NOVEL VIII.
Sophronia believing herself to be the wife of Gisippus, is really married to Titus Quintus Fulvius, who carries her to Rome, where Gisippus arrives some time after in great distress, and, thinking himself despised by Titus, confesses himself guilty of a murder, in order to put an end to his life. Titus recollects him, and, to save him, accuses himself, which, when the murderer sees, he delivers himself up as the guilty person. Finally, they are all set at liberty by Octavius, and Titus marries Gisippus to his sister, and gives him half his estate.
Pampinea having ceased to speak, and King Pietro having been much commended by the whole company, but especially by the Ghibelline lady. Filomena now, by the king's order, began in this manner: - We all know, ladies, that kings can do, as often as they are so disposed, everything that is great and noble. Such things are more particularly required of them. Now, he who does his duty, does well; but yet we should not wonder in that manner, and extol a king so highly for it, as we would another, who, not having the same ability, has less incumbent upon him, and yet does as much. If, therefore, you commend the actions of princes to that degree, and think them glorious, I make no doubt but those of our equals will be much more admired by you, when they are found to resemble, or even exceed them. I shall, therefore, relate the great and noble behaviour of two citizens and friends.
At the time when Octavius Caesar (afterwards Augustus) governed the empire as one of the triumvirate, there dwelt at Rome a gentleman called Publius Quintus Fulvius, who having a son named Titus Quintus Fulvius, a youth of wonderful parts and learning, sent him to Athens to study philosophy, and recommended him to a gentleman there, called Chremes, who was his old friend. This noble person kept him in his own house, as a companion to a son of his own, named Gisippus, and they were both put under the tuition of a philosopher, whose name was Aristippus. Being brought up thus together, their ways and tempers were so conformable, that a brotherly affection and strict friendship sprang up between them, inseparable by any other accident than death, nor had they either happiness or repose but in each other's company. They began their studies together, and proceeded, for they had each an uncommon genius, to the greatest depths of philosophy with equal steps, and marvellous applause. Thus they went on for three years, to the great joy of Chremes, who seemed to have the same regard for both, when it chanced that he died, being stricken in years, at which they manifested equal sorrow; nor could it be well said which was the more disconsolate.
A few months afterwards, the friends and relations of Gisippus came to see him, and began, along with Titus, to comfort and persuade him to take a wife, recommending a townswoman of theirs, a lady of extraordinary beauty and family, about sixteen years of age; and the time of their marriage drawing near, Gisippus prevailed upon Titus, who had not yet seen her, to go with him to pay her a visit. Coming then to the house, and she seating herself between them, Titus, considering the charms of his friend's betrothed spouse, began to view her with the greatest attention; and being immoderately taken with every part and every feature of her, and praising them secretly to himself, he soon grew as much enamoured as ever man in the world was with a woman, without, however, showing the least outward sign of it. After they had stayed some time, they left her, and returned home; and Titus, going into his chamber by himself, began to reflect upon what he had seen, and the more he thought, the more he grew in love. Recollecting himself at last, after many passionate sighs, he broke out to this effect: "Ah! unhappy Titus, where and on whom hast thou fixed thy heart, thy affections, and thy whole hope? Knowest thou not, that, for the favours received from Chremes and his family, as well as the close friendship betwixt thee and Gisippus, to whom she is espoused, thou oughtest to reverence her as a sister." Whom, then, dost thou love? Why suffer thyself to be thus ensnared? To what purpose that deceitful hope? Open the eyes of thy understanding, O miserable man! and know thyself. Listen to reason, curb thy inordinate appetite, moderate thy irregular desires, and direct them to a different object; subdue thy lascivious passion in the beginning, and be thy own master whilst it is in thy power. It is not fit, what thou desirest: it is not honest. What thou art in pursuit of, even wert thou sure to obtain it, which thou art not, thou oughtest to flee from, if thou hadst any regard to what true friendship and thy own duty both require. What, then, wilt thou do? To act reasonably, thou must quit this love." Then, calling to mind the lady, and renouncing what he had before alleged, he said, "The laws of love are of greater force than any other; they annul those of friendship, or even the laws divine. How often has a father loved his daughter, a brother his sister? which are much stranger things than for one friend to love another friend's wife. Besides, I am young, and youth is entirely subject to the government of love. What that directs, then, I approve. Let people of more years think of what is honest: I can will nothing but to love. This her beauty commands from every one. How am I then to blame? I love her, not because she is espoused to my friend, but I should love her to whomsoever she belonged. It is only fortune that is in fault, in having bestowed her upon him; and perhaps he may be less uneasy at my admiring her, than he would be were it any other person."
Thus he kept reasoning with himself backwards and forwards, not that day and night only, but many others, insomuch that he neither eat nor slept, till at last he was forced to keep his bed. Gisippus had observed him pensive for some time, and now seeing him fall sick, was extremely grieved, and sought, by all manner of means, to comfort him, pressing earnestly to know the cause of his grief. Titus returned frivolous answers, wide of the truth, which Gisippus knew to be such; and as he was still urgent to know the real cause, Titus, compelled, as it were, at length to speak, began with sighs and tears to this effect: "O, Gisippus! if it had pleased the gods, death would have been much more welcome to me, than to live any longer, now I come to reflect that fortune has brought me into a strait, in which trial is to be made of my virtue, and I perceive that it is vanquished, to my eternal reproach. But I expect ere long the proper reward, namely, death, which will be much more dear to me than to live with the consciousness of my own baseness, which, as I neither can nor ought to conceal anything from you, I now disclose with shame." Here he related from the beginning the whole cause of his distress and his conflict within himself, as also which way the victory had inclined, owning his extreme passion for Sophronia, and declaring, on account of its dishonourable nature, his resolution to die, which he hoped would shortly come to pass.
Gisippus, on hearing this discourse, and seeing his friend's affliction, stood some time in suspense, having a love for the lady, though in a more moderate degree: but at length his friend's life was preferred, and, sympathising with him, he wept, and said, "Titus, were it not that you stand more in need of comfort, I should upbraid you for a breach of friendship, in keeping your passion so long a secret. Admitting it to be dishonourable, yet ought it to be no more concealed than if it were otherwise; for if it be the part of a friend to rejoice at what redounds to his friend's credit, it is no less so to attempt to drive from that friend's heart what he judges contrary to it. But to leave this subject, and come to that of which you stand most in need. That you are so passionately in love with Sophronia, who is affianced to me, I am not at all surprised, but should wonder rather if it were otherwise, considering her extraordinary beauty, and the generosity of your soul, so much the more susceptible of love, in proportion to the excellency of the object. The more reason, then, there is for your loving Sophronia, the more unjustly do you complain of fortune for having bestowed her upon me, as though your love would have been more reputable had she belonged to any other person. But you should rather be pleased that fortune has made her mine; for an indifferent person would have given the preference to himself, which you can never suppose of me, if you hold me as much your friend as I really am. And my reason is this: I do not remember, since the commencement of our friendship, that I ever possessed anything but it was as much yours as my own; and if it was so in every other case, it shall be the same in this. It is true she is my spouse, and I have loved her most affectionately, waiting with impatience the consummation of our nuptials: but, as your desire and passion for her are the stronger, be assured that she shall be conducted into my chamber, not as my wife, but yours. Then leave these despairing thoughts, shake off that cloudy disposition, reassume your former health and cheerful temper, and from this hour expect the reward and completion of your love, far more deserving of the lady than mine.”
As much pleasure as Titus's hopes afforded him, with so much shame was he overwhelmed from this consideration, that the greater his friend's liberality, the greater the disgrace it would be to accept it. Therefore, unable to refrain from tears, he thus feebly replied: "Gisippus, your sincere and generous friendship points out to me what ought to be done on my part. Heaven forbid that I should take her for mine, who was more deservedly destined to be yours: had the gods thought her a fit wife for me, they would have ordered it to have been so. Accept thankfully, then, your own choice and her gift, and leave me to waste away in tears, as unworthy of such a blessing: for either I shall get the better of this passion, and so continue your friend, or else it will get the better of me, and I shall then be out of my misery."
"My dear friend," Gisippus replied, "if our intimacy might permit me to force you in any respect to comply with my will, it is in this case that I would make use of such influence; if, then, you refuse to condescend to my entreaties, I shall, with that compulsion which is necessary for my friend's welfare, take care that Sophronia be wholly yours. I know full well the force of love, and that many of its votaries have been brought by it to an unhappy end; I see you also in such danger, that you would unavoidably sink under your burden; nor should I be long behind you. Therefore, were there no other reason, yet for my own sake would your life be dear to me. You, then, shall be possessed of her, because you will never meet with any so agreeable to yourself; but, for my part, I may fancy some other as well. There is no such generosity in this; women are easier found than friends: another wife I can easily procure, but such a friend, perhaps, never. I can better transfer my affection to another, than think of losing you. Rouse yourself, then, I entreat you, if you have any regard for me, from this affliction. Comfort at once both yourself and me, and prepare to receive the joy which your most passionate love so eagerly thirsts after."
Although Titus was ashamed to give his consent, yet love, smd his friend's importunities, at length prevailed: and he replied, "Gisippus, in doing what you entreat and say is so much your desire, I know not whether I may be supposed principally to consult your pleasure or my own. As, therefore, your liberality is such that it surmounts all shame in me, I will do as you command. But remember, it is not being gratified in my love only, however great that may be; but it is receiving my life also at your hands, for which I must own myself your debtor. And may the gods grant that I may be able, some time or other, to show how much I think myself obliged by your manifesting a greater regard for me, than I had for myself!"
After this was over, Gisippus said to him, "Titus, in order that we succeed in this affair, I hold it best to take this method: you know everything is concluded between Sophronia's friends and mine, and were I now to declare my refusal of her, it would be a matter of great reproach, and I should for ever offend both her relations and mine, though the latter I should not so much regard, could I be assured you would obtain her by that means: but I am afraid lest in such case they should bestow her upon some other person, and so you lose what I gained not. If you think well of it, then I intend to proceed in the affair, and bring her home as my own spouse, when you shall privately be put to bed to her, as if she was your wife, and at a proper time the affair shall be made public; if they approve of it, it will be well; if otherwise, the thing will be done, and cannot then be undone, for which reason they must be satisfied."
Titus approved of this stratagem, and as soon as he was perfectly recovered, Gisippus brought Sophronia home with great rejoicings, when the women put her into his bed, and departed. Now Titus's chamber adjoined that of Gisippus, so that a person might go out of one into the others Gisippus, therefore, having put out the lights, went silently to Titus, and told him that he might now go to bed to his lady. Upon this, Titus was so overcome with shame, that he began to repent, and refused it. But Gisippus, who was as much his friend as he had always professed himself, after a long contest, sent him to her; when having got into bed, he softly asked if she was willing to be his wife. She, thinking it was Gisippus, replied, "Yes." Then taking a ring of value, and putting it upon her finger, he said, "And I will be your husband." Thus everything was consummated, she thinking all the time that she was with Gisippus.
By this time Publius, the father of Titus, departed this life, when letters came to Titus, requiring him quickly to depart for Rome upon his private affairs, which he instantly resolved upon, designing also to take with him Sophronia and Gisippus. But not seeing how this could well be managed, without his first making a full discovery of what had been done, he therefore one day called her into the chamber, and told her the whole affair, which he made clear to her by many remarkable circumstances. Upon this she gazed first at one, and then the other, with extreme confusion, and at length burst into tears, complaining bitterly of Gisippus's trick upon her; but before she made any stir about it in the house, she went directly to her father's, and declared to him and her mother the whole treachery, affirming that she was not the wife of Gisippus as they imagined, but of Titus. This was a most grievous thing both to them and all her relations, who complained heavily of Gisippus, and there was much disturbance and confusion about it. Great was the resentment of his own relations, as well as hers, and all declared him worthy not of reproof only, but severe chastisement. But he, notwithstanding, justified what he had done, averring that thanks were rather due to him from her friends, inasmuch as he had married her to one better than himself. Titus, on his part, beheld all this with great concern, and knowing it to be the temper of the Greeks to make a mighty noise and stir when no opposition is made, but where there is any resistance then to be tame and submissive, he resolved to bear their reproaches no longer without a reply, and having an Attic genius, with a true Roman spirit, he had all Gisippus's and Sophronia's friends summoned together into a temple, and coming thither, accompanied only by Gisippus, he addressed the expecting multitude in the following manner: "It is the opinion of many philosophers, that we mortals do nothing but what is preordained by the immortal gods, whence some conclude that our actions are determined by a fatal necessity, although others refer that necessity to things already past. Whoever has regard to either of these tenets, must allow, that to find fault with what cannot be revoked, is, in other terms, to quarrel with Providence, whom we should believe to govern by perpetual laws, not subject to error, both us and all our affairs; and yet you yourselves are the people that presume to do this, if it be true, as I hear, that you are continually exclaiming against my marriage with Sophronia, whom you had given to Gisippus, never considering that it was decreed from the beginning that she should not be his wife, but mine, as the effect now proves. However, as the secrets of Providence are too knotty and intricate a subject for most people to comprehend, I am willing to suppose that no regard is had to what is done here below, and shall confine myself altogether to the dictates of human reason. Speaking, therefore, in that manner, I am forced to do two things contrary to my natural temper: to commend myself, and to blame or lessen other people. But as I shall keep strictly to the truth in both respects, and the nature of the case requires me to do both, I therefore proceed. "Your complaints arise more from rage than reason; you are continually reviling Gisippus, because he generously parted with a lady whom you designed to be his wife. This action, nevertheless, deserves the highest commendation, and that for two reasons. First, because he has thereby performed a most noble act of friendship; and secondly, he has acted more wisely than you yourselves would have done. How far the sacred bonds of friendship oblige one friend to go for another, I shall not at present examine, but content myself barely with reminding you, that they are much stronger than the ties of blood. Our friends are our own choice, but our relations we receive at the hands of fortune. If, therefore, Gisippus, who is my friend, valued my life beyond your favour, you need not be surprised. But, secondly, I will show, by divers instances, seeing that you know little of Providence, and much less of the effects of friendship that he has proved himself wiser than you all. You gave Sophronia to him, being a young gentleman and a philosopher; he bestowed her on a young gentleman and a philosopher also. You gave her to an Athenian; he conferred her upon a Roman. You gave her to one of a good family; he to a person of a better. You to one that was rich; he to another much richer. You to one who but little esteemed, and scarcely knew her; he to one that loved her as his own life. Consider, then, what I have said, article by article. We are of equal years, and our studies have been the same; he, indeed, is an Athenian, and I a Roman, but no one can pretend to put those two cities in comparison. Rome is an independent, free city; Athens, a tributary one. Rome is mistress of the whole world; whilst Athens is under her subjection. Rome is justly famed for arms, extent of empire, and for all sorts of polite learning; whilst Athens is only remarkable for n little philosophy. And though you see me here a scholar, and of no great account, yet I am not descended from the dregs of the people. My houses and the public places are filled with the statues of my ancestors, and our annals record the numberless triumphs of the Quintii brought home by them into the Roman Capitol. Nor has time itself tarnished our glory, but the lustre of our house continues the same as ever. I say nothing of my wealth, out of mere shame, remembering that a virtuous poverty was the noblest patrimony of the ancient Romans: but if you be of a different opinion, and think with the ignorant multitude there is any real excellence in riches, I can then tell you, that I am abundantly provided, not from my own covetous desires, but the gift of fortune. I know very well that you desired his alliance, as he is of your own city: but why should not I be as much esteemed by you at Rome, considering that you will then have a faithful friend and advocate in all your affairs, both public and private? Upon all these grounds I must conclude that Gisippus has judged more wisely than yourselves.
Sophronia is married to a noble and wealthy citizen of Rome, one of an ancient family, and a friend of Gisippus; therefore, whoever makes any complaint or stir about it, neither does as he ought, nor yet knows what he does.
"But some, perhaps, may say, " We do not so much blame the thing, as the manner in which it was done, she being made his wife, as it were, by stealth." Why, this is no such strange matter! How many examples are there of this kind in the world? Do not daughters marry without their parents' consent? Some go into foreign countries with their gallants, and others never discover their marriages at all, till their appearance or lying-in does it for them. Now there is nothing like this in Sophronia's case; she was decently and honourably disposed of by Gisippus to me. Others may allege, that she was married to a person for whom she was never designed; but those complaints are now exceedingly foolish, and to no purpose whatever. Fortune makes use of strange methods sometimes to bring things to pass. What is it to me, whether it be a cobbler or a philosopher that does any business of mine, or whether it be in public or private, provided the end be good? Indeed, if I find the cobbler indiscreet in his management, he shall have no more to do for me; but still I am obliged to thank him when he does me any real service. Gisippus has married Sophronia well; then to what purpose is it how he did it? If you question his prudence, let him have no more of your daughters to dispose of; but still thank him for providing so well for this one. I never meant to throw a stain upon your family, in the person of Sophronia; and though I married her in that manner, I neither came as a ravisher, nor one refusing your alliance; I was charmed with her beauty and virtue; and fearing, if I proceeded in the usual way, that you would never give your consent, on account of my taking her away to Rome, I therefore had recourse to this artifice and made Gisippus espouse her for me. - Moreover, though I loved her most immoderately, yet, to show you that my designs were strictly honourable, I first espoused her with my own ring, as she can bear me witness, asking her whether she was willing to take me for her husband, when she made answer that she was; if she was deceived, she herself is to blame for not asking me who I was.
"This, then, is the mighty crime committed by him as a friend, and me as a lover: for this you lay snares for, and threaten his life. What could you do more, had he given her to the veriest scoundrel in the universe? But letting this alone for the present, the time is now come, on account of my fathers unexpected death, for my returning to Rome; and as I intend to take Sophronia along with me, I have thought it proper to declare what might otherwise have been kept secret. If you be wise, you will take it in good part; for, were I capable of such an action, I might basely have left her. But heaven forbid that such a thought should ever enter the breast of a Roman! Sophronia, therefore, is mine by the will of Heaven, the laws of men, the generosity of my friend, and the innocent artifice wherewith love inspired me; whilst you, thinking yourself wiser than other people, or even the gods themselves, contest my title two ways, both very injurious to me: first, by seeking to detain Sophronia, over whom you have no more power than I choose to give you; and, secondly, by your ill treatment of my friend, to whom yourselves are greatly obliged. How indiscreet you are in both respects I shall not say at present, but will only advise you amicably to give up your resentment, and deliver Sophronia to me, that I may depart your friend, and continue so; assuring you, whether you be pleased or otherwise with what is done, that if you offer to proceed in a different manner, I will then take Gisippus along with me; and when I come to Rome, fetch her, who is mine by right, in spite of you all, from amongst you, making you sensible, at the same time, what it is to incur the just displeasure of the Romans."
After Titus had done speaking, he took Gisippus by the hand, and went out with him, knitting his brows, and showing all the marks of passion at those within the temple, whilst they, moved partly with the reasons he had given, and partly terrified with his last words, thought it better to admit him as a relation, since Gisippus had refused it, than to lose the alliance of one, and procure the enmity of the other. So they went with one accord, and told him, that they consented he should have Sophronia, and should esteem him as their kinsman, and Gisippus as their friend. Having made a solemn agreement with him to that effect, they departed, delivering Sophronia up to him; and she, being wise enough to make a virtue of necessity, immediately transferred to Titus the love she had borne to Gisippus, and went with him to Rome, where she was received with great honour and respect.
Gisippus continued at Athens in little esteem with the people, and powerful parties were now formed against him, insomuch that he was at length driven from the place, and doomed with all his family to perpetual banishment. Being thus destitute of all friends, and no better than a common beggar, he traveled, as well as he could to Rome, to see if Titus would take notice of him. Finding that his friend was alive, and in great favour with the people, he inquired for his house, and went thither, waiting till he should come past. Not daring to speak a word, on account of his poverty, he yet put himself in the way, in hopes that he would recollect and challenge him; but he passed by, and Gisippus, imagining that he had seen and despised him, and calling to mind what he had formerly done for him, went away confounded with grief and despair. It was now night, he had been fasting all that day, and being without a penny of money in his pocket, and desiring nothing so much as to die, he rambled about, without knowing whither, till he came to a solitary part of the city, where he found a great cavern, and went into it, intending to pass the night there; then laying himself down, almost naked, upon the hard ground, he wept himself asleep. To this place two thieves, who had been robbing all night, came with their booty towards break of day, and quarrelling together about it, one killed the other, and departed. This Gisippus perceiving, and thinking he had now found a way to die, without even laying hands upon himself, he stayed there till the officers, who had notice of the murder, came and hurried him violently away. Upon examination, he confessed that he had committed the deed, and had not the power afterwards to stir from the place. On this, Marcus Varro, who was the praetor, gave sentence that he should be crucified, as was the usual manner of death in those cases. Now it happened, by good chance, that Titus came into the hall at the very time, and looking attentively in the prisoner's face, and hearing the cause of his condemnation, he instantly knew him to be Gisippus. He wondered, therefore, greatly at this change of fortune, and what could bring him thither, and was determined, at all events, to save him: but seeing no other way but by accusing himself, he stepped resolutely forward, and called aloud to the praetor in this manner: "Marcus Varro, recall thy sentence; for the person whom thou hast condemned to die is innocent: it was I who offended the gods by the murder of that man whom the officers found slain this morning: then do not offend them still more by the murder of another innocent person." Varro was quite astonished, and grieved to that degree, that the whole hall heard him; but not being able, with regard to his own honour, to alter the course of the laws, he ordered Gisippus to come back, and said in the presence of Titus, "How couldst thou be so foolish to confess, without any torture, a crime whereof thou art no way guilty, and which would affect thy life? Thou saidst thou wast the person that slew the man, and now here is another come, who says it was not thou, but he, that did it." Gisippus lifted up his eyes, and saw that it was Titus, when concluding that it was done out of a grateful remembrance of the favours he had received, he burst into tears, and said, "Indeed, sir, I did murder him, and Titus's regard for my safety comes now too late." Titus, on the other hand, said, "Marcus Varro, take notice, this man is a stranger, and was found without any arms, by the man's side that was murdered; it is only his poverty that makes him so desirous of dying; then set him at liberty, and punish me, who have deserved it." Varro was greatly astonished at the pressing instances of both, presuming that neither the one nor the other was guilty; and as he was thinking of a method how they might both be acquitted, behold, a young fellow named Publius Ambustus, one of a notorious character, and who had actually done the thing, had the humanity, seeing each accusing himself, to come before the praetor, and say, "sir, the Fates have forced me hither, to solve this difficulty. Some god or power within me spurs me on to make a confession of my own guilt. Know, therefore, that neither of these people, who are impeaching themselves, was any way accessary. I murdered the man early this morning, and this poor wretch was there asleep, whilst I and the man who is killed were dividing our spoil. As for Titus, there is no occasion for my vindicating him; his character is without reproach. Set them both, then, at liberty, and let me suffer what the laws require." The affair was soon told to Octavius Caesar, who, being desirous of knowing why they wanted so much to suffer, had all three brought before him, when each related fully how the thing really was. Thereupon he set the two friends at liberty, because they were innocent, and pardoned the third also for their sakes.
Titus then took his friend Gisippus by the hand, and, after reproving him for his distrust of his friendship, brought him to his own house, where Sophronia received him with the same affection as if he had been her brother; and giving him clothes suitable to his worth and quality, he afterwards divided his whole substance with him, and bestowed a sister of his, named Fulvia, an agreeable young lady, upon him in marriage, saying, "Gisippus, you have your free choice whether to stay with me, or to go, with what I have given you, into Greece;" but he, moved partly by his exile, and partly by his love and friendship for Titus, agreed to stay at Rome, where they all lived together in one house, he with his Fulvia, and Titus with his fair Sophronia, to their mutual satisfaction, every day adding something, if possible, to their felicity.
A most sacred thing, then, is friendship! and worthy not only of singular reverence, but to be celebrated with perpetual applause, as being the prudent mother of magnanimity and honour, the sister of gratitude and charity, and the enemy of hatred and avarice; always ready, without being requested, to manifest that virtuous kindness to others which she would have shown to herself; whose divine effects are rarely now to be met with, to the great reproach of the sordidness of mankind, which has driven it in a long exile to the farthest corner of the earth. What degree of love, wealthy or affinity, could have wrought so effectually upon the heart of Gisippus, to make him feel the pangs of his friend, and give him up to his beloved spouse? What laws, what threats, or fears, could have caused the youth and vigour of Gisippus to forsake his own bed, where a beautiful young lady lay expecting him, and betake himself to dark and lonesome places? What greatness, what rewards, could have made him heedless of disobliging all his own relations, as well as Sophronia's, and indifferent to the unjust murmurs and insults of the people, to serve his friend? What, I say, but this only? On the other hand, what could have prompted Titus, without deliberation, when he might have fairly pretended not to have seen him, to contrive his own death, in order to save Gisippus? What could have made him so liberal in parting with half his substance to Gisippus, whom fortune had dispossessed of his own patrimony? What but this alone could have induced Titus, when he saw him poor and destitute, to give him his sister? To what purpose, then, do men covet numbers of relations, brethren, and children, and procure, at a vast expense, great plenty of servants, when, for the least inconvenience that they may sustain, people are so apt to forget their duty to parent, brother, or master? Whereas, in true friendship it is quite otherwise: that sacred obligation serves instead of all degrees of affinity.
[This tale is taken from the second story of Petrus Alphonsus; but Boccaccio has made considerable alterations, if we may judge of the original from the form in which it is exhibited by Le Grand (iii, 262). There it is not two young men brought up together who form this romantic attachment, but two mercantile correspondents, the one residing in Syria, and the other in Egypt; and the renunciation of his mistress by the latter takes place soon after his first interview with his partner. The change which has been made by the Italian novelist in this particular is a manifest improvement. In the next place, in the tale of "Alphonsus," it is not thought necessary to deceive the bride after the nuptials, in the manner related above; she is transferred, without further ceremony, as a piece of property, from one friend to the other, which is a convincing proof of the eastern origin of the tale. Lastly, in "Alphonsus," the friend who is reduced in his circumstances does not fancy himself neglected by his former companion; he sees the murder committed before he enters Rome, and avails himself of the incident to get free from a life in which he had no longer any enjoyment.
As thus improved by Boccaccio, the story ranks high among serious Italian novels. The internal conflict of Titus - the subsequent contest between the friends - the harangue of Titus to the two assembled families, and the beautiful eulogy on friendship, which terminates the tale, form, in the opinion of critics, the most eloquent passages in the "Decameron," or perhaps in the Italian language.
The story of "Gisippus" was translated into Latin by the novelist Bandello, and into English by Edward Lewicke, 1563, whose version perhaps directed to this tale the notice of Goldsmith, who has inserted it in his Miscellanies, though it is there said to be taken from a Byzantine historian, and the friends are called Septimius and Alcander. Boccaccio's story has also evidently suggested the concluding incidents of Greene's "Philomela," and is the subject of an old French drama by Hardy, entitled "Gesippe, ou les Deux Amis." ]
