NOVEL IX.
Bernard of Genoa is imposed upon by one Ambrose, loses his money, and orders his wife, who is quite innocent, to be put to death. She makes her escape, and goes in man's dress into the service of the Sultan; there she meets with the deceiver; and, sending for her husband to Alexandria, has Ambrose punished; she then resumes her former habit, and returns with her husband, in wealth, to Genoa.
Eliza having discharged her duty by the last moving story, the queen, who was of a most graceful person, taking the next turn upon herself, spoke with a smile to this effect:
- We must make good our agreement with Dioneo; and therefore, as only he and I remain to speak, I shall begin with my story, and leave him to the last, as he has desired. It is a common saying, that the deceiver lies at the mercy of the deceived; which I think can only be proved true by circumstances of that kind, which have happened in the world; this, then, I propose to show you, hoping a relation of this sort will not be disagreeable, to the end you may be upon your guard against such as would deceive you. There happened together in an inn at Paris some Italian merchants, who had come thither upon their different occasions; and meeting at supper one night, and conversing merrily of one thing after another, they came at last to talk of their wives, whom they had left behind them: when one of them said, in a jesting way, "I do not know what my wife does with herself, but I am sure if I meet with anything that pleases me, I forget my love for her, and make use of the opportunity." - "And so do I," quoth another; "for whether I believe it or not, my wife will do as she pleases." A third was of the same opinion, and all seemed to agree that their wives at home lost no time in their absence. Only one man among them all, named Bernard Lomellin, of Genoa, avowed the contrary; declaring, that he had a wife, in whom were centred all the virtues that could adorn either sex; that she was young and beautiful in her person; that she was mistress of her needle; that no man-servant waited with more dexterity at his master's table, than he was served by her, she being thoroughly discreet and well bred; that, besides her skill in horsemanship, and the management of a hawk, there was no merchant understood accounts better; and coming at length to what began the dispute, he declared, with an oath, that no woman upon earth could be more virtuous and chaste than she was; for he firmly believed, were he to be absent from her for ten years, she would have to do with no other person.
Amongst the merchants who had been talking upon this subject, was a young fellow called Ambrose of Piacenza, who made the greatest fun in the world of what Bernard said last in praise of his wife, asking him, whether the emperor had given him this privilege, exclusive of the rest of mankind? Bernard, a little agitated, said, "Not the emperor, but God Almighty, who was something more powerful than the emperor, had bestowed this favour upon him." Ambrose replied, "I make not the least doubt, but that you think you speak truth: but in my opinion, you have not enough considered the nature of things; for if you had, I do not believe your understanding so mean as not to find many reasons to make you think more coolly of the matter. Wherefore, that you may not imagine that we, who have spoken so much at large concerning our wives, suppose them of a different make from yours, but that we have merely regard to the natural propensity of all, I shall beg leave to reason a little with you on this subject. I have always understood that man is the most noble of God's creatures, and that woman is in the next degree to him: now as man is allowed to be more perfect, he must consequently have more resolution and constancy. In like manner, women are always more wavering and fickle, as I could show by several reasons, which I shall omit at present. If, therefore, man, who is allowed to have the most stability, cannot - I will not say resist a woman that should entreat him, but cannot even help desiring and doing all that lies in his power to get into the company of a woman that he likes, and this not once in a month, but a thousand times every day, what can you think a woman, naturally weak, can do against the entreaties, flatteries, gifts, and a thousand other means, which an artful lover knows how to use? Do you think she can resist? Affirm it as you will, I can never think you in earnest. You say your wife is flesh and blood, and therefore subject to the same desires as other women, and her strength to resist those desires must be the same: be she then ever so virtuous, it is possible for her to do like other women: and if it be possible, you should never have denied it in that positive manner, and maintained the contrary, as you have done."
"I am a merchant, and not a philosopher," Bernard replied, "and shall answer you as such; I tell you, therefore, that what you say may be the case of women of little understanding, and who have no sense of shame; but such as are wise have such anxious regard for their honour, that they become more firm than men, who are not so tender on that point; and such a one is my wife."
"Truly," said Ambrose, "if for every fault of this kind they were to have a horn spring out of their foreheads, to bear testimony against them, I believe few would be guilty: but so far from having a horn grow, if they be wise, there is nothing to make the least discovery: and as shame and loss of character happen only when things are made public, therefore what they can accomplish in secret they rarely fail to do: or, if they abstain, it is through their folly. Take this then for a rule - that woman only is chaste who has never been asked; or she who herself has asked and been refused. And though I am convinced of this by natural and just reasons, yet I should not speak as I do, if 1 had not tried the humours and affections of many different women. Let me also tell you, that if I was in company with your most virtuous wife, I should not doubt my obtaining the same favour from her that I have gained from many others."
Bernard was provoked at this, and said, "There is no end of disputing; you assert, and I assert, which is all nothing: but since you say they are so easily warped, and have such an opinion of your own power that way: to convince you of my wife's virtue, I will forfeit my head, if you ever bring her to a compliance, upon condition that, if you should not prevail over her, you only lose a thousand florins of gold."
Ambrose replied, with a good deal of warmth, "Of what use will your life be to me, if I should win it? but if you have a mind to put the thing to the trial, stake five thousand florins, which are of less value than your life, against one thousand of mine; and as you fix no time, I will oblige myself to go to Genoa, and in less than three months from the day of my departure to gain my will of your wife, and to bring such tokens thereof back with me as you yourself shall confess to be just; provided you will give me your word, that you will neither come to Genoa in that time, nor write to her about the matter."
Bernard said he liked the wager; and though the other merchants endeavoured all they could to prevent it, as well knowing what mischief might ensue, yet the two merchants were so warm, that, in spite of all their friends could do, they immediately signed the articles to that purpose. Bernard, therefore, stayed behind, whilst Ambrose made the best of his way to Genoa. There he continued a day or two, informing himself, as cautiously as possible, of the name of the street where the lady lived, as also of her character, when he soon heard all that Bernard had related to be true, and a great deal more; which made him conclude that he had come thither on a very foolish errand: but meeting with a poor woman who frequented the house, to whom the lady was very kind, he wrought so far upon her, by means of a bribe, that he was carried in a chest, made according to his own directions, not only into the house, but even into the lady's bed-chamber, where it was to be left for some days, for the greater security, as if the good woman was going abroad.
When night came, and the lady, as he supposed, was asleep, he opened the chest with certain instruments which he had carried with him for that end, and went softly into the room, where a light was burning, by which he observed carefully the form and situation of the chamber, and also the pictures, and everything remarkable in it, which he endeavoured to keep in his memory. Coming then to the bedside, and seeing the lady and a little girl that was in bed with her, both fast asleep, he found her as beautiful as if she had been dressed; but yet he could perceive no sign to carry away concerning her, unless it was a mole upon her left breast; with which being pretty well satisfied, and not daring, from the lady's known character, to presume farther; after being there the greatest part of the night, he took a purse, and also a gown, and a ring and girdle; all which he put into his chest, and went into it again, making it fast as before; and there he continued two nights, without the lady's perceiving anything of the matter. The third day the woman came for the chest, according to her appointment, and carried it back; when Ambrose satisfied her according to promise, and hastened away to Paris with these tokens before the limited time.
He then summoned the merchants together who were present when the wager was laid, declaring to Bernard that he had won; having brought the tokens which he had promised to produce. First, then, he described the chamber and the paintings, and showed those things, which he said he had received from herself. Bernard owned that the chamber was as he had described it; and he remembered, also, that the things which he had brought belonged to his wife; but he added, that the other might have had an account of the room, as well as procured the other things, from some of the servants; therefore, if he could say nothing more, this did not seem sufficient to entitle him to the wager. Then Ambrose replied, "Truly this ought to satisfy you; but since you would have me say something more, know then, that Madam Ginevra, your wife, has a mole upon her left breast." When Bernard heard this, he was struck to the very heart,
and his countenance changed in such a manner, as to convince them, if he had not said another word, that Ambrose spoke truth; and after some time he replied: "Gentlemen, what Ambrose says is true; and, as I own myself to have lost, he may come when he pleases, and I will pay him."
The money, therefore, was paid the next day, and Bernard set out for Genoa, most cruelly incensed against his wife; and being come to a country-house of his, about twenty miles off, he sent a servant whom he could trust, with a couple of horses and a letter to her; wherein he acquainted her with his return, and that he would have her come away along with the servant, whom he had charged, at the same time, as soon as he came to a fit place, to put her to death, and repair to him. The servant delivered the letter to his mistress, who received the news with great joy; and the next morning she set forwards with him. As they travelled along, talking of divers things by the way, they came into a solitary vale surrounded with trees, which the servant thought a fit place for the execution of his master's orders; therefore, drawing a knife out of his pocket, and taking the lady by the arm, he said, "Madam, commend your soul to God, for here you must die." She, in the utmost astonishment, begged for God's sake that, before he put her to death, he would tell her what she had done to offend him in that manner. "Madam," said the servant, "you have done me no harm; and as to your husband, I can say only this, that he ordered me to kill you by the way, without showing you the least mercy; threatening otherwise to hang me up. You know full well my obligations to him, and that I must not resist his commands; I am sorry for you, God knows, but I cannot help it." The lady wept, and said, " Alas! do not murder me, who have never injured you, for the sake of another person: God is my witness, who knoweth all things, that I never did anything to deserve this from my husband; but, setting that aside, you may, if you please, serve God, your master, and myself, in this manner; namely, do you take my clothes, leaving me only your hat and doublet, and carry them to my lord and yours, telling him that you have killed me; and I swear, by that life for which I shall be indebted to you, that I will go where neither he, you, nor any person in this country, shall ever hear more concerning me." The servant, who was loth to put her to death, was easily prevailed upon; and leaving her his coat and hat, and some money which she had about her, and entreating her not to make any stay, went straight to his master, telling him that he had obeyed his commands, and left the body to be devoured by wolves. After some time Bernard returned to Genoa, and the fact being discovered, he was much blamed for what he had done.
The lady being left alone, as soon as night came on, she disguised herself as well as she could, and went to a neighbouring village, where she procured what she wanted of an old woman, and she mended and cut the doublet shorter, and turned her shift into a pair of trowsers; and having cut her hair, and appearing in every respect like a common sailor, she went to the sea-side, where she met a Catalonian gentleman, named Senor Encararch (EN: in the Italian original : gentile uom catalano, il cui nome era segner En Cararh), who being just come on shore to refresh himself at a spring of fresh water, she fell into discourse with him, and, agreeing to enter into his service, went on board, calling herself Sicurano da Finale. There she obtained better clothes, and she proved so expert and diligent a servant, that he was greatly pleased with her. Soon afterwards this gentleman sailed to Alexandria, carrying with him a number of falcons as a present to the sultan, who often entertained him at his table; and taking particular notice of the behaviour of Sicurano, who waited always upon her master, he begged her of the gentleman much against his will; and in a little time she was in as great favour with the sultan as she had been with her former master.
Now at a certain time of the year there was to be a fair at Acre, which was under the dominion of the sultan, and where was a great resort both of Christian and Turkish merchants, for whose greater security the sultan used to send one of his ordinary officers with a band of soldiers. And the time now drawing near, he resolved to send Sicurano for that purpose, as being well skilled in the languages; and she arriving at Acre as captain of the guard for the merchants, discharged her duty with great care and diligence, conversing daily with Sicilian, Pisan, Genoese, Venetian, and other Italian merchants, whom she chiefly was acquainted with, because they were of her own country. As she was one day therefore in a shop belonging to some Venetian merchant, amongst some other toys, she cast her eyes upon a purse and girdle, which she soon knew to be her own; but without making any such discovery, she asked whom they belonged to, and whether they were to be sold? Now it happened that Ambrose was come thither with a great stock of goods, and hearing the captain of the guard make inquiry whom those things belonged to, he stepped forwards, and said, with a laugh, "sir, they are mine, and not to be sold; but if you like them, they are at your service." Sicurano seeing him laugh, supposed it was at some action or behaviour of hers, and therefore, with a more settled countenance, she said, "I suppose you laugh to see me, a man professing arms, inquiring after such womanish toys." - "sir," replied Ambrose, "I do not laugh at that; but I laugh only at the manner by which I obtained them.'sicurano then replied, "Good sir, if it be not too much trouble, tell me how that was." "sir," quoth Ambrose, "a lady of Genoa, called Ginevra, wife to one Bernard Lomellin, gave them to me one night when I lay with her, and desired I would keep them for her sake. I laugh therefore, at Bernard's folly, who laid me five thousand florins to one thousand, that I could not obtain my will of her: which I did, and won my wager, whilst he, who deserved to have been punished for his brutality more than she, who did no more than what all women do, returned to Genoa, and by what I can find, had her put to death."
Sicurano had now found out the grounds of Bernard's displeasure; and as she perceived that this man had been the cause of it, she determined not to let him go unpunished: but seeming to be pleased with his story, she became more acquainted with him; and when the fair was ended, she took him with her to Alexandria, made him hire a shop, and lodged money in his hands, which turned to such account, that he was very willing to stay there. Sicurano, desirous of making her innocence appear to her husband, agreed with some Genoese merchants, under some pretence or other, to have him brought thither; and he being come in a poor and wretched plight, she had sent him privately to a friend's house to be taken care of, till it should be time to put her purpose in execution. Now Sicurano had made Ambrose tell the story before the sultan, who seemed pleased with it; but as soon as her husband was come, she determined to wait no longer; and taking a fit opportunity, she prevailed upon the sultan to send for Ambrose and Bernard both before him, and in the presence of Bernard, to make the other confess by force, if he would not own it otherwise, how the affair was, which he had so boasted of concerning Bernard's wife. Accordingly they were brought face to face, and the sultan, with a stem countenance, commanded Ambrose, before a number of people to speak the truth, namely, how he had won of Bernard the five thousand florins. Sicurano also, who was present, and in whom Ambrose put a good deal of confidence, declared with a great deal of anger in her looks, that he should be severely chastised, if he did not. Being terrified, therefore, on both sides, and in some measure compelled; expecting also to restore only the five thousand florins without any other punishment, he related the whole affair. Which being done, Sicurano, as minister to the sultan, turned to Bernard, and said, "What did you then do to your wife, on account of this lie?" He replied, "Being outrageous with the loss of my money and the shame to which I was exposed, for the injury I thought I had sustained from her, I ordered one of my servants to murder her, and, as he informs me, she was immediately devoured by wolves."
These things being related in the presence of the sultan, and many other witnesses, without his knowing Sicurano's purpose, she said: "My lord, you now see plainly what great reason the poor woman has to boast of her gallant and her husband; for the one deprives her of her good character with lies, and ruins her husband at the same time; whilst the other, showing greater regard for that person's falseness than to the virtue of his wife (of which he might have been assured from long experience), has her murdered, and devoured by wolves. Besides, such is the respect that they both bear towards her, that she is now known to neither of them, though they have been long entertained by her. But that you may more perfectly understand what both have deserved, and if, at my request, you will punish the deceiver, and excuse the person who was deceived, she shall forthwith appear before you and them." The sultan, who was disposed to show favour to Sicurano in everything, agreed that the lady should appear; at which Bernard was much surprised, supposing she was dead; whilst Ambrose, foreseeing what was likely to happen, began to think of something worse than repayment of the money, not knowing whether he had most reason to fear or hope in consequence of her appearing there; and he waited her coming with the utmost consternation.
The sultan having thus given leave, Sicurano threw herself at his feet, and, laying aside her manly voice and demeanour, she said, "My lord, I am the miserable and unfortunate Ginevra, who, for the space of six years have wandered over the world in man's disguise, being most basely aspersed by that villain Ambrose, and given up to a servant by that most cruel and unjust man, to be murdered and devoured by wolves." And showing her breast, she made it appear that she was the same woman. Turning then to Ambrose, she resolutely demanded, when it was that he had lain with her, as he had formerly vaunted. But he knowing her again, was so struck with shame, that he could not utter a word. The sultan, who had all along taken her for a man, was so surprised at what he heard and saw, that it appeared to him more like a dream than truth; but upon recollecting himself, and seeing everything plainly made out, he most highly commended the life, constancy, and behaviour of Ginevra, heretofore called Sicurano; and ordering proper apparel and attendants for her, he pardoned Bernard, at her request, and spared him the death he had justly merited; while he, now knowing her again, knelt down and begged pardon, which she readily granted, however unworthy he was of it, and embraced him as her husband. The sultan then ordered Ambrose to be fastened to a stake, in the most eminent part of the city, and his naked body smeared over with honey, and that he should hang there till he should drop in pieces; which sentence was soon put in execution. He next gave charge that all the culprit's substance should be given to Ginevra, which did not amount to less than ten thousand double ducats: and making a most sumptuous feast, in honour of Bernard, as her husband, and Ginevra, as a most worthy lady, he presented her with plate and money to the amount of ten thousand ducats more; and providing a ship for them, when the feast was over, he gave them leave to depart for Genoa, which they did with great joy, and were received with the utmost respect, especially Ginevra, who was thought to be dead; and the same esteem was continued towards her as long as she lived. As for Ambrose, he was not only destroyed the very day he was impaled, by wasps and hornets, with which the country abounds, but he was eaten to the very bones, which being bound together by the sinews, remained hanging there for some time, as a testimony of his villany. And thus it is, that the deceiver lies at the mercy of the deceived.
[The origin of this tale is unknown. It has in part been closely followed by Shakespeare in his "Cymbeline.”]
