deny it, even if I would. Yet I have not deceived or carried off
Cornelia, although I know that she has disappeared from the house of
which you speak. I have not deceived her, because I have taken her for
my wife; and I have not carried her off, since I do not know what has
become of her. If I have not publicly celebrated my nuptials with her,
it is because I waited until my mother, who is now at the last
extremity, should have passed to another life, she desiring greatly that
I should espouse the Signora Livia, daughter of the Duke of Mantua.
There are, besides, other reasons, even more important than this, but
which it is not convenient that I should now make known.
"What has in fact happened is this:--on the night when you came to my
assistance, I was to have taken Cornelia to Ferrara, she being then in
the last month of her pregnancy, and about to present me with that
pledge of our love with which it has pleased God to bless us; but
whether she was alarmed by our combat or by my delay, I know not; all I
can tell you is, that when I arrived at the house, I met the confidante
of our affection just coming out. From her I learned that her mistress
had that moment left the house, after having given birth to a son, the
most beautiful that ever had been seen, and whom she had given to one
Fabio, my servant. The woman is she whom you see here. Fabio is also in
this company; but of Cornelia and her child I can learn nothing. These
two days I have passed at Bologna, in ceaseless endeavours to discover
her, or to obtain some clue to her retreat, but I have not been able to
learn anything."
"In that case," interrupted Don Juan, "if Cornelia and her child were
now to appear, you would not refuse to admit that the first is your
wife, and the second your son?"
"Certainly not," replied the duke; "for if I value myself on being a
gentleman, still more highly do I prize the title of Christian.
Cornelia, besides, is one who well deserves to be mistress of a kingdom.
Let her but come, and whether my mother live or die, the world shall
know that I maintain my faith, and that my word, given in private, shall
be publicly redeemed."
"And what you have now said to me you are willing to repeat to your
brother, Signor Lorenzo?" inquired Don Juan.
"My only regret is," exclaimed the duke, "that he has not long before
been acquainted with the truth."
Hearing this, Don Juan made sign to Lorenzo that he should join them,
which he did, alighting from his horse and proceeding towards the place
where his friends stood, but far from hoping for the good news that
awaited him.
The duke advanced to receive him with open arms, and the first word he
uttered was to call him brother. Lorenzo scarcely knew how to reply to a
reception so courteous and a salutation so affectionate. He stood
amazed, and before he could utter a word, Don Juan said to him, "The
duke, Signor Lorenzo, is but too happy to admit his affection for your
sister, the Lady Cornelia; and, at the same time, he assures you, that
she is his legitimate consort. This, as he now says it to you, he will
affirm publicly before all the world, when the moment for doing so has
arrived. He confesses, moreover, that he did propose to remove her from
the house of her cousin some nights since, intending to take her to
Ferrara, there to await the proper time for their public espousals,
which he has only delayed for just causes, which he has declared to me.
He describes the conflict he had to maintain against yourself; and adds,
that when he went to seek Cornelia, he found only her waiting-woman,
Sulpicia, who is the woman you see yonder: from her he has learned that
her lady had just given birth to a son, whom she entrusted to a servant
of the duke, and then left the house in terror, because she feared that
you, Signor Lorenzo, had been made aware of her secret marriage: the
lady hoped, moreover, to find the duke awaiting her in the street. But
it seems that Sulpicia did not give the babe to Fabio, but to some other
person instead of him, and the child does not appear, neither is the
Lady Cornelia to be found, in spite of the duke's researches. He admits,
that all these things have happened by his fault; but declares, that
whenever your sister shall appear, he is ready to receive her as his
legitimate wife. Judge, then, Signor Lorenzo, if there be any more to
say or to desire beyond the discovery of those two dear but unfortunate
ones--the lady and her infant."
To this Lorenzo replied by throwing himself at the feet of the duke,
who raised him instantly. "From your greatness and Christian
uprightness, most noble lord and dear brother," said Lorenzo, "my sister
and I had certainly nothing less than this high honour to expect."
Saying this, tears came to his eyes, and the duke felt his own becoming
moist, for both were equally affected,--the one with the fear of having
lost his wife, the other by the generous candour of his brother-in-law;
but at once perceiving the weakness of thus displaying their feelings,
they both restrained themselves, and drove back those witnesses to their
source; while the eyes of Don Juan, shining with gladness, seemed almost
to demand from them the _albricias_[5] of good news, seeing that he
believed himself to have both Cornelia and her son in his own house.
[5] _Albricias_: "Largess!" "Give reward for good tidings."
Things were at this point when Don Antonio de Isunza, whom Don Juan
recognised at a considerable distance by his horse, was perceived
approaching. He also recognised Don Juan and Lorenzo, but not the duke,
and did not know what he was to do, or whether he ought to rejoin his
friend or not. He therefore inquired of the duke's servants who the
gentleman was, then standing with Lorenzo and Don Juan. They replied
that it was the Duke of Ferrara; and Don Antonio, knowing less than ever
what it was best for him to do, remained in some confusion, until he was
relieved from it by Don Juan, who called him by his name. Seeing that
all were on foot, Don Antonio also dismounted, and, approaching the
group, was received with infinite courtesy by the duke, to whom Don Juan
had already named him as his friend; finally, Don Antonio was made
acquainted with all that had taken place before his arrival.
Rejoicing greatly at what he heard, Don Antonio then said to his
comrade, "Why, Signor Don Juan, do you not finish your work, and raise
the joy of these Signors to its acmè, by requiring from them the
albricias for discovering the Lady Cornelia and her son?"
"Had you not arrived, I might have taken those albricias you speak of,"
replied Don Juan; "but now they are yours, Don Antonio, for I am certain
that the duke and Signor Lorenzo will give them to you most joyfully."
The duke and Lorenzo hearing of Cornelia being found, and of albricias,
inquired the meaning of those words.
"What can it be," replied Don Antonio, "if not that I also design to
become one of the personages in this happily terminating drama, being he
who is to demand the albricias for the discovery of the Lady Cornelia
and her son, who are both in my house." He then at once related to the
brothers, point by point, what has been already told, intelligence which
gave the duke and Lorenzo so much pleasure, that each embraced one of
the friends with all his heart, Lorenzo throwing himself into the arms
of Don Juan, and the duke into those of Don Antonio--the latter
promising his whole dukedom for albricias, and Lorenzo his life, soul,
and estates. They then called the woman who had given the child to Don
Juan, and she having perceived her master, Lorenzo Bentivoglio, came
forward, trembling. Being asked if she could recognise the man to whom
she had given the infant, she replied that she could not; but that when
she had asked if he were Fabio, he had answered "yes," and that she had
entrusted the babe to his care in the faith of that reply.
"All this is true," returned Don Juan; "and you furthermore bade me
deposit the child in a place of security, and instantly return."
"I did so," replied the waiting-woman, weeping. But the duke exclaimed,
"We will have no more tears; all is gladness and joy. I will not now
enter Ferrara, but return at once to Bologna; for this happiness is but
in shadow until made perfect by the sight of Cornelia herself." Then,
without more words, the whole company wheeled round, and took their way
to Bologna.
Don Antonio now rode forward to prepare the Lady Cornelia, lest the
sudden appearance of her brother and the duke might cause too violent a
revulsion; but not finding her as he expected, and the pages being
unable to give him any intelligence respecting her, he suddenly found
himself the saddest and most embarrassed man in the world. Learning that
the gouvernante had departed, he was not long in conjecturing that the
lady had disappeared by her means. The pages informed him that the
housekeeper had gone on the same day with himself and Don Juan, but as
to that Lady Cornelia, respecting whom he inquired, they had never seen
her. Don Antonio was almost out of his senses at this unexpected
occurrence, which, he feared, must make the duke consider himself and
Don Juan to be mere liars and boasters. He was plunged in these sad
thoughts when Alfonso entered with Lorenzo and Don Juan, who had spurred
on before the attendants by retired and unfrequented streets. They found
Don Antonio seated with his head on his hand, and as pale as a man who
has been long dead, and when Don Juan inquired what ailed him, and where
was the Lady Cornelia, he replied, "Rather ask me what do I not ail,
since the Lady Cornelia is not to be found. She quitted the house, on
the same day as ourselves, with the gouvernante we left to keep her
company."
This sad news seemed as though it would deprive the duke of life, and
Lorenzo of his senses. The whole party remained in the utmost
consternation and dismay; when one of the pages said to Don Antonio in a
whisper, "Signor, Santisteban, Signor Don Juan's page, has had locked up
in his chamber, from the day when your worships left, a very pretty
woman, whose name is certainly Cornelia, for I have heard him call her
so." Plunged into a new embarrassment, Don Antonio would rather not have
found the lady at all--for he could not but suppose it was she whom the
page had shut up in his room--than have discovered her in such a place.
Nevertheless, without saying a word, he ascended to the page's chamber,
but found the door fast, for the young man had gone out, and taken away
the key. Don Antonio therefore put his lips to the keyhole, and said in
a low voice, "Open the door, Signora Cornelia, and come down to receive
your brother, and the duke, your husband, who are waiting to take you
hence."
A voice from within replied, "Are you making fun of me? It is certain
that I am neither so ugly nor so old but that dukes and counts may very
well be looking for me: but this comes of condescending to visit pages."
These words quite satisfied Don Antonio that it was not the Lady
Cornelia who had replied.
At that moment Santisteban returned and went up to his chamber, where he
found Don Antonio, who had just commanded that all the keys of the
house should be brought, to see if any one of them would open the door.
The page fell on his knees, and held up the key, exclaiming, "Have mercy
on me, your worship: your absence, or rather my own villainy, made me
bring this woman to my room; but I entreat your grace, Don Antonio, as
you would have good news from Spain, that you suffer the fault I have
committed to remain unknown to my master, Don Juan, if he be not yet
informed of it; I will turn her out this instant."
"What is the name of this woman?" inquired Don Antonio. "Cornelia,"
replied Santisteban. Down stairs at once went the page who had
discovered the hidden woman, and who was not much of a friend to
Santisteban, and entered the room where sat the duke, Don Juan, and
Lorenzo, and, either from simplicity or malice, began to talk to
himself, saying, "Well caught, brother page! by Heaven they have made
you give up your Lady Cornelia! She was well hidden, to be sure; and no
doubt my gentleman would have liked to see the masters remain away that
he might enjoy himself some three or four days longer."
"What is that you are saying?" cried Lorenzo, who had caught a part of
these words. "Where is the Lady Cornelia?" "She is above," replied the
page; and the duke, who supposed that his consort had just made her
appearance, had scarcely heard the words before he rushed from the
apartment like a flash of lightning, and, ascending the staircase at a
bound, gained the chamber into which Don Antonio was entering.
"Where is Cornelia? where is the life of my life?" he exclaimed, as he
hurried into the room.
"Cornelia is here," replied a woman who was wrapped in a quilt taken
from the bed with which she had concealed her face. "Lord bless us!" she
continued, "one would think an ox had been stolen! Is it a new thing for
a woman to visit a page, that you make such a fuss about it?"
Lorenzo, who had now entered the room, angrily snatched off the sheet
and exposed to view a woman still young and not ill-looking, who hid her
face in her hands for shame, while her dress, which served her instead
of a pillow, sufficiently proved her to be some poor castaway.
The duke asked her, was it true her name was Cornelia? It was, she
replied--adding, that she had very decent parents in the city, but that
no one could venture to say, "Of this water I will never drink."
The duke was so confounded by all he beheld, that he was almost inclined
to think the Spaniards were making a fool of him; but, not to encourage
so grievous a suspicion, he turned away without saying a word. Lorenzo
followed him; they mounted their horses and rode off, leaving Don Juan
and Don Antonio even more astonished and dismayed than himself.
The two friends now determined to leave no means untried, possible or
impossible, to discover the retreat of the Lady Cornelia, and convince
the duke of their sincerity and uprightness. They dismissed Santisteban
for his misconduct, and turned the worthless Cornelia out of the house.
Don Juan then remembered that they had neglected to describe to the duke
those rich jewels wherein Cornelia carried her relics, with the agnus
she had offered to them; and they went out proposing to mention that
circumstance, so as to prove to Alfonso that the lady had, indeed, been
in their care, and that if she had now disappeared, it was not by any
fault of theirs.
They expected to find the duke in Lorenzo's house; but the latter
informed them that Alfonso had been compelled to leave Bologna, and had
returned to Ferrara, having committed the search for Cornelia to his
care. The friends having told him what had brought them, Lorenzo assured
them that the duke was perfectly convinced of their rectitude in the
matter, adding, that they both attributed the flight of Cornelia to her
great fear, but hoped, and did not doubt, that Heaven would permit her
re-appearance before long, since it was certain that the earth had not
swallowed the housekeeper, the child, and herself.
With these considerations they all consoled themselves, determining not
to make search by any public announcement, but secretly, since, with the
exception of her cousin, no person was yet acquainted with the
disappearance of Cornelia; and Lorenzo judged that a public search might
prove injurious to his sister's name among such as did not know the
whole circumstances of the case, since the labour of effacing such
suspicions as might arise would be infinite, and by no means certain of
success.
The duke meanwhile continued his journey to Ferrara, and favouring
Fortune, which was now preparing his happiness, led him to the village
where dwelt that priest in whose house Cornelia, her infant, and the
housekeeper, were concealed. The good Father was acquainted with the
whole history, and Cornelia had begged his advice as to what it would be
best for her to do. Now this priest had been the preceptor of the duke;
and to his dwelling, which was furnished in a manner befitting that of a
rich and learned clerk, the duke was in the habit of occasionally
repairing from Ferrara, and would thence go to the chase, or amuse
himself with the pleasant conversation of his host, and with the
knowledge and excellence of which the good priest gave evidence in all
he did or said.
The priest was not surprised to receive a visit from the duke, because,
as we have said, it was not the first by many; but he was grieved to see
him sad and dejected, and instantly perceived that his whole soul was
absorbed in some painful thought. As to Cornelia, having been told that
the duke was there, she was seized with renewed terror, not knowing how
her misfortunes were to terminate. She wrung her hands, and hurried from
one side of her apartment to the other, like a person who had lost her
senses. Fain would the troubled lady have spoken to the priest, but he
was in conversation with the Duke, and could not be approached. Alfonso
was meanwhile saying to him, "I come to you, my father, full of sadness,
and will not go to Ferrara to-day, but remain your guest; give orders
for all my attendants to proceed to the city, and let none remain with
me but Fabio."
The priest went to give directions accordingly, as also to see that his
own servants made due preparations; and Cornelia then found an
opportunity for speaking to him. She took his two hands and said, "Ah,
my father, and dear sir, what has the duke come for? for the love of God
see what can be done to save me! I pray you, seek to discover what he
proposes. As a friend, do for me whatever shall seem best to your
prudence and great wisdom."
The priest replied, "Duke Alfonso has come to me in deep sadness, but
up to this moment he has not told me the cause. What I would have you
now do is to dress this infant with great care, put on it all the jewels
you have with you, more especially such as you may have received from
the duke himself; leave the rest to me, and I have hope that Heaven is
about to grant us a happy day." Cornelia embraced the good man, and
kissed his hand, and then retired to dress and adorn the babe, as he had
desired.
The priest, meanwhile, returned to entertain the duke with conversation
while his people were preparing their meal; and in the course of their
colloquy he inquired if he might venture to ask him the cause of his
grief, since it was easy to see at the distance of a league that,
something gave him sorrow.
"Father," replied the duke, "it is true that the sadness of the heart
rises to the face, and in the eyes may be read the history of that which
passes in the soul; but for the present I cannot confide the cause of my
sorrow to any one."
"Then we will not speak of it further, my lord duke," replied the
priest; "but if you were in a condition permitting you to examine a
curious and beautiful thing, I have one to show you which I cannot but
think would afford you great pleasure."
"He would be very unwise," returned Alfonso, "who, when offered a solace
for his suffering, refuses to accept it. Wherefore show me what you
speak of, father; the object is doubtless an addition to one of your
curious collections, and they have all great interest in my eyes."
The priest then rose, and repaired to the apartment where Cornelia was
awaiting him with her son, whom she had adorned as he had suggested,
having placed on him the relics and agnus, with other rich jewels, all
gifts of the duke to the babe's mother. Taking the infant from her
hands, the good priest then went to the duke, and telling him that he
must rise and come to the light of the window, he transferred the babe
from his own arms into those of Alfonso, who could not but instantly
remark the jewels; and perceiving that they were those which he had
himself given to Cornelia, he remained in great surprise. Looking
earnestly at the infant, meanwhile, he fancied he beheld his own
portrait; and full of admiration, he asked the priest to whom the child
belonged, remarking, that from its decorations and appearance one might
take it to be the son of some princess.
"I do not know," replied the priest, "to whom it belongs; all I can tell
you is, that it was brought to me some nights since by a cavalier of
Bologna, who charged me to take good care of the babe and bring it up
heedfully, since it was the son of a noble and valiant father, and of a
mother highly born as well as beautiful. With the cavalier there came
also a woman to suckle the infant, and of her I have inquired if she
knew anything of the parents, but she tells me that she knows nothing
whatever; yet of a truth, if the mother possess but half the beauty of
the nurse, she must be the most lovely woman in Italy."
"Could I not see her?" asked the Duke. "Yes, certainly you may see her,"
returned the priest. "You have only to come with me; and if the beauty
and decorations of the child surprise you, I think the sight of the
nurse cannot fail to produce an equal effect."
The priest would then have taken the infant from the duke, but Alfonso
would not let it go; he pressed it in his arms, and gave it repeated
kisses; the good father, meanwhile, hastened forward, and bade Cornelia
approach to receive the duke. The lady obeyed; her emotion giving so
rich a colour to her face that the beauty she displayed seemed something
more than human. The duke, on seeing her, remained as if struck by a
thunderbolt, while she, throwing herself at his feet, sought to kiss
them. The duke said not a word, but gave the infant to the priest, and
hurried out of the apartment.
Shocked at this, Cornelia said to the priest, "Alas, dear father, have I
terrified the duke with the sight of my face? am I become hateful to
him? Has he forgot the ties by which he has bound himself to me? Will he
not speak one word to me? Was his child such a burden to him that he has
thus rejected him from his arm's?"
To all these questions the good priest could give no reply, for he too
was utterly confounded by the duke's hasty departure, which seemed more
like a flight than anything else.
Meanwhile Alfonso had but gone out to summon Fabio. "Ride Fabio, my
friend," he cried, "ride for your life to Bologna, and tell Lorenzo
Bentivoglio that he must come with all speed to this place; let him
make no excuse, and bid him bring with him the two Spanish gentlemen,
Don Juan de Gamboa and Don Antonio de Isunza. Return instantly, Fabio,
but not without them, for it concerns my life to see them here."
Fabio required no further pressing, but instantly carried his master's
commands into effect. The duke returned at once to Cornelia, caught her
in his arms, mingled his tears with hers, and kissed her a thousand
times; and long did the fond pair remain thus silently locked in each
other's embrace, both speechless from excess of joy. The nurse of the
infant and the dame, who proclaimed herself a Crivella, beheld all this
from the door of the adjoining apartment, and fell into such ecstasies
of delight that they knocked their heads against the wall, and seemed
all at once to have gone out of their wits. The priest bestowed a
thousand kisses on the infant, whom he held on one arm, while with his
right hand he showered no end of benedictions on the noble pair. At
length his reverence's housekeeper, who had been occupied with her
culinary preparations, and knew nothing of what had occurred, entered to
notify to her master that dinner was on the table, and so put an end to
this scene of rapture.
The duke then took his babe from the arms of the priest, and kept it in
his own during the repast, which was more remarkable for neatness and
good taste than for splendour. While they were at table, Cornelia
related to the duke all that had occurred until she had taken refuge
with the priest, by the advice of the housekeeper of those two Spanish
gentlemen, who had protected and guarded her with such assiduous and
respectful kindness. In return the duke related to her all that had
befallen himself during the same interval; and the two housekeepers, who
were present, received from him the most encouraging promises. All was
joy and satisfaction, and nothing more was required for the general
happiness, save the arrival of Lorenzo, Don Antonio, and Don Juan.
They came on the third day, all intensely anxious to know if the duke
had received intelligence of Cornelia, seeing that Fabio, who did not
know what had happened, could tell them nothing on that subject.
The duke received them alone in the antechamber, but gave no sign of
gladness in his face, to their great grief and disappointment. Bidding
them be seated, Alfonso himself sat down, and thus addressed Lorenzo:--