4-8, Girolamo is in love with Salvestra

NOVEL VIII. 

Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and is obliged by his mother to go to Paris; on his return he finds her married; and getting privately into her house, he breathes his last by her side. On his being carried thence to a church to be buried, she dies likewise upon his corpse. 

Emilia's novel was concluded, when, by the king's order, Neifile began as follows: - There are some people, most worthy ladies, who think they know more than other folks, and yet know less; and who upon this presumption not only oppose their opinions to the general sense of mankind, but even to the very nature of things; whence proceed frequently great inconveniences, and never any good. Amongst natural causes, that which the least brooks any advice or opposition is love, the nature of which is such, as more easily to wear away of itself, than to be removed by any admonition. I intend to relate a story of a lady, who, being willing to appear wiser than she really was, or than the thing, in which she would have shewed her good understanding, required; by endeavouring to drive away that passion from a heart, in which it was firmly implanted, deprived her son both of life and love at the same time. 

In our city, as it is reported, there lived a great and wealthy merchant, whose name was Lionardo Sighieri, who by his wife had an only son called Girolamo. Lionardo died soon after his son was born, and the infant's guardians along with his mother took all possible care both of him and his affairs. As he grew up, amongst the other children of the neighbourhood, he used to play with a tailor's daughter much about the same age; in time that acquaintance changed into love, which became so vehement, that he was never easy unless he was in her company, and certainly her love was no less warm for him. His mother observed this, and would frequently reprimand and chastise him for it. Finding that ineffectual, she complained to his guardians; and thinking, on account of his wealth, that she might work impossibilities, she said to them, "This boy of mine, who is but fourteen years old, has taken such a fancy to a tailor's daughter, and unless we remove him he will marry her privately some time or another, which will be death to me; or else he will pine and consume himself away, if he sees her married to another person; for which reason I think it best to send him a distance off, to some of our factors, in order by his absence to put her out of his thoughts, and afterwards we may provide a more suitable wife for him." They agreed with her that it would be right to do so, and promised her all the service that lay in their power. Calling him then into the counting-house, one of them spoke kindly to him in this manner: 

"Young gentleman, as you are now of considerable years, it is fit that you should begin to look after your own affairs; for which reason we consider it proper that you go and reside some time at Paris, where you will see how a great part of your trade is carried on; besides, you will have greater opportunities there of improving yourself than you can have here, and after you have conversed with persons of quality and distinction, of whom there are great numbers at Paris, and learned their breeding and elegant accomplishments, it will then be time for you to return." He listened very attentively, and replied in a few words, that he would not consent, because he thought it full as^ell to stay at Florence. They reproved him a little for it; but finding they could get no other answer, they acquainted his mother. She was in a violent passion, and gave him hard words, not on account of his refusing to go, but for his love affairs; and this availing nothing, she began to use gentler means, entreating him in the mildest terms that he would oblige his guardians; and she prevailed so far, that he consented to go and stay one year there, and no more, and accordingly he went. 

Being sent thus to Paris, over head and ears in love, his return was put off from one day to another, until he was kept there at last two years; when coming home, more enamoured than ever, he found, to his bitter grief, that his mistress was married to a young man, a tent-maker. Seeing, however, that the thing could not be remedied, he endeavoured to bear it patiently; and finding out the place where she lived, he began, as is usual with young lovers, to walk frequently by the house, supposing that she could no more have forgotten him, than he had forgotten her. But the case was otherwise: she remembered him no more than if she had never seen him, at least it seemed so by her behaviour, which gave him great trouble; yet, notwithstanding, he tried all means to make her call him to mind; but, finding it in vain, he resolved to speak to her, though it cost him his life. Having made himself acquainted, through a neighbour, with the interior arrangement of the house, he got into it privately one night, when the husband and wife were gone to spend the evening with some friends, and hid himself in their chamber, behind some sail cloths, where he waited until they returned and were in bed; and when he thought the husband fast asleep, he went softly to her side, and laying his hand upon her breast, said gently to her, "My dear life, are you asleep?” She, happening to be awake, was going to cry out, when he immediately added, "For God's sake make no noise; I am your old lover, Girolamo." She, hearing this, replied, all in a tremble, "Dear sir, go about your business; the time when we might love one another is past; you see I am married, and therefore am only to regard my husband; I entreat you, then, to depart; for if he should know of it, supposing nothing worse to happen, I should be miserable as long as I live, and our lives hitherto have been very comfortable together." The youth was extremely troubled at these words, and though he put her in mind of past times, and used many arguments and fair promises to persuade her, yet it was all in vain. At last he desired, that, as a recompense for all his love, she would only let him lie by her side till he had warmed himself a little, for that he was quite chilled while waiting for her, promising neither to speak or touch her, and when he grew warmer, go away. She, having some compassion left for him, gave leave upon those conditions. He then lay down by her, and calling to mind his long passion, and her inflexible cruelty, as one destitute of all hope, he resolved to die; and holding his breath strongly, he clenched his hands, and expired by her side. 

After some little time, she being surprised at his lying so still, and fearing lest her husband should wake, began to say to him, "Alas I sir, why do you not go away?" Perceiving that he made no answer, she supposed he was asleep, and putting her hand out to jog him, found him quite cold; being greatly amazed at this, and shaking him more strongly, she perceived he was certainly dead. Affected beyond measure, she lay a considerable time, not knowing what course to take. At length she resolved to sound her husband, by making it another person's case; awakening him, therefore, she proposed it to him, as having happened to somebody else, and then asked him what he would do in such an affair. The honest man replied, that he would have him carried privately home, without the least resentment to the woman, because she seemed to be in no way in fault. "Then," said she, "we must do so now: "and taking hold of his hand, laid it upon the dead body. He arose in a great fright, and, lighting a candle, immediately took the corpse upon his shoulders, having first put all its clothes upon it and relying upon his innocence, carried it to the mother's door, and left it there. When it was found in the morning there was a great uproar about it, and the body was examined all over, and no wound or bruise appearing, the physicians declared that he had died for grief, and such was really the case. The corpse was then carried to the church, attended by the sorrowful mother, and other friends and relations to lament over it, according to the custom of our city; and whilst this was doing, the honest man, in whose house he had died, said to his wife, "Go, veil yourself, and hasten to the church, and hear among the women what they say about it, and I will do the same amongst the men, by which means we shall know whether they have any suspicion of us." The woman, who had some pity for him when it was too late, grew desirous of seeing him dead, to whom, whilst living, she would not vouchsafe the favour of one kiss, and went directly thither. 

Wondrously inscrutable are the powerful workings of love. That heart which was proof against the prosperous fortune of Girolamo, was now pierced by his adversity; and the old flames of love, which were revived, had such an effect upon her, that, veiled as she was, she still pressed forwards to the corpse, when uttering a most terrible shriek, and falling down with her face upon it, she shed but a few tears, for the very instant almost that she touched it, grief deprived her of life, as it did Girolamo. Instantly the women began to comfort her, not knowing who she was, and to desire her to rise, but perceiving that she did not stir, they lifted her up, when they knew her to be Salvestra, and beheld that she was quite dead. Overcome, then, as it were by a double compassion, they set up a greater lamentation than before. The news being carried through the church, soon came to the cars of Salvestra's husband. He was deeply affected, and having related to some that stood by the whole affair of the preceding night, the cause of both their deaths plainly appeared, and they were generally lamented. They then took the dead lady, and laid her by his side upon the same bier, and they were buried with the greatest lamentations in the same grave. So this pair, whom love could not join together in their lifetime, were united inseparably by death.