I HAD but just dismounted from my horse, when one of those excellent
people who rejoice in mischief-making came to tell me that Pagolo
Micceri had taken a house for the little hussy Caterina and her mother,
and that he was always going there, and whenever he mentioned me, used
words of scorn to this effect: “Benvenuto set the fox to watch the
grapes, [1] and thought I would not eat them! Now he is satisfied with
going about and talking big, and thinks I am afraid of him. But I have
girt this sword and dagger to my side in order to show him that my steel
can cut as well as his, and that I too am a Florentine, of the Micceri,
a far better family than his Cellini.” The scoundrel who reported this
poisonous gossip spoke it with such good effect that I felt a fever in
the instant swoop upon me; and when I say fever, I mean fever, and no
mere metaphor. The insane passion which took possession of me might have
been my death, had I not resolved to give it vent as the occasion
offered. I ordered the Ferrarese workman, Chioccia, to come with me, and
made a servant follow with my horse. When we reached the house where
that worthless villain was, I found the door ajar, and entered. I
noticed that he carried sword and dagger, and was sitting on a big chest
with his arm round Caterina’s neck; at the moment of my arrival, I could
hear that he and her mother were talking about me. Pushing the door
open, I drew my sword, and set the point of it at his throat, not giving
him the time to think whether he too carried steel. At the same instant
I cried out: “Vile coward! recommend your soul to God, for you are a
dead man.” Without budging from his seat, he called three times:
“Mother, mother, help me!” Though I had come there fully determined to
take his life, half my fury ebbed away when I heard this idiotic
exclamation. I ought to add that I had told Chioccia not to let the girl
or her mother leave the house, since I meant to deal with those trollops
after I had disposed of their bully. So I went on holding my sword at
his throat, and now and then just pricked him with the point, pouring
out a torrent of terrific threats at the same time. But when I found he
did not stir a finger in his own defence, I began to wonder what I
should do next; my menacing attitude could not be kept up for ever; so
at last it came into my head to make them marry, and complete my
vengeance at a later period. Accordingly, I formed my resolution, and
began: “Take that ring, coward, from your finger, and marry her, that I
may get satisfaction from you afterwards according to your deserts.” He
replied at once: “If only you do not kill me, I will do whatever you
command.” “Then,” said I, “put that ring upon her hand.” When the
sword’s point was withdrawn a few inches from his throat, he wedded her
with the ring. But I added: “This is not enough. I shall send for two
notaries, in order that the marriage may be ratified by contract.”
Bidding Chioccia go for the lawyers, I turned to the girl and her
mother, and, using the French language, spoke as follows: “Notaries and
witnesses are coming; the first of you who blabs about this affair will
be killed upon the spot; nay, I will murder you all three. So beware,
and keep a quiet tongue in your heads.” To him I said in Italian: “If
you offer any resistance to what I shall propose, upon the slightest
word you utter I will stab you till your guts run out upon this floor.”
He answered: “Only promise not to kill me, and I will do whatever you
command.” The notaries and witnesses arrived; a contract, valid and in
due form, was drawn up; then my heat and fever left me. I paid the
lawyers and took my departure.
On the following day Bologna came to Paris on purpose, and sent for me
through Mattio del Nasaro. I went to see him; and he met me with a glad
face, entreating me to regard him as a brother, and saying that he would
never speak about that work again, since he recognised quite well that I
was right.