When the King heard this reply, he knew well enough the occasion of

his Henne dinner, as also, what vertue lay couched under her answer;

perceiving apparantly, that wanton words would prove but in vaine,

and such a woman was not easily to be seduced; wherefore, as hee grew

enamored on her inconsiderately, so he found it best fitting for his

honour, to quench this heate with wisedome discreetely. And so, without

any more words, or further hope of speeding in so unkingly a purpose,

dinner being ended, by a sudden departing, he smoothly shadowed the

cause of his comming, and thanking her for the honour shee had done

him, commended her to her chaste disposition, and posted away with

speede to _Gennes_.

_An honest plaine meaning man, (simply and conscionably) reprehended

the malignity, hypocrisie, and misdemeanour of many Religious persons._

The sixt Novell.

_Declaring, that in few, discreete, and well placed words, the covered

craft of Church-men may be justly reproved, and their hypocrisie

honestly discovered._

Madam _Æmilia_ sitting next to the gentle Lady _Fiammetta_, perceiving

the modest chastisement, which the vertuous Lady Marquesse had given to

the King of _France_, was generally graced by the whole Assembly; began

(after the Queene had thereto appointed her) in these words. Nor will

I conceale the deserved reprehension, which an honest simple lay-man,

gave to a covetous holy Father, in very few words; yet more to be

commended, then derided.

Not long since (worthy Ladies) there dwelt in our owne native City, a

Friar Minor, an Inquisitor after matters of Faith, who, although he

laboured greatly to seeme a sanctified man, and an earnest affecter of

Christian Religion, (as all of them appeare to be in outward shew;)

yet he was a much better Inquisitor after them, that had their purses

plenteously stored with money, then of such as were slenderly grounded

in Faith. By which diligent continued care in him, he found out a

man, more rich in purse, then understanding; and yet not so defective

in matters of faith, as misguided by his owne simple speaking, and

(perhaps) when his braine was well warmed with wine, words fell more

foolishly from him, then in better judgement they could have done.

Being on a day in company, (very little differing in quality from

himselfe) he chanced to say; that he had beene at such good wine, as

God himselfe did never drinke better. Which words (by some Sicophant

then in presence) being carried to this curious Inquisitor, and he well

knowing, that the mans faculties were great, and his bagges swolne up

full with no meane abundance: _cum gladiis & fustibus_; With Booke,

Bell, and Candle, he raysed an hoast of execrations against him,

and the Sumner cited him with a solemne Processe to appeare before

him, understanding sufficiently, that this course would sooner fetch

money from him, then amend any misbeliefe in the man; for no further

reformation did he seeke after.

The man comming before him, he demanded, if the accusation intimated

against him, was true or no? Whereto the honest man answered, that he

could not denie the speaking of such words, and declared in what manner

they were uttered. Presently the Inquisitor, most devoutly addicted

to Saint _John_ with the golden beard, saide; What? Doest thou make

our Lord a drinker, and a curious quaffer of wines, as if he were a

glutton, belly-god, or a Taverne haunter, as thou, and other drunkards

are. Being an hypocrite, as thou art, thou thinkest this to be but

a light matter, because it may seeme so in thine owne opinion: but

I tell thee plainly, that it deserveth fire and faggot, if I should

proceede in Justice to inflict it on thee: with these, and other such

like threatning words, as also a very stearn and angry countenance, he

made the man believe himselfe to be an Epicure, and that hee denied

the eternity of the soule; whereby he fell into such a trembling

feare, as doubting indeed, least he should be burned, that, to be more

mercifully dealt withall, he rounded him in the eare, and (by secret

means) so annointed his hands with Saint _Johns_ golden grease, (a very

singular remedy against the disease pestilentiall in covetous Priests,

especially Friars Minors, that dare touch no money) as the case became

very quickly altered.

This soveraigne unction was of such vertue (though _Galen_ speakes

not a word thereof among all his chiefest medicines) and so farre

prevailed; that the terrible threatening words of fire and fagot,

became meerely frozen up, and gracious language blew a more gentle

and calmer ayre; the Inquisitor delivering him an hallowed Crucifixe,

creating him a Souldier of the Crosse (because he had payed Crosses

good store for it) and even as if he were to travell under that

Standard to the holy Land; so did hee appoint him a home-paying

pennance, namely, to visit him thrice every weeke in his Chamber, and

to annoint his hands with the selfe-same yellow unguent, and afterward,

to heare a Masse of the holy Crosse, visiting him also at dinner

time, which being ended, to doe nothing all the rest of the day, but

according as he directed him.

The simple man, yet not so simple, but seeing that this weekely

greasing the Inquisitors hands, would (in time) graspe away all his

gold; grew weary of this annointing, and beganne to consider with

himselfe, how to stay the course of this chargeable penance: And

comming one morning, (according to his injunction) to heare Masse, in

the Gospell he observed these wordes; _You shall receive an hundred for

one, and so possesse eternall life_; which saying he kept perfectly

in his memory, and, as hee was commanded, at dinner time, he came to

the Inquisitor, finding him (among his fellowes) seated at the Table.

The Inquisitor presently demanded of him, whether he had heard Masse

that morning, or no? Yes Sir, replied the man very readily. Hast

thou heard any thing therein (quoth the Inquisitor) whereof thou art

doubtfull, or desirest to be further informed? Surely Sir, answered

the plaine meaning man, I make no doubt of any thing I have heard, but

doe beleeve all constantly; onely one thing troubleth me much, and

maketh me very compassionate of you, and of all these holy Fathers your

brethren, perceiving in what wofull and wretched estate you will be,

when you shall come into another World. What words are these, quoth

the Inquisitor? And why art thou moved to such compassion of us? O

good Sir, saide the man, doe you remember the words in the Gospell

this morning? you shall receive an hundred for one. That is very true,

replied the Inquisitor, but what moveth thee to urge those words?

I will tell you Sir, answered the plaine fellow, so it might please you

to be not offended. Since the time of my resorting hither, I have daily

seene many poore people at your doore, and (out of your abundance)

when you and your brethren have fed sufficiently, every one hath had a

good messe of pottage: now Sir, if for every dishfull given, you are

sure to receive an hundred againe, you will all be meerely drowned in

pottage. Although the rest (sitting at the Table with the Inquisitor)

laughed heartily at this jest; yet he found himselfe toucht in another

nature, having (hypocritically) received for one poore offence, above

three hundred peeces of gold, and not a mite to be restored againe.

But fearing to be further disclosed, yet threatning him with another

Processe in Law, for abusing the words of the Gospell; he was content

to dismisse him for altogether, without any more golden greasing in the

hand.

_Bergamino, by telling a Tale of a skilfull man, named_ Primasso, _and

of an Abbot of Clugni; honestly checked a new kinde of covetousnesse,

in Master_ Can de la Scala.

The seaventh Novell.

_Approving, that it is much unfitting for a Prince, or great person, to

be covetous; but rather to be liberall to all men._

The curteous demeanour of Madam _Æmilia_, and the quaintnesse of her

discourse, caused both the Queene, and the rest of the company, to

commend the invention of carrying the Crosse, and the golden oyntment

appointed for pennance. Afterward, _Philostratus_, who was in order to

speake next, began in this manner.

It is a commendable thing (faire Ladies) to hit a But that never

stirreth out of his place: but it is a matter much more admirable,

to see a thing (suddenly appearing, and sildome or never frequented

before) to be as suddenly hit by an ordinary Archer. The vicious and

polluted lives of Priests, yeeldeth matter of it selfe in many things,

deserving speech and reprehension, as a true But of wickednesse, and

well worthy to be sharply shot at. And therefore, though that honest

meaning man did wisely, in touching Master Inquisitor to the quicke,

with the hypocriticall charity of Monkes and Friars, in giving such

things to the poore, as were more meete for swine, or to be worse

throwne away; yet I hold him more to be commended, who (by occasion

of a former tale, and which I purpose to relate) pleasantly reproved

Master _Can de la Scala_, a Magnifico and mightie Lord, for a sudden

and unaccustomed covetousnesse appearing in him, figuring by other men,

that which he intended to say of him, in manner following.

Master _Can de la Scala_, as fame ranne abroade of him in all places,

was (beyond the infinite favours of Fortune towards him) one of the

most notable and magnificent Lords that ever lived in _Italy_, since

the dayes of _Fredericke_ the second Emperour. He determining to

procure a very solemne assembly at _Verona_, and many people being met

there from divers places, especially Gentlemen of all degrees; suddenly

(upon what occasion I know not) his minde altered, and hee would not

goe forward with his intention. Most of them hee partly recompenced

which were come thither, and they dismissed to depart at their

pleasure, one onely man remained unrespected, or in any kinde sort sent

away, whose name was _Bergamino_, a man very pleasantly disposed, and

so wittily ready in speaking and answering, as none could easily credit

it, but such as heard him; and although his recompence seemed over long

delayed, yet hee made no doubt of a beneficiall ending.

By some enemies of his, Master _Can de la Scala_ was incensed, that

whatsoever he gave or bestowed on him; was as ill imployed and

utterly lost, as if it were throwne into the fire, and therefore he

neither did or spake any thing to him. Some fewe dayes being passed

over, and _Bergamino_ perceiving, that hee was neither called, nor

any account made of, notwithstanding many manly good parts in him;

observing beside, that hee found a shrewd consumption in his purse, his

Inne, horses, and servants being chargeable to him: he began to grow

extremely melancholly, and yet hee attended in expectation day by day,

as thinking it farre unfitting for him, to depart before he was bidden

farewell.

Having brought with him thither three goodly rich garments, which

had beene given him by sundry Lords, for his more sightly appearance

at this great meeting: the importunate Host being greedy of payment,

first he delivered him one of them, and yet not halfe the score being

wiped off, the second must needes follow, and beside, except he meant

to leave his lodging, hee must live upon the third so long as it would

last, till hee saw what end his hopes would sort to. It fortuned,

during the time of living thus upon his latest refuge, that he met

with Maister _Can_ one day at dinner, where he presented himselfe

before him, with a discontented countenance: which Master _Can_ well

observing, more to distaste him, then take delight in any thing that

could come from him, he said. _Bergamino_, how chearest thou? Thou

art very melancholly, I pray thee tell us why? _Bergamino_ suddenly,

without any premeditation, yet seeming as if he had long considered

thereon, reported this Tale.

Sir, I have heard of a certaine man, named _Primasso_, one skilfully

learned in the Grammar, and (beyond all other) a very witty and ready

versifier: in regard whereof, he was so much admired, and farre

renowned, that such as never saw him, but onely heard of him, could

easily say, this is _Primasso_. It came to passe, that being once at

_Paris_, in poore estate, as commonly hee could light on no better

fortune (because vertue is slenderly rewarded, by such as have the

greatest possessions) he heard much fame of the Abbot of _Clugni_, a

man reputed (next to the Pope) to be the richest Prelate of the Church.

Of him he heard wonderfull and magnificent matters, that he alwayes

kept an open and hospitable Court, and never made refusall of any

(from whence so ever hee came or went) but they did eate and drinke

freely there; provided, that they came when the Abbot was set at the

Table. _Primasso_ hearing this, and being an earnest desirer, to see

magnificent and vertuous men; he resolved to goe see this rare bounty

of the Abbot, demaunding how far he dwelt from _Paris_. Being answered,

about some three leagues thence; _Primasso_ made account, that if he

went on betimes in the morning, he should easily reach thither before

the houre for dinner.

Being instructed in the way, and not finding any to walke along with

him; fearing, if he went without some furnishment, and should stay

long there for his dinner, he might (perhaps) complaine of hunger: he

therefore caried three loaves of bread with him, knowing that he could

meete with water every where, albeit he used to drinke but little.

Having aptly convayed his bread about him, he went on his journey, and

arrived at the Lord Abbots Court, an indifferent while before dinner

time: wherefore, entring into the great Hall, and so from place to

place, beholding the great multitude of Tables, bountifull preparation

in the Kitchin, and what admirable provision there was for dinner; he

said to himselfe, Truly this man is more magnificent, then Fame hath

made him, because shee speakes too sparingly of him.

While thus he went about, considering on all these things, he saw

the Maister of the Abbots houshold (because then it was the houre of

dinner) commaund water to be brought for washing hands, and every one

sitting downe at the Table: it fell to the lot of _Primasso_, to sit

directly against the doore, whereat the Abbot must enter into the

Hall. The custome in this Court was such, that no foode should be

served to any, of the Tables, untill the Lord Abbot was himselfe first

sette: whereupon, every thing being fitte and readie, the Maister of

the houshold, went to tell his Lord, that nothing now wanted but his

presence onely.

The Abbot comming from his Chamber to enter the Hall, looking about

him, as hee was wont to doe; the first man hee saw was _Primasso_, who

being but in homely habite, and he having not seene him before to his

remembrance; a present bad conceite possessed his braine, that he never

saw an unworthier person, saying within himselfe: See how I give my

goods away to be devoured. So returning backe to his Chamber againe,

commaunded the doore to be made fast, demaunding of every man neere

about him, if they knew the base Knave that sate before his entrance

into the Hall, and all his servants answered no. _Primasso_ being

extreamely hungry, with travailing on foote so farre, and never used to

fast so long; expecting still when meate would be served in, and that

the Abbot came not at all: drew out one of his loaves which hee brought

with him, and very heartily fell to feeding.

My Lord Abbot, after he had stayed within an indifferent while, sent

forth one of his men, to see if the poore fellow was gone, or no. The

servant told him, that he still stayed there, and fed upon dry bread,

which it seemed he had brought thither with him. Let him feede on his

owne (replyed the Abbot) for he shall taste of none of mine this day.

Gladly wold the Abbot, that _Primasso_ should have gone thence of

himselfe, and yet held it scarsely honest in his Lordship, to dismisse

him by his owne command. _Primasso_ having eaten one of his Loaves, and

yet the Abbot was not come; began to feede upon the second: the Abbot

still sending to expect his absence, and answered as he was before.

At length, the Abbot not comming, and _Primasso_ having eaten up his

second loafe, hunger compeld him to begin with the third.

When these newes were carried to the Abbot, sodainly he brake forth and

saide. What new kinde of needy tricke hath my braine begotte this day?

Why do I grow disdainfull against any man whatsoever? I have long time

allowed my meate to be eaten by all commers that did please to visit

me, without exception against any person, Gentleman, Yeoman, poore or

rich, Marchant or Minstrill, honest man or knave, never refraining my

presence in the Hall, by basely contemning one poore man. Beleeve me,

covetousnesse of one mans meate, doth ill agree with mine estate and

calling. What though he appeareth a wretched fellow to mee? He may be

of greater merit then I can imagine, and deserve more honour then I am

able to give him.

Having thus discoursed with himselfe, he would needs understande of

whence and what he was, and finding him to be _Primasso_, come onely to

see the magnificence which he had reported of him, knowing also (by the

generall fame noysed every where of him) that he was reputed to bee a

learned, honest, and ingenious man: he grew greatly ashamed of his own

folly, and being desirous to make him an amends, strove many waies how

to do him honour. When dinner was ended, the Abbot bestowed honourable

garments on him, such as beseemed his degree and merit, and putting

good store of money in his purse, as also giving him a good horsse to

ride on, left it at his owne free election, whether hee would stay

there still with him, or depart at his pleasure. Wherewith _Primasso_

being highly contented, yeelding him the heartiest thankes he could

devise to doe, returned to _Paris_ on horse-back, albeit he came poorly

thether on foot.

Master _Can de la Scala_, who was a man of good understanding,

perceyved immediately (without any further interpretation) what

_Bergamino_ meant by this morall, and smiling on him, saide:

_Bergamino_, thou hast honestly expressed thy vertue and necessities,

and justly reprooved mine avarice, niggardnesse, and base folly. And

trust me _Bergamino_, I never felt such a fit of covetousness come upon

me, as this which I have dishonestly declared to thee: and which I will

now banish from me, with the same correction as thou hast taught mee.

So, having payed the Host all his charges, redeeming also his robes or

garments, mounting him on a good Gelding, and putting plenty of Crownes

in his purse, hee referd it to his owne choise to depart, or dwell

there still with him.

_Guillaume Boursier, with a few quaint and familiar words, checkt the

miserable covetousnesse of Signior_ Herminio de Grimaldi.

The eight Novell.

_Which plainly declareth, that a covetous Gentleman, is not worthy of

any honour or respect._

Madam _Lauretta_, sitting next to _Philostratus_, when she had heard

the witty conceite of _Bergamino_; knowing, that shee was to say

somewhat, without injunction or command, pleasantly thus began.

This last discourse (faire and vertuous company) induceth mee to tell

you, how an honest Courtier reprehended in like manner (and nothing

unprofitably) base covetousnesse in a Merchant of extraordinary wealth.

Which Tale, although (in effect) it may seeme to resemble the former;

yet perhaps, it will prove no lesse pleasing to you, in regard it

sorted to as good an end.

It is no long time since, that there lived in _Genes_ or _Geneway_, a

Gentleman named Signior _Herminio de Grimaldi_, who (as every one wel

knew) was more rich in inheritances, and ready summes of currant mony,

then any other knowne Citizen in _Italy_. And as hee surpassed other

men in wealth, so did he likewise excell them in wretched Avarice,

being so miserably greedy and covetous, as no man in the world could

be more wicked that way; because, not onely he kept his purse lockt up

from pleasuring any, but denied needful things to himself, enduring

many miseries & distresses, onely to avoide expences, contrary to the

_Genewayes_ generall custome, who alwayes delighted to be decently

cloathed, and to have their dyet of the best. By reason of which most

miserable basenesse, they tooke from him the sir-name of _Grimaldi_,

whereof hee was in right descended: and called him master _Herminio_

the covetous Mizer, a nickname very notably agreeing with his gripple

nature.

It came to passe, that in this time of his spending nothing, but

multiplying daily by infinite meanes, that a civill honest Gentleman

(a Courtier, of ready wit, and discoursive in Languages) came to

_Geneway_, being named _Guillaume Boursier_. A man very farre differing

from divers Courtiers in these dayes, who for soothing shamefull and

gracelesse manners, in such as allow them maintenance, are called and

reputed to bee Gentlemen, yea especiall favourites: whereas much more

worthily, they should be accounted as knaves and villaines, being

borne and bred in all filthinesse, and skilfull in every kinde of

basest behaviour, not fit to come in Princes Courts. For, whereas in

passed times, they spent their dayes and paines in making peace, when

Gentlemen were at warre or dissention, or treating on honest marriages,

betweene friends and familiars, & (with loving speeches) would recreate

disturbed mindes, desiring none but commendable exercises in Court,

and sharpely reprooving (like fathers) disordred life, or ill actions

in any, albeit with recompence little, or none at all: these upstarts

now adayes, employ all their paines in detractions, sowing questions

and quarrels betweene one another, making no spare of lyes & falshoods.

Nay which is worse, they will do this in the presence of any man,

upbraiding him with injuries, shames, and scandals (true or not true)

upon the very least occasion. And by false and deceitfull flatteries

and villanies of their own inventing, they make Gentlemen to become as

vile as themselves. For which detestable qualities, they are better

beloved and respected of theyr misdemeanour'd Lords, and recompenced in

more bountifull manner, then men of vertuous carriage and desert. Which

is an argument sufficient, that goodnesse is gone up to heaven, and

hath quite forsaken these loathed lower Regions, where men are drowned

in the mud of all abhominable vices.

But returning where I left (being led out of my way by a just and

religious anger against such deformity) this Gentleman, Master

_Guillaume Boursier_, was willingly seene, and gladly welcommed by all

the best men in _Geneway_. Having remayned some few dayes in the City,

& (among other matters) heard much talke of the miserable covetousness

of master _Herminio_, he grew verie desirous to have a sight of him.

Master _Herminio_ had already understood, that this Gentleman, Master

_Guillaume Boursier_, was vertuously disposed, and (how covetously

soever he was inclined) having in him some sparkes of noble nature;

gave him very good words, and gracious entertainement, discoursing with

him on divers occasions.

In company of other _Genewayes_ with him, he brought him to a new

erected house of his, a building of great cost and beauty, where, after

he had shewen him all the variable rarities, he beganne thus. Master

_Guillaume_, no doubt but you have heard and seene many things, and

you can instruct me in some quaint conceit or devise, to be fairely

figured in painting, at the entrance into the great Hall of my House.

Master _Guillaume_ hearing him speake so simply, returned him this

answere; Sir, I cannot advise you in any thing, so rare or unseen as

you talke of: but how to sneeze (after a new manner) upon a full and

overcloyed stomacke, to avoide base humours that stupifie the braine,

or other matters of the like quality. But if you would be taught a good

one indeede, and had a disposition to see it fairely effected; I could

instruct you in an excellent Embleme, wherewith (as yet) you never came

acquainted.

Master _Herminio_ hearing him say so, and expecting no such answere

as he had saide; Good Master _Guillaume_, tell me what it is, and on

my faith I will have it fairely painted. Whereto Master _Guillaume_

suddenly replied: Doe nothing but this Sir; Paint over the Portall

at your Halles entrance, the lively picture of Liberality, to bid

all your friends better welcome, then hitherto they have beene. When

Master _Herminio_ heard these words, he became possessed with such a

sudden shame, that his complexion changed from the former palenesse,

and answered thus. Master _Guillaume_, I will have your advice so

truly figured over my gate, and shee shall give so good welcome to all

my guests, that both you, and all these Gentlemen shall say; I have

both seene her, and am become reasonably acquainted with her. From

that time forward, the words of Master _Guillaume_ were so effectuall

with Signior _Herminio_, that he became the most bountifull and best

house-keeper, which lived in his time in _Geneway_; no man more

honouring and friendly welcoming both strangers and Citizens, then he

continually used to doe.

_The King of Cyprus was wittily reprehended, by the words of a

Gentlewoman of Gascoignie, and became vertuously altered from his

vicious disposition._

The ninth Novell.

_Giving all men to understand, that Justice is necessary in a King,

above all things else whatsoever._

The last command of the Queene, remained upon Madam _Elissa_, or

_Eliza_, who without any delaying, thus beganne. Young Ladies, it

hath often beene seene, that much paine hath beene bestowed, and many

reprehensions spent in vaine, till a word happening at adventure, and

perhaps not purposely determined, hath effectually done the deede: as

appeareth by the Tale of Madam _Lauretta_, and another of mine owne,

wherewith I intend briefly to acquaint you, approving, that when good

words are discreetly observed, they are of soveraigne power and vertue.

In the dayes of the first King of _Cyprus_, after the Conquest made

in the holy Land by _Godfrey_ of _Bullen_, it fortuned, that a

Gentlewoman of _Gascoignie_, travelling in pilgrimage, to visit the

sacred Sepulcher in _Jerusalem_, returning home againe, arrived at

_Cyprus_, where shee was villanously abused by certaine base wretches.

Complaining thereof, without any comfort or redresse, shee intended

to make her moane to the King of the Countrey. Whereupon it was tolde

her, that therein shee should but loose her labour, because hee was so

womanish, and faint-hearted; that not onely he refused to punish with

justice the offences of others, but also suffered shamefull injuries

done to himselfe. And therefore, such as were displeased by his

negligence, might easily discharge their spleene against him, and doe

him what dishonour they would.

When the Gentlewoman heard this, despairing of any consolation, or

revenge for her wrongs, shee resolved to checke the Kings deniall of

justice, and comming before him weeping, spake in this manner. Sir, I

presume not into your presence, as hoping to have redresse by you, for

divers dishonourable injuries done unto me; but, as a full satisfaction

for them, doe but teach me how you suffer such vile abuses, as daily

are offered to your selfe. To the ende, that being therein instructed

by you, I may the more patiently beare mine owne; which (as God

knoweth) I would bestow on you very gladly, because you know so well

how to endure them.

The King, who (till then) had beene very bad, dull, and slothfull, even

as sleeping out his time of governement; beganne to revenge the wrongs

done to this Gentlewoman very severely, and (thenceforward) became a

most sharpe Justicer, for the least offence offered against the honour

of his Crowne, or to any of his subjects beside.

_Master_ Albert _of Bullen, honestly made a Lady to blush, that

thought to have done as much to him, because shee perceived him, to be

amorously affected towards her._

The tenth Novell.

_Wherein is declared, that honest love agreeth with people of all ages._

After that Madam _Eliza_ sate silent, the last charge and labour of

the like employment, remained to the Queene her selfe; whereupon shee

beganne thus to speake: Honest and vertuous young Ladies, like as

the Starres (when the Ayre is faire and cleere) are the adorning and

beauty of Heaven, and flowers (while the Spring time lasteth) doe

graciously embellish the Meadowes; even so sweete speeches and pleasing

conferences, to passe the time with commendable discourses, are the

best habit of the minde, and an outward beauty to the body: which

ornament of words, when they appeare to be short and sweete, are much

more seemely in women, then in men; because long and tedious talking

(when it may be done in lesser time) is a greater blemish in women,

then in men.

Among us women, this day, I thinke few or none have therein offended,

but as readily have understood short and pithy speeches, as they have

beene quicke and quaintly delivered. But when answering suteth not with

understanding, it is generally a shame in us, and all such as live;

because our moderne times have converted that vertue, which was within

them who lived before us, into garments of the bodie, and shew whose

habites were noted to bee most gaudie, fullest of imbroyderies, and

fantastick fashions: she was reputed to have most matter in her, and

therefore to be more honoured and esteemed. Never considering, that

whosoever loadeth the backe of an Asse, or puts upon him the richest

braverie; he becommeth not thereby a jote the wiser, or merriteth

any more honour then an Asse should have. I am ashamed to speake it,

because in detecting other, I may (perhaps) as justly taxe my selfe.

Such imbroydered bodies, tricked and trimmed in such boasting bravery,

are they any thing else but as Marble Statues, dumbe, dull, and utterly

insensible? Or if (perchaunce) they make an answere, when some question

is demaunded of them; it were much better for them to be silent. For

defence of honest devise and conference among men and women, they would

have the world to thinke, that it proceedeth but from simplicity and

precise opinion, covering their owne folly with the name of honesty:

as if there were no other honest woman, but shee that conferres onely

with her Chamber-maide, Laundresse, or Kitchin-woman, as if nature had

allowed them (in their owne idle conceite) no other kinde of talking.

Most true it is, that as there is a respect to be used in the action

of other things; so, time and place are necessarily to be considered,

and also whom we converse withall; because sometimes it happeneth,

that a man or woman, intending (by a word of jest and merriment) to

make another body blush or be ashamed: not knowing what strength of

wit remaineth in the opposite, doe convert the same disgrace upon

themselves. Therefore, that we may the more advisedly stand upon out

owne guard, and to prevent the common proverbe, _That Women (in all

things) make choyse of the woorst:_ I desire that this dayes last tale,

which is to come from my selfe, may make us all wise. To the end, that

as in gentlenesse of minde we conferre with other; so by excellency in

good manners, we may shew our selves not inferiour to them.

It is not many yeares since (worthy assembly) that in _Bulloigne_

there dwelt a learned Physitian, a man famous for skill, and farre

renowned, whose name was Master _Albert_, and being growne aged, to the

estimate of threescore and tenne yeares: hee had yet such a sprightly

disposition, that though naturall heate and vigour had quite shaken

hands with him, yet amorous flames and desires had not wholly forsaken

him. Having seene (at a Banquet) a very beautifull woman, being then

in the estate of widdowhood, named (as some say) Madame _Margaret de

Chisolieri_, shee appeared so pleasing in his eye; that his sences

became no lesse disturbed, then as if he had beene of farre younger

temper, and no night could any quietnesse possesse his soule, except

(the day before) he had seene the sweet countenance of this lovely

widdow. In regard whereof, his dayly passage was by her doore, one

while on horsebacke, and then againe on foote; as best might declare

his plaine purpose to see her.

Both shee and other Gentlewomen, perceiving the occasion of his

passing and repassing; would privately jest thereat together, to see

a man of such yeares and discretion, to be amorously addicted, or

over-swayed by effeminate passions. For they were partly perswaded,

that such wanton Ague fits of Love, were fit for none but youthfull

apprehensions, as best agreeing with their chearefull complexion.

Master _Albert_ continuing his dayly walkes by the widdowes lodging,

it chaunced upon a Feastivall day, that shee (accompanied with divers

other women of great account) being sitting at her doore; espied Master

_Albert_ (farre off) comming thitherward, and a resolved determination

among themselves was set downe, to allow him favourable entertainement,

and to jest (in some merry manner) at his loving folly, as afterward

they did indeede.

No sooner was he come neere, but they all arose, and courteously

invited him to enter with them, conducting him into a goodly Garden,

where readily was prepared choyse of delicate wines and banquetting. At

length, among other pleasant and delightfull discourses, they demanded

of him: how it was possible for him, to be amorously affected towards

so beautifull a woman, both knowing and seeing, how earnestly she was

sollicited by many gracious, gallant, and youthfull spirits, aptly

suting with her yeares and desires? Master _Albert_ perceiving, that

they had drawne him in among them, onely to scoffe and make a mockery

of him; set a merry countenance on the matter, and honestly thus

answered.

Beleeve mee Gentlewoman (speaking to the widdowe her selfe) it should

not appeare strange to any of wisedome and discretion, that I am

amorously enclined, and especially to you, because you are well worthy

of it. And although those powers, which naturally appertaine to the

exercises of Love, are bereft and gone from aged people; yet goodwill

thereto cannot be taken from them, neither judgement to know such

as deserve to be affected: for, by how much they exceede youth in

knowledge and experience, by so much the more hath nature made them

meet for respect and reverence. The hope which incited me (being aged)

to love you, that are affected of so many youthfull Gallants, grew

thus. I have often chaunced into divers places, where I have seene

Ladies and Gentlewomen, being disposed to a Collation or rere-banquet

after dinner, to feede on Lupines, and young Onions or Leekes, and

although it may be so, that there is little or no goodnesse at all

in them; yet the heads of them are least hurtfull, and most pleasing

in the mouth. And you Gentlewomen generally (guided by unreasonable

appetite) will hold the heads of them in your hands, and feede upon the

blades or stalkes; which not onely are not good for any thing, but also

are of very bad savour. And what know I (Lady) whether among the choise

of friends, it may fit your fancy to doe the like? For, if you did so,

it were no fault of mine to be chosen of you, but thereby were all the

rest of your suters the sooner answered.

The widdowed Gentlewoman, and all the rest in her company, being

bashfully ashamed of her owne and their folly, presently said. Master

_Albert_, you have both well and worthily chastised our over-bold

presumption, and beleeve mee Sir, I repute your love and kindnesse of

no meane merit, comming from a man so wise and vertuous: And therefore

(mine honour reserved) commaund my uttermost, as alwayes ready to

do you any honest service. Master _Albert_, arising from his seat,

thanking the faire widdow for her gentle offer; tooke leave of her and

all the company, and she blushing, as all the rest were therein not

much behinde her, thinking to checke him, became chidden her selfe,

whereby (if wee be wise) let us all take warning.

The Sunne was now somewhat farre declined, and the heates extremity

well worne away, when the Tales of the seaven Ladies and three

Gentlemen were thus finished, whereupon their Queene pleasantly said.

For this day (faire company) there remaineth nothing more to be done

under my regiment, but onely to bestow a new Queene upon you, who

(according to her judgement) must take her turne, and dispose what next

is to be done, for continuing our time in honest pleasure. And although

the day should endure till darke night, in regard, that when some time

is taken before, the better preparation may be made for occasions to

follow, to the end also, that whatsoever the new Queene shall please to

appoint, may be the better fitted for the morrow: I am of opinion, that

at the same houre as we now cease, the following dayes shall severally

begin. And therefore, in reverence to him that giveth life to all

things, and in hope of comfort by our second day; Madame _Philomena_, a

most wise young Lady, shall governe as Queene this our Kingdome.

So soone as she had thus spoken, arising from her seate of dignity,

and taking the Lawrell Crowne from off her owne head; she reverently

placed it upon Madame _Philomenaes_, she first of all humbly saluting

her, and then all the rest, openly confessing her to be their Queene,

made gracious offer to obey whatsoever she commaunded. _Philomena_, her

cheekes delivering a scarlet tincture, to see her selfe thus honoured

as their Queene, and well remembring the words, so lately uttered by

Madame _Pampinea_; that dulnesse or neglect might not be noted in her,

tooke cheerefull courage to her, and first of all, she confirmed the

officers, which _Pampinea_ had appointed the day before, then shee

ordained for the morrowes provision, as also for the supper so neere

approaching, before they departed away from thence, and then thus began.

Lovely Companions, although that Madam _Pampinea_, more in her owne

courtesie, then any matter of merit remaining in mee, hath made me your

Queene: I am not determined, to alter the forme of our intended life,

nor to be guided by mine owne judgement, but to associate the same with

your assistance. And because you may know what I intend to do, and so

(consequently) adde or diminish at your pleasure; in verie few words,

you shall plainly understand my meaning. If you have well considered

on the course, which this day hath bene kept by Madam _Pampinea_, me

thinkes it hath bene very pleasing and commendable; in which regard,

untill by over-tedious continuation, or other occasions of irkesome

offence, it shall seeme injurious, I am of the minde, not to alter

it. Holding on the order then as we have begun to do, we will depart

from hence to recreate our selves awhile, and when the Sun groweth

towards setting, we will sup in the fresh and open ayre: afterward,

with Canzonets and other pastimes, we will out-weare the houres till

bed time. To morrow morning, in the fresh and gentle breath thereof,

we will rise & walke to such places, as every one shall finde fittest

for them, even as already this day we have done; untill due time shall

summon us hither againe, to continue our discoursive Tales, wherein (me

thinkes) consisteth both pleasure and profit, especially by discreete

observation.

Very true it is, that some things which Madam _Pampinea_ coulde not

accomplish, by reason of her so small time of authority, I will

beginne to undergo, to wit, in restraining some matters whereon we are

to speake, that better premeditation may passe upon them. For, when

respite and a little leysure goeth before them, each discourse will

savour of the more formality; and if it might so please you, thus would

I direct the order. As since the beginning of the world, all men have

bene guided (by Fortune) thorow divers accidents and occasions: so

beyond all hope & expectation, the issue and successe hath bin good and

succesfull, and accordingly should every one of our arguments be chosen.

The Ladies, and the yong Gentlemen likewise, commended her advice,

and promised to imitate it; onely _Dioneus_ excepted, who when every

one was silent, spake thus. Madam, I say as all the rest have done,

that the order by you appointed, is most pleasing and worthy to bee

allowed. But I intreate one speciall favour for my selfe, and to have

it confirmed to me, so long as our company continueth; namely, that I

may not be constrained to this Law of direction, but to tell my Tale

at liberty, after mine owne minde, and according to the freedome first

instituted. And because no one shall imagine, that I urge this grace

of you, as being unfurnished of discourses in this kinde, I am well

contented to be the last in every dayes exercise.

The Queene, knowing him to be a man full of mirth and matter, began

to consider very advisedly, that he would not have mooved this

request, but onely to the end, that if the company grew wearied by

any of the Tales re-counted, hee would shut uppe the dayes disport

with some mirthfull accident. Wherefore willingly, and with consent

of al the rest he had his suite granted. So, arising all, they walked

to a Christall river, descending downe a little hill into a vally,

graciously shaded with goodly Trees; where washing both their hands

and feete, much pretty pleasure passed among them; till supper time

drawing nere, made them returne home to the Palace. When supper was

ended, and bookes and instruments being laide before them, the Queene

commanded a dance, & that Madam _Æmilia_, assisted by Madam _Lauretta_

and _Dioneus_, shold sing a sweet ditty. At which command, _Lauretta_

undertooke the dance, and led it, _Æmilia_ singing this song ensuing.

_The Song.

So much delight my beauty yeelds to mee,

That any other Love,

To wish or prove;

Can never sute it selfe with my desire.

Therein I see, upon good observation,

What sweete content due understanding lends:

Olde or new thoughts cannot in any fashion

Rob me of that, which mine owne soule commends.

What object then,

(mongst infinites of men)

Can I ever finde

to dispossesse my minde,

And plant therein another new desire?

So much delight, &c.

But were it so, the blisse that I would chuse,

Is, by continuall sight to comfort me:

So rare a presence never to refuse,

Which mortall tongue or thought, what ere it be;

Must still conceale,

not able to reveale,

Such a sacred sweete,

for none other meete,

But hearts enflamed with the same desire.

So much delight, &c._

The Song being ended, the Chorus whereof was aunswered by them all,

it passed with generall applause: and after a few other daunces, the

night being well run on, the Queene gave ending to this first dayes

Recreation. So, lights being brought, they departed to their severall

Lodgings, to take their rest till the next morning.

_The End of the first Day._

The Second Day.

_Wherein, all the Discourses are under the government of Madam

Philomena: Concerning such men or women, as (in divers accidents) have

beene much molested by Fortune, and yet afterward, contrary to their

hope and expectation, have had a happy and successefull deliverance._

Already had the bright Sunne renewed the day every where with his

splendant beames, and the Birds sate merrily singing on the blooming

branches, yeelding testimony thereof to the eares of all hearers; when

the seven Ladies, and the three Gentlemen (after they were risen)

entered the Gardens, and there spent some time in walking, as also

making of Nose-gayes and Chaplets of Flowers. And even as they had done

the day before, so did they now follow the same course; for, after they

had dined, in a coole and pleasing aire they fell to dancing, and then

went to sleepe awhile, from which being awaked, they tooke their places

(according as it pleased the Queene to appoint) in the same faire

Meadow about her. And she, being a goodly creature, and highly pleasing

to beholde, having put on her Crowne of Laurell, and giving a gracious

countenance to the whole company; commanded Madam _Neiphila_ that her

Tale should begin this daies delight. Whereupon she, without returning

any excuse or deniall, began in this manner.

Martellino _counterfetting to be lame of his members, caused himselfe

to be set on the body of Saint_ Arriguo, _where he made shew of his

sudden recovery; but when his dissimulation was discovered, he was well

beaten, being afterward taken prisoner, and in great danger of being

hanged and strangled by the necke, and yet he escaped in the ende._

The first Novell.

_Wherein is signified, how easie a thing it is, for wicked men to

deceive the world, under the shadow and colour of miracles: and that

such trechery (oftentimes) redoundeth to the harme of the deviser._

Faire Ladies, it hath happened many times, that hee who striveth to

scorne and floute other men, and especially in occasions deserving to

be respected, proveth to mocke himselfe with the selfe-same matter,

yea, and to his no meane danger beside. As you shall perceive by a

Tale, which I intend to tell you, obeying therein the command of

our Queene, and according to the subject by her enjoyned. In which

discourse, you may first observe, what great mischance happened to one

of our Citizens; and yet afterward, how (beyond all hope) he happily

escaped.

Not long since there lived in the City of _Trevers_, an _Almaine_ or

_Germaine_, named _Arriguo_, [Sidenote: Or Arrigo.] who being a poore

man, served as a Porter, or burden-bearer for money, when any man

pleased to employ him. And yet, notwithstanding his poore and meane

condition, he was generally reputed, to be of good and sanctified life.

In which regard (whether it were true or no, I know not) it happened,

that when he died (at least as the men of _Trevers_ themselves

affirmed) in the very instant houre of his departing, all the Belles in

the great Church of _Trevers_, (not being pulled by the helpe of any

hand) beganne to ring: which being accounted for a miracle, every one

saide; that this _Arriguo_ had been, and was a Saint. And presently all

the people of the City ran to the house where the dead body lay, and

carried it (as a sanctified body) into the great Church, where people,

halt, lame, and blinde, or troubled with any other diseases, were

brought about it, even as if every one should forth-with be holpen,

onely by their touching the bodie.

It came to passe, that in so great a concourse of people, as resorted

thither from all parts; three of our Cittizens went to _Trevers_, one

of them being named _Stechio_, the second _Martellino_, and the third

_Marquiso_, all being men of such condition, as frequented Princes

Courts, to give them delight by pleasant & counterfeited qualities.

None of these men having ever beene at _Trevers_ before, seeing how

the people crowded thorow the streetes, wondred greatly thereat: but

when they knew the reason, why the throngs ranne on heapes in such

sort together, they grew as desirous to see the Shrine, as any of the

rest. Having ordered all affaires at their lodging, _Marquiso_ saide;

It is fit for us to see this Saint, but I know not how we shall attaine

thereto, because (as I have heard) the place is guarded by Germane

Souldiers, and other warlike men, commanded thither by the Governours

of this City, least any outrage should be there committed: And beside,

the Church is so full of people, as wee shall never compasse to

get neere. _Martellino_ being also as forward in desire to see it,

presently replied: All this difficulty cannot dismay me, but I will goe

to the very body of the Saint it selfe. But how? quoth _Marquiso_. I

will tell thee, answered _Martellino_. I purpose to goe in the disguise

of an impotent lame person, supported on the one side by thy selfe, and

on the other by _Stechio_, as if I were not able to walke of my selfe:

And you two thus sustaining me, desiring to come neere the Saint to

cure me; every one will make way, and freely give you leave to goe on.

This devise was very pleasing to _Marquiso_ and _Stechio_, so that

(without any further delaying) they all three left their lodging, and

resorting into a secret corner aside, _Martellino_ so writhed and

mishaped his hands, fingers, and armes, his legges, mouth, eyes, and

whole countenance, that it was a dreadfull sight to looke upon him, and

whosoever beheld him, would verily have imagined, that hee was utterly

lame of his limbes, and greatly deformed in his body. _Marquiso_ and

_Stechio_, seeing all sorted so well as they could wish, tooke and led

him towards the Church, making very pitious moane, and humbly desiring

(for Gods sake) of every one that they met, to grant them free passage,

whereto they charitably condiscended.

Thus leading him on, crying still; Beware there before, and give way

for Gods sake, they arrived at the body of Saint _Arriguo_, that (by

his helpe) he might be healed. And while all eyes were diligently

observing, what miracle would be wrought on _Martellino_, hee having

sitten a small space upon the Saints bodie, and being sufficiently

skilfull in counterfeiting; beganne first to extend forth one of his

fingers, next his hand, then his arme, and so (by degrees) the rest of

his body. Which when the people saw, they made such a wonderfull noyse

in praise of Saint _Arriguo_, even as if it had thundered in the Church.

Now it chanced by ill fortune, that there stood a _Florentine_ neere

to the body, who knew _Martellino_ very perfectly; but appearing so

monstrously misshapen, when he was brought into the Church, hee could

take no knowledge of him. But when he saw him stand up and walke, hee

knew him then to be the man indeede; whereupon he saide. How commeth

it to passe, that this fellow should be so miraculously cured, that

never truly was any way impotent? Certaine men of the City hearing

these words, entred into further questioning with him, demanding, how

he knew that the man had no such imperfection? Well enough (answered

the _Florentine_) I know him to be as direct in his limbes and body,

as you; I, or any of us all are: but indeede, he knowes better how to

dissemble counterfeit trickes, then any man else that ever I saw.

When they heard this, they discoursed no further with the _Florentine_,

but pressed on mainely to the place where _Martellino_ stood, crying

out aloude. Lay holde on this Traytor, a mocker of God, and his holy

Saints, that had no lamenesse in his limbes; but to make a mocke of our

Saint and us, came hither in false and counterfeit manner. So laying

hands uppon him, they threw him against the ground, haling him by the

haire on his head, and tearing the garments from his backe, spurning

him with their feete, and beating him with their fists, that many were

much ashamed to see it.

Poore _Martellino_ was in a pittifull case, crying out for mercy, but

no man would heare him; for, the more he cried, the more still they

did beat him, as meaning to leave no life in him, which _Stechio_ and

_Marquiso_ seeing, considered with themselves, that they were likewise

in a desperate case; and therefore, fearing to be as much misused, they

cryed out among the rest; Kill the counterfeit knave, lay on loade, and

spare him not; neverthelesse, they tooke care how to get him out of

the peoples handes, as doubting, least they would kill him indeede, by

their extreame violence.

Sodainly, _Marquiso_ bethought him how to do it, and proceeded thus.

All the Sergeants for Justice standing at the Church doore, hee ran

with all possible speede to the _Potestates_ Lieutenant, and said

unto him. Good my Lord Justice, helpe me in an hard case; yonder is a

villaine that hath cut my purse, I desire he may bee brought before

you, that I may have my money againe. He hearing this, sent for a

dozen of the Sergeants, who went to apprehend unhappy _Martellino_,

and recover him from the peoples fury, leading him on with them to the

Palace, no meane crowds thronging after him, when they heard that he

was accused to bee a Cut-purse. Now durst they meddle no more with him,

but assisted the Officers; some of them charging him in like manner,

that he had cut theyr purses also.

Upon these clamours and complaints, the _Potestates_ Lieutenant (being

a man of rude quality) tooke him sodainly aside, and examined him of

the crimes wherewith he was charged. But _Martellino_, as making no

account of these accusations, laughed, and returned scoffing answeres.

Whereat the Judge, waxing much displeased, delivered him over to the

Strappado, and stood by himselfe, to have him confesse the crimes

imposed on him, and then to hang him afterward. Beeing let downe to

the ground, the Judge still demaunded of him, whether the accusations

against him were true, or no? Affirming, that it nothing avayled him

to deny it: whereupon hee thus spake to the Judge. My Lord, I am heere

ready before you, to confesse the truth; but I pray you, demaund of all

them that accuse me, when and where I did cut their purses, & then I

will tell you that, which (as yet) I have not done, otherwise I purpose

to make you no more answers.

Well (quoth the Judge) thou requirest but reason; & calling divers of

the accusers, one of them saide, that he lost his purse eight dayes

before; another saide six, another foure, and some saide the very same

day. Which _Martellino_ hearing, replyed. My Lord, they al lie in

their throats, as I will plainly prove before you. I would to God I

had never set foote within this City, as it is not many houres since

my first entrance, and presently after mine arrivall, I went (in an

evill houre I may say for me) to see the Saints body, where I was thus

beaten as you may beholde. That all this is true which I say unto you,

the Seigneuries Officer that keeps your Booke of presentations, will

testifie for me, as also the Host where I am lodged. Wherefore good

my Lord, if you finde all no otherwise, then as I have said, I humbly

entreate you, that upon these bad mens reportes and false informations,

I may not be thus tormented, and put in perill of my life.

While matters proceeded in this manner, _Marquiso_ and _Stechio_,

understanding how roughly the _Potestates_ Lieutenant dealt with

_Martellino_ and that he had already given him the Strappado; were in

heavy perplexity, saying to themselves; we have carried this businesse

very badly, redeeming him out of the Frying-pan, and flinging him into

the Fire. Whereupon, trudging about from place to place, & meeting

at length with their Host, they told him truly how all had happened,

whereat hee could not refraine from laughing. Afterward, he went with

them to one Master _Alexander Agolante_, who dwelt in _Trevers_, and

was in great credite with the Cities cheefe Magistrate, to whom hee

related the whole Discourse; all three earnestly entreating him, to

commisserate the case of poore _Martellino_.

Master _Alexander_, after he had laughed heartily at this hotte peece

of service, went with him to the Lord of _Trevers_; prevailing so well

with him, that he sent to have _Martellino_ brought before him. The

Messengers that went for him, found him standing in his shirt before

the Judge, very shrewdly shaken with the Strappado, trembling and

quaking pittifully. For the Judge would not heare any thing in his

excuse; but hating him (perhaps) because hee was a Florentine: flatly

determined to have him hangde by the necke, and would not deliver him

to the Lorde, untill in meere despight he was compeld to do it.

The Lord of _Trevers_, when _Martellino_ came before him, and had

acquainted him truly with every particular: Master _Alexander_

requested, that he might be dispatched thence for _Florence_, because

he thought the halter to be about his necke, and that there was

no other helpe but hanging. The Lord, smiling (a long while) at

the accident, & causing _Martellino_ to be handsomely apparrelled,

delivering them also his Passe, they escaped out of further danger, and

tarried no where, till they came unto _Florence_.

_Rinaldo de Este, after he was robbed by Theeves, arrived at Chasteau

Guillaume, where he was friendly lodged by a faire widdow, and

recompenced likewise for all his losses; returning afterward safe and

well home into his owne house._

The second Novell.

_Whereby wee may learne, that such things as sometime seeme hurtfull to

us, may turne to our benefit and commodity._

Much merriment was among the Ladies, hearing this Tale of _Martellinos_

misfortunes, so familiarly reported by Madam _Neiphila_, and of the

men, it was best respected by _Philostratus_, who sitting neerest

unto _Neiphila_, the Queene commanded his Tale to be the next, when

presently he began to speake thus.

Gracious Ladies, I am to speake of universall occasions, mingled with

some misfortunes in part, and partly with matters leaning to love: as

many times may happen to such people, that trace the dangerous pathes

of amorous desires, or have not learned perfectly, to say S. _Julians

pater noster_, having good beds of their owne, yet (casually) meete

with worser lodging.

In the time of _Azzo_, Marquesse of _Ferrara_, there was a Marchant

named _Rinaldo de Este_, who being one day at _Bologna_, about some

especiall businesse of his owne; his occasions there ended, and riding

from thence towards _Verona_, he fell in company with other Horsemen,

seeming to be Merchants like himselfe; but indeede were Theeves, men

of most badde life and conversation; yet he having no such mistrust of

them, rode on, conferring with them very familiarly. They perceiving

him to be a Merchant, and likely to have some store of money about

him, concluded betweene themselves to rob him, so soone as they found

apt place and opportunity. But because he should conceive no such

suspition, they rode on like modest men, talking honestly & friendly

with him, of good parts and disposition appearing in him, offering him

all humble and gracious service, accounting themselves happy by his

companie, as hee returned the same courtesie to them, because he was

alone, and but one servant with him.

Falling from one discourse to another, they began to talke of such

prayers, as men (in journey) use to salute God withall; and one of the

Theeves (they being three in number), spake thus to _Rinaldo_. Sir, let

it be no offence to you, that I desire to know, what prayer you most

use when thus you travell on the way? Whereto _Rinaldo_ replyed in this

manner. To tell you true Sir, I am a man grosse enough in such Divine

matters, as medling more with Marchandize, then I do with Bookes.

Neverthelesse, at all times when I am thus in journey, in the morning

before I depart my Chamber, I say a _Pater noster_ and an _Ave Maria_,

for the souls of the father and mother of Saint _Julian_, and after

that, I pray God and S. _Julian_ to send me a good lodging at night.

And let me tell you Sir, that very oftentimes heeretofore, I have met

with many great dangers upon the way, from all which I still escaped,

and evermore (when night drewe on) I came to an exceeding good Lodging.

Which makes mee firmely beleeve, that Saint _Julian_ (in honour of whom

I speake it) hath begd of God such great grace for me; and mee thinkes,

that if any day I should faile of this prayer in the morning: I cannot

travaile securely, nor come to a good lodging. No doubt then Sir (quoth

the other) but you have saide that prayer this morning? I would be sorry

else, saide _Rinaldo_, such an especiall matter is not to be neglected.

He and the rest, who had already determined how to handle him before

they parted, saide within themselves: Looke thou hast said thy praier,

for when we have thy money, Saint _Julian_ and thou shift for thy

lodging. Afterward, the same man thus againe conferd with him. As you

Sir, so I have ridden many journies, and yet I never used any such

praier, although I have heard it very much commended, and my lodging

hath prooved never the worser. Perhaps this verie night will therein

resolve us both, whether of us two shall be the best lodged; you that

have sayde the prayer, or I that never used it at all. But I must

not deny, that in sted thereof, I have made use of some verses, as

_Dirupisti_, or the _Jutemerata_, or _Deprofundis_, which are (as my

Grandmother hath often told mee) of very great vertue and efficacy.

Continuing thus in talke of divers things, winning way, and beguiling

the time, still waiting when their purpose should sort to effect: it

fortuned, that the Theeves seeing they were come neere to a Towne,

called _Casteau Guillaume_, by the foord of a River, the houre somewhat

late, the place solitarie, and thickely shaded with trees, they made

their assault; and having robd him, left him there on foote, stript

into his shirt, saying to him. Goe now and see, whether thy Saint

_Julian_ will allow thee this night a good lodging, or no, for our

owne we are sufficiently provided; so passing the River, away they

rode. _Rinaldoes_ servant, seeing his Master so sharply assayled, like

a wicked villaine, would not assist him in any sort: but giving his

horse the spurres, never left gallowping, untill hee came to _Chasteau

Guillaume_, where hee entred upon the point of night, providing

himselfe of a lodging, but not caring what became of his Master.

_Rinaldo_ remaining there in his shirt, bare-foote and bare-legged,

the weather extremely colde, and snowing incessantly, not knowing what

to doe, darke night drawing on, and looking round about him, for some

place where to abide that night, to the end he might not dye with

colde: he found no helpe at all there for him, in regard that (no long

while before) the late warre had burnt and wasted all, and not so much

as the least Cottage left. Compelled by the coldes violence, his teeth

quaking, and all his body trembling, hee trotted on towards _Chasteau

Guillaume_, not knowing, whether his man was gone thither or no, or to

what place else: but perswaded himselfe, that if he could get entrance,

there was no feare of finding succour. But before he came within halfe

a mile of the Towne, the night grew extreamely darke, and arriving

there so late, hee found the gates fast lockt, and the Bridges drawne

up, so that no entrance might be admitted.

Grieving greatly hereat, and being much discomforted, rufully hee went

spying about the walls, for some place wherein to shrowd himselfe, at

least, to keepe the snow from falling upon him. By good hap, hee espied

an house upon the wall of the Towne, which had a terrace jutting out as

a penthouse, under which he purposed to stand all the night, and then

to get him gone in the morning. At length, hee found a doore in the

wall, but very fast shut, and some small store of strawe lying by it,

which he gathered together, and sitting downe thereon very pensively;

made many sad complaints to Saint _Julian_, saying: This was not

according to the trust he reposed in her. But Saint _Julian_, taking

compassion upon him, without any over-long tarying; provided him of a

good lodging, as you shall heare how.

In this towne of _Chasteau Guillaume_, lived a young Lady, who was a

widdow, so beautifull and comely of her person, as sildome was seene a

more lovely creature. The Marquesse _Azzo_ most dearely affected her,

and (as his choysest Jewell of delight) gave her that house to live in,

under the terrace whereof poore _Rinaldo_ made his shelter. It chaunced

the day before, that the Marquesse was come thither, according to his

frequent custome, to weare away that night in her company, she having

secretly prepared a Bath for him, and a costly supper beside. All

things being ready, and nothing wanting but the Marquesse his presence:

suddenly a Post brought him such Letters, which commanded him instantly

to horsebacke, and word hee sent to the Lady, to spare him for that

night, because urgent occasions called him thence, and hee rode away

immediately.

Much discontented was the Lady at this unexpected accident, and not

knowing now how to spend the time, resolved to use the Bath which hee

had made for the Marquesse, and (after supper) betake her selfe to

rest, and so she entred into the Bath. Close to the doore where poore

_Rinaldo_ sate, stoode the Bath, by which meanes, shee being therein,

heard all his quivering moanes, and complaints, seeming to be such,

as the Swanne singing before her death: whereupon, shee called her

Chamber-maide, saying to her. Goe up above, and looke over the terrace

on the wall downe to this doore, and see who is there, and what hee

doth. The Chamber-maide went up aloft, and by a little glimmering in

the ayre, she saw a man sitting in his shirt, bare on feete and legges,

trembling in manner before rehearsed. Shee demaunding, of whence, and

what hee was; _Rinaldoes_ teeth so trembled in his head, as very hardly

could hee forme any words, but (so well as he could) tolde her what hee

was, and how hee came thither: most pittifully entreating her, that if

shee could affoord him any helpe, not to suffer him starve there to

death with colde.

The Chamber-maide, being much moved to compassion, returned to her

Lady, and tolde her all; she likewise pittying his distresse, and

remembring shee had the key of that doore, whereby the Marquesse both

entred and returned, when he intended not to be seene of any, said

to her Maide. Goe, and open the doore softly for him; we have a good

supper, and none to helpe to eate it, and if he be a man likely, we can

allow him one nights lodging too. The Chamber-maide, commending her

Lady for this charitable kindnesse, opened the doore, and seeing hee

appeared as halfe frozen, shee said unto him. Make hast good man, get

thee into this Bath, which yet is good and warme, for my Lady her selfe

came but newly out of it. Whereto very gladly he condiscended, as not

tarrying to be bidden twise; finding himselfe so singularly comforted

with the heate thereof, even as if hee had beene restored from death to

life. Then the Lady sent him garments, which lately were her deceased

husbands, and fitted him so aptly in all respects, as if purposely they

had beene made for him.

Attending in further expectation, to know what else the Lady would

commaund him; hee began to remember God and Saint _Julian_, hartily

thanking her, for delivering him from so bad a night as was threatned

towards him, and bringing him to so good entertainement. After all

this, the Lady causing a faire fire to be made in the neerest Chamber

beneath, went and sate by it her selfe, demaunding how the honest man

fared. Madame, answered the Chamber-maide, now that he is in your

deceased Lords garments, he appeareth to be a very goodly Gentleman,

and (questionlesse) is of respective birth and breeding, well deserving

this gracious favour which you have afforded him. Goe then (quoth the

Lady) and conduct him hither, to sit by this fire, and sup here with

mee, for I feare he hath had but a sorrie supper. When _Rinaldo_ was

entred into the Chamber, and beheld her to be such a beautifull Lady,

accounting his fortune to exceede all comparison, hee did her most

humble reverence, expressing so much thankefulnesse as possibly hee

could, for this her extraordinary grace and favour.

The Lady fixing a stedfast eye upon him, well liking his gentle

language and behaviour, perceiving also, how fitly her deceased

husbands apparell was formed to his person, and resembling him in all

familiar respects, he appeared (in her judgement) farre beyond the

Chambermaides commendations of him; so praying him to sit downe by her

before the fire, shee questioned with him, concerning this unhappy

nights accident befalne him, wherein he fully resolved her, and shee

was the more perswaded, by reason of his servants comming into the

Towne before night, assuring him, that he should be found for him early

in the morning.

Supper being served in to the Table, and hee seated according as the

Lady commanded, shee began to observe him very considerately; for he

was a goodly man, compleate in all perfections of person, a delicate

pleasing countenance, a quicke alluring eye, fixed and constant, not

wantonly gadding, in the joviall youthfulnesse of his time, and truest

temper for amorous apprehension; all these were as battering engines

against a Bulwarke of no strong resistance, and wrought strangely upon

her flexible affections. And though hee fed heartily, as occasion

constrained, yet her thoughts had entertained a new kinde of diet,

digested onely by the eye; yet so cunningly concealed, that no motive

to immodesty could be discerned. Her mercy thus extended to him in

misery, drew on (by Table discourse) his birth, education, parents,

friends, and alies; his wealthy possessions by Merchandize, and a sound

stability in his estate, but above all (and best of all) the single and

sole condition of a batcheler; an apt and easie steele to strike fire,

especially upon such quicke taking tinder, and in a time favoured by

Fortune.

No imbarment remained, but remembrance of the Marquesse, and that being

summond to her more advised consideration, her youth and beauty stood

up as conscious accusers, for blemishing her honour and faire repute,

with lewd and luxurious life; farre unfit for a Lady of her degree, and

well worthy of generall condemnation. What should I further say? upon a

short conference with her Chambermaide, repentance for sinne past, and

solemne promise of a constant conversion, thus shee delivered her minde

to _Rinaldo_.

Sir, as you have related your fortunes to me, by this your casuall

happening hither, if you can like the motion so well as shee that makes

it, my deceased Lord and husband living so perfectly in your person;

this house, and all mine, is yours; and of a widow I will become your

wife, except (unmanly) you denie me. _Rinaldo_ hearing these words,

and proceeding from a Lady of such absolute perfections, presuming

upon so proud an offer, and condemning himselfe of folly if he should

refuse it, thus replied. Madam, considering that I stand bound for ever

hereafter, to confesse that you are the gracious preserver of my life,

and I no way able to returne requitall; if you please so to shadow

mine insufficiency, and to accept me and my fairest fortunes to doe you

service: let me die before a thought of deniall, or any way to yeeld

you the least discontentment.

Here wanted but a Priest to joyne their hands, as mutuall affection

already had done their hearts, which being sealed with infinite kisses;

the Chamber-maide called up Friar _Roger_ her Confessor, and wedding

and bedding were both effected before the bright morning. In briefe,

the Marquesse having heard of the marriage, did not mislike it, but

confirmed it by great and honourable gifts; and having sent for his

dishonest servant, he dispatched him (after sound reprehension) to

_Ferrara_, with Letters to _Rinaldoes_ Father and friends, of all the

accidents that had befalne him. Moreover, the very same morning, the

three theeves, that had robbed, and so ill entreated _Rinaldo_, for

another facte by them the same night committed; were taken, and brought

to the Towne of _Chasteau Guillaume_, where they were hanged for their

offences, and _Rinaldo_ with his wife rode to _Ferrara_.

_Three young Gentlemen, being brethren, and having spent all their

Lands and possessions vainely, became poore. A Nephew of theirs

(falling almost into as desperate a condition) became acquainted

with an Abbot, whom he afterward found to be the King of_ Englands

_Daughter, and made him her Husband in marriage, recompencing all his

Uncles losses, and seating them againe in good estate._

The third Novell.

_Wherein is declared the dangers of Prodigalitie, and the manifold

mutabilities of Fortune._

The fortunes of _Rinaldo de Este_, being heard by the Ladies and

Gentlemen, they admired his happinesse, and commended his devotion

to Saint _Julian_, who (in such extreame necessity) sent him so good

succour. Nor was the Lady to be blamed, for leaving base liberty, and

converting to the chaste embraces of the marriage bed, the dignity

of womens honour, and eternall disgrace living otherwise. While thus

they descanted on the happy night betweene her and _Rinaldo_, Madam

_Pampinea_ sitting next to _Philostratus_, considering, that her

discourse must follow in order, and thinking on what shee was to say;

the Queene had no sooner sent out her command, but shee being no lesse

faire then forward, beganne in this manner.

Ladies of great respect, the more we conferre on the accidents of

Fortune, so much the more remaineth to consider on her mutabilities,

wherein there is no need of wonder, if discreetly we observe, that

all such things as we fondly tearme to be our owne, are in her power,

and so (consequently) change from one to another, without any stay

or arrest (according to her concealed judgement) or setled order (at

least) that can bee knowne to us. Now, although these things appeare

thus daily to us, even apparantly in all occasions, and as hath beene

discerned by some of our precedent discourses; yet notwithstanding,

seeing it pleaseth the Queene, that our arguments should ayme at these

ends, I will adde to the former tales another of my owne, perhaps not

unprofitable for the hearers, nor unpleasing in observation.

Sometime heeretofore, there dwelt in our Citie, a Knight named Signior

_Thebaldo_, who (according as some report) issued from the Family of

_Lamberti_, but others derive him of the _Agolanti_; guiding (perhaps)

their opinion heerein, more from the traine of children, belonging

to the saide _Thebaldo_ (evermore equall to that of the _Agolanti_)

then any other matter else. But setting aside, from which of these

two houses he came, I say, that in his time he was a very welthy

Knight, & had three Sonnes; the first being named _Lamberto_, the

second _Thebaldo_, & the third _Agolanto_, all goodly and gracefull

youths: howbeit, the eldest had not compleated eighteene yeares, when

Signior _Thebaldo_ the father deceased, who left them all his goods

and inheritances. And they, seeing them selves rich in readie monies

and revennewes, without any other government then their owne voluntary

disposition, kept no restraint upon their expences, but maintained many

servants, and store of unvalewable horses, beside Hawkes and Hounds,

with open house for all commers; and not onely all delights else fit

for Gentlemen, but what vanities beside best agreed with their wanton

and youthfull appetites.

Not long had they run on this race, but the treasures lefte them by

their Father, began greatly to diminish; and their revennewes suffised

not, to support such lavish expences as they had begun: but they fell

to engaging and pawning their inheritances, selling one to day, and

another to morrow, so that they saw themselves quickly come to nothing,

and then poverty opened their eyes, which prodigality had before

closed up. Heereupon, _Lamberto_ (on a day) calling his Brethren to

him, shewed them what the honours of their Father had beene, to what

height his wealth amounted, and now to what an ebbe of poverty it was

falne, onely thorow their inordinate expences. Wherefore hee counselled

them, (as best he could) before further misery insulted over them; to

make sale of the small remainder that was left, and then to betake

themselves unto some other abiding, where fairer Fortune might chance

to shine uppon them.

This advice prevailed with them; and so, without taking leave of any

body, or other solemnity then closest secrecy, they departed from

_Florence_, not tarrying in any place untill they were arrived in

_England_. Comming to the City of London, and taking there a small

house upon yearly rent, living on so little charge as possible might

be, they began to lend out money at use: wherein Fortune was so

favourable to them, that (in few yeares) they had gathered a great

summe of mony: by means whereof it came to passe, that one while one

of them, and afterward another, returned backe againe to _Florence_:

where, with those summes, a great part of their inheritances were

redeemed, and many other bought beside. Linking themselves in marriage,

and yet continuing their usances in England; they sent a Nephew of

theirs thither, named _Alessandro_, a yong man, and of faire demeanour,

to maintaine their stocke in employment: while they three remained

still at _Florence_, and growing forgetful of their former misery, fell

againe into as unreasonable expences as ever, never respecting their

houshold charges, because they had good credite among the Merchants,

and the monies still sent from _Alessandro_, supported their expences

divers yeares.

The dealings of _Alessandro_ in England grew very great, for hee lent

out much money to many Gentlemen, Lords, and Barons of the Land, upon

engagement of their Manours, Castles, and other revennues: from whence

he derived immeasurable benefite. While the three Brethren held on

in their lavish expences, borrowing moneys when they wanted untill

their supplyes came from England, whereon (indeede) was their onely

dependance: it fortuned, that (contrary to the opinion of al men)

warre happened betweene the King of England, and one of his sonnes,

which occasioned much trouble in the whole Countrey, by taking part

on either side, some with the Sonne, and other with the Father. In

regard whereof, those Castles and places pawned to _Alessandro_, were

sodainely seized from him, nothing then remaining that returned him any

profit. But living in hope day by day, that peace would be concluded

betweene the Father and the Sonne, he never doubted, but all things

then should be restored to him, both the principall and interest, &

therefore he would not depart out of the Country.

The three Brethren at _Florence_, bounding within no limites their

disordered spending, borrowed daily more and more. And after some few

yeares, the Creditors seeing no effect of their hopes to come from them,

all credit being lost with them, and no repayment of promised dues;

they were imprisoned, their landes and all they had, not suffising to

pay the moity of debts, but their bodies remained in prison for the

rest, theyr Wives and yong children being sent thence, some to one

village, some to another, so that nothing now was to be expected, but

poverty & misery of life forever.

As for honest _Alessandro_, who had awaited long time for peace in

England, perceyving there was no likelyhood of it; and considering

also, that (beside his tarrying there in vaine to recover his dues)

he was in danger of his life; without any further deferring, hee

set away for _Italy_. It came to passe, that as he issued foorth of

_Bruges_, hee saw a yong Abbot also journeying thence, being cloathed

in white, accompanied with divers Monkes, and a great traine before,

conducting the needefull carriage. Two ancient Knights, Kinsmen to the

King, followed after, with whom _Alessandro_ acquainted himselfe, as

having formerly known them, and was kindly accepted into their company.

_Alessandro_ riding along with them, courteously requested to know,

what those Monks were that rode before, and such a traine attending on

them? Whereto one of the Knights thus answered.

He that rideth before, is a yong Gentleman, and our Kinsman, who is

newly elected Abbot of one of the best Abbeyes in England; & because he

is more yong in yeares, then the decrees for such a dignity doe allow,

we travaile with him to _Rome_, to entreat our Holy Father, that his

youth may be dispensed withall, and he confirmed in the sayd dignity;

but hee is not to speake a word to any person. On rode this new Abbot,

sometimes before his traine, and other whiles after, as we see great

Lords use to do, when they ride upon the High-wayes.

It chanced on a day, that _Alessandro_ rode somewhat neere to the

Abbot, who stedfastly beholding him, perceived that he was a verie

comely young man, so affable, lovely, and gracious, that even in

this first encounter, he hadde never seene any man before, that

better pleased him. Calling him a little closer, he began to conferre

familiarly with him, demanding what he was, whence he came, and whether

he travelled. _Alessandro_ imparted freely to him all his affaires, in

every thing satisfying his demands, and offering (although his power

was small) to doe him all the service he could.

When the Abbot had heard his gentle answers, so wisely & discreetly

delivered, considering also (more particularly) his commendable

cariage; he tooke him to be (at the least) a well-borne Gentleman, and

far differing from his owne logger-headed traine. Wherefore, taking

compassion on his great misfortunes, he comforted him very kindly,

wishing him to live alwayes in good hope. For, if hee were vertuous and

honest, he should surely attaine to the seate from whence Fortune had

throwne him, or rather much higher. Entreating him also, that seeing he

journied towards _Tuscany_, as he himselfe did the like, to continue

still (if he pleased) in his company. _Alessandro_ most humbly thanked

him for such gracious comfort; protesting, that he would be alwaies

ready, to doe whatsoever he commanded.

The Abbot riding on, with newer crochets in his braine, then hee had

before the sight of _Alessandro_; it fortuned, that after divers dayes

of travaile, they came to a small countrey Village, which affoorded

little store of lodging, and yet the Abbot would needs lye there.

_Alessandro_, being well acquainted with the Host of the house, willed

him, to provide for the Abbot and his people, and then to lodge him

where hee thought meetest. Now, before the Abbots comming thither,

the Harbinger that marshalled all such matters, had provided for his

traine in the Village, some in one place, and others elsewhere, in the

best manner that the Towne could yeelde. But when the Abbot had supt, a

great part of the night being spent, and every one else at his rest;

_Alessandro_ demaunded of the Host, what provision he had made for him;

and how hee should be lodged that night?

In good sadnesse Sir (quoth the Host) you see that my house is full of

Guests, so that I and my people, must gladly sleepe on the tables &

benches: Neverthelesse, next adjoining to my Lord Abbots Chamber, there

are certaine Corn-lofts, whether I can closely bring you, and making

shift there with a slender Pallet-bed, it may serve for one night,

insted of a better. But mine Host (quoth _Alessandro_) how can I passe

thorow my Lords Chamber, which is so little, as it would not allowe

Lodging for any of his Monkes? If I had remembred so much (said the

Host) before the Curtaines were drawne, I could have lodgd his Monkes

in those Corn-lofts, and then both you and I might have slept where now

they do. But feare you not, my Lords Curtaines are close drawne, hee

sleepeth (no doubt) soundly, and I can conveigh you thither quietly

enough, without the least disturbance to him, and a Pallet-bed shal

be fitted there for you. _Alessandro_ perceyving, that all this might

bee easilie done, and no disease offered to the Abbot, accepted it

willingly, & went thither without any noyse at all.

My Lord Abbot, whose thoughtes were so busied about amorous desires,

that no sleepe at all could enter his eyes; heard all this talke

betweene the Host and _Alessandro_, and also where hee was appointed

to lodge, wherefore he sayd to himselfe. Seeing Fortune hath fitted me

with a propitious time, to compasse the happines of my hearts desire;

I know no reason why I should refuse it. Perhaps, I shall never have

the like offer againe, or ever be enabled with such an opportunity.

So, being fully determined to prosecute his intention, and perswading

himselfe also, that the silence of night had bestowed sleepe on all the

rest; with a lowe and trembling voyce, he called _Alessandro_, advising

him to come and lye downe by him, which (after some few faint excuses)

he did, and putting off his cloaths, lay downe by the Abbot, being not

a little prowde of so gracious a favour.

The Abbot, laying his arme over the others body, began to imbrace and

hugge him; even as amorous friends (provoked by earnest affection)

use to do. Whereat _Alessandro_ very much marvayling, and being an

_Italian_ himselfe, fearing least this folly in the Abbot, would

convert to foule and dishonest action, shrunk modestly from him. Which

the Abbot perceiving, and doubting, least _Alessandro_ would depart

and leave him, pleasantly smiling, and with bashfull behaviour, baring

his stomack, he tooke _Alessandroes_ hand, and laying it thereon,

saide; _Alessandro_, let all bad thoughts of bestiall abuse be farre

off from thee, and feele here, to resolve thee from all such feare.

_Alessandro_ feeling the Abbots brest, found there two pretty little

mountainets, round, plumpe, and smooth, appearing as if they had beene

of polished Ivory; whereby he perceived, that the Abbot was a woman:

which, setting an edge on his youthfull desires, made him fall to

embracing, and immediately he offered to kisse her; but shee somewhat

rudely repulsing him, as halfe offended, saide.

_Alessandro_, forbeare such boldnesse, upon thy lives perill, and

before thou further presume to touch me, understand what I shall tell

thee. I am (as thou perceivest) no man, but a woman; and departing

a Virgin from my Fathers House, am travelling towards the Popes

holinesse, to the end that he should bestow me in mariage. But the

other day, when first I beheld thee, whether it proceeded from thy

happinesse in fortune, or the fatall houre of my owne infelicity for

ever, I know not; I conceived such an effectuall kinde of liking

towards thee, as never did woman love a man more truly, then I doe

thee, having sworne within my soule to make thee my Husband before any

other; and if thou wilt not accept mee as thy wife, set a locke upon

thy lippes concerning what thou hast heard, and depart hence to thine

owne bed againe.

No doubt, but that these were strange newes to _Alessandro_, and seemed

meerely as a miracle to him. What shee was, he knew not, but in regard

of her traine and company, hee reputed her to be both noble and rich,

as also shee was wonderfull faire and beautifull. His owne fortunes

stood out of future expectation by his kinsmens overthrow, and his

great losses in _England_; wherefore, upon an opportunity so fairely

offered, hee held it no wisedome to returne refusall, but accepted her

gracious motion, and referred all to her disposing. Shee arising out of

her bed, called him to a little Table standing by, where hung a faire

Crucifix upon the wall; before which, and calling him to witnesse, that

suffered such bitter and cruell torments on his Crosse, putting a Ring

upon his finger, there she faithfully espoused him, refusing all the

World, to be onely his: which being on either side confirmed solemnely,

by an holy vow, and chaste kisses; shee commanded him backe to his

Chamber, and shee returned to her bed againe, sufficiently satisfied

with her Loves acceptation, and so they journied on till they came to

_Rome_.

When they had rested themselves there for some few dayes, the supposed

Abbot, with the two Knights, and none else in company but _Alessandro_,

went before the Pope, and having done him such reverence as beseemed,

the Abbot began to speake in this manner.

Holy Father (as you know much better then any other) every one that

desireth to live well and vertuously, ought to shunne (so farre as

in them lieth) all occasions that may induce to the contrary. To the

ende therefore, that I (who desire nothing more) then to live within

the compasse of a vertuous conversation, may perfect my hopes in this

behalfe: I have fled from my Fathers Court, and am come hither in this

habite as you see, to crave therein your holy and fatherly furtherance.

I am daughter to the King of _England_, and have sufficiently furnished

my selfe with some of his treasures, that your holinesse may bestow

me in marriage; because mine unkind Father, never regarding my youth

and beauty (inferior to few in my native Country) would marry me to

the King of _North-wales_, an aged, impotent, and sickly man. Yet let

me tell your sanctity, that his age and weakenesse hath not so much

occasioned my flight, as feare of mine owne youth and frailety; when

being married to him, instead of loyall and unstained life, lewd and

dishonest desires might make me to wander, by breaking the divine Lawes

of wedlocke, and abusing the royall blood of my Father.

As I travailed hither with this vertuous intention, our Lord, who

onely knoweth perfectly, what is best fitting for all his creatures;

presented mine eyes (no doubt in his meere mercy and goodnesse) with

a man meete to be my husband, which (pointing to _Alessandro_) is

this young Gentleman standing by me, whose honest, vertuous, and

civill demeanour, deserveth a Lady of farre greater worth, although

(perhaps) nobility in blood be denied him, and may make him seeme not

so excellent, as one derived from Royall discent. Holy and religious

vowes have past betweene us both, and the Ring on his finger, is the

firme pledge of my faith and constancie; never to accept any other man

in marriage, but him onely, although my Father, or any else doe dislike

it. Wherefore (holy Father) the principall cause of my comming hither,

being already effectually concluded on, I desire to compleat the rest

of my pilgrimage, by visiting the sanctified places in this City,

whereof there are great plenty; And also, that sacred marriage, being

contracted in the presence of God onely, betweene _Alessandro_ and my

selfe, may by you be publiquely confirmed, and in an open congregation.

For, seeing God hath so appointed it, and our soules have so solemnely

vowed it, that no disaster whatsoever can alter it: you being Gods

vicar here on earth, I hope will not gaine-say, but confirme it with

your fatherly benediction, that wee may live in Gods feare, and dye in

his favour.

Perswade your selves (faire Ladies) that _Alessandro_ was in no meane

admiration, when hee heard, that his wife was daughter to the King of

_England_; unspeakeable joy (questionlesse) wholly overcame him: but

the two Knights were not a little troubled and offended, at such a

strange and unexpected accident, yea, so violent were their passions,

that had they beene any where else, then in the Popes presence,

_Alessandro_ had felt their fury, and (perhaps) the Princesse her selfe

too. On the other side, the Pope was much amazed, at the habite she

went disguised in, and likewise at the election of her husband; but,

perceiving there was no resistance to be made against it, hee yeelded

the more willingly to satisfie her desire. And therefore, having first

comforted the two Knights, and made peace betweene them, the Princesse

and _Alessandro_; he gave order for the rest that was to be done.

When the appointed day for the solemnity was come, hee caused the

Princesse (cloathed in most rich and royall garments) to appeare before

all the Cardinals, and many other great persons then in presence, who

were come to this worthy Feast, which hee had caused purposely to be

prepared, where she seemed so faire & goodly a Lady, that every eye was

highly delighted to behold her, commending her with no mean admiration.

In like manner was _Alessandro_ greatly honoured by the two Knights,

being most sumptuous in appearance, and not like a man that had lent

money to usury, but rather of very royall quality; the Pope himselfe

celebrating the marriage betweene them, which being finished, with

the most magnificent pompe that could be devised, hee gave them his

benediction, and licenced their departure thence.

_Alessandro_, his Princesse and her traine thus leaving _Rome_, they

would needes visite _Florence_, where the newes of this accident was

(long before) noysed, and they received by the Citizens in royall

manner. There did shee deliver the three brethren out of prison,

having first payed all their debts, and reseated them againe (with

their wives) in their former inheritances and possessions. Afterward,

departing from _Florence_, and _Agolanto_, one of the Uncles travailing

with them to _Paris_; they were there also most honourably entertained

by the King of _France_. From whence the two Knights went before

for _England_, and prevailed so succesfully with the King; that hee

received his daughter into grace and favour, as also his Sonne in law

her husband, to whom hee gave the order of Knighthoode, and (for his

greater dignitie) created him Earle of _Cornewall_.

And such was the noble Spirit of _Alessandro_, that he pacified the

troubles betweene the King and his sonne, whereon ensued great comfort

to the Kingdome, winning the love and favour of all the people; and

_Agolanto_ (by the meanes of _Alessandro_) recovered all that was

due to him and his brethren in _England_, returning richly home to

_Florence_, Counte _Alessandro_ (his kinsman) having first dubd him

Knight. Longtime hee lived in peace and tranquility, with the faire

Princesse his wife, proving to be so absolute in wisedome, and so

famous a Souldier; that (as some report) by assistance of his Father

in law, hee conquered the Realme of _Ireland_, and was crowned King

thereof.

Landolpho Ruffolo, _falling into poverty, became a Pirate on the Seas,

and being taken by the Genewayes, hardly escaped drowning: Which

yet (neverthelesse) he did, upon a little Chest or Coffer, full of

very rich Jewels, being caried thereon to_ Corfu, _where he was well

entertained by a good woman; And afterward, returned richly home to his

owne house._

The fourth Novell.

_Whereby may be discerned, into how many dangers a man may fall,

through a covetous desire to enrich himselfe._

Madame _Lauretta_, sitting next to Madame _Pampinea_, and seeing how

triumphantly shee had finished her discourse; without attending any

thing else, spake thus. Gracious Ladies, wee shall never behold (in

mine opinion) a greater act of Fortune, then to see a man so suddainly

exalted, even from the lowest depth of poverty, to a Royall estate of

dignity; as the discourse of Madame _Pampinea_ hath made good, by the

happy advancement of _Alessandro_. And because it appeareth necessary,

that whosoever discourseth on the subject proposed, should no way varie

from the very same termes; I shall not shame to tell a tale, which,

though it containe farre greater mishaps then the former, may sort

to as happy an issue, albeit not so noble and magnificent. In which

respect, it may (perhaps) merit the lesse attention; but howsoever that

fault shall be found in you, I meane to discharge mine owne duty.

Opinion hath made it famous for long time, that the Sea-coast of

_Rhegium_ to _Gaieta_, is the onely delectable part of all _Italy_,

wherein, somewhat neere to _Salerno_, is a shore looking upon the Sea,

which the inhabitants there dwelling, doe call the coast of _Malfy_,

full of small Townes, Gardens, Springs and wealthy men, trading in

as many kindes of Merchandizes, as any other people that I know.

Among which Townes, there is one, named _Ravello_, wherein (as yet

to this day there are rich people) there was (not long since) a very

wealthy man, named _Landolpho Ruffolo_, who being not contented with

his riches, but coveting to multiply them double and trebble, fell in

danger, to loose both himselfe and wealth together.

This man (as other Merchants are wont to doe) after hee had considered

on his affaires, bought him a very goodly Ship, lading it with divers

sorts of Merchandizes, all belonging to himselfe onely, and making his

voyage to the Isle of _Cyprus_. Where he found, over and beside the

Merchandizes he had brought thither, many Ships more there arrived,

and all laden with the selfe same commodities, in regard whereof, it

was needefull for him, not onely to make a good Mart of his goods; but

also was further constrained (if hee meant to vent his commodities) to

sell them away (almost) for nothing, endangering his utter destruction

and overthrow. Whereupon, grieving exceedingly at so great a losse,

not knowing what to doe, and seeing, that from very aboundant wealth,

hee was likely to fall into as low poverty: hee resolved to dye, or to

recompence his losses upon others, because he would not returne home

poore, having departed thence so rich.

Meeting with a Merchant, that bought his great Ship of him; with the

money made thereof, and also of his other Merchandizes, hee purchased

another, being a lighter vessell, apt and proper for the use of a

Pirate, arming and furnishing it in ample manner, for roving and

robbing upon the Seas. Thus hee began to make other mens goods his

owne, especially from the Turkes he tooke much wealth, Fortune being

alwayes therein so favourable to him, that hee could never compasse the

like by trading. So that, within the space of one yeare, hee had robd

and taken so many Gallies from the Turke; that he found himselfe well

recovered, not onely of all his losses by Merchandize, but likewise his

wealth was wholly redoubled. Finding his losses to be very liberally

requited, and having now sufficient, it were folly to hazard a second

fall; wherefore, conferring with his owne thoughts, and finding that he

had enough, and needed not to covet after more: he fully concluded, now

to returne home to his owne house againe, and live upon his goods thus

gotten.

Continuing still in feare, of the losses he had sustained by traffique,

& minding, never more to imploy his mony that way, but to keep this

light vessel, which had holpen him to all his wealth: he commanded

his men to put forth their Oares, and shape their course for his owne

dwelling. Being aloft in the higher Seas, darke night over-taking

them, and a mighty winde suddainly comming upon them: it not onely was

contrary to their course, but held on with such impetuous violence;

that the small vessell, being unable to endure it, made to land-ward

speedily, and in expectation of a more friendly wind, entred a little

port of the Sea, directing up into a small Island, and there safely

sheltred it selfe. Into the same port which _Landolpho_ had thus taken

for his refuge, entred (soone after) two great Carrackes of _Genewayes_

lately come from _Constantinople_. When the men in them had espied

the small Barke, and lockt uppe her passage from getting foorth;

understanding the Owners name, and that report had famed him to be very

rich, they determined (as men evermore addicted naturally, to covet

after money and spoile) to make it their owne as a prize at Sea.

Landing some store of their men, well armed with Crosse-bowes and

other weapons, they tooke possession of such a place, where none

durst issue forth of the small Barke, but endangered his life with

their Darts & Arrowes. Entering aboord the Barke, and making it their

owne by full possession, all the men they threw over-boord, without

sparing any but _Landolpho_ himselfe, whom they mounted into one of

the Carrackes, leaving him nothing but a poore shirt of Maile on his

backe, and having rifled the Barke of all her riches, sunke it into the

bottome of the sea. The day following, the rough windes being calmed,

the Carrackes set saile againe, having a prosperous passage all the

day long; but uppon the entrance of darke night, the windes blew more

tempestuously then before, and sweld the Sea in such rude stormes, that

the two Carracks were sundered each from other, and by violence of the

tempest it came to passe, that the Carracke wherein lay poore miserable

_Landolpho_ (beneath the Isle of _Cephalonia_) ran against a rocke, and

even as a glasse against a wall, so split the Carracke in peeces, the

goods and merchandizes floating on the Sea, Chests, Coffers, Beds, and

such like other things, as often hapneth in such lamentable accidents.

Now, notwithstanding the nights obscurity, and impetuous violence of

the billowes; such as could swimme, made shift to save their lives by

swimming. Others caught hold on such things, as by Fortunes favour

floated neerest to them, among whom, distressed _Landolpho_, desirous

to save his life, if possibly it might be, espied a Chest or Coffer

before him, ordained (no doubt) to be the meanes of his safety from

drowning. Now although the day before, he had wished for death infinite

times, rather then to returne home in such wretched poverty; yet,

seeing how other men strove for safety of their lives by any helpe,

were it never so little, he tooke advantage of this favour offred him,

and the rather in a necessitie so urgent. Keeping fast upon the Coffer

so well as he could, and being driven by the winds & waves, one while

this way, and anon quite contrarie, he made shift for himselfe till day

appeared; when looking every way about him, seeing nothing but clouds,

the seas and the Coffer, which one while shrunke from under him, and

another while supported him, according as the windes and billowes

carried it: all that day and night thus he floated up and downe,

drinking more then willingly hee would, but almost hunger-starved

thorow want of foode. The next morning, either by the appointment

of heaven, or power of the Windes, _Landolpho_ who was (well-neere)

become a Spundge, holding his armes strongly about the Chest, as wee

have seene some doe, who (dreading drowning) take hold on any the very

smallest helpe; drew neere unto the shore of the Iland _Corfu_, where

(by good fortune) a poore woman was scowring dishes with the salt water

and sand, to make them (house-wife like) neate and cleane.

When shee saw the Chest drawing neere her, and not discerning the

shape of any man, shee grew fearefull, and retyring from it, cried out

aloude. He had no power of speaking to her, neither did his sight doe

him the smallest service; but even as the waves and windes pleased, the

Chest was driven still neerer to the Land, and then the woman perceived

that it had the forme of a Coffer, and looking more advisedly, beheld

two armes extended over it, and afterward, shee espied the face of a

man, not being able to judge, whether he were alive, or no. Moved by

charitable and womanly compassion, shee stept in among the billowes,

and getting fast holde on the haire of his head, drew both the Chest

and him to the Land, and calling forth her Daughter to helpe her, with

much adoe shee unfolded his armes from the Chest, setting it up on

her Daughters head, and then betweene them, _Landolpho_ was led into

the Towne, and there conveyed into a warme Stove, where quickly he

recovered (by her pains) his strength benummed with extreame cold.

Good wines and comfortable broathes shee cherished him withall, that

his sences being indifferently restored, hee knew the place where he

was; but not in what manner he was brought thither, till the good woman

shewed him the Cofer that had kept him floating upon the waves, and

(next under God) had saved his life. The Chest seemed of such slender

weight, that nothing of any value could be expected in it, either to

recompence the womans great paines and kindnesse bestowne on him, or

any matter of his owne benefit. Neverthelesse, the woman being absent,

he opened the Chest, and found innumerable precious stones therein,

some costly and curiously set in gold, and others not fixed in any

mettall. Having knowledge of their great worth and value (being a

Merchant, and skild in such matters) he became much comforted, praysing

God for this good successe, and such an admirable meanes of deliverance

from danger.

Then considering with himselfe, that (in a short time) hee had beene

twice well buffeted and beaten by Fortune, and fearing, least a third

mishap might follow in like manner; hee consulted with his thoughts,

how he might safest order the businesse, and bring so rich a booty

(without perill) to his owne home. Wherefore, wrapping up the Jewels in

very unsightly cloutes, that no suspition at all should be conceived

of them, hee saide to the good woman, that the Chest would not doe him

any further service; but if shee pleased to lende him a small sacke or

bagge, shee might keepe the Cofer, for in her house it would divers

way stead her. The woman gladly did as he desired, and _Landolpho_

returning her infinite thankes, for the loving kindnesse shee had

affoorded him, throwing the sacke on his necke, passed by a Barke to

_Brundusiam_, and from thence to _Tranium_, where Merchants in the

City bestowed good garments on him, hee acquainting them with his

disasterous fortunes, but not a word concerning his last good successe.

Being come home in safety to _Ravello_, hee fell on his knees, and

thanked God for all his mercies towards him. Then opening the sacke,

and viewing the Jewels at more leysure then formerly he had done, he

found them to be of so great estimation, that selling them but at

ordinary and reasonable rates, he was three times richer, then when hee

departed first from his house. And having vented them all, he sent a

great sum of money to the good woman at _Corfu_, that had rescued him

out of the Sea, and saved his life in a danger so dreadfull: The like

hee did to _Tranium_, to the Merchants that had newly cloathed him;

living richly upon the remainder, and never adventuring more to the

Sea, but ended his dayes in wealth and honour.

Andrea de Piero, _travelling from_ Perouse _to_ Naples _to buy Horses,

was (in the space of one night) surprised by three admirable accidents,

out of all which hee fortunately escaped, and, with a rich Ring,

returned home to his owne house._

The fift Novell.

_Comprehending, how needfull a thing it is, for a man that travelleth

in affaires of the World, to be provident and well advised, and

carefully to keepe himselfe from the crafty and deceitfull allurements

of Strumpets._

The precious Stones and Jewels found by _Landolpho_, maketh mee

to remember (said Madam _Fiammetta_, who was next to deliver her

discourse) a Tale, containing no lesse perils, then that reported by

Madam _Lauretta_: but somewhat different from it, because the one

happened in sundry yeeres, and this other had no longer time, then the

compasse of one poore night, as instantly I will relate unto you.

As I have heard reported by many, there sometime lived in _Perouse_

or _Perugia_, a young man, named _Andrea de Piero_, whose profession

was to trade about Horses, in the nature of a Horse-courser, or

Horse-master, who hearing of a good Faire or Market (for his purpose)

at _Naples_, did put five hundred Crownes of gold in his purse, and

journeyed thither in the company of other Horse-coursers, arriving

there on a Sunday in the evening. According to instructions given him

by his Host, he went the next day into the Horse-market, where he saw

very many Horses that he liked, cheapening their prices as he went up

and downe, but could fall to no agreement; yet to manifest that he came

purposely to buy, and not as a cheapener onely, often times (like a

shalow-brainde trader in the world) he shewed his purse of gold before

all passengers, never respecting who, or what they were that observed

his follie.

It came to passe, that a young _Sicillian_ wench (very beautifull, but

at commaund of whosoever would, and for small hire) passing then by,

and (without his perceiving) seeing such store of gold in his purse;

presently she said to her selfe: why should not all those crownes be

mine, when the foole that owes them, can keepe them no closer? And so

she went on. With this young wanton there was (at the same time) an

olde woman (as commonly such stuffe is alwayes so attended) seeming

to be _Sicillian_ also, who so soone as shee saw _Andrea_, knew him,

and, leaving her youthfull commodity, ranne to him, and embraced him

very kindly. Which when the younger Lasse perceived, without proceeding

any further, she stayed, to see what would ensue thereon. _Andrea_

conferring with the olde Bawde, and knowing her (but not for any

such creature) declared himselfe very affable to her; she making him

promise, that shee would come and drinke with him at his lodging. So,

breaking off further Speeches for that time, shee returned to her young

_Cammerado_; and _Andrea_ went about buying his horses, still cheapning

good store, but did not buy any all that morning.

The Punke that had taken notice of _Andreaes_ purse, upon the olde

womans comming backe to her (having formerly studied, how shee might

get all the gold, or the greater part thereof) cunningly questioned

with her, what the man was, whence hee came, and the occasion of his

businesse there? wherein she fully informed her particularly, and

in as ample manner as himselfe could have done: That shee had long

time dwelt in _Sicily_ with his Father, and afterward at _Perouse_;

recounting also, at what time she came thence, and the cause which now

had drawne him to _Naples_. The witty young housewife, being thorowly

instructed, concerning the Parents and kindred of _Andrea_, their

names, quality, and all other circumstances thereto leading; began to

frame the foundation of her purpose thereupon, setting her resolution

downe constantly, that the purse and gold was (already) more then halfe

her owne.