3-7 Tedaldo, Florence, pilgrim

NOVEL VII. 

Tedaldo, having a misunderstanding with his mistress, leaves Florence; he returns thither afterwards in the habit of a pilgrim, and makes himself known to her; when he convinces her of her mistake, and saves her husband from being put to death for his murder, for which he had been condemned. He then reconciles him to his brethren, and lives upon good terms with her for the future. 

Fiammetta, who had been commended by all, was now silent; when, to prevent loss of time, the queen gave immediate orders to Emilia, who began thus: 

- I choose to return to our own city, which the two ladies who spoke last have departed from; and to relate how one of our own citizens regained his lost mistress. 

There lived at Florence a young nobleman, called Tedaldo Ele, who was in love with a lady named Monna Ermellina, wife to one Aldobrandino Palermini, and well did his good qualities deserve success. But ill fortune was still in his way; for the lady, after shewing a liking to him, all at once refused to see him, and would receive no more messages from him, which threw him into utter despair; but, as his love was a secret, the cause of his melancholy was unknown. Divers means he used to regain the love, which had been lost without any fault of his; but, finding all in vain, he resolved to separate himself from the world, that he might deprive her, who had been the cause of his malady, of the pleasure of seeing him in that condition. Getting together, therefore, what money he could privately raise, without saying a word of his intention to more than one friend, he went away, and came to Ancona, calling himself Phillippo di Sanlodeccio, and hired himself to a merchant, with whom he went on shipboard to Cyprus, and who was so taken with his behaviour, that he not only allowed him a good salary, but took him into partnership, intrusting to him the management of the greater part of his affairs. These he ordered so discreetly, that, in a few years, he became a wealthy and famous merchant. Whilst he was in this employ, though he would sometimes call to mind his cruel mistress, and be desirous of seeing her again, yet so firm was his resolution, that for six years together he got the better of his passion in this conflict. At last it happened, one day, whilst he was at Cyprus, that he heard a song composed by himself sung there, in which was largely set forth the mutual love which they bore to each other, whence it was inferred, that it was impossible she should ever forget him. That song inspired him with such a desire to see her, that he could no longer resist it; and, settling his affairs, he departed with only one servant to Ancona, consigned all his effects to a merchant at Florence, an acquaintance of his old friend at Ancona, and went off privately with his servant in the guise of a pilgrim just returned from the holy land. On arriving at Florence, he went to an inn which was kept by two brothers, near where his mistress lived; and the first thing he did was to go to her house, and endeavour to see her; but he found the windows and doors all made fast, which made him suspect that she was either dead or else changed her dwelling. Thence he turned his steps in a sorrowful manner towards the house where his brothers lived, and there he saw four of them standing at the door, dressed in mourning. This surprised him very much; and knowing he was so much altered since he had been away that he could not be easily known again, he applied to a shoemaker, and inquired the reason of their being in black. The shoemaker replied, "About fifteen days ago a brother of theirs, called Tedaldo, who has been long absent, was murdered; and I understand they have proved in court that he was killed by one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is arrested for it, because he had taken a fancy to his wife, and returned privately to be with her." 

Tedaldo wondered much that any one should be so like himself as to be mistaken for him; and he was grieved for Aldobrandino. Finding that his mistress was alive and well, it being now night, he returned full of thought to his inn, where having supped along with his servant, he was put to bed in a garret. There, what with his trouble, the badness of the bed, and perhaps his light supper, he was kept awake till about midnight; when he thought he heard some persons come from the top of the house, and he saw a light gleaming through the chinks of the door. Going softly, therefore, to peep, he saw a pretty young woman holding a candle, whilst three men were coming towards her, down stairs; and after some laughing together, one of them said, "We are now safe, God be thanked, since Tedaldo's death is proved by his brethren upon Aldobrandino Palermini, who has also confessed, and sentence is now passed: but yet it behoves us to keep it private; for should it be known, hereafter, that we are the persons, we should be in the same danger that he is in now." Having said this to the young woman, who seemed well pleased with it, they came down stairs and went to bed. Tedaldo, upon hearing what had passed, began to reflect how great and many were the errors to which the mind of man was subject; first, thinking of his brethren who had mourned for a stranger, and buried him by mistake for himself, and had afterwards taken up an innocent person upon a bare suspicion, who was accordingly condemned through false witnesses; and next, considering the blind severity of the law, and the ministers and dispensers of it, who, whilst they are solicitous to find out the truth, do often, by their horrid tortures, confirm a falsity; and instead of serving the cause of God and justice, are rather the ministers of iniquity and the devil. After this, he thought of Aldobrandino, and what was to be done to save his life. In the morning, then, he went alone to the lady's house, and by chance finding the door open, he entered, and beheld her sitting upon the ground floor, in a little room, making a sad lamentation. "Madam," said he to her, "do not trouble yourself; your peace is at hand." She looked up, and replied with tears, "Honest man, thou seemest to be a stranger, what knowest thou either of my peace or my affliction?" "Madam," he replied, "I am a messenger sent by God from Constantinople, and am just now arrived, to turn your tears into joy, and to save your husband's life." "If you are but now arrived," she made answer, " and are come from Constantinople, what do you know either of me or my husband?" He then related to her the misfortune that had befallen her husband, how long they had been married together and many other circumstances, to which she was no stranger; whereupon she fell down upon her knees, in amazement, believing him to be a prophet, and praying him, if he was come for Aldobrandino's sake, to make all possible dispatch, for the time was short. The pilgrim, assuming the aspect of a very holy personage, said, "Rise, madam, and attend to what I am going to say. This tribulation is now come upon you, on account of a sin formerly committed; therefore you must take care how you do the like for the time to come, lest a greater calamity befall you." - "Alas, sir!" quoth she, "I have been guilty of more sins than one; then tell me particularly what sin you mean, and I will do all in my power to amend." "Madam," returned he, "I know what sin it is; I do not ask for information: but only that you may have the greater remorse by confessing. But to come to the point: - Had you ever a lover?" The lady was in great amaze at this, supposing nobody had known anything of the matter; though from the time that person was slain who had been buried for Tedaldo, something of that kind had been talked of, occasioned by words imprudently let fall by Tedaldo's friend, whom he had intrusted with the secret, "I perceive that Heaven," she said, sighing deeply, "has revealed to you all the secrets of mankind, therefore I shall make no scruple of telling you mine. I did love, I confess, that unhappy young man whose death is now laid to my husband's charge, and which has given me also infinite concern; for though I might appear a little harsh to him, yet neither his parting, his long absence, nor his miserable death, has been able to drive him from my heart." - "The poor man who is dead," said the pilgrim, "never loved you, though Tedaldo did. But tell me what was the reason of your quarrelling with him? Did he ever give you any offence?" - "Most certainly he did not," she replied, "but it was all owing to a wicked friar, who, after I had mentioned to him, at confession, my love for that person, and our familiarity together, dinned such things into my ears that I am terrified still to think of them. He told me that if I did not desist the devil would carry me in his mouth to the bottom of hell, and put me into everlasting fire. I was so frightened, that I immediately resolved to break off all intimacy with my lover, and from that time I would no longer receive either his letters or his messages: though I really think, that had he persisted a little longer (for I suppose he went away in despair) I might have relented at last, because I had a true value for him." 

"Madam," quoth the stranger, "this is the sin which now sticks close to you. It was of your own accord that you first loved Tedaldo; there was no force in the case; you were agreeable to each other, and acquaintance begot more love. Why, therefore, was he discarded in such a cruel manner? These things should always be considered beforehand; and you should never engage when you are likely to repent. Now, with regard to these friars, you must understand that, being one of them, I must be supposed to know something of their ways; and therefore, if I speak a little more freely concerning them, it will be more excusable, as it is all for your good. Formerly they were religious, good men; but they who call themselves so now-a-days, and would be thought such, resemble the others in nothing but their hoods; nor in those things entirely; for the first friars wore them coarse and scanty, to show their great contempt of all temporal things, when they wrapped their bodies in such a mean habit; but now they are made full, shining, and of the finest cloth that can be got; and, resembling in their cut the pontifical robes, they strut with them, like so many peacocks, in churches and all public places; and as a fisherman strives to take as many fish as possible with one cast of his net, so do these with their large folds envelop and captivate young maids, who have vowed chastity, widows, and other simple people: and this is their whole care and study; so that, to speak properly, they have not preserved the hoods of their predecessors, but only the colour of them. Formerly, also, they were solicitous for people's salvation, but now they desire only women, and as much money as they can get; for which purpose they terrify the ignorant with idle stories, making them believe that their sins are all to be purged away with alms-giving and saying of masses; for which purpose one sends bread, a second wine, and a third money, all for the souls of their departed friends. It is most certain that prayers, and giving charities, are both pleasing to God; but if people knew what sort of folks they were bestowed upon, they would sooner throw what they part with in that manner to the hogs. They know full well, that rich people are not so manageable as the poorer sort, for which reason they are for engrossing all wealth to themselves. They cry down luxury, whilst they wallow in all kinds of debauchery. They condemn usury and unjust gains, in order to purchase some great benefice or bishoprick, with what is given them by way of restitution; and which, being detained from them, would occasion (they say) that person's damnation. And when they are told of these, and many other of their wicked practices, all the answer they make is, "Do as we say, not as we do;" as if it were possible for the sheep to have more resolution and constancy than the shepherd. But they would have you do as they say, namely, fill their purses with money; entrust them with all your secrets; be chaste, patient, forgivers of injuries; and never speak an ill word, which are all very good things; but for what reason? why, truly, that they may then do what, if we acted otherwise, they could not do! We all know, without money, there can be no sloth or idleness. If you spent your money for your own diversion, they could not have it for their maintenance: if you make free with the women about you, they would want the opportunity of being with them themselves: unless you were patient, and a forgiver of injuries, they would not dare to come into your house to corrupt your family. But why do I go through so many particulars? Let them first set the example, and then teach others. Suppose, however, what the friar told you to be true, namely, that it is a great crime to break the matrimonial vow: - Is not murder as bad? If, then, after Tedaldo had fallen into such despair as to leave his country, he had laid violent hands upon himself, would not you have been the occasion of it Ì Now, by your own confession, he deserved no such usage at your hands. This, therefore, is the crime, which is attended with its due punishment; for, as you broke your engagement with Tedaldo without reason; in like manner, without reason, is your husband in danger of his life upon his account, and yourself in great trouble. All that you can do, then, to be free, is to promise, and to be as good as your word, that if ever Tedaldo returns from his long banishment you will reinstate him in the favour he enjoyed before you were over-persuaded by that mischievous friar." 

When the pilgrim had finished his long address, to which Ermellina listened with great attention, strongly impressed with the truth of what he said, she replied: "Holy man, I know that what you say is true, and I begin to see that the monks and friars are a set of very bad people, though hitherto I had a quite different opinion of them: I own myself also much to blame with regard to Tedaldo, and would do as you say, but how is it possible? He is dead; and what need is there then of making any promise about him?"

The stranger made answer, "Madam, I know that he is not dead, but alive and well, provided he has your good graces." "Be careful of what you say," she replied, "I saw him before our door, stabbed in several places, and I lamented much over him; which, I suppose, gave occasion to the scandalous story that was raised about us." - "Madam, say what you please, I assure you he is not dead; and if you will promise what I desire, I hope you will very soon see him." - "That," she replied, "I will do with all my heart; nothing could give me greater pleasure than to see my husband at liberty, and Tedaldo living." Thinking it now a fit time to discover himself, and to give her more assurance concerning her husband, "Madam," he said, "for your greater comfort, I have one secret to entrust you with, which you must keep as you value your husband's life." Then taking a ring out of his pocket, which she had given him the last night of their being together, he shewed it to her, saying, "Madam, do you know this?" She instantly remembered it, and replied, "Yes, sir, I gave it formerly to Tedaldo." - "And do you know me?"he said, raising from his seat, and throwing off his hood. Recognising Tedaldo, she started as if she had seen a ghost; and looking upon him not as one returned from Cyprus, but as newly risen from the dead, she would have fled from him; but he stopped her, saying, "Doubt not. Madam; I am your Tedaldo, alive and well; I never was dead, as you and my brothers believe." The lady began now to be a little better reconciled to him, and, throwing her arms about his neck, she cried, "Welcome home, my dear Tedaldo." He kissed her, and said, "Madam, we have no time now for these greetings; I must go and take care of your husband, of whom I hope that before tomorrow you will hear such news as will please you; and if I succeed according to my expectation, I will come and spend this evening with you; when I shall be able to give you a more full account than my time will permit at present." Resuming his former habit, therefore, taking his leave of her, he went to the prison to Aldobrandino, who lay expecting nothing but death; and being admitted by the favour of the keeper as a confessor, he sat down by him, and spoke in this manner: "I am a messenger from God (who has regard to your innocence) to bring you tidings of your deliverance; for his sake, then, I request one little favour which, if you grant, I make no doubt but that before tomorrow night you will hear of a pardon." Aldobrandino replied, "sir, you are a stranger to me, but I must suppose you to be a friend, since you are so solicitous about my deliverance. With regard to this deed, however, which has been sworn upon me, I am entirely innocent; I may have been bad enough in other respects, for which this may be a judgment upon me. Ask, then, what you please; be the request of ever such consequence, I promise to grant it, if I can obtain my liberty." "What I require," said the pilgrim, "is only a pardon for Tedaldo's four brothers, whenever they ask it of you, for having brought you into this trouble, under the belief that you were concerned in murdering their brother." Aldobrandino replied, "No one knows the sweets of revenge, and how eagerly it is coveted, but they who have received the injury; nevertheless, I forgive them, and if I obtain a pardon, I will do it in such a manner as shall be most agreeable to you." The pilgrim was pleased with this, and bid him have a good heart, for that before the next day at night he should be assured of his liberty. 

Leaving the prisoner, the pilgrim then went straight to the signiory, and taking one of the lords aside, said to him, "sir, it is the business of every one to endeavour to find out the truth, especially such as are in your station, in order that people may not suffer wrongfully; and that they who deserve punishment may have it; and this is what now brings me before you, with a view to your own honour and the confusion of the guilty. You know you have proceeded with severity against Aldobrandino, thinking you had proved upon him the murder of Tedaldo. This I aver to be false, as I shall prove to you before midnight, delivering the very murderers into your hands." The worthy lord, who was under great concern for Aldobrandino, gave ear to the stranger's story, and about midnight the two innkeepers and their maid were taken by his orders, by officers, let into the house by the pilgrim. Being threatened with the torture, they all confessed that it was they who had slain Tedaldo Ele without knowing him. Being asked the reason, they declared that it was because he would have forced one of their wives when they were abroad. Having obtained this information he retired, with the Signor's permission, and went privately to the lady Ermellina's house, to give her a full account of what had passed; and after giving her such joyful intelligence he spent the night with her, and happily ratified their thorough mutual reconciliation. 

In the morning, having acquainted her with what he meant to do, and enjoined secrecy, he went to attend to the affair of Aldobrandino; and the lords, after a full inquiry, released him, and sentenced the others to lose their heads on the spot where the murder was committed. Aldobrandino being discharged, and knowing that it was all owing to the stranger, he and his friends invited him to their houses, to make what stay he pleased, and shewed him all possible respect, the lady especially, who knew well to whom she was so obliging. And now, thinking it time to bring about a reconciliation between Aldobrandino and his brothers, who had incurred so much ill will since his discharge, that they were forced to go armed, the pilgrim claimed the fulfilment of the promise made him. Aldobrandino answered, that he was willing. The pilgrim therefore made him provide a great entertainment to which his relations and their wives were to be invited, and the four brothers with their wives, adding that he himself would ask the latter, as to his own feast. Accordingly he went to the four brothers, and after much entreaty prevailed upon them to ask pardon, in order to regain Aldobrandino's friendship; and when that was settled, he invited them to dine there the next day, giving them his word for their security. At dinner-time, therefore, the next day, Tedaldo's four brothers, all in mourning, with some of their friends, came first to Aldobrandino's house, who was expecting them; when, laying their arms down upon the ground, in presence of all the guests who had been invited to bear them company, and offering themselves to his mercy, they humbly asked his pardon. He received them with tears, and saluting them one after another, forgave the injury he had suffered. After this the sisters and their wives came also, and were graciously received by Ermellina and the other ladies. 

The entertainment was now served up, and everything was agreeable, excepting a confirmed silence, occasioned by the late sorrow, which was represented by the habit of Tedaldo's relations; on which account the stranger's contrivance and invitation appeared unseasonable to many people. This he soon perceived, and resolved to remove when he saw a fit time; accordingly, when the dessert was served up, he rose, and said, "Nothing seems wanting to make this a merry meeting but the presence of Tedaldo, whom, as you have had him so long with you without knowing him, I mean now to show you." - Throwing off then his monk's disguise, he appeared in a green silk doublet, and his features were recognised by all to their great surprise, though they gazed upon him for a considerable time before they could be convinced that he was the very person; which he perceiving, related many circumstances concerning both themselves and him for their farther satisfaction. Upon this his brothers and the rest of the men, all ran and embraced him, as did all the women except Ermellina; which, when Aldobrandino saw, he said, "What is the meaning of this, Ermellina? Why don't you welcome Tedaldo home, when everybody else has done it?" She replied, in the hearing of them all, that no one could rejoice more sincerely than herself, as she was obliged to him for her husband's life; but the scandalous words that had been given out concerning her, when that person was taken for Tedaldo, had made her cautious. Aldobrandino replied, "Away with these idle stories; do you think I regard them? He has sufficiently cleared himself by his regard for my life; do then as the rest have done." 

She desired nothing better, and was therefore not slow in obeying her husband's order. Aldobrandino's liberality was so agreeable to all present, both men and women, that their former misunderstanding was quite forgotten. After Tedaldo then had received every one's compliments, he tore the mourning off all his kindred, and ordered other clothes to be immediately brought; and having put them on, they concluded the feast with singing, dancing, and the like diversions Thence they went to Tedaldo's house, where they supped, and they continued feasting many days. 

Still the people for some time looked upon him with the utmost amazement, as one risen from the dead; and perhaps his very brethren might have yet entertained some doubt about him, if one thing had not happened which made it clear who the person was that was slain. It was this: - Some sorry fellows of Lunigiana were going one day past the house, and seeing Tedaldo at the door, they stopped, and said, "How do you do, Fativolo?" Tedaldo replied, before some of his brothers, "You mistake your man." They hearing him speak, were out of countenance, and asked pardon, saying, "Never two people were more alike than you and a companion of ours, named Fativolo da Pontrimoli, who came hither fifteen days ago, and we can't learn what has befallen him. We wondered, indeed, how he came by this dress, for he was a soldier, as we are." The eldest brother, hearing this, inquired more particularly as to the clothes of the murdered man, and finding all the circumstances agree, it now appeared plainly that it was Fativolo, and not Tedaldo, that was slain, and this set every one right with regard to that affair. Thus Tedaldo returned home rich, and continued his acquaintance with the lady, without any further interruption. May the like good fortune happen to us all!