9-6, Two young gentlemen lie at an inn

NOVEL VI. 

Two young gentlemen lie at an inn, one of whom goes to bed to the landlord's daughter; whilst the wife, by mistake, lies with the other. Afterwards, he that had lain with the daughter, gets to bed to the father, and tells him all that had passed, thinking it had been his friend: a great uproar is made about it; upon which the wife goes to bed to the daughter, and very cunningly sets all to rights again. 

Calandrino, who had so frequently diverted the company, made them laugh once more: when the queen laid her next commands upon Pamfilo, who therefore said: - Ladies, the name of Niccolosa, mentioned in the last novel, puts me in mind of one concerning another of the same name; in which will be shown, how the subtle contrivance of a certain good woman was the means of preventing a great deal of scandal. 

On the plains of Mugnone lived, not long ago, an honest man, who kept a small house for the entertainment of travellers, serving them with meat and drink for their money, but seldom lodging any, unless they were his particular acquaintances. He had a wife, a very comely woman, by whom he had two children, the one an infant, the other a fine handsome girl of about fifteen or sixteen years of age, not yet married. She had taken the fancy of a young gentleman of our city, who used to travel much that way, and being proud of such a conquest, she strove to preserve his good opinion, so that their mutual inclinations would several times have been gratified, had not Pinuccio, for that was the young gentleman's name, carefully avoided it, for her credit as well as his own. At last, his love growing every day more fervent, he resolved, in order to gain his point, to lie all night at her father's house; supposing, as he was acquainted with the state of the house, that it might then be effected without any one's privity. He communicated his design to a confidential friend of his, named Adriano; so they hired a couple of horses one evening, and having their portmanteaus behind them, filled perhaps with straw, they set out from Florence; and, after taking a circuit, came, as it grew late, to the plains of Mugnone. There, turning their horses' heads, as if they had come from Romagna, they rode on to this cottage, and knocked at the door, which was immediately opened by the attentive landlord. "Honest landlord," said Pinuccio, "we must beg the favour of a night's lodging, for we designed to have reached Florence, but have so managed that it is now much too late, as you see." - "sir," replied the host, "you know very well how ill I can accommodate such gentlemen as yourselves; but, as you are come at such an hour, and there is no time for your travelling any farther, I will entertain you as well as I can. So they dismounted, and went into the house, having first taken care of their horses; and as they had provision along with them, they sat down and supped with their host. 

Now there was only one little chamber in the house, which had three beds in it; namely, two at one end, and the third at the other, opposite to them, with just room to go between, and no more. The least incommodious of these, the landlord ordered to be sheeted for these two gentlemen, and put them to bed. A little time afterwards, neither of them being asleep, though they pretended to be so, he made his daughter lie in one of the beds that remained; he and his wife went into the other, and she set the cradle with the child by her bed-side. Things being so disposed, and Pinuccio having made an exact observation of every particular, as soon as he thought it a proper time, and that every one was asleep, he rose, and went softly to bed to the daughter, where he remained to his great satisfaction. In the meantime, a cat happened to throw something down in the house, which awakened the good woman, who, fearing it was something else, got up in the dark, and went where she had heard the noise. Just then it chanced that Adriano rose, upon a particular occasion, and finding the cradle in his way, he moved it nearer to his own bed; and having done what he rose for, went to bed again, without troubling himself to put the cradle back in its place. The good woman, finding what was thrown down to be of no moment, never troubled herself to strike a light, to see farther about it, but returned to the bed where her husband lay; and not finding the cradle, "Bless me," she said to herself, "I had like to have made a strange mistake, and gone to bed to my guests!" Going farther then, and finding the cradle which stood by Adriano, she stepped into bed to him, thinking it had been her husband. He was awake, and treated her very kindly, without saying a word all the time to undeceive her. At length Pinuccio, fearing lest he should fall asleep, and so be surprised with his mistress, after having made the best use of his time, left her to return to his own bed; when meeting with the cradle, and supposing that was the host's bed, he went farther, and stepped into the host's bed indeed, who immediately awoke. Pinuccio, thinking it was his friend, said to him, “surely, nothing was ever so sweet as Niccolosa; never man was so blessed as I have been with her all night long." The host, who anything but pleased with this news, said first to himself, "What the devil is the man doing here?" Afterwards, being more passionate than wise, he cried out, "Thou art the greatest of villains to use one in that manner: but I vow to God I will pay thee for it." 

Pinuccio, who was none of the sharpest men in the world, seeing his mistake, without ever thinking to amend it, as he might have done, replied, "You pay me! what can you do?" The hostess, imagining that she had been with her husband, said to Adriano, "Hark to our guests! what is the matter with them?" He replied, with a laugh, "Let them be hanged, if they will; they got drunk, I suppose, last night." The woman now distinguished her husband's voice, and hearing Adriano, soon knew where she was, and with whom. Therefore she very discreetly got up, without saying a word, and removed the cradle, though there was no light in the chamber, as near as she could guess to her daughter's bed, and crept in to her; when, seeming as if she had been awoke with their noise, she called out to her husband to know what was the matter with him and the gentleman. The husband replied, "Do you not hear what he says he has been doing tonight with Niccolosa?" - "He is a liar," quoth she, "he was never in bed with her, it was I, and I have never closed my eyes since. You are an ass to believe him. You drink to that degree in the evening, that you rave all night long, and go here and there, without knowing anything of the matter, and think you do wonders. It's surprising you don't break your neck. But what is that gentleman doing there? why is he not in his own bed?" Adriano, on the other side, perceiving that the good woman had found a very artful evasion, both for herself and daughter, cried out, "Pinuccio, I have told you a hundred times that you should never lie out of your own house; for that great failing of yours, of walking in your sleep, and telling your dreams for truth, will get you into mischief some time or other. Come back to your own bed, confound you! "The landlord, hearing what his wife and Adriano said, began to think Pinuccio was really dreaming, so he got up and shook him by the shoulders, to rouse him, saying, "Wake up, and get back to your own bed." Pinuccio now began to ramble in his talk, like a man that was dreaming, whereat the host made himself exceedingly merry. At last he seemed to wake, after much ado, and called out, "Hallo! Adriano, is it daylight? what do you wake me for?" - "Yes, yes," said Adriano, "come here, will you?" He, pretending to be very sleepy, got up at last, and went to Adriano. In the morning, the landlord laughed very heartily, and was full of jokes about him and his dreams. So they passed from one merry subject to another, whilst their horses were getting ready, and their portmanteaus tying upon them; when, taking the host's parting cup, they mounted and went to Florence, no less pleased with the manner of the thing's being effected, than with what followed. Afterwards, Pinuccio contrived other means of being with Niccolosa, who still vowed to her mother that he had been dreaming that night; whilst she, well remembering how she had fared with Adriano, thought herself the only person that had been awake. 

[This tale has been taken from an old Fabliau of the Trouveur Jean de Boves, entitled "De Gombert et des deux Clercs." These two clerks go to get their corn ground. The miller pretends to be from home, and while they are seeking him through the wood, he purloins the corn, but without their suspecting him of the theft. The night scene corresponds with the "Decameron," except that the cradle is removed intentionally, by one of the clerks, in order to entrap the miller's wife: the catastrophe, however, is different; for the miller, during his quarrel with the other clerk, on account of the information he had unconsciously given, strikes a light, and discovers the circumstances in which his wife is placed. He addresses her in terms the most energetic. She answers, that what she had done was undesigned, which is more than he can say of stealing the corn. The "Reeve's Tale," in Chaucer, seems to be compounded of the Fabliau and the novel of Boccaccio. It bears the nearest resemblance to the former, but in one or two incidents is different from both, and by no means so ingenious. The story, as related by our author, has been imitated in the "Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles," and in the "Berceau," of La Fontaine.] 

4-4 Gerbino, King William

NOVEL IV. 

Gerbino, contrary to a treaty made by King William, his grandfather, fought with a ship belonging to the King of Tunis, with a design to take away his daughter; who being slain by the ship's crew, he slew them likewise, and was afterwards beheaded for it. 

Lauretta had now concluded her novel, when the company expressed their different opinions concerning the fate of these unhappy lovers; this person saying one thing, and that another, till at length the king, raising up his head, as if from a profound study, made the next signal to Eliza, who began as follows: - There are many people who are persuaded that love is only kindled at the eyes, and laugh at those who maintain the possibility of people's being enamoured by report; but how far they are mistaken will be seen in the following story; wherein will be shown, not only the power of fame in that respect, but that it has brought divers persons also to a miserable death. 

Guiglielmo, the second king of Sicily (as their histories relate) had two children, a son named Ruggieri, and a daughter called Constantia. Ruggieri died before his father, leaving a son, called Gerbino, whom his grandfather took care to bring up, and he became a most accomplished prince; nor did his fame confine itself within the bounds of his own country, but was echoed through numerous parts of the world, especially in Barbary, which was then tributary to the King of Sicily. Amongst others, who had heard of his singular worth and character, was a daughter of the King of Tunis, who, in the opinion of all that ever saw her, was as beautiful a woman as ever lived, with a soul equally noble and perfect. The lady, inquiring always after people of worth, received from all hands a most extraordinary account of Gerbino's merit and noble exploits, which were so pleasing to her, that, conceiving within her own mind the idea of his person, she became violently in love, and was never more pleased than when he was the subject of discourse. On the other hand, no less had her fame reached Sicily, as well as other countries, and was particularly agreeable to the prince, who had conceived the same love for her. Being desirous above all things of seeing her, he charged some of his friends, till he could obtain leave from his grandfather to go himself to Tunis, to make his love known privately to her, in the best manner they were able, and to bring him some tidings concerning her. This was managed very dexterously by one of them, who went under the character of a jeweller. The princess received him with great cheerfulness and satisfaction, declaring a mutual regard for the prince, and as a proof of it, she sent him a present of one of her richest jewels. He received it with great joy, and wrote several letters, presenting her with things of great value, and pledging himself to wait upon her in person, when fortune afforded him an opportunity. 

Things being carried so far, and farther than ought to have been, it happened, that the princess's father promised her in marriage to the King of Granada, to her infinite sorrow, and could she have found opportunity, she would gladly have fled from her father to the prince. He, in like manner, hearing of this contract, was afflicted beyond measure, and resolved, if it should happen that she was sent by sea, to take her away by force. The King of Tunis hearing something of Gerbino's love, and what he designed, and well knowing his resolution and great valour, when the time came that she was to depart, sent to the King of Sicily to acquaint him with his design, and to desire a safe conduct; and that monarch, knowing nothing of his grandson's affections towards the lady, nor thinking that the safe conduct was desired upon that account, readily granted it, in token whereof he sent one of his gloves to the King of Tunis. The latter then fitted out a stately ship at Carthage, and providing it with everything necessary to transport his daughter to Granada, waited only for the time that had been appointed. The young lady, who was aware of all this, sent one of her servants in secret to Palermo, to acquaint the prince that she was to sail in a few days, and that it would now appear whether he was a person of such valour as had been always reported, or had that love for her which he had often declared. The message was faithfully delivered; and the prince knowing, at the same time, that his grandfather had granted a safe conduct, was at a loss how to act; but reflecting upon the lady's words, and that he might not appear a dastard, he hired two light ships at Messina, which he took care to have well manned, and sailed with them to the coast of Sardinia, expecting that the ship which had his mistress on board must take that course. In a few days that expectation was answered and he saw the ship sailing with a light wind near the place where he was stationed. Thereupon he thus addressed his companions: 

"Gentlemen, if you are the men I take you to be, there is none of you, I imagine, but must have felt the extraordinary power of love, without which, as I judge by myself, there can be no valour or worth in mortal. If then you have ever been, or are now in love, you will the more easily comprehend the nature of my design. It is love that makes me call upon you; and the object of it is in the ship before you. Besides that, there is store of riches, which, if you fight manfully, you may easily obtain. For my part I desire nothing but the lady, for whose sake I have taken up arms; everything else shall be yours. Let us go then boldly to the attack; fortune seems to favour our undertaking; they lie still, unable to get along for want of wind." 

The prince had no occasion to make use of such an exhortation; for his people, eager for rapine, were ready enough to his orders. They declared their approbation then with a great shout, whilst the trumpets sounded, and they all armed themselves, and rowed towards the ship. In like manner the other ship's crew, seeing two galleys come towards them, and that there was no possibility of escaping by flight, stood resolutely upon their defence. The prince being come sufficiently near, ordered that the masters of the vessel should come on board, unless they meant to fight. The Saracens understanding who the assailants were, and what their demand was, told them, that it was contrary to treaty, to the royal faith plighted to them, in token of which they showed king Guiglielmo's glove; and they flatly declared, that they would neither surrender themselves, nor part with anything in the ship till they were forced to do so. The prince, now seeing the lady upon deck, whose charms exceeded all he had dreamed of them, replied, “show your glove to your hawks when you fly them, it is of no use here; either deliver up the lady, or prepare for fight." Then they began slinging darts and stones on both sides; battering one another for a considerable time, to the great damage of both. At length, when the prince saw that little good was to be done that way, he took a small pinnace which he had brought with him from Sardinia, and setting it on fire, towed it with his two galleys alongside of the ship. The Saracens being now assured that they must either surrender or perish, had the lady brought from below, where she was all in tears; then they shouted to Gerbino, and murdered her before his face, whilst she begged in vain for mercy and help, and threw her into the sea, saying, "Take her, such as we now give her to thee: and such as thy breach of faith has deserved." He, seeing their cruelty, and not caring now what became of his own life, in spite of all the darts and stones that were thrown at him, came up close with the ship, and boarded her; and, as a famished lion, when he gets among a heard of cattle, gives a loose to his fury before he satisfies his hunger, so did the prince slay all that came in his way, whilst the fire getting ahead in the ship, he ordered the sailors to save what booty they were able for themselves, and returned to his galley little pleased with so dear a conquest. Afterwards, having recovered the lady's body out of the sea, and lamenting heartily over it, he returned to Sicily, and had it buried in Ustria, a little island over against Trapani, and then he came home the saddest man on earth. 

The King of Tunis, upon hearing the news, sent ambassadors all in deep mourning to the King of Sicily, complaining of the breach of faith, and relating in what manner it had been done. Guiglielmo was much concerned at this, and seeing no way by which he could deny them the justice they demanded, he had his grandson seized, and notwithstanding the intercession of every one of his barons, ordered his head to be struck off in his presence; choosing rather to be without a grandson, than to be thought a king without honour. So miserable was the end of these two lovers within a few days of each other, without tasting the least fruit of their loves. 

2-8, Count d'Angiers

NOVEL VIII. 

The Count d'Angiers, being falsely accused, is banished from France, and leaves his two children in different parts of England. Returning afterwards privately out of Ireland, he finds them settled in great repute. Thence he goes as a common servant into the King of France's army, and his innocence being made public at last, he is restored to his former dignity. 

The ladies sighed very much upon hearing the various accidents that had befallen the fair lady; but who can say what it was that gave occasion to those sighs? Perhaps there were some ladies present who sighed more because they had not been so often married as she, than out of any pity for the poor woman. But, be that as it may, after they had laughed much at Pamfilo's conclusion, the queen next called upon Eliza, who began in this manner: - We have chosen a most spacious field for the subject of this day; nor is there one among us who could not run ten courses in it as well as one; so copious are the great and wonderful changes of fortune! And, therefore, amongst such an infinity of things, as I am to recount one, let it be as follows: 

When the Roman empire passed from the French to the Germans, an utter enmity and continual war arose between the two nations; wherefore the King of France and his son, as well for the defence of their own kingdom, as the annoyance of their adversaries, raised a great and powerful army, consisting of all their kindred and allies, besides the force of their own kingdoms, to go against the enemy. But before they set out upon their expedition, they chose not to leave the state without a governor; and knowing Gaultier, Count d'Angiers, to be a wise and worthy person, and one entirely devoted to. their interests, and also expert in military affairs, although he seemed rather designed for a life of ease and inactivity than martial toils, they made him viceroy during their absence, and then set forwards on their expedition. 

The count began to execute his office with all due care and discretion, conferring, on all occasions, with the queen and her daughter-in-law, and honouring them as his mistresses and superiors, although they were left subject to his guidance and authority. Now he had a very graceful person, was about forty years of age, and as good-natured and agreeable as man could be; nor could the world show a more complete gentleman in all respects than himself. Whilst the king, therefore, and his son were employed in the war, it happened that Gaultier's lady died, leaving him two children, a boy and a girl; and he being much at the ladies" court, consulting with them on the affairs of the kingdom, the king's son's wife cast her eyes upon him, and being struck both by his person and his manners, conceived a violent passion for him in secret. Considering her own youth, and his widowed state, she concluded that her desires would be the more readily gratified, and that she had no impediment to apprehend but the shame of making the discovery, which she soon overcame. 

Being one day alone, and thinking it a fit opportunity, she sent for the count under pretence of business. The count, who was far. from suspecting her intentions, came immediately to her, and sitting down beside her on a couch, by her desire, begged to know her commands. He repeated his question twice without receiving any answer; at last, incited by her passion, trembling and blushing, her eyes moist with tears, and with broken and confused words, she thus began: 

"My dear lord and friend, it cannot have escaped your most acute judgment, how great is the frailty of both the sexes, and, for divers reasons, how much more it displays itself in one individual than another; therefore the very same offence, before an equitable judge, will be differently punished according to the different quality of the offenders. Besides, who will deny that a poor man or woman, who has no other subsistence but what is earned by his or her daily labour, is more blameable, should either be seduced and carried away by love, than a lady of wealth and leisure, who has nothing to think of but how to divert and please herself? Every one must allow the distinction: this will be a sufficient excuse, therefore, for a lady who gives way to such a passion, supposing her, at the same time, to make choice of a wise and worthy person on whom she fixes her affection. These circumstances, thus concurring in myself, not to mention my youth, and the absence of my husband, plead strongly in my behalf, and if they have their due weight with you, I may expect that you will afford me that advice and assistance I now require from you. I must confess, that, not being able, on account of my husband's distance from me, to resist my most earnest desires, living also a life of ease and indolence, as you see, I have suffered myself to be quite led aside by them; which, though it would redound but little to my credit should it be known, yet, so long as it is a secret between us, there can be no room for reproach, and let me tell you, that love has been so gracious to me, that far from taking away my understanding, it has rather enlightened it, by presenting you to me as an object worthy of my affection, a person whom I esteem as the most accomplished nobleman this day in France, and one at present without a wife, as I am without a husband; wherefore I entreat you, by the tender regard I have for you, that you would vouchsafe to show the same towards me, and pity my youth, which consumes for your sake, even as ice melts before the fire." 

The tears now poured down her cheeks so fast that she could say no more; but overcome with emotion, she let her head sink upon his bosom. The count being a person of the strictest honour, began to reprimand her fond and idle love; and when she would have thrown her arms around his neck, he pushed her from him, protesting that he would be cut in pieces before he would so wrong his lord and master himself, or suffer others to do it. 

At this unexpected reply, the lady forgot all her love, and shrieked out in a most vehement rage, "Villain! shall my request be despised by thee in this manner? As thou wouldst have me die, so help me God, I will bring thee to death, or force thee to fly thy country." And with these words, tearing her hair and clothes, she cried out most violently, "Help! help! the Count d'Angiers would force me." 

The count, fearing that his conscience would not countervail the envy of the court, and that more credit would be given to the princess's wicked story than to his own innocence, hastened out of the chamber as fast as he could, fled to his own house, set his children on horseback without delay, and made the best of his way to Calais. 

At the lady's cries, many persons rushed in, who, seeing her in that condition, and hearing the cause of her outery, not only believed what she told them, but concluded that the count's debonnaire appearance and demeanour at court had been assumed expressly to effect his guilty purpose; they ran, therefore, in the utmost fury to his house to seize him, and not finding him there, they stripped it of everything of value, and pulled it down to the ground. This disagreeable news soon reached the ears of the king and prince in the camp, and they being greatly incensed at it, sentenced the offender and all his descendants to perpetual banishment, offering a reward to that person who should deliver him up alive or dead! The count, who grieved to think that by his flight he had seemed to confess his guilt, arrived at Calais with his children, without making himself known to any person; thence he went direct to England, and arrived in London in mean apparel, having by the way taught his children these two things; first, to bear patiently the poverty to which fortune had reduced them without any fault of theirs: and secondly, to be exceedingly cautious never to reveal whence they came, or whom they belonged to, if they had the least regard for his life. His son, named Louis, was about nine years of age, and his daughter Violante seven; and they both attended more to their father's admonition than could have been expected from their youth, as will appear by the sequel. Thinking it best for their greater security to change their names, he called the boy Pierrot, and the girl Jeannette, and they went about the city asking charity like common French beggars. Now it happened, that, as they were waiting at a church door one morning, a certain great lady, who was wife to one of the king's principal officers of state, cast her eyes upon them, and asked the father where they came from, and were those his children? He replied, that he came from Picardy, and that the misbehaviour of his eldest son, who had turned out very badly, had obliged him to quit his country with these two other children. The lady, who was of a compassionate temper, was pleased with the looks of the girl, and she said to him, "Honest man, if thou be content to leave thy daughter with me, I like her countenance so much that I would willingly take her; and if she behave well, I will in due time provide her a husband, so that she shall live comfortably all her life." He was rejoiced at the offer, and with tears in his eyes resigned the child up to the lady, recommending her to her in the most affectionate manner. 

Having thus disposed of his daughter, and well knowing to whom, he resolved to stay there no longer, but begging his way all across the island, and his son along with him, at length, not without the utmost fatigue, being unused to travel on foot, he came into Wales, where dwelt another great lord, an officer also and servant of the king. To his palace, which afforded relief to all, they repaired for support It happened just then that the lord's son and some other young noblemen were diverting themselves with running, 

leaping, and some other youthful exercises; and Pierrot, making one among them, outdid them all in every sport. The nobleman, seeing this, was mightily pleased with the boy, and inquired whom he belonged to? and being told that he was a poor man's son. who came there to beg alms, the lord asked the father to give the boy to him. The count, who desired nothing so much, freely consented, though their parting was a little grievous; and having now provided for both his children, he determined to stay no longer in England, but, as soon as he had an opportunity, he passed into Ireland, and came to Stanford, where he hired himself to a certain knight, who belonged to the retinue of an earl in that country, and there he did the duty of a common servant for many years. 

In the meantime Violante, now called Jeanuette, who continued with the lady at London, increased in beauty, and every accomplishment, as well as in stature; insomuch that she became the delight both of the lord and lady, as well as of every one that knew her. Whilst the lady, who had no other notion of her quality than what she had received from herself, was thinking of marrying her according to her supposed rank, God, the just rewarder of merit, seeing that she was nobly born, and punished only for other people's wickedness, was pleased to order it otherwise. The lady had an only son by her lord, of whom they were both exceedingly fond, and deservedly so, on account of his excellent disposition and character. He was about six years older than Jeannette, and beholding her extraordinary beauty and merit, he was so much in love, that he cared for no other woman. Supposing, however, that she was of low extraction, he was afraid to demand her of his father and mother, and, through fear of being reprimanded for placing his affections so low, he kept them smothered in his breast; for which reason they preyed more upon him than if he had divulged them, till at length he fell into a grievous fit of sickness. Hereupon several physicians were sent for, who had regard to one symptom after another, till, not being able to make out what his disorder was, they gave him over. This occasioned the utmost affliction both to his father and mother, who were continually requesting him to tell them the secret cause of his malady? to which he either made no answer but by sighs, or said that he found himself continually wasting. 

Now, one day it happened that a certain young but profoundly skilful physician was sitting by his bedside, and feeling his pulse, when Jeannette, who attended carefully upon him, out of respect to his mother, chanced to come into the room. Upon seeing her, the young gentleman, without uttering a word, or making one sign, conceived more strongly in his heart the passion of love, and his pulse began to beat higher than usual; which the physician perceiving with surprise, kept his fingers some time upon it, to see how long that difference would last. As she went out of the room again the pulse abated; wherefore, thinking that he had now found out in some measure what the disorder was, the physician pretended that he wanted to speak to Jeannette, and had her called back, he still holding his patient by the hand: she returned instantly; the pulse beat as before, and subsided at her departure. The physican, now fully satisfied, got up, and taking the father and mother apart, spoke to them in this manner: 

- "The welfare of your son is not in the power of physicians, but it lies in the hands of Jeannette, whom I find, by certain tokens, that he is desperately in love with; although, by what I can perceive, she knows nothing of it. You see now what you have to do, if you value his life." 

The lord and lady were well enough pleased to hear there was one way to save their son's life, though the fear of being obliged to do what they most dreaded gave them concern: namely, their marrying her to him; therefore, after the physician was departed, they went together to their son, and the lady said to him as follows: "I could never have believed, my dear, that you would have concealed any of your wants from me, especially since your not being gratified in that respect has been attended with such evil consequences; for you might have been confident, as you may still, that there is nothing which I would not do for your ease and welfare, as much as for my own. But since you have done so, God has been more merciful to you than you would be to yourself, for I now know that it is all occasioned by love, whoever the person is: and why should you have been ashamed to tell me? It is natural to one of your age; and were you a stranger to love, I should think you of little worth. Then lay yourself open to me, and cast away all that drooping and melancholy, which has brought this disorder upon you, assuring yourself, that there is nothing you can desire of me, wherein I will not gratify you to the utmost of my ability, for I love you as dearly as my own life. Away then, witn this bashfulness, and tell me plainly if I can be of service regarding this love of yours; and if you find me not in earnest, then believe me to be the most cruel of mothers." 

The young gentleman changed colour at hearing these words; but considering afterwards that none could sooner serve him than his mother, he spoke to her without the least reserve. "Madam," he said, "nothing has made me keep my love a secret so much as what I have observed in many people when they grow into years; they forget that they ever were young: but now I find you considerate in that point, I shall not only confess your suspicion to be true, but will also name the person to you, provided you will, according to promise, use your best endeavours in my behalf; and by that means you may save my life." The lady, thinking to serve him in a different manner from what he himself intended, bade him speak out, and she would endeavour that he should have his will. He then replied: - "Madam, the beauty and agreeable behaviour of Jeannette, and her not pitying me, or being even sensible how much I love her, which I have yet revealed to no person living, have brought me to this condition. If, therefore, you make not your word good to me, you may depend upon it my life is short." She, thinking it a more proper time to comfort than reprove him, said, with a smile, "And have you then languished so long for this? Have a good heart, and when you grow better leave the matter to me." 

The young spark, full of hopes, began now to show speedy symptoms of amendment, to the great comfort of his mother, who was contriving how to perform her promise; and one day, calling Jeannette to her, she began, by way of discourse, to ask her if she ever had a sweetheart? The girl blushed, and replied, "Madam, it ill becomes a poor young woman like myself, who is driven from her own house, and subject to other people's will and pleasure, to think of love." Her mistress then rejoined: "If you have no lover, I will procure one for you, that you may live with some comfort; for so pretty a girl as you are should never be without one." 

"Madam," said Jeannette, "as you have taken me from my father, and brought me up like your own child, I am bound to do all in my power to please you: but in this particular I think I am in the right not to do it. If you mean to give me a husband, him I shall respect,, but no one else. For, of all that my ancestors possessed, there is nothing now remaining to me but their virtue, and this I intend to keep as long as I live." This was quite contrary to the lady's intention in the promise she had made her son; however, like a most prudent lady, she affected to commend her for it, and said, "But if the king, who is young, should have a fancy for you, would you deny him?" "His majesty might use force," Jeannette immediately replied; "but he should never have my consent, but upon terms of honour." The lady, seeing what her resolution was, said no more; but resolved to put her to proof; saying to her son, that, when he got well, she would put them into a room together, and he might do with her as he pleased; for it was performing a base office for her to proceed any farther in that way for him. This was by no means pleasing to the young gentleman, who relapsed immediately upon it: which the lady perceiving, she laid open her intention to Jeannette, and found her more resolute than ever. Her husband being made acquainted with the whole matter, it was agreed now by them (though much against their inclinations), that he should marry her; they preferring their son's life, with a wife much beneath him, to his death without one. This was soon put in execution, to the great joy of Jeannette, who gave thanks to Heaven for its mercy vouchsafed towards her: but all the while she would make no other discovery of herself, than that she was daughter to a person in Picardy. They lived afterwards very happily together. Let us now return to Pierrot, whom we left in Wales with a great officer belonging to the King of England: he grew much in favour with his lord, and being graceful and manly in person, and more expert at all military exercises than any one in the country, was known everywhere by the name of Pierrot the Picard; and as God had been gracious to his sister, so was he no less kind and merciful to him: for the plague happened to break out in that country, which swept away half the people, and a great part of those who were left had fled for refuge into other lands; so that the nation appeared quite desolate. In this mortality, the lord and lady, with their son, brethren, nephews, and near relations, all died, and there was none of the family left besides an only daughter, just of age to marry, and a few servants. As soon as the plague was over, she took him for her husband, on account of his extraordinary merit, and made him lord of all her inheritance. And it was not long before the King of England, hearing of the late lord's death, and knowing Pierrot's worth and valour, substituted him in his place, and gave him the same power and command. Such was the fate of the two innocent children of Count d'Angiers, whom he had left destitute. 

It was now eighteen years since he had fled from Paris. He had suffered great hardship during his abode in Ireland, and as he was now grown old, he was desirous to know what was become of his children. Being quite altered as to his person, and fìnding himself become more robust by exercise than he had been in his youth, which he had spent in ease and indolence, he left the service where he had been for so long a time, and set forward in a mean dress for England. Arriving at the place where he had left Pierrot, he found him to be a great and mighty lord, and in perfect health, which gave him the utmost satisfaction; but yet he was resolved not to discover himself, till he should know what was become of Jeannette. Travelling still on for London, and inquiring cautiously there concerning the lady with whom he had left his daughter, he discovered that Jeannette was married to her son, which pleased him infinitely, esteeming all his past sufferings as nothing, since he had found both his children alive, and in prosperity. Desirous now of seeing her, he repaired to the house like a poor man, and was taken notice of by James Lamiens (for that was the name of Jeannette's husband), who had pity on him, and ordered one of his servants to give him relief. Jeannette had several children, the eldest of whom was about eight years old, all very beautiful; and seeing the count begin to eat, they all came about him, and were as much pleased with him, as if by some secret instinct they had known him to be their grandfather: whilst he, knowing them to be his grandchildren, showed a thousand little fondnesses towards them, which made them unwilling to leave him, when their tutor would have called them away. On hearing this, Jeannette came out of her chamber, and threatened to whip them, if they would not obey their master; this set the children crying, and they said, they had much rather stay with the honest man, who loved them better than their master did; which made the lady and count both laugh heartily. 

The count arose, not as a father, but like a poor man, to pay his reverence to his daughter, as to a great lady; feeling great pleasure at the sight of her, whilst she had not the least knowledge of him: so much was he altered, having grey hairs, a long beard, and a swarthy, meagre countenance, that he was nothing like the same person. The lady, now seeing how unwilling the children were to go away, ordered their master to let them stay a little. In the meantime, her husband's father came home, and being told this circumstance by the master, and holding her always in great contempt, he said, "Let them stay, with a mischief to them! they only shew whence they are descended; they are beggars by their mother's side, therefore no wonder they herd with beggars." The count was much grieved at hearing these words, but was forced to bear this injury, as he had done many others. The lady's husband had taken notice all this time of the children's fondness towards the count, and was uneasy at it; yet so tender was he of them, that rather than make them uneasy, he gave orders that if the honest man was willing to stay in his service, he should be received. He replied that he should be glad of it, but was only able to look after horses, which he had been used to all his life. He had a horse assigned him, therefore, to take care of, and when his business was over, he used to play with the children. 

Whilst fortune had thus disposed of the Count d'Angiers and his children, it came to pass, that, after making many treaties with the Germans, the King of France died, and was succeeded by that son, whose wife had occasioned the count's banishment; and the last truce being now expired, a bloody war broke out afresh, when the King of England, who was his kinsman, sent him large supplies of soldiers, under the command of Pierrot, one of his generals, and James Lamiens, son to another of his generals, with whom the count went as a servant, when he did more service, both by his valour and good counsel, than was expected from him. In the course of the war, the Queen of France chanced to be taken ill, and finding herself past all hopes of recovery, made a confession of all her sins to the Archbishop of Rouen, esteemed by all as a most holy person; and, amongst other things, she mentioned the great wrong she had done to the Count d'Angiers; nor was she content with speaking this to him only, but she also declared it before many other worthy persons; desiring their intercession with the king, that, if the count or his children were any of them living, they might be restored to their former condition. Soon after this she died, and was honourably interred. 

This confession being reported to the king, after much concern for the injury done to so great a man, he issued a proclamation, that if any person could give tidings of the count, or his children, they should be well rewarded, since the queen had declared him innocent of the crime for which he had fled his country; and that his majesty meant to exalt him to the same, or even greater honours than he had before. When the count heard this, he went immediately to James Lamiens, and desired him to go along with him to Pierrot; saying, he would then show them what the king desired. Being all met together, the count declared to Pierrot that he was now resolved to discover himself; for, "Pierrot," says he, "James Lamiens, who is here present, has married your sister, and has had no fortune with her: therefore I intend that he shall have the benefit of the king's proclamation, for producing first yourself, as son to the Count d'Angiers, secondly. Violante your sister and his wife, and lastly myself, who am the Count d'Angiers and your father." Pierrot, hearing this, and looking steadfastly upon him, soon recognised him, and fell down with tears at his feet: whilst James Lamiens was overcome with so much wonder and joy together, that he scarcely knew what to say; and blushing for the little respect he had showed him, he humbly asked pardon, which the count readily granted. When they had talked over their several fortunes, sometimes in tears, and then again in joy, they would have had the count put on suitable apparel, which he would by no means consent to, being desirous that James Lamiens should first secure the reward, and, by presenting him in that garb, make the shame for his ill usage so much the greater. 

James thereupon went with the count and Pierrot before the king, offering for the promised reward to produce both the count and his children. The king then ordered a most magnificent present to be brought, telling him it was his own upon those conditions. James then stepped back a little, and presented the count as his servant, and Pierrot, saying, "Behold, sir, the father and son; as for the daughter, she is my wife; but, with the leave of Heaven, you shall see her before it is long." The king, on hearing this, looked earnestly at the count, and, notwithstanding his being so much changed, soon recognized him, and with tears in his eyes raised him from the ground, on which he was kneeling, and kissed and shook him by the hand: he welcomed Pierrot also in a most friendly manner, and ordered that the count should have clothes, servants, horses, and everything suitable to his quality, which was accordingly done. The king showed great respect also to James Lamiens, and inquired particularly about everything that had befallen the families. After James had received the promised reward, the count said to him: "Receive this royal bounty at the hands of his majesty, and remember to tell your father, that your children and my grandchildren are not meanly descended by the mother's side." James received the presents, and sent for 

his wife and mother to Paris; Pierrot also brought his lady, and they were received with the utmost joy by the count, to whom the king restored all he had lost, with large additions of fortune. They had afterwards permission to return home, leaving the count at Paris, where he continued to his dying day in more repute and glory than ever. 

[The revenge taken by the French princess for a slighted passion, is as old as the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife, or as that of Bellerophon, though it has been directly imitated by Boccaccio from that of Perdella Broccia (NE: Pierre della Broccia, Pier da la Broccia) and the Lady of Brabante, in Dante. The physician's discovery of the young Englishman's love for Jeannette is taken from Plutarch's story of Antiochus and Stratonice.] 

2-3 Three young gentlemen

NOVEL III. 

Three young gentlemen squander their fortunes, and a nephew of theirs returning home in as desperate a condition, falls in company with an Abbot, whom he afterwards finds to be the King of England's daughter. She marries him, and makes good his uncles´ losses, reinstating them in their former prosperity. 

The ladies listened with great admiration to the adventures of Rinaldo d'Asti, and commended his devotion, giving thanks to God and St. Julian who had succoured him in his great necessity. Nor did they blame the lady (though they did not care to speak out) for having had the wit to take the good that heaven had sent her. Whilst the rest were pleasantly engaged in talking over the agreeable night which Rinaldo must have had, Pampinea, finding that she was to speak next, after considering a little what she was to say, and receiving the queen's command, began at last in this manner: 

The more we talk of the freaks of fortune, the more, to such as consider them attentively, there remains to be said on the subject. At this none need wonder, who consider that all things, which we foolishly call our own, are in her power; and that she blindly wills them from one to another incessantly, and without any rule or method that can be discovered by us. Though this is a truth evinced every day and in everything, and though it has been already illustrated in some of the previous tales, nevertheless, as the queen is pleased that this should be our present subject, I shall add a story to what has been said already, which I think you will not dislike. 

There dwelt, formerly, in our city, a knight named Tebaldo, who, as some report, was of the family of the Lamberti; though others say he belonged to the Agolanti: but, be that as it may, he was the most wealthy knight of his times, and had three sons; the eldest was called Lamberto, the second Tebaldo, and the third Agolante; all handsome young gallants; though the eldest was not above eighteen when their father died, leaving them in possession of his vast wealth. Finding themselves so rich, and having nobody to control them, they began to spend apace, by keeping vast numbers of servants, and fine horses, and dogs, and hawks, with open house for all comers, making continual tilts and tournaments, and sparing no diversions that belong to gentlemen; indulging themselves besides in every youthful lust and passion. They had not led this life long, before their riches began to waste, and their rents not being sufficient to defray their current expenses, they mortgaged and sold first one estate, and then another; so that they saw themselves coming to nothing, and then poverty opened their eyes, which had hitherto been kept shut. One day, therefore, Lamberto called his two brothers together, and set forth to them the great repute in which their father had lived, the wealth he had left them, and how much they were now impoverished, through their inordinate expenses; advising them, in the best manner he was able, that, before matters grew worse, they should sell the little that was left, and retire from that quarter. 

His advice was followed, and, without taking any leave, or making the least stir, they left Florence, and set sail directly for England. Coming to London, they took a little house, and lived as frugally as possible, letting out money at interest. And fortune was so kind to them, that in a few years they got a great deal of money: by which means, it happened, that first one, and then another, returned to Florence, where they recovered back a great part of their estates, purchased others, and got married; and keeping on their banking trade still in England, they sent a nephew thither, whose name was Alessandro, to manage their business. The three brothers, therefore continued at Florence; and forgetting to what misery they had been reduced by their former extravagance, and notwithstanding they all had families, they began to spend immoderately, having large credit from the merchants. Their expenses were also supported for some years by returns from Alessandro, who had let out money to the barons upon their castles and other estates, which turned to good account. 

Whilst the three brothers continued spending in this manner, and borrowing whenever they stood in need, placing their whole dependence upon returns from England, a war broke out there, contrary to every one's expectation, between the king and his son; which divided the whole kingdom, some taking part with one, and some with the other. The consequence was that all the barons" castles were taken out of Alessandro 's hands, and nothing now was left him that turned to any profit: but living in hopes of peace every day, and then that he should have both principal and interest, Alessandro still continued in the kingdom, whilst the three brethren at Florence abated nothing of their extravagance, but continued borrowing more daily. But, when year after year passed away without any money coming, as was expected, they lost all their credit, and people being desirous of getting what was their due, their effects were seized, which not being found sufficient, they were thrown into prison for the remainder, and their wives and children dispersed up and down the country, in a most distressed condition, with no prospect but of misery for the rest of their lives. 

Alessandro, after waiting some years, and finding no likelihood of peace in England, but that he continued there to no purpose, and in danger of his life, resolved to return to Italy. He set out all alone; and as he was going out of Bruges, he overtook a young abbot, clothed in white, and attended by a great train of monks, servants, and baggage. 

Two aged knights, related to the king, followed the cavalcade. These Alessandro joined; and being known to them, was well received. Travelling in their company, he modestly inquired who those monks were that rode before, with such a retinue, and whither they were going? "He that rides first," replied one of the knights, "is a young gentleman, a relation of ours, who has lately been made abbot of one of the richest abbeys in England; and, because he is younger than is required by the law for such a dignity, we are going to Rome to entreat our holy father to dispense with his want of years: but this is to be a secret." The new abbot riding sometimes before his company, and sometimes behind (as is usual with persons on the road), got sight at last of Alessandro, who was a graceful, well-behaved young gentleman, and was so taken with him at the very first view, that he never saw any one he liked better: and having called him to his side, he inquired who he was, whence he came, and whither he was going? Alessandro answered him very ingenuously, and, at the same time, made him an offer of his little service. The abbot was much pleased with his modest and graceful manner of speaking and behaviour, and especially at findings though his business was mean, that he was a gentleman. And being full of compassion for his losses, he began to comfort him in a friendly manner, bidding him to be of good courage, for if he were a worthy man, God might exalt him to a higher pitch than that from which fortune had cast him down. He desired him, too, as he was going towards Tuscany, to make one in his company, for he himself was likewise travelling thither. Alessandro returned thanks for the encouragement given him, and professed himself entirely at his lordship's service. 

The abbot riding on (having got some new fancies in his head since the sight of Alessandro) chanced, after some days' travelling, to come to a country village, which afforded but bad accommodations; and, because the abbot had a mind to halt there, Alessandro made him alight at the house of a person with whom he was acquainted, and provided him a bed in the least incommodious part of the house. Being now become steward of the household, as it were, to the abbot, he disposed of the company in different parts of the town, in the most convenient manner he was able. After the abbot had supped, it being now midnight, and every one gone to rest, Alessandro inquired of the landlord where he was to lie?" In good truth, sir," replied the man, "you see my house is quite full, so that I and my family must be forced to sleep on benches; yet there are some granaries in the abbot's chamber: I can carry a pallet-bed for you thither, and you may rest as well as you can." - "But, landlord," quoth Alessandro, "how can I be in the abbot's chamber, it being so small that there is no room for any of his monks? If I had thought of it before the curtains were drawn, the monks should have lain in the granaries, and I would have gone where the monks are." "The case is this," said the host, "you may lie there, if you please, as well as anywhere in the world: the abbot is asleep, and his curtains drawn; I can convey a little bed thither softly, and you may rest very comfortably." Alessandro, finding that it might be done without disturbing the abbot, consented, and accommodated himself there with as little noise as possible. 

The abbot, whom his new desires kept awake, heard what passed between Alessandro and his landlord; and finding that Alessandro was there, he began to reason with himself in this manner: "I have now a fit opportunity to compass my desires; if I let this pass, the like may never offer again." Resolving, therefore, to make use of it, and supposing that all was quiet in the house, he called, with a low voice, "Alessandro!" and bade him come and lie down by him; and Alessandro, after many excuses, undressed, and did as he was desired. The abbot then laid his hand upon the other's breast, as a lover would do; which Alessandro was much surprised at, and began to fear that he had some bad design. As soon as the abbot perceived this, he could not help smiling; and having laid his bosom bare, he took Alessandro's hand and put it upon it, saying, "Be not afraid: convince yourself of what I am." Alessandro laid his hand there, and found two breasts smooth and delicate like polished ivory, which convinced him that it was a woman: and he was going to have been more familiar; when she interrupted him, saying, "Before you come nearer to me, observe what I am going to say: I am a woman, and not a man, as you see, and was now travelling to the pope, for him to dispose of me in marriage: but whether it be your good fortune, or my unhappiness, since I first saw you, the other day, I could not forbear loving you as much as woman ever loved a man; I am therefore determined to marry you in preference to any other person; but if you will not accept of me, go hence at once, and return to the place you came from." Though she was unknown to Alessandro, yet, when he considered the company that was with her, he judged that she must be a lady of distinction, and her person he saw was beautiful; therefore, without much consideration, he declared, that if she was willing, he should be highly pleased. She then rose up in bed, and turning towards a crucifix that stood upon the table, gave a ring into his hand, and made him espouse her; and there, locked in each other's arms, they passed the hours that remained till dawn, in great mutual delight. In the morning, after concerting measures for the continuance of their secret meetings, Alessandro rose and stole out of the room, without any one knowing where he had passed the night. 

They proceeded on their route, Alessandro enchanted with the abbot and his company, and after several days' journey they arrived in Rome. Soon afterwards the abbot, with the two knights and Alessandro, was introduced to his holiness, and, after the customary reverences, thus addressed him: 

"Holy father, you know better than anybody that they who desire to live honestly and well should avoid, as much as in them lies, all occasions which may lead them to act otherwise. For which reason have I fled, in the garb you behold, with a great part of the treasure of my father, who is King of England, and was about to marry me, young as I am, to the King of Scotland, who is very old, and I am come hither to beg that your holiness would dispose of me in marriage. Nor was it the age of the King of Scotland that made me fly, so much as the fear of doing, through the frailty of my youth, were I married to him, what should be contrary both to the laws of God and to the honour of our royal house. As I was coming with this intention, Providence set before my eyes him whom, in its mercy, it destined I should accept as my husband. It was this young gentleman (here she pointed to Alessandro), whose merit and behaviour make him 

worthy of the greatest princess, although his family be less noble. Him have I chosen, nor will I think of any other, however it may seem to my father or any one else. The principal inducement then to this journey is removed: but I chose to proceed, that I might visit the holy places with which this city abounds, and also your holiness, to the end that the contract of marriage, made only in the presence of God, may be declared in yours, and so made public to the world: wherefore I humbly entreat your blessing, to make us more capable of pleasing Him, whose vicar you are, that we may live together to the honour of God and of you, and at length die so."

Great was Alessandro's surprise and joy when he heard that his wife was the King of England's daughter; but the knights were enraged beyond measure, and, had it not been in the pope's presence, they had certainly offered violence to Alessandro, and perhaps to the princess likewise. On the other hand, the pope was in amaze, both at her dress and the choice she had made; but, seeing that what was done could not be undone, he was willing to satisfy her request. Having consoled the two angry and astounded knights, and made peace between them and the lady and Alessandro, he gave orders for what he would have done; and when the appointed day was come, he made the lady appear most royally dressed before all the cardinals, and other great personages, who had been invited to a most magnificent feast, where she appeared so beautiful and courteous, that every one was charmed with her. In like manner was Alessandro richly apparelled; in his aspect and behaviour being more like a prince than a person brought up to trade, and he was much honoured by the two knights. The pope saw the marriage celebrated with all imaginable grandeur; and, after receiving his benediction, the bride and bridegroom took their leave. 

Alessandro and his lady were desirous, when they left Rome, of seeing Florence, whither fame had already carried the news of their marriage; and they were received there with the utmost respect. She immediately took the three brothers out of prison, paying all their debts, and settled them and their wives in their former estates. This gained them the goodwill of every one; and departing thence, they took Agolante with them, and came to Paris, where the king received them in a most honourable manner. Thence the two knights went to England, where they prevailed so far with the king that he forgave his daughter, and received them with all possible demonstration of joy, making his son-in-law a knight, and creating him Earl of Cornwall. Alessandro's behaviour and conduct were such, that he accommodated matters between father and son, which was of great service to the kingdom, and gained him the love and esteem of every one. Agolante recovered all that was due to him, and returned to Florence immensely rich, being first knighted by Count Alessandro, who lived happily with his princess; and it is reported that, through his prudence and valour, and the assistance of his father-in-law, he made a conquest of Scotland, and was crowned king of that realm.