4-3 Three young men

NOVEL III. 

Three young men fall in love with three sisters, and fly with them into Crete. The eldest destroys her lover out of jealousy; and the second, by consenting to the Duke of Crete's desires, is the means of saving her sister's life: afterwards her lover kills her, and goes away with the eldest sister. The third couple is charged with her death, which they confess, then bribe their keepers, make their escape, and die at Rhodes at last in great misery. 

When Filostrato heard the conclusion of Pampinea's novel, he stood some time in suspense, and at last, turning towards her, said, "There was something good in the end of your story, but the beginning was much too ludicrous." Then, pointing to Lauretta, he added, "Do you go on with a better if you can.” She replied, with a smile, "You are too hard upon poor lovers, to desire that their affairs should end unfortunately. Nevertheless, I shall, in compliance with your orders, give an account of three persons who were equally unhappy that way; and thus I proceed: - Every vice, as you very well know, may turn not only to the disadvantage of such as are subject to it, but of others also: and of all vices anger is that which hurries us along most blindly to our ruin. 

Now this passion seems to be a sudden and rash emotion, raised in us by an injury received; which, driving away all sense and reason, and veiling the eyes of our understanding, kindles in our souls a most violent fury. And whereas men are governed by it too often, though some more than others, yet it is of worse consequence in women, as it is more easily kindled in them, and burns also with a more fierce and lasting flame. Nor is this to be wondered at; for fire, in its own nature, is apt to take hold the soonest of such things as are of the lightest consistence; and our texture, we know, is much more delicate than that of men. Seeing, therefore, how prone we are to it naturally; considering, also, that nothing can recommend us more to the good esteem of the men, with whom we are to spend our lives, than mildness and good nature; and, on the contrary, that anger is attended with infinite danger and trouble; I shall, for your greater defence and security in this respect, relate the loves of three young men, and as many ladies, who all became miserable, through the fury of one. 

Marseilles, (Marseille) you know, is an ancient and famous city in Provence, situated on the sea-coast, and was better stored formerly with rich citizens and wealthy merchants than it is at present. Amongst these was Narnald Claude, a man of low birth but fair character, and immensely rich, who, besides his other children, had three daughters; the two eldest, who were twins, were about fifteen years of age, and the other fourteen; and there was nothing wanting to the disposing of all three in marriage but the return of their father, who was gone on a trading voyage to Spain. The names of the two elder were Ninetta and Magdalena, and of the younger Bertella. Now there was a worthy young gentleman, but of small fortune, named Restagnone, in love with Ninetta, and she having the same inclination for him, their mutual wishes were soon consummated, and the affair was carried on for some lime between them, without any body's knowing anything of the matter. In the meantime, two other young gentlemen, who were both rich, their fathers being just dead, fell in love with the other two sisters; the one whose name was Folco, having made choice of Magdalena, and the other, called Ughetto, of Bertella. Restagnone being apprized of this by Ninetta, contrived a way to make up his want of wealth by their love. Having cultivated an intimacy with them by accompanying them, sometimes singly, sometimes both together, to see their mistresses and his own, he took occasion one day to invite them to his house, where he spoke to them in this manner: " Gentlemen, our acquaintance for some time past may have convinced you of the great esteem I have for you, so as to have your interests at heart equally with my own; I shall now acquaint you, therefore, with a thought which has just come into my mind, and you may do afterwards as you shall think proper. It plainly appears that you have the utmost regard and value for the two young ladies, and I have the same for the third sister. I think, if you will consent to it, that I have found out an expedient agreeable enough, which is as follows: you are both very rich, and I am otherwise; make then one joint stock, and let me come in a partner with you; resolve on what part of the world we shall go to, to live happily together, and I will undertake that the three sisters shall bear us company, with a good part of their father's wealth; so that every one of us may have his mistress, and we live like brethren together, the happiest men on earth. What say you to this?"

The young gentlemen were so much in love, that they gave themselves very little time to reflect upon what was proposed; but declared, that, happen what would, they were ready to comply. Restagnone accordingly took the first opportunity that offered of being with Ninetta, which was no easy matter to compass, when he made the same proposal to her, enforcing it by divers reasons, which he might have spared, because the scheme was entirely to her liking. She told him, therefore, that she consented for her own part, and would persuade her sisters; and that, in the meantime, he should get everything in readiness for such an expedition. He returned then to his two friends, who were impatient to know the result, and told them that everything was in readiness on the part of the ladies. Proposing to go to Crete, they sold all their estates under pretence of turning merchants, and bought a light frigate, which they armed and victualled with great secrecy against the time appointed. In the meantime, Ninetta, who was no stranger to her sisters' inclinations, had wrought so far upon them by her fine persuasions, that they longed for nothing so much as their departure. The night being come, therefore, when they were to embark, the three ladies opened their father's cabinet, and took out a great quantity of money and jewels, with which they stole away to meet their lovers, who were waiting for them at the place appointed, when they immediately set sail, and made no stop anywhere till they came to Genoa the next night, where they consummated their several nuptials. Thence they sailed from port to port, till in eight days they arrived at Crete, where they purchased estates and fine houses, and lived like noblemen, keeping great numbers of servants, horses, dogs, etc., for their diversion; so that none seemed to enjoy more real pleasure and satisfaction than themselves. 

Passing their time away in this manner, it happened (as it happens every day, that things, however coveted by us, nauseate by over great plenty), that Restagnone, who had an ardent affection for Ninetta before she was in his power, began now to be much more cool in this respect; for, being at a feast one day, he met with a lady, with whom he became violently in love, and he began to give treats and entertainments for her sake, till his wife grew so jealous that he could never stir a step but she took notice of it, and expressed the utmost uneasiness both in her words and behaviour to him on that account. But as plenty always cloys, and as to have what we want denied us whets the appetite, so did this vexation of hers increase the flame of his love. Whether it was that he had really accomplished his desires or not, Ninetta, whoever told her so, believed it: and she consequently fell into such a fit of sorrow and fury that her love for her husband was exchanged into the most inveterate hatred; and she resolved to revenge the wrong she had sustained by his death. Meeting, then, with an old Grecian woman, who was skilled in all sorts of poisons, she engaged her, by presents and large promises, to prepare a deadly water, which she gave him without hesitation, one evening when he was very thirsty; and its virulence was such, that he died before morning. Folco and Ughetto, with their wives, knowing nothing of Restagnone's dying of poison, lamented over him very much along with Ninetta, who had him honourably buried. But not many days afterwards the old woman was taken up for some other crime, when she confessed this one among others. Thereupon the Duke of Crete, without saying a word to any person concerning it, had Folco's palace beset one night, and Ninetta brought quietly away a prisoner; and she, without being tortured, confessed the cause of Restagnone's death. The duke privately acquainted Folco and Ughetto with the cause of Ninetta's arrest, and they used all their interest with him to prevent her being burnt, which they understood was likely to be her sentence, but all to no purpose; the duke seemed determined to have justice done. Hereupon Magdalena, a very beautiful lady, and whom the duke had long conceived an affection for, though hitherto to no purpose, supposing now, that by obliging him she might save her sister's life, sent privately to let him know that she would now comply with his entreaties, upon two conditions: the one was, that her sister should be liberated; and the other, that the whole should be kept secret. The duke liked the message, and agreed to what was proposed; wherefore, keeping Folco and Ughetto prisoners, one night by her consent, as if he wanted some further information, he went privately to Magdalena. He had previously given out that he had caused Ninetta to be put into a sack, and thrown into the sea, and now he took her along with him to the sister, to whom he gave her up, according to their agreement, and charged Magdalena to send her out of the way, to prevent all blame and censure, and lest he should be compelled to proceed with rigour against her. 

The next morning Folco and Ughetto were told that their sister was put to death, and being released, went home to comfort their wives for the loss of her. Magdalena endeavoured, as much as possible, to keep her concealed, yet Folco had some suspicion that she was in the house, and was at last convinced of it, which occasioned him some jealousy, as he knew the duke's regard for his wife: therefore he asked her, how it happened that Ninetta was there? She then began a long story, to which he gave but little credit, and forced her at last to confess the whole truth. Upon which, being provoked to the last degree, he drew his sword, and stabbed her to the heart, she begging in vain for mercy. Fearing, afterwards, the duke's resentment, he went into the room to Ninetta, and said cheerfully to her, "Let us go away directly, according to your sister's appointment, for fear you should fall into the hands of the duke." She was desirous of getting away, and accordingly, without taking any leave of her sister, went off in great haste along with him. He took only what money was at hand, which was but little; the two went on shipboard together, and it was never known whither they were carried. Magdalena being found dead the next day, some persons, out of ill-will to Ughetto, carried the news instantly to the duke, who came in all haste to the house, as he had an excessive love for her, and seized upon Ughetto and his lady, and put them to the rack, by which means he made them confess what they were entire strangers to; namely that they were equally concerned in her death with their brother, who was fled. After this, finding that there was no other prospect of saving their lives, they bribed their keepers with a large sum of money, which they always had in readiness for any extraordinary occasion, and went immediately on board a ship, without being able to take any of their effects, and fled to Rhodes, where they died some time after in great distress and poverty. To such an end did the foolish love of Restagnone and the ungoverned fury of Ninetta bring both themselves and others. 

4-2 Friar Albert, angel Gabriel

NOVEL II. 

Friar Albert makes a woman believe that an angel is in love with her, and in that shape deceives her. Afterwards, for fear of her relations, he throws himself out of the window, and takes shelter in a poor man's house, who exposes him the next day in the public market-place, in the form of a wild man, when he is discovered by two friars, and put into prison. 

The story related by Fiammetta drew tears several times from the eyes of all the company; but it being now finished, the king, looking gravely, said, "I would have given my life willingly to have enjoyed but half the pleasure which those lovers met with. Nor need you wonder at that, because I undergo a thousand deaths daily, without the least pleasure whatever in return. But, letting my fortune alone for the present, it is my will that Pampinea proceed; who, if she goes on as well as Fiammetta has begun, I shall expect to receive some small degree of comfort more to my affliction." Pampinea, finding herself fixed upon for the next novel, and having more regard to the inclination of the company, which she very well knew, than to the king's command, and being more desirous of diverting them than of satisfying his melancholy temper, chose a novel which should make them laugh, though she still kept to the subject proposed: - It is a common saying, said she, that a wicked man, who has the reputation of being virtuous and good, may do many things, and nobody believe it. This affords ample matter for discourse, and a fit handle for me to shew how great the hypocrisy is of some of the religious, who have their garments long and large; their faces made pale artificially, and on purpose; their language so meek and humble, to get men's goods from them; yet are sour and harsh enough in reproving them of vices, of which they themselves are guilty; whilst they pretend that they merit heaven just as much by receiving, as the others do by giving. Who also, not as if they were to get thither by their own endeavours, but as though they were the possessors and lords of it, portion out to every person that dies, a better or a worse place therein, according to the amount of money bequeathed to them; thus deceiving themselves, in the first place, if they really mean what they say, and afterwards those who put their trust in them. Of whom, might I have the liberty of speaking all I know, I could quickly disclose to many simple people, what wickedness is too often concealed under that holy habit. I could wish, however, that the same success might attend the hypocrisy of them all, as befell a certain friar, who was concerned in some of the best families in Venice; the relation of which may prove some diversion to you, after your grief for the death of Ghismond. 

There lived at Imola a man of a very bad life, called Berto della Massa, whose evil deeds had gained him such a character there, that nobody could believe him even when he spoke the truth. Finding, therefore, that all his quirks and cunning would stand him in no further stead at Imola, he removed, in a kind of despair, to Venice, the common receptacle of every sort of wickedness, and resolved to manage matters in a quite different manner from what he had done: and, as if he felt some remorse of conscience for his past life, pretending also to be seized with uncommon zeal and devotion, he turned friar, calling himself Father Albert of Imola. In this habit he seemed to lead a mighty sanctified life, highly commending penance and abstinence, and eating no flesh and drinking no wine; but then it was when he could get neither to please him. Besides this, when he was officiating at the altar at any time, if he saw he was taken notice of by many people, he would be sure to weep over our Saviour's passion, having tears enough at command whenever he chose. In short, what with his preaching and crying together, he had so far insinuated himself into the good graces of the people of Venice, that there was scarcely a will made but he was left executor; he had the care also and disposal of many people's money; and was adviser and confessor to the greatest part both of the men and women; so that from a wolf he became the shepherd, and the fame of his sanctity was greater than ever was that of St. Francis. 

Now it happened, that a vain simple lady, named Lissetta da Ca Quirino, wife to a merchant, who was gone a voyage to Flanders, came one day, with some other women, to confess to this holy friar: and being asked, as she was confessing, if she had a lover? she replied, putting on an angry countenance, "What! father, have you no eyes in your head? Where do you see a woman so handsome as myself? I could have lovers enough; but my beauty is designed for none of them; it is fit only to appear in heaven itself." And many more things she said of the same sort, enough to give any one a surfeit to hear them. Father Albert immediately saw her blind side and thought her fit game for his net, but deferred using any flattering speeches till a more convenient opportunity: to shew himself, however, holy for that time, he began to reprove her, telling her all this was vain-glory, and so forth. The lady, in return, called him a brute, and told him he could not distinguish beauty when he saw it. He then, not to provoke her too far, took her confession, and dismissed her. 

A little time after, taking a friend with him whom he could trust to the house, he went with her to one side of the hall, where nobody could see them, and falling down upon his knees, said, "Madam, I must beg, for Heaven's sake, that you will forgive me for blaspheming your beauty, as I did last Sunday; since I was so chastised the following night for it, that I could not rise out of my bed before today." - "And who," quoth the foolish lady, "chastised you in that manner?" - "I will tell you. As I was saying my prayers that night, as usual, suddenly a great light shone around me. I turned about to see what it was, and beheld a beautiful youth, with a staff in his hand, who took hold of my hood, threw me down upon the floor, and beat me in such a manner, that I was almost killed. Upon my asking what all that was for? he made answer, "Because thou didst so saucily presume to reprove the celestial beauty of Madam Lisetta, whom I love above all things in the world,” - "And who are you?” I demanded. "I am the angel Gabriel," he replied. "O, my Lord," then said I, "I beseech you to forgive me." 

He answered, "I do forgive thee, upon condition that thou goest the very first opportunity to her, and obtain her pardon: and unless she thinks fit to excuse thee, I shall return, and give thee such discipline as thou shalt feel as long as thou shalt live." What he said more I dare not speak, unless I have your forgiveness.

My lady windbag, who had something of a sweet tooth in her head, gave ear to this ridiculous story, and said, "I told you. Father Albert, that my beauties were of the celestial kind; I am sorry for what you have suffered, and forgive you, if you will tell me truly what the angel said besides." - "That I will," said he; "but one thing I must enjoin you, namely, that you tell it to no person living, unless you have a mind to ruin all; for you are certainly the happiest woman upon the face of the earth. This angel Gabriel told me, then, that he had such a regard for you, that he should frequently have come to pass the night with you, if he thought you would not be too much terrified. He bid me tell you, therefore, that he should come some night, and stay a while with you; and seeing that he is an angel, and that you could not touch him if he were to come in that shape, he will put on a human appearance for your sake, and would know from you when you would choose to see him, and whose form and person you would have him assume." The conceited woman said she was very happy to hear that the angel Gabriel loved her, for indeed she loved him, and never failed to set up a full candle wherever she saw him painted. At any hour he might please to come he should be welcome, and would find her alone in her chamber: but on this condition, that he should not forsake her for the Virgin Mary, of whom it was said he was very fond; and, indeed, so it appeared, for he was everywhere to be seen on his knees before her. Furthermore, he might come in any form he pleased, provided he did not frighten her. "Madam," said the friar, " you talk very sensibly, and I will arrange with him as you desire; but I have a great favour to beg, which will cost you nothing; it is that he may put on my person. I will tell you why I ask this. It is because he will take my soul out of my body and put it in paradise, and will enter into me; and as long as he is with you, so long will my soul be in paradise." "I consent with all my heart," answered she; "it will be some amends for the blows you have received." - "But," said he, "the door must be open, otherwise, as he comes in human shape, he would not be able to enter your house”. She promised it should be done. Friar Albert then took leave of her, and she remained in such a transcendant state of exaltation, that she did not know which way her sitting parts hung, and thought every moment a year till the angel Gabriel should come to her. 

By way of preparation for the part he had to play that night. Friar Albert fortified himself with provocatives and lots of good things; and, when it was dark, he went with a companion to the house of a woman, who used to accommodate him when he had such affairs on hand. Having there put on his angelic accoutrements, he went to the lady's house, found the door on the latch, and stepped up into her chamber. When Lisetta beheld that shining white apparition, she knelt down before it; the angel gave her his benediction, raised her from the ground, and made a sign to her to go to bed. She obeyed with cheerful alacrity, and the angel lay down beside his votary. Friar Albert was a fine lively fellow; Lisetta was a dainty bit of flesh; and he soon let her know the difference between an angelic bedfellow and her husband. Many a flight he took that night without wings; the lady fairly screamed with delight; and between whiles he told her many things of the glories of heaven. Just before daybreak he went away as he had come, after making arrangements for his return, and rejoined his comrade, whom the good woman had kindly taken into her own bed lest he should be frightened if he lay alone. 

As soon as Lisetta had dined, she set off with her companion to see Friar Albert, and told him all about the angel Gabriel, what she had heard from him about the glories of heaven, how he was made, and a thousand marvellous stories of her own invention. 

"I don't know, madam," replied the friar, "how you fared with him; but well I know that after he came to me last night, and I gave him your message, he suddenly transported my soul into a place of such exquisite pleasure as never was known, where it remained till this morning; as for my body I know not what became of it." - "Don't I tell you!” said Lisetta; "your body lay all night in my arms with the angel Gabriel; and if you will not believe me, look under your left breast where I gave the angel - oh! such a kiss, that you'll bear the marks of it for some days to come." - "Well," said the friar, "I will do what I have not done for a long time past, that is, strip myself and see if what you say is true." After much more talk of this kind, Madam Lisetta went home; and the angelic Franciscan continued his visits to her for a long time without impediment; but at last her silly babble spoiled all. 

One day it chanced that, being with an acquaintance, the conversation turned on female beauty, and Lisetta to exalt herself above all others, must needs say, "If you but knew what a conquest I have made, you would say no more about other women." Her friend, who was eager to draw her out, replied, "That may be very true; and yet anybody but myself might hesitate to believe it, not knowing who is the person in question." - "I ought not to name him," said the vain creature, "but as I have no secrets from you, I will tell you that it is the angel Gabriel; and he loves me better than himself, as the finest woman to be found, so he tells me, in the whole world or within the lagoons." The friend could hardly help laughing out, but refrained that she might hear more. "By my faith, my dear," she said, "if the angel Gabriel is your lover, and told you this, of course he knows 

best; but I had no idea that angels did such things." - "You were mistaken, my dear, I give you my word my husband's but a fool to him; and he tells me that they make love in heaven just the same as here, but he fell in love with me because there is none equal to me up there; nay, he comes down very often to be with me; what do you say to that?"

It seemed an age to the friend till she could get away from Lisetta and have her fill of laughter. In the evening she had a bevy of ladies at an entertainment, and told them the whole story. They, again, told it to their husbands and to other ladies, and these to more, so that in less than two days it was known all over Venice. Lisetta's brothers-in-law heard of it amongst the rest, and without saying a word to her on the subject, they kept watch for several nights together to discover this angel and see if he could fly. Some inkling of the matter also reached the ears of Friar Albert, and one night he went to reprimand her for making it public, but had no sooner got into the apartment, and stripped himself, than he heard the brothers-in-law at the door. Jumping up at once, and seeing no other way to escape, he opened the casement that was over the great canal, and threw himself directly into it. As the water was deep, and he was a good swimmer, he received no harm: and espying a house on the other side, with the door open, he rushed into it, and entreated the honest man to save his life, telling him a thousand lies concerning the reason of his coming there in that manner, and at that time. The man, being moved with pity, and having some business which called him away for a time, desired him to go into his bed, and lie there till he should return; he then locked him up in the house, and went about his business. The brothers-in-law, upon coming into the lady's chamber, found that the angel Gabriel had left his wings there, and flown away without them. They gave her, therefore, a tremendous rating, and left her disconsolate, carrying off the angel's implements along with them. 

In the meantime, the sun having risen, the man had repaired to the Rialto, where he heard the whole story how the Angel Gabriel had been to spend the night with Madonna Lisetta, and how he was discovered by her relations, and forced to leap into the canal, and nobody knew what was become of him; whence the cottager concluded it must be the same man that he had safe and fast at home. Finding, upon his return, that this was the fact, after some discourse together he made the friar send home for five hundred ducats, threatening otherwise to deliver him up to the woman's friends. When the money was brought, and the friar was desirous of getting away, the honest man said to him, "I see no way for your escape but one. today we make a great rejoicing, when one person is to bring a man clothed like a bear, another like a wild man, and so on; and in that manner people are to come under different disguises into St. Mark's Place, as to a hunt; and when the diversion is over, every man leads away the person that he brings, to what quarter he pleases. Now, if, before any one knows that you are here, you will consent to be led in one of these disguises, I will carry you afterwards where you will; otherwise I do not see how you can get away without being observed; for the relations, guessing that you are somewhere here-abouts, are everywhere upon the scout for you." This seemed a hard sentence to the friar; but his fear of being discovered was so great, that he at last consented. Accordingly he was besmeared all over with honey, and covered with feathers; a chain was put about his neck, and a mask upon his face, with a great stick in one hand, and a couple of butcher's mastiffs in the other; and a man was privily sent before to the Rialto, to make public proclamation, that all who had a mind to see the angel so much talked of, might repair to St. Mark's Place: which was a Venetian trick at best. 

When that was done. Father Albert was led forth, and all the way as he was carried along, there was a great outcry of the people, wondering what thing it was: and being brought into the great square, what with the people that followed, and those that flocked thither, upon hearing the proclamation, the crowd was immensely great. The fellow then tied his wild man to a pillar, pretending to wait till the sport began; in the meantime, as he was bedaubed with honey, the flies and wasps began to grow exceedingly troublesome to him. Perceiving, at last, the square sufficiently crowded, under a pretence of turning his wild man loose, the man took off the mask, and said, "Gentlemen, as I find we are to have no other sport today, I intend to show you the angel who comes down from heaven o"nights to comfort the Venetian ladies." No sooner was the mask removed, than all present recognized Father Albert, and there was a most terrible outcry against him, every one pelting him with whatever filth came to their hands, till at length the news reached the convent, when two of his brethren came, and, throwing a gown over him, carried him away with the utmost difficulty to their monastery, where he was thrown into prison, and ended his days in a miserable manner. Thus did this man's hypocrisy and wickedness meet with their due reward; and may the like fate attend all his kind. 

[The numerous tales founded on that species of seduction practised by Alberto da Imola, may have originated in the incident related in all the romances concerning Alexander the Great, where Nectanebus predicts to Olympias that she is destined to have a son by Ammon, and afterwards enjoys the queen under the appearance of that divinity. But they have more probably been derived from the story related by Josephus (lib. xviii, c. xiii) of Mundus, a Roman knight in the reign of Tiberius, who having fallen in love with Paulina, wife of Saturninus, bribed a priestess of Isis, to whose worship Paulina was addicted, to inform her that the god Anabis, (Anubis) being enamoured of her charms, had desired her to come to him. In the evening she accordingly proceeded to the temple, where she was met by Mundus, who personated the Egyptian divinity. 

Next morning she boasted of her interview with Anabis to all her acquaintance, who suspected some trick of priestcraft; and the deceit having come to the knowledge of Tiberius, he ordered the temple of Isis to be demolished, and her priests to be crucified. Similar deceptions are also common in eastern stories. Thus, in the History of Malek, in the "Persian Tales," the adventurer of that name, under the semblance of Mahomet, seduces the Princess of Gazna. A fraud of the nature of that employed by Alberto da Imola is frequent in the French novels and romances, as in "L'Amant Salamandre," and the “Sylph Husband," of Marmontel. It is also said to have been oftener than once practised in France, in real life, as appears from the well-known case of Father Girard and Mlle. Cadière.] 

THE FOURTH DAY. NOVEL I. Tancred, Prince of Salerno,

THE FOURTH DAY. 

The sun had now driven all the stars from the heavens, and dispelled the vapours of the night from the earth, when Filostrato arose, and ordered all the company to be called. They walked then into the garden, and dined, when the time came, where they had supped the preceding night. Taking a nap afterwards, whilst the sun was at its height, they returned at the usual time to the fountain side. Here Filostrato commanded Fiammetta to begin, who spoke in a soft agreeable manner, as follows. 

NOVEL I. 

Tancred, Prince of Salerno, puts his daughter's lover to death, and sends his heart to her in a golden cup; she pours poison upon it, which she drinks, and dies. 

Our king has given us a most melancholy subject for this day's discourse; considering, that we who came hither to be merry, must now recount other people's misfortunes, which cannot be related without moving compassion, as well in those who tell, as in those who hear them. Perhaps it is designed as an alloy to the mirth of the preceding days. But whatever his reason may be for it, I have no business to make any alteration in what he has been pleased to decree. I shall, therefore, mention an unhappy story to you, worthy of your most tender compassion. 

Tancred, prince of Salerno, was a most humane and generous lord, had he not in his old age defiled his hands in a lover's blood. Through the whole course of his life he had only one daughter; and happy had he been not to have possessed her. No child could be more dear to a parent than she was, and so loath was he to part with her, that she had been many years of marriageable age before he could bring himself to bestow her on a son of the Duke of Capoa. But she was soon left a widow, and came home again to her father. She was a lady of great beauty and understanding, and continuing thus in the court of her father, who took no care to marry her again, and it seeming not so modest in her to ask it, she resolved at last to have a lover privately. Accordingly she made choice of a person of low parentage, but noble qualities, whose name was Guiscard, with whom she became violently in love, as he did with her. Such being their secret feelings, the lady who desired nothing so much as to be with Guiscard, and did not dare to trust any person with the affair, contrived a new stratagem in order to apprize him of the means. She wrote a letter, wherein she mentioned what she would have him do the next day for her; this she put into a hollow cane, and giving it to him one day, she said, pleasantly, "You may make a pair of bellows of this, for your servant to blow the fire with this evening." He took the cane, supposing very justly that she had some covert meaning, and, opening it at home he found the letter, which filled him with the utmost joy; and he immediately took measures to meet her in the manner she had directed him. 

On one side of the palace, and under a mountain, was a grotto, which had been made time out of mind, and into which no light could come but through a little opening dug in the mountain, and which, as the grotto had been long in disuse, was grown over with briars and thorns. Into this grotto was a passage, by a private stair-case, out of one of the rooms of the palace, which belonged to the lady's apartment, and was secured by a very strong door. This passage was so far out of every one's thoughts, having been disused for so long a time, that nobody remembered anything about it: but love, whose notice nothing can escape, brought it fresh into the mind of the enamoured lady. To keep this thing entirely private, she laboured all alone some days before she could gee the door open; when, having gone down into the cave, and observed the opening, and how high it might be from the bottom, she acquainted Guiscard with these details. He then provided a ladder of cords; and casing himself well with leather, to defend him from the thorns, he fixed one end of the ladder to the stump of a tree which was near, and slid down by the help of it to the bottom, where he stayed, expecting the lady. The following day, therefore, having sent her maids out of the way, under pretence that she was going to lie down, and locking herself up alone in her chamber, she open the door and descended into the grotto, where she met her paramour to their intense mutual satisfaction. Thence she shewed him the way to her chamber, where they were together the greatest part of the day, and, after they had taken proper measures for the time to come, he went away through the cave, and she returned to her maids. He did the same the next night; and he followed this course for a considerable time, till fortune, as if she envied them their happiness, thought fit to change their mirth into mourning. 

Tancred used sometimes to come into his daughter's chamber, to pass away a little time with her. Going thither, quite unperceived, one day after dinner, whilst Ghismond (that was the lady's name) was with her maids in the garden; and, not wishing to take her from her diversion, finding also the windows shut, and the curtains drawn to the feet of the bed, he threw himself down in a great chair, which stood in a corner of the room, leaned his head upon the bed, drew the curtain before him, as if he concealed himself on purpose, and fell asleep. In the meantime, Ghismond, having made an appointment with her lover, left the maids in the garden, and came into her chamber, which she secured, not thinking of any person being there. Then she went to meet Guiscard, who was in the cave waiting for her, and brought him into her chamber; when her father awoke, and was a witness to all that passed between them. This was the utmost affliction to him, and he was about to cry out, but upon second thoughts he resolved to keep the matter private if possible, that he might be able to do more securely, and with less disgrace, what he had resolved upon. The lovers stayed together their usual time, without perceiving anything of Tancred, who, after they were departed, got out of the window into the garden, old as he was, and went, without being seen by any one, very sorrowful to his chamber. 

The next night, according to his orders, Guiscard was seized by two men as he was coming out of the cave, and carried by them in his leathern doublet to Tancred, who, as soon as he saw him, said, with tears in his eyes, "Guiscard, you have ill requited my kindness towards you, by this outrage and shame which you have brought upon me, and of which this very day I have been an eye-witness." Guiscard made no other answer but this: "sir, love has greater power than either you or I." Tancred then ordered that he should be kept in secret custody. The next day he went to his daughter's apartment as usual (she knowing nothing of what had happened), and, after locking the door, said to her, weeping, "Daughter, I had such an opinion of your modesty and virtue, that I could never have believed, had I not seen it with my own eyes, that you would have violated either, even so much as in thought. The recollection of this will make the pittance of life that is left very grievous to me. As you were determined to act in that manner, would to Heaven you had made choice of a person more suitable to your own quality; but this Guiscard is one of the very meanest persons about my court. This gives me such concern, that I scarcely know what to do. As for him, he was secured by my order last night, and his fate is determined. But with regard to yourself, I am influenced by two different motives; on one side, the tenderest regard that a father can have for a child; and on the other, the justest vengeance for the great folly you have committed. One pleads strongly in your behalf; and the other would excite me to do an act contrary to my nature. But, before I come to a resolution, I would hear what you have to say for yourself."  And when he said this, he hung down his head, and wept like a child. 

She, hearing this from her father, and perceiving that their amour was not only discovered, but her lover in prison, with difficulty refrained from breaking out into loud and grievous lamentations, as is the way of women in distress; but she conquered this weakness, and putting on a settled countenance, resolved firmly in her own mind not to outlive her Guiscard, who she supposed was already dead. With the utmost composure, therefore, she spoke to this effect: "Father, it is not my purpose either to deny, or to entreat; for as the one can avail me nothing, so I intend the other shall be of little service. I will by no means bespeak your love and tenderness towards me; but shall first, by an open confession, endeavour to vindicate myself, and then do what the greatness of my soul prompts me to. It is most true that I have loved, and do still love, Guiscard; and whilst I live, which will not be long, shall continue to love him; and if such a thing as love be after death, I shall never cease to love him. To this I was induced, not so much by female frailty, as by his superior worth, and the little care you took to marry me again. It ought to have been plain to you that, as you are made of flesh and blood, your daughter was not stone or iron, and you should have remembered, though now you are old, what is the nature and force of youthful passions; and as your best years have been spent in part in the toils of war, you should the better have known what are the effects of ease and indulgence, not alone on the young, but even on the old. I am then a creature of flesh and blood; I am still young; and for both reasons possessed with desires which have become the more intense because having been married I have known the pleasure derived from gratifying them. Unable, then, to resist their force, I determined to obey their impulse; and, with all the power of my soul, I resolved, that so far as in me lay, no shame should befall you or me from that to which a natural weakness impelled me. In this I was favoured by Love and Fortune, who showed me a very secret way by which, unperceived by any one, I attained my wishes; and this, whoever disclosed it to you, or however you came to know"it, I do not deny. I did not take up with Guiscard by accident, as many do, but I chose him deliberately before all others, admitted him to my chamber with settled forethought, and with resolute perseverance on his part and mine, I long enjoyed my desires. It appears from what you say, that you would have been less incensed if I had made choice of a nobleman, and you bitterly reproach me for having condescended to a man of low condition. In this you speak according to vulgar prejudice, and not according to truth; nor do you perceive that the fault you blame is not mine, but fortune's, who often exalts the unworthy, and leaves the worthiest in low estate. But, not to dwell on such considerations, look a little into first principles, ancl you will see that we are all formed of the same materials, and by the same hand. The first difference amongst mankind, who are all born equal, was made by virtue; they who were virtuous were deemed noble, and the rest were all accounted otherwise. Though this law, therefore, may have been obscured by contrary custom, yet is it discarded neither by nature nor good manners. If then you regard only the worth and virtue of your courtiers, and consider that of Guiscard, you will find him the only noble person, and the others a set of poltroons. With regard to his worth and valour, I appeal to yourself. Who ever commended man more for everything that was praise-worthy, than you have commended him? and deservedly, in my judgment; but if I was deceived, it was by following your opinion. If you say, then, that I have had an affair with a person base and ignoble, I deny it; if with a poor one, it is to your shame, to let such merit go unrewarded. Now, concerning your last doubt, namely, how you are to deal with me, use your pleasure. If you are disposed to commit an act of cruelty, I shall say nothing to prevent such a resolution. But this I must apprize you of, that unless you do the same to me, which you either have done, or mean to do to Guiscard, my own hands shall do it for you. Leave tears then to women; and if you mean to act with severity, cut us off both together, if it appear to you that we have deserved it." 

The prince knew full well the greatness of his daughter's soul; yet he could by no means persuade himself, that she would have resolution enough to do what her words seemed to threaten. Dismissing, then, all thoughts of doing her hurt in person, and intending to wean her affection from her lover by taking him off, he gave orders to the two men, who guarded Guiscard, to strangle him privately in the night, and to take his heart out of his body, and bring it to him.

They executed his commands, and the next day Tancred called for a golden cup, and putting the heart into it, he had it conveyed by a trusty servant to his daughter, with this message: "Your father sends this present to comfort you with what was most dear to you; even as he was comforted by you in what was most dear to him." She had remained unshaken in her resolution since her father left her, and therefore had prepared the juices of some poisonous plants, which she had mixed with water, to be at hand if what she feared should come to pass. When the servant had delivered the present, and the message, she took the cup, without changing countenance, and seeing the heart therein, and knowing by the servant's words that it must be Guiscard 's, she looked steadfastly at the man, and said, "My father has done very wisely; such a heart as this requires no worse a sepulchre than one of gold." Then she lifted it to her mouth and kissed it, saying: "All my life long, even to this last period of it, have I found my father's love most abundant towards me; but now, more than ever: therefore return him in my name the last thanks that I shall ever be able to give him for such a present." Looking then towards the cup, which she held fast in her hand, she said: "Alas! dearest end and centre of all my wishes! Cursed be the cruelty of him, by whom these eyes now see you; although my soul hath long viewed and known you. You have finished your course; such a one indeed as fortune has thought fit to allot you; you are arrived at the goal to which we all tend; you have left the miseries of this world far behind, and have obtained such a sepulchre from your very enemy, as your merit required. Nothing remained to make your obsequies complete, but the tears of her who was so dear to you whilst you were living; and which, that you should not now want, Heaven put it into the mind of ray relentless father to send you to me. And you shall have them, though I had purposed to die unmoved, and without shedding a tear; and when I have done, I will instantly join my soul to yours; for in what other company can I go better and safer to those unknown regions, where, I doubt not, your soul is now expecting mine." 

When she had done speaking, she shed a flood of tears, kissing the heart a thousand times; whilst the damsels who were about her knew neither what heart it was, nor what her words imported; but being moved with pity they joined with her, begging to know the cause of her grief, and endeavouring all they could to comfort her. 

After she had lamented as long as she thought fit, she raised up her head, and wiping her eyes, said, "Thou heart most dearly beloved! All my duty is now performed towards thee; nothing more remains, but for my soul to accompany thine." Upon this she bade them reach the vessel of water, which she had prepared the day before, and pouring it into the cup with the heart, which she had sufficiently washed with her tears, she drank it all off without the least dread or apprehension, and threw herself upon the bed with the cup in her hand, composing her body as decently as she could, and pressing her lover's heart to hers, she lay without uttering a word more, expecting death. 

The maids, when they saw this, though they knew not what it was she had drunk, sent to acquaint Tancred, who, fearing what had really happened, came into the room soon after she had laid herself down, and finding it was too late, began to lament most grievously. "sir," she said to him, 'save those tears against worse fortune that may happen, for I want them not. Who but yourself would mourn for a thing of your own doing? But If any part of that love now remain in you, which you once had for me, the last request I shall make is, that since you would not suffer us to be happy together whilst living, our two bodies (wherever you have disposed of his) may be publicly interred together when dead." Extreme grief would not suffer the prince to reply. Presently finding herself drawing near her end, she strained the heart strongly to her breast, saying, "Receive us. Heaven, I die!" Then closing her eyes, all sense forsook her, and she departed this miserable life. Such an end had the amours of Guiscard and Ghismond, as you have now heard; and the prince, repenting of his cruelty when it was too late, had them buried in one grave in the most public manner, amid the general grief of all the people of Salerno. 

[No tale of Boccaccio has been so often translated and imitated as this one. It was translated into Latin prose, by Leonard Aretine; into Latin elegiac verse, by Filippo Beroald, the commentator on Apuleius; and into Italian ottava rima, by Annibal Guasco de Alessandrus. It forms the subject of not fewer than five Italian tragedies; one of which, "La Ghismonda," obtained a momentary fame by being falsely attributed, by its real author, to Torquato Tasso. An English drama, by Robert Wilmot, which is also founded on this story, was acted before Queen Elizabeth, at the Inner Temple, in 1568 (Dodley's "Collection of Old Plays," vol. ii). The story appeared in French verse, by Jean Fleury; and in the English octave stanza, by William Walter, a poet of the reign of Henry VII. In this country it is best known by the 'sigismunda and Guiscardo" of Dryden. 

The old English ballad of "Sir Cauline and the Daughter of the King of Ireland,” has a strong resemblance to this ballad of Boccaccio, in the secret meeting of the lovers, and the discovery of their transgression; the catastrophe, however, is entirely different. 

The fine arts have also added lustre and celebrity to the tale. There is a beautiful painting attributed to Correggio, in which Sigismunda is represented weeping over the heart of her lover. It was this picture that Hogarth tried to copy and rival, an attempt for which he was severely ridiculed. "The "sigismunda" of Hogarth," says Horace Walpole, "is the representation of a maudlin strumpet, just turned out of keeping, with eyes red with rage, tearing off the ornaments her keeper had given her." See also Churchill's "Epistle to Hogarth.”]