(FROM A VERY OLD TRANSLATION OF BOCCACCIO’S FALCON.)
Among the multiplicity of his queint discourses I remember he told
us, that sometime there lived in Florence a young gentleman named
Frederigo, sonne to Signior Phillippo Alberigo, who was held and
reputed both for armes and all other actions beseeming a gentleman,
hardly to have his equal through all Tuscany.
This Frederigo (as it is no rare matter in yong gentlemen) became
enamored of a gentlewoman, named Madam Giana, who was esteemed (in
her time) to be the fairest and most gracious lady in all Florence.
In which respect, and to reach the height of his desire, he made many
sumptuous feasts and banquets, joustes, tilties, tournaments, and all
other noble actions of armes, beside sending her infinite rich and
costly presents, making spare of nothing, but lashing all out in lauish
expence. Notwithstanding, she being no lesse honest then faire, made no
reckoning of whatsoeuer he did for her sake, or the least respect of
his owne person. So that Frederigo spending thus daily more then his
meanes and ability could maintaine, and no supplies anyway redounding
to him, or his faculties (as very easily they might) diminished in
such sort, that he became so poore, as he had nothing left him, but
a small poore farme to liue vpon, the silly reuenewes wherof were
so meane as scarcely allowed him meat and drink, yet he had a faire
hawke or faulcon hardly anywhere to be fellowed, so expeditious and
sure she was of flight. His low ebbe and poverty no way quailing his
loue to the lady, but rather setting a keener edge thereon: he saw
the city life could no longer containe him, where he most coueted to
abide, and therefore betook himselfe to his poore countrey farme to let
his faulcon get him his dinner and supper, patiently supporting his
penurious estate without suite or meanes making to one for helpe or
relief in any such necessity.
While thus he continued in this extremity it came to passe, that the
husband of Madam Giana fell sicke, and his debility of body being
such, as little or no hope of life remained, he made his last will
and testament, ordaining thereby that his sonne (already grown to
indifferent stature) should be heire to all his lands and riches
wherein he abounded very greatly. Next vnto him, if he chanced to die
without a lawful heire, he substituted his wife whom most dearely he
affected; and so departed out of this life. Madam Giana being thus left
a widow, as commonly it is the custome of our city dames, during the
summer season, she went to a house of her owne in the countrey which
was somewhat neare to poore Frederigo’s farme, and where he liued in
such an honest kind of contented pouerty.
Hereupon the young gentleman, her sonne, taking great delight in hounds
and hawkes, grew into familiarity with poor Frederigo, and hauing seene
many faire flights of his faulcon, they pleased him so extraordinarily,
that he earnestly desired to enjoy her as his owne: yet durst not moue
the motion for her, because he saw how choycely Frederigo esteemed her.
Within a short while after, the young gentleman became very sicke,
whereat his mother greued exceedingly (as having no more but he, and
therefore loved him the more entirely) neuer parting from him either
night or day, comforting him so kindly as she could, and demanding if
he had a desire to anything, willing him to reueale it and assuring him
withall that (if it were within compasse of possibility) he should haue
it. The youth hearing how many times she had made him these offers,
and with such vehement protestations of performance, at last thus
spake:--
“Mother (quoth he) if you can do so much for me, as that I may haue
Frederigo’s faulcon, I am perswaded, that my sicknesse will soone
cease.” The lady hearing this, sate some short while musing to
herselfe, and began to consider what she might best doe to compasse
her sonne’s desire, for well she knew how long a time Frederigo had
most louingly kept it, not suffering it euer to be out of his sight.
Moreouer, shee remembered how earnest in affection he had bene to her,
neuer thinking himselfe happy but onely when he was in her company,
wherefore shee entred into this private consultation with her owne
thoughts: “Shall I send, or goe myself in person, to request the
faulcon of him, it being the best that euer flew? It is his onely
jewell of delight, and that taken from him, no longer can he wish to
liue in this world. How farre then voyde of vnderstanding shall I shew
myselfe, to rob a gentleman of his sole felicity hauing no other joy
or comfort left him?” These and the like considerations wheeled about
her troubled braine, onely in tender care and loue for her sonne,
perswading herselfe assuredly that the faulcon were her owne, if
she would but request it, yet, not knowing whereon it were best to
resolue, shee returned no answer to her sonne, but sat still in her
silent meditations. At the length, loue to the youth, so prevailed
with her, that she concluded on his contentation, and (come of it
what could) shee would not send for it; but go herselfe in person to
request it, and then returne home againe with it: whereupon thus she
spake,--“Sonne, comfort thyselfe, and let languishing thoughts no
longer offend thee, for here I promise thee that the first thing I doe
to-morrow morning, shall bee my iourney for the faulcon, and assure
thyselfe that I will bring it with me.” Whereat the youth was so joyed,
that he imagined his sicknesse began instantly a little to leaue him
and promised himself speedy recouery.
Somewhat early the next morning, the lady, in care of her sicke son’s
health, was up and ready betimes, and taking another gentlewoman
with her, onely as a morning recreation, shee walked to Frederigo’s
poore country farme, knowing that it would not a little glad him to
see her. At the time of her arriuall there, he was (by chance) in a
silly garden, on the backe of the house, because (as yet) it was no
convenient time for flight: but when he heard Madam Giana was come
thither and desired to haue some conference with him; as one almost
confounded with admiration, in all haste he ran to her, and saluted
her with most humble reuerence. She in all modest and gracious manner
requited him with the like salutations, thus speaking to him: “Signior
Frederigo, your own best wishes befriend you, I am now come hither to
recompence some part of your passed trauailes, which heretofore you
pretended to suffer for my sake, when your love was more, then did
well become you to offer, or myselfe to accept. And such is the nature
of my recompence, that I make myselfe your guest, and mean this day
to dine with you, as also this gentlewoman, making no doubt of our
welcome.” Whereto with lowly reverence, thus he replyed: “Madam, I doe
not remembre that euer I sustained any losse or hindrance by you, but
rather much good, as if I was worth any thing it proceeded from your
great deseruings, and by the service in which I did stand engaged to
you. But my present happinesse can no way be equalled,--deriued from
your super-abounding gracious fauour, and more than common course of
kindnesse, vouchsafing of your owne liberall nature,--to come and
visit so poore a servant. Oh, that I had as much to spend againe, as
heretofore riotously I have runne thorow: what a welcome would your
poore host bestow vpon you, for gracing this homely house with your
divine presence!” With these words he conducted her into his house,
and then into his simple garden, where, hauing no convenient company
for her, he said,--“Madam, the poverty of this place is such, that it
affordeth none fit for your conversation; this poore woman, wife to an
honest husbandman, will attend on you, while I (with some speede) shall
make ready dinner.”
Poore Frederigo, although his necessity was extreame, and his greefe
great,--remembering his former inordinate expences, a moity whereof
would now hauve stood him in some stead; yet he had a heart as free
and forward as euer, not a iotte dejected in his minde, though vtterly
overthrowne by fortune. Alas! how was his good soule afflicted, that he
had nothing wherewith to honour his lady! Up and downe he runnes, one
while this way, then againe another, exclaiming on his disastrous fate,
like a man enraged or bereft of his senses; for he had not one penny
of mony, neither pawne or pledge wherewith to procure any. The time
hasted on, and he would gladly (though in meane measure) expresse his
honourable respect of the lady. To begge of any his nature denied it;
and to borrow he could not, because his neighbours were all as needie
as himselfe.
At last, looking round about, and seeing his faulcone on her perch,
which he felt to be very plumpe and fat; Being voyde of all other
helpes in his neede, and thinking her to be a fowle meete for so
noble a lady to feede on, without any further demurring or delay he
pluckt off her neck, and caused the poor woman presently to pull her
feathers: which being done, he put her on the spit, and in a short
time she was daintily roasted. Himselfe couered the table, set bread
and salt on,--and laid the napkins, whereof he had but a few left him.
Going then with chearfull lookes into the garden, telling the lady
that dinner was ready, and nothing was wanted but her presence; shee,
and the gentlewoman went in, and being seted at the table, not knowing
what they fed on, the faulcon was all their foode: and Frederigo not a
little ioyfull that his credit was so well saued. When they were risen
from the table and had spent some small time in familiar conference,
the lady thought it fit to acquaint him with the reason of her comming
thither; and therefore (in very kinde manner) thus began:
“Frederigo, if you do yet remember your former carriage towards me (as
also my many modest and chaste denials) which (perhaps) you thought
to sauour of a harsh, cruell, and vn-womanly nature, I make no doubt
but you will wonder at my present presumption, when you vnderstand the
occasion which expressely mooued me to come hither. But if you were
possessed of children, or euer had any, whereby you might comprehend
what love in nature is due vnto them: then I durst assure my selfe that
you would partly hold me excused.
“Now in regard, that you neuer had any, and myselfe (for my part) haue
but onely one, I stand not exempt from those lawes which are common to
other mothers. And being compelled to obey the power of those lawes,
contrary to mine owne will, and those duties which reason ought to
maintaine, I am to request a gift of you, which I am certaine that
you doe make most precious account of, as in manly equity you can doe
no lesse. For fortune hath bin so extreamly adverse to you, that she
hath robbed you of all other pleasures, allowing you no comfort or
delight, but only that poore one, which is your faire faulcone. Of
which bird, my sonne is become so strangely desirous, as if I doe not
bring it to him at my comming home, I feare so much the extreamity of
his sicknesse, as nothing can ensue thereon but the losse of life.
Wherefore, I beseech you, not in regard to the love you have borne me,
for therby you stande no way obliged, but in your owne true gentle
nature (the which hath always declared itselfe ready in you, to do more
kinde offices generally than any other gentleman that I know), you will
be pleased to giue her me, or at least, let me buy her of you. Which if
you doe, I shall freely confesse that onely by your means my sonne’s
life is saued, and we both shall for ever remaine engaged to you.”
When Frederigo had heard the ladies request, which was now quite out
of his power to graunt, because it had bene her service at dinner, he
stood like a man dulled in his sences, the teares trickling amain downe
his cheekes, and he not able to vtter one word. Which she perceiving
began to conjecture immediately, that these tears and passions
proceeded rather from greefe of minde, as being loather to part with
his faulcone then any other kinde of manner, which made her ready to
say that she would not haue it. Neuerthelesss she did not speake but
rather tarried to attend his answer; which, after some small respite
and pause, he returned in this manner:
“Madam, since the houre when first my affection became soly deuoted
to your seruice, fortune hath bene crosse and contrary to me in many
occasions, as iustly, and in good reason I may complaine of her:
yet all seemed light and easie to be indured in comparison of her
present malicious contradiction, to my vtter ouerthrow, and perpetual
mollestation. Considering that you are come hither to my poore house,
which (while I was rich and able) you would not so much as vouchsafe
to looke on; and now you haue requested a small matter of me wherein
she hath also crookedly thwarted me, because she hath disabled me in
bestowing so mean a gift, as your selfe will confesse when it shall be
related to you in a few words.
“So soone as I heard that it was your pleasure to dine with me, hauing
regard to your excellency, and what (by merit) is justly due vnto
you, I thought it a part of my bounden duty to entertaine you with
such exquisite viands as my poore power could any way compasse, and
farre beyond respect or welcome to other common and ordinary persons.
Whereupon remembering my faulcone, which now you aske for, and her
goodnesse excelling all other of her kinde, I supposed that she would
make a dainty dish for your dyet; and, hauing drest her so well as I
could deuise to do, you haue fed heartily on her, and I am proud that I
haue so well bestowne her. But perceiuing now that you would haue her
for your sicke sonne, it is no mean affliction to me that I am disabled
of yeelding you contentment which all my lifetime I haue desired to
doe.”
To approve his words, the feathers, feete and beake were brought in;
and when she saw this, she greatly blamed him for killing so rare a
faulcone, to content the appetite of any woman whatsoeuer. Yet she
commended his height of spirit which poverty had no power to abase.
Lastly, her hopes being frustrate, for enjoying the faulcone, and
fearing besides the health of her sonne, she thanked Frederigo for his
honorable kindnesse, returning home againe sad and melancholly. Shortly
after, her sonne, either greeuing that he could not hauve the faulcone,
or by extreamity of his disease, chanced to die, leauing his mother a
most woeful lady.
After so much time was expired, as conveniently might agree with
sorrow and mourning, her brethren made many motions to her to joyne
herself in marriage againe, because she was extraordinarily rich and
as yet but yong in years. Now, although she was well contented neuer
to be married any more, yet, being continually importuned by them, and
remembring the honourable honesty of _Frederigo_,--his last poore, yet
magnificent dinner, in killing his faulcone for her sake,--she saide to
her brethren: “This kinde of widdowed estate doth like me so well, as
willingly I would neuer leave it: but seeing you are so earnest for my
second marriage, let me plainly tell you, that I will neuer accept of
any other husband but onely Frederigo di Alberino.”