THE PLAGUE went dragging on for many months, but I had as yet managed to
keep it at bay; for though several of my comrades were dead, I survived
in health and freedom. Now it chanced one evening that an intimate
comrade of mine brought home to supper a Bolognese prostitute named
Faustina. She was a very fine woman, but about thirty years of age; and
she had with her a little serving-girl of thirteen or fourteen. Faustina
belonging to my friend, I would not have touched her for all the gold in
the world; and though she declared she was madly in love with me, I
remained steadfast in my loyalty. But after they had gone to bed, I
stole away the little serving-girl, who was quite a fresh maid, and woe
to her if her mistress had known of it! The result was that I enjoyed a
very pleasant night, far more to my satisfaction than if I had passed it
with Faustina. I rose upon the hour of breaking fast, and felt tired,
for I had travelled many miles that night, and was wanting to take food,
when a crushing headache seized me; several boils appeared on my left
arm, together with a carbuncle which showed itself just beyond the palm
of the left hand where it joins the wrist. Everybody in the house was in
a panic; my friend, the cow and the calf, all fled. Left alone there
with my poor little prentice, who refused to abandon me, I felt stifled
at the heart, and made up my mind for certain I was a dead man.
Just then the father of the lad went by, who was physician to the
Cardinal Iacoacci, [1] and lived as member of that prelate’s household.
[2] The boy called out: “Come, father, and see Benvenuto; he is in bed
with some trifling indisposition.” Without thinking what my complaint
might be, the doctor came up at once, and when he had felt my pulse, he
saw and felt what was very contrary to his own wishes. Turning round to
his son, he said: “O traitor of a child, you’ve ruined me; how can I
venture now into the Cardinal’s presence?” His son made answer: “Why,
father, this man my master is worth far more than all the cardinals in
Rome.” Then the doctor turned to me and said: “Since I am here, I will
consent to treat you. But of one thing only I warn you, that if you have
enjoyed a woman, you are doomed.” To this I replied: “I did so this very
night.” He answered: “With whom, and to what extent?” [3] I said: “Last
night, and with a girl in her earliest maturity.” Upon this, perceiving
that he had spoken foolishly, he made haste to add: “Well, considering
the sores are so new, and have not yet begun to stink, and that the
remedies will be taken in time, you need not be too much afraid, for I
have good hopes of curing you.” When he had prescribed for me and gone
away, a very dear friend of mine, called Giovanni Rigogli, came in, who
fell to commiserating my great suffering and also my desertion by my
comrade, and said: “Be of good cheer, my Benvenuto, for I will never
leave your side until I see you restored to health.” I told him not to
come too close, since it was all over with me. Only I besought him to be
so kind as to take a considerable quantity of crowns, which were lying
in a little box near my bed, and when God had thought fit to remove me
from this world, to send them to my poor father, writing pleasantly to
him, in the way I too had done, so far as that appalling season of the
plague permitted. [4] My beloved friend declared that he had no
intention whatsoever of leaving me, and that come what might, in life or
death, he knew very well what was his duty toward a friend. And so we
went on by the help of God: and the admirable remedies which I had used
began to work a great improvement, and I soon came well out of that
dreadful sickness.
The sore was still open, with a plug of lint inside it and a plaster
above, when I went out riding on a little wild pony. He was covered with
hair four fingers long, and was exactly as big as a well-grown bear;
indeed he looked just like a bear. I rode out on him to visit the
painter Rosso, who was then living in the country, toward Civita
Vecchia, at a place of Count Anguillara’s called Cervetera. I found my
friend, and he was very glad to see me; whereupon I said: “I am come to
do to you that which you did to me so many months ago.” He burst out
laughing, embraced and kissed me, and begged me for the Count’s sake to
keep quiet. I stayed in that place about a month, with much content and
gladness, enjoying good wines and excellent food, and treated with the
greatest kindness by the Count; every day I used to ride out alone along
the seashore, where I dismounted, and filled my pockets with all sorts
of pebbles, snail shells, and sea shells of great rarity and beauty.
On the last day (for after this I went there no more) I was attacked by
a band of men, who had disguised themselves, and disembarked from a
Moorish privateer. When they thought that they had run me into a certain
passage, where it seemed impossible that I should escape from their
hands, I suddenly mounted my pony, resolved to be roasted or boiled
alive at that pass perilous, seeing I had little hope to evade one or
the other of these fates; [5] but, as God willed, my pony, who was the
same I have described above, took an incredibly wide jump, and brought
me off in safety, for which I heartily thanked God. I told the story to
the Count; he ran to arms; but we saw the galleys setting out to sea.
The next day following I went back sound and with good cheer to Rome.
Note 1. Probably Domenico Iacobacci, who obtained the hat in 1517.
Note 2. 'A sua provisione stava, i. e.,' he was in the Cardinal’s
regular pay.