_Gisippus_ remaining still at _Athens_, in small regard of eyther

theirs or his owne friends: not long after by meanes of sundry

troublesome Citizens; and partialities happening among the common

people, was banished from _Athens_, and hee, as also all his familie,

condemned to perpetuall exile: during which tempestuous time,

_Gisippus_ was become not onely wretchedly poore, but wandred abroad as

a common begger; in which miserable condition he travelled to _Rome_,

to try if _Titus_ would take any acknowledgement of him. Understanding

that he was living, and one most respected among the Romanes, as being

a great Commander and a Senator: he enquired for the place where hee

dwelt, and going to be neere about his house, stayed there so long,

till _Titus_ came home, yet not daring to manifest himselfe, or speake

a word to him, in regard of his poore and miserable estate, but strove

to have him see him, to the end, that hee might acknowledge and call

him by his name; notwithstanding, _Titus_ passed by him without either

speech, or looking on him. Which when _Gisippus_ perceived, and making

full account, that (at the least) he would remember him, in regard of

former courtesies, done to him: confounded with griefe and desperate

thoughts, hee departed thence, never meaning to see him any more.

Now, in regard it was night, he having eaten nothing all that day, nor

provided of one penny to buy him any food, wandred he knew not whether,

desiring rather to die than live; hee came at last to an old ruinous

part of the City, over-spred with briers and bushes, and seldome

resorted unto by any: where finding a hollow Cave or vault, he entred

into it, meaning there to weare away the comfortlesse night, and laying

himselfe downe on the hard ground, almost starke naked, and without

any warme garments, over-wearied with weeping, at last he fell into a

sleepe.

It fortuned that two men, who had beene abroad the same night,

committing thefts and robberies together; somwhat very earlie in the

morning, came to the same Cave, intending there to share and divide

their booties, and difference happening betweene them about it, hee

that was the stronger person, slew there the other, and then went away

with the whole purchase.

_Gisippus_ having heard and seene the manner of this accident, was not

a little joyfull, because he had now found a way to death, without

laying any violent hand on himselfe; for life being very loathsome to

him, it was his only desire to die. Wherefore, he would not budge from

the place, but taried there so long, till the Sergeants and Officers

of Justice (by information of him that did the deede) came thither well

attended, and furiously ledde _Gisippus_ thence to prison.

Being examined concerning this bloudy fact, he plainly confessed, that

hee himselfe had committed the murder, and afterward would not depart

from the Cave, but purposely stayed for apprehension, as being truely

toucht with compunction for so foule an offence: upon which peremptorie

confession, _Marcus Varro_ being then _Prætor_, gave sentence that

he should be crucified on a Crosse, as it was the usuall manner of

death in those dayes. _Titus_ chancing to come at the same time into

_Prætorium_, advisedly beholding the face of the condemned man (as hee

sate upon the bench) knew him to bee _Gisippus_, not a little wondring

at this strange accident, the povertie of his estate, and what occasion

should bring him thither, especially in the questioning for his life,

and before the Tribunall of Justice.

His soule earnestly thirsting, by all possible meanes to helpe and

defend him, and no other course could now be taken for safetie of his

life, but by accusing himselfe, to excuse and cleare the other of the

crime: hee stept from off the judgement bench, and crouding through

the throng to the Barre, called out to the _Prætor_ in this manner.

_Marcus Varro_, recall thy sentence given on the condemned man sent

away, because hee is truely guiltlesse and innocent: With one bloudie

blow have I offended the Gods, by killing that wretched man, whom the

Serjeants found this morning slaine, wherefore Noble _Prætor_, let no

innocent mans bloud be shed for it, but onely mine that have offended.

_Marcus Varro_ stood like a man confounded with admiration, being

very sorrie, for that which the whole assistants had both seene and

heard, yet hee could not (with honour) desist from what must needs be

done, but would performe the Lawes severe injunction. And sending for

condemned _Gisippus_ backe againe, in the presence of _Titus_, thus

he spake to him. How becamest thou so madly incensed, as (without

any torment inflicted on thee) to confesse an offence by thee never

committed? Art thou wearie of thy life? Thou chargest thy selfe falsly,

to be the person who this last night murdered the man in the Cave, and

there is another that voluntarily also doth confesse his guiltinesse.

_Gisippus_ lifting up his eyes, and perceiving it was _Titus_,

conceived immediately, that he had done this onely for his deliverance,

as one that remembred him sufficiently, and would not be ungratefull

for former kindnesses received. Wherefore, the teares flowing

abundantly down his cheekes, he said to the Judge _Varro_, it was

none but I that murdered the man, wherefore, I commiserate the case of

this Noble Gentleman _Titus_, who speakes now too late for the safety

of my life. _Titus_ on the other side, said. Noble Prætor, this man

(as thou seest) is a stranger heere, and was found without any weapon,

fast asleepe by the dead body: thou mayst then easily perceive, that

meerely the miserable condition wherein he is, hath made him desperate,

and he would make mine offence the occasion of his death. Absolve him,

and send me to the Crosse, for none but I have deserved to die for this

fact.

_Varro_ was amazed, to observe with what earnest instance each of them

strove to excuse the other, which halfe perswaded him in his soule,

that they were both guiltlesse. And as he was starting up, with full

intent to acquaint them: a yong man, who had stood there all this

while, and observed the hard pleading on either side; he crowded into

the Barre, being named _Publius Ambustus_, a fellow of lewd life, and

utterly out of hopes, as being debauched in all his fortunes, and

knowne among the _Romaines_ to be a notorious theefe, who verily had

committed the murder. Well knew his conscience, that none of them were

guilty of the crime, wherewith each so wilfully charged himselfe: being

therefore truely toucht with remorse, he stept before _Marcus Varro_,

saying.

Honourable Prætor, mine owne horrid and abominable actions, have

induced me thus to intrude my selfe, for clearing the strict contention

betweene these two persons. And questionlesse, some God or greater

power, hath tormented my wretched soule, and so compunctually solicited

me, as I cannot chuse, but make open confession of my sinne. Here

therefore, I doe apparantly publish, that neither of these men is

guilty of the offence, wherewith so wilfully each chargeth himselfe. I

am the villaine, who this morning murdered the man in the Cave, one of

no greater honesty then my selfe, and seeing this poore man lie there

sleeping, while we were dividing the stolne booties betweene us; I slew

my Companyon, because I would be the sole possessor. As for Noble Lord

_Titus_, he had no reason thus to accuse himselfe, because is a man of

no such base quality: let them both then be delivered, and inflict the

sentence of death on me.

_Octavius Cæsar_, to whom tydings was brought of this rare accident,

commanding them al three to be brought before him; would needs

understand the whole History, in every particular as all had happened,

which was substantially related to him. Whereupon, _Octavius_ pleased

them all three: the two noble friendes, because they were innocent, and

the third, for openly revealing the very truth.

_Titus_ tooke home with him his friend _Gisippus_, and after he

had sharpely reproved him for his distrust, and cold credence of

his friendship: he brought him to _Sophronia_, who welcomed him as

lovingly, as if he had bin her naturall borne brother, bemoaning his

hard and disastrous fortune, and taking especiall care, to convert all

passed distresses, into as happy and comfortable a change, fitting him

with garments and attendants, beseeming his degree both in Nobility

and vertue. _Titus_, out of his honourable bounty, imparted halfe

his lands and rich possessions to him, and afterward gave him in

marriage, his owne Sister, a most beautifull Lady, named _Fulvia_,

saying to him beside. My deare friend _Gisippus_, it remaineth now in

thine owne election, whether thou wilt live here still with me, or

returne backe to _Athens_, with all the wealth which I have bestowed

on thee. But _Gisippus_, being one way constrayned, by the sentence

of banishment from his native City, & then againe, in regard of the

constant love, which he bare to so true and thankefull friend as

_Titus_ was: concluded to live there as a loyall _Roman_, where he with

his _Fulvia_, and _Titus_ with his faire _Sophronia_, lived long after

together in one and the same house, augmenting daily (if possible it

might be) their amity beyond all other equalizing.

A most sacred thing therefore is cordiall amity, worthy not onely of

singuler reverence, but also to be honoured with eternall commendation,

as being the onely wise Mother of all magnificence and honesty, the

Sister of Charity and Gratitude, the enemy to hatred and avarice, and

which is alwayes ready (without attending to be requested) to extend

all vertuous actions to others, which she would have done to her selfe.

Her rare and divine effects, in these contrary times of ours, are not

to be found between two such persons, which is a mighty fault, and

greatly checketh the miserable covetousnesse of men, who respecting

nothing but onely their particular benefit; have banished true Amity,

to the utmost confines of the whole earth, and sent her into perpetuall

exile.

What love, what wealth, or affinity of kindred, could have made

_Gisippus_ feele (even in the intyrest part of his soule) the fervent

compassion, the teares, the sighes of _Titus_, and with such efficacy

as plainely appeared: to make him consent, that his faire elected

Spouse, by him so dearely esteemed, should become the wife of his

Companion, but onely the precious league of Amity? What Lawes, what

threatnings, what feares, could cause the yong armes of _Gisippus_ to

abstaine embraces, betaking himselfe to solitary walkes, and obscure

places, when in his owne bedde, he might have enjoyed so matchlesse

a beauty (who perhaps desired it so much as himselfe) but onely the

gracious title of Amity? What greatnesse, what merits or precedence,

could cause _Gisippus_ not to care, for the losse of his kindred, those

of _Sophronia_, yea, of _Sophronia_ her selfe, not respecting the

dishonest murmurings of base minded people, their vile and contemptible

language, scornes and mockeries, and all to content and satisfie a

friend, but onely Divine Amity?

Come now likewise to the other side. What occasions could compell Noble

_Titus_, so promptly and deliberatly, to procure his owne death, to

rescue his friend from the crosse, and inflict the pain and shame upon

himselfe, pretending not see or know _Gisippus_ at all, had it not

bin wrought by powerfull Amity? What cause else could make _Titus_ so

liberall, in dividing (with such willingnesse) the larger part of his

patrimony to _Gisippus_, when Fortune had dispossest him of his owne,

but onely heaven-borne Amity? What else could have procured _Titus_

without any further dilation, feare or suspition, to give his Sister

_Fulvia_ in marriage to _Gisippus_, when he saw him reduced to such

extreame poverty, disgrace and misery, but onely infinite Amity? To

what end doe men care then, to covet and procure great multitudes of

kinred, store of brethren, numbers of children, and to encrease (with

their owne monyes) plenty of servants: when by the least losse and

dammage happening, they forget all duty to Father, Brother, or Master?

Amity and true friendship is of a quite contrary nature, satisfying (in

that sacred bond) the obligation due to all degrees, both of parentage,

and all alliences else.

Saladine, _the great_ Soldan _of_ Babylon, _in the habite of a

Merchant, was honourably received and welcommed, into the house of

Signior_ Thorello d'Istria. _Who travelling to the Holy Land, prefixed

a certaine time to his Wife, for his returne backe to her againe,

wherein, if he failed, it was lawfull for her to take another Husband.

By clouding himselfe in the disguise of a Faulkner, the_ Soldan _tooke

notice of him, and did him many great honours. Afterward,_ Thorello

_falling sicke, by Magicall Art, he was conveighed in one night to_

Pavia, _when his Wife was to be married on the morrow: where making

himselfe knowne to her, all was disappointed, and shee went home with

him to his owne house._

The Ninth Novell.

_Declaring what an honourable vertue Courtesie is, in them that truely

know how to use them._

Madam _Philomena_ having concluded her discourse, and the rare

acknowledgement, which _Titus_ made of his esteemed friend _Gisippus_,

extolled justly as it deserved by all the Company: the King, reserving

the last office to _Dioneus_ (as it was at the first granted him)

began to speake thus. Without all question to the contrary (worthy

Ladies) nothing can be more truely said, then what Madame _Philomena_,

hath delivered, concerning Amity, and her complaint in the conclusion

of her Novell, is not without great reason, to see it so slenderly

reverenced and respected (now-a-dayes) among all men. But if we had

met here in duty onely for correcting the abuses of iniquity, and the

malevolent courses of this preposterous age; I could proceed further

in this just cause of complaint. But because our end aimeth at matters

of other nature, it commeth to my memory to tel you of a History,

which (perhaps) may seeme somewhat long, but altogether pleasant,

concerning a magnificent act of great _Saladine_: to the end, that

by observing those things which you shall heare in my Novell, if we

cannot (by reason of our manifold imperfections) intirely compasse the

amity of any one; yet (at least) we may take delight, in stretching

our kindnesse (in good deeds) so farre as we are able, in hope one

day after, some worthy reward will ensue thereon, as thereto justly

appertaining.

Let me tell you then, that (as it is affirmed by many) in the time of

the Emperour Frederick, first of that name, the Christians, for the

better recovery of the holy land, resolved to make a generall voyage

over the Seas. Which being understood by _Saladine_, a very worthy

Prince, and then _Soldan_ of Babylon: he concluded with himselfe, that

he would (in person) goe see, what preparation the Christian Potentates

made for this Warre, that hee might the better provide for himselfe.

Having setled all things orderly in Ægypt for the busines, and making

an outward appearance, as if he purposed a pilgrimage to _Mecha_: he

set onward on his journey, habited like a Merchant, attended onely with

two of his most Noble and wisest Baschaes, and three waiting servants.

When he had visited many Christian Provinces, and was riding thorow

_Lombardie_, to passe the mountaines; it fortuned, in his journeying

from _Millaine_ to _Pavia_, and the day being very farre spent, so that

night hastened speedily on him: he met with a Gentleman, named Signior

_Thorello d'Istria_, but dwelling at _Pavia_, who with his men, Hawkes

and Hounds, went to a house of his, seated in a singular place, and

on the River of _Ticinum_. Signior _Thorello_ seeing such men making

towardes him, presently imagined, that they were some Gentle-strangers,

and such hee desired to respect with honor.

Wherefore, _Saladine_ demanding of one of _Thorelloes_ men, how farre

(as then) it was to _Pavia_, and whether they might reach thither by

such an houre, as would admit their entrance into the Citty: _Thorello_

would not suffer his servant to returne the answer, but replyed thus

himselfe. Sir (quoth he) you cannot reach _Pavia_, but night will

abridge you of any entraunce there. I beseech you then Sir, answered

_Saladine_, favour us so much (because we are all strangers in these

parts) as to tell us where we may be well lodged. That shall I Sir, said

_Thorello_, and very gladly too.

Even at the instant Sir, as we met with you, I had determined in my

mind, to send one of my servants somewhat neere to _Pavia_, about a

businesse concerning my selfe: he shall go along with you, and conduct

you to a place, where you will be very well entertayned. So, stepping

to him, who was of best discretion amongst his men, he gave order to

him what should bee done, and sent him with them. Himselfe, making hast

by a farre neerer way, caused Supper to be prepared in worthy manner,

and the Tables to be covered in his Garden; and all things being in

good readinesse, he sate downe at his doore, to attend the comming of

his guests. The Servingman, discoursing with the Gentlemen on divers

occasions, guided them by such unusuall passages, as (before they could

discerne it) he brought them to his Masters house; where so soone as

_Thorello_ saw them arrived, he went forth to meet them, assuring them

all of most hearty welcome.

_Saladine_, who was a man of accute understanding, did well perceive,

that this Knight _Thorello_ misdoubted his going with him, if (when he

met him) hee should have invited him; and therefore, because he would

not be denied, of entertaining him into his house; he made choise of

this kinde and honourable course, which caused him to returne this

answer. Gentle Sir, if courtesie in one man to another, do deserve

condemning, then may we justly complaine of you, who meeting us upon

the way, which you have shortened by your kindnesse; and which we are

no way able to deserve, wee are constrained to accept, taking you to

bee the mirrour of courtesie. _Thorello_ being a Knight of ingenious

apprehension, and wel languaged, replyed thus.

Gentlemen; this courtesie (seeing you terme it so) which you receive

of me, in regard of that justly belonging to you, as your faces do

sufficiently informe mee, is matter of very slender account. But

assuredly out of _Pavia_, you could not have any lodging, deserving

to be termed good. And therefore, let it not bee displeasing to you,

if you have a little gone forth of the common rode way, to have your

entertainment somewhat bettered, as many travaylers are easily induced

to do.

Having thus spoken, all the people of the house shewed themselves,

in serviceable manner to the Gentlemen, taking their horses as they

dismounted, and _Thorello_ himselfe, conducted the three Gentlemen,

into three severall faire Chambers, which in costly manner were

prepared for them, where their boots were pluckt off, faire Napkins

with Manchets lay ready, and delicate Wines to refresh their wearied

spirits, much prety conference being entercoursed, till Supper time

invited them thence.

_Saladine_, and they that were with him, spake the Latine tongue

very readily, by which meanes they were the better understoode; and

_Thorello_ seemed (in their judgement) to bee the most gracious,

compleate, and best spoken Gentleman, as ever they met with in all

their journey. It appeared also (on the other side) to Signiour

_Thorello_, that his guests were men of great merit, and worthy of

much more esteeme, then there he could use towards them: wherefore,

it did highly distast him, that he had no more friends there this

night to keepe them company, or himselfe better provided for their

entertainment, which hee intended (on the morrow) to recompence with

larger amends at dinner.

Heereupon, having instructed one of his men with what hee intended,

he sent him to _Pavia_, which was not farre off (and where he kept no

doore shut) to his Wife, named Madam _Adalietta_; a Woman singularly

wise, and of a Noble spirit, needing little or no direction, especially

when she knew her Husbands minde. As they were walking in the Garden,

_Thorello_ desired to understand, of whence, and what they were?

Whereto _Saladine_ thus answered. Sir, wee are _Cyprian_ Marchants,

comming now from _Cyprus_, and are travailing to _Paris_, about

affaires of importance. Now trust me Syr, replyed _Thorello_, I could

heartily wish, that this Countrey of ours would yeeld such Gentlemen,

as your _Cyprus_ affordeth Marchants. So, falling from one discourse

unto another, Supper was served in; and looke howe best themselves

pleased, so they sate at the Table, where (we neede make no doubt) they

were respected in honourable order.

So soone as the Tables were withdrawne, _Thorello_ knowing they might

be weary, brought them againe to their Chambers, where committing them

to their good rest, himselfe went to bed soone after. The Servant sent

to _Pavia_, delivered the message to his Lady; who, not like a woman

of ordinary disposition, but rather truely Royall, sent _Thorelloes_

servants into the City, to make preparation for a Feast indeed, and

with lighted Torches (because it was somewhat late) they invited

the very greatest and noblest persons of the Citie, all the roomes

being hanged with the richest Arras, Clothes of Golde worke, Velvets,

Silkes, and all other rich adornments, in such manner as her husband

had commanded, and answerable to her owne worthy mind, being no way to

learne, in what manner to entertaine strangers.

On the morrow morning, the Gentlemen arose, and mounting on horsebacke

with Signior _Thorello_, he called for his Hawkes and Hounds, brought

them to the River, where he shewed two or three faire flights: but

_Saladine_ desiring to know, which was the fayrest Hostery in all

_Pavia, Thorello_ answered. Gentlemen, I will shew you that my selfe,

in regard I have occasion to ride thither. Which they beleeving, were

the better contented, and rode on directly unto _Pavia_; arriving there

about nine of the clocke, and thinking he guided them to the best Inne,

he brought them to his owne house; where, above fifty of the worthiest

Citizens, stood ready to welcome the Gentlemen, imbracing them as

they lighted from their Horsses. Which _Saladine_, and his associates

perceiving, they guessed as it was indeede, and _Saladine_ sayd.

Beleeve me worthy _Thorello_, this is not answerable to my demand;

you did too much yester-night, and much more then we could desire or

deserve: Wherefore, you might wel be the sooner discharged of us, and

let us travaile on our journey.

Noble Gentlemen, replyed _Thorello_ (for in mine eye you seeme no

lesse) that courtesie which you met with yester-night, I am to thanke

Fortune for, more then you, because you were then straited by such

necessity, as urged your acceptance of my poore Country house. But now

this morning, I shall account my selfe much beholding to you (as the

like will all these worthy Gentlemen here about you) if you do but

answer kindnes with kindnes, and not refuse to take a homely dinner

with them.

_Saladine_ and his friends, being conquerd with such potent

perswasions, and already dismounted from their horses, saw that all

deniall was meerly in vaine: and therefore thankfully condiscending

(after some few ceremonious complements were over-past) the Gentlemen

conducted them to their Chambers, which were most sumptuously prepared

for them, and having laid aside their riding garments, being a little

refreshed with Cakes and choice Wines: they descended into the dining

Hall, the pompe whereof I am not able to report.

When they had washed, and were seated at the Tables, dinner was served

in most magnificent sort; so that if the Emperor himself had bin there,

he could not have bin more sumptuously served. And although _Saladine_

and his Baschaes were very Noble Lords, and wonted to see matters of

admiration: yet could they do no lesse now, but rather exceeded in

marvaile, considering the qualitie of the Knight, whom they knew to bee

a Citizen, and no Prince or great Lord. Dinner being ended, and divers

familiar conferences passing amongst them: because it was exceeding

hot, the Gentlemen of _Pavia_ (as it pleased _Thorello_ to appoint)

went to repose themselves awhile, and he keeping company with his three

guests, brought them into a goodly Chamber, where, because he would

not faile in the least scruple of courtesie, or conceale from them the

richest Jewell which he had; he sent for his Lady and wife, because (as

yet) they had not seene her.

She was a Lady of extraordinary beauty, tall stature, very sumptuously

attired, and having two sweet Sonnes (resembling Angels) she came with

them waiting before her, and graciously saluted her guests. At her

comming, they arose, and having received hir with great reverence, they

seated her in the midst, kindly cherishing the two Children. After some

gracious Language past on eyther side, she demanded of whence, and what

they were, which they answered in the same kind as they had done before

to her husband. Afterward, with a modest smiling countenance, she

sayd. Worthy Gentlemen, let not my weake Womanish discretion appeare

distastable, in desiring to crave one especiall favour from you,

namely, not to refuse or disdaine a small gift, wherewith I purpose

to present you. But considering first, that women (according to their

simple faculty) are able to bestow but silly gifts: so you would be

pleased, to respect more the person that is the giver, then the quality

or quantity of the gift.

Then causing to be brought (for each of them) two goodly gowns or

Robes (made after the _Persian_ manner) the one lyned thorough with

cloth of Gold, and the other with the costlyest Fur; not after such

fashion as Citizens or Marchants use to weare, but rather beseeming

Lords of greatest account, and three light under-wearing Cassocks or

Mandillions, of Carnatian Sattin, richly Imbroidred with Gold and

Pearles, and lined thorow with White Taffata, presenting these gifts to

him, she sayd. I desire you Gentlemen to receive these meane trifles,

such as you see my Husband weares the like, and these other beside,

considering you are so far from your Wives, having travailed a long

way already, and many miles more yet to overtake; also Marchants (being

excellent men) affect to be comely and handsome in their habits;

although these are of slender value, yet (in necessity) they may do you

service.

Now was _Saladine_ and his Baschaes halfe astonyed with admiration,

at the magnificent minde of Signiour _Thorello_, who would not forget

the least part of courtesie towardes them, and greatly doubted (seeing

the beauty and riches of the Garments) least they were discovered by

_Thorello_. Neverthelesse, one of them thus answered the Lady. Beleeve

me Madame, these are rich guiftes, not lightly either to be given,

or receyved: but in regard of your strict imposition, we are not

able to deny them. This being done, with most gracious and courteous

demeanour, she departed from them, leaving her Husband to keepe them

still companie; who furnished their servants also, with divers worthy

necessaries fitting for their journey.

Afterward, _Thorello_ (by very much importunitie) wonne them to stay

with him all the rest of the day; wherefore, when they had rested

themselves awhile, being attyred in their newly given robes; they

rode on Horsebacke thorow the Citty. When supper time came, they supt

in most honourable and worthy company, beeing afterwards Lodged in

most faire and sumptuous Chambers, and being risen in the morning,

in exchange of their horses (over-wearied with Travaile) they found

three other very richly furnished, and their men also in like manner

provided. Which when _Saladine_ had perceyved, he tooke his Baschaes

aside, and spake in this manner.

By our greatest Gods, I never met with any man, more compleat in all

noble perfections, more courteous and kinde then _Thorello_ is. If

all the Christian Kings, in the true and heroicall nature of Kings,

do deale as honourably as I see this Knight doeth, the Soldane of

_Babylon_ is not able to endure the comming of one of them, much lesse

so many, as wee see preparing to make head against us. But beholding,

that both refusall and acceptation, was all one in the minde of

_Thorello_: after much kinde Language had bin intercoursed betweene

them, _Saladine_ (with his Attendants) mounted on horsebacke.

Signiour _Thorello_, with a number of his honourable Friends (to the

number of an hundred Horsse) accompanied them a great distance from

the Citie, and although it greeved _Saladine_ exceedingly, to leave

the company of _Thorello_, so dearely he was affected to him; but

necessity (which controlleth the power of all lawes whatsoever) must

needs divide them: yet requesting his returne agayne that way, if

possibly it might be granted; which _Saladine_ promised but did not

performe. Well Gentlemen (quoth _Thorello_ at parting) I know not

what you are, neither (against your will) do I desire it: but whether

you be Marchants or no, remember me in your kindnesse, and so to the

heavenly powers I commend you. _Saladine_, having taken his leave of

all them that were with _Thorello_, returned him this answer. Sir, it

may one day hereafter so happen, as we shall let you see some of our

Marchandises, for the better confirmation of your beleefe, and our

profession.

Thus parted Signior _Thorello_ and his friends, from _Saladine_ and

his company, who verily determined in the heighth of his minde, if

he should be spared with life, and the warre (which he expected)

concluded: to requite _Thorello_ with no lesse courtesie, then hee

had already declared to him; conferring a long while after with

his Baschaes, both of him and his beauteous Lady, not forgetting

any of their courteous actions, but gracing them all with deserved

commendation. But after they had (with very laborious paines) surveyed

most of the Westerne parts, they all tooke Shipping, and returned into

_Alexandria_: sufficiently informed, what preparation was to be made

for their owne defence. And Signior _Thorello_ being come backe againe

to _Pavia_, consulted with his privat thoughts (many times after) what

these three travailers should be, but came farre short of knowing the

truth, till (by experience) hee became better informed.

When the time was come, that the Christians were to make their passage,

and wonderfull great preparations, in all places performed: Signiour

_Thorello_, notwithstanding the teares and intreaties of his Wife,

determined to be one in so woorthy and honourable a voyage: and having

made his provision ready, nothing wanting but mounting on Horsebacke,

to go where he should take shipping; to his Wife (whom he most intirely

affected) thus hee spake. Madame, I goe as thou seest in this famous

Voyage, as well for mine Honour, as also the benefite of my soule; all

our goodes and possessions, I commit to thy vertuous care. And because

I am not certaine of my returning backe againe, in regard of a thousand

accidents which may happen, in such a Countrey as I goe unto: I desire

onely but one favour of thee, whatsoever daunger shall befall mee;

Namely, when any certaine tydings shall be brought mee of my death; to

stay no longer before thy second marriage, but one yeare, one month,

and one day; to begin on this day of my departing from thee.

The Lady, who wept exceedingly, thus answered. Alas Sir: I know not how

to carry my selfe, in such extremity of greefe, as now you leave me;

but if my life surmount the fortitude of sorrow, and whatsoever shall

happen to you for certainty, either life or death: I will live and dye

the Wife of Signiour _Thorello_, and make my obsequies in his memory

onely.

Not so Madame (replyed her Husband) not so; Be not overrash in

promising any thing, albeit I am well assured, that so much as

consisteth in thy strength, I make no question of thy performance.

But consider withall (deare heart) thou art a yong woman, beautifull,

of great parentage, and no way thereto inferior in the blessings of

Fortune.

Thy Vertues are many, and universally both divulged and knowen, in

which respect, I make no doubt; but divers and sundrie great Lords

and Gentlemen (if but the least rumour of my death be noysed) will

make suite for thee to thy parents and brethren, from whose violent

solicitings, wouldst thou never so resolutely make resistance, yet

thou canst not be able to defend thy selfe; but whether thou wilt or

no, thou must yeeld to please them; and this is the only reason, why I

would tie thee to this limited time, and not one day or minute longer.

_Adalietta_, sweetly hugging him in her armes, and melting her selfe in

kisses, sighes, and teares on his face, said. Well Sir, I will do so

much as I am able, in this your most kinde and loving imposition: and

when I shall bee compelled to the contrary: yet rest thus constantly

assured, that I will not breake this your charge, so much as in

thought. Praying ever heartily to the heavenly powers, that they will

direct your course home againe to me, before your prefixed date, or

else I shall live in continual languishing. In the knitting up of this

wofull parting, embracing and kissing either infinit times, the Lady

tooke a Ring from off her finger, and giving it to her husband, said.

If I chaunce to die before I see you againe, remember me when you looke

on this. He receiving the Ring, and bidding all the rest of his Friends

farewell, mounted on horsebacke, and rode away wel attended.

Being come unto _Geneway_, he and his company boorded a Galley, and (in

few dayes after) arrived at _Acres_, where they joyned themselves with

the Christian Army, wherein there happened a verie dangerous mortality:

During which time of so sharpe visitation (the cause unknowne whence it

proceeded) whether thorough the industrie, or rather the good Fortune

of _Saladine_, well-neere all the rest of the Christians (which escaped

death) were surprized his prisoner (without a blow strucken) and

sundred and imprisoned in divers Townes and Citties. Amongest the which

number of prisoners, it was Signior _Thorelloes_ chaunce to be one,

and walked in bonds to _Alexandria_, where being unknowne, and fearing

least he should be discovered: constrained thereto meerly by necessity,

hee shewed himselfe in the condition of a Faulconer; wherein he was

very excellently experienced, and by which means his profession was

made knowne to _Saladine_, hee delivered out of prison, and created the

Soldans Faulconer.

_Thorello_ (whom the Soldane called by no other name, then the

Christian, neyther of them knowing the other) sadly now remembred his

departure from _Pavia_, devising and practising many times, how he

might escape thence, but could not compasse it by any possible meanes.

Wherefore, certaine Ambassadours beeing sent by the _Genewaye_, to

redeeme divers Cittizens of theirs, there detained as prisoners, and

being ready to returne home againe: he purposed to write to his Wife,

that he was living, and wold repaire to her so soone as he could,

desiring the still continued remembrance** of her limited time. By close

and cunning meanes hee wrote the Letter, earnestly intreating one of

the Ambassadors (who knew him perfectly, but made no outward apparance

thereof) to deale in such sort for him, that the Letter might be

delivered to the handes of the Abbot _Di San Pietro in Ciel d'Oro_, who

was (indeede) his Uncle.

While _Thorello_ remayned in this his Faulconers condition, it fortuned

uppon a day, that _Saladine_, conversing with him about his Hawkes:

_Thorello_ chanced to smile, and used such a kinde of gesture or motion

with his Lippes, which _Saladine_ (when he was in his house at _Pavia_)

had heedfully observed, and by this note, instantly he remembred

Signior _Thorello_, and began to eye him very respectively, perswading

himselfe that he was the same man. And therefore falling from their

former kinde of discoursing: Tell mee Christian (quoth _Saladine_) what

Country-man art thou of the West? Sir, answered Signiour _Thorello_, I

am by Country a Lombard, borne in a Citty called _Pavia_, a poore man,

and of as poore condition.

So soone as _Saladine_ had heard these Words; becomming assured in

that which (but now) he doubted, he saide within himselfe. Now the

Gods have given me time, wherein I may make knowne to this man, how

thankefully I accepted his kinde courtesie, and cannot easily forget

it. Then, without saying any thing else, causing his Guard-robe to be

set open, he tooke him with him thither, and sayde. Christian, observe

well all these Garments, and quicken thy remembrance, in telling mee

truly, whether thou hast seene any of them before now, or no. Signiour

_Thorello_ looked on them all advisedly, and espyed those two especiall

Garments, which his Wife had given one of the strange Merchants;

yet he durst not credit it, or that possibly it could be the same,

neverthelesse he said. Sir, I doe not know any of them, but true it

is, that these two doe resemble two such Robes, as I was wont to weare

my selfe, and these (or the like) were given to three Merchants, that

happened to visite my poore house.

Now could _Saladine_ containe no longer, but embracing him joyfully in

his armes, he said. You are Signior _Thorello d'Istria_, and I am one

of those three Merchants, to whom your Wife gave these Roabes: and now

the time is come to give you credible intelligence of my Merchandise,

as I promised at my departing from you, for such a time (I told you)

would come at length. _Thorello_, was both glad, and bashfull together:

glad, that he had entertained such a Guest, and bashfully ashamed, that

his welcome had not exceeded in more bountifull manner. _Thorello_,

replyed _Saladine_, seeing the Gods have sent you so happily to me:

account your selfe to be soly Lord here, for I am now no more then a

private man.

I am not able to expresse their counterchanges of courtesie, _Saladine_

commanding him to be cloathed in Royall garments, and brought into the

presence of his very greatest Lords, where having spoken liberally in

his due commendation, he commanded them to honour him as himselfe,

if they expected any grace or favour from him, which every one did

immediatly, but (above all the rest) those two Baschaes, which

accompanied _Saladine_ at his house. The greatnesse of this pompe and

glory, so suddenly throwne on Signior _Thorello_, made him halfe forget

all matters of _Lomberdie_; and so much the rather, because he had no

doubt at all, but that his letters, were safely come to the hands of

his Uncle.

Here I am to tell you, that in the Campe or Army of the Christians, on

the day when _Saladine_ made his surprizall, there was a Provinciall

Gentleman dead and buried, who was Signior _Thorello de Dignes_, a

man of very honourable and great esteeme, in which respect (Signior

_Thorello d'Istria_, knowne throughout the Army, by his Nobility and

valour) whosoever heard that Signior _Thorello_ was dead: beleeved it

to be _Thorello d'Istria_, and not he of _Dignes_, so that _Thorello

d'Istriaes_ unknowne surprizall and thraldome, made it also to passe

for an assured truth.

Beside, many Italians returning home, and carrying this report for

credible; some were so audaciously presumptuous, as they avouched upon

their oathes, that not onely they saw him dead, but were present at

his buriall likewise. Which rumour comming to the eare of his Wife,

and likewise to his kinred and hers: procured a great and grievous

mourning among them, and all that happened to heare thereof.

Over-tedious time it would require, to relate at large, the publique

griefe and sorrow, with the continuall lamentations of his Wife, who

(within some few moneths after) became tormented with new marriage

solicitings, before she had halfe sighed for the first: the very

greatest persons of _Lomberdie_ making the motion, being daily followed

and furthered by her owne brothers and friends. Still (drowned in

teares) she returned denyall, till in the end, when no contradiction

could prevaile, to satisfie her parents, and the importunate pursuers:

she was constrained to reveale, the charge imposed on her by her

Husband, which shee had vowed infallibly to keepe, and till that very

time, she would in no wise consent.

While wooing for a second wedding with _Adalietta_, proceeded in

this manner at _Pavia_, it chanced on a day, that Signior _Thorello_

had espied a man in _Alexandria_, whom he saw with the _Geneway_

Ambassadours, when they set thence towards _Geneway_ with their

Gallies. And causing him to be sent for, he demaunded of him, the

successe of the voyage, and when the Gallies arrived at _Geneway_;

whereto he returned him this answere. My Lord, our Gallies made a very

fatall voyage, as it is (already) too well knowne in _Creete_, where

my dwelling is. For when we drew neere _Sicilie_, there suddenly arose

a very dangerous North-West-winde, which drove us on the quicke-Sands

of _Barbarie_, where not any man escaped with life, onely my selfe

excepted, but (in the wracke) two of my brethren perished.

Signior _Thorello_, giving credit to the mans words, because they

were most true indeed, and remembring also, that the time limitted to

his Wife, drew neere expiring within very few dayes, and no newes now

possibly to be sent thither of his life, his Wife would questionlesse

be marryed againe: he fell into such a deepe conceited melancholly,

as food and sleepe forsooke him, whereupon, he kept his bed, setting

downe his peremptory resolution for death. When _Saladine_ (who dearely

loved him) heard thereof, he came in all haste to see him, and having

(by many earnest perswasions and entreaties) understood the cause of

his melancholly and sickenesse: he very severely reproved him, because

he could no sooner acquaint him therewith. Many kind and comfortable

speeches, he gave him, with constant assurance, that (if he were so

minded) he would so order the businesse for him; as he should be at

_Pavia_, by the same time as he had appointed to his Wife, and revealed

to him also the manner how.

_Thorello_ verily beleeved the _Soldanes_ promise, because he had

often heard the possibility of performance, and others had effected as

much, divers times else-where: whereupon he began to comfort himselfe,

soliciting the _Soldan_ earnestly that it might be accomplished.

_Saladine_ sent for one of his Sorcerers (of whose skill he had

formerly made experience) to take a direct course, how Signior

_Thorello_ should be carryed (in one night) to _Pavia_, and being in

his bed. The Magitian undertooke to doe it, but, for the Gentlemans

more ease, he must first be possessed with an entraunced dead sleep.

_Saladine_ being thus assured of the deeds full effecting, he came

againe to _Thorello_, and finding him to be setled for _Pavia_ (if

possibly it might be accomplished by the determined time, or else no

other expectation but death) he said unto him as followeth.

Signior _Thorello_, if with true affection you love your Wife, and

misdoubt her marriage to some other man: I protest unto you, by

the supreme powers, that you deserve no reprehension in any manner

whatsoever. For, of all the Ladyes that ever I have seene, she is the

onely woman, whose carriage, vertues, and civile speaking (setting

aside beauty, which is but a fading flowre) deserveth most graciously

to be respected, much more to be affected in the highest degree. It

were to me no meane favour of our Gods, (seeing Fortune directed your

course so happily hither) that for the short or long time we have to

live, we might reigne equally together in these Kingdomes under my

subjection. But if such grace may not be granted me, yet, seeing it

stands mainly upon the perill of your life, to be at _Pavia_ againe by

your own limitted time, it is my chiefest comfort, that I am therewith

acquainted, because I intended to have you conveighed thither, yea,

even into your owne house, in such honourable order as your vertues doe

justly merit, which in regard it cannot be so conveniently performed,

but as I have already informed you, and as the necessity of the case

urgently commandeth; accept it as it may be best accomplished.

Great _Saladine_ (answered _Thorello_) effects (without words) have

already sufficiently warranted your Gracious disposition towards me,

farre beyond any requitall remayning in me; your word onely being

enough for my comfort in this case, either dying or living. But in

regard you have taken such order for my departure hence, I desire to

have it done with all possible expedition, because to morrow is the

very last day, that I am to be absent. _Saladine_ protested that it

should be done, and the same evening in the great Hall of his Pallace,

commanded a rich and costly Bedde to be set up, the mattras formed

after the _Alexandrian_ manner, of Velvet and cloth Gold, the Quilts,

counter-points and coverings, sumptuously imbroydered with Orient

Pearles and Precious Stones, supposed to be of inestimable value, and

two rarely wrought Pillowes, such as best beseemed so stately a Bedde,

the Curtaines and Vallans every way equall to the other pompe.

Which being done, he commanded that _Thorello_ (who was indifferently

recovered) should be attyred in one of his owne sumptuous _Saracine_

Roabes, the very fairest and richest that ever was seene, and on his

head a Majesticall Turbant, after the manner of his owne wearing, and

the houre appearing to be somewhat late, he with many of his best

Baschaes, went to the Chamber where _Thorello_ was, and sitting downe

a while by him, in teares thus he spake. Signior _Thorello_, the houre

for sundering you and me, is now very neere, and because I cannot beare

you company, in regard of the businesse you goe about, and which by no

meanes will admit it: I am to take my leave of you in this Chamber, and

therefore am purposely come to doe it. But before I bid you farewell,

let me entreat you, by the love and friendship confirmed betweene us,

to be mindfull of me, and to take such order (your affaires being

fully finished in _Lombardie_) that I may once more enjoy the sight of

you here, for a mutuall solace and satisfaction of our mindes, which

are now divided by this urgent hast. Till which may be granted, let

me want no visitation of your kind letters, commanding thereby of me,

whatsoever here can possibly be done for you; assuring your selfe, no

man living can command me as you doe.

Signior _Thorello_ could not forbeare weeping, but being much hindred

thereby, answered in few words. That he could not possibly forget, his

Gracious favours and extraordinary benefits used towards him, but would

accomplish whatsoever hee commaunded, according as heaven did enable

him.

Hereupon, _Saladine_ embracing him, and kissing his forehead, said.

All my Gods goe with you, and guard you from any perill, departing so

out of the Chamber weeping, and his Baschaes (having likewise taken

their leave of _Thorello_) followed _Saladine_ into the Hall, whereas

the Bedde stood readily prepared. Because it waxed very late, and the

Magitian also there attending for his dispatch: the Phisitian went with

the potion to _Thorello_, and perswading him, in the way of friendship,

that it was onely to strengthen him after his great Weaknes: he

drank it off, being thereby immediately entraunced, and so presently

sleeping, was (by _Saladines_ command) laid on the sumptuous and costly

Bed, whereon stood an Imperiall Crowne of infinite value, appearing

(by a description engraven on it) that _Saladine_ sent it to Madame

_Adalietta_, the wife of _Thorello_. On his finger also hee put a

Ring, wherein was enchased an admirable Carbuncle, which seemed like a

flaming Torche, the value thereof not to bee estimated. By him likewise

hee laid a rich sword, with the girdle, hangers, and other furniture,

such as seldome can be seene the like. Then hee laid a Jewell on the

Pillow by him, so sumptuouslie embelished with Pearles and precious

Stones, as might have beseemed the greatest Monarch in the World to

weare. Last of all, on either side of them, hee set two great Basons of

pure Gold, full of double ducates, many cords of Orient Pearles, Rings,

Girdles, and other costly Jewells (over-tedious to bee recounted) and

kissing him once more as hee lay in the bedde, commanded the Magitian

to dispatch and be gone.

Instantly, the bedde and _Thorello_ in it, in the presence of

_Saladine_, was invisibly carried thence, and while he sate conferring

with his Baschaes, the bed, Signior _Thorello_, and all the rich

Jewells about him, was transported and set in the Church of _San Pietro

in Ciel d'Ore_ in _Pavia_, according to his own request, and soundly

sleeping, being placed directly before the high Altar. Afterward, when

the bells rung to Mattines, the Sexton entring the Church with a light

in his hand (where hee beheld a light of greater splendour) and suddenly

espied the sumptuous bedde there standing: not only was he smitten into

admiration, but hee ranne away also very fearefully. When the Abbot

and the Monkes mette him thus running into the Cloyster, they became

amazed, and demanded the reason why he ranne in such haste, which

the Sexton told them. How? quoth the Abbot, thou art no childe, or a

new-come hither, to be so easilie affrighted in our holy Church, where

Spirits can have no power to walke, God and Saint _Peter_ (wee hope)

are stronger for us then them so: wherefore turne backe with us, and

let us see the cause of thy feare.

Having lighted many Torches, the Abbot and his Monkes entred with the

Sexton into the Church, where they beheld the wonderfull riche bedde,

and the Knight lying fast a-sleepe in it. While they stood all in

amazement, not daring to approach neere the bedde, whereon lay such

costly Jewells: it chanced that Signior _Thorello_ awaked, and breathed

forth a vehement sigh. The Monkes and the Abbot seeing him to stirre,

ranne all away in feare, crying aloud, God and S. _Peter_ defend us.

By this time _Thorello_ had opened his eyes, and looking round about

him, perceived that hee was in the place of _Saladines_ promise,

whereof hee was not a little joyfull. Wherefore, sitting up in the

bedde, and particularly observing all the things about him: albeit he

knew sufficiently the magnificence of _Saladine_, yet now it appeared

far greater to him, and imagined more largely thereof, then hee could

doe before. But yet, without any other ceremony, seeing the flight of

the Monkes, hearing their cry, and perceiving the reason; he called the

Abbot by his name, desiring him not to be afraid, for he was his Nephew

_Thorello_, and no other.

When the Abbot heard this, hee was ten times worse affrighted then

before, because (by publique fame) hee had beene so many moneths dead

and buried; but receiving (by true arguments) better assurance of him,

and hearing him still call him by his name: blessing himselfe with

the signe of the Crosse, hee went somewhat neerer to the bed, when

_Thorello_ said. My loving Uncle, and religious holy Father, whereof are

you afraid? I am your loving Nephew, newly returned from beyond the

Seas. The Abbot, seeing his beard to be grown long, and his habit after

the Arabian fashion, did yet collect some resemblance of his former

countenance; and being better perswaded of him, tooke him by the hand,

saying:

Sonne thou art happily returned, yet there is not any man in our

Citie, but doth verily beleeve thee to bee dead, and therefore doe

not much wonder at our feare. Moreover, I dare assure thee, that thy

Wife _Adalietta_, being conquered by the controuling command, and

threatnings of her kinred (but much against her owne minde) is this

very morning to be married to a new husband, and the marriage feast is

solemnly prepared, in honour of this second nuptialls.

_Thorello_ arising out of the bedde, gave gracious salutations to the

Abbot and his Monkes, intreating earnestly of them all, that no word

might be spoken of his returne, untill he had compleated an important

businesse. Afterward, having safely secured the bedde, and all the

rich Jewells, he fully acquainted the Abbot with all his passed

fortunes, whereof he was immeasurably joyfully, & having satisfied him,

concerning the new elected husband, _Thorello_ said unto the Abbot.

Uncle, before any rumour of my returne, I would gladly see my wives

behavior at this new briding feast, & although men of religion are

seldome seene at such Joviall meetings: yet (for my sake) doe you so

order the matter, that I (as an Arabian stranger) may be a guest under

your protection; whereto the Abbot very gladly condescended.

In the morning, he sent to the Bridegroom, and advertised him, that

he (with a stranger newly arrived) intented to dine with him, which

the Gentleman accepted in thankefull manner. And when dinner time

came, _Thorello_ in his strange disguise went with the Abbot to

the Bridegroomes house, where he was lookt on with admiration of

all the guests, but not knowne or suspected by any one; because the

Abbot reported him to be a _Sarracine_, and sent by the Soldane (in

Ambassage) to the King of France. _Thorello_ was seated at a by-table,

but directly opposite to the new Bride, whom hee much delighted to

looke on, and easily collected by her sad countenance, that shee was

scarcely well pleased with this new nuptialls. She likewise beheld him

very often, not in regard of any knowlege she took of him: for the

bushiness of his beard, strangeness of habit, (but most of all) firm

beleefe of his death, was the maine prevention.

At such time as _Thorello_ thought it convenient, to approve how farre

he was falne out of her remembrance; he took the ring which she gave

him at his departure, and calling a young Page that waited on none but

the Bride, said to him in Italian: Faire youth, goe to the Bride, and

saluting her from me, tell her, it is a custome observed in my Country,

that when any Stranger (as I am heere) sitteth before a new married

Bride, as now shee is, in signe that hee is welcome to her feast, she

sendeth the same Cup (wherein she drinketh her selfe) full of the

best wine, and when the stranger hath drunke so much as him pleaseth,

the Bride then pledgeth him with all the rest. The Page delivered the

message to the Bride, who, being a woman of honourable disposition, and

reputing him to be a Noble Gentleman, to testifie that his presence

there was very acceptable to her, shee commanded a faire Cuppe of gold

(which stood directlie before her) to bee neately washed, and when

it was filled with excellent Wine, caused it to bee carried to the

stranger, and so it was done.

_Thorello_ having drunke a heartie draught to the Bride, conveyed the

Ring into the Cuppe, before any person could perceive it, and having

left but small store of Wine in it, covered the Cuppe, and sent it

againe to the Bride, who received it very graciously, and to honour the

Stranger in his Countries custome, dranke up the rest of the Wine, and

espying the Ring, shee tooke it forth undetected by any: Knowing it

to be the same Ring which shee gave Signior _Thorello_ at his parting

from her; she fixed her eyes often on it, & as often on him, whom

she thought to be a stranger, the cheerfull bloud mounting up into

her cheeks, and returning againe with remembrance to her heart, that

(howsoever thus disguised) he only was her husband.

Like one of _Bacchus_ Froes, up furiously she started, and throwing

downe the Table before her, cried out aloud: This is my Lord and

Husband, this truely is my Lord _Thorello_. So running to the Table

where he sate, without regard of all the riches thereon, down she

threw it likewise, and clasping her armes about his necke, hung so

mainly on him (weeping, sobbing, and kissing him) as she could not be

taken off by any of the company, nor shewed any moderation in this

excesse of passion, till _Thorello_ spake, and entreated her to be more

patient, because this extremity was over-dangerous for her. Thus was

the solemnitie much troubled, but every one there very glad and joyfull

for the recovery of such a famous and worthy Knight, who intreated

them all to vouchsafe him silence, and so related all his fortunes to

them, from the time of his departure, to the instant houre. Concluding

withall, that hee was no way offended with the new Bride-groome, who

upon the so constant report of his death, deserved no blame in making

election of his wife.

The Bridegroome, albeit his countenance was somewhat cloudie, to see

his hope thus disappointed: yet granted freely, that _Adalietta_ was

_Thorello's_ wife in equitie, and hee could not justly lay any claime

to her. She also resigned the Crown and Rings which she had so lately

received of her new Spouse, and put that on her finger which she found

in the Cup, and that Crowne was set upon her head, in honor sent her

from great _Saladine_. In which triumphant manner, she left the new

Bridegrooms abiding, and repayred home to _Thorello's_ house, with such

pompe and magnificence as never had the like been seene in _Pavia_

before, all the Citizens esteeming it as a miracle, that they had so

happily recovered Signior _Thorello_ againe.

Some part of the Jewells he gave to him, who had beene at cost with the

marriage feasting, and some to his Uncle the Abbot, beside a bountie

bestowed on the Monkes. Then he sent a messenger to _Saladine_, with

Letters of his whole successe, and confessing himselfe (for ever) his

obliged servant: living many yeeres (after) with his wife _Adalietta_,

and using greater curtesies to strangers, then ever before he had done.

In this manner ended the troubles of Signior _Thorello_, and the

afflictions of his dearely affected Lady, with due recompence to their

honest and ready courtesies. Many strive (in outward shew) to doe

the like, who although they are sufficiently able, doe performe it

so basely, as it rather redoundeth to their shame, then honour. And

therefore if no merit ensue thereon, but onely such disgrace as justly

should follow; let them lay the blame upon themselves.

_The Marquesse of_ Saluzzo, _named_ Gualtiero, _being constrained

by the importunate solliciting of his Lords, and other inferiour

people, to joyne himselfe in marriage; tooke a woman according to his

owne liking, called_ Grizelda, _she being the daughter of a poore

Countriman, named_ Janiculo, _by whom he had two children, which he

pretended to be secretly murdered. Afterward, they being grown to yeres

of more stature, and making shew of taking in marriage another wife,

more worthy of his high degree and Calling: made a seeming publique

liking of his owne daughter, expulsing his wife_ Grizelda _poorely

from him. But finding her incomparable patience; more dearely (then

before) hee received her into favour againe, brought her home to his

owne Pallace, where (with her children) hee caused her and them to be

respectively honoured, in despight of all her adverse enemies._

The Tenth Novell.

_Set downe as an example or warning to all wealthie men, how to have

care of marrying themselves. And likewise to poore and meane women, to

be patient in their fortunes, and obedient to their husbands._

Questionlesse, the Kings Novell did not so much exceed the rest in

length, but it proved as pleasing to the whole assembly, & past with

their generall approbation, till _Dioneus_ (in a merry jesting humour)

said. The plaine honest simple man, that stood holding the Candle, to

see the setting on of his Mules tayle; deserved two penny-worth of more

praise, then all our applauding of Signior _Thorello_: And knowing

himselfe to bee left for the last speaker, thus he began.

Milde & modest Ladies, for ought I can perceive to the contrary, this

day was dedicated to none but Kings, Soldanes, and great Potentates,

not in favour of any inferiour or meaner persons. And therefore,

because I would be loth to dis-ranke my selfe from the rest, I purpose

to speake of a Lord Marquesse, not any matter of great magnificence,

but rather in a more humble nature, and sorted to an honest end: which

yet I will not advise any to immitate, because (perhaps) they cannot

so well digest it, as they did whom my Novell concerneth; thus then I

begin.

It is a great while since, when among those that were Lord Marquesses

of _Saluzzo_, the very greatest and worthiest man of them al, was

a young Noble Lord, named _Gualtiero_, who having neyther wife nor

childe, spent his time in nothing else but hawking & hunting: nor

had he any minde of marriage, or to enjoy the benefit of children,

wherein many did repute him the wiser. But this being distastfull

to his subjects, they very often earnestly solicited him, to match

himselfe with a wife, to the end, that hee might not decease without

an heire, nor they be left destitute of a succeeding Lord; offering

themselves to provide him of such a one, so well descended by Father

and Mother, as not only should confirm their hope, but also yeeld him

high contentment; whereto the Lord Marquess thus answered.

Worthie friends, you would constraine me to the thing, wherewith I

never had any intent to meddle, considering, how difficult a case it

is to meet with such a woman, who can agree with a man in all his

conditions, and how great the number is of them, who daily happen on

the contrarie: but most (and worst of all the rest) how wretched and

miserable prooves the life of man, who is bound to live with a wife not

fit for him. And in saying, you can learn to understand the custome and

qualities of children, by behaviour of the fathers and mothers, and so

to provide mee of a wife, it is a meere argument of folly: for neither

shall I comprehend, or you either, the secret inclinations of parents;

I meane of the Father, and much lesse the complexion of the mother.

But admitte it were within compasse of power to know them; yet it is

a frequent sight, and observed every day; that daughters doe resemble

neither father nor mother, but that they are naturally governed by

their owne instinct.

But because you are so desirous to have me fettered in the chains of

wedlocke; I am contented to grant what you request. And because I

would have no complaint made of any but my selfe, if matters should

not happen answerable to expectation; I will make mine owne eyes my

electors, and not see by any others sight. Giving you this assurance

before, that if she whom I shall make choice of, be not of you honoured

and respected as your Lady and Mistresse: it will ensue to your

detriment, how much you have displeased me, to take a wife at your

request, and against mine owne will.

The Noble men answered, that they were well satisfied, provided that he

tooke a wife.

Some indifferent space of time before, the beauty, manners, and

well-seeming vertues, of a poore Countrie-mans daughter, dwelling

in no farre distant village, had appeared very pleasing to the Lord

Marquesse, and gave him full perswasion, that with her hee should

lead a comfortable life. And therefore without any further search or

inquisition, he absolutely resolved to marry her, and having conferred

with her Father, agreed, that his daughter should be his wife.

Whereupon, the Marquesse made a generall Convocation of all his Lords,

Barons, and other of his especiall friends, from all parts of his

Dominion; and when they were assembled together, hee then spake unto

them in manner as followeth.

Honourable friends, it appeared pleasing to you all; and yet (I thinke)

you are of the same minde, that I should dispose my selfe to take

a wife: and I thereto condescended, more to yeeld you contentment,

then for any particular desire in my selfe. Let mee now remember you

of your solemne made promise, with full consent to honor and obey

her (whosoever) as your Soveraigne Lady and Mistresse, that I shall

elect to make my wife: and now the time is come, for my exacting the

performance of that promise, and which I look you must constantly

keepe. I have made choyce of a yong virgine, answerable to mine owne

heart and liking, dwelling not farre off hence, whom I intend to make

my wife, and (within few daies) to have her brought home to my Pallace.

Let your care and diligence then extend so farre, as to see that the

feast may be sumptuous, and her entertainment to bee most honourable:

to the end that I may receive as much contentment in your promise

performed, as you shall perceive I doe in my choice.

The Lords and all the rest, were wondrously joyfull to heare him

so well inclined, expressing no lesse by their shouts and jocund

suffrages: protesting cordially, that she should be welcommed with

pompe and majestie, and honoured of them all, as their Liege Ladie

and Soveraigne. Afterward, they made preparation for a princely and

magnificent feast, as the Marquesse did the like, for a marriage of

extraordinary state and qualitie, inviting all his kinred, friends,

and acquaintance in all parts and Provinces, about him. Hee made also

readie most riche and costly garments, shaped by the body of a comely

young Gentlewoman, who he knew to be equall in proportion and stature,

to her of whom hee hade made his election.

When the appointed nuptiall day was come, the Lord Marques, about nine

of the clocke in the morning, mounted on horse-backe, as all the rest

did, who came to attend him honourably, and having all things in due

readinesse with them, he said: Lords, it is time for us to goe fetch

the Bride. So on hee rode with his traine, to the same poore Village

whereas shee dwelt, and when hee was come to her Fathers house, hee saw

the maiden returning very hastily from a Well, where shee had beene to

fetch a paile of Water, which shee set downe, and stood (accompanied

with other maidens) to see the passage by of the Lord Marquesse and his

traine. _Gualtiero_ called her by her name, which was _Grizelda_, and

asked her, where her Father was: who bashfully answered him, and with

an humble courtesie, saying. My gracious Lord, hee is in the house.

Then the Marquesse dismounted from his horse, commanding every one to

attend him, then all alone hee entred into the poore Cottage, where he

found the maides father, being named _Janiculo_, and said unto him. God

speed good Father, I am come to espouse thy daughter _Grizelda_: but

first I have a few demands to make, which I will utter to her in thy

presence. Then hee turned to the maide, and saide.

Faire _Grizelda_, if I make you my wife, will you doe your best

endeavour to please me, in all things which I shall doe or say? will

you also be gentle, humble, and patient? with divers other the like

questions: whereto she still answered, that she would, so neere as

heaven (with grace) should enable her.

Presently he tooke her by the hand, so led her forth of the poore

homely house, and in the presence of all his company, with his owne

hands, he took off her meane wearing garments, smocke and all, and

cloathed her with those Robes of State which he had purposely brought

thither for her, and plaiting her haire over her shoulders, hee placed

a Crowne of gold on her head, whereat every one standing as amazed, and

wondring not a little, hee said: _Grizelda_, wilt thou have me to thy

husband. Modestly blushing, and kneeling on the ground, she answered.

Yes my gracious Lord, if you will accept so poore a maiden to be your

wife. Yes _Grizelda_, quoth hee, with this holy kisse, I confirme

thee for my wife; and so espoused her before them all. Then mounting

her on a milke-white Palfray, brought thither for her, shee was thus

honourably conducted to her Pallace.

Now concerning the marriage feast and triumphes, they were performed

with no lesse pompe, then if she had beene daughter to the King of

France. And the young Bride apparantly declared, that (with her

garments) her minde and behavior were quite changed. For indeed shee

was (as it were shame to speake otherwise) a rare creature, both of

person and perfections, and not onely was shee absolute for beautie,

but so sweetely amiable, gracious, and goodlie; as if she were not the

daughter of poore _Janiculo_, and a Countrie Shepheardesse, but rather

of some Noble Lord, whereat every one wondred that formerly had knowne

her. Beside all this, shee was so obedient to her husband, so fervent

in all dutifull offices, and patient, without the very least provoking:

as hee held himselfe much more then contented, and the onely happy man

of the world.

In like manner, towards the subjects of her Lord and Husband, she

shewed her selfe alwayes so benigne and gracious; as there was not

any one, but the more they lookt on her, the better they loved her,

honouring her voluntarily, and praying to the heavens, for her health,

dignity and well-fares long continuance. Speaking now (quite contrary

to their former opinion of the Marquesse) honourably and worthily, that

he had shewne him selfe a singular wise man, in the election of his

Wife, which few else (but he) in the world would have done: because

their judgement might fall farre short, of discerning those great and

precious vertues, veiled under a homely habite, and obscured in a poore

Countrey cottage. To be briefe, in very short time, not onely the

Marquisate it selfe, but all neighbouring Provinces round about, had no

other common talke, but of her rare course of life, devotion, charity,

and all good actions else; quite quailing all sinister Instructions of

her Husband, before he received her in marriage.

About foure or five yeeres after the birth of her daughter, shee

conceived with child againe, and (at the limitted houre of deliverance)

had a goodly Sonne, to the no little liking of the Marquesse.

Afterward, a strange humour entred into his braine, namely, that by

a long continued experience, and courses of intollerable quality; he

would needes make proofe of his faire Wives patience. First he began to

provoke her by injurious speeches, shewing fierce and frowning lookes

to her, intimating; that his people grew displeased with him, in regard

of his Wives base birth and education, and so much the rather, because

she was likely to bring children, who (by her blood) were no better

then beggars, and murmured at the daughter already borne. Which words

when _Grizelda_ heard, without any alteration of countenance, for the

least distemperature in any appearing action she said.

My honourable and gracious Lord, dispose of me, as you thinke best,

for your owne dignity and contentment, for I shall therewith be well

pleased: as she that knowes her selfe, farre inferiour to the meanest

of your people, much lesse worthy of the honour, whereto you liked to

advance me.

This answere was very welcome to the Marquesse, as apparantly

perceiving hereby, that the dignity whereto hee had exalted her, or

any particular favours beside, could not infect her with any pride,

coynesse, or disdaine. Not long after, having told her in plaine and

open speeches, that his subjects could not endure her so late borne

daughter: he called a trusty servant of his, and having instructed

him what he should doe, sent him to _Grizelda_, and he being alone

with her, looking very sadde, and much perplexed in mind, he saide.

Madame, except I intend to loose mine owne life, I must accomplish what

my Lord hath strictly enjoyned me, which is, to take this your yong

daughter, and then I must: So breaking off abruptly, the Lady hearing

his words, and noting his frowning lookes, remembring also what the

Marquesse himselfe had formerly said; she presently imagined, that he

had commanded his servant to kill the childe. Suddenly therefore, she

tooke it out of the Cradle, and having sweetly kissed, and bestowne her

blessing on it (albeit her heart throbbed, with the inward affection

of a Mother) without any alteration of countenance, she tenderly laid

it in the servants armes, and said. Here friend, take it, and doe with

it as thy Lord and mine hath commanded thee: but leave it in no rude

place, where birds or savage beasts may devoure it, except it be his

will to have it so.

The servant departing from her with the child, and reporting to the

Marquesse what his Lady had said; he wondered at her incomparable

constancy. Then he sent it by the same servant to _Bologna_, to an

honourable Lady his kinsewoman, requesting her (without revealing whose

child it was) to see it both nobly and carefully educated.

At time convenient afterward, being with child againe, and delivered

of a Princely Sonne (then which nothing could be more joyfull to the

Marquesse) yet all this was not sufficient for him; but with farre

ruder language then before, and lookes expressing harsh intentions,

he said unto her. _Grizelda_, though thou pleasest me wonderfully,

by the birth of this Princely Boy, yet my subjects are not therewith

contented, but blunder abroad maliciously; that the grand-child of

_Janiculo_, a poore countrey pezant, when I am dead and gone, must be

their Soveraigne Lord and Master. Which makes me stand in feare of

their expulsion, and to prevent that, I must be rid of this childe, as

well as the other, and then send thee away from hence, that I may take

another wife, more pleasing to them.

_Grizelda_, with a patient sufferent soule, hearing what he had said,

returned no other answere but this. Most Gracious and Honourable Lord,

satisfie and please your owne Royall minde, and never use any respect

of me: for nothing is precious or pleasing to mee, but what may agree

with your good liking. Within a while after, the Noble Marquesse in

the like manner as he did before for the Daughter, so he sent the same

servant for the Sonne, and seeming as if he had sent it to have been

slaine, conveighed it to be nursed at _Bologna_, in company of his

sweete Sister. Whereat the Lady shewed no other discontentment in any

kinde, then formerly she had done for her Daughter, to the no meane

marvell of the Marquesse, who protested in his soule, that the like

woman was not in all the world beside. And were it not for his heedfull

observation, how loving and carefull she was of her children, prizing

them as dearely as her owne life: rash opinion might have perswaded

him, that she had no more in her, then a carnall affection, not caring

how many she had, so shee might thus easily be rid of them; but he knew

her to be a truely vertuous mother, and wisely liable to endure his

severest impositions.

His Subjects beleeving, that he had caused the children to bee slaine,

blamed him greatly, thought him to be a most cruell man, and did highly

compassionate the Ladies case: who when shee came in company of other

Gentlewomen, which mourned for their deceased children, would answere

nothing else: but that they could not be more pleasing to her, then

they were to the father that begot them.

Within certaine yeares after the birth of these children, the Marquesse

purposed with himselfe, to make his last and finall proofe of faire

_Grizeldaes_ patience, and said to some neere about him: that he could

no longer endure, to keepe _Grizelda_ as his wife, confessing, he had

done foolishly, and according to a young giddie braine, when he was so

rash in the marriage of her. Wherefore he would send to the Pope, and

purchase a dispensation from him, to repudiate _Grizelda_, and take

another Wife. Wherein although they greatly reproved him; yet he told

them plainely, that it must needes be so.

The Lady hearing these newes, and thinking she must returne againe

to her poore fathers house, and (perhaps) to her old occupation of

keeping sheepe, as in her yonger dayes she had done, understanding

withall, that another woman must enjoy him, whom shee dearely loved and

honoured; you may well thinke (worthy Ladies) that her patience was now

put to the maine proofe indeede. Neverthelesse, as with an invincible

true vertuous courage, she had outstood all the other injuries of

Fortune; so did she constantly settle her soule, to beare this with an

undaunted countenance and behaviour.

At such time as was prefixed for the purpose, counterfeit Letters came

to the Marquesse (as sent from _Rome_) which he caused to be publikely

read in the hearing of his subjects: that the Pope had dispensed with

him, to leave _Griselda_, and marry with another Wife, wherefore,

sending for her immediatly, in presence of them all, thus he spake to

her. Woman, by concession sent me from the Pope, he hath dispensed with

me, to make choyce of another Wife, and to free my selfe from thee.

And because my predecessors have beene Noblemen, and great Lords in

this Country, thou being the daughter of a poore Countrey Clowne, and

their blood and mine notoriously imbased, by my marriage with thee;

I intend to have thee no longer my Wife, but will returne thee home

to thy Fathers house, with all the rich Dowry thou broughtest me; and

then I will take another Wife, with whom I am already contracted, better

beseeming my birth, and farre more contenting and pleasing to my people.

The Lady hearing these words (not without much paine and difficulty)

restrayned her teares, quite contrary to the naturall inclination

of women, and thus answered. Great Marquesse, I never was so empty

of discretion, but did alwayes acknowledge, that my base and humble

condition, could not in any manner sute with your high blood and

Nobility, and my being with you, I ever acknowledged, to proceed

from heaven and you, not any merit of mine, but onely as a favour

lent me, which you being now pleased to recall backe againe, I ought

to be pleased (and so am) that it bee restored. Here is the Ring,

wherewith you Espoused me; here (in all humility) I deliver it to

you. You command me, to carry home the marriage Dowry which I brought

with me: there is no need of a Treasurer to repay it me, neither any

new purse to carry it in, much lesse any Sumpter to be laden with it.

For (Noble Lord) it was never out of my memory, that you tooke me

starke naked; and if it shall seeme sightly to you, that this body

which hath borne two children, and begotten by you, must againe be

seene naked; willingly must I depart hence naked. But I humbly beg

of your Excellency, in recompence of my Virginity, which I brought

you blamelesse, so much as in thought: that I may have but one of my

wedding Smocks, onely to conceale the shame of nakednesse, and then I

depart rich enough.

The Marquesse whose heart wept bloody teares, as his eyes would

likewise gladly have yeelded their naturall tribute; covered all with

a dissembled angry countenance, and starting up, said. Goe, give her

a Smocke onely, and so send her gadding. All there present about him,

entreated him to let her have a petticote, because it might not be

said, that she who had been his Wife thirteene yeares and more, was

sent away so poorely in her Smocke: but all their perswasions prevailed

not with him. Naked in her Smocke, without hose or shooes, bareheaded,

and not so much as a Cloth about her necke, to the great griefe and

mourning of all that saw her, she went home to her old fathers house.

And he (good man) never beleeving, that the Marquesse would long keepe

his daughter as his Wife, but rather expected daily, what now had

happened: safely laid up the garments, whereof the Marquesse despoyled

her, the same morning when he espoused her. Wherefore he delivered

them to her, and she fell to her fathers houshold businesse, according

as formerly she had done; sustayning with a great and unconquerable

spirit, all the cruell assaults of her enemy Fortune.

About such time after, as suted with his owne disposition, the

Marquesse made publiquely knowne to his subjects, that he meant to

joyne in marriage again, with the daughter to one of the Counts of

_Panago_, and causing preparation to be made for a sumptuous wedding;

he sent for _Grizelda_, and she being come, thus he spake to her. The

Wife that I have made the new election of, is to arrive here within

very few dayes, and at her first comming, I would have her to be most

honourably entertained. Thou knowest I have no women in my house, that

can decke up the Chambers, and set all requisite things in due order,

befitting for so solemne a Feast: and therefore I sent for thee, who

knowing (better then any other) all the partes, provision and goods

in the house, set every thing in such order, as thou shalt thinke

necessary.

Invite such Ladies and Gentlewomen as thou wilt, and give them welcome,

even as if thou wert the Lady of the house: and when the marriage is

ended, returne then home to thy father againe.

Although these words pierced like wonding daggers, the heart of poore

(but Noble patient) _Grizelda_, as being unable to forget the unequal'd

love she bare to the Marquesse, though the dignitie of her former

fortune, more easily slipt out of her remembrance; yet neverthelesse,

thus she answered.

My Gracious Lord, I am glad I can doe you any service; wherein you

shall find mee both willing and ready. In the same poore garments, as

she came from her fathers house, (although shee was turned out in her

Smocke) she began to sweep and make cleane the Chambers, rubbe the

stooles and benches in the Hall, and ordered every in the Kitchin, as

if she were the worst maide in all the house, never ceasing or giving

over, till all things were in due and decent order, as best beseemed in

such a case. After all which was done, the Marquesse, having invited

all the Ladies of the Countrey, to be present at so great a Feast:

when the marriage day came, _Grizelda_, in her gowne of Countrey gray,

gave them welcome, in honourable manner, and graced them all with very

cheerefull countenance.

_Gualtiero_ the Marquesse, who had caused his two children to be nobly

nourished at _Bologna_, with a neere kinswoman of his, who had married

with one of the Counts of _Panago_, his daughter being now aged twelve

yeares old, and some-what more, as also the Son about sixe or seven.

He sent a Gentleman expresly to his kindred, to have them come and

visite him at _Saluzza_, bringing his daughter and Sonne with them,

attended in very honourable manner, and publishing every where as

they came along, that the young Virgin (knowne to none but himselfe

and them) should be the Wife to the Marquesse, and that onely was the

cause of her comming. The Gentleman was not slacke, in the execution

of the trust reposed in him: but having made convenient preparation,

with the kindred, Sonne, daughter, and a worthy company attending on

them, arrived at _Saluzza_ about dinner time, where wanted no resort,

from all neighbouring parts round about, to see the comming of the Lord

Marquesses new Spouse.

By the Lords and Ladies she was joyfully entertained, and comming into

the great Hall, where the Tables were readily covered: _Grizelda_,

in her homely Country habite, humbled her selfe before her, saying.

Gracious welcome, to the new elected Spouse of the Lord Marquesse.

All the Ladies there present, who had very earnestly importuned

_Gualtiero_ (but in vaine) that _Grizelda_, might better be shut up in

some Chamber, or else to lend her the wearing of any other garments,

which formerly had been her owne, because she should not be so poorely

seene among strangers: being seated at the Tables, she waited on them

very serviceably. The yong Virgin was observed by every one, who spared

not to say; that the Marquesse had made an excellent change: but above

them all, _Grizelda_ did most commend her, and so did her brother

likewise, as young as he was, yet not knowing her to be his Sister.

Now was the Marquesse sufficiently satisfied in his soule, that he had

seene so much as he desired, concerning the patience of his Wife, who

in so many hart-grieving trials, was never noated so much as to alter

her countenance. And being absolutely perswaded, that this proceeded

not from any want of understanding in her, because he knew her to be

singularly wise: he thought it high time now, to free her from these

afflicting oppressions, and give her such assurance as she ought to

have. Wherefore, commanding her into his presence, openly before all

his assembled friends, smiling on her, he said. What thinkst thou

_Grizelda_ of our new chosen Spouse? My Lord (quoth she) I like her

exceeding well, and if she be so wise, as she is faire (which verely

I thinke she is) I make no doubt but you shall live with her, as the

onely happy man of the world. But I humbly entreat your Honour (if I

have any power in me to prevaile by) that you would not give her such

cutting and unkind language, as you did to your other wife: for I

cannot thinke her armed with such patience, as should (indeed) support

them: as wel in regard she is much yonger, as also her more delicate

breeding and education, whereas she who you had before, was brought up

in continual toile and travaile.

When the Marquesse perceyved, that _Grizelda_ beleeved verily, this

yong daughter of hers should be his wife, and answered him in so honest

and modest manner: he commanded her to sit downe by him, and saide.

_Grizelda_, it is now more then fitte time, that thou shouldst taste

the fruite of thy long admired patience, and that they who have thought

me cruell, harsh and uncivill natured, should at length observe, that

I have done nothing basely, or unadvisedly. For this was a worke

premeditated before, for enstructing thee, what it is to be a married

wife, and to let them know (whosoever they be) how to take and keepe

a wife. Which hath begotten (to me) perpetuall joy and happinesse,

so long as I have a day to live with thee: a matter whereof I stoode

before greatly in feare, and which (in marriage I thought) would never

happen to me.

It is not unknown to thee, in how many kinds (for my first proofe)

I gave thee harsh and unpleasing speeches, which drawing no

discontentment from thee, either in lookes, words, or behaviour, but

rather such comfort as my soule desired, and so in my other succeedings

afterward: in one minute now, I purpose to give thee that consolation,

which I bereft thee of in many tempestuous stormes, and make a sweet

restauration, for all thy former sower sufferinges. My faire and

dearly affected _Grizelda_, shee whom thou supposest for my new

elected Spouse, with a glad and cheerfull hart, imbrace for thine owne

daughter, and this also her Brother, beeing both of them thy children

and mine, in common opinion of the vulgar multitude, imagined to be (by

my command) long since slaine. I am thy honourable Lord and Husband,

who doth, and will love thee farre above all women else in the world;

giving thee justly this deserved praise and commendation, That no man

living hath the like Wife, as I have.

So, sweetly kissing her infinitely, and hugging her joyfully in his

armes (the teares now streaming like new-let-loose Rivers, downe her

faire face, which no disaster before could force from her) hee brought

her, and seated her by her daughter, who was not a little amazed at

so rare an alteration. Shee having (in zeale of affection) kissed and

embraced them both, all else there present being clearely resolved

from the former doubt which too long deluded them; the Ladies arose

jocondly from the tables, and attending on _Grizelda_ to her Chamber,

in signe of a more successefull augury to follow: tooke off her poor

contemptible rags, and put on such costly robes, which (as Lady

Marchionesse) she used to weare before.

Afterward, they waited on her into the Hall againe, being their true

Soveraigne Lady and Mistresse, as she was no lesse in her poorest

Garments; where all rejoycing for the new restored Mother, & happy

recovery of so noble a son and daughter, the Festivall continued many

months after. Now every one thought the Marquesse to be a noble and

wise Prince, though somewhat sharpe and unsufferable, in the severe

experiences made of his wife: but (above al) they reputed _Grizelda_,

to be a most wise, patient, & vertuous Lady. The Count of _Panago_,

within few daies after returned backe to _Bologna_; and the Lord

Marques, fetching home old _Janiculo_ from his country drudgery, to

live with him (as his Father in law) in his Princely Palace, gave

him honorable maintenance, wherein hee long continued, and ended his

daies. Afterward, he matched his daughter in a Noble marriage: he

and _Grizelda_ living long time together, in the highest honor that

possibly could be.

What can now be saide to the contrary, but that poore Country Cottages,

may yeeld as divine & excellent spirits, as the most stately and

Royall mansions, which breed and bring uppe some, more worthy to be

Hog-rubbers, then hold any soveraignty over men? Where is any other

(beside _Grizelda_) who not only without a wet eye, but imboldned by a

valiant and invincible courage: that can suffer the sharpe rigours, and

(never the like heard of proofes) made by the Marquesse? Perhaps he

might have met with another, who would have quitted him in a contrary

kinde, and for thrusting her forth of doores in her smocke, could have

found better succor somewhere else, rather then walke so nakedly in the

cold streets.

* * * * *

_Dioneus_ having thus ended his Novel, and the Ladies delivering their

severall judgements, according to their owne fancies, some holding

one conceite, others leaning to the contrary; one blaming this thing,

and another commending that, the King lifting his eyes to heaven, and

seeing the Sun began to fall** low, by rising of the Evening Starre;

without arising from his seat, spake as followeth. Discreet Ladies, I

am perswaded you know sufficiently, that the sense and understanding of

us mortals, consisteth not onely (as I think) by preserving in memory

things past, or knowledge of them present; but such as both by the one

and other, know how to foresee future occasions, are worthily thought

wise, and of no common capacity.

It will be (to morrow) fifteene dayes, since we departed from the

City of _Florence_, to come hither for our pastime and comfort, the

conservation of our lives, and support of our health, by avoyding those

melanchollies, griefes, and anguishes, which we beheld daylie in our

City, since the pestilentiall visitation beganne there, wherein (by my

judgement) we have done well and honestly. Albeit some light Novels,

perhaps attractive to a little wantonnes, as some say, and our Joviall

feasting with good cheare, singing and dancing, may seeme matters

inciting to incivility, especially in weake and shallow understandings.

But I have neither seene, heard, or knowne, any acte, word, or

whatsoever else, either on your part or ours, justly deserving to be

blamed: but all has bin honest, as in a sweete and hermonious concord,

such as might well beseeme the communitie of Brethren and Sisters;

which assuredly, as well in regard of you, as us, hath much contented

me.

And therefore, least by over-long consuetude, something should take

life, which might be converted to a bad construction, & by our country

demourance for so many dayes, some captious conceit may wrest out an

ill imagination; I am of the minde (if yours be the like) seeing each

of us hath had the honor, which now remaineth still on me: that it is

very fitting for us, to returne thither from whence we came. And so

much the rather, because this sociable meeting of ours, which already

hath wonne the knowledge of many dwellers here about us, should not

grow to such an increase, as might make our purposed pastime offensive

to us. In which respect (if you allow of my advise) I will keepe

the Crowne till our departing hence; the which I intend shall be to

morrow: but if you determine otherwise, I am the man ready to make my

resignation.

Many imaginations passed amongst the Ladies, and likewise the men, but

yet in the end, they reputed the Kings counsell to bee the best and

wisest, concluding to do as he thought convenient. Whereupon, hee called

the Master of the housholde, and conferred with him, of the businesse

belonging to the next morning, and then gave the company leave to rise.

The Ladies and the rest, when they were risen, fel some to one kinde of

recreation, and others as their fancies served them, even as (before)

they had done. And when Supper time came, they dispatcht it in very

loving manner. Then they began to play on instruments, sing and dance,

and Madame _Lauretta_ leading the dance: the King commaunded Madame

_Fiammetta_ to sing a song, which pleasantly she began in this manner.

_THE SONG._

The Chorus sung by all the rest of the Company.

_If Love were free from Jealousie,

No Lady living,

Had lesse heart-greeving,

Or liv'd so happily as I._

_If gallant youth

In a faire friend, a woman could content,

If vertues prize, valour and hardiment,

Wit, carriage, purest eloquence,

Could free a woman from impatience:

Then I am she can vaunt (if I were wise)

All these in one faire flower,

Are in my power,

And yet I boast no more but trueth.

If Love were free from jealousie, &c._

_But I behold

That other Women are as wise as I

Which killes me quite,

Fearing false sirquedrie.

For when my fire begins to flame

Others desires misguide my aim,

And so bereaves me of secure delight.

Onely through fond mistrust, he is unjust:

Thus are my comforts hourely hot and cold.

If Love were free, &c._

_If in my friend,

I found like faith, as manly minde I know;

Mistrust were slaine.

But my fresh griefes still grow,

By sight of such as do allure,

So I can thinke none true, none sure,

But all would rob me of my golden gaine.

Loe thus I dye, in Jelousie,

For losse of him, on whom I most depend.

If Love were free, &c._

_Let me advise

Such Ladies as in Love are bravely bold,

Not to wrong me, I scorne to be controld.

If any one I chance to finde.

By winkes, words, smiles, in crafty kinde,

Seeking for that, which onely mine should be:

Then I protest, to do my best,

And make them know, that they are scarsly wise._

_If Love were free from jealousie,

I know no Lady living,

Could have lesse heart-greeving,

Or live so happily as I._

So soone as Madam _Fiammetta_ had ended her Song; _Dioneus_, who sate

by her, smiling said. Truly Madam, you may do us a great courtesie, to

express your selfe more plainly to us all, least (thorow ignorance)

the possession may be imposed on your selfe, and so you remaine the

more offended. After the Song was past, divers other were sung beside,

and it now drawing wel-neere midnight, by the Kings command, they all

went to bed. And when new day appeared, and all the world awaked out

of sleepe, the Master of the Houshold having sent away the carriages;

they returned (under the conduct of their discreet King) to _Florence_,

where the three Gentlemen left the seven Ladies at the Church of

_Santa Maria Novella_, from whence they went with them at the first.

And having parted with kinde salutations; the Gentlemen went whether

themselves best pleased, and the Ladies repaired home to their houses.

_The End of the Tenth and Last Day._