and thereupon they parted. The judge stept into the gondola, and went
in peace. Gianetto treated all his acquaintance, made them presents, and
kept open house; then took leave of all his Venetian connexions, taking
with him Messer Ansaldo, and many of his former friends, and set off for
Belmonte. Most of those of both sexes he left behind, grieved much at
his departure, so nobly had he behaved while with them. Now it happened
that the lady had arrived several days previous, and had ordered great
preparations to be made. The houses were all hung with tapestry; several
companies of armed troops were posted here and there, and when Messer
Gianetto and Ansaldo arrived, all the knights and barons, with the rest
of the court, went to meet him, crying out, “long live our worthy lord!”
and when he reached Belmonte, the lady embraced Ansaldo, and shammed a
little coolness towards Gianetto, whom still she loved so dearly. Great
rejoicings took place; tilting, sham fights, dancing, music, and singing
among the ladies and damsels that were present. Gianetto seeing his lady
did not look so kindly towards him as she was wont to do, went into
his own room and sent for her. “What is the matter with you?” said he.
“There is no occasion for this outward show of tenderness,” said the
lady, “for I know you have found out your old favourite lady.” Gianetto
began to exculpate himself. The lady said, “where is the ring I gave
you?”
“Well,” said Gianetto, “what I anticipated is come to pass; I said, I
was sure you would be displeased, but I solemnly swear to you, by
all that is sacred, that I gave the ring to the judge that extricated
Ansaldo from his difficulties.”
“And I swear,” said she, “by all that I hold most dear, that thou hast
given it to a woman. I know it well, and thou oughtest to be ashamed to
perjure thyself thus.”
“May I die this moment,” said Gianetto, “if I do not tell thee true;
and, besides, I told the judge how it would turn out.”
“Thou might have stayed where thou wert, and have sent Ansaldo here by
himself, and enjoyed thyself, among thy damsels, for I hear they all
wept at thy departure.” Messer Gianetto began to be greatly distressed,
and could not refrain from tears, saying, “thou swearest what is not
true, and what could not be.” The lady, however, seeing he was in great
agitation, and quite miserable, it went to her heart, and she ran
to embrace him, laughing immoderately, and showing him the ring, and
repeated to him every thing he had said to the judge, and how she
herself had acted the part of the judge, and in what manner he had given
him the ring. Gianetto marvelled at this account, but seeing it was all
true, he began to feel relieved, and extremely pleased, and going out
of the room, related the story to some of his friends, and the adventure
increased their mutual affection, and thus they lived happily together,
surrounded by friends, and not forgetting to pay all kind attention to
Ansaldo.
THERE IS A SKELETON IN EVERY HOUSE.
There was at Naples a lady of the name of Corsina, bom at Capovana, and
wife of a noble cavalier, whose name was Messer Ramondo del Balzo. It
happened after some years that heaven was pleased to deprive this lady
of her husband, and she was left a widow, with an only son, whose
name was Carlo. This youth possessing all the excellent qualities and
endowments of his father, became the mother’s idol and only care. She
bethought herself that it would be greatly to his advantage to send
him to Bologna, to pursue his studies, in order that he might hereafter
become a great man. Having made up his mind to this, she gave him a
tutor, provided him with books, and every thing that would make him
comfortable, and sent him away with a tender mother’s blessing. There,
for several years, she maintained him with every comfort he could wish.
The youth, having every advantage, improved greatly, and became an
excellent scholar, and by his gentleman-like manners, correct
conduct, and great talents, had gained the affection of all his fellow
collegians. It happened, that having become, after some years, a doctor
in law, and being nearly on the eve of his return to Naples, he was
taken seriously ill, whereupon all the best physicians of Bologna
anxiously endeavoured to save his life, but had no hopes of success.
Carlo, perceiving he was a lost man, said to himself, I do not care so
much for myself, as for my poor, dear mother, who will no longer have
a son, for whom she has sacrificed her all, and whom she expected would
become her consolation, who might form some great alliance, and thereby
restore our family name. Now if she hears I am dead, and has not the
comfort of seeing me once again, she will assuredly die with excessive
grief. This reflection, more than the loss of his own life, overwhelmed
him with sorrow, and the thought continuing uppermost in his mind,
suggested the idea to him of contriving some means to prevent his mother
from being overpowered by her grief; he therefore immediately wrote to
her in the following words:--“My dearest mother, I do entreat that you
would be kind enough to get me a shirt made by the most beautiful and
the most happy lady you can find in Naples, she who is most free from
the cares or sorrows of this world.” The letter being dispatched,
and coming to hand, the mother immediately considered of the means of
satisfying this request, and how she could find one; she enquired among
all her acquaintances where she could meet such an unconcerned, and
indifferent, and easy-minded woman; but the task was arduous, yet she
was determined to do her son’s will. The lady, however, searched to
such effect, that she at last found one, who appeared so cheerful, so
beautiful, and so happy, and so unconcerned, that she seemed incapable
of feeling a single unpleasant thought. Madame Corsina, fancying she
had found the very person she was in search of, went to the lady, who
received her very politely. Madame Corsina said to her, “can you guess
what I am come for? it is because looking upon you as the most cheerful
lady in Naples, and the freest from painful thoughts or troubles; I wish
to ask you a very great favour, that is, that you would make a shirt for
me with your own hands, that I may send it to my son, who has earnestly
entreated me to get it made by such a one as yourself.” The young lady
answered, “you say you consider me the most cheerful young woman in
Naples.”
“Yes,” said Madame Corsina. “Now,” added the lady, “I will prove to
you it is quite the reverse, and that there never was born, perhaps, a
more unfortunate woman than myself, or who has more sorrows and heavy
afflictions, and that you may be convinced of this,” said she, “come
with me;” and, taking her hand, she led her into an inner chamber,
where, drawing aside a curtain, she pointed to a skeleton which was
hanging from a beam: upon which Madame Corsina exclaimed, “Oh, heavens!
what means this?” The young lady mournfully sighed, then said, “This
was a most worthy youth, who was in love with me; my husband finding
him here, caused him directly to be hung as you see; and, to increase my
agonies, he compels me to come and see the unfortunate youth every night
and morning; think what must be my anguish at being obliged to see him
thus daily; yet, if you wish it, I will do that you desire; but, as to
being the most cheerful, unconcerned, and happy person, I am, on the
contrary, the most wretched woman that ever was on earth.” The dame
remained in perfect astonishment, and said, “well, I see clearly
that no one is free from troubles and calamities, and that those that
consider me the most cheerful young woman in Naples.”
“Yes,” said Madame Corsina. “Now,” added the lady, “I will prove to you
it is quite the reverse, and that there never was bom, perhaps, a
more unfortunate woman than myself, or who has more sorrows and heavy
afflictions, and that you may be convinced of this,” said she, “come
with me;” and, taking her hand, she led her into an inner chamber,
where, drawing aside a curtain, she pointed to a skeleton which was
hanging from abeam: upon which Madame Corsina exclaimed, “Oh, heavens!
what means this?”
[Illustration: 201]
The young lady mournfully sighed, then said, “This was a most worthy
youth, who was in love with me; my husband finding him here, caused him
directly to be hung as you see; and, to increase my agonies, he compels
me to come and see the unfortunate youth every night and morning; think
what must be my anguish at being obliged to see him thus daily; yet,
if you wish it, I will do that you desire; but, as to being the most
cheerful, unconcerned, and happy person, I am, on the contrary, the most
wretched woman that ever was on earth.” The dame remained in perfect
astonishment, and said, “well, I see clearly that no one is free from
troubles and calamities, and that those that appear the most happy to
us, are often the most wretched.” She therefore took leave of the lady,
returned home, and wrote to her son, that he must excuse her if she
could not send the shirt, for she could not find a single individual who
was free from troubles and sorrows. After a few days a letter arrived,
stating that her son was dead; she, therefore, wisely thought to
herself, that as she clearly saw no one was ever free from misfortunes
and tribulations, even the very best of women; she would therefore take
comfort, more especially, as she perceived she was not the only one, and
thereby quieted her mind, and lived more happily by her submission to
the decree of heaven.
THE ELOPEMENT.
The Cavalier Nimagri à Revescio, a descendant of a noble Venetian
family, whose name it is immaterial to mention, more particularly as
the fact happened only some fifty years ago, being on his way to Rome,
passed through Caserta, and wanting a servant, his valet having been
taken dangerously ill on the road, enquired of the host, where he
alighted, whether he could recommend him such a one? The host said he
would enquire, and towards the evening brought a man up, who he said
wanted a place. The host having retired, the Cavalier Nimagri asked the
man what he could do? To which Gasparo, the servant, answered, “nothing,
sir.”
“Nothing,” said the cavalier, “can you dress hair, shave, &c.?”
“No, sir, but have good will, and will learn any thing.”
“But what has been your employment?”
“A very bad one,” said Gasparo, “but I am heartily sick of it, and am
determined to get my bread honestly and live in the fear of God.”
“But what are you; where do you come from?”
“Oh, sir,” he continued, “I am a Sicilian, Gasparo is my name; take
pity on a poor repentant sinner! hitherto I have been only a thief and
a murderer, who for a ducat or two would have murdered any man.” Don
Nimagri was astonished at the singularity of the case, and not a little
staggered at the horrible countenance before him, wherein his former
trade was strikingly depicted; but being a young man of uncommon
courage, and altogether struck with the candour and simplicity of the
fellow’s tale, as well as the unaffected repentance he showed, he hired
him, and he has often been heard to say, in his life he never met with a
more trusty or faithful servant.
The next day the cavalier pursued his intended journey to Rome; on the
second evening, having stopped at one of the best inns at Mecerra, while
Don Nimagri was at supper, the host came in, and having apologized
for the intrusion, said, “Signor Cavalier, there is a very noble youth
below, just arrived, who, upon hearing I had but one gentleman traveller
in the house, has begged I would ask your excellency, whether you would
allow him the pleasure of your society: I assure you, sir,” said the
host, “he is a very handsome young man, and, I dare say, the son of
some nobleman of the first rank, who has been playing some thoughtless
pranks; run away from college, or some such trick.” Don Nimagri, who
was naturally of a kind disposition, desired the host to give his
compliments to the gentleman, and say, he should be very happy in his
company. In a few minutes the host introduced the guest, a very elegant
youth, seemingly about eighteen, whose genteel and prepossessing
appearance bespoke him of high birth; he was in stature rather short,
delicate, but well proportioned, of a fair complexion, with beautiful
and animated eyes’; after the usual compliments on such occasions, an
addition was ordered to the supper. Don Nimagri’s curiosity was a
good deal excited by the manners and conversation of his guest; it was
sensible, but reserved. Don Nimagri was too well bred to pry into his
guest’s affairs, but there was a visible uneasiness about the youth that
distressed him; he endeavoured to rouse him by every means in his power,
but the stranger answered but little; scarcely eat any thing; sighed
deeply; and, upon the whole, seemed to be greatly agitated. Don Nimagri,
however, imagining be might have some affair of honour on his hands,
generously offered the stranger every assistance in his power. Supper
being ended, the youth got up, paced awhile along the room, and, at
last, addressing the cavalier, said in a hurried tone, “noble signor, I
have a favour to ask you: will you allow me, if the host can accommodate
us with a double-bedded room, to sleep in the same apartment?” Don
Nimagri hesitated not an instant, but rang for the host, and enquired
for a room with two beds; the host answered, that he was sorry to say he
had no such thing in the inn. Don Nimagri perceiving the host’s answer
very much encreased the youth’s inquietude, though he could not rightly
guess at the cause, said, “well, signor, we must do as well as we can,
the night is very hot; for my part I only mean to take off my coat
and boots, slip on my dressing gown, and lay on the bed, for I propose
starting very early, and to travel in the cool of the morning;” and, as
Gasparo came in to receive orders, he desired his horse to be ready by
five o’clock. These matters being settled, they retired to rest. Don
Nimagri would have been glad to have had a few hours sleep, but our
youth was so restless as he lay on the bed, that it seemed impossible.
Sleep, however, had at last over-powered the signor cavaliero; he had
scarcely slept two hours, when he was roused by a tremendous noise,
as if the whole inn was in arms; he listened, and the noise still
increasing, he jumped up; scarcely was he on his feet, when a loud rap
was heard at the room door, and two voices demanded admittance. The
youth, at the sound of the voices, ran to Don Nimagri, and hardly able
to articulate a word, caught hold of his arm and cried, “Oh, save me,
signor! I am an unfortunate young _woman!_” and fell at his feet. The
cavalier had not a moment to think, for they threatened to break open
the door; upon which Don Nimagri called to them, and said if they dared
to force the door, without a proper order from the magistrate, he would
blow their brains out, and that he was well prepared to encounter a
host of them; to which they replied they had. “If you have,” said the
cavalier, “thrust it under the door, and if it is a true one, I will
open the door;” but that was not the case, they were not in possession
of any such a thing. After many useless threats, they said they would
fetch a police officer, and retired. Meanwhile Gasparo, on the first
hearing of the bustle, had equipped himself with two large pistols in
his belt, a poignard, a huge sword which he always wore, and came in to
his master: what was to be done with the lady was the first question;
the host was called, and a purse of ducats put into his hand, (the
best pleaders for protection); the state of the case being told him,
he proposed, while they were gone, to procure an order, which he had no
doubt they would obtain, as the magistrate of the place was by no means
invulnerable against the attack of a full purse; that the lady should
be hidden in the hay-loft under some trusses, properly arranged for the
purpose. This being done, the cavalier threw himself carelessly on the
bed, and waited in great anxiety to hear of the lady’s safety,
till Gasparo ran in, and cried out, “_II Diavolo istesso non la
troverebbe_,”--the devil himself could not find her out, she is so well
concealed. It was but a short time after every thing was settled, that
the two gentlemen returned, accompanied by an officer, who was desired
to thrust the warrant under the door, if he really had one. Don Nimagri
finding that it was a magistrate’s order, and knowing the lady was
safe, ordered Gasparo to open the door; the strangers judging by the
appearance of Don Nimagri, and Gasparo’s terrible figure, that the
one was a person of some consequence, and well protected, began to
apologize, stating that they were in search of a sister who had run away
from home to avoid an union with a nobleman of her father’s choice, and
whom they were determined to secure.
[Illustration: 217]
They searched every where, and as one of the brothers was looking under
the bed, Qasparo, who was perhaps seized with an itching after his
old habits, was winking and blinking at his master, with a piteous,
imploring face, to let him have a pop or two at them; and it was with
difficulty he was able, by threatening looks, and a grasp of his arm, to
prevent him from discharging both his pieces at them. Being disappointed
in their search, the three men withdrew. As soon as Don Nimagri thought
they were safe, Gasparo and himself went to release the affrighted lady,
who was more dead than alive; some refreshments being brought in, Donna
Colomba, having recovered a little, related her story to her protector,
informing him that her cruel father, for the sake of interest,
insisted she should marry an old dotard, who was old enough to be her
grandfather, and whose vices and character she abhorred. “But what do
you intend to do?” said our young champion. “Signor,” added she, with
a bewitching grace, and tears glistening in her fine eyes, “I am under
your protection; the interest you have shown for my safety, repels every
idea of fear in me, and I have no hesitation in entrusting my life and
my honor in your hands, if you will but escort me with your servant as
far as Benevento; I have, at a short distance from thence, an aunt,
an abbess, under whose sacred care I shall be safe, and where I mean to
take the veil: do but this, and I will ever be grateful to you.” Don
Nimagri was too much of a man and a cavalier to withstand the entreaties
of a distressed fair one; he immediately gave orders for a carriage
to be got ready, desired Gasparo to saddle their horses, look to the
pistols in both saddles, and be quick. Gasparo flew; the chaise being
ready, the host liberally paid, the better to seal his lips, Donna
Colomba and Don Nimagri leaped into the vehicle, and drove off full
gallop. Whether the brothers had had scent by some stable-boy or other,
that a lady had been at the inn is not certain; but they had laid
watch, the which was easy enough, as there was but one road; but being
afraid, they placed themselves in ambush and suffered them to pass, and
followed behind at a small distance, expecting to overtake them at the
rising of the hill, which was about three miles off, when the horses
would be tired. By the time they got within a quarter of a mile from the
hill, Gasparo who was following, leading his master’s steed, hearing
a trampling of horses, looked back, saw them, and instantly gave the
alarm, crying as loud as he could, “here they are, here they are, we
shall have fine sport.” Don Nimagri looked out of the window, stopped
the carriage, got out, mounted his horse, ordered the postillion to
drive as fast as he could out of reach, the which he had no occasion to
repeat, for he was gone before Don Nimagri could well turn his horse to
face the enemy. The sbirro darting forward, pistol in hand, ordered them
to stand. Gasparo, who was more expert at this work than his master,
fired his pistol, but missing his aim, only shot the horse; down fell
the sbirro. Gasparo dismounted in an instant; put his horse’s bridle
into his master’s hand, ran up to the sbirro, and with his stiletto most
charitably put him out of misery, for the poor devil had broken his
arm in the fall. Don Nimagri meanwhile fired at the brothers who had
advanced upon him. Gasparo seeing the danger of his master in this
unequal match, fired his other pistol so successfully, that whether
one alone, or both were wounded, was never heard, for both set spurs to
their horses, like the valiant knight who ran away, to live and fight
another day.
Don Nimagri finding that the enemy were fled, did not think it necessary
to follow them, but turned his attention to the lady. They rode up
to the carriage as fast as they could, and found the lady in the
greatest terror; she eagerly enquired whether her brothers were safe,
for cruel as they were, she could not but feel as a sister. Don Nimagri
assured her they had both run away safe and sound. There being no time
to be lost, lest they might have run off under the idea of getting
assistance, he ordered the postillion to proceed to the next post, where
they rested some time, the lady being overcome by the fright, fatigue,
and distress of mind. As soon as she was recovered they set off, and
arrived safe at Benevento, but although it was in the middle of the
night, no entreaty or remonstrance could prevail on the lady to remain
there till morning; she was so alarmed at the idea of being surprised,
and carried away by her brothers, whom she had reason to fear were
still pursuing, or perhaps some more powerful dread in the breast of a
virtuous female, now she was discovered, that with tears she entreated
Don Nimagri to proceed to the convent she had mentioned, to which he
reluctantly agreed, apprehending the consternation and fright such
an arrival, and at such an hour, would create. The sisterhood of the
convent, as he conjectured, when they arrived, had just retired again to
rest after their midnight prayer, and were scarcely fallen into a doze,
when they were terrified by the violent ringing of the great convent
bell. What could be the matter? was the general cry. The alarm spread
like wild-fire; some fell on their marrow-bones, praying to St. Jenajo;
some ran with half their garments into the chapel; some concealed
themselves in the vaults, while the poor ab-bess lay trembling in her
bed, counting her beads. At last the porteress came to the gate and
through the little grating enquired what was the matter. Don Nimagri
said Donna Colomba, the abbess’s relation, was pursued, and begged
protection. While the good nun went up to deliver the message, the gates
were opened, and the chaise drove in. But poor Gasparo was shut out, and
thereby exposed to his fate, had there been any one at their heels; but
luckily for him, they had been too much terrified to venture a second
attack. Shortly after the fugitives were introduced into the chapel, for
the abbess seeing the girls running helter-skelter in every direction,
did not dare to introduce a man into any room, lest some of them might
have sought refuge there. Therefore, into the chapel they went; two or
three of those innocent creatures, who had run into it in their fright,
now scampered away as fast as they could, at sight of a man, and at that
time of the morning. When the abbess had heard Donna Colomba’s account,
she thanked Don Nimagri for his very kind and humane attention,
expressed great regret at not being able to allow him to stay the night,
but offered to send to a neighbouring farm, and obtain accommodation
for him and his servant; entreated him to come in the morning that they
might have an opportunity of giving him some testimony of the gratitude
they felt for his kind protection to her relation. Don Nimagri, highly
pleased at his success in saving the lady, departed. Receiving a message
from the abbess in the morning, he attended her, and was presented to
the whole sisterhood as the saviour of Donna Colomba’s life and honor,
and much gratified with the blessings and thanks of all these pretty
creatures, who vied with each other in little presents of relics,
sweet-meats,&c. The lady abbess presented him with a very handsome
crucifix set in diamonds. Donna Colomba could not find words to express
herself, but requested his acceptance of a beautiful diamond ring in
remembrance of her; and loaded him with blessings. Gasparo, I must
say, was not neglected by the inferior nuns. Although not a very
prepossessing parsonage, the account he gave of his glorious exploits
so delighted them, for ladies are fond of valour, that he did not lack
wine, cakes, and the good things usually met with in convents. After
a few hours Don Nimagri took leave of the ladies and sisterhood, and
arrived safe and sound at Rome.
THE FRIAR ENTRAPPED