satisfied with beholding her; and, enflamed with earnest desire, to
know what she was, could not refraine (seeing the Knight was gone out
of the roome) but demaunded of her, whether she were of _Bologna_, or a
stranger? when the Lady heard her selfe to be thus questioned, and by
her Husband, it seemed painefull to her, to containe from answering:
Neverthelesse, to perfect the Knights intended purpose, she sate
silent. Others demaunded of her, whether the sweet Boy were hers, or
no; and some questioned, if she were _Gentiles_ Wife, or no, or else
his Kinsewoman; to all which demaunds, she returned not any answere.
But when the Knight came to them againe, some of them said to him. Sir,
this woman is a goodly creature, but she appeareth to be dumbe, which
were great pitty, if it should be so. Gentlemen (quoth he) it is no
small argument of her vertue, to sit still and silent at this instant.
Tell us then (said they) of whence, and what she is. Therein (quoth
he) I will quickely resolve you, upon your conditionall promise: that
none of you do remove from his place, whatsoever shall be said or done,
untill I have fully delivered my minde. Every one bound himselfe by
solemne promise, to perform what he had appointed, and the Tables being
voided, as also the Carpets laid; then the Knight (sitting downe by the
Lady) thus began.
Worthy Gentlemen, this Lady is that true and faithfull servant, whereof
I moved the question to you, whom I tooke out of the cold street,
where her parents, kindred and friends (making no account at all of
her) threw her forth, as a thing vile and unprofitable. Neverthelesse,
such hath been my care and cost, that I have rescued her out of
deaths griping power; and, in a meere charitable disposition, which
honest affection caused me to beare her; of a body, full of terror
& affrighting (as then she was) I have caused her to become thus
lovely as you see. But because you may more apparantly discerne, in
what manner this occasion happened; I will lay it open to you in more
familiar manner. Then he began the whole history, from the originall of
his unbeseeming affection to her (in regard she was a worthy mans wife)
and consequently, how all had happened to the instant houre, to the
no meane admiration of all the hearers, adding withall. Now Gentlemen
(quoth he) if you varry not from your former opinion, and especially
Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_: this Lady (by good right) is mine,
and no man else, by any just title, can lay any claime to her.
All sate silent, without answering one word, as expecting what he
intended further to say: but in the meane while, _Nicoluccio_, the
parents and kindred, but chiefely the Lady her selfe, appeared as halfe
melted into teares with weeping. But Signior _Gentile_, starting up
from the Table, taking the Infant in his arme, and leading the Lady by
the hand, going to _Nicoluccio_, thus spake. Rise Sir, I will not give
thee thy wife, whom both her kindred and thine, threw forth into the
street: but I will bestow this Lady on thee, being my Gossip, and this
sweet Boy my God-sonne, who was (as I am verily perswaded) begotten by
thee, I standing witnesse for him at the Font of Baptisme, and give him
mine owne name _Gentile_. Let me entreat thee, that, although she hath
lived here in mine house, for the space of three monethes, she should
not be lesse welcome to thee, then before: for I sweare to thee upon
my soule, that my former affection to her (how unjust soever) was the
onely meanes of preserving her life: and more honestly she could not
live, with Father, Mother, or thy selfe, then she hath done here with
mine owne Mother.
Having thus spoken, he turned to the Lady, saying. Madame, I now
discharge you of all promises made me, delivering you to your Husband
franke and free: And when he had given him the Lady, and the child
in his armes, he returned to his place, and sate downe againe.
_Nicoluccio_, with no meane joy and hearty contentment received both
his wife and childe, being before farre from expectation of such an
admirable comfort; returning the Knight infinite thankes (as all the
rest of the Company did the like) who could not refraine from weeping
for meere joy, for such a strange and wonderfull accident: everyone
highly commending _Gentile_, & such also as chanced to heare thereof.
The Lady was welcommed home to her owne house, with many moneths of
Joviall feasting, and as she passed through the streets, all beheld her
with admiration, to be so happily recovered from her grave. Signior
_Gentile_ lived long after, a loyall friend to _Nicoluccio_ and his
Lady, and all that were well-willers to them.
What thinke you now Ladies? Can you imagine, because a King gave away
his Crowne and Scepter; and an Abbot (without any cost to himselfe)
reconciled a Malefactor to the Pope; and an old idle-headed man,
yeelding to the mercy of his enemy: that all those actions are
comparable to this of Signior _Gentile_? Youth and ardent affection,
gave him a just and lawfull title, to her who was free (by imagined
death) from Husbands, Parents, and all friends else, she being
so happily wonne into his owne possession. Yet honesty not onely
over-swayed the heate of desire, which in many men is violent and
immoderate: but with a bountifull and liberall soule, that which he
coveted beyond all hopes else, and had within his owne command; he
freely gave away. Beleeve me (bright Beauties) not any of the other (in
a true and unpartiall judgement) are worthy to be equalled with this,
or stiled by the name of magnificent actions.
_Madame_ Dianora, _the Wife of Signior_ Gilberto, _being immodestly
affected by Signior_ Ansaldo, _to free herselfe from his tedious
importunity, she appointed him to performe (in her judgement) an act
of impossibility, namely, to give her a Garden, as plentifully stored
with fragrant Flowers in January, as in the flourishing moneth of_ May.
Ansaldo, _by meanes of a bond which he made to a Magitian, performed
her request. Signior_ Gilberto, _the Ladyes Husband, gave consent, that
his Wife should fulfill her promise made to_ Ansaldo. _Who hearing the
bountifull mind of her Husband; released her of her promise: And the
Magitian likewise discharged Signior_ Ansaldo, _without taking any
thing of him._
The fift Novell.
_Admonishing all Ladies and Gentlewomen, that are desirous to preserve
their chastity, free from all blemish and taxation: to make no promise
of yeelding to any, under a compact or covenant, how impossible soever
it may seeme to be._
Not any one in all the Company, but extolled the worthy Act of Signior
_Gentile_ to the skies; till the King gave command to Madame _Æmillia_,
that she should follow next with her Tale, who boldly stepping up,
began in this order.
Gracious Ladies, I thinke there is none heere present among us, but
(with good reason) may maintaine, that Signiour _Gentile_ performed a
magnificent deede: but whosoever saith, it is impossible to do more;
perhaps is ignorant in such actions, as can and may be done, as I meane
to make good unto you, by a Novell not over-long or tedious.
The Countrey of _Fretulium_, better knowne by the name of _Forum
Julii_; although it be subject to much cold, yet it is pleasant, in
regard of many goodly Mountaines, Rivers, and cleare running Springs,
wherewith it is not meanly stored. Within those Territories, is a City
called _Udina_, where sometime lived a faire and Noble Lady, named
Madame _Dianora_, Wife to a rich and woorthie Knight, called Signior
_Gilberto_, a man of very great fame and merite.
This beautifull** Lady, beeing very modest and vertuously inclined, was
highly affected by a Noble Baron of those parts, tearmed by the name
of Signior _Ansaldo Gradense_, a man of very great spirit, bountifull,
active in Armes, and yet very affable and courteous, which caused him
to be the better respected. His love to this Lady was extraordinary,
hardly to bee contained within any moderate compasse, striving to bee
in like manner affected of her: to which end, she wanted no daily
solicitings, Letters, Ambassages and Love-tokens, all proving to no
purpose.
This vertuous Lady, being wearied with his often temptations, and
seeing, that by denying whatsoever he demanded, yet he wold not give
over his suite, but so much the more importunatly still pursued her:
began to bethinke herselfe, how she might best be rid of him, by
imposing some such taske upon him, as should bee impossible (in her
opinion) for him to effect. An olde woman, whom hee imployed for his
continual messenger to her, as shee came one day about her ordinary
errand, with her she communed in this manner. Good woman (quoth she)
thou hast so often assured me, that Signior _Ansaldo_ loveth me above
all other Women in the world, offering me wonderfull gifts and presents
in his name, which I have alwayes refused, and so still will do, in
regard I am not to be woon by any such allurements: yet if I could be
soundly perswaded, that his affection is answerable to thy peremptory
protestations, I shoulde (perhaps) be the sooner wonne, to listen to
his suite in milder manner, then hitherto I have done. Wherefore, if he
will give me assurance, to perform such a businesse as I mean to enjoyne
him, he shall the speedier heare better answer from me, and I will
confirme it with mine oath.
Wonderfully pleased was Mistresse _Maquerella_, to heare a reply of
such comfortable hope; and therefore desired the Lady, to tel hir what
she wold have done. Listen to me wel (answerd Madam _Dianora_) the
matter which I would have him to effect for me, is; without the wals of
our City, and during the month of Januarie nexte ensuing, to provide me
a Garden, as fairely furnished with all kind of fragrant flowers, as
the flourishing month of May can yeelde no better. If he be not able
to accomplish this imposition, then I command him, never hereafter to
solicite me any more, either by thee, or any other whatsoever; for,
if he do importune me afterward, as hitherto I have concealed his
secret conspiring, both from my husband, and all my friends; so will
I then lay his dishonest suite open to the world, that he may receive
punishment accordingly, for offering to wrong a Gentleman in his wife.
When Signior _Ansaldo_ heard her demand, and the offer beside
thereupon** made him (although it seemed no easie matter; but a thing
meerly impossible to be done) he considered advisedly, that she made
this motion to no other end, but onely to bereave him of all his hope,
ever to enjoy what so earnestly hee desired: neverthelesse, he would
not so give it utterly over, but would needs approve what could be
done. Heereupon, hee sent into divers partes of the world, to find out
any one that was able to advise him in this doubtfull case. In the end,
one was brought to him, who beeing well recompenced for his paines,
by the Art of Nigromancie would undertake to do it. With him Signior
_Ansaldo_ covenanted, binding himselfe to pay a great summe of mony,
upon performance of so rare a deed, awaiting (in hopefull expectation)
for the month of Januaries comming.
It being come, and the weather then in extreamity of cold, every thing
being covered with ice and snow; the Magitian prevailed so by his
Art, that after the Christmas Holy dayes were past, and the Calends
of January entred: in one night, and without the Cittie Wals, the
goodliest Garden of flowers and fruites, was sodainely sprung up, as
(in opinion of such as beheld it) never was the like seen before.
Now Ladies, I think I need not demand the question, whether Signior
_Ansaldo_ were wel pleased, or no, who going to beholde it, saw it most
plenteously stored, with al kind of fruit trees, flowers, herbes and
plants, as no one could be named, that was wanting in this artificiall
garden. And having gathered some pretty store of them, secretly he sent
them to Madam _Dianora_, inviting hir to come see her Garden, perfected
according to her owne desire, and uppon view thereof, to confesse the
integrity of his love to her; considering and remembring withall, the
promise shee had made him under solemne oath, that she might be reputed
for a woman of her word.
When the Lady beheld the fruites and flowers, and heard many other
thinges re-counted, so wonderfully growing in the same Garden: she
began to repent her rash promise made; yet not withstanding her
repentance, as Women are covetous to see all rarities; so, accompanied
with divers Ladies and Gentlewomen more, she went to see the Garden;
and having commended it with much admiration, she returned home againe,
the most sorrowfull Woman as ever lived, considering what she had tyed
her selfe to, for enjoying this Garden. So excessive grew her griefe
and affliction, that it could not be so clouded or concealed: but her
Husband tooke notice of it, and would needs understand the occasion
thereof. Long the Lady (in regard of shame and modesty) sate without
returning any answer; but being in the end constrained, she disclosd
the whole History to him.
At the first, Signior _Gilberto_ waxed exceeding angry, but when he
further considered withall, the pure and honest intention of his Wife;
wisely he pacified his former distemper, and saide. _Dianora_, it is
not the part of a wise and honest woman, to lend an eare to ambassages
of such immodest nature, much lesse to compound or make agreement for
her honesty, with any person, under any condition whatsoever. Those
perswasions which the heart listeneth to, by allurement of the eare,
have greater power then many do imagine, & nothing is so uneasie
or difficult, but in a lovers judgement it appeareth possible. Ill
didst thou therefore first of all to listen, but worse (afterward) to
contract.
But, because I know the purity of thy soule, I will yeelde (to disoblige
thee of thy promise) as perhaps no wise man else would do: mooved
thereto onely by feare of the Magitian, who seeing Signior _Ansaldo_
displeased, because thou makest a mockage of him; will do some such
violent wrong to us, as we shall be never able to recover. Wherefore,
I would have thee go to Signior _Ansaldo_, and if thou canst (by
any meanes) obtaine of him, the safe-keeping of thy honour, and full
discharge of thy promise; it shall be an eternall fame to thee, and
the crowne of a most victorious conquest. But if it must needs be
otherwise, lend him thy body onely for once, but not thy will: for
actions committed by constraint, wherein the will is no way guilty, are
halfe pardonable by the necessity.
Madame _Dianora_, hearing her husbands words, wept exceedingly, and
avouched, that shee had not deserved any such especiall grace of him,
and therefore she would rather dye, then doe it. Neverthelesse, it was
the will of her Husband to have it so, and therefore (against her will)
she gave consent. The next morning, by the breake of day, _Dianora_
arose, and attiring her selfe in her very meanest garments, with two
servingmen before her, and a waiting Woman following, she went to the
lodging of Signior _Ansaldo_, who hearing that Madam _Dianora_ was
come to visite him, greatly mervailed, and being risen, he called the
Magitian to him, saying. Come go with me, and see what effect will
follow upon thine Art. And being come into her presence, without any
base or inordinate appetite, he did her humble reverence, embracing her
honestly, and taking her into a goodly Chamber, where a faire fire was
readilie prepared, causing her to sit downe by him, he sayde unto her
as followeth.
Madam, I humbly intreat you to resolve me, if the affection I have long
time borne you, and yet do still, deserve any recompence at all: you
would be pleased then to tel me truly, the occasion of your instant
comming hither, and thus attended as you are. _Dianora_, blushing with
modest shame, and the teares trickling mainly down her faire cheekes,
thus answered. Signior _Ansaldo_, not for any Love I beare you, or care
of my faithfull promise made to you, but onely by the command of my
husband (who respecting more the paynes and travels of your inordinate
love, then his owne reputation and honor, or mine;) hath caused me to
come hither: and by vertue of his command, am ready (for once onely) to
fulfill your pleasure, but far from any will or consent in my selfe.
If Signior _Ansaldo_ were abashed at the first, hee began now to be
more confounded with admiration, when he heard the Lady speake in such
strange manner: & being much moved with the liberall command of her
husband, he began to alter his inflamed heate, into most honourable
respect and compassion, returning her this answer.
Most noble Lady, the Gods forbid (if it be so as you have sayd) that I
should (Villain-like) soile the honour of him, that takes such unusuall
compassion of my unchaste appetite. And therefore, you may remaine
heere so long as you please, in no other condition, but as mine owne
naturall borne Sister; and likewise, you may depart freely when you
will: conditionally, that (on my behalfe) you render such thankes to
your husband, as you thinke convenient for his great bounty towards me,
accounting me for ever heereafter, as his loyall Brother and faithfull
servant. _Dianora_ having well observed his answer, her heart being
ready to mount out at her mouth with joy, said. All the world could
never make mee beleeve (considering your honourable minde and honesty)
that it would happen otherwise to me, then now it hath done; for which
noble courtesie, I will continually remaine obliged to you. So, taking
her leave, she returned home honorably attended to her husband, and
relating to him what had happened, it proved the occasion of begetting
intire love and friendship, betweene himselfe and the Noble Lord
_Ansaldo_.
Now concerning the skilfull Magitian, to whom _Ansaldo_ meant to
give the bountifull recompence agreed on betweene them, hee having
seene the strange liberality, which the husband expressed to Signior
_Ansaldo_, and that of _Ansaldo_ to the Lady, hee presently saide.
Great _Jupiter_ strike me dead with thunder, having my selfe seene a
husband so liberall of his honour, and you Sir of true noble kindnesse,
if I should not be the like of my recompence: for, perceiving it to
be so worthily imployed, I am well contented that you shall keepe it.
The Noble Lord was modestly ashamed, and strove (so much as in him
lay) that he should take all, or the greater part thereof: but seeing
he laboured meerly in vaine, after the third day was past, and the
Magitian had destroyed the Garden againe, hee gave him free liberty to
depart, quite controlling all fond and unchaste affection in himselfe,
either towards _Dianora_, or any Lady else, and living (ever after) as
best becommeth any Nobleman to do.
What say you now Ladies? Shall wee make any account of the woman
wel-neere dead, and the kindnesse growne cold in Signiour _Gentile_,
by losse of his former hopes, comparing them with the liberality of
Signior _Ansaldo_, affecting more fervently, then ever the other did?
And being (beyond hope) possessed of the booty, which (above all things
else in the world) he most desired to have, to part with it meerly
in fond compassion? I protest (in my judgement) the one is no way
comparable to the other; that of _Gentile_, with this last of Signior
_Ansaldo_.
_Victorious_ King Charles, _sirnamed the Aged, and first of that Name,
fell in love with a yong Maiden, named_ Genevera, _daughter to an
ancient Knight, called Signior_ Neri degli Uberti. _And waxing ashamed
of his amorous folly, caused both_ Genevera, _and her fayre Sister_
Isotta, _to be joyned in marriage with two Noble Gentlemen; the one
named_ Signior Maffeo da Palizzi, _and the other,_ Signior Gulielmo
della Magna.
The Sixt Novell.
_Sufficiently declaring, that how mighty soever the power of Love is:
yet a magnanimous and truly generous heart, it can by no meanes fully
conquer._
Who is able to expresse ingeniously, the diversity of opinions, which
hapned among the Ladies, in censuring on the act of Madame _Dianora_,
and which of them was most liberall, either Signior _Gilberto_ the
Husband, Lord _Ansaldo_ the importunate suiter, or the Magitian,
expecting to bee bountifully rewarded. Surely, it is a matter beyond
my capacity: but after the King had permitted their disputation a long
while, looking on Madam _Fiammetta_, he commanded that she should
report her Novel to make an end of their controversie; and she (without
any further delaying) thus began. I did alwaies (Noble Ladies) hold
it fit and decent, that in such an assembly as this of ours is, every
one ought to speake so succinctly and plainly: that the obscure
understanding, concerning the matters spoken of, should have no cause
of disputation. For disputes do much better become the Colledges of
Scholars, then to be among us, who hardly can manage our Distaves
or Samplers. And therefore I, doe intend to relate something, which
(peradventure) might appeare doubtfull: will forbeare (seeing you in
such a difference; for that which hath bin spoken alreadie) to use any
difficult discourse; but will speake of one, a man of no meane ranke
or quality, being both a valiant and vertuous King, and what he did,
without any impeach or blemish to his honor.
I make no doubt, but you have often heard report, of king _Charles_ the
Aged, and first of that name, by reason of his magnificent enterprises,
as also his most glorious victory, which he obtaind against King
_Manfred_, when the _Ghibellines_ were expulsed foorth of _Florence_,
and the _Guelphes_ returned thither againe. By which occasion, an
ancient knight, named Signior _Neri degli Uberti_; forsaking then the
City, with all his family and great store of wealth, woulde live under
any other obedience, then the awful power or command of King _Charles_.
And coveting to be in some solitary place, where he might finish the
remainder of his dayes in peace, he went to _Castello da Mare_; where,
about a Bow shoote distance from all other dwelling houses, hee bought
a parcel of ground, plentifully stored with variety of Trees, bearing
Olives, Chesnuts, Orenges, Lemons, Pomcitrons, and other excellent
frutages, wherewith the Countrey flourisheth abundantly. There he
built a very faire and commodious house, and planted (close by it) a
pleasant Garden, in the middst whereof, because he had great plenty of
water: according as other men use to do, being in the like case so wel
provided; he made a very goodly Pond, which forthwith had all kinde of
Fish swimming in it, it being his daily care and endeavour**, to tend his
Garden, and encrease his Fish-pond.
It fortuned, that King _Charles_ (in the Summer time) for his pleasure
and recreation, went to repose himselfe (for some certayne dayes)
at _Castello de Mare_, where having heard report of the beautie and
singularitie of Signiour _Neries_ Garden; hee grew very desirous to
see it. But when he understoode to whome it belonged, then he entred
into consideration with himselfe, that hee was an ancient Knight,
maintaining a contrarie faction to his: wherefore, he thought it
fit to goe in some familiar manner, and with no trayne attending on
him. Whereupon he sent him word, that he wold come to visit him, with
foure Gentlemen onely in his companie, meaning to sup with him in his
Garden the next night ensuing. The newes was very welcome to _Signior
Neri_, who took order in costly manner for all things to bee done,
entertaining the King most joyfully into his beautifull Garden.
When the King had survayed all, and the house likewise, he commended
it beyond all other comparison, and the Tables being placed by the
Ponds side, he washed his hands therein, & then sat down at the table,
commanding the Count, Sir _Guy de Montforte_ (who was one of them which
came in his company) to sitte downe by him, and Signior _Neri_ on his
other side. As for the other three of the traine, hee commaunded them
to attend on his service, as Signior _Neri_ had given order. There
wanted no exquisite Viandes and excellent Wines, all performed in most
decent manner, and without the least noise or disturbance, wherein the
King tooke no little delight.
Feeding thus in this contented manner, and facying the solitude of the
place: sodainly entred into the garden, two yong Damosels, each aged
about some fifteene yeares, their haire resembling wyars of Gold, and
curiously curled, having Chaplets (made like provinciall Crownes) on
their heades, and their delicate faces, expressing them to be rather
Angels, then mortall creatures, such was the appearance of their
admired beauty. Their under-garments were of costly Silke, yet white as
the finest snow, framed (from the girdle upward) close to their bodies,
but spreading largely downward, like the extendure of a Pavillion, and
so descending to the feet. She that first came in sight, caried on her
shoulder a couple of fishing Netts, which she held fast with her left
hand, and in the right she carryed a long staffe. The other following
her, had on her left shoulder a Frying-pan, and under the same arme a
small Faggot of woodde, with a Trevit in her hand; and in the other
hand a pot of Oyle, as also a brand of fire flaming.
No sooner did the King behold them, but he greatly wondered what they
should be; and, without uttering one word, attended to listen what they
wold say. Both the yong damosels, when they were come before the King,
with modest and bashfull gesture, they performed very humble reverence
to him, and going to the place of entrance into the Pond, she who held
the Trevit, set it downe on the ground, with the other things also; and
taking the staffe which the other Damosell carried: they both went into
the Pond, the water whereof reached so high as to their bosomes. One of
the Servants to Signior _Neri_, presently kindled the fire, setting the
Trevit over it, and putting Oyle into the Frying-panne, held it uppon
the Trevit, awaiting untill the Damosels should cast him uppe Fish. One
of them did beate a place with the staffe, where she was assured of the
Fishes resort, and the other hadde lodged the Nets so conveniently, as
they quickly caught great store of Fish, to the Kings high contentment,
who observed their behaviour very respectively.
As the Fishes were throwne up to the servant, alive as they were, he
tooke the best and fairest of them, and brought them to the Table,
where they skipt and mounted before the King, Count _Guy de Montfort_
and the Father: some leaping from the Table into the Pond againe, and
others, the King (in a pleasing humour) voluntarily threw backe to
the Damosels. Jesting and sporting in this manner, till the servant
had drest divers of them in exquisite order, and served them to the
Table, according as Signior _Neri_ had ordained. When the Damosels
saw the Fishes service performed, and perceived that they had fished
sufficiently: they came forth of the water, their garments then (being
wet) hanging close about them, even as if they hid no part of their
bodies. Each having taken those things againe, which at first they
brought with them, and saluting the king in like humility as they did
before, returned home to the mansion house.
The King and Count likewise, as also the other attending Gentlemen,
having duely considered the behavior of the Damosels: commended
extraordinarily their beauty and faire feature, with those other
perfections of Nature so gloriously shining in them. But (beyond
all the rest) the King was boundlesse in his praises given of them,
having observed their going into the water, the equall carriage there
of them both, their comming forth, and gracious demeanor at their
departing (yet neither knowing of whence, or what they were) he felt
his affection very violently flamed, and grew into such an amourous
desire to them both, not knowing which of them pleased him most, they
so choisely resembled one another in all things.
But after he had dwelt long enough upon these thoughts, he turned
him selfe to Signior _Neri_, and demanded of him, what Damosels they
were. Sir (answered _Neri_) they are my Daughters, both brought into
the world at one birth, and Twinnes, the one being named _Genevera_
the faire, and the other _Isotta_ the amiable. The King began againe
to commend them both, and gave him advise to get them both married:
wherein he excused himselfe, alleadging, that he wanted power to doe
it. At the same time instant, no other service remaining to be brought
to the table, except Fruit and Cheese, the two Damosels returned
againe, attyred in goodly Roabes of Carnation Sattin, formed after
the Turkish fashion, carrying two fayre Silver dishes in their hands,
filled with divers delicate Fruits, such as the season then afforded,
setting them on the Table before the King. Which being done, they
retyred a little backeward, and with sweet melodious voyces, sung a
ditty, beginning in this manner.
_Where Love presumeth into place:
Let no one sing in Loves disgrace._
So sweet and pleasing seemed the Song to the King (who tooke no small
delight, both to heare and behold the Damosels) even as if all the
Hirarchies of Angels, were descended from the Heavens to sing before
him. No sooner was the Song ended, but (humbly on their knees) they
craved favour of the King for their departing. Now, although their
departure was greatly grieving to him, yet (in outward appearance) he
seemed willing to grant it.
When Supper was concluded, and the King and his Company remounted
on horsebacke: thankefully departing from Signior _Neri_, the King
returned to his lodging, concealing there closely his affection to
himselfe, and whatsoever important affaires happened: yet he could
not forget the beauty, & gracious behaviour of _Genevera_ the faire
(for whose sake he loved her Sister likewise) but became so linked to
her in vehement manner, as he had no power to think on any thing else.
Pretending other urgent occasions, he fell into great familiarity with
Signior _Neri_, visiting very often his goodly Garden; onely to see his
faire Daughter _Genevera_, the Adamant which drew him thither.
When he felt his amourous assaults, to exeed all power of longer
sufferance: he resolved determinately with himselfe, (being unprovided
of any better meanes) to take her away from her Father, and not onely
she, but her Sister also; discovering both his love and intent to Count
_Guy de Montforte_, who being a very worthy and vertuous Lord, and meet
to be a Counseller for a King, delivered his mind in this manner.
Gracious Lord, I wonder not a little at your speeches, and so much
the greater is my admiration, because no man els can be subject to
the like, in regard I have knowne you from the time of your infancy;
even to this instant houre, and alwayes your carriage to bee one and
the same. I could never perceive in your youthfull dayes (when love
should have the greatest meanes to assaile you) any such oppressing
passions: which is now the more novell and strange to me, to heare it
but said, that you being old, and called the Aged; should be growne
amorous, surely to me it seemeth a miracle. And if it appertained to
me to reprehend you in this case, I know well enough what I could say.
Considering, you have yet your Armour on your backe, in a Kingdome
newly conquered, among a Nation not knowne to you, full of falsehoods,
breaches, and treasons; all which are no meane motives to care and
needfull respect. But having now wone a little leisure, to rest your
selfe a while from such serious affaires; can you give way to the
idle suggestions of Love? Beleeve me Sir, it is no act becomming a
magnanimious King; but rather the giddy folly of a young braine.
Moreover you say (which most of all I mislike) that you intend to take
the two Virgines from the Knight, who hath given you entertainment in
his house beyond his ability, and to testifie how much he honoured you,
he suffered you to have a sight of them, meerely (almost) in a naked
manner: witnessing thereby, what constant faith he reposed in you,
beleeving verily, that you were a just King, and not a ravenous Woolfe.
Have you so soone forgot, that the rapes and violent actions, done by
King _Manfred_ to harmelesse Ladies, made your onely way of entrance
into this Kingdome? What treason was ever committed, more worthy of
eternall punishment, then this will be in you: to take away from him
(who hath so highly honoured you) his chiefest hope and consolation?
What will be said by all men, if you doe it?
Peradventure you thinke, it will be a sufficient excuse for you, to
say: I did it, in regard hee was a _Ghibelline_. Can you imagine this
to be justice in a King, that such as get into their possession in this
manner (whatsoever it be) ought to use it in this sort? Let me tell you
Sir, it was a most worthy victory for you, to conquer King _Manfred_:
but it is farre more famous victory, for a man to conquer himselfe.
You therefore, who are ordained to correct vices in other men, learne
first to subdue them in your selfe, and (by brideling this inordinate
appetite) set not a foule blemish on so faire a fame, as will be honour
to you to preserve spotlesse.
These words pierced the heart of the King deepely, and so much the more
afflicted him, because he knew them to be most true: wherefore, after
he had ventred a very vehement sigh, thus he replyed. Beleeve me noble
Count, there is not any enemy, how strong soever he be, but I hold him
weake and easie to be vanquished, by him who is skilfull in the warre,
where a man may learne to conquere his owne appetite. But because he
shall find it a laborious taske, requiring inestimable strength and
courage: your words have so toucht me to the quicke, that it becommeth
me to let you effectually perceive (and within the compasse of few
dayes) that as I have learned to conquer others, so I am not ignorant,
in expressing the like power upon my selfe.
Having thus spoken, within some few dayes after, the King being
returned to _Naples_, he determined, as well to free himself from any
the like ensuing follie, as also to recompence Signior _Neri_, for the
great kindnesse he had shewne to him (although it was a difficult
thing, to let another enjoy, what he rather desired for himselfe)
to have the two Damosels married, not as the Daughters of Signior
_Neri_, but even as if they were his owne. And by consent of the
Father, he gave _Genevera_ the faire, to Signior _Maffeo da Pallizzi_,
and _Isotta_ the amiable, to Signior _Gulielmo della Magna_, two
Noble Knights and honourable Barons. After he had thus given them in
marriage, in sad mourning he departed thence into _Apuglia_, where
by following worthy and honourable actions, he so well overcame all
inordinate appetites: that shaking off the enthralling fetters of love,
he lived free from all passions, the rest of his life time, and dyed as
an honourable King.
Some perhaps will say, it was a small matter for a King, to give away
two Damosels in marriage, and I confesse it: but I maintaine it to be
great, and more then great, if we say, that a King, being so earnestly
enamoured as this King was; should give her away to another, whom he
so dearely affected himselfe, without receiving (in recompence of his
affection) so much as a leaffe, flowre, or the least fruit of love. Yet
such was the vertue of this magnificent King, expressed in so highly
recompencing the noble Knights courtesie, honouring the two daughters
so royally, and conquering his owne affections so vertuously.
Lisana, _the Daughter of a Florentine Apothecary, named_ Bernardo
Puccino, _being at_ Palermo, _and seeing_ Piero, _King of_ Aragon
_run at the Tilt; fell so affectionately enamored of him, that she
languished in an extreame and long sickenesse. By her owne devise,
and means of a Song, sung in the hearing of the King: he vouchsafed
to visite her, and giving her a kisse, terming himselfe also to bee
her Knight for ever after, hee honourably bestowed her in marriage on
a young Gentleman, who was called_ Perdicano, _and gave him liberall
endowments with her._
The Seventh Novell.
_Wherein is covertly given to understand, that howsoever a Prince may
make use of his absolute power and authority, towards Maides or Wives
that are his Subjects: yet he ought to deny and reject all things, as
shall make him forgetfull of himselfe, and his true honour._
Madame _Fiammetta_ being come to the end of her Novell, and the great
magnificence of King _Charles_ much commended (howbeit, some of the
Company, affecting the _Ghibelline_ faction, were otherwise minded)
Madame _Pampinea_, by order given from the King, began in this manner.
There is no man of good understanding (honourable Ladies) but will
maintaine what you have said of victorious _Charles_; except such as
cannot wish well to any. But because my memory hath instantly informed
me, of an action (perhaps) no lesse commendable then this, done by
an enemy of the said King _Charles_, and to a yong Maiden of our
City; I am the more willing to relate it, upon your gentle attention
vouchsafed, as hitherto it hath been courteously granted.
At such time as the French were driven out of _Sicilie_, there dwelt at
_Palermo_ a _Florentine_ Apothecary, named _Bernardo Puccino_, a man of
good wealth and reputation, who had by his Wife one onely Daughter, of
marriageable yeares, and very beautifull. _Piero_, King of _Arragon_,
being then become Lord of that Kingdom, he made an admirable Feast
Royall at _Palermo_, accompanyed with his Lords and Barons. In honour
of which publique Feast, the King kept a triumphall day (of Justs and
Turnament) at _Catalana_, and whereat it chanced, that the Daughter of
_Bernardo_, named _Lisana_, was present. Being in a window, accompanied
with other Gentlewomen, she saw the King runne at the Tilt, who
seemed so goodly a person in her eye; that being never satisfied with
beholding him, she grew enamoured, and fell into extremity of affection
towards him.
When the Feastivall was ended, she dwelling in the house of her Father,
it was impossible for her to thinke on any thing else, but onely
the love, which she had fixed on a person of such height. And that
which most tormented her in this case, was the knowledge of her owne
condition, being but meane and humble in degree; whereby she confessed,
that she could not hope for any successefull issue of her proud love.
Neverthelesse, she would not refraine from affecting the King, who
taking no note of this kindnesse in her, by any perceivable meanes;
must needs be the more regardles, which procured (by wary observation)
her afflictions to be the greater and intollerable.
Whereon it came to passe, that this earnest love encreasing in her
more and more, and one melancholly conceit taking hold on another: the
faire Maide, when she could beare the burden of her griefe no longer;
fell into a languishing sickenesse, consuming away daily (by evident
appearance) even as the Snow melteth by the warme beames of the Sunne.
The Father and Mother, much dismayed and displeased at this haplesse
accident, applying her with continuall comforts, Phisicke, and the best
skill remayning in all the Phisitions, sought all possible meanes wayes
to give her succour: but all proved to no effect, because in regard
of her choyce (which could sort to none other then a desperate end)
she was desirous to live no longer. Now it fortuned, that her parents
offering her whatsoever remained in their power to performe, a sudden
apprehension entred her minde, to wit, that (if it might possible be
done) before she dyed, she would first have the King to know, in what
manner she stood affected to him. Wherefore, one day she entreated her
Father, that a Gentleman, named _Manutio de Arezza_, might be permitted
to come see her. This _Manutio_ was (in those times) held to be a most
excellent Musitian, both for his voyce in singing, and exquisite skill
in playing on Instruments, for which he was highly in favour with King
_Piero_, who made (almost) daily use of him, to heare him both sing and
play.
Her tender and loving father conceived immediately, that shee was
desirous to heare his playing and singing, both being comfortable to a
body in a languishing sickenesse, whereupon, he sent presently for the
Gentleman, who came accordingly, and after he had comforted _Lisana_
with kind and courteous speeches; he played dexteriously on his Lute,
which purposely hee had brought with him, and likewise he sung divers
excellent Ditties, which insted of his intended consolation to the
Maid, did nothing else but encrease her fire and flame.
Afterward, she requested to have some conference with _Manutio_ alone,
and every one being gone forth of the Chamber, she spake unto him in
this manner.
_Manutio_, I have made choyce of thee, to be the faithfull Guardian of
an especial secret, hoping first of al, that thou wilt never reveale
it to any living body, but onely to him whom I shall bid thee: And
next, to helpe me so much as possibly thou canst, because my onely
hope relyeth in thee. Know then my dearest friend _Manutio_, that on
the solemne festivall day, when our Soveraigne Lord the King honoured
his exaltation, with the noble exercises of Tilt and Turney; his brave
behaviour kindled such a sparke in my soule, as since brake forth into
a violent flame, and brought me to this weake condition as now thou
seest. But knowing and confessing, how farre unbeseeming my love is, to
aime so ambitiously at a King, and being unable to controule it, or in
the least manner to diminish it: I have made choyce of the onely and
best remedy of all, namely, to dye, and so I am most willing to doe.
True it is, that I shall travaile in this my latest journey, with
endlesse torment and affliction of soule, except he have some
understanding thereof before, and not knowing by whom to give him
intelligence, in so oft and convenient order, as by thee: I doe
therefore commit this last office of a friend to thy trust, desiring
thee, not to refuse me in the performance thereof. And when thou hast
done it, to let me understand what he saith, that I may dye the more
contentedly, and disburdened of so heavy an oppression, the onely
comfort to a parting spirit: and so she ceased, her teares flowing
forth abundantly.
_Manutio_ did not a little wonder at the Maides great spirit, and her
desperate resolution, which moved him to exceeding commiseration, and
suddenly he conceived, that honestly he might discharge this duty for
her, whereupon, he returned her this answer. _Lisana_, here I engage
my faith to thee, that thou shalt find me firme and constant, and
die I will, rather then deceive thee. Greatly I doe commend thy high
attempt, in fixing thy affection on so Potent a King, wherein I offer
thee my utmost assistance: and I make no doubt (if thou wouldest be of
good comfort) to deale in such sort, as, before three dayes are fully
past, to bring such newes as will content thee, and because I am loath
to loose the least time, I will goe about it presently. _Lisana_ the
yong Maiden, once againe entreated his care and diligence, promising
to comfort her selfe so well as she could, commending him to his good
fortune. When _Manutio_ was gone from her, hee went to a Gentleman,
named _Mico de Sienna_, one of the best Poets in the composing of
verses, as all those parts yeelded not the like. At his request, _Mico_
made for him this ensuing Dittie.
The Song sung in the hearing of King _Piero_, on the behalfe of
Love-sicke _Lisana._
_Goe Love, and tell the torments I endure,
Say to my Soveraigne Lord, that I must die
Except he come, some comfort to procure,
For tell I may not, what I feele, and why._
_With heaved hands Great Love, I call to thee,
Goe see my Soveraigne, where he doth abide,
And say to him, in what extremity,
Thou hast (for him) my firm affection tryed.
To die for him, it is my sole desire,
For live with him I may not, nor aspire,
To have my fortunes thereby dignified,
Onely his sight would lend me life a while:
Grant it (great love) mine anguish to beguile.
Goe love and tell the torments, &c._
_Since the first houre that love enthralled me,
I never had the heart, to tell my griefe,
My thoughts did speake, for thoughts be alwayes free,
Yet hopefull thoughts doe find but poore reliefe.
When Gnats will mount to Eagles in the ayre,
Alas! they scorne them, for full well they know,
They were not bred to prey so base and low,
Aloft they look, to make their flight more faire.
And yet his sight would lend me life a while:
Grant it (great love) mine anguish to beguile.
Goe love, and tell the torments, &c._
_If sight shall be denyed, then tell them plaine,
His high triumphall day procurd my death,
The Launce that won him Honour, hath me slaine,
For instantly it did bereave my breath.
That speake I could not, nor durst be so bold,
To make the Ayre acquainted with my woe:
Alas! I lookt so high, and doing so,
Justly deserve by death to be controld.
Yet mercies sight would lend me life a while,
Grant it (great love) mine anguish to beguile._
_Goe love, and tell the torments I endure,
Say to my Soveraigne Lord, that I must die:
Except he come, some comfort to procure,
For tell I may not, what I feele, and why._
The lines contained in this Ditty, _Manutio_ fitted with noates so
mooving and singularly musicall, that every word had the sensible
motion of life in it, where the King being (as yet) not risen from the
Table, he commanded him to use both his Lute and voyce.
This seemed a happy opportunity to _Manutio_, to sing the dittie so
purposely done and devised: which hee delivered in such excellent
manner, the voice and Instrument concording so extraordinary pleasing;
that all the persons then in the Presence, seemed rather Statues, then
living men, so strangely they were wrapt with admiration, and the King
himselfe farre beyond all the rest, transported with a rare kinde of
alteration.
When _Manutio_ had ended the Song, the King demanded of him, whence
this Song came, because he had never heard it before? My gracious Lord,
answered _Manutio_, it must needes seeme straunge to your Majesty,
because it is not fully three dayes, since it was invented, made, and
set to the note. Then the King asked, whom it concerned? Sir (quoth
_Manutio_) I dare not disclose that to any but onely your selfe. Which
answer made the King much more desirous, and being risen from the
Table, he tooke him into his Bed-chamber, where _Manutio_ related all
at large to him, according to the trust reposed in him. Wherewith the
King was wonderfully well pleased, greatly commending the courage of
the Maide, and said, that a Virgin of such a valiant spirit, did well
deserve to have her case commiserated: and commanded him also, to goe
(as sent from him) and comfort her, with promise, that the very same
day, in the evening, he would not faile to come and see her.
_Manutio_, more then contented, to carry such glad tydings to _Lisana_;
without staying in any place, and taking his Lute also with him, went
to the Apothecaries house, where speaking alone with the Maide: he
told her what he had done, and afterward sung the song to her, in as
excellent manner as he had done before, wherein _Lisana_ conceived such
joy and contentment, as even in the very same moment, it was observed
by apparant signes, that the violence of her fits forsooke her, and
health began to get the upper hand of them. So, without suffering any
one in the house to know it, or by the least meanes to suspect it; she
comforted her selfe till the evening, in expectation of her Soveraignes
arrivall.
_Piero_ being a Prince, of most liberall and benigne nature, having
afterward divers times considered on the matters which _Manutio_ had
revealed to him, knowing also the yong Maiden, to bee both beautifull
and vertuous: was so much moved with pitty of her extremitie, as
mounting on horse-backe in the evening, and seeming as if he rode
abroad for his private recreation; he went directly to the Apothecaries
house, where desiring to see a goodly garden, appertaining then to the
Apothecarie, he dismounted from his horse. Walking into the garden, he
began to question with _Bernardo_, demaunding him for his Daughter, and
whether he had (as yet) marryed her, or no? My Gracious Lord, answered
_Bernardo_, as yet shee is not marryed, neither likely to bee, in
regard shee hath had a long and tedious sickenesse: but since Dinner
time, she is indifferently eased of her former violent paine, which we
could not discerne the like alteration in her, a long while before.
The King understood immediately, the reason of this so sudden
alteration, and said. In good faith _Bernardo_, the world would
sustaine a great maine & imperfection, by the losse of thy faire
daughter; wherefore, we will goe our selfe in person to visite her.
So, with two of his Lords onely, and the Father, he ascended to the
Maides Chamber & being entred, he went to the Beds side, where she
sate, somewhat raised, in expectation of his comming, and taking her
by the hand, he said. Faire _Lisana_, how commeth this to passe? You
being so faire a Virgin, yong, and in the delicacy of your daies, which
should be the chiefest comfort to you, will you suffer your selfe to be
over-awed with sickenesse? Let us intreat you, that (for our sake) you
will be of good comfort, and thereby recover your health the sooner,
especially, when it is requested by a King, who is sorry to see so
bright a beauty sicke, and would helpe it, if it consisted in his power.
_Lisana_, feeling the touch of his hand, whom she loved above all
things else in the world, although a bashfull blush mounted up into her
cheekes: yet her heart was seazed with such a rapture of pleasure, that
she thought her selfe translated into Paradise, and, so well as she
could, thus she replyed. Great King, by opposing my feeble strength,
against a burden of over-ponderous weight, it became the occasion of
this grievous sickenesse: but I hope that the violence thereof is
(almost) already kild, onely by this soveraigne mercy in you; and
doubtlesse it will cause my speedy deliverance. The King did best
understand this so well palliated answere of _Lisana_, which as he did
much commend, in regard of her high adventuring; so he did againe as
greatly condemne Fortune, for not making her more happy in her birth.
So, after he had stayed there a good while, and given her many
comfortable speeches, he returned backe to the Court. This humanity
in the King, was reputed a great honour to the Apothecary and his
daughter, who (in her owne mind) received as much joy and contentment
thereby, as ever any wife could have of her owne Husband.
And being assisted by better hopes, within a short while after, she
became recovered, and farre more beautifull (in common judgment) then
ever she was before.
_Lisana_ being now in perfect health, the King consulted with his
Queene, what meete recompence he should gratifie her withall,
for loving and affecting him in such fervent manner. Upon a day
determined, the King mounting on horsebacke, accompanied with many of
his cheefest Lords and Barons, he rode to the Apothecaries house, where
walking in his beautifull Garden, hee called for _Bernardo_ and his
daughter _Lisana_. In the meane space, the Queene also came thither,
Royally attended on by her Ladies, and _Lisana_ being admitted into
their company, they expressed themselves very gracious to her. Soone
after, the King and the Queene cald _Lisana_, and the King spake in
this manner to her.
Faire Virgin, the extraordinary love which you bare to us, calleth for
as great honour from us to you; in which respect, it is our Royall
desire, by one meanes or other to requite your kinde Love. In our
opinion, the chiefe honour we can extend to you, is, that being of
sufficient yeares for marriage, you would grace us so much, as to
accept him for your Husband, whom we intend to bestow on you. Beside
this further grant from us, that (notwithstanding whatsoever else) you
shall call us your Knight; without coveting any thing else from you,
for so great favour, but only one kisse, and thinke not to bestow it
nicely on a King, but grant it the rather, because he begges it.
_Lisana_, whose lookes, were dyed with a vermillian tincture, or rather
converted into a pure maiden blush, reputing the Kings desire to be her
owne; in a low and humbled voyce, thus answered. My Lord, most certaine
am I, that if it had beene publikely knowne, how none but your highnes,
might serve for me to fixe my love on, I should have been termed the
foole of all fooles: they perhaps beleeving, that I was forgetfull of
my selfe, in being ignorant of mine owne condition, and much lesse of
yours. But the Gods are my witnesses (because they know the secrets
of all hearts) that even in the very instant, when Loves fire tooke
hold on my yeelding affection: I knew you to be a King, and my selfe
the daughter of poore _Bernardo_ the Apothecary: likewise, how farre
unfitting it was for me, to be so ambitious in my loves presuming.
But I am sure your Majestie doth know (much better then I am able to
expresse) that no one becommeth amourous, according to the duty of
election, but as the appetite shapeth his course, against whose lawes
my strength made many resistances, which not prevailing, I presumed to
love, did, and so for ever shall doe, your Majestie.
Now Royall Soveraigne, I must needes confesse, that so soone as I
felt my selfe thus wholly conquered by loving you, I resolved for
ever after, to make your will mine owne, and therefore, am not onely
willing to accept him for my Husband, whom you shall please to appoint,
befitting my honor and degree: but if you will have me to live in a
flaming fire, my obedience shall sacrifice it selfe to your will, with
the absolute conformity of mine owne. To stile you by the name of my
Knight, whom I know to be my lawfull King and Soveraigne; you are not
ignorant, how farre unfitting a word that were for me to use: As also
the kisse which you request, in requitall of my love to you; to these
two I will never give consent, without the Queenes most gracious favour
and license first granted. Neverthelesse, for such admirable benignity
used to me, both by your Royall selfe, and your vertuous Queene: heaven
shower downe all boundlesse graces on you both, for it exceedeth all
merit in me, and so she ceased speaking, in most dutifull manner.
The answer of _Lisana_ pleased the Queene exceedingly, in finding
her to be so wise and faire, as the King himself had before informed
her: who instantly called for her Father and Mother, and knowing
they would be well pleased with whatsoever he did; he called for a
proper yong Gentleman, but some what poore, being named _Perdicano_,
and putting certaine Rings into his hand, which he refused not to
receive, caused him there to espouse _Lisana_. To whome the King
gave immediately (besides Chaines and Jewels of inestimable valew,
delivered by the Queene to the Bride) _Ceffala_ and _Calatabelotta_,
two great territories abounding in divers wealthy possessions, saying
to _Perdicano_. These wee give thee, as a dowry in marriage with this
beautifull Maid, and greater gifts we will bestow on thee hereafter, as
we shall perceive thy love and kindnesse to her.
When he had ended these words, hee turned to _Lisana_, saying: Heere
doe I freely give over all further fruits of your affection towards
me, thanking you for your former love: so taking her head betweene
his hands, he kissed her faire forhead, which was the usuall custome
in those times. _Perdicano_, the Father and Mother of _Lisana_, and
she her selfe likewise, extraordinarily joyfull for this so fortunate
a marriage, returned humble and hearty thankes both to the King and
Queene, and (as many credible Authors doe affirme) the King kept his
promise made to _Lisana_, because (so long as he lived) he alwaies
termed himselfe by the name of her Knight, and in al actions of
Chivalry by him undertaken, he never carried any other devise, but such
as he received still from her.
By this, and divers other like worthy deeds, not onely did he win
the hearts of his subjects; but gave occasion to the whole world
beside, to renowne his fame to all succeeding posterity. Whereto (in
these more wretched times of ours) few or none bend the sway of their
understanding: but rather how to bee cruell and tyrranous Lords, and
thereby win the hatred of their people.
Sophronia, _thinking her selfe to be the maried wife of_ Gisippus,
_was (indeed) the wife of_ Titus Quintus Fulvius, _& departed thence
with him to Rome. Within a while after,_ Gisippus _also came thither
in very poore condition, and thinking that he was despised by_ Titus,
_grew weary of his life, and confessed that he had murdred a man, with
full intent to die for the fact. But_ Titus _taking knowledge of him,
and desiring to save the life of_ Gisippus, _charged himself to have
done the bloody deed. Which the murderer himself (standing then among
the multitude) seeing, truly confessed the deed. By meanes whereof, all
three were delivered by the Emperor_ Octavius; _and_ Titus _gave his
Sister in mariage to_ Gisippus, _giving them also the most part of his
goods & inheritances._
The eight Novell.
_Declaring, that notwithstanding the frownes of Fortune, diversity of
occurrences, and contrary accidents happening: yet love and friendship
ought to be preciously preserved among men._
By this time Madam _Philomena_, at command of the King, (Madam
_Pampinea_ ceasing) prepared to follow next in order, whereupon thus
she began. What is it (Gracious Ladies) that Kings can not do (if they
list) in matters of greatest importance, and especially unto such as
most they should declare their magnificence? He then that performeth
what he ought to do, when it is within his owne power, doth well.
But it is not so much to bee admired, neither deserveth halfe the
commendations, as when one man doth good to another, when least it
is expected, as being out of his power, and yet performed. In which
respect, because you have so extolled king _Piero_, as appearing not
meanly meritorious in your judgements; I make no doubt but you will be
much more pleased, when the actions of our equals are duly considered,
and shall paralell any of the greatest Kings. Wherefore I purpose to
tell you a Novel, concerning an honorable curtesie of two worthy
friends.
At such time as _Octavius Cæsar_ (not as yet named _Augustus_, but only
in the office called _Triumveri_) governed the _Romane_ Empire, there
dwelt in _Rome_ a Gentleman, named _Publius Quintus Fulvius_, a man
of singular understanding, who having one son, called _Titus Quintus
Fulvius_, of towardly yeares and apprehension, sent him to _Athens_ to
learne Philosophy; but with letters of familiar commendations, to a
Noble _Athenian_ Gentleman, named _Chremes_, being his ancient friend,
of long acquaintance. This Gentleman lodged _Titus_ in his owne House,
as companion to his son, named _Gisippus_, both of them studying
together, under the tutoring of a Philosopher, called _Aristippus_.
These two yong Gentlemen living thus in one Citty, House, and Schoole,
it bred betweene them such a brother-hoode and amity, as they could
not be severed from one another; but only by the accident of death;
nor could either of them enjoy any content, but when they were both
together in company.
Being each of them endued with gentle spirits, and having begun their
studies together: they arose (by degrees) to the glorious height of
Philosophy, to their much admired fame and commendation. In this manner
they lived, to the no meane comfort of _Chremes_, hardly distinguishing
the one from the other for his Son, & thus the Scholars continued
the space of three yeares. At the ending whereof (as it hapneth in al
things else) _Chremes_ died, whereat both the young Gentlemen conceived
such hearty griefe, as if he had bin their common father; nor could
the kinred of _Chremes_ discerne, which of the two had most need of
comfort, the losse touched them so equally.
It chanced within some few months after, that the kinred of _Gisippus_
came to see him, and (before _Titus_) avised him to marriage, and with
a yong Gentlewoman of singular beauty, derived from a most noble house
in _Athens_, and she named _Sophronia_, aged about fifteen years. This
mariage drawing neere, _Gisippus_ on a day, intreated _Titus_ to walk
along with him thither, because (as yet) he had not seene her. Comming
to the house, and she sitting in the midst betweene them, _Titus_
making himselfe a considerator of beauty, & especially on his friends
behalfe; began to observe her very judicially, & every part of her
seemed so pleasing in his eie, that giving them al a privat praise, yet
answerable to their due deserving; he becam so enflamed with affection
to her, as never any lover could bee more violentlie surprized, so
sodainly doth beauty beguile our best senses.
After they had sate an indifferent while with her, they returned home
to their lodging, where _Titus_ being alone in his chamber, began to
bethink himselfe on her, whose perfections had so powerfully pleased
him: and the more he entred into this consideration, the fiercer
he felt his desires enflamed, which being unable to quench, by any
reasonable perswasions, after hee had vented foorth infinite sighes,
thus he questioned with himselfe.
Most unhappie _Titus_ as thou art, whether doost thou transport thine
understanding, love, and hope? Dooest thou not know as well by the
honourable favours, which thou hast received of _Chremes_ and his
house, as also the intire amity betweene thee and _Gisippus_ (unto
whom faire _Sophronia_ is the affianced friend) that thou shouldst
holde her in the like reverent respect, as if shee were thy true borne
Sister? Darest thou presume to fancie her? Whether shall beguiling Love
allure thee, and vaine immaging hopes carrie thee? Open the eyes of thy
better understanding, and acknowledge thy selfe to bee a most miserable
man. Give way to reason, bridle thine intemperate appetites, reforme
all irregulare desires, and guide thy fancy to a place of better
direction. Resist thy wanton and lascivious will in the beginning, and
be master of thy selfe, while thou hast opportunity, for that which
thou aimest at, is neither reasonable nor honest. And if thou wert
assured to prevaile upon this pursuite, yet thou oughtst to avoide it,
if thou hast any regard of true friendship, and the duty therein justly
required. What wilt thou do then _Titus_? Fly from this inordinate
affection, if thou wilt be reputed to be a man of sensible judgement.
After he had thus discoursed with himselfe, remembring _Sophronia_,
and converting his former allegations, into a quite contrarie sense,
in utter detestation of them, and guided by his idle appetite, thus
he began againe. The lawes of love are of greater force, then any
other whatsoever, they not only breake the bands of friendship, but
even those also of more divine consequence. How many times hath it bin
noted, the father to affect his own daughter, the brother his sister,
and the stepmother her son in law, matters far more monstrous, then to
see one friend love the wife of another, a case happening continually?
Moreover, I am yong, and youth is wholly subjected to the passions of
Love: is it reasonable then, that those should be bard from me, which
are fitting and pleasing to Love? Honest things, belong to men of more
years and maturity, then I am troubled withall, and I can covet none,
but onely those wherein Love is directer. The beauty of _Sophronia_ is
worthy of generall love, and if I that am a yongman do love her, what
man living can justly reprove me for it? Shold not I love her, because
she is affianced to _Gisippus_? That is no matter to me, I ought to
love her, because she is a woman, and women were created for no other
occasion, but to bee Loved. Fortune had sinned in this case, and not
I, in directing my friends affection to her, rather then any other; and
if she ought to be loved, as her perfections do challenge, _Gisippus_
understanding that I affect her, may be the better contented that it is
I, rather then any other.
With these, and the like crosse entercourses, he often mockt himselfe,
falling into the contrary, and then to this againe, and from the
contrary, into another kind of alteration, wasting and consuming
himselfe, not only this day and the night following, but many more
afterward, till he lost both his feeding & sleepe, so that through
debility of body, he was constrained to keepe his bed. _Gisippus_, who
had divers dayes noted his melancholly disposition, and now his falling
into extreamitie of sicknesse, was very sorry to behold it: and with
all meanes and inventions he could devise to use, hee both questioned
the cause of this straunge alteration, and essayed everie way, how
hee might best comfort him, never ceassing to demaunde a reason, why
he should become thus sad and sickely. But _Titus_ after infinite
importuning, which still he answered with idle and frivolous excuses,
farre from the truth indeede, and (to the no meane affliction of his
friend) when he was able to use no more contradictions; at length, in
sighes and teares, thus he replyed.
_Gisippus_, were the Gods so wel pleased, I could more gladly yeild to
dye, then continue any longer in this wretched life, considering, that
Fortune hath brought mee to such an extremity, as proofe is now to be
made of my constancie and vertue; both which I finde conquered in me,
to my eternall confusion and shame. But my best hope is, that I shall
shortly be requited, as I have in justice deserved, namely with death,
which will be a thousand times more welcome to me, then a loathed life,
with remembrance of my base dejection in courage, which because I can
no longer conceale from thee; not without blushing shame, I am well
contented for to let thee know it.
Then began hee to recount, the whole occasion of this straunge conflict
in him, what a maine battaile hee had with his private thoughts,
confessing that they got the victory, causing him to die hourely
for the love of _Sophronia_, and affirming withall, that in due
acknowledgement, how greatly hee had transgressed against the lawes of
friendship, he thought no other penance sufficient for him, but onely
death, which he willingly expected every houre, and with all his heart
would gladly bid welcome.
_Gisippus_ hearing this discourse, and seeing how _Titus_ bitterly
wept, in agonies of most moving afflictions: sat an indifferent while
sad and pensive, as being wounded with affection to _Sophronia_, but
yet in a well-governed and temperate manner. So, without any long
delaying, hee concluded with himselfe; that the life of his friend
ought to be accounted much more deare, then any love hee could beare
unto _Sophronia_: And in this resolution, the teares of _Titus_ forcing
his eyes to flow forth like two Fountaines, thus he replyed.
_Titus_, if thou hadst not neede of comfort, as plainly I see thou
hast, I would justly complaine of thee to my selfe, as of the man who
hath violated our friendship, in keeping thine extreamitie so long
time concealed from mee, which hath beene over-tedious for thee to
endure. And although it might seeme to thee a dishonest case, and
therefore kept from the knowledge of thy friend, yet I plainly tell
thee, that dishonest courses (in the league of amitie) deserve no more
concealment, then those of the honestest nature. But leaving these
impertinent wandrings, let us come to them of much greater necessitie.
If thou doest earnestly love faire _Sophronia_, who is betroathed
and affianced to me, it is no matter for me to marvaile at: but I
should rather be much abashed, if thou couldst not intyrely affect
her, knowing how beautifull she is, and the nobility of her minde,
being as able to sustaine passion, as the thing pleasing is fullest
of excellence. And looke how reasonably thou fanciest _Sophronia_, as
unjustly thou complainest of thy fortune, in ordaining her to be my
wife, although thou doest not speake it expresly: as being of opinion,
that thou mightest with more honesty love her, if she were any others,
then mine. But if thou art so wise, as I have alwayes held thee to be,
tell me truely upon thy faith, to whom could Fortune better guide her,
and for which thou oughtest to be more thankfull, then in bestowing her
on me? Any other that had enjoyed her, although thy love were never
so honest, yet he would better affect her himselfe, then for thee,
which thou canst not (in like manner) looke for from me, if thou doest
account me for thy friend, and as constant now as ever.
Reason is my warrant in this case, because I cannot remember, since
first our entrance into friendship, that ever I enjoyed any thing,
but it was as much thine, as mine. And if our affaires had such an
equall course before, as otherwise they could not subsist; must they
not now be kept in the same manner? Can any thing more perticularly
appertaine to me, but thy right therein is as absolute as mine? I
know not how thou maist esteeme of my friendship, if in any thing
concerning my selfe, I can plead my priviledge to be above thine. True
it is, that _Sophronia_ is affianced to me, and I love her dearely,
daily expecting when our nuptials shall be celebrated. But seeing thou
doest more fervently affect her, as being better able to judge of the
perfections, remaining in so excellent a creature as she is, then I
doe: assure thy selfe, and beleeve it constantly, that she shall come
to my bed, not as my wife, but onely thine. And therefore leave these
despairing thoughts, shake off this cloudy disposition, reassume thy
former Joviall spirit, with comfort and what else can content thee: in
expectation of the happy houre, and the just requitall of thy long,
loving, and worthy friendship, which I have alwayes valued equall with
mine owne life.
_Titus_ hearing this answer of _Gisippus_, looke how much the sweet
hope of that which he desired gave him pleasure, as much both duty
and reason affronted him with shame; setting before his eyes this du
consideration, that the greater the liberality of _Gisippus_ was, farre
greater and unreasonable it appeared to him in disgrace, if hee should
unmannerly accept it. Wherefore, being unable to refrain from teares,
and with such strength as his weaknesse would give leave, thus he
replyed.
_Gisippus_, thy bounty and firme friendship suffereth me to see
apparantly, what (on my part) is no more then ought to be done. All
the Gods forbid, that I should receive as mine, her whom they have
adjudged to be thine, by true respect of birth and desert. For if they
had thought her a wife fit for me, doe not thou or any else imagine,
that ever she should have beene granted to thee. Use freely therefore
thine owne election, and the gracious favour wherewith they have
blessed thee: leave me to consume away in teares, a mourning garment
by them appointed for me, as being a man unworthy of such happinesse;
for either I shall conquer this disaster, and that will be my crowne, or
else will vanquish me, and free me from all paine: whereto _Gisippus_
presently thus answered.
Worthy _Titus_, if our amity would give me so much licence, as but to
contend with my selfe, in pleasing thee with such a thing as I desire,
and could also induce thee therein to be directed: it is the onely end
whereat I aime, and am resolved to pursue it. In which regard, let my
perswasions prevaile with thee, and thereto I conjure thee, by the
faith of a friend, suffer me to use mine authority, when it extendeth
both to mine owne honour, and thy good, for I will have _Sophronia_
to bee onely thine. I know sufficiently, how farre the forces of love
doe extend in power, and am not ignorant also, how not once or twice,
but very many times, they have brought lovers to unfortunate ends,
as now I see thee very neere it, and so farre gone, as thou art not
able to turne backe againe, nor yet to conquer thine owne teares, but
proceeding on further in this extremity, thou wilt be left vanquished,
sinking under the burthen of loves tyrannicall oppression, and then my
turne is next to follow thee. And therefore, had I no other reason to
love thee, yet because thy life is deare to me, in regard of mine owne
depending thereon; I stand the neerer thereto obliged. For this cause,
_Sophronia_ must and shall be thine, for thou canst not find any other
so conforme to thy fancy: albeit I who can easily convert my liking to
another wife, but never to have the like friend againe, shall hereby
content both thee, and my selfe.
Yet perhaps this is not a matter so easily done, or I to expresse
such liberality therein, if wives were to be found with the like
difficultie, as true and faithfull friends are: but, (being able to
recover another wife) though never such a worthy friend; I rather
chuse to change, I doe not say loose her (for in giving her to thee, I
loose her not my selfe) and by this change, make that which was good
before, tenne times better, and so preserve both thee and my selfe. To
this end therefore, if my prayers and perswasions have any power with
thee, I earnestly entreat thee, that, by freeing thy selfe out of this
affliction, thou wilt (in one instant) make us both truely comforted,
and dispose thy selfe (living in hope) to embrace that happinesse,
which the fervent love thou bearest to _Sophronia_, hath justly
deserved.
Now although _Titus_ was confounded with shame, to yeeld consent, that
_Sophronia_ should be accepted as his wife, and used many obstinate
resistances: yet notwithstanding, Love pleading on the one side
powerfully, and _Gisippus_ as earnestly perswading on the other,
thus he answered. _Gisippus_, I know not what to say, neither how
to behave my selfe in this election, concerning the fitting of mine
contentment, or pleasing thee in thy importunate perswasion. But seeing
thy liberality is so great, as it surmounteth all reason or shame in
me, I will yeeld obedience to thy more then noble nature. Yet let this
remaine for thine assurance, that I doe not receive this grace of
thine, as a man not sufficiently understanding, how I enjoy from thee,
not onely her whom most of all I doe affect, but also doe hold my very
life of thee. Grant then you greatest Gods (if you be the Patrones of
this mine unexpected felicitie) that with honor and due respect, I may
hereafter make apparantly knowne: how highly I acknowledge this thy
wonderfull favour, in being more mercifull to me, then I could be to my
selfe.
For abridging of all further circumstances, answered _Gisippus_, and
for easier bringing this matter to full effect, I hold this to be
our onely way. It is not unknowne to thee, how after much discourse
had between my kindred, and those belonging to _Sophronia_, the
matrimoniall conjunction was fully agreed on, and therefore, if now
I shall flye off, and say, I will not accept thee as my wife: great
scandall would arise thereby, and make much trouble among our friends,
which could not be greatly displeasing to me, if that were the way to
make her thine. But I rather stand in feare, that if I forsake her in
such peremptory sort, her kinred and friends will bestow her on some
other, and so she is utterly lost, without all possible meanes of
recovery. For prevention therefore of all sinister accidents, I thinke
it best, (if thy opinion jumpe with mine) that I still pursue the
busines, as already I have begun, having thee alwaies in my company,
as my dearest friend and onely associate. The nuptials being performed
with our friends, in secret manner at night (as we can cunningly enough
contrive it) thou shalt have her maiden honour in bed, even as if
she were thine owne wife. Afterward, in apt time and place, we will
publiquely make knowne what is done; if they take it well, we will be
as jocond as they: if they frowne and waxe offended, the deed is done,
over-late to be recalled, and so perforce they must rest contented.
You may well imagine, this advise was not a little pleasing to _Titus_,
whereupon _Gisippus_ received home _Sophronia_ into his house, with
publike intention to make her his wife, according as was the custome
then observed, and _Titus_ being perfectly recovered, was present at
the Feast very ceremonially observed. When night was come, the Ladies
and Gentlewomen conducted _Sophronia_ to the Bride-Chamber, where they
left her in her Husbands bed, and then departed all away. The Chamber
wherein _Titus_ used to lodge, joyned close to that of _Gisippus_, for
their easier accesse each to the other, at all times whensoever they
pleased, and _Gisippus_ being alone in the Bride-Chamber, preparing as
if he were comming to bed: extinguishing the light, he went softly to
_Titus_, willing him to goe to bed to his wife. Which _Titus_ hearing,
overcome with shame and feare, became repentant, and denyed to goe. But
_Gisippus_, being a true intyre friend indeed, and confirming his words
with actions: after a little lingring dispute, sent him to the Bride,
and so soone as he was in the bed with her, taking _Sophronia_ gently
by the hand, softly he moved the usuall question to her, namely, if she
were willing to be his wife.
She beleeving verily that he was _Gisippus_, modestly answered. Sir, I
have chosen you to be my Husband, reason requires then, that I should
be willing to be your Wife. At which words, a costly Ring, which
_Gisippus_ used daily to weare, he put upon her finger, saying. With
this Ring, I confesse my selfe to be your Husband, and bind you (for
ever) my Spouse and Wife; no other kind of marriage was observed in
those dayes; and so he continued all the night with her, she never
suspecting him to be any other then _Gisippus_, and thus was the
marriage consumated, betweene _Titus_ and _Sophronia_, albeit the
friends (on either side) thought otherwise.
By this time, _Publius_, the father of _Titus_, was departed out of
this mortall life, & letters came to _Athens_, that with all speed he
should returne to _Rome_, to take order for occasions there concerning
him, wherefore he concluded with _Gisippus_ about his departure, and
taking _Sophronia_ thither with him, which was no easie matter to be
done, until it were first known, how occasions had bin caried among
them. Whereupon, calling her one day into her Chamber, they told her
entirely, how all had past, which _Titus_ confirmed substantially, by
such direct passages betweene themselves, as exceeded all possibility
of denyall, and moved in her much admiration; looking each on other
very discontentedly, she heavily weeping and lamenting, & greatly
complaining of _Gisippus_, for wronging her so unkindly.
But before any further noyse was made in the house, shee went to
her Father, to whom, as also to her Mother, shee declared the whole
trecherie, how much both they and their other friends were wronged by
_Gisippus_, avouching her selfe to be the wife of _Titus_, and not
of _Gisippus_, as they supposed. These newes were highly displeasing
to the Father of _Sophronia_, who with hir kinred, as also those
of _Gisippus_, made great complaints to the Senate, very dangerous
troubles and commotions arising daily betweene them, drawing both
_Gisippus_ and _Sophronia_ into harsh reports; he being generally
reputed, not onely worthy of all bitter reproofe, but also the severest
punishment. Neverthelesse, hee maintained publikely what he had
done, avouching it for an act both of honour and honestie, wherewith
_Sophronia's_ friends had no reason to bee offended, but rather to take
it in very thankfull part, having married a man of farre greater worth
and respect, than himselfe was, or could be.
On the other side, _Titus_ hearing these uncivill acclamations, became
much moved and provoked at them, but knowing it was a custome observed
among the _Greekes_, to be so much the more hurried away with rumours
and threatnings, as lesse they finde them to be answered, and when they
finde them, shew themselves not onely humble enough, but rather as base
men, and of no courage; he resolved with himselfe, that their braveries
were no longer to be endured, without some some bold and manly
answere. And having a Romane heart, as also an Athenian understanding,
by politique perswasions, he caused the kinred of _Gisippus_ and
_Sophronia_, to be assembled in a Temple, and himselfe comming thither,
accompanied with none but _Gisippus_ onely, he began to deliver his
minde before them all, in this manner following.
The Oration uttered by _Titus Quintus Fulvius_, in the hearing of the
Athenians, being the kinred and friends to _Gisippus_ and _Sophronia_.
_Many Philosophers doe hold opinion, that the actions performed by
mortall men, doe proceed from the disposing and ordination of the
immortall gods. Whereupon some doe maintaine, that things which be
done, or never are to be done, proceed of necessity: howbeit some
other doe hold, that this necessity is onely referred to things done.
Both which opinions (if they be considered with mature judgment) doe
most manifestly approve, that they who reprehend any thing which is
irrevocable, doe nothing else but shew themselves, as if they were
wiser then the Gods, who we are to beleeve, that with perpetuall
reason, and void of any error, doe dispose and governe both us, and
all our actions; In which respect, how foolish and beast-like a thing
it is, presumptuously to checke or controule their operations, you may
very easily consider; and likewise, how justly they deserve condigne
punishment, who suffer themselves to be transported in so temerarious
a manner._
_In which notorious transgression, I understand you all to be guiltie,
if common fame speake truely, concerning the marriage of my selfe
and_ Sophronia, _whom you imagined as given to_ Gisippus; _for you
never remember that it was so ordained from eternitie, shee to be
mine, and no Wife for_ Gisippus, _as at this instant is made manifest
by full effect. But because the kinde of speaking, concerning divine
providence, and intention of the Gods, may seeme a difficult matter
to many, and somewhat hard to bee understood: I am content to
presuppose, that they meddle not with any thing of ours, and will
onely stay my selfe on humane reasons, and in this nature of speech,
I shall be enforced to doe two things, quite contrary to my naturall
disposition. The one is, to speake somewhat in praise and commendation
of my selfe: And the other, justly to blame and condemne other mens
seeming estimation. But because both in the one and the other, I doe
not intend to swerve a jot from the Truth, and the necessitie of the
present case in question, doth not onely require, but also command it,
you must pardon what I am to say._
_Your complaints doe proceed, rather from furie then reason, and (with
continuall murmurings, or rather seditious) slander, backe-bite
and condemne_ Gisippus, _because (of his owne free will and noble
disposition) hee gave her to be my Wife, whom (by your election) was
made his; wherein I account him most highly praise-worthy: and the
reasons inducing mee thereunto, are these. The first, because he hath
performed no more then what a friend ought to doe: And the second, in
regard he hath dealt more wisely, then you did. I have no intention,
to display (at this present) what the sacred law of amitie requireth,
to be acted by one friend towards another, it shall suffice mee onely
to informe you, that the league of friendship (farre stronger then the
bond of bloud and kinred) confirmed us in our election of either at
the first, to be true, loyall and perpetuall friends; whereas that of
kinred, commeth onely by fortune or chance. And therefore if_ Gisippus
_affected more my life, then your benevolence, I being ordained for
his friend, as I confesse my selfe to be; none of you ought to wonder
thereat, in regard it is no matter of mervaile._
_But let us come now to our second reason, wherein, with farre greater
instance I will shew you, that he hath (in this occasion) shewen
himselfe to be much more wise, then you did, or have done: because
it plainely appeareth, that you have no feeling of the divine
providence, and much lesse knowledge in the effects of friendship. I
say, that your foresight, councell and deliberation, gave_ Sophronia
_to_ Gisippus, _a yong Gentleman, and a Philosopher:_ Gisippus
_likewise hath given her to a yong Gentleman, and a Philosopher, as
himselfe is. Your discretion gave her to an Athenian; the gift of_
Gisippus_, is to a Romaine. Yours, to a Noble and honest man; that
of_ Gisippus, _to one more Noble by race, and no lesse honest then
himselfe. Your judgement hath bestowed her on a rich young man:_
Gisippus _hath given her to one farre richer. Your wisedome gave her
to one who not onely loved her not, but also one that had no desire to
know her:_ Gisippus _gave her unto him, who, above all felicitie else,
yea, more than his owne life, both entirely loved and desired her._
_Now, for proofe of that which I have said, to be most true and
infallible, and that his deede deserveth to bee much more commended
then yours, let it bee duely considered on, point by point. That I
am a young man and a Philosopher, as_ Gisippus _is; my yeares, face,
and studies, without seeking after further proofe, doth sufficiently
testifie: One selfe-same age is both his and mine, in like quality of
course have wee lived and studied together. True it is, that hee is
an Athenian, and I am a Romaine. But if the glory of these two Cities
should bee disputed on: then let mee tell you, that I am of a Citie
that is Francke and Free, and hee is of a Tributarie Citie. I say,
that I am of a Citie, which is chiefe Lady and Mistresse of the whole
World, and hee is of a Citie subject to mine. I say that I am of a
Citie, that is strong in Arms, Empire, and studies: whereas his can
commend it selfe but for Studies onely. And although you see me heere
to bee a Scholler, in appearance meane enough, yet I am not descended
of the simplest stocke in Rome._
_My houses and publique places, are filled with the ancient Statues of
my Predecessors, and the Annales recorde the infinite triumphs of the
Quintii, brought home by them into the Romane Capitole, and yeares
cannot eate out the glory of our name, but it will live and flourish
to all posteritie._
_Modest shame makes me silent in my wealth and possessions, my minde
truely telling mee, that honest contented povertie, is the most
ancient and richest inheritance, of our best and Noblest Romanes,
which opinion, if it bee condemned by the understanding of the
ignorant multitude, and heerein wee shall give way to them by
preferring riches and worldly treasures, then I can say that I am
aboundantly provided, not as ambitious, or greedily covetous, but
sufficiently stored with the goods of Fortune._
_I know well enough, that you held it as a desired benefit,_ Gisippus
_being a Native of your Citie, should also be linked to you by
alliance: but I know no reason, why I should not be as neere and deere
to you at Rome, as if I lived with you heere. Considering, when I am
there, you have a ready and well wishing friend, to stead you in all
beneficiall and serviceable offices, as carefull and provident for
your support, yea, a protectour of you and your affaires, as well
publique as particular. Who is it then, not transported with partiall
affection, that can (in reason) more approve your act, then that
which my friend_ Gisippus _hath done? Questionlesse, not any one, as
I thinke._ Sophronia _is married to_ Titus Quintus Fulvius, _a Noble
Gentleman by antiquitie, a rich Citizen of Rome, and (which is above
all) the friend of_ Gisippus: _therefore, such a one as thinkes it
strange, is sorrie for it, or would not have it to be; knoweth not
what he doth._
_Perhaps there may be some, who will say, they doe not so much
complain, that_ Sophronia _is the wife to_ Titus; _but of the manner
whereby it was done, as being made his wife secretly, and by theft,
not any of her parents, kinred or friends called thereto: no, nor
so much as advertised thereof. Why Gentlemen, this is no miraculous
thing, but heeretofore hath oftentimes happened, and therefore no
noveltie._
_I cannot count unto you, how many there have beene, who (against the
will of their Fathers) have made choice of their husbands; nor them
that have fled away with their lovers into strange Countries, being
first friends, before they were wives: nor of them who have sooner
made testimonie of marriage by their bellies, then those ceremonies
due to matrimonie, or publication thereof by the tongue; so that meere
necessity & constraint, hath forced the parents to yeeld consent:
which hath not so happened to_ Sophronia, _for she was given to me by_
Gisippus _discreetly, honestly, and orderly._
_Others also may say, that shee is married to him, to whom it belonged
not to marrie her. These complaints are foolish, and womanish,
proceeding from verie little, or no consideration at all. In these
daies of ours, Fortune makes no use of novell or inconsiderate meanes,
whereby to bring matters to their determined effect. Why should it
offend me, if a Cobler, rather than a Scholler, hath ended a businesse
of mine, either in private or publique, if the end be well made? Well
I may take order, if the Cobler bee indiscreet, that hee meddle no
more with any matters of mine, yet I ought, in courtesie, to thanke
him for that which hee did._
_In like manner, if_ Gisippus _hath married_ Sophronia _well, it is
foolish and superfluous, to finde fault with the manner hee used in
her marriage. If you mislike his course in the case, beware of him
hereafter, yet thanke him because it is no worse._
_Neverthelesse, you are to understand, that I sought not by fraud or
deceit, (but onely by witte) any opportunitie, whereby any way to
sullie the honestie and cleere Nobilitie of your bloud, in the person
of_ Sophronia: _for although in secret I made her my wife, yet I came
not as an enemie, to take her perforce, nor (like a ravisher) wronged
her virginitie, to blemish your noble titles, or despising your
alliance. But fervently, enflamed by her bright beauty, and incited
also by her unparalleld vertues, I shaped my course; knowing well
enough, that if I tooke the ordinarie way of wiving, by moving the
question to you, I should never winne your consent, as fearing, lest I
would take her with me to Rome, and so conveigh out of your sight, a
Jewell by you so much esteemed, as she is._
_For this, and no other reason, did I presume to use the secret cunning
which now is openly made knowne unto you: and_ Gisippus _disposed
himselfe thereunto, which otherwise hee never determined to have done,
in contracting the marriage for mee, and shee consenting to me in his
name._
_Moreover, albeit most earnestly I affected her, I sought to procure
your union, not like a lover, but as a true husband, nor would I
immodestly touch her, till first (as herselfe can testifie) with the
words becomming wedlocke, and the Ring also I espoused her, demanding
of her, if shee would accept mee as her husband, and shee answered
mee, with her full consent. Wherein, if it may seeme that shee was
deceived, I am not any way to be blamed, but she, for not demanding,
what, and who I was._
_This then is the great evill, the great offence, and the great injurie
committed by my friend_ Gisippus, _and by mee as a Lover: that_
Sophronia _is secretly become the wife of_ Titus Quintus Fulvius. _And
for this cause, like spies you watch him, threaten him daily, as if
you intended to teare him in pieces. What could you doe more, if hee
had given her to a man of the very vilest condition? to a villaine, to
a slave? What prisons? what fetters? Or what torments are sufficient
for this fact? But leaving these frivolous matters, let us come to
discourse of more moment, and better beseeming your attention._
_The time is come, that I may no longer continue heere, because_
Publius _my Father is dead, and I must needs returne to Rome,
wherefore being minded to take_ Sophronia _thither with mee, I was
the more willing to acquaint you therewith, as also what else I have
said, which otherwise had still beene concealed from you. Nor can you
but take it in good part, if you be wise, and rest well contented with
what is done: considering, if I had any intention eyther to deceive,
or otherwise wrong you; I could have basely left her, and made a
scorne both of her and you, you not having any power to stay mee
heere. But the Gods will never permitte that any couragious Romane,
should ever conceive so vile and degenerate a thought._
Sophronia, _by ordination of the Gods, by force of humane Lawes, and
by the laudable consent of my friend_ Gisippus, _as also the powerfull
command of Love is mine. But you perchance, imagining your selves to
be wiser then the Gods, or any other men whatsoever; may thinke ill
of it, and more brutishly then beasts, condemne their working in two
kinds, which would be offensive to mee. The one is your detaining of_
Sophronia _from mee, of whom you have no power, but what pleaseth
mee. The other, is your bitter threatnings against_ Gisippus _my
deare friend, to whom you are in duty obliged. In both which cases,
how unreasonablie soever you carrie your selves, I intend not at this
time to presse any further. But rather let mee counsell you like a
friend, to cease your hatred and disdaine, and suffer_ Sophronia _to
be delivered mee, that I may depart contentedly from you as a kinsman,
and (being absent) remaine your friend: assuring you, that whether
what is done shall please or displease you, if you purpose to proceed
any otherwise: I will take_ Gisippus _along with mee, and when I come
to Rome, take such sure order, to fetch her hence, who in Justice is
mine, even in meere despight of you all, and then you shall feele by
sound experience, how powerfull is the just indignation of the wronged
Romanes._
* * * * *
When Titus had thus concluded his Oration, he arose with a sterne and
discontented countenance, and tooke _Gisippus_ by the hand, plainly
declaring, that he made small account of all the rest that were in the
Temple; and shaking his head at them, rather menaced then any other
wise seemed to care for them.
They which tarried, when they were gone, considering partly on the
reasons alleadged by _Titus_, and partly terrified by his latest
speeches; became induced, to like well of his alliance and amitie, as
(with common consent) they concluded: that it was much better to accept
_Titus_ as their kinsman (seeing _Gisippus_ had made manifest refusall
thereof) than to lose the kinred of the one, and procure the hatred of
the other. Wherefore they went to seeke _Titus_, and said unto him,
they were very well contented that _Sophronia_ should bee his Wife, hee
their deare and loving kinsman, and _Gisippus_ to remaine their much
respected friend. And embracing one another, making a solemne feast,
such as in the like cases is necessarilie required, they departed from
him, presently sending _Sophronia_ to him, who making a vertue of
necessity, converted her love (in short time after) to _Titus_, in as
effectuall manner, as formerly shee had done to _Gisippus_, and so was
sent away with him to Rome, where she was received and welcommed with
very great honour.