--
Three young men love three sisters, and flee with them to Crete. The eldest
of the sisters slays her lover for jealousy. The second saves the life of
the first by yielding herself to the Duke of Crete. Her lover slays her, and
makes off with the first: the third sister and her lover are charged with
the murder, are arrested and confess the crime. They escape death by bribing
the guards, flee destitute to Rhodes, and there in destitution die.
--
Pampinea's story ended, Filostrato mused a while, and then said to her:--"A
little good matter there was that pleased me at the close of your story,
but, before 'twas reached, there was far too much to laugh at, which I could
have wished had not been there." Then, turning to Lauretta, he said:--
"Madam, give us something better to follow, if so it may be." Lauretta
replied with a laugh:--"Harsh beyond measure are you to the lovers, to
desire that their end be always evil; but, as in duty bound, I will tell a
story of three, who all alike came to a bad end, having had little joyance
of their loves;" and so saying, she began.
Well may ye wot, young ladies, for 'tis abundantly manifest, that there is
no vice but most grievous disaster may ensue thereon to him that practises
it, and not seldom to others; and of all the vices that which hurries us
into peril with loosest rein is, methinks, anger; which is nought but a rash
and hasty impulse, prompted by a feeling of pain, which banishes reason,
shrouds the eyes of the mind in thick darkness, and sets the soul ablaze
with a fierce frenzy. Which, though it not seldom befall men, and one rather
than another, has nevertheless been observed to be fraught in women with
more disastrous consequences, inasmuch as in them the flame is both more
readily kindled, and burns more brightly, and with less impediment to its
vehemence. Wherein is no cause to marvel, for, if we consider it, we shall
see that 'tis of the nature of fire to lay hold more readily of things light
and delicate than of matters of firmer and more solid substance; and sure it
is that we (without offence to the men be it spoken) are more delicate than
they, and much more mobile. Wherefore, seeing how prone we are thereto by
nature, and considering also our gentleness and tenderness, how soothing and
consolatory they are to the men with whom we consort, and that thus this
madness of wrath is fraught with grievous annoy and peril; therefore, that
with stouter heart we may defend ourselves against it, I purpose by my story
to shew you, how the loves of three young men, and as many ladies, as I said
before, were by the anger of one of the ladies changed from a happy to a
most woeful complexion.
Marseilles, as you know, is situate on the coast of Provence, a city ancient
and most famous, and in old time the seat of many more rich men and great
merchants than are to be seen there to-day, among whom was one Narnald
Cluada by name, a man of the lowest origin, but a merchant of unsullied
probity and integrity, and boundless wealth in lands and goods and money,
who had by his lady several children, three of them being daughters, older,
each of them, than the other children, who were sons. Two of the daughters,
who were twins, were, when my story begins, fifteen years old, and the third
was but a year younger, so that in order to their marriage their kinsfolk
awaited nothing but the return of Narnald from Spain, whither he was gone
with his merchandise. One of the twins was called Ninette, the other
Madeleine; the third daughter's name was Bertelle. A young man, Restagnon by
name, who, though poor, was of gentle blood, was in the last degree
enamoured of Ninette, and she of him; and so discreetly had they managed the
affair, that, never another soul in the world witting aught of it, they had
had joyance of their love, and that for a good while, when it so befell that
two young friends of theirs, the one Foulques, the other Hugues by name,
whom their fathers, recently dead, had left very wealthy, fell in love, the
one with Madeleine, the other with Bertelle. Whereof Restagnon being
apprised by Ninette bethought him that in their love he might find a means
to the relief of his necessities. He accordingly consorted freely and
familiarly with them, accompanying, now one, now the other, and sometimes
both of them, when they went to visit their ladies and his; and when he
judged that he had made his footing as friendly and familiar as need was, he
bade them one day to his house, and said:--"Comrades most dear, our
friendship, perchance, may not have left you without assurance of the great
love I bear you, and that for you I would do even as much as for myself:
wherefore, loving you thus much, I purpose to impart to you that which is in
my mind, that in regard thereof, you and I together may then resolve in such
sort as to you shall seem the best. You, if I may trust your words, as also
what I seem to have gathered from your demeanour by day and by night, burn
with an exceeding great love for the two ladies whom you affect, as I for
their sister. For the assuagement whereof, I have good hope that, if you
will unite with me, I shall find means most sweet and delightsome; to wit,
on this wise. You possess, as I do not, great wealth: now if you are willing
to make of your wealth a common stock with me as third partner therein, and
to choose some part of the world where we may live in careless ease upon our
substance, without any manner of doubt I trust so to prevail that the three
sisters with great part of their father's substance shall come to live with
us, wherever we shall see fit to go; whereby, each with his own lady, we
shall live as three brethren, the happiest men in the world. 'Tis now for
you to determine whether you will embrace this proffered solace, or let it
slip from you." The two young men, whose love was beyond all measure
fervent, spared themselves the trouble of deliberation: 'twas enough that
they heard that they were to have their ladies: wherefore they answered,
that, so this should ensue, they were ready to do as he proposed. Having
thus their answer, Restagnon a few days later was closeted with Ninette, to
whom 'twas a matter of no small difficulty for him to get access. Nor had he
been long with her before he adverted to what had passed between him and the
young men, and sought to commend the project to her for reasons not a few.
Little need, however, had he to urge her: for to live their life openly
together was the very thing she desired, far more than he: wherefore she
frankly answered that she would have it so, that her sisters would do, more
especially in this matter, just as she wished, and that he should lose no
time in making all the needful arrangements. So Restagnon returned to the
two young men, who were most urgent that it should be done even as he said,
and told them that on the part of the ladies the matter was concluded. And
so, having fixed upon Crete for their destination, and sold some estates
that they had, giving out that they were minded to go a trading with the
proceeds, they converted all else that they possessed into money, and bought
a brigantine, which with all secrecy they handsomely equipped, anxiously
expecting the time of their departure, while Ninette on her part, knowing
well how her sisters were affected, did so by sweet converse foment their
desire that, till it should be accomplished, they accounted their life as
nought. The night of their embarcation being come, the three sisters opened
a great chest that belonged to their father, and took out therefrom a vast
quantity of money and jewels, with which they all three issued forth of the
house in dead silence, as they had been charged, and found their three
lovers awaiting them; who, having forthwith brought them aboard the
brigantine, bade the rowers give way, and, tarrying nowhere, arrived the
next evening at Genoa, where the new lovers had for the first time joyance
and solace of their love.
Having taken what they needed of refreshment, they resumed their course,
touching at this port and that, and in less than eight days, speeding
without impediment, were come to Crete. There they bought them domains both
beautiful and broad, whereon, hard by Candia they built them mansions most
goodly and delightsome, wherein they lived as barons, keeping a crowd of
retainers, with dogs, hawks and horses, and speeding the time with their
ladies in feasting and revelling and merrymaking, none so light-hearted as
they. Such being the tenor of their life, it so befell that (as 'tis matter
of daily experience that, however delightsome a thing may be, superabundance
thereof will breed disgust) Restagnon, much as he had loved Ninette, being
now able to have his joyance of her without stint or restraint, began to
weary of her, and by consequence to abate somewhat of his love for her. And
being mightily pleased with a fair gentlewoman of the country, whom he met
at a merrymaking, he set his whole heart upon her, and began to shew himself
marvellously courteous and gallant towards her; which Ninette perceiving
grew so jealous that he might not go a step but she knew of it, and resented
it to his torment and her own with high words. But as, while superfluity
engenders disgust, appetite is but whetted when fruit is forbidden, so
Ninette's wrath added fuel to the flame of Restagnon's new love. And
whichever was the event, whether in course of time Restagnon had the lady's
favour or had it not, Ninette, whoever may have brought her the tidings,
firmly believed that he had it; whereby from the depths of distress she
passed into a towering passion, and thus was transported into such a frenzy
of rage that all the love she bore to Restagnon was converted into bitter
hatred, and, blinded by her wrath, she made up her mind to avenge by
Restagnon's death the dishonour which she deemed that he had done her. So
she had recourse to an old Greek woman, that was very skilful in compounding
poisons, whom by promises and gifts she induced to distill a deadly water,
which, keeping her own counsel, she herself gave Restagnon to drink one
evening, when he was somewhat heated and quite off his guard: whereby--such
was the efficacy of the water--she despatched Restagnon before matins. On
learning his death Foulques and Hugues and their ladies, who knew not that
he had been poisoned, united their bitter with Ninette's feigned
lamentations, and gave him honourable sepulture. But so it befell that, not
many days after, the old woman, that had compounded the poison for Ninette,
was taken for another crime; and, being put to the torture, confessed the
compounding of the poison among other of her misdeeds, and fully declared
what had thereby come to pass. Wherefore the Duke of Crete, breathing no
word of his intent, came privily by night, and set a guard around Foulques'
palace, where Ninette then was, and quietly, and quite unopposed, took and
carried her off; and without putting her to the torture, learned from her in
a trice all that he sought to know touching the death of Restagnon. Foulques
and Hugues had learned privily of the Duke, and their ladies of them, for
what cause Ninette was taken; and, being mightily distressed thereby,
bestirred themselves with all zeal to save Ninette from the fire, to which
they apprehended she would be condemned, as having indeed richly deserved
it; but all their endeavours seemed to avail nothing, for the Duke was
unwaveringly resolved that justice should be done. Madeleine, Foulques' fair
wife, who had long been courted by the Duke, but had never deigned to shew
him the least favour, thinking that by yielding herself to his will she
might redeem her sister from the fire, despatched a trusty envoy to him with
the intimation that she was entirely at his disposal upon the twofold
condition, that in the first place her sister should be restored to her free
and scatheless, and, in the second place, the affair should be kept secret.
Albeit gratified by this overture, the Duke was long in doubt whether he
should accept it; in the end, however, he made up his mind to do so, and
signified his approval to the envoy. Then with the lady's consent he put
Foulques and Hugues under arrest for a night, as if he were minded to
examine them of the affair, and meanwhile quartered himself privily with
Madeleine. Ninette, who, he had made believe, had been set in a sack, and
was to be sunk in the sea that same night, he took with him, and presented
her to her sister in requital of the night's joyance, which, as he parted
from her on the morrow, he prayed her might not be the last, as it was the
first, fruit of their love, at the same time enjoining her to send the
guilty lady away that she might not bring reproach upon him, nor he be
compelled to deal rigorously with her again. Released the same morning, and
told that Ninette had been cast into the sea, Foulques and Hugues, fully
believing that so it was, came home, thinking how they should console their
ladies for the death of their sister; but, though Madeleine was at great
pains to conceal Ninette, Foulques nevertheless, to his no small amazement,
discovered that she was there; which at once excited his suspicion, for he
knew that the Duke had been enamoured of Madeleine; and he asked how it was
that Ninette was there. Madeleine made up a long story by way of
explanation, to which his sagacity gave little credit, and in the end after
long parley he constrained her to tell the truth. Whereupon, overcome with
grief, and transported with rage, he drew his sword, and, deaf to her
appeals for mercy, slew her. Then, fearing the vengeful justice of the Duke,
he left the dead body in the room, and hied him to Ninette, and with a
counterfeit gladsome mien said to her:--"Go we without delay whither thy
sister has appointed that I escort thee, that thou fall not again into the
hands of the Duke." Ninette believed him, and being fain to go for very
fear, she forewent further leave-taking of her sister, more particularly as
it was now night, and set out with Foulques, who took with him such little
money as he could lay his hands upon; and so they made their way to the
coast, where they got aboard a bark, but none ever knew where their voyage
ended.
Madeleine's dead body being discovered next day, certain evil-disposed folk,
that bore a grudge to Hugues, forthwith apprised the Duke of the fact; which
brought the Duke--for much he loved Madeleine--in hot haste to the house,
where he arrested Hugues and his lady, who as yet knew nothing of the
departure of Foulques and Ninette, and extorted from them a confession that
they and Foulques were jointly answerable for Madeleine's death. For which
cause being justly apprehensive of death, they with great address corrupted
the guards that had charge of them, giving them a sum of money which they
kept concealed in their house against occasions of need; and together with
the guards fled with all speed, leaving all that they possessed behind them,
and took ship by night for Rhodes, where, being arrived, they lived in great
poverty and misery no long time. Such then was the issue, to which
Restagnon, by his foolish love, and Ninette by her wrath brought themselves
and others.