In Pisa, a famous cittie of Italye, there lived a gentleman of good
linage and landes, feared as well for his wealth, as honoured for his
vertue, but indeed well thought on for both; yet the better for his
riches. This gentleman had one onelye daughter, called Margaret, who for
her beauty was liked of all, and desired of many. But neither might
their sutes nor her owne prevaile about her father’s resolution, who was
determyned not to marrye her, but to such a man as should be able in
abundance to maintain the excellency of her beauty. Divers yong
gentlemen proffered large feoffments, but in vaine, a maide shee must
bee still: till at last an olde doctor in the towne, that professed
phisicke, became a sutor to her, who was a welcome man to her father, in
that he was one of the welthiest men in all Pisa; a tall stripling he
was and a proper youth, his age about foure score, his heade as white as
milke, wherein for offence sake there was left never a tooth. But it is
no matter, what he wanted in person he had in the purse, which the poore
gentlewoman little regarded, wishing rather to tie herself to one that
might fit her content, though they lived meanely, then to him with all
the wealth in Italye. But shee was yong, and forcst to follow her
father’s direction, who, upon large covenants, was content his daughter
should marry with the doctor, and whether she likte him or no, the match
was made up, and in short time she was married. The poore wench was
bound to the stake, and had not onely an olde impotent man, but one that
was so jealous, as none might enter into his house without suspition,
nor shee doo any thing without blame; the least glance, the smallest
countenance, any smile was a manifest instance to him that shee thought
of others better then himselfe. Thus he himselfe lived in a hell, and
tormented his wife in as ill perplexitie.
At last it chaunced that a young gentleman of the citie, comming by her
house, and seeing her looke out at her window, noting her rare and
excellent proportion, fell in love with her, and that so extreamelye, as
his passions had no meanes till her favour might mittigate his heart
sicke discontent. The yong man that was ignorant in amorous matters, and
had never beene used to courte anye gentlewoman, thought to reveale his
passions to some one freend that might give him counsaile for the
winning of her love, and thinking experience was the surest maister, on
a daye seeing the olde doctor walkinge in the churche that was
Margaret’s husband, little knowing who he was, he thought this the
fittest man to whom he might discover his passions, for that hee was
olde and knew much, and was a phisition that with his drugges might
helpe him forward in his purposes; so that seeing the olde man walke
solitary, he joinde unto him, and after a curteous salute, tolde him
that he was to impart a matter of great import to him, wherein, if hee
would not onely be secrete, but indevour to pleasure him, his pains
should bee every way to the full considered. You must imagine,
gentleman, quoth Mutio, for so was the doctor’s name, that men of our
profession are no blabs, but hold their secrets in their hearts bottome,
and therefore reveale what you please, it shall not onely be concealed,
but cured, if either my art or counsaile may doo it. Upon this, Lyonell,
so was the young gentleman called, told and discourst unto him from
point to point, how he was falne in love with a gentlewoman that was
married to one of his profession, discovered her dwelling and the house,
and for that he was unacquainted with the woman, and a man little
experienced in love matters, he required his favour to further him with
his advice. Mutio at this motion was stung to the hart, knowing it was
his wife hee was fallen in love withall, yet to conceale the matter, and
to experience his wive’s chastity, and that if she plaide false, he
might be revenged on them both, he dissembled the matter, and answered
that he knewe the woman very well, and commended her highly: but said
she had a churle to her husband, and therefore he thought shee would bee
the more tractable: Trye her, man, quoth hee, fainte harte never wonne
faire lady, and if shee will not be brought to the bent of your bowe, I
will provide such a potion as shall dispatch all to your owne content:
and to give you further instructions for oportunitie, knowe that her
husband is foorth every afternoone from three till sixe. Thus farre I
have advised you, because I pitty your passions, as my selfe being once
a lover, but now I charge thee reveale it to none whomsoever, least it
doo disparage my credit to meddle in amorous matters.
The yong gentleman not onely promised all carefull secrecy, but gave him
harty thanks for his good counsell, promising to meete him there the
next day, and tell him what newes. Then hee left the old man, who was
almost mad for feare his wife any way should play false: he saw by
experience brave men came to beseige the castle, and seeing it was in a
woman’s custodie, and had so weeke a governor as himselfe, he doubted it
would in time be delivered up: which feare made him almost franticke,
yet he drivde of the time great torment, till he might heare from his
rival. Lionello he hastes him home and sutes him in his braverye, and
goes downe toward the house of Mutio, where he sees her at the windowe,
whome he courted with a passionate looke, with such humble salute as
shee might perceive how the gentleman was affectionate. Margaretta,
looking earnestlye upon him, and noting the perfection of his
proportion, accounted him in her eye the flower of all Pisa, thinkte
herselfe fortunate if shee might have him for her freend, to supply
those defaultes that she found in Mutio. Sundry times that afternoone he
past by her window, and he cast not up more loving lookes, then he
received gratious favours, which did so incourage him that the next daye
betweene three and sixe hee went to her house, and knocking at the
doore, desired to speake with the mistris of the house, who hearing by
her maid’s description what he was, commaunded him to come in, where she
intertained him with all courtesie.
The youth that never before had given the attempt to court a ladye,
began his _exordium_ with a blushe; and yet went forward so well, that
hee discourst unto her howe hee loved her, and that if it might please
her to accept of his service, as of a freende ever vowde in all dutye to
bee at her commaunde, the care of her honour should bee deerer to him
than his life, and hee would be ready to prise her discontent with his
bloud at all times. The gentlewoman was a little coye, but, before they
part, they concluded that the next day at foure of the clock hee should
come thither and eate a pound of cherries, which was resolved on with a
_succado des labras_, and so with a loath to depart they tooke their
leaves. Lionello as joyfull a man as might be, hyed him to the church to
meete his olde doctor, where he found him in his olde walke: What newes,
syr, quoth Mutio, how have you sped? Even as I can wishe, quoth
Lionello, for I have been with my mistrisse, and have found her so
tractable, that I hope to make the olde peasant, her husband, looke
broadheaded by a paire of browantlers. How deepe this strooke into
Mutio’s hart, let them imagine that can conjecture what jelousie is;
insomuch that the olde doctor askte when should be the time. Marry,
quoth Lionello, to-morrow, at foure of the clocke in the afternoone, and
then Maister Doctor, quoth hee, will I dub the old squire knight of the
forked order.
Thus they past on in that, till it grew late, and then Lyonello went
home to his lodging and Mutio to his house, covering all his sorrowes
with a merrye countenance, with full resolution to revenge them both the
next day with extremitie. He past the night as patiently as he could,
and the next daye, after dinner, awaye hee went, watching when it should
bee foure of the clocke. At the hour justly came Lyonello and was
intertained with all courtesie; but scarce had they kist, ere the maide
cryed out to her mistresse that her maister was at the doore; for he
hasted, knowing that a horne was but a litle while in grafting.
Margaret, at this alarum, was amazed, and yet for a shift chopt Lionello
into a great driefatte[492] full of feathers,[493] and sat her downe
close to her woorke. By that came Mutio in blowing, and as though hee
came to looke somewhat in haste, called for the keyes of his chambers,
and looked in everye place, searching so narrowlye in everye corner of
the house, that he left not the very privie unsearcht. Seeing he could
not finde him, hee saide nothing, but fayning himselfe not well at ease,
staide at home; so that poor Lionello was faine to staye in the drifatte
till the olde churle was in bed with his wife; and then the maide let
him out at a backe doore, who went home with a flea in his eare to his
lodging.
Well, the next day he went againe to meete his doctor, whome he found in
his wonted walke. What newes? quoth Mutio, how have you sped? A poxe of
the olde slave, quoth Lyonello; I was no sooner in, and had given my
mistresse one kisse, but the jelous asse was at the doore; the maide
spied him, and cryed her maister; so that the poore gentlewoman, for
very shifte, was faine to put me in a driefatte of feathers that stoode
in an olde chamber, and there I was faine to tarrie while[494] he was in
bed and a-sleepe, and then the maide let me out, and I departed. But it
is no matter; ’twas but a chaunce, and I hope to crye quittance with him
ere it be long. As how? quoth Mutio. Marry, thus, quoth Lionello: shee
sent me woord by her maide this daye that upon Thursday next the olde
churle suppeth with a patient of his a mile out of Pisa, and then I
feare not but to quitte[495] him for all. It is well, quoth Mutio;
fortune bee your frende. I thanke you, quoth Lionello: and so, after a
little more prattle, they departed.
To bee shorte, Thursdaye came, and about sixe of the clocke, foorth goes
Mutio no further then a freendes house of his, from whence he might
descrye who went into his house; straight hee sawe Lionello enter in,
and after goes hee, insomuche that hee was scarcelye sitten downe,
before the mayde cryed out againe, my maister comes. The goodwife, that
before had provided for after-claps,[496] had found out a privie place
between two seelings of a plauncher,[497] and there she thrust Lionello,
and her husband came sweting. What news, quoth shee, drives you home
againe so soone, husband? Marry, sweete wife, quoth he, a fearfull
dreame that I had this night, which came to my remembrance, and that was
this: me thought there was a villaine that came secretlye into my house,
with a naked poinard in his hand, and hid himselfe, but I could not
finde the place; with that mine nose bled, and I came backe; and, by the
grace of God, I will seeke every corner in the house for the quiet of my
minde. Marry, I pray you doo, husband, quoth she. With that he lockt in
all the doors, and began to search every chamber, every hole, every
chest, every tub, the very well; he stabd every feather bed through, and
made havocke like a mad man, which made him thinke all was in vaine; and
hee began to blame his eies that thought they saw that which they did
not. Upon this he rest halfe lunaticke, and all night he was very
wakefull, that towards the morning he fell into a dead sleepe, and then
was Lionello conveighed away.
In the morning when Mutio wakened, hee thought how by no meanes hee
should be able to take Lionello tardy: yet he laid in his head a most
dangerous plot; and that was this: Wife, quoth he, I must the next
Monday ride to Vycensa, to visit an olde patient of mine; till my
returne, which will be some ten dayes, I will have thee staye at our
little graunge house in the countrey. Marry, very well content, husband,
quoth she. With that he kist her, and was verye pleasant, as though he
had suspected nothing, and away hee flings to the church, where he
meetes Lionello. What, sir, quoth he, what news? is your mistresse yours
in possession? No, a plague of the olde slave, quoth hee. I think he is
either a witch, or els woorkes by magick; for I can no sooner enter into
the doores, but he is at my backe, and so he was againe yesternight; for
I was not warm in my seate before the maide cryed, my maister comes; and
then was the poore soule faine to conveigh me betweene two seelings of a
chamber, in a fit place for the purpose, wher I laught hartely to myself
too see how he sought every corner, ransackt every tub, and stabd every
feather bed, but in vaine; I was safe enough till the morning, and then,
when he was fast asleepe, I lept out. Fortune frownes on you, quoth
Mutio. I,[498] but I hope, quoth Lionello, this is the last time, and
now shee wil begin to smile; for on Monday next he rides to Vicensa, and
his wife lyes at the grange house a little [out] of the towne, and there
in his absence I will revenge all forepast misfortunes. God send it be
so, quoth Mutio; and so took his leave.
These two lovers longd for Monday, and at last it came. Early in the
morning Mutio horst himselfe and his wife, his maide and a man, and no
more, and away he rides to his grange house, wher, after he had brok his
fast, he took his leave, and away towards Vicensa. He rode not far ere,
by a false way, he returned into a thicket, and there, with a company of
cuntry peasants, lay in an ambuscade to take the young gentleman. In the
afternoon comes Lionello galloping, and as soon as he came within sight
of the house, he sent back his horse by his boy, and went easily afoot,
and there, at the very entry, was entertained by Margaret, who led him
up the staires, and convaid him into her bedchamber, saying he was
welcome into so mean a cottage. But, quoth she, now I hope fortun shall
not envy the purity of our loves. Alas! alas! mistris, cried the maid,
heer is my maister, and 100 men with him, with bils and staves. We are
betraid, quoth Lionel, and I am but a dead man. Feare not, quoth she,
but follow me: and straight she carried him downe into a low parlor,
where stoode an olde rotten chest full of writinges; she put him into
that, and covered him with olde papers and evidences, and went to the
gate to meet her husband.
Why, Signor Mutio, what meanes this hurly burly? quoth she. Vile and
shameless strumpet as thou art, thou shalt know by and by, quoth he.
Where is thy love? All we have watcht him and seen him enter in. Now,
quoth he, shall neither thy tub of feathers or thy seeling serve, for
perish he shall with fire, or els fall into my handes. Doo thy worst,
jealous foole, quoth she, I ask thee no favour. With that, in a rage, he
beset the house round, and then set fire on it. Oh, in what perplexitie
was poore Lionello in that he was shut in a chest, and the fire about
his eares! and how was Margaret passionat, that knew her lover was in
such danger! Yet she made light of the matter, and, as one in a rage,
called her maid to her and said: Come on, wench, seeing thy maister, mad
with jelousie, hath set the house and al my living on fire, I will be
revengd on him: help me heer to lift this old chest where all his
writings and deeds are; let that burne first, and as soon as I see that
on fire I will walke towards my freends, for the old foole will be
beggard, and I will refuse him. Mutio, that knew al his obligations and
statutes lay there, puld her back and bad two of his men carry the chest
into the field, and see it were safe, himselfe standing by and seeing
his house burnd downe sticke and stone. Then, quieted in his minde, he
went home with his wife and began to flatter her, thinking assuredly
that he had burnt her paramour, causing his chest to be carried in a
cart to his house in Pisa. Margaret, impatient, went to her mother’s and
complained to her and her brethren of the jealousie of her husband, who
maintaned her it to be true, and desired but a daies respite to proove
it.
Wel, hee was bidden to supper the next night at her mother’s, she
thinking to make her daughter and him freends againe. In the meane time
he to his woonted walk in the church, and there, _præter expectationem_,
he found Lionello walking. Wondring at this, he straight enquires what
newes. What newes, Maister Doctor, quoth he, and he fell in a great
laughing; in faith yesterday, I scapt a scouring, for syrrha, I went to
the grange-house, where I was appointed to come, and I was no sooner
gotten up the chamber, but the magicall villeine, her husband, beset the
house with bils and staves, and that he might be sure no seeling nor
corner should shrowde me, he set the house on fire, and so burnt it
downe to the ground. Why, quoth Mutio, and how did you escape? Alas,
quoth he, wel fare a woman’s wit; she conveighed me into an old chest
full of writings, which she knew her husband durst not burne, and so I
was saved and brought to Pisa, and yesternight, by her maide, let home
to my lodging. This, quoth he, is the pleasantest jest that ever I
heard; and upon this I have a sute to you: I am this night bidden foorth
to supper, you shall be my guest, onely I will crave so much favour, as
after supper for a pleasant sporte, to make relation what successe you
have had in your loves. For that I will not sticke, quoth he, and so he
conveyed Lionello to his mother-in-lawe’s house with him, and discovered
to his wive’s brethren who he was, and how at supper he would disclose
the whole matter; For, quoth he, he knowes not that I am Margaret’s
husband. At this all the brethren bad him welcome, and so did the mother
to, and Margaret, she was kept out of sight. Supper time being come they
fell to their victals, and Lionello was carrowst unto by Mutio, who was
very pleasant, to drawe him into a merry humor, that he might to the ful
discourse the effect and fortunes of his love. Supper being ended, Mutio
requested him to tel to the gentlemen what had hapned between him and
his mistresse. Lionello, with a smiling countenance, began to describe
his mistresse, the house and street where she dwelt, how he fell in love
with her, and how he used the councell of this doctor, who in all his
affaires was his secretarye. Margaret heard all this with a great feare,
and when he came to the last point, she caused a cup of wine to be given
him by one of her sisters, wherein was a ring that he had given
Margaret. As he had told how he had escapt burning, and was ready to
confirme all for a troth, the gentlewoman drunke to him, who taking the
cup and seeing the ring, having a quick wit and a reaching head, spide
the fetch, and perceived that all this while this was his lover’s
husband to whome hee had revealed these escapes; at this drinking the
wine and swallowing the ring into his mouth he went forward. Gentlemen,
quoth he, how like you of my loves and my fortunes? Wel, quoth the
gentlemen; I pray you is it true? As true, quoth he, as if I would be so
simple as to reveal what I did to Margaret’s husband; for, know you,
gentlemen, that I knew this Mutio to be her husband whom I notified to
be my lover; and for that he was generally known through Pisa to be a
jealous fool, therefore, with these tales I brought him into paradice,
which are follies of mine owne braine; for, trust me, by the faith of a
gentleman, I never spake to the woman, was never in her companye,
neyther doo I know her if I see her. At this they all fell in a laughing
at Mutio, who was ashamde that Lionello had so scoft him. But all was
well; they were made friends; but the jest went so to his hart that he
shortly after died, and Lionello enjoyed the ladye.
* * * * *
Ser Giovanni’s story, Roscoe observes, is “curious as having through the
medium of translation suggested the idea of those amusing scenes in
which the renowned Falstaff acquaints Master Ford, disguised under the
name of Brooke, with his progress in the good graces of Mrs. Ford. The
contrivances likewise by which he eludes the vengeance of the jealous
husband are similar to those recounted in the novel, with the addition
of throwing the unwieldly knight into the river. Dunlop says that the
same story has been translated in a collection entitled ‘The Fortunate,
Deceived, and Unfortunate Lovers,’ and that Shakspeare may probably also
have seen it in ‘Tarlton’s Newes out of Purgatorie,’ where the incidents
related in the Lovers of Pisa are given according to Straparola’s story.
Molière made a happy use of it in his ‘Ecole des Femmes,’ where the
humour of the piece turns upon a young gentleman confiding his progress
in the affections of a lady to the ear of her guardian, who believed he
was on the point of espousing her himself.” Two other French plays were
based upon the story, one of which was written by La Fontaine under the
title of “La Maître en Droit.” Readers of “Gil Blas” will also recollect
how Don Raphael confides to Balthazar the progress of his amour with his
wife, and expresses his vexation at the husband’s unexpected return.
* * * * *
It is much to be regretted that nothing is known as to the date and
place of the composition of the Breslau edition of The Nights, which
alone contains this and several other tales found in the collections of
the early Italian novelists.
_THE KING WHO KENNED THE QUINTESSENCE OF THINGS.—Vol. I. p. 212._
Although we may find, as already stated, the direct source of this tale
in the forty-sixth chapter of Al-Mas’údi’s “Meadows of Gold and Mines of
Gems,” which was written about A.D. 943, yet there exists a much older
version—if not the original form—in a Sanskrit collection entitled,
“Vetálapanchavinsatí,” or Twenty-five Tales of a Vampyre. This ancient
work is incorporated with the “Kathá Sarit Ságara,” or Ocean of the
Streams of Story, composed in Sanskrit verse by Somadeva in the 11th
century, after a similar work, now apparently lost, entitled, “Vrihat
Kathá,” or Great Story, written by Gunadhya, in the 6th century.[499] In
the opinion of Benfey all the Vampyre Tales are of Buddhist extraction
(some are unquestionably so), and they probably date from before our
era. As a separate work they exist, more or less modified, in many of
the Indian vernaculars; in Hindí, under the title of “Baital Pachísí”;
in Tamil, “Vedala Kadai”; and there are also versions in Telegu,
Mahratta, and Canarese. The following is from Professor C. H. Tawney’s
complete translation of the “Kathá Sarit Ságara” (it is the 8th recital
of the Vetála):