THE FORTY-FIFTH NOUELL.

_The Duchesse of Sauoie, being the kinge of England’s sister, was in the

Duke her husbandes absence, vniustlye accused of adulterie, by a noble

man, his Lieutenaunte: and shoulde haue beene put to death, if by the

prowesse and valiaunt combate of Don Iohn di Mendozza, (a gentleman of

Spaine) she had not beene deliuered. With a discourse of maruelous

accidentes, touchinge the same, to the singuler praise and

commendation of chaste and honest Ladies._

Loue commonly is counted the greatest passion amongs all the most

greuous, that ordinarily do assault the sprites of men, which after it

hath once taken hold of anye gentle subiecte, followeth the nature of

the corrupt humour, in those that haue a feauer, which taking his

beginning at the harte, desperseth it selfe incurablye, through all the

other sensible partes of the bodie: whereof this present historie giueth

vs amplie to vnderstand, being no lesse maruelous than true. Those that

haue read the aunciente histories and chronicles of Spaine, haue sene in

diuers places the occasion of the cruell ennimitie which raigned by the

space of XL. yeares, betweene the houses of Mendozza and Tolledo,

families not onely righte noble and aunciente, but also most aboundante

in riches, subiectes and seignories of all the whole realme. It happened

one day that their armies being redie to ioyne in battaile, the Lord

Iohn of Mendozza chief of his armie, a man much commended by al

histories, had a widow to his sister, a very deuout Lady, who after she

vnderstode the heauie newes of that battaile, falling downe vppon her

knees, praied God incessauntly, that it would please him to reconcile

the two families together, and to make an ende of so manye mischiefes.

And as she vnderstode that they were in the chiefest of the conflicte,

and that there were a greate nomber slaine on both partes, she made a

vow to God, that if her brother retorned victorious from that

enterprise, she would make a voyage to Rome on foote. The ouerthrowe

fell (after much bloudshead vpon them of Tolledo. Mendozza brought away

the victorie, with the lesse losse of his people. Wherof Isabell

aduertised, declared vnto her brother the vow that she had made. Which

seemed very straung vnto him, specially how she durst enterprise so

longe a voyage on foote, and thoughte to turne her purpose, howbeit she

was so importunate vppon him, as in the ende hee gaue her leaue, with

charge that she should go wel accompanied and by small iourneis, for

respect of her health. The Ladie Isabell being departed from Spaine,

hauing trauersed the mountaines Pirenees, passed by Fraunce, went ouer

the Alpes, and came to Thurin, where the Duke of Sauoye had then for

wyfe, a sister of the kinge of Englande, whoe was bruted to be the

fairest creature of the weste partes of the world. For this cause the

Lady Isabel desired greatly in passing by to see her, to know whether

truth did aunswere the great renowne of her beauty. Wherein she had

fortune so fauourable, that entring into Thurin, she found the Duchesse

vpon her Coche, goinge abroade to take the ayre of the fields: which the

Lady Isabell vnderstandinge, stayde to behold her, being by fortune at

that present at the doore of her Coche. And then with great admiration,

considering the wonderfull beautie of that princesse, iudging her the

chiefest of beautie of al those that she had euer seene, she spake

somewhat loude in the Spanish tongue, to those of her companie, in this

maner: “If God woulde haue permitted that my brother and this Princesse

might haue married together, euery man might well haue said, that there

had bin mette the moste excellente couple for perfection of beautie,

that were to be found in all Europa.” And her wordes in deede were true:

for the Lord Mendozza was euen one of the fairest knightes that in his

time was to be found in all Spaine. The Duchesse whoe vnderstoode the

Spanishe tongue very well, passing forth, behelde all that companie: and

fayninge as thoughe shee had not vnderstande those woordes, thoughte

that shee surely was some greate Lady. Wherefore when shee was a litle

paste her, she saide to one of her pages: “Marke whether that ladye and

her companye go to their lodging, and say vnto her, that I desire her,

(at my returne) to come and see mee at my Castell.” Which the page did.

So the Duchesse walking a long the riuer of Poo, mused vppon the words

spoken by the Spanishe Ladye, which made her not longe to tarie there,

but toke the waye backe againe to her Castel, where being arriued, she

founde the Lady Isabell, who at the Duchesse request, attended her with

her company: and after dutiful reuerence, the Duchesse with like

gratulacion, receiued her very courteouslie, taking her a part, and

demaunding her of what prouince of Spaine shee was, of what house, and

what fortune had brought her into that place. And then the Lady Isabell

made her to vnderstand, from the beginninge, the occasion of her long

voyage, and of what house she was: the duchesse vnderstanding her

nobilitie, excused her selfe, for that shee had not done her that honour

which shee deserved, imputinge the faulte vpon the ignorance of her

estate. And after diuers other curteous communications the Duchesse

pressed her to know whereunto the wordes tended that shee had spoken of

her, and of the beautie of her brother. The Spanishe lady somewhat

abashed, saide vnto her: “Madame, if I had knowen so much of your skill

in our tongue, as now I do, I would haue beene better aduised before I

had soe exalted the beautie of my brother, whose praise had beene more

commendable in the mouth of another: yet thus much I dare affirme

(without affection be it spoken), as they that know him can report, that

hee is one of the comliest Gentlemen that Spaine hath bredde these

twenty yeares. But of that which I haue saide touching your beautie, if

I haue offended, muche a doe shall I haue to get the same pardoned,

because I cannot repent mee, nor say otherwise, except I should speake

contrary to truth. And that durste I enterprise to be verified by

yourselfe, if it were possible that nature for one quarter of one houre

onelye had transported into some other that which with right great

wonder she sheweth to be in you.” Wherunto the Duchesse to the ende shee

woulde seeme to excuse her prayse, aunswered with a litle bashfulnes,

which beautified much her liuely colour, saying: “Madame if you continue

in these termes, you will constraine me to thincke, that by chaunging of

place you haue also chaunged your iudgemente: for I am one of the leaste

to be commended for beauty of all this lande, or els I will beleeue that

you haue the beautie and valour of my Lorde your brother soe printed in

your minde, as all that whiche presenteth it selfe vnto you, hauinge

anye apparaunce of beautie, you measure by the perfection of his.” And

at that instante the Ladie Isabell, whoe thoughte that the duchesse had

taken in euill parte the comparison that she had made betweene her

brother and her, somwhat in choler and heate, said vnto her: “Madame,

you shall pardon mee for that I haue so much forgotten my selfe, to

presume to compare your beautie to his: whereof if he be to be

commended, yet I maye well be blamed, being his sister, to publishe the

same in an vnknowen place: notwithstanding, I am wel assured, that when

you shall speake, euen with his enemies, that yet besides his beautie,

they will well assure him to be one of the gentlest and best condicioned

gentlemen that liueth.” The Duchesse seinge her in these alterations,

and so affected to the praise of her brother, toke great pleasure in her

speach, and willingly woulde haue had her to passe further, had it not

bin for feare to offende her, and to put her in a choler. And to

thintent to turne her from that matter, she commaunded the table to be

couered for supper, where she caused her to be serued honourably of all

the most delicate and most exquisite meates that were possible to be

gotten. Supper done, and the tables vncouered, after they had a little

talked together, and that it was time to withdrawe themselues, the

Duchesse the more to honor her, would that she should lodge in her

chamber with her, where the pilgrime (wearied with the way) toke very

good rest. But the Duchesse pricked with the strange talke of the Lady

Isabell, hauing a hammer working in her head, could not sleepe. And had

so wel the beauty of the unknowen knight graued in the bottom of her

hart, as thinking to close her eyes, she thought that he flew

continuallye before her like a certaine fansie or shadowe. In sorte,

that to know further what he was, she would gladly haue made greater

inquirie. Then sodainlye after a little shame and feare intermingled

with a certain womanhoode longe obserued by her, and therewithall the

fidelitie which shee bare to the Duke her husbande, presentinge it selfe

before her, shee buried altogether her first counsell which died and

tooke ende, euen so sone almoste as it was borne. And so tossed with an

infinite number of diuers thoughtes passed the night, vntill the daye

beginning to lighten the world with his burning lampe, constrained her

to ryse. And then the Lady Isabel, ready to departe, went to take leaue

of the Duchesse, who willingly would haue wished that she had neuer sene

her, for the newe flame that she felt at her harte. Neuerthelesse,

dissembling her euill, not able to holde her any longer, made her to

promise by othe, at her retourne from her voyage, to repasse by Thurin,

and after she had made her a very liberall offer of her goodes, taking

her leaue, she left her to the tuicion of God. Certaine dayes after the

departing of the Spanish lady, the Duchesse thinking to quenche this new

fier, the same began further to flame, and the more that hope failed

her, the more did desire encrease in her. And after an infinite number

of sundrie cogitacions, Loue got the victorie. And she resolued with her

selfe in the ende, whatsoeuer might come thereof, to communicate her

cause to one of her beloued damsels called Emilia, and to haue her

aduise, in whom she wonted to repose her trust in all her secrete

affaires, and causing her to be called for secretely, she said vnto her:

“Emilia, I beleue that if thou hast taken any good heede to my auncient

maner of behauiour, euer since I departed from England, thou haste

knowen me to be the very ramper and refuge of all afflicted persons. But

now my destenies be turned contrarie. For I haue nowe more neede of

counsel than any other liuing creature, and hauing no person about me

worthy to be priuie of my misfortune, but thou, my first and last refuge

is to thee alone: of whom I hope to receiue consolation in a matter

whiche toucheth me no lesse than my life and honour.” And then the

Duchesse declared vnto her priuily, how since the departing of the Lady

Isabell she had had no reste in her minde, and how she was enamoured of

a knight whome she neuer sawe, whose beautie and good grace had touched

her so nere, as being altogether vnable any longer to resiste her

mishap, she knew not to whom to haue recourse, but to the fidelitie of

her counsell: adding thereunto for conclusion, that she loued him not

dishonestly, or for hope she had to satisfie any lasciuious appetite,

but onely to haue a sight of him: whiche (as shee thought) would bring

unto her such contentation, as ther by her grief shoulde take ende.

Emilia who euer loued her maistresse as she did her owne heart, had

great compassion vpon her, when she vnderstode the light foundation of

her straunge loue: neuerthelesse desiring to please her euen to the last

point of her life, she said vnto her: “Madame if it wil please you to

recreate your selfe from these your sorrowes, and to respite me onely

twoo dayes, I hope to prouide by some good meanes that you shal shortly

see him who vndeseruedly doth worke you all this euill.” The Duchesse

nourished with this hope, desired her effectually to thinke vppon it:

promising vnto her, that if her woordes came to good effect, she would

make her such recompence as she her self should confesse she had not

done pleasure to an ingrate or vnthankefull woman. Emilia which had the

brute to be one of the moste subtile and sharpe witted dames of all

Thurin, slept not during the time of her prescription. But after she had

searched an infinite number of meanes to come to that which she desired,

there was one that semed moste expedient for that purpose, and of least

perill aboue other. And her time of delaye expired, shee went to Madame

the Duchesse, and sayd: “Madame, God knoweth howe many troubles my minde

hath sustayned, and how much I haue striued with mine own conscience to

satisfie your commaundement, neuerthelesse, after I had debated thinges

so substantially as was possible, I coulde deuise nothing more worthy

your contente, than that whiche I wyll nowe declare vnto you, if it wyll

please you to heare mee. Whiche to be short is, that for the execution

of this our enterpryse, it behoueth you to fayne your selfe to be sicke,

and to suffer your selfe to be trayned into suche maladies as there

shall rather appeare in you token of death, than hope of lyfe. And being

brought into such extremitie, you shall make a vowe (your health

recouered) to go within a certayne time to Saint Iames on pilgrimage,

which thing you may easely obtayne of the Duke your husbande. And then

may you make your voyage liberally with the Ladye Isabell, who will

passe this waye vpon her retourne, without discouering your affection

vnto her, and wyll not fayle by reknowledging the curtesie that you haue

vsed towardes her in these partes, to conduct you by her brother’s

house, wher you may see him at your ease, that maketh you to suffer this

great torment. And I will aduertise you furthermore of one thing, which

till this time I haue kept close, whiche is: that for as mutch as we two

togethers cannot without great difficultie accomplishe our businesse, it

hath seemed good vnto me to know of you, if you would that a third

persone shalbe called hereunto, who is so much at my commaundement as I

dare comit my trust vnto him. It is maister Fraunces Appian the

Millanor, your phisitian, who (to say the very truth vnto you) hath bene

so affectioned to mee this yeare or two, as he hath not ceassed by al

meanes possible, to wynne me (but to honest loue) for he pretendeth to

marry me. And because that hetherto I haue made small accompt of him,

and haue not vsed any fauour towards him, nor hitherto any good

entertainement, I assure my self seing the great amitie that he beareth

me, that if I did but fauorably behold him fiue or sixe times with

pleasaunt lookes, adding therunto a few kisses, he would hazard a

thousand liues for my sake if he had them, to content me. And for as

much as I know him to be a diligent man, learned, and of great

reputation, and one that may stande vs to great stead in this busines,

I thought good not to conceale or kepe from your knowledge my aduise

herein.” The Duchesse vnderstanding all this pretie discourse, so apt

for her affections (rauished with great ioye) embraced hard Emilia, and

saide vnto her: “Emilia my deare friend, if thou diddest knowe in what

wise I do esteme thee, and what I meane in time to come, to bestowe vpon

thee, I am well assured, albeit thou hast hetherto sufficiently shewed

thy good will, yet thou wilt hereafter doe me greater pleasure promising

thee, by the faithe of a Prince, that if our enterprise doe well

succeede, I will not vse thee as a seruaunt, but as my kinswoman and the

best beloued frend I haue. For I holde my selfe so satisfied with that

thou hast sayd vnto me, as if fortune be on our side, I see no maner of

impediment that may let our enterprise. Goe thy way then, and entertaine

thy Phisitian, as thou thinkest best, for it is very expedient that he

be a partie, and for the rest let me alone: for neuer was there any

Lazar that better coulde dissemble his impotencye, than I knowe how to

counterfeit to be sicke.” The Duchesse being departed from Emilia, began

to plaine her selfe bitterly, faining sometime to fele a certain paine

in her stomack, sometime to haue a disease in her head, in such sort, as

after diuers womanly plaintes (propre to those that feele themselues

sicke) she was in the end constrayned to laye her self downe, and knew

so well howe to dissemble her sicknesse, as (after she had certaine

dayes kept her bedde) there was mutch doubt of her health. And during

this time Emilia had layed so many amorous baytes to seede her

Phisitian, that he whiche knewe very well the moste happy remedies for

the body, could not now finde out any that was able to heale the maladie

of his owne minde. Emilia hauing noseled maister Appian with amorous

toyes, began to make him vnderstande the originall of the Duchesse

sickenesse, the effectes of her passion, the order that she had vsed

during the furious course of the same: adding thereunto for conclusion,

that if he would keepe the matter secrete, and ayde them with his

counsell, she would by and by promise hym mariage by woordes, for the

present tyme, and that from thenceforth she would neuer denie him any

fauour or priuitie. That onely reserued which no man can honestly

demaunde, till the mariage be solempnized in the face of the church. In

witnesse wherof she kissed him with great affection. The Phisitian more

eased there withall, than if he had sene his Hippocrates or Galen,

raysed againe from death, promised rather to lose his life than she

should want his helpe. And for the better beginning of this enterprise,

they wente presentlye to visite the Duchesse: in whom they found her

pulse so to beate, the tongue so charged, the stomacke so weakened by

continuall suffocation of the matrice, that the pacient was in verye

great perill of death. Whereunto euery man did easely geue credite for

the reputation and great experience of the Phisitian: and maister Appian

hauing commauuded all the chamber to be voyded, made the Duchesse to

vnderstande in fewe wordes, how it behoued her to gouerne her selfe. And

the better to cloke her cause, he brought her at that instant a little

perfume, by receiuing the sauour wherof she should often times fal into

certaine litle soundinges, and by vsing the perfume it woulde diminishe

her colour for a time, and make her looke as though she had kepte her

bed halfe a yeare before: neuerthelesse it should doe her no other

displeasure, and that in three or foure dayes, with certaine other

drugges, hee would restore her colour so freshe as euer it was. Whiche

counsell the Duchesse liked best of any thing in the world. And they

three together played their partes so wel, as the common brute

throughout all the citie was, that the Duchesse was in great daunger of

death. The duke being aduertised of these thinges, caused all the

phisitians of Thurin to assemble, to prouide for the health of the

Duchesse: who being come together, with the Duke into her bedde chamber,

a litle after she had receiued maister Appian’s perfumes: and seing her

to sowne diuers times before them, were in great dispaire of her health.

And after they had somewhat debated the matter with Maister Appian, not

knowing wherupon to resolue, they said vnto the Duke, that it behoued

him to prouide for her soule, for that they saw in her the ordinarie

tokens and messangers of death. The poore Duke being sorowfull beyond

measure, for that he loued the Duchesse entierly, sent for the

Suffragane of the Bishop of Thurin, a man of uery holy life, to thintent

he might geue her ghostly councell. To whom she confessed her self with

a voyce so feeble, that it seemed to be more than halfe dead. Her talke

was not long, but yet she made him beleue that nature failed her, and

that by litle and litle she drewe towardes her ende: desiring him to

haue her and her poore soule in remembraunce when he made his orisons

and praiers. The Suffragan being gone, the Duke and others, with a great

number of Gentlemen and Ladies, went into the chamber. But she began

then to enter into so great rauing, as euery body was afeard of her. And

after that she had tossed her selfe in her bed like a senselesse

creature, her speach fayled her. Whereat those present, stricken with no

smal wonder, thinking the soule would straight wayes haue departed the

body, some of them cried vpon her, Madame remember Iesus, som other

S. Barbara. But wilie Emilia more priuie of her counsell than the rest,

taking her tenderly by the arme, cried upon her with a loude voice:

“Madame call vpon S. Iames, who hath so often succoured you in youre

aduersities.{”} And with that the Duchesse awaked as it wer out of a

heauy sleepe, and rowling her eyes to and fro, with a straunge trembling

of all her members, began to pronounce with an interrupted voyce: “O

glorious Apostle, in whome from my tender youth, I haue euer had my

stedfast trust and hope, be now mine intercessor in this cruel assault

of death, to Iesus Christ. And I make a vowe nowe vnto thee, that if I

may recouer health, I will my self in person, go honor thy sacred body,

in the proper place where it reposeth.” And hauing ended her fayned

prayer, she counterfaited a sleepe, and so continued the space of twoo

or three houres, whiche caused all the companie to withdrawe themselues,

excepte the poore Duke, who would not depart from her vntil she waked,

and in the meane time ceassed not to praye to God for the health of his

loyall spouse. After shee had so well plaied this pageaunt by the space

of an houre or twoo, faining then to awake, she began to stretche forth

her armes and legges with suche force, as whosoeuer had heard the noyse,

would easely haue iudged that she had bene deliuered from some great

torment. And beholding the Duke her husband, with a pitifull eye (who

had leaned his head nere vnto her’s in the bed) she cast her stretched

armes negligently vpon his neck, and kissing him sayd; “Now may I safely

kisse you my Lorde, that within these three houres was in such pitifull

plight, as I thought my self for euer depriued of that benefit. Thankes

be geuen to God and that good Sainct to whom I made my vow I am

presently so wel eased, as if I fele myself no worse, I will yet deteine

you (husband) a while from an other mariage.” But the poore Duke

altogether rauished with ioye, hauing his white beard all tempered with

teares, knew not what answere to make, but behelde her with such

admiration, as he seemed to be besides himself. And in the meane time

certayn whiche wer at the dore, hearing them speake, entred the chamber,

who finding the Duchesse somwhat better then she was, published her

recouerie incontinently throw al the citie, whereof the citizens being

aduertised (because they loued her dearly) made processions and other

thankesgeuing to God, as in cases like are accustomed. Within a whyle

after, the Duchesse began by litle and litle to taste her meates, and to

vse suche diet as shee recouered her former health. Except the newe

plague which pynched her tender harte for the Lorde Mendozza, whiche she

could not cure, but by the presence of him that bare the oyntment boxe

for that sore. And so long she continued in the amorous thoughtes, till

the Lady Isabell retourned from her pilgrimage, who came to the castell

according to her promise. And after friendly gretinges one of an other,

the Duchesse made her to vnderstande how since her departure she had

neuer almost commen out of her bed, for that she had been afflicted with

a moste grieuous sickenesse. Neuerthelesse by the helpe of God, and the

intercession of good S. Iames (to whom she had vowed her selfe) she had

recouered health. And if she could obtaine leaue of the Duke her

husband, she would thinke her selfe happy to make a voyage thither in

her companie. Which the Spanishe Lady persuaded by all meanes possible,

shewing vnto her many commodities, she should finde in Spayne, and the

honorable company of Gentlemen and Ladies, who at her arriuall there (if

it would please her to doe them so muche honor as to visite them in

passing by) would leaue nothing vndone for the best manner of

entertainement that possibly might be deuised. And by this meane the

Ladye Isabell thought to pricke her forward, who was in dede but to

quicke of the spurre already, and thinking euery houre VII. determined

one morning thereof to moue the Duke her husbande, to whom she sayd: “My

Lorde, I beleue that you doe sufficiently well remember my trouble

paste, and the extreme martyredome that I suffred in my late sickenesse,

and namely of the vowe whiche I made for recouery of my health. Nowe

finding my selfe whole and strong, my desire is that with your licence I

might accomplishe my voyage, specially with so good opportunitie: for

the noble woman of Spayne of whome I have heretofore told you, is

returned, and it should be a great ease to vs both to go in companie

together. And for so much as it is a matter of necessitie, and that

early or late, I must aduenture to paye my vowed debte, it is best both

for my commoditie and also for my honour, to goe in her companie.”

Whereunto the good Duke did willingly accorde: who neuer had any manner

of suspicion that sutch a treason was lodged in the harte of so great a

Princesse. And hauing giuen order for all things requisite for her

departing, she tooke a certaine number of Gentlemen and damsels, amongst

which, Maister Appian and Emilia were not forgotten, and being all

apparelled in pilgrimes weedes, by long trauaile and weary iourneis,

after they had passed the cold Alpes, they came into the countie of

Rossilion, and entred into Spayne: and then the Duchesse feling her

selfe to approche the place where her harte of long tyme had taken hold,

desired the Lady Isabell and her company earnestly, not to make it

knowen to any persone what she was. And so traueiling by small

iourneyes, and deuising of diuerse matters, they arriued within two

litle dayes iourney to the place where the Lorde of Mendozza kept his

ordinarie housholde. For which cause the Spanishe lady entreated the

Duchesse not to be offended, if she sent some one of her men before to

geue aduertisement of their comming, which the Duchesse graunted. And

the messenger finding the Lord of Mendozza readie to receiue them, and

hauing done him to vnderstand of the coming of the Duchesse, of the

first talke betwene her and his syster, of the great entertainement that

she had geuen them, of the singuler beautie with the which she was

adorned: he was not so grosse but that he knewe by and by, that the

Duchesse at those yeares, had not bene so liberall of her labour, to

make such a voiage one foote, without some other respect: and

dissembling what he thought, caused thirty or fortie of his gentlemen

incontinently to make them ready. To whome making as though hee would

goe hunte the Hare, he went to meete the Duchesse: and hauing discouered

them a farre of in a fielde, the Lady Isabelle did forthwith knowe

theim. Who aduertised the Duchesse that he which ridde vppon the whyte

Ienet of Spayne, was the Lorde of Mendozza her brother, and that the

other were his servauntes. The Prince then after he had made his horse

to vaute three or foure times aloft in the ayre, with an excellent grace

and marueilous dexteritie lighted from his horse, and kissing her hand,

sayd vnto her: “Madame, I beleue that if the wandering knightes of olde

tyme, who haue eternized their memorie, by an infinite numbre of

renowmed victories, had had so muche good lucke, as many tymes in their

aduentures to meete with such pilgrimes as you be, they woulde

willinglye haue abandoned the Launce and Murrion, to take the Staffe and

Scrippe.” The Duchesse then beyng comparable with anye ladye of her

tyme, for her education and comely talke, assayled with ioye, feare, and

shame, that no lacke of dutie might be founde in her, sayde vnto hym:

“And in deede my Lorde like as if the knightes of whom you speake, had

tasted of some good hap (as you terme it) by meting with such pilgrimes:

so also we hope that the Saint to whome we be vowed, in the honor of

whom we haue enterprised this perillous voyage, will receiue vs in good

parte: otherwyse our payne were altogether loste, and our iourney euil

imployed.” And after they had geuen this first amorous atteint, the Lord

of Mendozza taking her by the arme, conducted her vnto his castell,

deuising of pleasaunt matters. And he was greatlye astonned, to see so

rare a beautie, as appeared in the Princesse: whiche neither the

wearinesse of the waye, nor the parching beames of the Sunne, coulde in

any wyse so appaire, but that there rested ynough, to drawe vnto her the

very hartes of the moste colde and frosen men of the world. And albeit

the Lorde of Mendozza tooke great pleasure and admiration in beholding

her, yet was it nothing in respect of the Duchesse: who after she had

aduised and well marked the beautie, excellency, and other good giftes

of grace, in the Lorde of Mendozza, she confessed that al that which she

had heard of his sister, was but a dreame in comparison of the proufe,

which discouered it selfe vpon the first viewe: seeming vnto her by good

iudgement, that all the beauties of the worlde were but paintinges, in

respect of the perfection of that whiche shee sawe with her eyes. Wherin

she was not deceiued, albeit that her feruent loue might haue bewitched

her senses. For all the histories in Latine, Spanishe, and Italian, the

whiche make mention of Mendozza, geue vnto him the firste place in

beautie of all the Princes and Lordes that were in his tyme. The poore

Duchesse, after she had manifested by outwarde gestures, and

countenaunces, to the Lord of Mendozza, that which was in the inward

part of her harte, without receiuing the full satisfaction of his sight,

whiche she desired, determined (hauing soiourned three dayes in his

castell) to departe the nexte morning (vnwares to the knight), to

performe her voyage. And so soone as the light of the daye began to

appeare, she went to the chamber of the Lady Isabell, whom she thanked

affectuously, aswell for her good companye, as for the great courtesie

and humanitie, that she had receiued in her house. And hauing taken

leaue of her, departed with her traine. The knight Mendozza, about an

houre or two after her departure, aduertised thereof, was greatly

troubled, what the matter might be that she was gone without taking

leaue of him. And after that he had a little thought therupon, he easely

perceiued, that all the fault therof was in him selfe: and that this

great Princesse had abandoned her countrie, of purpose by all iudgement

to visite him, and that he had shewed himself very slacke for her

satisfaction, in that he had not offred her his seruice: wherat being

iustly greued, she did not vouchsafe to geue him a farewell. And so

accusing himselfe, he determined to followe after her, accompanied

onelye with twoo pages. And beyng on horsebacke, it was not long before

hee espied her in the hyghe waye to Saint Iames, where lighting, hee

walked twoo myles with her, reasonyng the matter without intermission:

desiring her amonges other thynges, to let hym vnderstand what

displeasure shee had concerned in his house, that caused her so spedy

and secret a departure: adding thereunto, that if her pleasure were, he

would accompanie her to the place whether she was vowed, and would also

reconduct her in his owne persone to Thurin, in so honourable sorte, as

she should finde cause to be contented. Then passing further, with

sighes sayd vnto her: “Madame, fortune had done me a great benefite, if

when my sister made her vowe to go to Rome, I had lost the battaile

against mine enemies, and that her vowe had bene without effect. For it

might haue bene that I should haue remained quiet by the losse of some

of my people. But alas, I fele now, since your comming into this

countrie, a battaile so cruel, and assault so furious in my harte, as

not being able any longer to resiste it, I finde my selfe vanquished,

and caught captiue, in such sorte as I know not to whom to complain, but

to you, which is the motion of all my disquietnesse: and yet, which

grieueth me most, you dissemble as though you did not vnderstand it. And

to bring me to my last end, you are departed this day out of my house,

not daining to see me, or to appease me with one farewel, which hath so

further inflamed my passion, as I die a thousand times a day. Beseching

you for the time to come, to entreate me more fauourably, or you shall

see me, in that state, wherein you would be loth to see your enemy:

which is, most cruel death.” And in dede, he shewed sufficiently, how

great the grief was that pressed him, and how well the passion that he

felt, was agreable to the wordes which he spake: for in pronouncing his

wordes he sighed so in his tale, and changed his colour so often, and

had his face so besprent with teares, as it semed his soule attached

with superfluous sorrowe, would at that very instant haue abandoned his

bodye. Which the Princesse perceiuinge, touching at the quicke the very

spring of all his euill, sayd vnto him: “Seignior Mendozza, I know not

what you wold that I should do more for you, nor for what occasion you

do pretende, that I should be the cause of your death: for if the

occasion thereof should happen through my default, my life by strengthe

or abilitie, could not endure one houre after, for the sorowe I should

conceiue therof. Thinke me to be yours, and be not offended, I besech

you, if openly I doe no longer talke with you: for I would not to winne

al the goodes in the world, that any of this traine which doth accompany

me, should perceiue any one sparke of the great kindled fire, wherin my

harte burneth day and night for you, being assured that if you had felt

one houre of my payne, in place to accuse me of crueltie, your self

complaining, wold pitie the griefe whiche I haue sustained for your long

absence: for without the continual presence of your persone,

representing it selfe in the eyes of mine understanding, with a firme

hope once to haue seen you: it had bene impossible for me, to resist the

long and hard assaulte, wherwith loue hath euery houre assailed me. But

one thing I must nedes confesse vnto you, that by reason of the cold

welcome which you made me in the beginning, I thought it preceded of

some euill opinion conceiued of me or peraduenture that you had thought

me ouer liberall of mine honour, to haue left the countrie where I

commaunde, to render my selfe subiect to your good grace, which caused

me without leaue to depart your house. But now that I do know by your

countenaunce and teares, the contrarie, I acknowledge my fault, and

desire you to forget it. With full promise that vppon my retourne from

my voiage of S. Iames, I will make you amendes, in the very same place,

wher I committed the fault: and remaining your prisoner for a certaine

time, I wil not depart from you, vntill I have satisfied, by sufficient

penance the greatnes of my trespas. In the meane time you shal content

your selfe with my good will: and without passing any further retorne

againe home to your castell, for feare least some suspicious persone in

my company should conceiue that in me, which all the dayes of my life I

neuer gaue occasion so much as once to thinke.” To whome the Lorde of

Mendozza obeied, more to content her than otherwise, for hee had the

beauties and good behauiours of the Princesse, so imprinted in the moste

pleasaunt place of his harte, as he would haue desired neuer to haue

departed her companie. But like as they determined iocundly, to imploy

and satisfie their desire, at her retorne from her voyage, euen so

fortune in the meane while did beset the same, and so fully brake the

threde of their enterprises, as the issue had not so good successe, as

was their prefixed hope. Now leaue we the Duchesse to perfourme her

voyage, and the Lord of Mendozza to entertain his amorous passions, and

let vs digresse to the duke, who about X. or XII. dayes after the

Duchesse his wife was departed, began to fele her absence, which not

being able to susteine for the great loue he bare vnto her, and

specially knowing the great fault that he had committed (being the

sister of a king and wife of such a Prince) so to let her go like an

vnfeathered shaft, in so long a voyage: determined with him selfe (for

feare least if any misfortune happening vnto her, the same should touch

his honour) to call together his counsel, and to prouide some remedie.

The counsel assembled, and the cause proponed, euerie of them told the

Duke that he had ouer lightly consented to the will of the Duchesse, and

that if she should chaunce to incure any inconuenience, all men would

impute it to his reproch wherof they would haue aduertised him at the

beginning, sauing for feare they had to displease him: adding for

conclusion, that it was most expedient the Duke should put himselfe on

the sea to goe seeke her in Galisia. Which he did, and imbarked him

selfe with a great companie of gentlemen, to whome the winde was so

fauourable, as he ariued at S. Iames before her: and hauing made

enquirie for her, vnderstode she was not come. Neuerthelesse he was

aduertised by certaine pilgrims, that it could not be long before she

would be there, for that they had left her not paste three or foure

dayes iourney from thence, traueiling with her trayne, by small

iourneis: wherof the Duke was exceading glad, and sent certaine of his

gentlemen to mete her vpon the way, as she came, who rode not farre

before they met the Duchesse with her companie, and did her to

vnderstand of the Duke’s arriuall, and of the cause of his comming from

Thurin. Which tidinges was not very ioyfull to her, and by her will

would have wished that he had not taken so much paynes: neuerthelesse,

preferring honor before affection, she made the more haste to see him,

and at her arriuall seemed to bee glad of his comming, and to lament the

payne that he had taken by committing himselse in so many daungers for

her sake. Afterwardes they entred into the churche with great deuotion,

where when the Duchesse had made certaine particuler praiers, shee began

to perceiue that God had withstanded her lasciuious wil, and pitying the

good Duke her husband, would not permit him to be deceiued in suche

disloyal sort, repentantly bewayling her forepassed faulte. And feling

herself pressed euen at the very soule with a certaine remorse of

conscience, she was so victorious over her affections, as she determined

wholly to forget Mendozza and his beautie: praysing God neuerthelesse

that it had pleased him to graunt her the grace so well to dispose her

matters, that her affections had not exceeded the bondes of honor:

determining from thenceforth, not onely to put Mendozza in vtter

obliuion, but also for euer clerely to cut of his amorous prastise, and

therfore would not so much as bid him once farewell, nor yet to let him

in any wise vnderstand those newes. And so settled in this deliberation,

solicited her husbande very instantly to departe, whiche he did, and all

thinges prepared to the Sea, they toke againe their course to Thurin,

and had the wynde so prosperous, as from thence in fewe dayes after,

they arriued at Marsellis; and wearye of the Seas, he caused horses to

be prepared to ryde from thence to Thurin by land, wher he and his wife

liued together in right great ioy and amitie. The Lorde of Mendozza

greatly payned with the long absence of the Duchesse, sent a gentleman

of purpose to Galisia to know the cause of her long tarying. Who brought

certain newes that the Duke was comen in persone to fetche his wife, and

that he caried her awaye with him by Sea; wherewithal he was

marueilously out of pacience, determining neuerthelesse one daye when

his affaires were in good order, to go visite her at Thurin. During the

time that these thinges remained in this estate, as well of the one

side, as of the other: the Almaines prepared a great army, and entred

into Fraunce, where they wasted and burned al the countrey as they

passed. The king being aduertised hereof, sent for the Duke of Savoie,

to goe mete them with the men of armes of Fraunce. But before his

departure from Thurin, he lefte for his Lieutenant generall, the Earle

of Pancalier, by the aduise and counsell of whome he intended that all

the affaires of the Duchie should be ruled and gouerned in his absence,

and that he should in so ample wyse be honoured and obeyed, as his owne

persone. This Earle of Pancalier was a nobleman, verie prudent in his

doinges, and knewe right well how to gouerne the common wealth, who

seing that hee had the whole countrie at his commaundement, and hym

selfe many tymes in presence of the Duchesse, viewing her so fayre and

comelie, could not so well rule his affections, but that by litle and

litle he fell into loue with her, in such wyse as hee forgat hym selfe,

making no conscience to offer his seruice vnto her. But the Princesse,

who was resolued to lyue a good woman, abhorred all his lasciuious

orations, requiring hym to bee better aduysed another tyme, before he

presumed to vtter sutche talke, excepte to sutch that were his equals.

Telling hym that a man ought not to bee so vnshamfast to offer his

seruice to anye great Ladie, or to make other sute vnto her, before hee

hadde fyrste knowen by her gesture or woordes, some lykelyhoode of loue:

which he could not deeme in her, for so much as she neither to him or to

any other had euer, (til that day in all her life) shewed such fauour,

as other suspicion could be conceiued, but that which was conuenable and

meete for her honour. Which when the Countie of Pancalier vnderstoode,

he toke his leaue of her, ashamed of that he had done. But he folowing

the custome of louers, not thinking himselfe cast of for the first

refuse, eftsones renewed his requestes: and framing a louing stile,

besought her to haue pitie vppon him, and to respect the greatnesse of

his passion: and that he could not prolonge his life without the fauour

of her good grace, who onely was the very remedie of his euill. The

Duchesse pestred with such like talke, said vnto him: “Sir Countie, me

thinke you ought to haue satisfyed your selfe with my first deniall,

without further continuance in the pursuing of your rash enterprise.

Haue you forgotten the place that you keepe, and the honour whereunto my

Lorde the Duke my husbande hath exalted you? Is this nowe the loyall

reward that you render vnto him for creating you his Lieutenaunt ouer

all his landes and seignories, to demaund the preheminence of his bedde?

Assure your selfe for final warning, that if euer hereafter you shal

againe fall into like error, I sweare vnto you by the faith of a

Princesse, that I will make you to be chastised in suche sort, as al

semblable traytors and disloyal seruants shal take example.” The Earle

seeing himselfe refused, and thus rebuked, and in doubt that the

Princesse woulde make her husbande to vnderstande his enterprise upon

his retourne, chaunging his greate loue into hatred more then mortall,

determined whatsoeuer should come thereof, to inuente all meanes

possible, vtterly to destroye the Duchesse. And after that he fansied

diuers thinges in minde, he deuised (by the instinct of the deuil) to

cause one of his nephewes, being of the age of XVIII. or twentie yeares,

which was his heire apparant, for that he had no children, and was one

of the fayrest and best condicioned gentlemen of all Thurin, to sort

that deuilish attempt to purpose. And finding opportunitie, one daye hee

saide to the yonge man (that depended wholly vppon him) these words:

“Nephew, thou knowest that all the hope of liuing thou hast in this

world resteth in me alone, of whom I make so good accompte as of my

childe. And for that it pleased God to giue me no children, I haue

constituted and ordeined thee my sole and ouely heyre with ful hope that

from henceforth thou wilt dutifully acknowledge thy selfe most bounde

vnto mee, and therefore obedient in all thinges which I shal commaunde

thee, specially in that which may be most for thine aduancemente. The

Duke as thou knowest, is absent, olde, and crooked, and at all houres in

the mercy of death throughe the daungers of the warres. Nowe if he

should chaunce to die, my desire is to mary thee with some great Lady:

yea and if it were possible with the Duchesse her selfe, which God

knoweth what profite it would bring both to thee and thy frendes, and in

my iudgement an easie matter to compasse, if thou wilt dispose thy selfe

after my counsell, or at leaste wise, if thou canst not come to the

title of husband, thou maiest not faile to be receiued as her frend.

Thou art a comly gentleman, and in good fauour with the Duchesse, as I

haue oftentimes percieued by her communication, albeit that holdinge

fast the bridle of her honor, shee hath been afraid hetherto to open

herselfe vnto thee. Spare not my goods, make thy selfe braue and gallant

from henceforth whatsoeuer it coste, and be dilligente to please her in

all that thou maiest, and time shall make thee know that which thy

tender yeares hath hitherto hidden from thee.” The poore yonge man

giuing faith to the vnfaithfull inuentions of his vncle (whom hee

counted as his father) began oft to frequent the presence of the

Duchesse, and shamefastlye to solicite her by lookes and other offices

of humanitie, as nature had taught him, continuing that order the space

of a moneth. Which by the Duchesse wel viewed and marked, she was

diligent for her part to accept the honest and affectionate seruice

which the yong man dailye did vnto her, and shewed vnto him likewise a

certaine more curteous fauour than to the rest of the pages, as wel for

the birth and beautie wherwithal nature had enriched him, as for that

she saw him enclined to do her better seruice than the rest, not

thinking of any dishonest appetite in the yong man, nor the malice of

his vncle, who conceiued none other felicitie but in reuenge of the

Duchesse, his ennemie, and not able to beare the cruell mallice rooted

in his harte, determined to play double or quit. And callinge his nephew

before him he said vnto him: “My childe, I do perceiue and see that thou

art one of the most happiest gentlemen of al Europe, if thou knewest how

to folow thine owne good luck. For the Duchesse not onely is amorous of

thee, but also consumeth for the earnest loue shee beareth thee. But as

thou knowest women be shamefast and woulde be sued vnto in secrete, and

do delight to be deceiued of men, to thend it might seeme how with

deceit or force they were constrained to yeld to that which of their own

minds they would willingly offer, were it not for a litle shamefastnes

that doth withdrawe them. And thereof assure thy sefe, for I haue

oftentimes experimented the same, to my great good lucke. Wherfore

credite my councel, and follow mine aduise. And thou thy selfe shalt

confesse vnto me, before to morrow at this time, that thou art the

happiest man of the world. I will, then, that this night when thou seest

conuenient time, thou shalt conueye thy selfe secretlye into the chamber

of the Duchesse, and there hide thy selfe vnder her bedde, for feare of

being espied: where thou shalt remaine vntil an houre after midnight,

when all men be in the depth of their sleepe. And when thou perceiuest

euery man at rest, thou shalte closely rise, and approching the Duchesse

bed, thou shalt tell what thou art, and I am sure for the earnest loue

she beareth thee, and for the long absence of her husband, she wil

curteouslie receiue thee betwene her armes, and feast thee with such

delights as amorous folke doe embrace their louers.” The simple yong man

giuing faith to the words of his vncle that was honoured as a king

(thinking perhaps that it proceeded by the perswasion of the Duchesse)

followed his commaundement, and obeied whollie his traiterous and

abhominable hest. Who (oportunitie found) accomplished from pointe to

point, that which his cruel vncle had commaunded. And a litle before

midnight, fearing least his treason shoulde be discouered, toke with him

three councellors, and certaine other of the guarde of the castell.

Whereunto as Lieutenaunt to the Duke, he might both enter and issue at

al times when he list, and not opening the cause of his intent, went

straight to the portall of the Duchesse chamber, and knockinge at the

dore, said that the Duke was come. Which being opened, hee entred in

with a nomber of lightes, accompanied with the guarde, hauinge a rapier

readye drawen in his hande, like a furious man besides himselfe, began

to looke rounde about, and vnder the bedde of the Duchesse: from whence

he caused his owne proper nephew to be drawne. To whom, without geuing

him leisure to speake, for feare lest his malice should be discouered,

he saide: “O detestable villaine thou shalt die.” And therewithall he

thruste the rapier into him, to the hard hiltes, and doubling another

blowe to make him faile of his speache, hee pearced his throte, so

fiercely, as the poore innocente after he had a little staggered, fell

downe deade to the grounde. When he had put up his rapier, he turned

towards the Counsellers, and saide vnto them: “My frends, this is not

the first time I haue espied the lasciuious and dishonest loue betweene

this my lecherous nephew and the Duchesse, whom I haue caused to die to

honourably in respect of his desert, for by the very rigor of the law,

he deserued to haue bin burnt quick, or els to be torne in peeces with

foure horses. But my Ladie the Duchesse I meane not to punishe, or to

prouide chastisement for her: For you be not ignoraunt, that the

auncient custome of Lombardie and Sauoye requireth that euery woman

taken in adulterie, shal be burned aliue, if within a yeare and a day

she finde not a Champion to fight the combate for her innocencie. But

for the bounden duetie that I beare to my Lord the Duke, and for respect

of the estate which he hath committed to my charge, I will tomorrow

dispatch a poaste, to make him vnderstande the whole accident as it is

come to passe. And the Duchesse shall remaine in this chamber, with

certaine of her maids, vnder sure keeping and safegarde.” All this time

the Duchesse who had both iudgemente and spirite so good as any

Princesse that raigned in her time, suspected by and by the treason of

the Earle. And with a pitifull eye beholding the dead body of her page,

fetching a deepe sighe, cried out: “Oh, innocent soule: which sometime

gauest life to this bodye that nowe is but earth, thou art nowe in place

where thou seest clearelye the iniquitie of the murderer, that latelye

did put thee to death.” And hauing made an ende of this exclamation with

her armes a crosse, shee remained as in a sowne with out mouing either

hande or foote. And after she had continued a while in that state, shee

desired the Counsellers to cause the bodye to be buried, and to restore

it to the earth whereof it had the first creation. “For (quoth she) it

hath not deserued to be tied to the gibet, and to be foode for birds of

the ayre.” Which they graunted not without a certaine greuous suspicion

betweene her and the page. For so muche as she excused not herselfe, but

the innocencie of him, without speaking any worde of her owne particular

iustification. This pitifull aduenture was out of hande published

through all the Citie, with so great sorrow and murmure of the people,

as it seemed the enemies had sacked the towne. For there was not one,

from the very least to the greateste of al, but did both loue and

reuerence the Duchesse, in such sort as it seemed vnto them, that this

misfortune was fallen vpon euery one of their children. The Earle of

Pancalier did nothing all that day, but dispatch the poastes. And hauing

caused all the whole matter to be registred as it was seen to be done,

he commaunded the Counsellers, and them of the Garde, to subscribe his

letters. And all the matter being put in order he sent away two currors

with diligence, the one into Englande to aduertise the king her brother,

and the other to the Duke: who being arriued, ech man in his place,

presented their charges. Whereunto both the brother and the husband gaue

full credite without any maner of difficultie: perswaded principally

thereunto by the death of the nephew: who (as it was very likely) had

not been put to death by his owne vncle, and of whom he was also the

very heire, without his most greueous fault, praysinge greatly the

fidelitie of the Earle, that had not pardoned his owne proper bloud, to

conserue his dutie and honour to his soueraigne Lorde. And it was

concluded betweene them, by deliberate aduise and counsaile, as well of

those of the king of England, as by a great nomber of learned men of

Fraunce, whom the French kinge made to assemble for that respect in

fauour of the Duke, that the custome should be so inuiolably kepte, as

if the Duchesse were the most simple damsell of all the countrie: to the

ende that in time to come, greate Lordes and Ladyes which be as it were

lampes to giue lighte to others, might take example. And that from

thenceforth they should not suffer their vertues to be obscured by the

clouds of such execrable vices. The king of England to gratifie the

Earle of Pancalier: who (in his iudgement) had shewed himself right

noble in this act, sent him an excellent harnesse, with a sword of the

selfe same trampe by the Currour, with letters of aunsweare written with

his owne hand, how he vnderstode the maner of his proceedings. And the

messenger vsed such diligence, as within few daies he arriued at Thurin.

Shortly after that the king of England had sent back the Currour, the

Duke of Sauoie retorned his, whom he staied so much the longer, because

the matter touched him most neere: for he would that the matter should

be debated by most graue and deliberate counsell. And when he had

resolued what to do, he wrote to the counsellers and other Magistrates

of Thurin, aboue al things to haue respecte that the custome should be

inuiolably obserued, and that they should not in any case fauour the

adultery of his wife, vpon paine of death. Then in particuler, hee wrote

his letters to the Earle, whereby he did greatly allow his fidelitie,

for the which he hoped to make him suche recompence, as both he and his

should taste therof during their liues. The Currour of the duke arriued,

and the matter proponed in counsell, it was iudged, that (followinge the

auncient custome) a piller of marble should be placed in the fieldes

neere Thurin: which is betweene the bridge of the riuer Poo and the

Citie, wherupon should be written the accusation of the Earle of

Pancalier against the Duchesse, which the Duchesse vnderstanding (hauing

none other companie but Emilia, and a yong damsell) dispoiled herselfe

of her silken garmentes, and did put on mourninge weede, martired with

an infinite nomber of sondrie tormentes, seing herselfe abandoned of al

worldly succour, made her complaints to God: beseeching him with teares

to be protector of her innocencie. Emilia who vnderstode by her that

shee was vniustlie accused, and seing the iminent perill that was

prepared for her, determined by her accustomed prudence to prouide

therfore. And after she had a litle comforted her she saide vnto her:

“Madame, the case so requireth that now you must not consume time in

teares and other womanish plaints, which can nothing diminishe your

euill. It seemes most expediente vnto mee, that you fortefie your selfe

againste your enemye, and finde some meane to sende maister Appian in

poaste to the Duke of Mendozza, one of the best renowmed in prowesse of

all the knightes in Spaine, whoe being aduertised of your misfortune,

wyll prouide so well for your affaires, (that your honour being

recouered) your life shall remaine assured. Wherefore if you will follow

mine aduise, you shall write him an earnest letter (as you know right

wel how to indite) which Appian shal present on your behalfe. For if you

follow not this counsel, I know none els (as the world goeth now) that

will hazarde his life vnder the condicion of so straunge a lotte as

yours is, specially hauing respect to the renowne and magnanimitie of

the Earle, who as you know, is in reputation to be one of the most

valiaunt men and most happy in armes that is in all Sauoie or

Lombardie.” “My deare frende (quoth the Duchesse) doe what thou wilt:

for I am so resolued and confirmed in my sorowe, as I haue no care

either of death or life, no more than if I had neuer been borne. For

neither in the one nor in the other, can I forsee anye remedie for mine

honour alreadie lost.{”} “Madame (quoth Emilia) let us for this time

leaue the care of honour in the hands of God, who knoweth both howe to

keepe it and restore it, as shall seeme good vnto him. And let vs giue

order for our parte that there be no want of diligence, for feare of

being ouertaken.” And hauing made an ende of her tale, shee gaue her

incke and paper, sayinge vnto her: “Now Madame I shall see at this

pinche, if your harte will serue you at a neede or no.” The Duchesse

withdrew her selfe a part, and after she had longe discoursed in her

minde of that which was paste betweene the knight and her, she wrote

vnto him as followeth: “My Lord Mendozza, I do not write these letters

vnto you, vppon any hope to be deliuered by your meane from the poinaunt

pricke of fierce death which doth now besiege me, knowing death alwayes

to be the true port and sure refuge of all afflicted persons. For since

that God willeth it, nature permitteth it, and my heauie fortune

consenteth to it, I will receiue it with righte good will, knowinge that

the graue is none other but a strong rampier and impregnable cartel,

wherein we close our selues against the assaults of life, and the

furious stormes of fortune. It is farre better (as appeareth manifestly

by me) with eyes shut to waite in graue, than no longer to experimente

life (the eyes beinge open) liuing with so many troubles vpon earth. But

gladly woulde I bringe to remembraunce, and set before your eyes how

sometime I abandoned the place which was no lesse deare vnto me than

mine owne country where I was borne, and delicatelye nourished in honor

and delightes, to extende my selfe into an infinite nomber of perills,

contrarye to the deutie of those that be of mine estate, losinge the

name of a Princesse to take the title of a caytife pilgrim, for the

onely seruent and vnmeasured loue which I bare you, before I did euer

see you, or by anye meanes bounde thereunto by any your preceding

benefites. The remembraunce whereof (as I thinke) ought now to deliuer

such an harde enterprise, to the port of your conscience, that breaking

the vaile of your tender hart, you shoulde therefore take pitie and

compassion of my straunge and cruell fortune. Which is not onely reduced

to the mercy of a most dolorous prison, and resteth in the power of a

bloudie and mercilesse tyrant: but (which is worse) in the continuall

hazarde of a shamefull death. Which I do not much lament hauing long

desired to accelerate the same with mine owne hands, to finde rest in an

other worlde: were it not that by death I shoulde leaue an eternall blot

to my good name, and a perpetuall heritage of infamie to my house and

kindred. Wherefore if it so be, that frendship loketh for no rewarde, or

that frendship cannot be paid but by the tribute of an other, make me

now to taste the auncient fruite of frendship. And if pitie be the sole

and onely keye of Paradise, displaye it now on the behalfe of her, who

(forsaken of al humaine succour) attendeth but the fatall houre to be

throwen into the fier as a poore innocent lambe in sacrifice. And for

that the bearer shal make you vnderstand the rest by mouth (whom it may

please you to credite as mine owne selfe) I will make an ende of my

heauie letter. Beseching God to giue a good life vnto you, and to mee an

honorable death.” The letter closed and sealed vp with the seale of the

Duchesse, shee commaunded Emilia to deliuer it to Appian, and to require

him to vse diligence, not ceasing to ride day and night vntil he come to

the place where they left the knight Mendozza, giuinge charge to make

him vnderstande (at length) her innocencie and false accusation. Appian

being dispatched, was so affected to please his maistresse, and so

desirous to see her deliuered of her imprisonmente, as hee ceassed not

to trauaile day and night, till he came within the frontiers of Spaine.

And after that he had ridden yet two or three dayes iourney, approching

nere the place wher he thought to find the knight Mendozza, he began to

inquire of the host of the inne where he laye that nighte, as well of

his good health, as of his other affayres, whoe made him aunswere, that

it wente euen so euill with him at that present, as with the poorest

gentleman of al Spaine: although that he were in deede a very great

Lorde. “For (quoth he) within these few monethes past, his ennemies of

Tolledo, whom he hath diuers times vanquished, have so wel allied

themselues together out of al partes of Spaine, that they haue brought a

great armie to the field. And fortune of the warre hath been so

fauourable unto them, that they discomfited Mendozza and all his armie.

Who hath retired himselfe, with those few of his people that hee could

saue aliue, into a litle towne of his, where yet to this present he is

besieged. And so it is (as euery man sayth) that he doth his endeuour

maruellouslie well, in such sort as his ennemies cannot enter the

towne.” Master Appian then demaunded of him, if the towne besieged were

farre of. And he answered, that it was about VII. or VIII. poastes. Then

withoute making any longer inquirie, he toke a guide that accompanied

him euen almoste to the campe. And when he sawe the towne a farre of, he

sent the guide backe againe, and went the same daye to offer his seruice

to a certaine captaine of lighte horsemen, who receiued him into wages,

and then he bought armour to serue his purpose. And maister Appian

besides his learning was a wise and polliticke man, and determined so

sone as any skirmishe did begin to be formost, and in deede he vsed the

matter so well, as hee suffred himselfe to be taken prisoner and to be

caried into the towne. And being within, he desired those that had taken

him, to conduct him to the Lorde of Mendozza their chieftaine: whoe knew

him by and by, for that in the voyage which the Duchesse made into

Spaine, he saw him euer more neere her then any other of her gentlemen.

And after that the Lord of Mendozza had demaunded of him by what meanes

he entred the towne, vpon his aunswere, he perceyued that he was a man

of good experience, and well affected to the seruice of his maistres,

that durst hazard his life in such wise to obey her desire.

Incontinently maister Appian deliuered vnto him the Duchesse letter:

which when he had read, he retired into his chamber with maister Appian,

hauing his face all bedewed with teares: and because that the letter did

import credite, he prayed maister Appian to declare his charge. Who said

unto him, “My lady the Duchesse which is at this day the most afflicted

Princesse vnder the coape of Heauen, commendeth herselfe vnto your

honour, and doth humbly besech you not to be offended for that at her

last being in Galisia, shee departed withoute accomplishing her promise

made vnto you: prayinge you to impute the fault vpon the importunitie of

the Duke her husband: whom being constrained to obey, she could not

satisfye the good will that she bare vnto you.{”} Then he began to

declare in order howe the Earle of Pancalier fell in loue with her, and

not beinge able to obtaine his desire, caused his nephew to hide him

vnder her bedde: and how hee had slaine him with his owne handes.

Finallye, the imprisonmente of the Duchesse, and the iudgemente giuen

againste her. Wherat the Lord of Mendozza was greatly astonned: and when

hee had heard the whole discourse, hee began to conceiue some euill

opinion of the duchesse: thinkinge it to be incredible, that the earle

of Pancalier woulde so forget himselfe, as to murder his owne proper

nephewe and adopted sonne, to be reuenged of a seely woman.

Neuerthelesse, he dissembled that which he thoughte, in the presence of

maister Appian, and said vnto him: “Appian my frende, if mine aduerse

fortune did not speake sufficiently for me, I could tel thee here a long

tale of my miseries: but thou seest into what extremitie I am presently

reduced, in sorte that I am vtterly vnable to succour thy maistresse, I

my selfe stil attending the houre of death: and all the pleasures which

presentlye I can doe for thee, is to set thee at libertie from the

perill prepared for vs.” And without longer talke, hee caused a hot

skirmishe to be giuen to his enemies, to set Appian at large: who being

issued forth, made certaine of his men to conduct him to place of

suretie. Appian seinge no way for Mendozza to abandon his citie for

peril of death prepared for him and his, thoughte his excuse reasonable.

And to attempt some other fortune, he vsed such diligence, as he in

short time was retourned to Thurin, wher hauing communicated the whole

matter to Emilia, she went straight to the Duchesse, to whom she said:

“Madame, God giue you the grace to be so constant in your aduersities,

as you haue an occasion to be miscontented with the heauy newes that

Appian hath brought you.” And then she began to recompt vnto her the

misfortune of Mendozza, the thraldome wherunto his enemies had brought

him, and for conclusion, that there was no hope of helpe to be expected

at his handes. Which when the Duchesse vnderstoode she cryed out: “Oh,

poore vnhappy woman, amongste all the most desolate and sorowfull: thou

mayst well now say that the lighte of thy life from henceforth beginneth

to extinguishe and growe to an ende: seing the succour of him, vpon whom

depended thine assuraunce, is denied thee. Ah, ingrate knight: now knowe

I righte well (but it is to late) that of the extreme loue which I did

beare thee, sprong the first roote of all mine euil, which came not by

any accident of fortune, but from celestiall dispensation and deuine

prouidence of my God: who now doth permit that mine hipocrisie and

counterfaite deuotion shall receiue condigne chastisemente for my

sinne.” And then Emilia, seing her so confounded in teares, said vnto

her: “Madame, it doth euil become a greate and wise Princesse, (as you

hitherto haue euer been reputed) to tormente her selfe, sith that you

know howe all the afflictions which we receive from heauen, be but

proues of oure fidelitie: or as your selfe confesseth by your

complaintes, to bee iust punishment for our sinnes. Nowe then be it the

one or the other, you ought to be fortified against the hard assault of

your sorow: and to remit the whole to the mercie of God, who of his

aboundant grace, will deliuer you of your trouble, as he hath done many

others when they thought themselues forsaken of all helpe, by causinge

certaine dropps of his pitie to raine down vpon them.” “Alas, deare

hart,” (quoth the Duchesse,) “how easie a matter it is for one that that

is hole to comforte her that is sicke: but if thou feltest my griefe

thou wouldest helpe me to complaine: so greuous a matter it is vnto mee,

with life to loose mine honour. And I must confesse vnto thee, that I

sustaine a very cruel assault both againste death and life, and I cannot

either with the one or with the other, haue peace or truce in my selfe.

Ne yet do know how to dissemble my sorrowe, but that in the ende the

same will be discouered by the fumes of myne ardente sighes, which

thinking to constraine or retaine, I do nothinge els but burie my selfe

within mine owne bodye: assuringe thee, that greater is one droppe of

bloude that swelteth the harte within, then all the teares that maye be

wept in the whole life without. Wherefore I pray thee leaue mee a litle

to complaine my dolor, before I go to the place from whence I shal neuer

retorne.” Emilia, that willingly would haue sacrificed herselfe to

redeeme the Princesse from perill, not beinge able anye longer to endure

the hard attempte wherewith pitie constrayned her hart, was forced to

goe forth and to withdraw herselfe into another chamber, where she began

to lament after so straunge maner, as it seemed that it had been shee

that was destened to death. Whiles these ladies continued thus in their

sorowes, the knight Mendozza toke no rest by day or night, ne ceassed

continually to thincke vpon the distresse of the Duchesse. And after

that he had well considered the same, hee accused himselfe for fayling

her at that greate neede, saying: “Now do I well knowe that I am for

euer hereafter vtterly vnworthy to beare armes, or to haue the

honourable title of knight, sith the same order was giuen me, wyth

charge to succour afflicted persons, specially Ladies, whose force onely

consisteth in teares. And yet neuerthelesse, I (like a caytife) haue so

shamefullye neglected my dutye towards the chiefe person of the worlde,

to whom I am greatly bounden, as I die a thousand times that day wherein

I thincke vpon the same. It behoueth mee then from henceforth to

establishe new lawes to my deliberation, and that I breake the gate of

mine auncient rigor: louing much better to die in honour, poore, and

disinherited, than to liue puissant, vnhappie, and a cowarde. Wherfore

let fortune worke her wil: sithens the Duchesse did forsake her

countrie, to come to see me in her prosperitie, I may no lesse do now,

but visite her in her aduersitie.” Pressed and solicited inwardlye with

this newe desire, determined whatsoeuer happened to go to her rescue,

and hauinge giuen order to all that was necessary for the defence of the

Citie: putting his confidence in the fidelitie of those that were

within, caused all his Captaynes to be called before him: whom hee did

to vnderstande, how he was determined to go seeke succour, to leuie the

siege of his enemies. Duringe which time he constituted his nere

kinsman, his Liefetenaunte generall, and the nexte morning before the

daye appeared hee gaue a great alarme to his ennemies, wherein hee

escaped vnknowen. Being mounted vppon a Ienet of Spaine and out of

daunger, he toke post horse, and made such expedition as hee arriued at

Lions, where he prouided the beste armour that he could get for money,

and two excellent good horses, whereof the one was a courser of Naples.

And hauing gotten a certaine unknowen page, toke his waye to Thurin,

where beinge arriued, hee lodged in the suburbs, demaunding of his host

if there dwelt anye Spaniards in the towne, whoe made aunsweare, that

hee knewe but one, which was a good olde religious father, that for the

space of twentie yeares was neuer out of Thurin, a man of vertuous life,

and welbeloued of all the Citizens, and had the charge of a certaine

conuente. Neuerthelesse his lodginge was aparte from his brethren, to

solace himselfe, and to auoide the incommoditie of his age. The knight

hauinge learned of his hoste the place wher this good father dwelled,

went with diligence betimes in the morning, to see him, and said vnto

him in the Spanish tongue: “Father, God saue you: I am a Spaniarde comen

hither into this country for certaine mine affaires, towardes whom you

mighte doe a charitable deede, if it woulde please you to suffer mee to

remayne with you foure or fiue dayes onelye, crauinge nothinge els but

lodginge: for my seruaunte shall prouide for other necessaries.” Whiche

the good father willingly graunted, muche maruelling at his goodlye

personage. And whiles the seruante was gone to the towne to bye

victualls, the good father demaunded of him, of what countrye in Spaine

hee was, whiche the knighte francklye confessed. And the fatherlye man

then hauinge his face all be sprent with teares, sayde: “Praysed be the

name of GOD, that he hath giuen mee the grace before I dye, to see so

great a Lorde in my poore house, of whom I am both the subiecte and

neighbour.” And then he began to tell him how for deuocion he had

forsaken his natiue countrey and had bestowed himselfe there, the better

to withdrawe him from worldly vanitie. Neuerthelesse he said: that he

knew his father, his mother, and his graundfather. Desiring him to vse

his house at commaundement, where he should be obeyed as if he were in

his owne: and then the lord of Mendozza said vnto him, that he was

departed from Spaine of purpose to see Fraunce, and there to make his

abode for a time. And that passing by Lions one aduertised him of the

infortunate chaunce of the Duchesse, whom if he thought to be innocent

of the crime whereof she was accused, he would defend her to the

sheading of the last drop of his bloude. Neuerthelesse he would not

hazard his life or soule to defend her, if he knew her to be guiltie.

Which wordes the good man greatly allowed, saying vnto him: “My Lord,

touchinge her innocencie, I beleue there is at this day no man liuing,

but herselfe and the Earle, her accuser, that can iudge. But one thinge

I can well assure you, that wee heere, do deeme her to be one of the

beste Princesses, that euer raigned in this countrie, specially for that

a yeare paste she went on foote to S. Iames, with suche deuotion and

humilitie, as there was no man but pitied to see her so mortified for

her soules healthe. And to combate with the Earle of Pancalier, you

seeme vnto me very yong: for besides the continual exercise that he hath

alwayes had in armes, he is withal esteemed to be one of the strongest,

readiest, and most redoubted knights of all Lombardie: the victorie

notwithstanding is in the hand of God, who can giue it to whom he

pleaseth: which hee made manifest in the yong infante Dauid, against the

monstrous Giante Golias.” To whome the knighte aunswered: “Father, I

have deuised a waye how to prouide against the scruple of my conscience,

touchinge the doubte conceyued by mee, whether the combat that I shall

take in hande against the earle of Pancalier, be iust or not, which is,

that I vnder colour of confession, might vnderstand of the duchesse, the

trouth of the matter. And therfore if you thinke good I may cause my

head and beard to be shauen, and apparelling my selfe in such habite as

you do weare, we two may easely (as I thinke) with the leaue of her

keepers, go into the Duchesse Chamber, to exhort her to pacience: for

about this time of the yeare, the day is expired.” Wherunto the good

father without any great difficultie, consented, aswell for respect of

his good zeale, as for his reuerent duty to the nobility of the stock

whereof he came. And so all things prouided, they wente together towards

the castle of the Duchesse. And he that had seen the knight Mendozza in

his fryer’s apparell, would vnethes haue discerned him, to be so great a

Lorde as he was: for besides his dissembled gestures and countenaunces,

wherwith he knew right wel how to behaue himselfe, he was so leane and

poore, aswell for the care of the battell he lost, and ouerthrowe of his

people, as for the mishap of the Duchesse, and the peril of his life at

hand, by reason of the combate betweene the Earle and him, as he

resembled rather a holy S. Hierome, mortified in some desert, then a

Lorde, so noble and valiaunt as he was. Arriued at the castell, the olde

father addressed himself to the guarde and sayd: “Maisters, because the

time for the death of the miserable duchesse doth approche, we be come

hither to geue her such spirituall comforte, as wherwith God hath

inspired vs, hoping that hee will this daye geue vs the grace to induce

her to die paciently, to the intent that by losse of the bodye, her

soule may be saued.” Wherunto they accorded willinglye, and caused the

chamber to be opened vnto them. They within the chamber went forth

incontinently, thinking that the Gouernour had caused the good fathers

to come to heare the last confession of the poore Duchesse, who was so

sorowefull and pensife as she was forced to kepe her bed: which came

very well to passe, for the knight Mendozza, comming neare vnto her

bedde, with his face towardes her, so counterfayted hym selfe as he

coulde not in any manner of wyse be knowen. And the good olde father

fryer taried in a corner of the chamber a farre of, that he might heare

none of their talke: and as the Lorde of Mendozza leaned vpon her

bedsyde, he sayde vnto her in the Italian tongue, which was so familiar

to him as the Spanishe: “Madame, the peace of our Lorde be with you.”

Wherunto the lady aunswered: “Father why speake you of peace, sithe I am

in continuall warre, depriued of al contentation, and doe but attende

the last end of my calamitie, whiche is a moste cruell and shamefull

death, without desert.” And then the Lorde of Mendozza, who had consumed

the moste parte of his youthe in good letters, saide vnto her: “I beleue

madame you be not ignoraunt howe miseries and tribulations, fall not by

accident or fortune, but by the prouidence or dispensation of God,

before whome one litle sparrowe onely is not forgotten, as the prophete

Amos doth manifeste vnto vs when he sayth: ‘there is none euil in the

Citie that I haue not sent thither:’ whiche is also apparaunt in Job,

whome the Deuil could not afflicte before he had first obtayned licence

of God. And it is necessarye for you to knowe, that tribulations and

affliction bee tokens of the fore chosen and elected people of God, and

the true markes of our saluation: so that if you consider the order of

all the Scriptures, from the beginning of the worlde vntyll this tyme,

you shall fynde that they whome God hath alwayes best loued and

cherished, he hath commaunded to drinke of the cup of his passion, and

to be more afflicted than others: examples whereof be common in the

Scriptures. As when Abell was afflicted by Caine his brother, Isaac by

his brother Ismaell, Ioseph by his brethren, Dauid by Absolon his sonne,

the children of Israel (the electe people of God) by Pharao: whiche

thinges beinge profoundlye considered by Sainct Paule, he sayde: ‘If we

had not an other hope in Iesus Christe, than in the lyfe present, we

might well say that we were the most miserable of al others. And yet

moreouer, saith he, it is litle or nothing that we endure, in respect of

that which Iesus Christe hath suffered.’ Who (although he framed the

whole worke of the worlde) was called the Carpenter’s sonne, for

preaching he was sclaundered, he was caried vp to a mountaine to be

throwen down, he was called Glotton, Dronkard, louer of Publicanes and

sinners, Samaritane, Seducer, Diuell: saying, that in the name of

Belzebub he did cast out Diuels. But let vs consider, madame, a litle

further, what thinges were done vnto him, hee was naked to clothe vs,

prisoner and bounde to vnbinde vs from the chain of the Diuell, made a

sacrifice to cleanse vs of all our inward filth, we doe see that he

suffred his side to be opened, to close vp hell from vs, we see his

handes whiche in so comely order made both heauen and earth for the loue

of vs, pearced with pricking nailes, his head crowned with three sharped

thornes to crowne vs with heauenly glorie. Let vs way that by his dolour

came our ioye, our health grew of his infirmitie, of his death was

deriued our life: and should we be ashamed to haue our head touched with

a fewe thornes of trouble? Strengthen your self then (madame) in the

name of God, and make you ready to receiue death in the name of him that

was not ashamed to indure it for you. Is his strong hande any thing

weakened? Is it not in him to ouerthrow the furie of your enemie, and so

to humble your aduersarie that he shall neuer be able to be relieued?

How many poore afflicted persones haue there bene seene to be abandoned

of all succour, whom he hath behelde with his pitiful eye, and restored

to greater ease and contentation, then euer they were in before? learne

then from henceforth, to comforte your selfe in God, and say as the

great doctor holy Ignatius sayd in his Epistle to the Romaines: ‘I

desire that the fier, the gallowes, the beastes, and all the tormentes

of the Diuil might exercise their crueltie vpon me, so as I may haue

fruition of my Lorde God.’” And after that the knight had made an ende

of his consolation, the Duchesle was so rapte in contentation, as it

seemed her soule had already tasted of the celestiall delightes, and

would flie euen vp into heauen. And then feeling her selfe lightened

like one that had escaped some furious tempest of the seas, she began to

confesse her selfe vnto him from point to point, without omitting any

thing of that whiche she thought might greue her conscience. And when

she came to the accusation of the Earle, she prayed God not to pardon

her sinnes, if she had committed in deede or thought, any thing

contrarie to the dutie of mariage, except it were one dishonest

affection that she had borne to a knight of Spaine, whom vnder pretence

of a fained deuotion she had visited in Spayne, not committing any thing

sauing good will whiche shee bare vnto him. “Which maketh me thinke

(quod she) that God being moued against myne hypocrisie, hath permitted

this false accusation to be raysed against me by the Earle of Pancalier,

whiche I will paciently suffer, sithe his will is so.” Her confession

finished, she plucked of a rich diamonde from her finger, saying: “Good

father, albeit I haue heretofore bene a riche Princesse, as you knowe,

yet nowe myne ennemies haue taken awaye all my goodes from me (this

diamond except) which my brother the kyng of Englande gaue me, when I

was maried to the Duke of Sauoie. And because I can not otherwise doe

you good, I geue it vnto you, praying you to remember me in your

prayers, and to kepe it for my sake: for it is of a greater price then

you thinke, and may serue one daie to supply the necessitie of your

conuent.” The confession ended and the diamond receiued, the twoo friers

retourned home to their conuent. And so sone as they were arriued there,

the Lorde of Mendozza sayde vnto hym: “Father, nowe doe I know

certainly, that this poore woman is innocent, wherefore I am resolued to

defende her so long as life doth last. And I feele my selfe so touched

and pressed in mynde, as I thinke it long till I be at the combat.

Wherefore I praye you if it chaunce that fortune be contrary vnto me,

after my death, make it to be openly knowen what I am, and chiefly that

the Duchesse may vnderstande it, for speciall purpose. And if it fortune

that I escape with life (which can not be but by the death of the Earle)

be secrete vnto me in these thinges which I haue declared vnder the

vayle of confession.” The good father promised so to doe. And hauing

passed all that day and night in praiers and supplications, he armed

himselfe, and made ready his courser. And when the dawning of the daye

began to appeare, he went in his armour to the gates of the Citie, and

calling one of the Guarde, he sayd vnto him: “Good fellowe, I pray thee

bidde the Counte of Pancalier to prepare him selfe, to mainteine the

false accusation, which he hath falsely forged against the Duchesse of

Sauoie. And further tell him, that there is a knight here, that will

make him to denie his horrible vilany before hee parte the fielde, and

will in the presence of al the people cut out that periured toung, which

durst commit such treason against an innocent Princesse.” This matter

was in a moment published throughout all the citie, in such sorte, as

you might haue sene the churches full of men and women, praying to God

for the redemption of their maistresse. During the time that the guarde

had done his ambassage, the Lord of Mendozza went towardes the piller

where the accusation was written, attending when the accuser should come

forth. The Earle of Pancalier aduertised hereof, began incontinently to

feele a certaine remorse of conscience, which inwardly gript hym so

nere, as he endured a torment lyke to very death. And being vnable to

discharge himself therof, would willingly haue wished that he had neuer

attempted the dishonour of the Lady. Neuerthelesse that he might not

seeme slacke in that he had begonne, he sent woorde to the knight, that

he mould write his name vppon the Piller, to whome Mendozza made

aunswere, that he might not know his name, but the combat he would make

him feele before the daye went downe. The Earle of Pancalier made

difficultie of the combat, if firste he knewe not the name of hym with

whom he should haue to doe. The matter well aduised, it was clearely

resolued by the Iudges, that the statutes made no mention of the name,

and therefore he was not bounde thereunto, but that the statute did

expreslye fauour the defendant, geuing vnto him the election of the

armour, and semblablie it was requisite that the persone accused should

be brought forth in the presence of the twoo Champions. Which thinges

vnderstanded by the Earle, albeit that he trusted not his quarell, yet

making a vertue of necessitie, and not vnlearned in the order of such

conflictes, forthwith armed hymselfe, and came into the place ordayned

for the campe, where he founde his enemy armed in a black armour, in

token of mourning. Immediately after they sent for the Duchesse, who

ignoraunt of the matter wondered much when she vnderstode that there was

a knight in the field all armed in black, seming to be a noble man, that

promised some great matter by his dexteritie and bolde countenaunce, and

would also mainteine against the Earle of Pancalier his accusation to be

false. The poore Duchesse then not being able to imagine what he should

be, greatly troubled in mind, and comming forth of the Castel was

conducted in a litter couered with black cloth, accompanied with more

then two hundreth ladies and damsels, in semblable attire vnto the place

where the Iudges, the people and the two knightes were, who did but

attend her comming. And after they had wayted her going vp to a litle

stage ordained for that purpose, the Deputies for the assurance of the

campe, demaunded of her these wordes, saying: “Madam, for that you be

accused of adulterie by the Earle of Pancalier here present, and the

custome requireth that you present a Knight within the yeare and daye,

by force of armes to trye your right: are you determined to accepte him

that is here present, and to repose your selfe vpon him, both for your

fault and innocencie?” The Duchesse aunswered: that shee committed all

her right into the mercie of God, who knew the inwarde thoughtes of her

harte, and to the manhode of the knight, albeit she thought that she had

neuer seen him. And when she had ended those woordes, she fell downe

vppon her knees, then lifting vp her eyes all blubbered with teares

towardes heauen, she prayed: “O Lorde God, which art the very veritie it

self, and knowest the bytternesse that I fele in my harte, to see my

self falsely accused, shew forth now the treasure of thy grace vpon me

wretched Princesse: and as thou diddest deliuer Susanna from her

trouble, and Iudith from Holofernes, deliuer me from the hande of a

tiraunt: who like a lion hungrie for my bloud, deuoureth both myne

honour and life.” And hauing made an ende of her prayer, shee remained

vnmoueable as if shee had bene in a traunce. And nowe the knight

Mendozza, offended to see the Earle to praunce his horse vp and downe

the campe, making him to vaut and leape, with a countenaunce very

furious sayd vnto him: “Traytour Counte, because I am certayne that the

accusation which thou hast forged against this Princesse, is inuented by

the greatest villany of the world, I do maintaine here before al the

people, that thou hast falsely accused her, and that thou liest in thy

throte, in all that thou hast contriued against her, and that thou haste

deserued to bee put into a sacke, to bee caste into the Riuer for the

murder that thou haste committed vppon thy Nephewe, the innocent bloud

of whom doth nowe crie for vengeance to be taken for thy synne before

God.” And scarce had he made an ende of his woordes, but the Earle

aunswered him with a marueilous audacitie: “Infamous villain, which

hidest thy name for feare lest thy vices should be knowen, thou arte

nowe fouly deceiued by thinking to warrant her, who hath offended

against the Duke her husbande, by her whoredome and adulterie: and for

that thou hast parled so proudly, and wilt not be knowen, I can not

otherwyse thinke but that thou art some one of her ruffians: and

therefore I doe mainteine, that thou thy selfe doest lie, and that thou

deseruest to be burnt in the same fire with her, or els to be drawen

with foure horses by the crosse pathes of this towne, to serue for an

example in the worlds to come, not onely for all lasciuious Ladies and

Damsels, but also for such abhominable whoremongers, as be lyke thy

selfe.” Incontinently after, the Harraulde of armes began to make the

accustomed crie, and the Knightes to put their launces in their restes:

they let run their horses with such violence, as ioyning together their

shieldes, their bodies and heads, they brake their staues, euen to their

Gauntlets, so roughly, as they fel both down to the ground without

losing, neuerthelesse, the raines of the bridles. But the heate of the

harte, and desire to vanquishe, made them readily to get vp againe, and

hauing cast away the troncheons of their staues, layd handes on their

swordes, and there began so straunge and cruell a sturre betwene them,

as they which were the beholders were affrighted to see them able to

endure so much: for they were so fleshed one vppon another, and did so

thicke bestowe their strokes without breathing, as the lookers on

confessed neuer to haue seene any combat in Piemonte betwene twoo single

persons, so furious, nor better followed then that of the Earle and of

the knight Mendozza. But the Spanishe knight encouraged with the Iustice

of his quarell, and the rewarde of his fight, seemed to redouble his

force: for euen when euery man thought that power must needes fayle him,

it was the houre wherin he did best behaue himselfe. In such sort, as

his enemy not being able any longer to susteine his puissaunt strokes,

being wounded in diuers partes of his bodye, did nowe no more but

defende himselfe, and beare of the blowes which were bestowed vpon hym

without intermission: whiche the Spanishe knight perceiuing, desirous to

make an ende of the combat, made so full a blowe with all his force ypon

the top of his helmet, as he wounded his head very sore. Wherewithall

the harte of the Earle began very muche to faint, and staggering here

and there like a dronken man or troubled in his senses, was constrained

to fall downe from his horse: and then the Lorde of Mendozza dismounting

him selfe, and takyng holde vpon the corps of his shield, plucked it so

rudely to him, as he ouerturned him on his other syde. Then with the

pomell of his sworde he did so swetely bumbast him, as he made his

helmet to flye of his head: and setting his foote vpon his throte, made

as though with the point of his swearde he woulde haue killed hym,

saying: “Counte, the houre is now come that thou must goe make an

accompt with God of thine vntrouth and treason which thou hast committed

against the Duchesse.” “Ah, sir knight (quoth the Earle) haue pitie vpon

me, and kil me not I beseche thee, before I haue a litle bethought me of

my conscience.” “Villaine (quoth the Spaniard) if I had any hope of

thine amendement, I would willingly geue thee dalay of life: but being a

traytour as thou art, thou wilt neuer ceasse to afflicte innocentes.

Neuerthelesse if thou wilt acknowledge thy fault publikely, and require

pardon of the Duchesse, I wil willingly leaue thee to the mercy of the

Duke, although that if I did obserue the rigour of the lawe, I should

cause the presently to receiue the payne prepared for the Duchesse.” To

whom he obeied for safegarde of his life, and kneeling on his knees

before the Duchesse in the presence of al the people, made a long

discourse of his loue towardes her, of the repulse that she gaue him,

and that for reuenge, he ayded him self with his nephewe, thinking to

ouerthrowe her chastitie. Finally, howe he had slayne his Nephewe, to

induce the Duke to iudge her to be culpable of the adulterie. And then

tourning his face towardes the Duchesse, sayde vnto her: “Madame it

behoueth me to confesse that the losse of this one life is to litle to

paye the tribute of the curelesse faulte that I haue committed against

you. Yet sithe it is so, I beseche you by preferring pitie and mercy

before the rigor of your iustice, you will permit that I may liue yet

certayn dayes to make a view of my life past, and to prouide for the

scruple of my conscience.” Then new ioye approched to garnishe the

spirite of the Duchesse, and both the soule and the harte began to shewe

theim selues ioyful, in such wyse, as she was a long tyme without power

to speake, and did nothing els but ioyne her handes and lifte vp her

eyes to heauen, saying: “O Lorde God, praysed be thy holy name, for that

thou hast caused the bright beames of thy diuinitie, to shyne vpon the

darkenesse of my sorrowfull life, enforcing so well the mynde of this

traytour the murderer of mine honour by the prickes of thy rigorous

iustice, openly to acknowledge before all men, the iniurie that he hath

done me.” And without speaking any more wordes, she torned her face for

feare lest she should make him any other aunswere. Then all the people

began to laude and magnifie God, and to sing psalmes for ioye of the

deliueaunce of their Duchesse, who was brought backe and reconducted

into the Citie, with so great triumphe, as if she had made a seconde

entrie. Whilest these things were adoing, the Deputies for the suretie

of the campe caused the wounded Earle to be borne to pryson. The knight

Mendozza stale secretly awaye, and after that he had in the next village

dressed certaine small woundes that he had receiued in the combat, he

toke his way into Spain. In the meane time, the Duchesse caused him to

be sought for in euery place, but it was not possible to know any more

newes of him, than if he had ben neuer seene. Whereat being grieued

beyond measure, she made her mone to Emilia, to know wherefore he should

so absent himself from her. “Madame (quoth Emilia,) he is sure some

French knight, or els it may be some kinsman of your own, that is come

out of England into these partes for certayne other affaires: and

fearing least he should bee staied here, will not be knowen, reseruing

the manifestation of himself till an other tyme more apte for his

purpose.” “Let him bee what he may bee (sayde the Duchesse) for so long

as my soule shall remayne within this bodye, I wyll doe hym homage

during life: for the whiche I am so duelye bounde debtour vnto him, as

neuer subiecte was to his soueraigne Lorde.” In this tyme whylest these

matters went thus at Thurin, the Duke of Sauoie, the Lieutenant generall

for the king against the Almaines, encountring with his enemies in a

skirmishe, by fortune was slayne: whereof the king of England being

aduertised, and specially of the deliuerie of his syster, desirous to

haue her about him, sente for her to marrie her agayne, and to leaue

vnto her the entier gouernement of his householde: and to gratifie her

at her firste arriuall, he gaue the rule of his daughter vnto her, which

was of the age of sixtene or seuentene yeares, with whom by certayne

meanes there was a mariage practized for the Prince of Spayne. Let vs

now leaue the Duchesse to liue in honor with her brother, and retorne we

to the Lorde of Mendozza, who being arriued nere vnto his Citie,

vnderstode incontinently that they which had besiedged it had leuied

their campe. For that they of the towne had so well done their endeauour

as not onely their enemies were not able to enter, but also they had in

a certain skirmishe taken the Lord Ladolpho their chieftaine prisoner,

who was yet to that present detained: because meanes were made for peace

to be concluded on al sides: neuerthelesse they durst doe nothing

without hym: whereat the Lorde of Mendozza beyng replenyshed with greate

ioye to see his affaires prosper so well in all partes, entred the

Citie: and the articles of the peace communicated vnto him, hee founde

them verie profitable for him: and being concluded and approued by him

he began to solace himselfe in his owne house, without taking care for

any thing saue onely from thenceforth to thinke by what meane he might

goe to see the Duchesse, and recount vnto her the issue of his affaires.

But fortune prepared him a more readie occasion than he thought of: for

the kyng of Spaine being aduertised of certaine talkes that had bene

bruted of the mariage of his sonne with the daughter of the king of

Englande, determined with speede to send a great companie of noble men

thyther, to demaunde his daughter in mariage: of the which the Lorde of

Mendozza, as wel for his nobilitie, as for the knowledge he had in

languages and other good disciplines, was elected chiefe, with speciall

commission to accorde the mariage in case it should so please the kyng.

The Ambassadours vsed suche expedition, that they arriued at London,

where the kynge for that presente made his abode: who aduertised of

their comming, gaue commandement to the Princesse his daughter, and to

the Duchesse his sister, to prepare them selues to receyue a great

companye of Lordes of Spayne, whiche that daye would come to his Courte

to treate of the aforesayde mariage. And God knoweth if the ladies

spared oughte of that, whiche they thought might augmente their beautie.

The king also for his part, to doe them more honour, wente to meete them

in persone, and at their arriuall, gaue them a moste friendly welcome:

but sodaynly as they presented themselues to doe their reuerence to the

ladies, the Duchesse who incontinently knew the Lord of Mendozza, began

so to deteste him as she was not able to rule her selfe, but (with a

sodayne mutation of colour) she abandoned the companie: the Lorde of

Mendozza knowyng the originall of her griefe, lefte not his dutie vndone

towardes the Princesse and other ladyes which accompanied her,

dissembling to haue taken no regarde to the absence of the Duchesse. And

Emilia, who had followed her mistresse into the chambre, fearynge leaste

there were some sodaine mischaunce happened, demaunded of her, wherfore

she was retired from a company so honourable: and sayd that she did

great wrong to her owne estimation: to whom the Duchesse (with extreme

choler) made aunswere: “Why Emilia, thinkest thou that I haue the harte

to suffer my hand to be kissed by that moste trayterous and moste

cowardly knight of the world, who made no conscience to abandone me in

the greatest necessitie of my life? where as I, contrary to the dutie of

all the lawes of honour, and contrary to my sexe, did so muche abase my

selfe as to visite hym in Spayne. Naye rather my dayes shall ceasse

their course than myne affection shall euer reuiue in him: he shall

neuer receiue any other fauour of me, but as of his most cruell and

mortall enemy.” And then Emilia smiling, sayd vnto her: “In good

earnest, madame, I thought that the sharpenesse of your imprisonement,

with the other tormentes paste, whiche you indured, might haue put all

these matters quite in obliuion, and woulde so haue mortified you, that

you had wholly lost all desire of reuenge: but so farre as I can

perceiue, I am deceiued of mine accompte, seying that sodaynly so soone

as you behelde the knight Mendozza, you began to flie, as if your

ghostly enemie had come before you, in his moste hideous and horrible

forme.” Yet could not Emilia perswade her, to shewe her selfe abroade

before dynner, tyll the king sent for her, with woorde that if she came

not, he would himselfe fetche her. And then a little shamefast colour

began to renew her alablaster cheekes, which rendred her so ruddye and

fayre, as the Spanyards confessed neuer to haue seene in any parte of

the worlde, where they had bene, one so faire and beautifull a wydow.

The tables couered for dynner, the king tooke his place, and for their

more honourable entertaynement, caused them to be set at his owne table:

and made the Lorde of Mendozza to be placed right ouer against the

Duchesse his sister: who was so inflamed and moued with choler, as shee

duste not lift vp her eyes for feare least vpon the sodayne she should

bee perceyued: whiche eyes sparkeling sometymes with greate yre,

resembled properlye twoo starres of the night, that shoote forth their

brightnesse vpon the earth, when all thinges be in silence. And all this

tyme the Lorde of Mendozza conceyued suche pleasure at these pretie

toyes, as he would not haue chaunged his ioy for the best Citie in all

Englande: and as the Duchesse in this order did firmely fix her eyes,

shee sawe by fortune a ryche diamonde that Mendozza ware vpon his

finger, wherupon hauing oftentymes caste her eyes, she sodaynly knew

that it was the very same that shee had geuen to the good father that

confessed her at Thurin, the daye before shee was leadde to the Piller,

and began then to imagine with her selfe, how it might be that he could

come by the same: and not knowing what to saye, immediatly after shee

had dyned and the tables taken vp, she caused maister Appian her

Phisitian to be called vnto her: whome she desyred to know of the Lord

of Mendozza, by what meanes he came by the Diamonde that he ware vpon

his finger: which Appian did. And after he had talked with the knight of

certain common matters, he sayde vnto hym: “My Lorde, you haue a very

fayre Diamonde there, whiche as I thinke I haue sene before this tyme,

wherefore sir I praye you tel me where you had it.” To whome the Lorde

of Mendozza answered in laughing wise: “Maister Appian, where I had the

ring, is to secret for you to know, but tell my lady the Duchesse, that

the knowledge thereof onely appertayneth vnto her.” Whiche aunswere

Appian declared to the Duchesse: and albeit that she tooke no great

pleasure in the aunswere, yet neuerthelesse very desyrous to vnderstande

the truth, she repayred to the Knight whiche the same time walked alone

in a Gallerie, who after he had kyssed her handes, began to discourse of

his fortunes past, declaring vnto her, that he repented of the refusall

that he made to maister Appian for her succour, and howe within a while

after he rode to Thurin: adding the deuise whereby he had heard her

confession, and how the Diamonde came into his handes, putting her in

remembraunce from worde to worde, of all his talke with her, during the

tyme that he was in frier’s weede, then finally his victorie against the

Earle, his secret flyght, and all the whole as before hath bene

declared. Whereat the Duchesse no lesse abashed than rapt with ioy and

admiration, fel downe in a swoune betwene his armes, holding her mouth

so faste closed against his, that it seemed she would drawe the soule

out of his bodye, to ioyne and vnite with her’s: and after she had

remayned a whyle in this traunce, shee cried out: “O poore harte so long

tyme plagued, whiche hast for the space of a yeare nowe passed, bene

tossed with so many tempestes and diuers assaultes of fortune: receiue

at this present the medicine apt for thy health, sithens thou enioyest

him betwene thine armes, that by the pryce of his blood, valiant force

and extreme trauailes, hath raised thee from death to life: let fortune

from henceforth doe her will in that she is able to deuise against me:

and yet wyll I, for this onely benefite, confesse my selfe this daye to

be eternally bounde vnto her.” “Madame (quod the knight) I pray you let

vs not renewe the memorie of our former griefes: wherein, if by any

meane I haue done you good, I was but the organe or instrumente thereof:

for God, who is the righter of all wrong, did neuer suffer iustice

without his due acquitall, howe long so euer he taried. So (you not

beyng in any wyse culpable) if I had neuer enterprysed the combate

whereunto I was bounde, our Lorde God would haue raysed some other to

achieue the same.” “Well then my Lord, (quoth the Duchesse) sithens it

pleaseth you not, that I renewe my dolours past, which have taken ende

by your meane, I shall humbly beseche you to excuse mee, if this daye I

haue not geuen you that honour and good entertainement whiche you

deserued: assuring you that before you shall departe this countrey, I

wyll make you amendes according vnto your own discretion.” “Madame,

(quod the knyght) for all the wronges that euer you did vnto me, (if

they may be called wronges) the curtesie, fauour and gentlenesse which

alreadie I haue receiued, doth at one instant requite and recompence.

Neuerthelesse if it may please you to receyue me for your seconde

husbande, sithe it hath pleased God to call your first out of this lyfe

into an other: that is and shal bee the fulnesse of all the felicitie

that I looke for in this worlde.” “My Lorde Mendozza, (sayd the

Duchesse) the recompence whiche you demaunde of me, is very little in

respect of the amendes and satisfaction whiche I ought to make you. But

of one thing I can well assure you, that if I had the whole world at my

commaundement, and that I were the greatest Princesse of the earth, in

all kinde of beauties and giftes of grace, I would willingly submitte my

self vnto you, in consideration of your worthinesse, and benefits

bestowed vpon me with so willing a minde, as presently I do yelde vnto

your request: and I must nedes confesse, that I am now greatly bounde to

fortune, that hath deliuered me into your handes, from whome I hope

never to be seuered so long as my soule shall reste within my body:

being predestinated as I beleue to no other ende but to serue and obey

you.” And as they thought to make a longer discourse of their talke,

Emilia told them that the king was in counsell, and that the other

Lordes of Spaine attended his comming: who with his company being come

before the king, and hauing done their reuerence vnto him, he began to

declare his charge, and how they were of purpose sente to his maiestie

in the behalfe of the king of Spaine, to demaunde the Lady his doughter

in mariage, for his sonne the Prince of Spaine: which he had chosen

aswel to haue his alliance (a matter by him only desired) as for the

beautie and good grace, for the which she was specially recommended. And

if so bee, he had willed to haue chosen his matche els where, that there

was not at that day any Prince in al Europa, that woulde not willingly

haue accorded vnto him. To whom the king answered: “My frendes, I feele

my selfe so much honored, for that it hath pleased the king to send vnto

me, as if he had not preuented me, I had thought to haue sent vnto him

for the same purpose. And albeit that herein he hath vanquished me in

ciuilitie and courtesie, yet I will not faile if I can to surmount him

in amitie. For he hath bound me during life, in such wise as he, and my

Lord his sonne, may boldly vaunt themselves to haue a king of England

and a realme from henceforth at their commaundement.” The mariage

concluded, the Duchesse diligentlye made sute to talke with the king

alone, to communicate vnto him the agreement betweene the Lord of

Mendozza and her. And perceiuing that the king was gone into his

chamber, she went vnto him, and being alone with him, hauing her face al

bedewed with teares, kneling, she said vnto him: “My Lord, when I

consider my miseries paste, and the cruell assaultes that I haue

receiued of fortune, being not onely committed to the mercy of a moste

cruell prison, but (which is more) at the very last point of a shamefull

death, I am so afflicted, that the onely remembraunce of those miseries

terrifieth me, and causeth a certaine extreme bitternesse to rise in my

hart. And when on the other side, I thinke of the great goodnesse that

Almightie God hath shewed vnto me, by stretching forth his mighty hand

to deliuer me out of that perill, chieflie to make mee triumphe ouer the

death of mine enemy: I feele such comforte of minde as all the delightes

of the world be but griefes, in respect of the ioye, pleasure and

contentacion that I receiue: wherein nothing offendeth me so much as

hetherto that I haue not acknowledged the benefit receiued of him, who

was elected of God to be my deliuerer: neuerthelesse sir, by your onely

word, you may both satisfie him, and content mee, yea and (as it were)

prolong the dayes of my life.” The king, who loued his sister no lesse

than his daughter, seeing her pitifull complainte and teares, and to

speake with such affection, toke her vppe, and holdinge her by the arme,

said vnto her: “Deare sister and frende, if I have not to this present

satisfied him that was the cause of your deliueraunce, I cannot be

accused of ingratitude, for that hitherto I haue not knowen him, ne yet

your selfe doth knowe what he is, (as you haue oftentimes tolde me:) but

of one thing you maye be assured, and I sweare vnto you at this present,

by my Scepter, that so sone as I shall vnderstande what he is, I will

vse him in such wise as he shall thincke himselfe satisfied and

contented, thoughe it did coste me the one halfe of my kingdome: for the

pleasure which he hath done vnto you bindeth not you alone, but mee

also, to be partaker of that band, both our honours being iointly bound

thereunto.” “Alas, my Lord, (said the Duchesse) it is the knighte

Mendozza, chiefe of this ambassade, to whom, if it please you to giue

your consent that we two might marrie, all auncient bands and debtes

shal remain extinct, and so by a smal reward you shal restore life to

two persons, almost dead, for the excessiue loue which one beareth the

other.” And therewithal she began to declare to the king, thoriginal and

processe of the whole discourse. First, the voyage of the sister of

Mendozza into Piemont: her owne peregrination to S. Iames, the honest

amitie betweene her and Mendozza, the message of maister Appian to

Mendozza, his refusall of that request, his retorne after to Thurin, her

confession, the Diamonde knowen againe, finally, how all the whole had

passed betwene them: the counterfaite deuocion to Sainct Iames onelye

reserued, which, for her honour’s sake, shee woulde not tell him. The

kinge vnderstanding this straunge discourse, was so rapte with ioye and

appalled with gladnesse, as hee could not for a longe time make any

aunswere. When his passion was moderated, hee said to his sister: “But

be you well assured, that hee will receiue you for his wyfe.” “Yea, my

Lord, (quoth shee) I ought well to be assured of it, since he himselfe

hath made the requeste.” “And truly, (quoth the kinge) GOD forbidde that

I should be the cause to breake so holy an accorde: for if the Lorde of

Mendozza were inferiour in qualitie, nobility, and goods, than hee is:

yet hath hee so much done both for you and mee, as we may not honestlie

refuse him. Howe much more then be we bounde to him: being a greate

Lorde as hee is, issued of noble and famous families of Spaine, rich in

goodes, and hauinge hazarded his life for the conseruation of your

honour: and therewithall seeketh mine alliaunce. Goe your wayes, (dere

sister and frend) goe your wayes, make much of him, and entreate him as

you thincke beste. And when I haue walked two or three tornes here, I

will come vnto him, to communicate more amplie of these matters.” Scarce

had the Duchesse leysure to aduertise the Lorde of Mendozza of that

which was concluded betweene the kinge and her, but he came downe into

the hall, where the moste parte of the Spanishe gentlemen walked, and

with a very ioyfull countenaunce wente to the knight. To whom hee said:

“My Lorde Mendozza, I praye you to embrace mee: for so farre as I see,

I haue a better intereste in you than I thought.” And the Lorde of

Mendozza thinking to embrace him, his knee vppon the ground, was

immediatelye desired to stand vp, Whom the kinge cleeping aboute the

necke, saide vnto him so loude as euerye man mighte heare: “Sir knighte,

by the GOD of Heauen, since that I might commaunde in the realme of

Englande, I haue not entertayned Gentleman nor Prince, to whom I have

bin more endebted than to you: nor neuer was there any dearer vnto mee

than you, for the greate gratitude and kindnesse, wherewith you haue

bound me, and wherby I shal not from henceforth be satisfied, vntil I

haue in some thinge acknowledged the bonde wherein I am bounde vnto

you.” When hee had spoken those woordes, hee began to declare from point

to point, in the presence of all the assemblie, the contentes of the

whole before declared historie. Whereat there was none in all the

company, but was greatly astonned at the prudence of Mendozza, by so

well dissembling, and accomplishing so great enterprises, without making

them manifest. And the king of Englande commaunded that the mariage of

him and his sister shoulde be published throughe out his realme, that

all his nobilitie might be assembled. And for his greater honour,

the kinge did from thenceforth constitute him his high Constable of

England, and reposed himselfe in him, as vppon a firme piller, for the

administration of the wayghtiest affaires of his realme. The mariage

solempnized and consummate with the Duchesse, he retourned into Spaine,

to accompanye the Prince into England, whose mariage was celebrated

at London, with the king of England’s daughter, in such pompe and

solempnitie, as semblable Princes be commonlie accustomed to do in such

like cases.