesus, there to liue a religious
life, receiuing him for her husband and friende, whiche had
deliuered her from the vehement loue of Amadour, and from a
displeasaunt life so great and vnquiet as was the company of her
husband. In this wise she conuerted all her affections, to
pietie and the perfit loue of God, who after she had long time
liued a religious life, shee yelded vp her soule in such ioye as
the Bridegrom doth when he goeth to visite his spowes.
THE FIFTY-FOURTH NOUELL.
_The incontinencie of a duke and of his impudencie to attaine his
purpose, with the iust punishement which he receiued for the same._
In the Citie of Florence (the chiefest of all Thuscane) there
was a Duke that maried the Lady Margaret the bastarde daughter
of the Emperour Charles the fift. And bicause shee was very
young, it was not lawfull for him to lye with her, but taryng
till she was of riper yeres, he interteigned an vsed her like a
noble gentleman. And who to spare his wife, was amorous of
certaine other Gentlewomen of the citie. Amonges whom he was in
loue with a very fayre and wyse Gentlewoman, that was sister to
a Gentleman, a seruaunt of his, whome the Duke loued so well as
himselfe, to whome he gaue so muche authoritie in his house, as
his word was so wel obeied and feared as the Duke's him self,
and there was no secrete thing in the Duke's minde, but he
declared the same vnto him, who might ful wel haue bene called a
second himself. The duke seing his sister to be a woman of great
honestie, had no wayes or meanes to vtter vnto her the loue that
he bare her (after he had inuented all occasions possible) at
length he came to this Gentleman which he loued so well, and
said vnto him: "My friend, if there were any thing in all the
world, wherein I were able to pleasure thee, and woulde not doe
it at thy request, I should be afraid to say my fantasie, and
much ashamed to craue your help and assistance: but the loue is
such which I bare thee, as if I had a wife, mother, or daughter,
that were able to saue thy life, I would rather imploy them,
than to suffer thee to die in torment: and if thou doe beare
vnto me that affection which am thy maister, thinke verely that
I doe beare vnto thee the like. Wherefore I will disclose vnto
thee suche a secrete and priuie matter, as the silence thereof
hath brought me into sutche plight as thou seest, whereof I doe
loke for none amendement but by death or by the seruice whiche
thou maiest doe me, in a certayne matter which I purpose to tell
thee." The Gentleman hearing the reasons of his maister, and
seing his face not fayned, but all besprent with teares, tooke
great compassion vpon him and sayd: "My Lorde, I am your humble
seruaunt: all the goodes and worship that I haue doth come from
you. You may saye vnto me as to your moste approued frende.
Assure your self, that all which resteth in my power and
abilitie, is already at your commaundement." Then the Duke began
to tell him of the loue that hee bare vnto his sister, which was
of sutche force, as if by his meanes he did not enioye her, his
life could not long continue. For he saide, that he knew right
well that intreatie and presentes were with her of no regard.
Wherfore he praied him, that if he loued his life, so well as he
did his, to finde meanes for him to receiue that benefite, which
without him he was in despaire neuer to recouer. The brother
which loued his sister and honor of his kindred, more than the
Duke's pleasure, made a certain reuerence vnto him, humbly
beseeching him to vse his trauaill and pain in all other causes
sauing in that, bicause it was a sute so slaunderous and
infamous, as it would purchase dishonor to his whole familie,
adding further, that neither his hart nor his honor could serue
him, to consent to do that seruice. The Duke inflamed with
vnspeakeable furie, put his finger betwene his teeth, and biting
of the nayle, said unto him in great rage: "Well then sithe I
finde in thee no frendship, I know what I haue to doe." The
Gentleman knowing the crueltie of his Maister, being sore
afraide, replied: "My Lorde, for so much as your desire is
vehement and earnest, I will speake vnto her and brynge you
aunswere of her mynde." And as he was departing, the Duke sayde
vnto him: "See that thou tender my life as thou wylt that I
shall doe thyne." The Gentleman vnderstanding well what that
woorde did meane, absented him selfe a day or twaine to aduise
what were best to be done. And amonges diuers his cogitations,
there came to his remembraunce the bounden dutie which he dyd
owe to his Maister, and the goodes and honours which he had
receyued at his handes, on the other syde, hee considered the
honour of his house, the good life and chastitie of his syster,
who (he knewe well) would neuer consent to that wickednesse, if
by subtiltie shee were not surprised, or otherwyse forced, and
that it were a thing very straunge and rare, that he should goe
about to defame hymselfe and the whole stocke of his progenie.
Wherefore hee concluded, that better it were for hym to die,
than to commit a mischief so great vnto his sister, whiche was
one of the honestest women in all Italie. And therewithall
considered how he might deliuer his countrie from sutch a
tyrant, which by force would blemishe and spot the whole race of
his auncient stock and familie. For he knew right wel that
except the duke were taken away, the life of him and his
affinitie could not be in securitie and safegarde: wherfore
without motion made to his sister of that matter, he deuised how
to saue his life and the reproche that should follow. Vpon the
second daye he came vnto the duke, and tolde hym in what sorte
he had practised with his sister, and that although the same in
the beginning was harde and difficult, yet in the ende he made
her to consent, vpon condicion that hee would keepe the same so
secrete as none but hymselfe and he myght knowe of it. The duke
desirous and glad of those newes, dyd sone belieue hym, and
imbracing the messanger, promised to geue him whatsoeuer he
would demaunde, praying hym with all speede that hee might
inioye his desyred purpose. Whereupon they appointed a tyme: and
to demaunde whether the duke were glad and ioyfull of the same,
it were superfluous. And when the desired night was come, wherin
he hoped to haue the victorie of her whom he thought inuincible,
he and the gentleman alone withdrewe themselues together, not
forgetting his perfumed coif and swete shirte wrought and
trimmed after the best maner. And when eche wight was gone to
bed, both they repayred to the appointed lodging of his Lady,
where being arriued they founde a chamber in decent and comly
order. The gentleman taking of the Duke's night gowne, placed
hym in the bedde, and sayde vnto hym: "My Lorde, I wil nowe goe
seeke her, which can not enter into this chamber without
blushing, howbeit I truste before to morrowe morning she wyll be
very glad of you." Which done, he left the Duke, and went into
his own chamber, where he founde one of his seruantes alone, to
whome he sayde: "Hast thou the harte to followe me into a place
where I shall be reuenged vpon the greatest enemie that I haue
in the worlde?" "Yea sir," aunswered his man. Whereupon the
Gentleman toke him with him so sodainly, as he had no leasure to
arme him selfe with other weapon but with his onely dagger. And
when the Duke heard him come againe, thinking he had brought her
with hym that he loued so derely, hee drewe the curteine, and
opened his eyes to behold and receiue that ioye which he had so
long loked for, but in place of seeing her which he hoped should
be the conseruation of his life, he sawe the acceleration of his
death, which was a naked sworde that the Gentleman had drawen,
who therwithall did strike the Duke, which was in his shirte
voyde of weapon, although well armed with courage, and sitting
vp in his bedde grasped the Gentleman about the body, and sayde:
"Is this thy promise whiche thou hast kept?" And seeing that he
had no other weapon but his teeth and nayles, he bitte the
gentleman in the arme, and by force of his owne strengthe he so
defended himselfe, as they bothe fell downe into the flower. The
gentleman fearing the match, called for hys manne, who finding
the Duke and his maister fast together, that he wyst not whether
to take, he drewe them both by the feete into the middest of the
chamber, and with his dagger assayde to cut the Duke's throte.
The duke who defended himselfe, till suche time as the losse of
his bloud made him so weake and feeble that he was not able to
contende any longer. Then the Gentleman and his man laide him
againe into his bed, where they accomplished the effect of that
murther. Afterwardes drawing the curteine, they departed and
locked the dead body in the chamber. And when he saw that he had
gotten the vicctorie of his enemy, by whose death he thought to
set at libertie the common wealth, he supposed his facte to be
vnperfect if he did not the like to fiue or sixe of them which
were nerest to the Duke, and best beloued of him. And to attaine
the perfection of that enterpryse, he bad his man to doe the
like vnto them one after another, that hee had done to the Duke.
But the seruaunt being nothing hardie or coragious, said vnto
his maister: "Me thinke, sir, that for this time ye haue done
enough, and that it were better for you now to deuise waye howe
to saue your owne life, than to seeke meanes to murder any more.
For if we do consume so long space of time to kill euery of
them, as we haue done in murdering of the Duke, the day light
will discouer our enterprise before we haue made an ende, yea
although wee finde them naked and without defence." The
gentleman whose euill conscience made him fearfull, did beleue
his seruaunt, and taking him alone with him, went to the bishop
that had in charge the gates of the citie, and the vse of the
Postes, to whom he sayd: "This euening (my Lord) newes came vnto
me that mine owne brother lieth at the point of death, and
crauing licence of the Duke to goe se him he hath giuen me
leaue. Wherefore I beseche you commaunde the Postes to deliuer
me two good horse, and that you will sende worde to the porter
that the gates may be opened." The bishop which estemed no lesse
his request than the commaundement of the Duke his maister,
incontinently gaue him a billet, by vertue wherof both the gates
were opened, and the horse made ready according to his demaunde.
And vnder colour and pretence of visiting his brother, he rode
to Venice, where after he had cured himselfe of the duke's
bitinges fastened in his fleshe, he trauailed into Turkey. In
the morning the duke's seruauntes seing the time so late before
their maister retourned, suspected that he was gone forth in
visiting of some Ladye, but when they sawe he taried so long,
they began to seke for him in euery place. The poore Duchesse
into whose harte the loue of her husbande strongly did inuade,
vnderstanding that he could not be founde, was very pensife and
sorowfull. But when the Gentleman which he so dearely loued, was
not likewyse seene abroade, searche was made in his chamber,
where finding bloud at the chamber dore, they entred in, but no
man was there to tell them any newes, and following the tract of
the bloud the poore seruantes of the Duke went to the chamber
dore, where he was, which dore they found fast locked, who
incontinently brake open the same: and seing the place all
bloudy, drew the curteine, and found the wretched carcasse of
the Duke lying in the bedde, sleeping his endlesse sleepe. The
sorrow and lamentation made by the duke's seruauntes, carying
the dead bodye into his palace, is easie to be coniectured.
Wherof when the Bishop was aduertised, he repaired thether, and
tolde how the Gentleman was gone awaye in the night in great
haste, vnder pretence to goe to see his brother: whereupon it
was euidently knowen that it was he that had committed the
murder. And it was proued that his poore sister was neuer priuie
to the facte, who although she was astonned with the sodaynes of
the deede, yet her loue towardes her brother was farre more
increased, bicause he had deliuered her from a Prince so cruell,
the enemy of her honestie: for doing whereof he did not sticke
to hazard his owne life. Whereupon she perseuered more and more
in vertue, and although she was poore, by reason her house was
confiscate, yet both her sister and shee matched with so honest
and riche husbandes as were to be founde in Italie: and
afterwardes they both liued in good and great reputation.
THE FIFTY-FIFTH NOUELL.
_One of the Frenche kinge's called Frauncis the firste of that name,
declared his gentle nature to Counte Guillaume, that would haue
killed him._
In Digeon a town of Burgundie, there came to the seruice of king
Frauncis, (whiche was father to Henry the second of that name,
whiche Henry was kylled by Mounsier Mongomerie, in a triumphe at
the Tilt, and graundfather to Charles the IX. that now raigneth
in Fraunce) an Earle of Allemaigne called Guillaume, of the
house of Saxon, whereunto the house of Sauoie is so greatly
allied, as in old time they were but one. This Counte for so
much as he was estemed to be so comely and hardy a Gentleman as
any was in Almaigne, was in sutche good fauour with the king, as
he tooke him not onely into seruice, but vsed him so nere his
persone, as he made him of his priuy chamber. Vpon a day the
Gouernour of Burgundie, the Lorde Trimouille (an auncient knight
and loyall seruaunt of the kyng) like one suspicious and
fearfull of the euill and hurte of his Maister, had daylie
espies ouer his enemies, vsing his affaires so wysely,
as very fewe thinges were concealed from hym. Among other
aduertisementes, one of his friendes wrote vnto him that the
Counte Guillaume had receiued certain sommes of money, with
promise of more, if by any meanes he could deuise which waye to
kill the king. The Lorde of Trimouile hearing of this, failed
not to come to the kyng to giue him knowledge thereof, and
disclosed it lykewyse to Madame Loyse of Sauoye his mother, who
forgetting her amitie and aliaunce with the Almaigne Earle,
besought the king forthwith to put hym awaye. The kyng prayed
his mother to speake no more thereof, and sayde, that it was
impossible that so honest a Gentleman would attempt to doe a
deede so wicked. Within a while after, there came other newes of
that matter, confirming the first: whereof the Gouernour for the
intire loue he bare to his Maister, craued licence either to
expel him the countrie, or to put him in warde. But the king
gaue speciall commaundement that he should not make any
semblaunce of displeasure, for that hee purposed by some other
meanes to knowe the truthe. Vpon a time when he went a hunting
he girded about him the best sworde that hee had, to serue for
all armes and assayes, and toke with him the Counte Guillaume,
whome he commaunded to wayte vpon him, the firste and chiefest
next his owne persone. And after he had followed the hart a
certayne tyme, the kyng seing that his traynes was farre from
hym, and no man neare him sauing the Counte, tourned hym selfe
rounde about, and when hee sawe that hee was alone, in the mydde
of the forest, hee drew out his sworde, and sayd to the Counte:
"How saye you, (sir counte) is not this a fayre and good
swoorde?" The counte feling it at the point, and well viewyng
the same, aunswered that he neuer sawe a better in all his life.
"You haue reason," sayde the kyng, "and I beleue that if a
Gentleman were determined to kyll mee, and did knowe the force
of myne armes, and the goodnesse of myne harte accompanied with
this sword, he would bee twyse well aduised before hee attempted
that enterprise. Notwithstanding I would accompt him but a
cowarde, wee being alone withoute witnesses, if he did not
attempt that, which he were disposed to do." The Counte
Guillaume with bashfull and astonned countenaunce aunsweared:
"Sir, the wickednesse of the enterprise were very great, but the
folly in the execution were no lesse." The king with those
wordes fell in a laughter, and put the sword in the skaberd
againe: and hearing that the chase drewe neare him, he made to
the same so faste as he coulde. When he was come thether, he
said nothing of that which had passed betweene theim, and
verelye thoughte that the Counte Guillaume although that he was
a stronge and stoute gentleman, yet he was no man to do so great
an enterprise. But the Counte Guillaume, fearing to be bewrayed
or suspected of the fact, next day morning repayred to Robertet
the Secretarie of the kinge's reuenues, and saide that hee had
well wayed the giftes and annuities which the kinge would giue
him to tarrie, but he perceiued that they were not sufficient to
interteigne him for halfe a yeare, and that if it pleased not
the king to double the same, hee should be forced to departe,
praying the sayde Robertet to know his grace's pleasure so sone
as he coulde, who sayd vnto him, that he himselfe could without
further commission disbursse no more vnto him, but gladly
without further delay he would repaire to the king: which he did
more willingly, because he had seene the aduertisements of the
Gouernor aforesaid. And so sone as the kinge was awake, he
declared the matter vnto him in the presence of Monsier
Trimouille and Monsier Bouinet, lord admirall, who were vtterly
ignorant of that which the king had done. To whom the kinge
said: "Loe, ye haue bene miscontented for that I would not put
away the Counte Guillaume, but now ye see he putteth away
himselfe. Wherefore Robertet (quoth the king) tell him, that if
he be not content with the state which he receiued at his first
entrie into my seruice, whereof many gentlemen of good houses
would thinke themselues happie, it is meete that he seeke his
better fortune, and tell him that I would be lothe to hinder
him, but wilbe very well contented, that he seeke where he may
liue better, accordingly as he deserueth." Robertet was so
diligent to beare this aunsweare to the Counte, as he was to
present his sute to the kinge. The counte said that with his
licence he would gladly go forthwith: and as one whom feare
forced to depart, he was not able to beare his abode 24 houres.
And as the king was sitting downe to dinner, fayning to be sorye
for his departure, but that necessitie compelled him to lose his
presence, hee toke his leaue. He went likewise to take leaue of
the king's mother, which she gaue him with so great ioy, as she
did receiue him, being her nere kinsman and freind. Then he went
into his countrie: and the king seing his mother and seruantes
astonned at his sodaine departure, declared vnto them the Al
Arme, which he had giuen him, saying, that although he was
innocent of the matter suspected, soe was his feare greate
ynoughe, to departe from a maister wyth whose condicions
hitherto he was not acquainted.
THE FIFTY-SIXTH NOUELL.
_A pleasaunt discours of a great Lord to enioy a Gentlewoman of
Pampelunæ._
There was in the time of king Lewes the XII. of that name,
a young Lord, called the lorde of Auannes sonne to the Lorde
Alebret, and brother to king John of Nauarre, with whom the said
Lord of Auannes ordinarely remayned. Now this yong Lorde was of
the age of XV. yeares, so comely a personage, and full of
curtesie and good behauiour, as he seemed to be created for none
other purpose, but to be beloued and regarded: and so he was in
deede of al those that did wel behold and note his commendable
grace and condicion, but chiefly of a woman, dwelling in the
citie of Pampelunæ in Nauarre, the wife of a rich man, with whom
she liued honestly: and although she was but 23 yeres of age,
and her husband very nere fiftie, yet her behauior was so
modest, as she seemed rather a widow than a maried wyfe, who
vsed not to frequent and haunte any mariages, banquets, or
common assemblies without the company of her husbande, the
vertue and goodnes of whom she so greatly esteemed, as she
preferred the same before the beautie of al others. The husband,
hauing experience of her wisedome, put such trust in her, as he
committed al thaffaires of his house to her discretion: vpon a
day this rich man with his wife, were inuited to a mariage of
one that was nere kinne vnto him: to which place (for the
greater honor of the mariage) repaired the yong Lord of Auannes,
who naturally was giuen to dauncing, and for his excellencie in
dauncing there was not his like to be found in his time: after
dinner when they prepared to daunce, the Lord of Auannes was
intreated thereunto by the rich man: the said lord asked him
with what gentlewoman hee should lead the daunce. He aunsweared
him: "My Lord if there were any one more beautifull, or more at
my commaundement then my wyfe, I would present her vnto you,
beseeching you to do mee so much honour as to take her by the
hande." Which the yong Lorde did, and by reason of his youthfull
courage he toke more pleasure in vaultinge and dauncinge, then
in beholding the beautie of the Ladies: and she whom he ledde by
the hand, contrarywyse regarded more the grace and beautie of
the said yong Lord, then the daunce wherin she was, albeit for
her great wisedome she made therof no semblance at al. When
supper time was come, the Lord of Auannes badde the companie
farewell and went home to the castle: whether the riche man
accompanied him vppon his moile: and riding homewards together,
hee saide vnto him: "My Lord, this day you haue done so great
honor vnto my kinsemen and mee, that it were great ingratitude
is I should not offer my selfe with all the goods I haue to do
you seruice: I knowe sir that such Lordes as you be which haue
nere and couetous fathers, many times do lacke money which we by
keeping of smal houshold, and vsing good husbandrie do heape and
gather together. Now thus it is sir, that God hauing giuen mee a
wife accordinge to my desire he would not in this world
altogether indue mee with heauenly pleasures, but hath left me
voyde of one ioy which is the ioye that fathers haue of
children. I know sir that it is not my dutie, and belongeth not
to my state to adopt you for such a one, but if it maye please
you to receiue mee for your seruaunt, and to declare vnto me
your small affaires, so farre as a hundred thousande Crownes
shall extende, I will not sticke to helpe your necessities." The
yong Lorde of Auannes was very ioyfull of this offer, for he had
suche a father as the other had described vnto him: and after he
had giuen him hartie thanckes, he called him his friendlye
father. From that time forth the sayd riche man conceiued such
loue in the yong Lord, as daily he ceased not to inquire of his
lacke and want, and hid not from his wyfe the deuocion which he
bare to the said Lorde of Auannes, for which she rendred vnto
him double thanckes. And after that time the said yong Lord
lacked not what he desired, and many times resorted to that rich
man's to drincke and eate with him, and finding him not at home,
his wyfe rewarded him with his demaunde: whoe admonished her by
wyse and discrete talke to be vertuous, because he feared and
loued her aboue all the women of the worlde. She which had God
and her honor before her eyes, was contente with his sight and
talke, wherin consisted the satisfaction of his honestie and
vertuous loue: in such wise as she neuer made any signe or
semblaunce, wherby he might thinke and iudge that shee had anye
affection vnto him, but that which was both brotherlie and
christian. During this couerte amitie, the Lord of Auannes
through the foresaid ayde, was very gorgious and trimme, and
approching the age of XVII. yeares, began to frequent the
company of Gentlewomen more then he was wont to do: and although
he had a more willing desire, to loue that wyse and discrete
dame aboue other, yet the feare which he had to lose her loue
(if shee misliked her sute) made him to hold his peace, and to
seeke els wher: and gaue himself to the loue of a Gentlewoman
dwelling hard by Pampelunæ, which had to husband a yong
gentleman, that aboue all thinges loued and delighted in dogges,
horsse, and Hawkes. This noble Gentleman began (for her sake) to
deuise a thousand pastimes, as Torneyes, running at the Tilt,
Mommeries, Maskes, feastes and other games, at all which this
yong dame was present: but because that her husband was very
fantasticall, and saw his wyfe to be faire and wanton, hee was
ialous of her honour, and kepte her in so straite, as the sayde
Lord of Auannes colde get nothing at her hands but words,
shortly spoken, in some daunce, albeit in litle time and lesse
speache, the sayde Lorde perceyued that there wanted nothing for
full perfection of their loue, but time and place: wherfore he
came to his new adopted father the rich man, and said vnto him
that he was minded with great deuocion to visite our Lady of
Montferrat, intreating him to suffer his houshoulde traine to
remaine with him, because he was disposed to go thither alone.
Whereunto he willingly agreed: but his wyfe whose hart the great
prophet loue had inspired, incontinently suspected the true
cause of that voyage, and cold not forbeare to saye vnto the
Lord of Auannes these woords: "My Lord, my Lorde, the pilgrimage
of the Lady whom you worshippe, is not farre without the walles
of the Citie, wherefore I beseech you aboue all thinges to haue
regarde vnto your health." Hee which feared her, and loued her,
blushed at her words, and without talke by his countenaunce he
seemde to confesse the trothe: whereupon he departed, and when
he had bought a couple of faire Genets of Spaine he clothed
himself like a horsekeeper and so disguised his face as no man
knew him. The Gentleman which had maried that fonde and wanton
gentlewoman, louinge aboue all thinges (as is sayde before)
fayre horses, espyed those two Genets which the lord of Auannes
did lead, and incontinently came to buy them: and after he had
bought them, hee beheld the horse-keeper which rode and handled
them passing well, and asked him if he were willing to serue
him: the Lord of Auannes answeared yea, and added further how he
was a poore horse-keeper vnskilfull of other science but of
keepinge of horse, which practize hee could do so well, as he
doubted not but he should content and please him: the Gentleman
very glad thereof, gaue him charge of all his horse, and called
forth his wyfe vnto him, vnto whom he recommended his horse and
horsekeper, and told her that he himself was disposed to go to
the castel: the gentlewoman so well to please her husband as for
her owne delight and pastime, wente to loke vpon her horse and
to behold her new horskeper, who seemed to be a man of good
bringing vp, notwithstanding she knewe him not. He seing that
she had no knowledge of him, came to do reuerence vnto her after
the maner of Spaine, and taking her by the hand kissed the same,
and by kissing of her hand, he disclosed himself so much as she
knew him: for in dauncing with her many times he vsed the like
curtesie: and then she ceased not to deuise place wher she might
speake to him a part: which she did the very same euening: for
being bidden to a feast wherunto her husband would faine haue
had her to go, she fayned herselfe to be sicke and not able: and
her husband loth to faile his frends request, said vnto her:
"For so much (my good wyfe) as you be not disposed to go with
me, I pray you to haue regard to my dogges and horse that they
may lack nothing." The Gentlewoman was very wel contented with
that comission: howbeit without chaung of countenance she made
him answere that sith in better things he would not imploie her,
she would not refuse the least, to satisfie his desire: and her
husband was no soner out of the gates, but she went down into
the stable, where she founde faulte wyth diuers things: for
prouision whereof she committed such seueral busines to her men
on euery side, that shee remayned alone with the master
horskeper: and for feare least any should come vpon them
vnwares, she said vnto him: "Go into my garden and tarie my
comming in the litle house at the ende of the alley." Which he
did so diligently as hee had no leasure to thancke her, and
after that she had giuen order to the yeomen of the stable, shee
went to see the dogges, counterfaiting like care and diligence
to haue them wel intreated: in such wise as she seemed rather a
mayde of the chamber then a maistresse of the house: which done
shee returned into her chamber, where she made her self to be so
werie, as she went to bed, saying that she was disposed to
sleepe. All her women left her alone except one in whom she
reposed her greatest trust, and vnto whom she said: "Go downe
into the garden, and cause him whom you shall finde at the end
of the alley, to come hither." The mayde wente downe and founde
the Maister horskeeper there, whom forthwith shee brought vnto
her maistresse: and then the gentlewoman caused her mayd to go
forth to watch when her husbande came home. The lord of Auannes
seing that he was alone with his maistres, put of his
horsekeeper's apparrel, plucked from his face his false nose and
beard, and not as a feareful horsekeeper, but like such a Lord
as he was, without asking leaue of the Gentlewoman, boldly laied
him downe beside her: where hee was of that foolishe woman
receiued so ioyfully, as his estate and goodly personage did
require, continuing with her vntil the retorne of her husband:
at whose comming putting vpon him againe his counterfaite
attire, left the pleasure which by policie and malice he had
vsurped. The gentleman when hee was within, hearde tell of the
dilligence which his wife had vsed vppon his commaundemente, and
thanked her very hartelie. "Husband (said the gentlewoman) I do
but my dutie, and do assure you that if there be no ouerseer to
checke and commaunde your negligent seruaunts, you shal haue
neyther dogge nor horse well kept and ordred: forasmuche as I
knowe their slouth, and your good wil, you shalbe better serued
then you haue bin heretofore." The gentleman who thought that he
had gotten the best horsekeeper of the worlde, asked her how she
liked him. "I assure you sir (quoth she) he doth his busines so
well as any seruaunt, howbeit he had neede to be called vppon,
for you know seruaunts in these dayes without an ouerseer, wilbe
be slow and carelesse." Thus of long time continued the husbande
and wyfe in greater amitie and loue then before, and gaue ouer
all the suspicion and ialousie which hee had conceyued, because
before time his wyfe louinge feastes, daunces and companies, was
become intentife and diligente about her household: and
perceiued that now many times she was contented in homely
garmentes to go vp and downe the house wher before she was
accustomed to be 4 houres in trimming of herselfe: whereof shee
was commended of her husbande, and of euery man that knew not
how the greater deuill had chased awaye the lesse. Thus liued
this yonge dame vnder the hypocrisie and habite of an honest
woman, in suche fleshlye pleasure as reason, conscience, order
and measure, had no longer resting place in her: which insaciat
lust the yong Lord of delicate complexion was no longer able to
susteine, but began to waxe so pale and feeble, as he needed no
visarde for disfiguring of himselfe. Notwithstanding the folish
loue which he bare to that woman so dulled his sence, as he
presumed vppon that force which fayled in the monstruous giant
Hercules, whereby in the ende constrayned with sicknes and
councelled by his maistresse, which loued not the sicke so well
as the hole, demaunded leaue of his maister to go home to his
frends: who to his great griefe graunted him the same: and
caused him to make promise that when he was recouered hee should
returne againe to his seruice. Thus went the Lord of Auannes on
foote away from his maister, for he had not paste the lenght of
one streate to trauaile. And when he was come to the rich man's
house his new father, he found none at home but his wyfe, whose
vertuous loue shee bare him was nothing diminished for al his
voyage: but when she saw him so leane and pale, she could not
forbeare to say vnto him: "Sir, I knowe not in what staye your
conscience is, but your body is litle amended by this
pilgrimage, and I am in doubte that the way wherein you
traueiled in the night, did wearie and paine you more, then that
vppon the daye: for if you had gone to Hierusalem on foote, you
mighte perhappes haue returned more Sunne burned, but more leane
and weake it had bin impossible. Now make accompt of your
pilgrimage here, and serue no more such Sainctes, for in place
of raysinge the deade from life, they do to death those that be
on liue: moreouer I shall saye vnto you, that if your bodye were
neuer so sinfull, I see well it hath suffred such penaunce, as I
haue pitie to renewe anye former payne." When the Lorde of
Auannes had hearde all her talke he was no lesse angrie with
himselfe then ashamed, and saide vnto her: "Madame, I haue
sometimes heard tell that repentaunce insueth sinne, and now I
haue proued the same to my cost, praying you to excuse my youth
that could not be corrected but by experience of that euill,
which before it would not beleeue." The Gentlewoman chaunging
her talke, caused him to lye downe vppon a fayre bedde, where he
lay the space of XV. dayes, feedinge onely vppon restoratiues:
and the husband and wyfe kept him so good companye, as one of
theim neuer departed from him: and albeit that he had committed
those follies, (suche as you haue heard) against the minde and
aduise of that wyse and discrete dame, yet shee neuer diminished
the vertuous loue which shee bare him, for shee still hoped that
after he had spent his yonger dayes in youthly follies, he would
retire at length when age and experience should force him to vse
honest loue, and by that meanes would be altogether her owne.
And during those fifteene dayes that he was cherished in her
house, she vsed vnto him womanly and commendable talke, onely
tending to the loue of vertue, which caryed such effect as he
began to abhorre the follie that he committed: and beholding the
gentlewoman which in beautie passed the other wanton, with whom
he had delt before, he imprinted in minde more and more the
graces and vertues that were in her, and was not able to keepe
in harte the secrete conceipt of the same, but abandoning all
feare, he sayd vnto her: "Madame, I see no better means, to be
such one, and so vertuous as you by wordes desire me for to be,
but to settle my harte, and giue my selfe to be holie in loue
with vertue, and the qualities therunto appertinent. I humblie
beseech you therfore (good madame) to tel me if your selfe wil
not vouchsafe to giue me al your ayde and fauor that you
possiblie can, for thobteyning of the same." The maistresse very
ioyful to heare him vse that language, made him aunswere: "And I
do promise you sir, that if you wilbe in loue with vertue as it
behoueth so noble a state as you be, I wil do you the seruice
that I can to bring you thereunto with such power and abilitie
as God hath planted in mee." "Well madame," saide the Lorde of
Auannes, "remember then your promise, and vnderstande that God
vnknowen of the Christian but by fayth, hath dayned to take
flesh, like to that our sinful which we beare about vs, to thend
that by drawing our flesh into the loue of his humanity, he may
draw also our minde to the loue of his diuiniti
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