my heart in the meere repetition, beside the sad and afflicting
sufferance; two things there are, which if I cannot compasse to have,
all hope is quite frustrate for ever, of gaining the grace of my Lord
and Husband. Yet those two things may I obtaine by your helpe, if all
be true which I have heard, and you can therein best resolve mee.
Since my comming to this City, it hath credibly bene told me, that the
Count my husband, is deeply in love with your daughter. If the Count
(quoth the Ladie) love my daughter, and have a wife of his owne, he
must thinke, and so shall surely finde it, that his greatnesse is no
priviledge for him, whereby to worke dishonour upon her poverty. But
indeed, some apparances there are, and such a matter as you speake of,
may be so presumed; yet so farre from a very thought of entertaining in
her or me; as whatsoever I am able to do, to yeeld you any comfort and
content, you shall find me therein both willing and ready: for I prize
my daughters spotles poverty as at high a rate, as he can do the pride
of his honour.
Madam, quoth the Countesse, most heartily I thanke you. But before I
presume any further on your kindnesse, let me first tell you, what
faithfully I intend to do for you, if I can bring my purpose to effect.
I see that your daughter is beautifull, and of sufficient yeares for
mariage; and is debarred thereof (as I have heard) onely by lack of a
competent dowry. Wherefore Madame, in recompence of the favour I expect
from you, I will enrich her with so much ready money as you shall
thinke sufficient to match her in the degree of honour. Poverty made the
poore Lady, very well to like of such a bountifull offer, and having
a noble heart she said: Great Countesse say, wherein am I able to do
you any service, as can deserve such a gracious offer? If the action
bee honest, without blame or scandall to my poore, yet undejected
reputation, gladly I will do it; and it being accomplished, let the
requitall rest in your owne noble nature.
Observe me then Madam, replyed the Countesse. It is most convenient for
my purpose, that by some trusty and faithfull messenger, you should
advertise the Count my husband, that your daughter is, and shall be at
his command: but because she may remain absolutely assured, that his
love is constant to her, and above all other: shee must entreate him,
to send her (as a testimony thereof) the Ring which he weareth upon
his little finger, albeit she hath heard, that he loveth it dearly.
If he send the Ring, you shal give it me, & afterward send him word,
that your daughter is readie to accomplish his pleasure; but, for the
more safety and secrecie, he must repaire hither to your house, where
I being in bed insted of your daughter, faire Fortune may so favour
mee, that (unknowne to him) I may conceive with childe. Uppon which
good successe, when time shall serve, having the Ring on my finger,
and a child in my armes begotten by him, his love and liking may bee
recovered, and (by your meanes) I continue with my Husband, as everie
vertuous Wife ought to doe.
The good old Ladie imagined, that this was a matter somewhat
difficult, and might lay a blamefull imputation on her daughter:
Neverthelesse, considering, what an honest office it was in her, to bee
the meanes, whereby so worthy a Countesse should recover an unkinde
husband, led altogether by lust, and not a jot of cordiall love; she
knew the intent to be honest, the Countesse vertuous, and her promise
religious, and therefore undertooke to effect it. Within few dayes
after, verie ingeniously, and according to the instructed order,
the Ring was obtained, albeit much against the Counts will; and the
Countesse, in sted of the Ladies vertuous daughter, was embraced by him
in bed: the houre proving so auspicious, and _Juno_ being Lady of the
ascendent, conjoyned with the witty _Mercury_, she conceived of two
goodly Sonnes, and her deliverance agreed correspondently with the just
time.
Thus the old Lady, not at this time only, but at many other meetings
beside; gave the Countesse free possession of her husbands pleasures,
yet alwayes in such darke and concealed secrecie, as it was never
suspected, nor knowne by any but themselves, the Count lying with his
owne wife, and disappointed of her whom he more deerely loved. Alwayes
at his uprising in the mornings (which usually was before the breake
of day, for preventing the least scruple of suspition) many familiar
conferences passed betweene them, with the gifts of divers faire and
costly Jewelse; all which the Countesse carefully kept, and perceiving
assuredly, that shee was conceived with childe, she would no longer
bee troublesome to the good old Lady; but calling her aside, spake
thus to her. Madam, I must needs give thankes to heaven and you,
because my desires are amply accomplished, and both time and your
deserts doe justly challenge, that I should accordingly quite you
before my departure. It remaineth nowe in your owne power, to make
what demand you please of me, which yet I will not give you by way of
reward, because that would seeme to bee base and mercenary: but onely
whatsoever you shall receive of me, is in honourable recompence of
faire & vertuous deservings, such as any honest and well-minded Lady in
the like distresse, may with good credit allow, and yet no prejudice to
her reputation.
Although poverty might well have tutored the Ladies tongue, to demand
a liberall recompence for her paines; yet she requested but an 100
pounds, as a friendly helpe towards her daughters marriage, and that
with a bashfull blushing was uttered too; yet the Countesse gave hir
five hundred pounds, beside so many rich and costly Jewelse, as amounted
to a farre greater summe. So she returned to her wonted lodging, at the
aged widdowes house, where first she was entertained at her comming
to _Florence_; and the good old Lady, to avoide the Counts repairing
to her house any more, departed thence sodainly with her daughter, to
divers friends of hers that dwelt in the Country, whereat the Count
was much discontented; albeit afterward, he did never heare any more
tidings of hir or her daughter, who was worthily married, to her
Mothers great comfort.
Not long after, Count _Bertrand_ was re-called home by his people: and
he having heard of his wives absence, went to _Roussillion_ so much the
more willingly. And the Countesse knowing her husbands departure from
_Florence_, as also his safe arrivall at his owne dwelling, remained
still in _Florence_, untill the time of her deliverance, which was
of two goodly Sonnes, lively resembling the lookes of their Father,
and all the perfect lineaments of his body. Perswade your selves, she
was not a little carefull of their nursing; and when she saw the time
answerable to her determination, she tooke her journey (unknowne to
any) and arrived with them at _Montpellier_, where shee rested her
selfe for divers dayes, after so long and wearisome a journey.
Upon the day of all Saints, the Count kept a solemne Festivall, for the
assembly of his Lords, Knights, Ladies, and Gentlewomen: uppon which
Joviall day of generall rejoycing, the Countesse attired in her wonted
Pilgrimes weed, repaired thither, entering into the great Hall, where
the Tables were readily covered for dinner. Preassing thorough the
throng of people, with her two children in her armes, she presumed unto
the place where the Count sate, & falling on her knees before him, the
teares trickling abundantly downe her cheekes, thus she spake. Worthy
Lord, I am thy poor, despised, and unfortunate wife; who, that thou
mightst returne home, and not bee an exile from thine owne abiding,
have thus long gone begging through the world. Yet now at length, I
hope thou wilt be so honourably-minded, as to performe thine own too
strict imposed conditions, made to the two Knights which I sent unto
thee, and which (by thy command) I was enjoyned to do. Behold here in
mine armes, not onely one Sonne by thee begotten, but two Twins, and
thy Ring beside. High time is it now, if men of honour respect their
promises, that after so long and tedious travell, I should at last bee
welcommed as thy true wife.
The Counte hearing this, stoode as confounded with admiration; for full
well he knew the Ring: and both the children were so perfectly like
him, as he was confirmed to be their Father by generall judgement.
Upon his urging by what possible meanes this could be broght to
passe: the Countesse in presence of the whole assembly, and unto her
eternall commendation, related the whole history, even in such manner
as you have formerly heard it. Moreover, she reported the private
speeches in bed, uttered betweene himselfe and her, being witnessed
more apparantly, by the costly Jewelse there openly shewn. All which
infallible proofes, proclaiming his shame, and her most noble carriage
to her husband; hee confessed, that she had told nothing but the truth
in every point which she had reported.
Commending her admirable constancy, excellency of wit, & sprightly
courage, in making such a bold adventure; hee kissed the two sweete
boyes, and to keepe his promise, whereto he was earnestly importuned,
by all his best esteemed friends there present, especially the
honourable Ladies, who would have no deniall, but by forgetting his
former harsh and uncivill carriage towardes her, to accept her for
ever as his lawfull wife: folding her in his armes, and sweetly
kissing her divers times together, he bad her welcome to him, as his
vertuous, loyall, & most loving wife, and so (for ever after) he would
acknowledge her. Well knew he that she had store of better beseeming
garments in the house, and therefore requested the Ladies to walke with
her to her Chamber, to uncase her of those pilgrimes weeds, and cloath
her in her owne more sumptuous garments, even those which she wore on
her wedding day, because that was not the day of his contentment, but
onely this: for now he confessed her to be his wife indeede, and now he
would give the King thanks for her, and now was Count _Bertrand_ truly
married to the faire _Juliet_ of _Narbona_.
_The wonderfull and chaste resolved continency of faire Serictha,
daughter to Siwalde King of Denmark, who being sought and sued unto by
many worthy persons, that did affect her dearly, would not looke any
man in the face, untill such time as she was married._
The tenth Novell.
_A very singular and worthy president, for all yong Ladies and
Gentlewomen: not rashly to bestow themselves in mariage, without the
knowledge and consent of their Parents and Friends._
_Dioneus_ having diligently listened to the Queens singular discourse,
so soone as she had concluded, and none now remaining but himselfe, to
give a full period unto that dayes pleasure: without longer trifling
the time, or expecting any command from the Queene, thus he began.
Gracious Ladies, I know that you do now expect from me, some such
queint Tale, as shall be suteable to my merry disposition; rather
savouring of wantonnesse, then any discreet and sober wisedom; and such
a purpose indeed, I once had entertained. But having well observed
all your severall relations, grounded on grave & worthy examples,
especially the last, so notably delivered by the Queene: I cannot but
commend faire _Juliet_ of _Narbona_, in perfourming two such strange
impossibilities, and conquering the unkindnesse of so cruel a husband.
If my Tale come short of the precedent excellency, or give not such
content as you (perhaps) expect; accept my good will, and let me stand
engaged for a better heereafter.
The Annales of _Denmarke_ do make mention, that the King of the said
country, who was first set downe as Prince, contrary to the ancient
custom and lawes observed among the _Danes_, namely _Hunguinus_; had a
son called _Siwalde_, who succeeded him in the estates and kingdome,
belonging to his famous predecessors. That age, and the Court of that
Royall Prince, was verie highly renowned, by the honour of faire
_Serictha_, Daughter to the sayde _Siwalde_; who beside her generall
repute, of being a myracle of Nature, in perfection of beautie, and
most compleate in all that the heart of man could desire to note, in
a body full of grace, gentlenesse, and whatsoever elsee, to attract
the eyes of everie one to beholde her: was also so chaste, modest,
and bashfull, as it was meerely impossible, to prevaile so farre with
her, that any man should come to speake with her. For, in those dayes,
marriages were pursued and sought by valour, and by the onely opinion,
which stoute Warriours conceived, of the vertuous qualities of a Ladie.
Notwithstanding, never could any man make his vaunt, that she had
given him so much as a looke, or ever any one attained to the favour,
to whisper a word in her eare. Because both the custome and will of
Parents then (very respectively kept in those Northerne parts of the
world) of hearing such speak, as desired their daughters in marriage;
grew from offering them some worthy services; and thereby compassed
meanes, to yeeld their contentation, by some gracious and kinde answers.
But she, who was farre off from the desire of any such follies,
referring her selfe wholly to the will and disposition of the King her
Lord and Father; was so contrary, to give any living man an answer,
that her eye never looked on any one speaking to her, appearing as
sparing in vouchsafing a glance, as her heart was free from a thought
of affection. For, she had no other imagination, but that Maides, both
in their choise & will, ought to have any other disposition, but such
as should bee pleasing to their parents, either to graunt, or denie,
according as they were guided by their grave judgement. In like manner,
so well had shee brideled her sensuall appetites, with the curbe of
Reason, Wisedome, and Providence; setting such a severe and constant
restraint, on the twinkling or motions of her eyes, in absolute
obedience to her Father; as never was she seene to turne her head
aside, to lend one looke on any man of her age.
A worthy sight it was, to behold Knights errant, passing, repassing to
_Denmarke_, and backe againe, labouring to conquer those setled eyes,
to win the least signe of grace and favour, from her whom they so
dutiously pursued, to steale but a silly glimpse or glance, and would
have thought it a kind of honourable theft. But this immovable rock of
beauty, although she knew the disseignes of them which thus frequented
the Court of the King her Father, and could not pretend ignorance of
their endeavour, ayming onely at obtaining her in mariage: yet did she
not lend any look of her eye, yeelding the least signall of the hearts
motion, in affecting any thing whatsoever, but what it pleased her
Father she should do.
_Serictha_ living in this strange and unusuall manner, it mooved manie
Princes and great Lords, to come and court her, contending both by
signes and words, to change her from this severe constancie, and make
knowne (if possible it might be) whether a woman would or could be so
resolute, as to use no respect at all towards them, coming from so
manie strange countries, to honour her in the Courts of the King her
father. But in these dayes of ours, if such a number of gallant spirits
should come, to aske but one looke of some of our beauties; I am
halfe affraide, that they should finde the eyes of many of our dainty
darlings, not so sparing of their glances, as those of _Serictha_ were.
Considering, that our Courtiers of these times, are this way emulous
one of another, and women are so forward in offering themselves, that
they performe the office of suters, as fearing lest they should not be
solicited, yea, though it bee in honest manner.
The King, who knew well enough, that a daughter was a treasure of some
danger to keepe, and growing doubtfull withall least (in the end)
this so obstinate severity would be shaken, if once it came to passe,
that his daughter should feele the piercing apprehensions of love, &
whereof (as yet) she never had any experience; he determined to use
some remedy for this great concourse of lovers, and strange kinde of
carriage in the Princesse his daughter. For, hee apparantly perceived,
that such excelling beauty as was in _Serictha_, with those good and
commendable customes, and other ornaments of his daughters mind, could
never attaine to such an height of perfection; but yet there would be
found some men, so wittily accute and ingenious, as to convert and
humour a maid, according to their will, and make a mockery of them, who
were (before) of most high esteeme. Beside, among so great a troope of
Lords, as daily made tender of their amorous service, some one or other
would prove so happy, as (at the last) she should be his Mistresse.
And therefore forbearing what otherwhise he had intended, as a finall
conclusion of all such follies: calling his daughter alone to himselfe
in his Chamber, and standing cleere from all other attention, hee used
to her this, or the like Language.
I know not faire daughter, what reason may move you to shew your
selfe so disdainfull towards so many Noble and worthy men, as come to
visite you, and honour my Court with their presence, offering me their
love and loyall service, under this onely pretence (as I perceive)
of obtaining you, and compassing the happinesse (as it appeareth
in plaine strife among them) one day to winne the prize, you being
the maine issue of all their hope. If it be bashfull modesty, which
(indeede) ought to attend on all virgins of your yeares, and so veyles
your eyes, as (with honour) you cannot looke on any thing, but what
is your owne, or may not justly vouchsafe to see; I commend your
maidenly continencie, which yet neverthelesse, I would not have to bee
so severe; as (at length) your youth falling into mislike thereof, it
maybe the occasion of some great misfortune, either to you, or me,
or elsee to us both together: considering what rapes are ordinarily
committed in these quarters, and of Ladies equall every way to your
selfe; which happening, would presently be the cause of my death.
If it be in regard of some vow which you have consecrated to virginity,
and to some one of our Gods: I seeke not therein to hinder your
disseignes, neither will bereave the celestiall powers, of whatsoever
appertaineth to them. Albeit I could wish, that it should bee kept in
a place more straited, and separate from the resort of men; to the
end, that so bright a beauty as yours is, should cause no discords
among amorous suters, neither my Court prove a Campe destinied unto
the conclusion of such quarrelse, or you be the occasion of ruining so
many, whose service would beseeme a much more needfull place, then to
dye heere by fond and foolish opinion of enjoying a vaine pleasure,
yet remaining in the power of another bodie to grant. If therefore I
shall perceive, that these behaviours in you do proceede from pride, or
contempt of them, who endeavour to do you both honour and service, and in
sted of granting them a gracious looke, in arrogancie you keepe from
them, making them enemies to your folly and my sufferance: I sweare to
you by our greatest God, that I will take such due order, as shall make
you feele the hand of an offended Father, and teach you (hencefoorth)
to bee much more affable.
Wherefore deere daughter, you shall do me a singular pleasure, freely
to acquaint me with your minde, and the reasons of your so stricte
severity: promising you, upon the word and faith of a King, nay more,
of a loving and kinde Father, that if I finde the cause to bee just
and reasonable, I will desist so farre from hindering your intent,
as you shal rather perceive my fatherly furtherance, and rest truly
resolved of my help and favour. Wherefore faire daughter, neither blush
or dismay, or feare to let me understand your will; for evidently I
see, that meere virgin shame hath made a rapture of your soule, beeing
nothing elsee but those true splendours of vertue derived from your
Auncestors, and shining in you most gloriously, gracing you with a much
richer embellishing, then those beauties bestowed on you by Nature.
Speake therefore boldly to your Father, because there is no law to
prohibit your speech to him: for when he commandeth, he ought to bee
obeyed: promising uppon mine oath once againe, that if your reasons are
such as they ought to be, I will not faile to accommodate your fancy.
The wise and vertuous Princesse, hearing the King to alledge such
gracious reasons, and to lay so kinde a command on her; making him most
lowe and humble reverence, in signe of dutifull accepting such favour,
thus she answered. Royall Lord and Father, seeing that in your Princely
Court, I have gathered whatsoever may be termed vertuous in me, & you
being the principall instructer of my life, from whom I have learned
those lessons, how maides (of my age) ought to governe and maintaine
themselves: you shall apparently perceive, that neither gazing lookes,
which I ought not to yeelde without your consent, nor pride or
arrogancie, never taught me by you, or the Queene my most honourable
Lady and Mother, are any occasion of my cariage towards them, which
come to make ostentation of their folly in your Court, as if a meere
look of _Serictha_, were sufficient to yeeld assurance effectually of
their desires victory.
Nothing (my most Royall Lord and Father) induceth mee to this kinde
of behaviour, but onely due respect of your honour & mine owne: and
to the end it may not be thought, that I belye my selfe, in not eying
the affectionate offers of amorous pursuers, or have any other private
reserved meaning, then what may best please King _Siwalde_ my Father:
let it suffice Sir, that it remaineth in your power onely, to make an
apt election and choice for me; for I neither ought, nor will allowe
the acceptance of any suters kindnesse, so much as by a looke (much
lesse then by words) untill your Highnesse shall nominate the man, to
be a meete husband for _Serictha_. It is onely you then (my Lord) that
beares the true life-blood of our Ancestors. It is the untainted life
of the Queene my Mother, that sets a chaste and strict restraint on
mine eyes, from estranging my heart, to the idle amorous enticements
of young giddy-headed Gentlemen, and have sealed up my soule with an
absolute determination, rather to make choise of death, then any way to
alter this my warrantable severity.
You being a wise King, and the worthie Father of _Serictha_, it is
in you to mediate, counsell, and effect, what best shall beseeme the
desseignes of your daughter: because it is the vertue of children,
yea, and their eternall glory and renowne, to illustrate the lives
and memories of their parents. It consisteth in you, either to grant
honest license to such Lords as desire me, or to oppose them with such
discreete conditions, as both your selfe may sit free from any further
afflicting, and they rest defeated of dangerous dissentions, according
as you foresee what may ensue. Which yet (neverthelesse) I hold as a
matter impossible, if their discord should be grounded on the sole
apprehension of their soules: and the onely prevention thereof, is, not
to yeeld any signe, glance of the eie, or so much as a word more to one
man then another: for, such is the setled disposition of your daughters
soule, and which shee humbly entreateth, may so be still suffered.
Many meanes there are, whereby to winne the grace of the greatest
King, by employing their paines in worthy occasions, answerable unto
their yeeres and vertue, if any such sparkes of honour doe shine in
their soules; rather then by gaining heere any matter of so meane
moment, by endeavouring to shake the simplicity of a bashfull maide:
Let them cleare the Kings high-wayes of Theeves, who make the passages
difficult: or let them expell Pirates from off the Seas, which make our
_Danish_ coasts every way inaccessible. These are such Noble meanes
to merit, as may throw deserved recompence uppon them, and much more
worthily, then making Idols of Ladies lookes, or gazing for babies
in their wanton eyes. So may you bestowe on them what is your owne,
granting _Serictha_ to behold none, but him who you shall please to
give her: for otherwise, you know her absolute resolve, never to looke
any living man in the face, but onely you my gracious Lord and Father.
The King hearing this wise and modest answer of his daughter, could
not choose but commend her in his heart; and smiling at the counsell
which she gave him, returned her this answer. Understand me wel, faire
daughter; neither am I minded to breake your determination wholly, nor
yet to governe my selfe according to your fancie. I stand indifferently
contented, that untill I have otherwise purposed, you shall continue
the nature of your ancient custome: yet conditionally, that when I
command an alteration of your carriage, you faile not therein to declare
your obedience. What elsee remaineth beside, for so silly a thing as a
Woman is, and for the private pleasing of so many great Princes and
Lords, I will not endanger any of their lives; because their parents
and friends (being sensible of such losses) may seeke revenge, perhaps
to their owne ruine, and some following scourge to my indiscretion.
For I consider (daughter) that I have neighbours who scarsely love me,
and of whom (in time) I may right my selfe, having received (by their
meanes) great wrongs & injuries. Also I make no doubt, but to manage
your love-sute with discretion, and set such a pleasing proceeding
betweene them, as neyther shall beget any hatred in them towards me,
nor yet offend them in their affections pursuite, till fortune may
smile so favourably upon some one man, to reach the height of both our
wished desires.
_Siwalde_ was thus determinately resolved, to let his daughter live at
her owne discretion, without any alteration of her continued severitie,
perceiving day by day, that many came still to request her in mariage;
& he could not give her to them all, nor make his choise of any one,
least all the rest should become his enemies, and fall in quarrell one
with another. Onely this therefore was his ordination, that among such
a number of amorous suters, he onely should weare the Lawrell wreath of
victory, who could obtaine such favour of _Serictha_, as but to looke
him in the face. This condition seemed to bee of no meane difficulty,
yea, and so impossible, that many gave over their amorous enterprize:
whereof _Serictha_ was wondrouslie joyfull, seeing her selfe eased
of such tedious importunitie, dulling her eares with their proffered
services, and foppish allegations of fantasticke servitude: such as
ydle-headed Lovers do use to protest before their Mistresses, wherein
they may beleeve them, if they list.
Among all them that were thus forward in their heate of affection,
there was a young _Danish_ Lord, named _Ocharus_, the sonne of a
Pirate, called _Hebonius_, the same man, who having stolne the Sister
unto King _Hunguinus_, and Sister to _Siwalde_, & affiancing himselfe
to her, was slaine by King _Haldune_, and by thus killing him,
enjoyed both the Lady, and the kingdome of the _Gothes_ also, as her
inheritance. This _Ocharus_, relying much on his comelinesse of person,
wealth, power, and valour, but (above all the rest) on his excellent
and eloquent speaking; bestowed his best endeavour to obtaine
_Serictha_, notwithstanding the contemptible carriage of the rest
towards him; whereupon prevailing for his accesse to the Princesse, and
admitted to speake, as all the other did, he reasoned with her in this
manner.
Whence may it proceede, Madam, that you being the fairest and wisest
Princesse living at this day in all the Northerne parts, should make so
small account of your selfe, as to denie that, which with honour you may
yeeld to them, as seeke to doe you most humble service; and forgetting
the rank you hold, doe refuse to deigne them recompence in any manner
whatsoever, seeking onely to enjoy you in honourable marriage? Perhaps
you are of opinion, that the gods should become slaves to your
beauty, in which respect, men are utterly unworthy to crave any such
acquaintance of you. If it be so, I confesse my selfe conquered: But if
the gods seeke no such association with women, and since they forsooke
the World, they left this legacy to us men; I thinke you covet after
none, but such as are extracted of their blood, or may make vaunt of
their neere kindred and alliance to them. I know that many have wished,
and doe desire you: I know also, that as many have requested you of
the King your Father, but the choyce remaineth in your power, and you
being ordained the Judge, to distinguish the merit of all your Sutors;
me thinkes you doe wrong to the office of a Judge; in not regarding
the parties which are in suite, to sentence the desert of the best and
bravest, and so to delay them with no more lingering.
I cannot thinke Madam, that you are so farre out of your selfe, and
so chill cold in your affection, but desire of occasions, equall to
your vertue and singular beauty, doe sometime touch you feelingly,
and make you to wish for such a man, answerable to the greatnesse of
your excellency. And if it should be otherwise (as I imagine it to be
impossible) yet you ought to breake such an obstinate designe, onely
to satisfie the King your Father, who can desire nothing more, then to
have a Sonne in Law, to revenge him on the Tyrant of _Swetia_; who,
as you well know, was sometime the murtherer of your Grand-father
_Hunguinus_, and also of his Father. If you please to vouchsafe me
so much grace and favour, as to make me the man, whom your heart
hath chosen to be your Husband; I sweare unto you by the honour of
a Souldier, that I will undergoe such service, as the King shall be
revenged, you royally satisfied, and my selfe advanced to no meane
happinesse, by being the onely fortunate man of the World. Gentle
Princesse, the most beautifull daughter to a King, open that indurate
heart, and so soften it, that the sweete impressions of love may be
engraven therein; see there the loyall pursuite of your _Ocharus_, who,
to save his life, cannot so much as winne one looke from his divine
Mistresse.
This nicenesse is almost meerely barbarous, that I, wishing to
adventure my life prodigally in your service, you are so cruell, as
not to deigne recompence to this duty of mine, with the least signe of
kindnesse that can be imagined. Faire _Serictha_, if you desire the
death of your friendly servant _Ocharus_, there are many other meanes
whereby to performe it, without consuming him in so small a fire,
and suffering him there to languish without any answere. If you will
not looke upon me; if my face be so unworthy, that one beame of your
bright Sunnes may not shine upon it: If a word of your mouth be too
precious for me; make a signe with your hand, either of my happinesse
or disaster. If your hand be envious of mine ease, let one of your
women be shee, to pronounce the sentence of life or death; because, if
my life be hatefull to you, this hand of mine may satisfie your will,
and sacrifice it to the rigour of your disdaine. But if (as I am rather
perswaded) the ruine of your servants be against your more mercifull
wishes; deale so that I may perceive it, and expresse what compassion
you have of your _Ocharus_, who coveteth nothing more, then your daily
hearts ease and contentment, with a priviledge of honour above other
Ladies. All this discourse was heard by _Serictha_, but so little was
shee moved therewith, as shee was farre enough off from returning him
any answer, neither did any of the Gentlewomen attending on her, ever
heare her use the very least word to any of her amorous sollicitors,
nor did shee know any one of them, but by speech onely, which drove
them all into an utter despaire, perceiving no possible meanes whereby
to conquer her.
The Histories of the Northerne Countries doe declare, that in those
times, the rapes of women were not much respected; and such as pursued
any Lady or Gentlewoman with love, were verily perswaded, that they
never made sufficient proofe of their amourous passions, if they
undertooke not all cunning stratagems, with adventure of their lives
to all perils whatsoever, for the rape or stealth of them, whom they
purposed to enjoy in marriage. As we reade in the _Gothes_ History
of _Gramo_, Sonne to the King of _Denmarke_, who being impatiently
amourous of the daughter to the King of the _Gothes_, and winning the
love of the Lady, stole her away, before her Parents or friends had any
notice thereof; by meanes of which rape, there followed a most bloody
warre betweene the _Gothes_ and the _Danes_. In recompence of which
injury, _Sibdagerus_, King of _Norway_, being chosen chiefe Commander
of the _Swetians_ & _Gothes_, entred powerfully into _Denmarke_,
where first he violated the Sister to King _Gramo_, and led away her
Daughter, whom in the like manner he made his Spouse, as the _Dane_ had
done the Daughter of _Sigtruge_, Prince of the _Gothes_.
I induce these briefe narrations, onely to shew, that while _Ocharus_
made honest and affable meanes, to win respect from _Serictha_, and
used all honourable services to her, as the Daughter of so great a
Prince worthily deserved: some there were, not halfe so conscientious
as he, especially one of the amourous sutors, who being weary of
the strange carriages of _Serictha_, dissembling to prosecute his
purpose no further; prevailed so farre, that he corrupted one of her
Governesses, for secretly training her to such a place, where the
ravisher should lie in ambush to carry her away, so to enjoy her by
pollicy, seeing all other meanes failed for to compasse his desire.
Behold to what a kind of foolish rage, which giddy headed dullards
doe terme a naturall passion, they are led, who, being guided more by
sensuality, then reason or discretion, follow the braine-sicke motions
of their rash apprehensions. He which pursueth, and protesteth to love
a Lady for her gentillity and vertue; knoweth not how to measure what
love is, neither seeth or conceiveth, how farre the permission of his
owne endeavour extendeth. Moreover, you may observe, that never any age
was so grosse, or men so simple, but even almost from the beginning,
avarice did hood-winke the hearts of men, and that (with gold) the very
strongest Fortification in the World hath beene broken, yea, and the
best bard gates laide wide open. _Serictha_, who shunned the light of
all men, and never distrusted them which kept about her; shee who never
knew (except some naturall sparke gave light to her understanding)
what belonged to the embracements of men, must now (without dreaming
thereon) fall as foode to the insatiable appetite of a wretch, who
compassed this surprisall of her, to glory in his owne lewdnesse, and
make a mocke of the Princesses setled constancy.
Shee, good Lady, following the councell of her trayterous guide, went
abroade on walking, but weakely accompanied, as one that admitted no
men to attend her, which shee might have repented very dearely, if
Heaven had not succoured her innocency, by the helpe of him, who wished
her as well as the ravisher, though their desires were quite contrary;
the one to enjoy her by violence, but the other affecting rather to
die, then doe the least act which might displease her. No sooner was
_Serictha_ arrived at the destined place, where her false Governesse
was to deliver her; but behold a second _Paris_ came, and seized on
her, hurrying her in haste away, before any helpe could possibly rescue
her; the place being farre off from any dwelling.
Now the ravisher durst not convey her to his owne abiding, to enjoy
the benefit of his purchase; but haled her into a small thicket of
trees, where, although shee knew the evident perill, whereinto her
severe continency had now throwne her: yet notwithstanding, shee would
not lift up her eyes, to see what he was that had thus stolne her,
so firmely shee dwelt upon grounded deliberation, and such was the
vigor of her chaste resolve. And albeit shee knew a wickednesse (worse
then death) preparing for her, who had no other glory then in her
vertue, and desire to live contentedly; yet was shee no more astouned
thereat, then if hee had led her to the Palace of the King her Father:
perswading herselfe, that violence done to the body, is no prejudice to
honour, when the mind is free and cleere from consent.
As thus this robber of beauty was preparing to massacre the modesty of
the faire Princesse, shee resisted him with all her power, yea, and
defended her selfe so worthily, that he could not get one looke of her
eye, one kisse of her cheeke, nor any advantage whatsoever, crying out
shrilly, and strugling against him strongly: her outcryes were heard
by one, who little imagined that shee was so neere, whom he loved
more dearely then his owne life, namely, _Ocharus_; who was walking
accidentally alone in this wood, devising by what meanes hee might
winne grace from his sterne Mistresse. No sooner tooke he knowledge
of her, and saw her (in the armes of another) to be ravished; but he
cryed out to the thiefe, saying; Hand off villaine, let not such a
slave as thou, prophane with an unreverend touch the sacred honour of
so chaste a Princesse, who deserveth to be more royally respected, then
thus rudely hurried: Hand off I say, or elsee I sweare by her divine
perfections, whom I esteeme above all creatures in this World, to make
thee die more miserably, then ever any man as yet did.
Whosoever had seene a Lyon or an Ounce rouse himselfe, chafing when
any one adventureth to rob him of his prey; and then with fierce eyes,
mounted creasts, writhed tayles, and sharpened pawes, make against him
that durst to molest him. In the like manner did the ravisher shew
himselfe, and one while snarling, another while bristling the darted
disdainefull lookes at _Ocharus_, and spake to him in this manner. Vile
and base Sea-thiefe, as thou art, welcome to thy deserved wages, and
just repayment for thy proud presuming. It glads my heart not a little,
to meete thee here, where thou shalt soone perceive what good will I
beare thee, and whether thou be worthy or no to enjoy the honour of
this Lady, now in mine owne absolute possession. It will also encrease
her more ample perswasion of my worth, and pleade my merit more
effectually in her favour; when shee shall see what a powerfull arme I
have, to punish this proud insolence of a Pirate.
This harsh language was so distastfull to _Ocharus_, that like a
Bull, made angry by the teeth of some Mastive Dogge, or pricked by
the point of a weapon, he ran upon his enemy, and was so roughly
welcommed by him, as it could not easilly be judged which of them had
the better advantage. But in the end Fortune favoured most the honest
man, and _Ocharus_ having overthrowne the robber, hee smote the head
of him quite from his shoulders, which he presented to her, whom he
had delivered out of so great a peril, and thus he spake. You may
now behold Madam, whether _Ocharus_ be a true lover of _Sericthaes_
vertues, or no, and your knowledge fully resolved, at what end his
affection aimeth; as also, how farre his honest desert extendeth,
for you both to love him, and to recompence the loyall respect he
hath used towards you. Never looke on the villaines face, who strove
to shame the King your Fathers Court, by violation of theevery, the
chastest Princesse on the Earth; but regard _Ocharus_, who is readie to
sacrifice himselfe, if you take as much pleasure in his ruine, as (he
thinketh) hee hath given you contentment, by delivering you from this
Traytor.
Doth it not appeare unto you Madam, that I have as yet done enough,
whereby to be thought a worthy Husband, for the royall Daughter
of _Denmarke_? Have I not satisfied the Kings owne Ordinance, by
delivering his Daughter, as already I have done? Will _Serictha_ be
so constant in her cruelty, as not to turne her eye towards him,
who exposed his life, to no meane perill and daunger, onely in the
defence of her Chastity? Then I plainely perceive, that the wages of
my devoire, is ranked amongest those precedent services, which I have
performed for so hurtfull a beautie. Yet gentle Princesse, let me tell
you, my carriage hath bin of more importance, then all the others
can be, and my merit no way to be compared with theirs; at least,
if you pleased to make account of him, who is an unfeigned lover of
your modesty, and devoutly honoureth your vertuous behaviour. And yet
Madame, shall I have none other answere from you, but your perpetuall
silence? Can you continue so obstinate in your opinion, in making your
selfe still as strange to your _Ocharus_, as to the rest, who have no
other affection, but onely to the bare outside of beauty? Why then,
Royall Ladie, seeing (at this instant time) all my labour is but lost,
and your heart seemeth much more hardned, in acknowledging any of my
honest services: at least yet let me bee so happy, as to conduct you
backe to the Palace, and restore you to that sacred safetie, which will
be my soules best comfort to behold.
No outward signe of kinde acceptation, did any way expresse itselfe in
her, but rather as fearing, lest the commodiousnesse of the place shold
incite this young Lord, to forget all honest respect, and imitate the
other in like basenesse. But he, who rather wished a thousand deathes,
then any way to displease his Mistresse, as if hee were halfe doubtfull
of her suspition, made offer of guiding her backe to the place, from
whence shee had before bene stolne, where she found her company still
staying, as not daring to stirre thence, to let the King know his
daughters ill fortune; but when they saw her returne, and in the
company of so worthie a Knight, they grew resolved, that no violence
had bene done unto her.
The Princesse, sharpely rebuking her women, for leaving her so basely
as they had done, gave charge to one of them (because she would not
seeme altogether negligent & discourteous) that she being gone thence,
she should not faile to thanke _Ocharus_, for the honest and faithfull
service he had done unto her, which she would continually remember,
and recompence as it lay in her power. Neverthelesse, shee advised him
withall, not to hope of any more advantage thereby, then reason should
require. For, if it were the will of the Gods, that she should be his
wife, neither she or any other could let or hinder it: but if her
destiny reserved her for another, all his services would availe to no
purpose, but rather to make her the more rigorous towards him.
This gracious answer, thus given him by her Gentlewoman, although it
gave some small contentment to the poore languishing lover: yet hee
saw no assured signe whereon to settle his resolve, but his hopes
vanished away in smoake, as fast as opinion bred them in his braine.
And gladly he would have given over all further amorous solicitings,
but by some private perswasions of her message sent him, which in time
might so advance his services done for her sake, as would derive far
greater favours from her. Whereupon, he omitted no time or place, but
as occasion gave him any gracious permission, still plied her memorie,
with his manly rescuing her from the ravisher, sufficient to pleade
his merite to her Father, and that (in equity) she ought to bee his
wife, by right both of Honour and Armes; no man being able to deserve
her, as he had done.
So long he pursued her in this manner, that his speeches seemed hatefull
to her, and devising how to be free from his daily importunities, at
length, in the habite of a poore Chamber-maide, she secretly departed
out of the Court, wandering into the solitary parts of the country;
where she entered into service, and had the charge of keeping Sheepe.
It may seeme strange, that a Kings onely daughter should stray in
such sort, and despising Courtly life, betake herselfe to paines and
servility: but such was her resolution, and women delighting altogether
in extremes, spare no attempts to compasse their owne wils. All the
Court was in an uprore for the Ladies losse, the Father in no meane
affliction, the Lovers well-nere beside their wits, and every one elsee
most greevously tormented, that a Lady of such worth should so sodainly
be gone, and all pursuit made after her, gaine no knowledge of her.
In this high tide of sorrow and disaster, what shall we say of the
gentle Lord _Ocharus_? What judgement can sound the depth of his wofull
extreamity? Fearing least some other theefe had now made a second
stealth of his divine Goddesse; he must needs follow her againe,
seeking quite throughout the world, never more returning backe to the
Court, nor to the place of his owne abiding, untill hee heard tidings
of his Mistresse, or ended his dayes in the search of her. No Village,
Town, Cottage, Castle, or any place elsee of note or name, did hee
leave unsought, but diligently he searched for _Serictha_; striving
to get knowledge, under what habit she lived thus concealed, but all
his labour was to no effect: which made him leave the places so much
frequented, and visite the solitary desert shades, entering into all
Caves and rusticke habitations, whereon hee could fasten his eye, to
seeke for the lost Treasure of his soule.
On a day, as hee wandred along in a spacious valley, seated betweene
two pleasant hilles, taking delight to heare the gentle murmure of the
rivers, running by the sides of two neighbouring rockes, planted with
all kinde of trees, and very thickely spred with mosse: hee espied a
flocke of Sheepe feeding on the grasse, and not farre off from them
sate a Maide spinning on her Distaffe; who having got a sight of him,
presently covered her face with a veile. Love, who sate as Sentinell
both in the heart and eye of the gentle _Norwegian_ Lord, as quickly
discovered the subtilty of the faire Shephearddesse, enstructing the
soule of _Ocharus_, that thus she hid her face, as coveting not to
be knowne: whereupon he gathered, that doubtlesse this was shee, for
whom he hadde sought with such tedious travaile, and therefore going
directly unto her, thus hee spake.
Gentle Princesse; wherefore do you thus hide your selfe from mee?
Why do you haunt these retreats and desolate abodes, having power to
command over infinite men, that cannot live but by your presence?
What hath moved you Madame, to flye from company, to dwel among desert
Rockes, and serve as a slave, to such as are no way worthy of your
service? Why do you forsake a potent King, whose onely daughter and
hope you are; leaving your countrey and royall traine of Ladies,
and so farre abasing your selfe, to live in the dejected state of a
servant, and to some rusticke clowne or peazant? What reason have you,
to despise so many worthy Lords, that dearely love and honour you, but
(above them all) your poore slave _Ocharus_, who hath made no spare of
his owne life, for the safety of yours, and also for the defence of
your honour? Royal maid, I am the same man that delivered you from the
villaine, who would have violated your faire chastity; and since then,
have not spared any payne or travell in your search: for whose losse,
King _Siwalde_ is in extreme anguish, the _Danes_ in mourning habites,
and _Ocharus_ even at the doore of death, being no way able to endure
your absence.
Are you of the minde, worthy Madame, that I have not hitherto deserved
so much as one good looke or glance of your eye, in recompence of
so many good & loyall services? If Alas! I am neither ravisher, nor
demander of any unjust requests, or elsee incivill in my motions:
I may merit one regard of my Mistresse. I require onely so silly
a favour, that her eyes may pay me the wages for all which I have
hitherto done in her service. What would you do Madam, if I were an
importunate solicitor, and requested farre greater matters of you, in
just recompence of my labours? I do not desire, that you should embrace
me. I am not so bold, as to request a kisse of _Sericthaes_, more then
immortall lips. Nor doe I covet, that she should any otherwise entreate
mee, then with such severity as beseemeth so great a Princesse. I aske
no more, but onely to elevate your chaste eyes, and grace me with
one little looke, as being the man, who for his vertue and loyall
affection, hath deserved more then that favour, yea, a much greater
and excellent recompence. Can you then be so cruell, as to denie me so
small a thing, without regarde of the maine debt, wherein you stand
engaged to your _Ocharus_?
The Princesse perceiving that it availed nothing to conceale hir
selfe, being by him so apparantly discovered; began now to speake
(which she had never done before, either to him, or any other of her
amorous suters) answering him in this manner. Lord _Ocharus_, it might
suffice you, that your importunity made me forsake my Fathers Court,
and causeth me to live in this abased condition, which I purpose to
prosecute all my life time; or so long (at the least) as you, and such
as you are, pursue me so fondly as you have presumed to do. For I am
resolved, never to favour you any otherwise, then hitherto I have done;
desiring you therefore, that _Serictha_ wanting an Interpreter to tell
you her will, you would now receive it from her owne mouth, determining
sooner to dye, then alter a jot of her intended purpose.
_Ocharus_ hearing this unwelcome answer, was even upon the point to
have slaine himselfe: but yet, not to lose the name of a valiant man,
or to be thought of an effeminate or cowardly spirite, that a Woman
should force him to an acte, so farre unfitting for a man of his
ranke; hee tooke his leave of her, solemnly promising, not to forget
her further pursuite, but at all times to obey her so long as he
lived, although her commaund was very hard for him to endure. So hee
departed thence, not unto the Court, she being not there, that had
the power to enjoyne his presence: but home to his owne house, where
he was no sooner arrived, but he began to waxe wearie of his former
folly; accusing himselfe of great indiscretion, for spending so much
time in vaine, and in her service, who utterly despised him, and all
his endeavours which he undertooke. He began to accuse her of great
ingratitude, laying over-much respect uppon her vertue, to have no
feeling at all of his loyall sufferings; but meerely made a mockery
of his martyrdome. Heereupon, he concluded to give over all further
affection, to languish no longer for her sake, that hated him and all
his actions.
While he continued in these melancholly passions, the Princesse, who
all this while had persisted in such strict severity, as astonished
the courages of her stoutest servants; considering (more deliberately)
on the sincere affection of _Ocharus_, and that vertue onely made him
the friend to her modesty, and not wanton or lascivious appetite; she
felt a willing readinesse in her soule, to gratifie him in some worthy
manner, and to recompence some part of his travailes. Which to effect,
she resolved to follow him (in some counterfeite habite) even to the
place of his own abiding, to try, if easily he could take knowledge of
her, whom so lately he saw in the garments of a Shephearddesse. Being
thus minded, shee went to her Mistresse whom she served, and who had
likewise seen Lord _Ocharus_ (of whom she had perfect knowledge) when
hee conferred with the Shephearddesse, and enquiring the cause, why hee
resorted in that manner to her; _Serictha_ returned her this answer.
Mistresse, I make no doubt, but you will be somewhat amazed, and
(perhaps) can hardly credit when you heare, that she who now serveth
you in the poore degree of Shephearddesse, is the onely daughter to
_Siwalde_ King of the _Danes_: for whose love, so many great Lords have
continually laboured; and that I onely attracted hither _Ocharus_,
the Noble Sonne of valiant _Hebonius_, to wander in these solitary
deserts, to finde out her that fled from him, and helde him in as high
disdaine, as I did all the rest of his fellow rivals. But if my words
may not heerein sufficiently assure you, I would advise you, to send
where _Ocharus_ dwelleth, & there make further enquiry of him, to the
end that you may not imagine me a lyar. If my speeches do otherwise
prevaile with you, and you remain assured, that I am she, whom your
Noble neighbour so deerely affecteth, albeit I never made any account
at all of him: then I do earnestly intreat you, so much to stand my
friend, as to provide some convenient means for me, whereby I may passe
unknowne to the Castle of _Ocharus_, to revenge my selfe on his civill
honesty, & smile at him hereafter, if he prove not so cleerely sighted,
as to know her being neere him, whom he vaunteth to love above all
women elsee.
The good Countrey-woman hearing these wordes, and perceyving that she
had the Princesse in her house, of whose speeches she made not any
doubt, in regard of her stout countenance, gravity, and faire demeanour,
began to rellish something in her minde, farre differing from matter
of common understanding, and therefore roundly replied in this kind of
language.
Madam (for servant I may no longer call you) I make no question to
the contrary, but that you are derived of high birth; having observed
your behaviour, and womanly carriage. And so much the more I remaine
assured thereof, having seene such great honour done unto you, by the
Noble Lord, and worthy Warriour _Ocharus_: wherefore, it lieth not
in my power, to impeach your desseignes, much lesse to talke of your
longer service, because you are the Princesse _Serictha_, whom I am to
performe all humble dutie unto, as being one of your meanest subjects.
And although you were not shee, yet would I not presume any way to
offend you, in regarde of the true and vertuous love, which that good
Knight _Ocharus_ seemeth to beare you. If my company bee needefull
for you, I beseech you to accept it: if not, take whatsoever is mine,
which may any way sted you; for, to make you passe unknowne, I can and
will provide sufficiently, even to your own contentment, and in such
strange manner, as _Ocharus_ (were he never so cleerely sighted) shal
be deceived, you being attired in those fashion garments, which heere
in these parts are usually worne.
_Serictha_ being wonderously joyfull at her answer, suffred hir to
paint, or rather soile her faire face, with the juice of divers hearbes
and rootes, and cloathed her in such an habite as those women use to
weare that live in the mountaines of _Norway_, upon the sea-coast
fronting _Great-Britain_. Being thus disguised, confidently she
went, to beguile the eie of her dearest friend, and so to returne
backe againe from him, having affoorded him such a secret favour, in
requitall of his honourable services; delivering her out of so great
a danger, and comming to visite her in so solitarie a life. Nor would
she have the womans company any further, then till she came within the
sight of _Ocharus_ his Castle; where when she was arrived (he being
then absent) the mother unto the Noble Gentleman, gave her courteous
welcom; and, notwithstanding her grosse & homely outward appearance,
yet she collected by her countenance, that there was a matter of much
more worth in her, then to bee a woman of base breeding.
When _Ocharus_ was returned home, he received advertisement by his
mother, concerning the arrivall of this stranger, when as sodainely his
soule halfe perswaded him, of some kinde courtesie to proceede from his
sweet rebell, pretending now some feigned excuse, in recompence of all
his travailes, and passed honest offices. Observing all her actions and
gestures, her wonted rigour never bending one jot, or gave way to her
eye to looke upon any man; he grew the better assured, that she was the
daughter to King _Siwalde_. Yet feigning to take no knowledge thereof,
he bethought himselfe of a queint policy, whereby to make triall,
whether secret kindnesse had conducted this Lady thither, or no, to
conclude his torments, and give a final end to his greevous afflictions.
Upon a watch-word given to his Mother, he pretended, and so caused it
to be noised through the house, that he was to marry a very honourable
Lady; which the constant and chaste maide verily beleeved; and
therefore gave the more diligent attendance (as a new-come servant) to
see all things in due decency, as no one could expresse herselfe more
ready, because she esteemed him above all other men. Yet such was the
obstinate opinion she concerned of her owne precisenesse, as she would
rather suffer all the flames of love, then expresse the least shew of
desire to any man living. Neverthelesse, she was inwardly offended,
that any other should have the honour, to make her vaunt of enjoying
_Ocharus_; whom (indeed) she coveted, and thought him only worthy in
her heart, to be Son in law to the King of _Denmarke_.
Now, as the Mother was very seriously busied in preparing the Castle,
for receiving the pretended Bride; shee employed her new Mayde
(_Serictha_ I meane) as busily as any of the rest. In the meane
while, _Ocharus_ was laid upon a bed, well noting all her carriage
and behaviour, shee having a lighted Candle in her hand, without any
Candlesticke to hold it in. As all the servants (both men and maids)
were running hastily from place to place, to cary such occasions as
they were commanded, the candle was consumed so neere to _Sericthaes_
fingers, that it burned hir hand. She, not to faile a jote in her
height of mind, and to declare that her corage was invincible; was
so farre off from casting away the small snuffe which offended her,
that she rather graspt it the more strongly, even to the enflaming of
her owne flesh, which gave light to the rest about their businesse. A
matter (almost) as marvellous, as the acte of the noble _Romane_, who
gave his hand to be burned, in presence of the _Tuscane_ King, that had
besiedged _Rome_. Thus this Lady would needs make it apparantly knowne,
by this generous acte of hers, that her heart could not be enflamed or
conquered, by all the fires of concupiscence, in suffering so stoutly
and couragiously, the burning of this materiall fire.
_Ocharus_, who (as we have already saide) observed every thing that
_Serictha_ did; perceiving that she spake not one worde, albeit her
hand burned in such fierce manner, was much astonished at her sprightly
mind. And as he was about to advise her, to hurle away the fire so much
offending her; Curiositie (meerely naturall unto Women) made the Ladie
lift uppe her eyes, to see (by stealth) whether her friend had noted
her invincible constancy, or no. Heereby _Ocharus_ won the honour of
his long expected victory; and leaping from off the bed, hee ranne to
embrace her, not with any such feare as he had formerly used, in not
daring so much as to touch her: but boldly now clasping his armes about
her, he said. At this instant Madam, the King your Fathers decree is
fully accomplished, for I am the first man that ever you lookt in the
face, & you are onely mine, without making any longer resistance. You
are the Princely Lady and wife, by me so constantly loved and desired,
whom I have followed with such painefull travelse, exposing my life
to infinite perils in your service: you have seene and lookt on him,
who never craved any thing of you, but onely this favour, whereof you
cannot bereave me againe, because the Gods themselves, at such time as
I least expected it, have bestowne it on me, as my deserved recompence,
and worthy reward.
In the delivery of these words, he kissed and embraced her a thousand
times, shee not using any great resistance against him, but onely
as somewhat offended with her selfe, either for being so rash in
looking on him, or elsee for delaying his due merit so long; or rather,
because with her good will shee had falne into the transgression. Shee
declared no violent or contending motion, as loath to continue so
long in his armes; but rather, evident signes of hearty contentment,
yet in very bashfull and modest manner, willing enough to accept his
loving kindnesse, yet not wandring from her wonted chaste carriage. He
being favourably excused, for the outward expression of his amourous
behaviour to her, and certified withall, that since the time of freeing
her from the wretch, who sought the violating of her chastity, shee had
entirely respected him, (albeit, to shun suspition of lightnesse, and
to win more assurance, of what shee credited sufficiently already, shee
continued her stiffe opinion against him) yet alwayes this resolution
was set downe in her soule, never (with her will) to have any other
Husband but _Ocharus_, who (above all other) had best deserved her, by
his generosity, vertue, manly courage, and valiancy; whereof he might
the better assure himselfe, because (of her owne voluntary disposition)
shee followed to find him out, not for any other occasion, but to
revenge her selfe (by this honest Office) for all that he had done or
undertaken, to winne the grace and love of the King of _Denmarkes_
Daughter, to whom he presented such dutifull service.
_Ocharus_, who would not loose this happinesse, to be made King of
all the Northerne Ilands, with more then a thankfull heart, accepted
all her gracious excuses. And being desirous to waste no longer time
in vaine, lest Fortune should raise some new stratagem against him,
to dispossesse him of so faire a felicity; left off his counterfeit
intended marriage, and effected this in good earnest, and was wedded
to his most esteemed _Serictha_. Not long had these lovers lived in
the lawfull and sacred rites of marriage, but King _Siwalde_ was
advertised, that his Daughter had given her consent to _Ocharus_, and
received him as her noble Husband. The party was not a jot displeasing
to him, hee thought him to be a worthy Son in Law, and the condition
did sufficiently excuse the match; onely herein lay the error and
offence, that the marriage was sollemnized without his knowledge and
consent, he being not called thereto, or so much as acquainting him
therewith, which made him condemne _Ocharus_ of overbold arrogancy, he
being such a great and powerfull King, to be so lightly respected by
his Subject, and especially in the marriage of his Daughter.
But _Serictha_, who was now metamorphosed from a maide to a wife,
and had lyen a few nights by the side of a Soldiour, was become much
more valiant and adventurous then she was before. She took the matter
in hand, went to her Father, who welcommed her most lovingly, and
so pleasing were her speeches, carried with such wit and womanly
discretion, that nothing wanted to approve what she had done. Matters
which he had never knowne, or so much as heard of, were now openly
revealed, how _Ocharus_ had delivered her from the ravisher, what
worthie respect he then used towards her, and what honour he extended
to her in the deserts, where she tended her flocke as a Shephearddesse,
with manie other honourable actions beside: that the Kings anger became
mildely qualified, and so farre he entred into affection, that he would
not do any thing thence-forward, without the counsell and advise of his
Sonne in Law, whom so highly he esteemed, and liked so respectively of
him, and his race; that his Queene dying, hee married with the Sister
to _Ocharus_, going hand in band with the gentle and modest Princesse
_Serictha_.
This Novell of _Dioneus_, was commended by all the company, and so much
the rather, because it was free from all folly and obscennesse. And the
Queene perceiving, that as the Tale was ended, so her dignitie must
now be expired: she tooke the Crowne of Laurell from off her head, &
graciously placed it on the head of _Philostratus_, saying; The worthy
Discourse of _Dioneus_, being out of his wonted wanton element, causeth
mee (at the resignation of mine Authority) to make choise of him as our
next Commander, who is best able to order and enstruct us all; and so I
yeeld both my place and honour to _Philostratus_, I hope with the good
liking of all our assistants: as plainly appeareth by their instant
carriage towards him, with all their heartiest love and sufferages.
Whereupon _Philostratus_, beginning to consider on the charge committed
to his care, called the Maister of the houshold, to knowe in what
estate all matters were, because where any defect appeared, everie
thing might be the sooner remedied, for the better satisfaction of
the company, during the time of his authority. Then returning backe
to the assembly, thus he began. Lovely Ladies, I would have you to
knowe, that since the time of ability in me, to distinguish betweene
good and evill, I have alwayes bene subject (perhaps by the meanes of
some beautie heere among us) to the proud and imperious dominion of
love, with expression of all duty, humility, and most intimate desire
to please: yet all hath prooved to no purpose, but still I have bin
rejected for some other, whereby my condition hath falne from ill to
worse, and so still it is likely, even to the houre of my death. In
which respect, it best pleaseth me, that our conferences to morrow,
shal extend to no other argument, but only such cases as are most
conformable to my calamity, namely of such, whose love hath had unhappy
ending, because I await no other issue of mine; nor willingly would I
be called by any other name, but onely, the miserable and unfortunate
Lover.
Having thus spoken, he arose againe; granting leave to the rest, to
recreate themselves till supper time. The Garden was very faire and
spacious, affoording large limits for their severall walkes; the
Sun being already so low descended, that it could not be offensive
to anyone, the Connies, Kids, and young Hindes skipping every where
about them, to their no meane pleasure and contentment. _Dioneus_ &
_Fiammetta_, sate singing together, of _Messire Guiglielmo_ and the
Lady of _Vertue. Philomena_ and _Pamphilus_ playing at the Chesse, all
sporting themselves as best they pleased. But the houre of Supper being
come, and the Tables covered about the faire fountaine, they sate downe
and supt in most loving manner. Then _Philostratus_, not to swerve from
the course which had beene observed by the Queenes before him, so soone
as the Tables were taken away, gave command, that Madam _Lauretta_
should beginne the dance, and likewise to sing a Song. My gracious
Lord (quoth shee) I can skill of no other Songs, but onely a peece of
mine owne, which I have already learned by heart, & may well beseeme
this faire assembly: if you please to allow of that, I am ready to
performe it with all obedience. Lady, replyed the King, you your selfe
being so faire and lovely, so needs must be whatsoever commeth from
you, therefore let us heare such as you have. Madam _Lauretta_, giving
enstruction to the Chorus, prepared, and began in this manner.
_The Song.
No soule so comfortlesse,
Hath more cause to expresse,
Like woe and heavinesse,
As I poore amorous Maide.
He that did forme the Heavens and every Starre,
Made me as best him pleased,
Lovely and gracious, no Element at jarre,
Or elsee in gentle breasts to moove sterne Warre,
But to have strifes appeased
Where Beauties eye should make the deepest scarre.
And yet when all things are confest,
Never was any soule distrest,
Like mine poore amorous Maide.
No soule so comfortlesse, &c.
There was a time, when once I was helde deare,
Blest were those happy dayes:
Numberlesse Love-suites whispred in mine eare,
All of faire hope, but none of desperate feare;
And all sung Beauties praise.
Why should blacke clowdes obscure so bright a cleare?
And why should others swimme in joy,
And no heart drowned in annoy,
Like mine poore amorous Maide?
No soule so comfortlesse, &c.
Well may I curse that sad and dismall day,
When in unkinde exchange;
Another Beauty did my hopes betray,
And stole my dearest Love from me away:
Which I thought very strange,
Considering vowes were past, and what elsee may
Assure a loyall Maidens trust,
Never was Lover so unjust,
Like mine poore amorous Maide.
No soule so comfortlesse, &c.
Come then kinde Death, and finish all my woes,
Thy helpe is now the best.
Come lovely Nymphes, lend hands mine eyes to close,
And let him wander wheresoere he goes,
Vaunting of mine unrest;
Beguiling others by his treacherous showes,
Grave on my Monument,
No true love was worse spent,
Then mine poore amorous Maide.
No soule so comfortlesse, &c._
So did Madam _Lauretta_ finish her Song, which beeing well observed of
them all, was understood by some in divers kinds: some alluding it one
way, & others according to their own apprehensions, but all consenting,
that both it was an excellent Ditty, well devised, and most sweetly
sung. Afterward, lighted Torches being brought, because the Stars had
already richly spangled all the heavens, and the fit houre of rest
approaching: the King commanded them all to their Chambers, where wee
meane to leave them untill the next morning.
_The End of the Third Day._
The Fourth Day.
_Wherein all the severall Discourses, are under the Government of
Honourable_ Philostratus: _And concerning such persons, whose Loves
have had successelesse ending._
The Induction unto the ensuing Novelles.
Most worthy Ladies, I have alwayes heard, as well by the sayings of
the judicious, as also by mine owne observation and reading, that the
impetuous and violent windes of envy, do sildome blow turbulently; but
on the highest Towers and tops of the trees most eminently advanced.
Yet (in mine opinion) I have found my selfe much deceived; because, by
striving with my very uttermost endeavour, to shunne the outrage of
those implacable winds; I have laboured to go, not onely by plaine and
even pathes, but likewise through the deepest vallies. As very easily
may be seene and observed in the reading of these few small Novelse,
which I have written not only in our vulgar _Florentine_ prose, without
any ambitious title: but also in a most humble stile, so low and gentle
as possibly I could. And although I have bene rudely shaken, yea,
almost halfe unrooted, by the extreame agitation of those blustering
winds, and torne in peeces by that base back-biter, envy: yet have I
not (for all that) discontinued, or broken any part of mine intended
enterprize. Wherefore, I can sufficiently witnesse (by mine owne
comprehension) the saying so much observed by the wise, to bee most
true; That nothing is without envy in this world, but misery onely.
Among variety of opinions, faire Ladies; some, seeing these Novelties,
spared not to say; That I have bene over-pleasing to you, and wandered
too farre from mine owne respect, imbasing my credit and repute, by
delighting my selfe too curiously, for the fitting of your humours,
and have extolled your worth too much, with addition of worse speeches
then I meane to utter. Others, seeming to expresse more maturity
of judgment, have likewise said, That it was very unsuteable for
my yeares, to meddle with womens wanton pleasures, or contend to
delight you by the verie least of my labours. Many more, making shew of
affecting my good fame and esteeme, say; I had done much more wisely,
to have kept mee with the Muses at _Parnassus_, then to confound my
studies with such effeminate follies. Some other beside, speaking more
despightfully then discreetly, saide; I had declared more humanity, in
seeking means for mine owne maintenance, and wherewith to support my
continuall necessities, then to glut the worlde with gulleries, and
feede my hopes with nothing but winde. And others, to calumniate my
travailes, would make you beleeve, that such matters as I have spoken
of, are meerly disguised by me, and figured in a quite contrary nature,
quite from the course as they are related. Whereby you may perceive
(vertuous Ladies) how while I labour in your service, I am agitated and
molested with these blusterings, and bitten even to the bare bones,
by the sharpe and venomous teeth of envy; all which (as heaven best
knoweth) I gladly endure, and with good courage.
Now, albeit it belongeth onely to you, to defend me in this desperate
extremity; yet, notwithstanding all their utmost malice, I will make no
spare of my best abilities, and, without answering them any otherwise
then is fitting, will quietly keepe their slanders from mine eares,
with some sleight reply, yet not deserving to be dreamt on. For I
apparantly perceive, that (having not already attained to the third
part of my pains) they are growne to so great a number, and presume
very farre uppon my patience: they may encrease, except they be
repulsed in the beginning, to such an infinitie before I can reach to
the end, as with their verie least paines taking, they will sinke me to
the bottomlesse depth, if your sacred forces (which are great indeede)
may not serve for me in their resistance. But before I come to answer
any one of them, I will relate a Tale in mine owne favour; yet not a
whole Tale, because it shall not appeare, that I purpose to mingle
mine, among those which are to proceed from a company so commendable.
Onely I will report a parcell thereof, to the end, that what remaineth
untold, may sufficiently expresse, it is not to be numbred among the
rest to come.
By way then of familiar discourse, and speaking to my malicious
detractors, I say, that a long while since, there lived in our City,
a Citizen who was named _Philippo Balduccio_, a man but of meane
condition, yet verie wealthy, well qualified, and expert in many
things appertaining unto his calling. He had a wife whom he loved most
intirely, as she did him, leading together a sweet and peaceable life,
studying on nothing more, then how to please each other mutually.
It came to passe, that as all flesh must, the good woman left this
wretched life for a better, leaving one onely sonne to her husband,
about the age of two yeares. The husband remained so disconsolate
for the losse of his kinde Wife, as no man possibly could be more
sorrowfull, because he had lost the onely jewell of his joy. And being
thus divided from the company which he most esteemed: he determined
also to separate himselfe from the world, addicting al his endeavours
to the service of God; and applying his yong sonne likewise, to the
same holy exercises. Having given away all his goods for Gods sake, he
departed to the Mountaine _Asinaio_, where he made him a small Cell,
and lived there with his little sonne, onely upon charitable almes, in
abstinence and prayer, forbearing to speak of any worldly occasions,
or letting the Lad see any vaine sight: but conferred with him
continually, on the glories of eternall life, of God and his Saints,
and teaching him nothing elsee but devout prayers, leading this kinde
of life for many yeares together, not permitting him ever to goe forth
of the Cell, or shewing him any other but himselfe.
The good old man used divers times to go to _Florence_, where having
received (according to his opportunities) the almes of divers well
disposed people, he returned backe againe to his hermitage. It
fortuned, that the boy being now about eighteene yeeres olde, and his
Father growne very aged; he demanded of him one day, whether hee went?
Wherein the old man truly resolved him: whereuppon, the youth thus
spake unto him. Father, you are now growne very aged, and hardly can
endure such painfull travell: why do you not let me go to _Florence_,
that by making me knowne to your well disposed friends, such as are
devoutly addicted both to God, and you; I, who am young, and better
able to endure travaile then you are, may go thither to supply our
necessities, and you take your ease in the mean while? The aged man,
perceiving the great growth of his Sonne, and thinking him to be so
well instructed in Gods service, as no wordly vanities could easily
allure him from it; did not dislike the Lads honest motion, but when he
went next to _Florence_, tooke him thither along with him.
When he was there, and had seene the goodly Palaces, Houses, and
Churches, with all other sights to be seene in so populous a Cittie:
hee began greatly to wonder at them, as one that had never seene them
before, at least within the compasse of his remembrance; demanding many
things of his Father, both what they were, and how they were named:
wherein the old man still resolved him. The answers seemed to content
him highly, and caused him to proceede on in further questionings,
according still as they found fresh occasions: till at the last, they
met with a troope of very beautifull women, going on in seemely manner
together, as returning backe from a Wedding. No sooner did the youth
behold them, but he demanded of his Father, what things they were;
whereto the olde man replyed thus. Sonne, cast downe thy lookes unto
the ground, and do not seeme to see them at all, because they are bad
things to behold. Bad things Father? answered the Lad: How do you call
them? The good olde man, not to quicken any concupiscible appetite in
the young boy, or any inclinable desire to ought but goodnesse; would
not terme them by their proper name of Women, but tolde him that they
were called young Gozlings.
Heere grew a matter of no meane mervaile, that hee who had never seene
any women before now; appeared not to respect the faire Churches,
Palaces, goodly horses, Golde, Silver, or any thing elsee which he had
seene; but, as fixing his affection onely upon this sight, sodainly
said to the old man. Good Father, do so much for me, as to let me
have one of these Gozlings. Alas Sonne (replyed the Father) holde thy
peace I pray thee, and do not desire any such naughty things. Then by
way of demand, he thus proceeded, saying. Father, are these naughty
things made of themselves? Yes Sonne, answered the old man. I know not
Father (quoth the Lad) what you meane by naughtinesse, nor why these
goodly things should be so badly termed; but in my judgement, I have
not seene any thing so faire and pleasing in mine eye, as these are,
who excell those painted Angelse, which heere in the Churches you have
shewn me. And therefore Father, if either you love me, or have any care
of me, let mee have one of these Gozlings home to our Cell, where we
can make means sufficient for her feeding. I will not (said the Father)
be so much thine enemy, because neither thou, or I, can rightly skill
of their feeding. Perceiving presently, that Nature had farre greater
power then his Sonnes capacity and understanding; which made him
repent, for fondly bringing his sonne to _Florence_.
Having gone so farre in this fragment of a Tale, I am content to
pause heere, and will returne againe to them of whom I spake before;
I meane my envious depravers: such as have saide (faire Ladies) that
I am double blame-worthy, in seeking to please you, and that you are
also over-pleasing to me; which freely I confesse before all the
world, that you are singularly pleasing to me, and I have stroven
how to please you effectually. I would demand of them (if they seeme
so much amazed heereat,) considering, I never knew what belonged to
true love kisses, amorous embraces, and their delectable fruition,
so often received from your graces; but onely that I have seene, and
do yet daily behold, your commendable conditions, admired beauties,
noble adornments by nature, and (above all the rest) your womenly and
honest conversation. If hee that was nourished, bred, and educated, on
a savage solitary Mountain, within the confines of a poore small Cell,
having no other company then his Father: If such a one, I say, uppon
the very first sight of your sexe, could so constantly confesse, that
women were onely worthy of affection, and the object which (above all
things elsee) he most desired; why should these contumelious spirits so
murmure against me, teare my credite with their teeth, and wound my
reputation to the death, because your vertues are pleasing to mee, and
I endeavour likewise to please you with my utmost paines? Never had the
auspitious heavens allowed me life, but onely to love you; and from my
very infancie, mine intentions have alwaies bene that way bent: feeling
what vertue flowed from your faire eies, understanding the mellifluous
accents of your speech, whereto the enkindled flames of your sighes
gave no meane grace. But remembring especially, that nothing could
so please an Hermite, as your divine perfections, an unnurtured Lad,
without understanding, and little differing from a meere brutish beast:
undoubtedly, whosoever loveth not women, and desireth to be affected of
them againe; may well be ranked among these women-haters, speaking out
of cankred spleene, and utterly ignorant of the sacred power (as also
the vertue) of naturall affection, whereof they seeming so carelesse,
the like am I of their depraving.
Concerning them that touch me with mine age; Do not they know, that
although Leeks have white heads, yet the blades of them are alwaies
greene? But referring them to their flouts and taunts, I answer, that
I shal never hold it any disparagement to mee, so long as my life
endureth, to delight my selfe with those exercises, which _Guido
Cavalconti_, and _Dante Alighieri_, already aged, as also _Messer
Cino de Pistoia_, older then either of them both, held to be their
chiefest honour. And were it not a wandering too farre from our present
argument, I would alledge Histories to approove my words, full of very
ancient and famous men, who in the ripest maturity of all their time,
were carefully studious for the contenting of women, albeit these
cock-braines neither know the way how to do it, nor are so wise as to
learne it.
Now, for my dwelling at _Parnassus_ with the Muses, I confesse their
counsell to be very good: but wee cannot alwayes continue with them,
nor they with us. And yet neverthelesse, when any man departeth from
them, they delighting themselves, to see such things as may bee
thought like them, do not therein deserve to be blamed. Wee finde it
recorded, that the Muses were women, and albeit women cannot equall the
performance of the Muses; yet in their very prime aspect, they have a
lively resemblance with the Muses: so that, if women were pleasing for
nothing elsee, yet they ought to be generally pleasing in that respect.
Beside all this, women have bin the occasion of my composing a thousand
Verses, whereas the Muses never caused me to make so much as one. Verie
true it is, that they gave me good assistance, and taught me how I
shold compose them, yea, and directed me in writing of these Novelse.
And how basely soever they judge of my studies, yet have the Muses
never scorned to dwell with me, perhaps for the respective service, and
honourable resemblance of those Ladies with themselves, whose vertues
I have not spared to commend by them. Wherefore, in the composition of
these varieties, I have not strayed so farre from _Parnassus_, nor the
Muses; as in their silly conjectures they imagine.
But what shall I say to them, who take so great compassion on my
povertie, as they advise me to get something, whereon to make my
living? Assuredly, I know not what to say in this case, except by
due consideration made with my selfe, how they would answer mee, if
necessitie should drive me to crave kindnesse of them; questionles,
they would then say: Goe, seeke comfort among thy fables and follies.
Yet I would have them know, that poore Poets have alwayes found more
among their fables & fictions; then many rich men ever could do, by
ransacking all their bags of treasure. Beside, many other might be
spoken of, who made their age and times to flourish, meerely by their
inventions and fables: whereas on the contrary, a great number of
other busier braines, seeking to gaine more then would serve them to
live on; have utterly runne uppon their owne ruine, and overthrowne
themselves for ever. What should I say more? To such men, as are either
so suspitious of their owne charitie, or of my necessity, whensoever
it shall happen: I can answere (I thanke my God for it) with the
Apostle; I know how to abounde, & how to abate, yea, how to endure both
prosperity and want; and therefore, let no man be more carefull of me,
then I am of my selfe.
For them that are so inquisitive into my discourses, to have a further
construction of them, then agrees with my meaning, or their own good
manners, taxing me with writing one thing, but intending another; I
could wish, that their wisedom would extend so farre, as but to compare
them with their originals, to finde them a jot discordant from my
writing; and then I would freely confesse, that they had some reason
to reprehend me, and I should endeavour to make them amends. But untill
they can touch me with any thing elsee, but words onely; I must let them
wander in their owne giddy opinions, and followe the course projected
to my selfe, saying of them, as they do of me.
Thus holding them all sufficiently answered for this time, I say (most
worthy Ladies) that by heavens assistance and yours, whereto I onely
leane: I will proceede on, armed with patience; and turning my backe
against these impetuous windes, let them breath till they burst,
because I see nothing can happen to harme me, but onely the venting
of their malice. For the roughest blastes, do but raise the smallest
dust from off the ground, driving it from one place to another; or,
carrying it up to the aire, many times it falleth downe againe on mens
heads, yea, upon the Crownes of Emperors and Kings, and sometimes on
the highest Palaces and tops of Towers; from whence, if it chance to
descend again by contrarie blasts, it can light no lower, then whence
it came at the first. And therefore, if ever I strove to please you
with my uttermost abilities in any thing, surely I must now contend to
expresse it more then ever. For, I know right well, that no man can
say with reason, except some such as my selfe, who love and honour
you, that we do any otherwise then as nature hath commanded us; and to
resist her lawes, requires a greater and more powerfull strength then
ours: and the contenders against her supreame priviledges, have either
laboured meerely in vaine, or elsee incurred their owne bane. Which
strength, I freely confesse my selfe not to have, neither covet to be
possessed of it in this case: but if I had it, I wold rather lend it
to some other, then any way to use it on mine own behalfe. Wherefore,
I would advise them that thus checke and controule mee, to give over,
and be silent; and if their cold humours cannot learne to love, let them
live still in their frostie complexion, delighting themselves in their
corrupted appetites: suffering me to enjoy mine owne, for the little
while I have to live; and this is all the kindnesse I require of them.
But now it is time (bright beauties) to returne whence we parted, and
to follow our former order begun, because it may seeme we have wandered
too farre. By this time the Sun had chased the Starre-light from the
heavens, and the shadie moisture from the ground, when _Philostratus_
the King being risen, all the company arose likewise. When being come
into the goodly Garden, they spent the time in varietie of sports,
dining where they had supt the night before. And after that the Sun
was at his highest, and they had refreshed their spirits with a little
slumbering, they sate downe (according to custome) about the faire
Fountaine. And then the King commanded Madam _Fiammetta_, that she
should give beginning to the dayes Novelse: when she, without any
longer delaying, began in this gracious manner.
Tancrede, _Prince of_ Salerne, _caused the amorous friend of his
daughter to be slaine, and sent her his heart in a cup of Gold: which
afterward she steeped in an impoysoned water, and then drinking it so
dyed._
The first Novell.
_Wherein is declared the power of Love, and their cruelty justly
reprehended, who imagine to make the vigour thereof cease, by abusing
or killing one of the Lovers._
Our King (most Noble and vertuous Ladies) hath this day given us a
subject, very rough and stearne to discourse on, and so much the
rather, if we consider, that we are come hither to be merry & pleasant,
where sad Tragicall reports are no way suteable, especially, by
reviving the teares of others, to bedew our owne cheekes withall. Nor
can any such argument be spoken of, without moving compassion both
in the reporters, and hearers. But (perhaps) it was his highnesse
pleasure, to moderate the delights which we have already had. Or
whatsoever elsee hath provoked him thereto, seeing it is not lawfull for
mee, to alter or contradict his appointment; I will recount an accident
very pittiful, or rather most unfortunate, and well worthy to bee
graced with our teares.
_Tancrede_, Prince of _Salerne_ (which City, before the Consulles of
_Rome_ held dominion in that part of _Italy_, stoode free, and thence
(perchance) tooke the moderne title of a Principality) was a very
humane Lord, and of ingenious nature; if, in his elder yeares, he had
not soiled his hands in the blood of Lovers, especially one of them,
being both neere and deere unto him. So it fortuned, that during the
whole life time of this Prince, he had but one onely daughter (albeit
it had bene much better, if he had had none at all) whom he so choisely
loved and esteemed, as never was any childe more deerely affected of a
Father: and so farre extended his over-curious respect of her, as he
would sildome admit her to be foorth of his sight; neither would he
suffer her to marry, although she had outstept (by divers yeares) the
age meete for marriage. Neverthelesse, at length, he matched her with
the Sonne to the Duke of _Capua_, who lived no long while with her;
but left her in a widdowed estate, and then shee returned home to her
father againe.
This Lady, had all the most absolute perfections, both of favour and
feature, as could be wished in any woman, yong, queintly disposed, and
of admirable understanding, more (perhappes) then was requisite in
so weake a bodie. Continuing thus in Court with the King her Father,
who loved her beyond all his future hopes; like a Lady of great and
glorious magnificence, she lived in all delights & pleasure. She well
perceiving, that her Father thus exceeding in his affection to her,
had no mind at all of re-marrying her, and holding it most immodest
in her, to solicite him with any such suite: concluded in her mindes
private consultations, to make choise of some one especiall friend or
favourite (if Fortune would prove so furtherous to her) whom she might
acquaint secretly, with her sober, honest, and familiar purposes. Her
Fathers Court beeing much frequented, with plentifull accesse of brave
Gentlemen, and others of inferiour quality, as commonly the Courts of
Kings & Princes are, whose carriage and demeanour she very heedfully
observed. There was a yong Gentleman among all the rest, a servant to
her Father, and named _Guiscardo_, a man not derived from any great
descent by bloode, yet much more Noble by vertue and commendable
behaviour, then appeared in any of the other, none pleased her opinion,
like as he did; so that by often noting his parts and perfections, her
affection being but a glowing sparke at the first, grewe like a Bavin
to take flame, yet kept so closely as possibly she could; as Ladies are
warie enough in their love.
The yong Gentleman, though poore, being neither blocke nor dullard,
perceived what he made no outward shew of, and understood himselfe so
sufficiently, that holding it no meane happinesse to bee affected by
her, he thought it very base and cowardly in him, if he should not
expresse the like to her againe. So loving mutually (yet secretly)
in this manner, and shee coveting nothing more, then to have private
conference with him, yet not daring to trust anyone with so important a
matter; at length she devised a new cunning stratageme, to compasse her
longing desire, and acquaint him with her private purpose, which proved
to bee in this manner. Shee wrote a Letter, concerning what was the
next day to be done, for their secret meeting together; and conveying
it within the joynt of an hollow Cane, in jesting manner threw it to
_Guiscardo_, saying; Let your man make use of this, insted of a paire
of bellowes, when he meaneth to make fire in your chamber. _Guiscardo_
taking up the Cane, and considering with himselfe, that neither was
it given, or the wordes thus spoken, but doubtlesse on some important
occasion: went unto his lodging with the Cane, where viewing it
respectively, he found it to be cleft, and opening it with his knife,
found there the written Letter enclosed.
After he had reade it, and well considered on the service therein
concerned; he was the most joyfull man of the world, and began to
contrive his aptest meanes, for meeting with his gracious Mistresse,
and according as she had given him direction. In a corner of the Kings
Palace, it being seated on a rising hill, a cave had long beene made
in the body of the same hill, which received no light into it, but by
a small spiracle or vent-loope, made out ingeniously on the hills side.
And because it hadde not in long time bene frequented, by the accesse
of any body, that vent-light was over-growne with briars and bushes,
which almost engirt it round about. No one could descend into this
cave or vault, but only by a secret paire of staires, answering to a
lower Chamber of the Palace, and very neere to the Princesses lodging,
as beeing altogether at her command, by meanes of a strong barred and
defensible doore, whereby to mount or descend at her pleasure. And both
the cave it selfe, as also the degrees conducting downe into it, were
now so quite worne out of memory (in regard it had not bene visited by
any one in long time before) as no man remembred that there was any
such thing.
But Love, from whose bright discerning eies, nothing can be so closely
concealed, but at the length it commeth to light: had made this amorous
Lady mindefull thereof, and because she would not bee discovered in
her intention, many dayes together, her soule became perplexed; by
what meanes that strong doore might best be opened, before shee could
compasse to performe it. But after that she had found out the way, and
gone downe her selfe alone into the cave; observing the loope-light,
& had made it commodious for her purpose, shee gave knowledge thereof
to _Guiscardo_, to have him devise an apt course for his descent,
acquainting him truly with the height, and how farre it was distant
from the ground within. After he had found the souspirall in the
hills side, and given it a larger entrance for his safer passage; he
provided a Ladder of cords, with steppes sufficient for his descending
and ascending, as also a wearing sute made of leather, to keepe his
skinne unscratched of the thornes, and to avoide all suspition of his
resorting thither. In this manner went he to the saide loope-hole the
night following, and having fastened the one end of his corded ladder,
to the strong stumpe of a tree being closely by it; by meanes of the
saide ladder, he descended downe into the cave, and there attended the
comming of his Lady.
She, on the morrow morning, pretending to her waiting woman, that she
was scarsly well, and therefore would not be diseased the most part
of that day; commanded them to leave her alone in her Chamber, and
not to returne untill she called for them, locking the doore her selfe
for better security. Then opened she the doore of the cave, and going
downe the staires, found there her amorous friend _Guiscardo_, whom she
saluting with a chaste and modest kisse; caused him to ascend up the
stayres with her into her chamber. This long desired, and now obtained
meeting, caused the two deerely affecting Lovers, in kinde discourse
of amorous argument (without incivill or rude demeanour) to spend there
the most part of that day, to their hearts joy and mutuall contentment.
And having concluded on their often meeting there, in this cunning
& concealed sort; _Guiscardo_ went downe into the cave againe, the
Princesse making the doore fast after him, and then went forth among
her Women. So in the night season, _Guiscardo_ ascended uppe againe
by his Ladder of cords, and covering the loope-hole with brambles and
bushes, returned (unseene of any) to his owne lodging: the cave being
afterward guilty of their often meeting there in this manner.
But Fortune, who hath alwayes bin a fatall enemy to lovers stolne
felicities, became envious of their thus secret meeting, and overthrew
(in an instant) all their poore happinesse, by an accident most
spightfull and malicious. The King had used divers dayes before, after
dinner time, to resort all alone to his daughters Chamber, there
conversing with her in most loving manner. One unhappy day amongst the
rest, when the Princesse, being named _Ghismonda_, was sporting in her
privat Garden among her Ladies, the King (at his wonted time) went to
his daughters Chamber, being neither heard or seene by any. Nor would
he have his daughter called from her pleasure, but finding the windowes
fast shut, and the Curtaines close drawne about the bed; he sate downe
in a chaire behind it, and leaning his head upon the bed; his body
being covered with the curtaine, as if he hid himselfe purposely; hee
mused on so many matters, untill at last he fell fast asleepe.