10-4, Signor Gentil de' Carisendi

NOVEL IV. 

Signor Gentil de' Carisendi takes a lady out of her grave, whom he had loved, and who was buried for dead. She recovers, and is brought to bed of a son, which he presents along with the lady to her husband. 

It seemed strange to them all for a man to be so lavish of his blood, and it was agreed that Nathan had outdone both the king of Spain and the abbot of Cligni. The king then signified his will to Lauretta that she should begin, which she did to this effect: - Great, as well as beautiful, most noble ladies, are the incidents which have been already related, nor does anything seem wanting, in my opinion, to bring our argument home to the subject, but that we take in the affair of love, which affords matter enough for discourse upon any question whatever. For this reason, then, and as it is always an agreeable topic to youth, I shall mention the generosity of an enamoured young gentleman, which, all things considered, will appear, perhaps, no way inferior to the others: if it be true that people give away their wealth, forget animosities, run a thousand risks of their lives, and, what is more, their fame and honour too, and all to come at the thing desired. 

In Bologna was a knight, of great consequence and worth, called Gentil Carisendi, who was in love with Catalina, the wife of Niccoluccio Caccianimico, and meeting with no return, he went, in a kind of despair, to Modena, whither he was called as Podesta. In the meantime, Niccoluccio being absent from Bologna, and his lady at a country-house about three miles distant, where she was gone to stay, being with child, it happened she was taken with an hysteric fit, which quite extinguished all signs of life, so that her physician declared her dead. And because her acquaintance said, they had been informed by her that she was not quick with child, she was immediately buried in a vault belonging to a neighbouring church. This was soon signified by a friend to Signor Gentil, who, though, he had never received the least mark of her favour, grieved extremely, saying at last to himself, "Behold, my dear Catalina, you are dead! living you would never deign me one kind look; now, however, that you cannot prevent it, I will please myself even with a kiss." 

So, giving orders that his departure should be a secret, towards evening he mounted his horse, and taking a servant along with him, he rode directly to the vault where she was buried, which he opened, and lying down by her, he put his cheek to hers, and wept. At length, laying his hands for some time upon her bosom, he thought he felt something beat, when, throwing all fear aside, and attending more nicely to the circumstance, he was convinced she had a small spark of life remaining in her; therefore, by the help of his servant, he took her out of the vault as gently as possible, and, laying her upon the horse, he brought her privately to his house at Bologna. There his mother, a worthy good lady, having the whole account from him, by warm baths and other means, soon brought her to herself; when, after fetching a deep sigh, she said, "Alas! where am I!"The good lady replied, "Make yourself easy, you are in a very good place." Looking then all round, and seeing Signor Gentil before her, her astonishment was great, and she desired his mother to inform her by what means she had come thither. He then related everything to her, at which she was greatly affected, and, after giving due thanks, she requested of him, by his love and generous deportment, to attempt nothing contrary to her honour and that of her husband, and that, when it was daylight, he would suffer her to go home. "Madam," he replied, "whatever my love has been heretofore, I promise both now and hereafter, seeing I have been so fortunate to bring you to life, to use you with the same regard as I would do my sister: but, as I think myself entitled to some reward, I must insist upon your granting me one favour." - "sir," said she, "you may command anything from me consistent with modesty." He made answer, "Madam, your relations and all the people of Bologna are assured of your being dead; therefore I insist only upon your staying here with my mother till I return from Modena, which will be very soon. My reason is, that I would then, in the presence of the principal inhabitants here, make a valuable and solemn present of you to your husband." The lady, knowing her obligations to the knight, and that his demand was honourable, consented, and gave her word to abide by it, notwithstanding she longed extremely to gratify her relations with the news of her being alive. And whilst they were talking, she felt labour-pains come upon her, when she was soon delivered of a son, which added greatly to their joy. Signor Gentil ordered that she should have the same care taken of her as if she had been his own wife, and then returned privately to Modena. There he continued till the expiration of his office, and the morning he was to come home, he ordered a great entertainment to be made at his house, to which Niccoluccio Caccianimico, with many of the principal citizens were invited; and after he had dismounted, and found the company waiting for him, understanding too that the lady and child were both very well, he received them all with a great deal of joy, and dinner was immediately served up in the most magnificent manner possible. 

Towards the end, having concerted everything beforehand with the lady, he addressed himself to his guests in the following manner: "Gentlemen, I remember to have heard of a pretty custom in Persia, that when any one has a mind to show the greatest respect in his power to any of his friends, that he invites them to his house, and produces that thing, be it what it will, wife, mistress, or daughter, that is most dear to him, declaring thereby that he would, if he was able, lay his very heart before them. This custom I mean to introduce at Bologna. You do me honour with your company at this feast, and I will return it, by showing that thing which is the most dear to me of all that I have now in the world, or ever shall possess. But I must beg your solution of a difficulty which I am going to start to you. A certain person had a very honest and trusty servant, who was taken extremely ill, whom, without more to do, he sent out into the street in that condition, when a stranger, out of mere compassion, took him into his house, and with a great deal of trouble and expense, had him restored to his former health. 

- Now I would gladly know whether the first master has any right to complain of the second, for keeping him in his service, and refusing to restore him." This occasioned a great deal of argument, and all agreed at last in opinion, leaving Niccoluccio Caccianimico, who was an elegant speaker, to report it. He, therefore, after commending the Persian custom, said, "they were all persuaded that the first master had no farther right, after he had not only abandoned his servant, but thrown him away as it were; and that, on account of the kindness done to him, he justly belonged to the second, who offered no violence or injury to the first in detaining him." The rest of the company, being all wise and worthy persons, declared that they joined in opinion with Niccoluccio. The knight, pleased with the answer, and having it too from Niccoluccio, declared that those were his own sentiments, adding, "It is now time for me to honour you according to promise." 

He then sent two servants to the lady, whom he had taken care to have very gaily dressed, desiring her to favour his guests with her company. Accordingly, she came into the hall, followed by the two servants, with the little infant in her arms. And after she had seated herself, he said, "Behold, this is what I value beyond everything else; see if you think I am in the right." The gentlemen all praised her extremely, pronouncing her worthy of his esteem; and, after looking more nicely at her, many of them were going to have owned her, had it not been that they thought her dead. But none gazed upon her so much as Niccoluccio, who (the knight having stepped a little aside) grew impatient to know who she was, and, unable any longer to contain himself, demanded of her if she was a citizen or a stranger? The lady, hearing this from her husband, could scarcely refrain from giving him an answer, yet, in regard to her injunctions, she held her peace. Another inquired whether that was her child; and a third, whether she was wife, or any relation, to Signor Gentil. Stili she made no reply to any. So when the knight returned, one of the company said, "sir, this is really a pretty creature, but she appears to be dumb: is she actually so?" - "Gentlemen," he replied, "her silence is no small argument of her virtue." - "Tell us then," quoth one, "who she is." - "That I will," said the knight, "with all my heart, if you will promise me in the meantime that none of you stir from your places till I have made an end." 

This being agreed, and the tables all removed, he went and sat down by her, saying, "Gentlemen, this lady is that good and faithful servant, about whom I proposed the question: who, being set at nought by her friends, and thrown into the street, as it were, as a thing of no account, was by me with great care taken up, and redeemed from death; and from so terrible an object as she once was, brought to what you now see. But, for your more perfect understanding of what has happened, I will make it plain to you in few words." So he began from his being first enamoured, and related everything particularly that had happened, to the great amazement of the hearers; adding, at last, "For these reasons, if you stick to what you said just now, and Niccoluccio especially, the lady is mine, and nobody has any right to demand her from me." No reply was made to this, but all stood expecting to hear what he had farther to say. In the meantime, Niccoluccio and the rest of the company, as well as the lady, were so affected, that they all wept. But Signor Gentil arose, and taking the child in his arms, and the lady by the hand, he went towards Niccoluccio, and said, "Rise, my friend, behold, I do not give you your wife, whom you and your relations had thrown away, but I bestow this lady upon you, as an acquaintance of mine, along with her little son, which is yours, and whom I have called by my own name; and I entreat you not to have the worse opinion of her, for having been three months in my house; for I call Heaven to witness, that though my love was the cause of her being preserved, she has lived with the same honour in my house, along with my mother, as she could have done with her own parent." Then, turning to the lady, he said, "Madam, I now acquit you of your promise, and give you up freely to your husband. So giving him the lady and the child into his arms, he returned, and sat down. Niccoluccio received them with joy, the greater, as it was the more unexpected, loading the knight with infinite thanks, whilst the company, who could not refrain from weeping, highly commended his generosity, as did every one also that heard it. The lady now was brought to her own house with great demonstrations of joy, and the people all beheld her with the same wonder as if she had been raised from the dead. Moreover, the knight was in the greatest esteem ever after, both with her and Niccoluccio, as well as all their relations and friends. 

What will you say, then, ladies? Is a king's giving away his crown and sceptre, an abbot's reconciling a malefactor to the pope, or an old man's offering his throat to an enemy's dagger, anything like this action of Signor Gentile, who, being in the bloom and heat of youth, and seeming to have a good title to that which other people's carelessness had thrown away, and he by good fortune happened to pick up, not only restrained his desire, much to his honour, but generously resigned what he had entirely coveted, and sought at all events to possess. To me they seem no way comparable. 

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.]