2-8, Count d'Angiers

NOVEL VIII. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2-7 The Sultan of Babylon sends one of his daughters to be married to the King of Algarve

NOVEL VII. 

The Sultan of Babylon sends one of his daughters to be married to the King of Algarve, but, by divers accidents in the space of four years, she falls into the hands of nine different men in different places. At length being restored to her father, she goes to the King of Algarve as a maid, and becomes his wife, as at first intended. 

Had the novel related by Emilia been but a little longer, she would have seen all her audience moved to tears of compassion for the misfortunes that had befallen Beritola; but it being now ended, the queen ordered Pamfilo to follow; and he, in obedience to her commands, proceeded thus: - It is no easy matter for us, most gracious ladies, to know what is good for us. How many, supposing if they were rich that they should then live securely and at ease, not only offer up their prayers to God, but studiously incur all kinds of danger to become so; which, when effected, has been the occasion of their losing their lives by the covetous hands of those, who, before they had attained to riches, were their entire friends. How many from a low estate have made their way to a throne, amidst a thousand dangers, and through the blood of their brethren and friends, expecting to find supreme felicity there, and have endured the infinite cares and anxieties incident to that station, but to find to their cost, at last, that poison is often mingled in the golden cups of princes. Many there are who covet some bodily advantage, as strength, beauty, etc., with which they who are endowed are taught, that death, or a most calamitous life, is often occasioned thereby. But not to speak in detail of all our frail desires, I dare affirm, that there is not one of them which we can fix upon with any certainty of being happy in that choice. The safest way then is to leave all to the good providence of God, who best knows our wants, and is most able to supply them. Men offend in coveting many things; but you ladies sin chiefly in one point, namely, in the desire of beauty; insomuch, that not being satisfied with that share of it given you by nature, you call m the assistance of art, to improve it. It is upon this account that I shall relate what happened to a beautiful Saracen lady, who, in the space of four years, was, for her beauty, married nine several times. 

It is now a long time since there lived a sultan of Babylon, called Beminedab, who was highly fortunate in all his affairs. Amongst other children, both male and female, he had a daughter named Alatiel, who, in the opinion of all that saw her, was the fairest lady in the whole world. Now forasmuch as the king of Algarve had afforded him great assistance in a defeat he had inflicted on a most numerous army of Arabians that had assailed him, and had afterwards demanded Alatiel in marriage, he consented as a most special favour: and providing a ship, well equipped for the purpose, with all necessary provisions, and sending an honourable train both of lords and ladies to bear her company, he commended her to the protection of Heaven, and sent her to his ally. The sailors, as soon as a fit opportunity offered, hoisted their sails, and leaving the port of Alexandria, sailed prosperously many days; when, having passed the island of Sardinia, and now seeming to be near the end of their voyage, on a sudden contrary winds arose, which were so boisterous, and bore so hard upon the ship, that they often gave themselves over for lost. Nevertheless, for two days together, they bravely tried all the means they could devise to weather it out; but all to no purpose, for every blast was worse than the former. Unable by any mode of reckoning to calculate where they were, or to see to any distance, on account of the clouds and darkness, the ship sprang a leak by night, not far from Majorca. Perceiving no hopes of escaping, and every one caring for himself only, they lowered a small boat into the sea, choosing rather to trust their lives to it than to the sinking ship. All the men that were in the ship crowded into the boat one after another; although those who were first down made strong resistance with their drawn weapons against other followers: and the consequence was, that thinking to avoid death by this means, they ran directly into it; for the boat, not being able to bear them all, sank at once to the bottom, and all on board of it perished. 

The ship being driven furiously by the winds, though it was leaking and half full of water, was at last stranded near the island of Majorca, no other person remaining on board but the lady and her women, all lying as it were lifeless, through the terror occasioned by the tempest. The ship struck with such violence, that it was fixed in the sand about a stone's throw from the shore; where it continued all that night, the winds not being able to move it. When day-light appeared, and the storm was somewhat abated, the lady, almost dead, lifted up her head, and began, weak as she was, to call first one and then another of her servants; but all to no purpose, for those she called for were far out of hearing. Receiving no answer, and seeing no one, she was greatly astonished; and raising herself up as well as she could, she beheld the ladies that were of her company, and some other of her women, lying all about her; and trying first to rouse one, and then another of them, she scarcely found any that had the least understanding left; so much had sickness and fear together affected them. This added greatly to her consternation; nevertheless, constrained by necessity, seeing that she was alone, she knew not where, she shook those that were living till she made them get up; and perceiving that they were utterly ignorant of what had become of all the men, and seeing the ship driven upon the sands, and full of water, she began with them to lament most grievously. 

It was noon-day before they could descry any person on shore, or elsewhere, to afford them the least assistance. At length, about that time, a gentleman, whose name was Pericon da Visalgo, passing that way, with many of his servants, on horseback, upon seeing the ship, guessed what had happened, and immediately sent one of them on board, to see what was remaining in her. The servant got into the ship with some difficulty, and found the lady with the little company that was left her, who had all hidden themselves, through fear, under the deck. As soon as they saw him, they begged piteously for mercy; but finding that he did not understand their language, nor they his, they endeavoured, by signs, to inform him of their misfortune. The servant carried the best account he could of what he had seen, to his master, who ordered the ladies, and everything that was in the ship of any value, to be brought on shore, and conveyed to one of his castles, where he endeavoured to comfort them under their misfortunes by the most generous entertainment. From the rich dress of the princess, he inferred that she was some person of great consequence, in which opinion he was confirmed by the great respect paid to her by all the women; and although she was pale and in disorder, through the great fatigue she had sustained, yet was he much taken with her beauty, and he resolved, if she had no husband, to make her his wife; or, if he could not have her as such, still not to lose her entirely. Pericon was a man of stem looks, and robust person; and having treated the lady well for some time, by which means she had recovered her beauty, he was grieved that they could not understand each other, and that he was unable to learn who she was; yet, being passionately in love, he used every engaging art he could devise to bring her to a compliance, but all to no purpose; she refused all familiarities with him, which but inflamed him the more. This the lady perceived, and finding, after some stay there, by the customs of the place, that she was among Christians, and in a land where, to make her rank known, even if she knew how, would be of no great service to her; supposing also, that, at last, Pericon would gain his will, if not by fair means, yet by force, she resolved, with a true greatness of spirit, to vanquish her evil fortune, and she enjoined her women, of whom she had but three now alive, never to disclose her quality, unless there should be hopes of regaining their liberty. She exhorted theni to maintain their chastity, and declared her own fixed resolution never to yield her person to any one besides her husband; for which they all commended her, promising to preserve their honour as much as lay in their power. 

Every day did Pericon's passion increase so much the more as the thing desired was near, and yet unattainable: wherefore, perceiving that entreaty was to no purpose, he resolved to try what art and contrivance could do, reserving force to the last. Having once observed that wine was pleasing to Alatiel, as a beverage she had not been accustomed to, it being forbidden by her country's law, he determined to surprise her by means of this minister of Venus. Affecting now to have given over his amorous pursuit, which she had used her best endeavours to withstand, he provided one night an elegant entertainment, at which she was present, when he gave it in charge to the servant who waited upon her, to serve her with several wines mingled together, which he accordingly did. Alatiel, suspecting no such treachery, and pleased with the rich flavour of the wine, drank more than was consistent with modesty, and, forgetting all her past troubles, became gay and merry; so that, seeing some women dance after the custom of Majorca, she also began to dance after the manner of the Alexandrians; which, when Pericon observed, he supposed himself in a fair way of success, and plying her still with more wine, continued this revelling far into the night. At length, when the guests departed, he went with the lady into her chamber, and she being despoiled of modesty for the time, by the fumes of wine, undressed before him, as if he had been one of her women, and got into bed. He instantly followed, caught her in his arms, and took his fill of pleasure, without encountering any resistance on her part. Alatiel, who till then had never had a notion of that sort of pastime, liked it so well that she repented of not having yielded sooner to Pericon 's solicitations; and thenceforth, so far was she from waiting to be pressed, that she often invited him to the sport, not by words, indeed, since she could not speak his language, but by acts which were quite as much to the purpose. 

At length fortune, not content with having brought it to pass that she who was to have been the wife of a king, should become the mistress of a nobleman, prepared for her a more barbarous and cruel alliance. Pericon had a brother, twenty-five years of age, of a most commanding person, called Marato; who, having seen her, flattered himself, from her behaviour towards him, that he was not displeasing to her. Supposing, also, that nothing obstructed his happiness, except the watch which his brother kept over her, he conceived a most atrocious design, nor was it long before he carried it into effect. There chanced to be a ship in the haven at that time, laden with merchandise, bound for Chiarenza in Romania. Two young Genoese were the masters, and as they only waited for the first fair wind to go out, Marato made a contract with them, to receive him with the lady the following night. When the time came, having ordered how the thing should be managed, he went openly to the house, nobody having the least mistrust of him, and took with him some trusty friends, whom he had secured for that service, and whom he concealed about the place. Then, in the middle of the night, he opened the door to them, and they murdered Pericon as he was asleep in bed with the lady, and threatened to kill her too, if she made the least noise. Then, carrying off everything of value they could lay hands on, they hastened without discovery to the harbour, where Marato and the lady instantly went on board, whilst his companions returned about their business. The wind was fair, and the ship went to sea at once. The lady seemed for awhile sunk in hopeless grief under this second blow of misfortune; but her ravisher had a talisman endowed with great consoling virtues, and he employed it so well that by and bye she began to have the same affection for him as she had entertained for his brother. 

And now all seemed to go smoothly, when fortune, as if not content with what she had already suffered, visited her with new sorrows. Her beauty and loveliness were such, as to enamour the two masters of the ship, who neglected all other business to serve and please her; taking care, all the while, that Marato should have no cause to suspect it. Being apprized of each other's love, they had a consultation together about it, and agreed to have her in common between them, as if love, like merchandise, admitted of partnership. But observing that she was narrowly watched by Marato, and their design thereby frustrated, they took the opportunity one day, as he was looking over the stem, while the ship was under full sail, to go behind and throw him overboard; and the ship had sailed on a full mile before he was missed. As soon as the lady heard that he was lost beyond recovery, she was plunged into fresh sorrow, lamenting her lost husband as much on her own account as his. The two lovers did all they could to console her, using many kind and tender expressions, which she did not understand; and after some little time, imagining that she was sufficiently comforted, they fell into a dispute together which should be the fìrst to enjoy her. Each obstinately insisting on his own claim, high words arose, presently their knives were out, and before the ship's crew could part them, one lay dead, and the other desperately wounded. This occasioned fresh uneasiness to the lady, who now saw herself alone, without any one to advise and help her; she was fearful, also, of the resentment of the two masters´ relations and friends; but the entreaties of the wounded survivor, and their speedy arrival at Chiarenza, saved her from the danger of death. 

She went on shore with the wounded man, and they continued together at an inn; whilst the fame of her beauty was spread all over the city, till it reached the ears of the Prince of Morea, who was then by chance at Chiarenza. He was impatient to get sight of her; and after he had seen her, he was so charmed, that he could think of nothing else. Being told in what manner she came thither, he began to contrive means how to obtain her; which, when the man's relations understood, they immediately sent her to him, to his great joy, and hers too, for she now thought herself freed from all danger. The prince, perceiving her rare accomplishments, joined to a matchless person, though he could have no information concerning her, yet concluded that she must be nobly descended; and such was his fondness for her, that he treated her not as a mistress, but a wife. She now recollecting what she had already suffered, and being pretty well satisfied with her present situation, began to be easy and cheerful, whilst her charms increased to that degree, that she was the chief subject of discourse throughout Romania. 

Hereupon the Duke of Athens, a young and gay person, a relation also to the prince, had a mind to see her; he came, therefore, one day to Chiarenza with a noble retinue, under pretence of visiting his kinsman, as he had often done before, and was handsomely entertained. Some days after his arrival, contriving to turn the conversation to the subject of the lady's great beauty, the duke asked whether it was such as fame had reported. "Far greater," replied the prince, "but let your own eyes convince you, and not my bare assertion." The duke soliciting the prince very earnestly to gratify his curiosity, they went into Alatiel's apartment together, when she received them with great affability and cheerfulness, being apprized of their coming. Though they could not have the pleasure of conversing together, as she understood little or nothing of their language, yet they gazed upon her, the duke more especially, as a prodigy of nature, scarcely believing her to be a mortal creature; and, without perceiving how much amorous poison he imbibed through his eyes, and thinking only to gratify himself with the sight of her, he soon became over head and ears in love. After they had parted from her, and he had time to reflect, he began to think the prince the happiest person in the universe, in being possessed of such a beauty; and, after much musing upon it, having more regard to his lust than to his honour, he resolved at all hazards to deprive him of that bliss, and secure it for himself. Having a heart to put what he had resolved in speedy execution, he set all reason and justice aside, and bent all the powers of his mind to devise a fit stratagem for his purpose. 

One day, therefore, according to a most wicked agreement, which he bad made with the prince's valet de chambre, one Ciuriaci, he gave secret orders to have his horses and things got ready for a sudden departure; and that night, himself and a friend, both armed, were stealthily admitted by the servant into the prince's chamber. There they found the lady fast asleep, and the prince standing naked at a window that looked towards the sea, to take the cool air, the weather being very hot. Having previously instructed his friend what he would have done, the duke went softly up to the window, stabbed his kinsman with a dagger through the small of his back, and threw him out. Now the palace was seated upon the sea-shore, and very lofty; and the window at which the prince had stood, was directly over a spot little frequented, and covered by the ruins of some houses which the waves had beaten down; there was, therefore, no great likelihood, as the duke had foreseen, of the body being soon discovered. When that part of the work was over, the duke's companion took a cord, which he carried with him for that purpose, and making believe as if he was going to caress Ciuriaci, he threw it about his neck, drew it so tight as to prevent his crying out, and the duke coming to his assistance, they soon dispatched the fellow, and threw him down after the prince. This being done, and plainly perceiving that they were not heard or seen by the lady, or any one else, the duke took a light in his hand, and going softly to the bed, where she lay in a sound sleep, he gently uncovered her from head to foot, and stood beholding her for some time with the utmost admiration. If she had appeared so charming before in her clothes, what was she now in her naked loveliness? Fired with still hotter desire, reckless of the guilty deed he had just committed, he crept into bed to her, with his hands yet reeking with blood, she taking him all the while for the prince. After he had been with her for some time, he ordered his people to carry her off in such a manner that she could make .no outcry; and going out at the same back door at which he had entered, he set her on horseback, and bore her away towards Athens. But, as he was married, he did not choose to bring her thither, but left her at one of his country seats on the sea shore, a little way out of town. There the unhappy princess was secretly detained a prisoner, but with strict orders to her attendants to gratify her wishes in every other respect. 

The prince's servants waited that morning till nine o'clock, expecting his rising; but hearing nothing of him, they opened the chamber doors, which were not locked, and finding nobody within, they concluded that he and the lady were gone privately to some other place to divert themselves for a few days, and therefore they thought no more about the matter. The next day it happened, by great chance, that a fool going amongst those ruinous houses where the dead bodies were lying, took hold of the cord that was about Ciuriaci's neck, and dragged him along after him. The body was recognised by many astonished beholders, who, by fair words and much persuasion, prevailed upon the fool to show them where he had found it; and there, to the great grief of the whole city, they saw the prince's body also, which they caused to be interred with all due pomp and reverence. Inquiring afterwards who could have committed so horrid a deed, and perceiving that the Duke of Athens was not to be found, but was gone privately away, they judged that he had done it, and taken the lady away with him. Immediately they elected the prince's brother to be their sovereign, inciting him to revenge the atrocious murder, and promising to assist him to the utmost of their power. The new sovereign, having ascertained beyond doubt the truth of these surmises, collected together all his relations, friends, and vassals, and mustering a powerful army, marched against the duke, who had no sooner heard of these preparations than he too levied a great army. Many princes and lords also came to his aid; amongst the rest, Constantine, son of the Emperor of Constantinople, and Emanuel, his nephew, attended by a goodly body of troops. They were gladly received by the duke, and still more so by the duchess, who was daughter to the emperor. 

Things tending every day more and more to actual war, the duchess had her brother and her cousin one day into her chamber, where, with abundance of tears, she recounted to them the whole history and occasion of the war, and the ill-usage she had received from the duke on account of this woman, whom she believed he kept privately: and she conjured them very earnestly, for bis honour as well as for her own ease and comfort, to give her their best assistance. The two young lords knew all this matter before, and therefore, without asking many questions, they comforted her as well as they could, and after ascertaining where the lady was kept, they took their leave. Hearing much talk of her beauty, they became very desirous of seeing her, and entreated the duke to afford them that pleasure: and he, never considering what liad happened to the prince, promised to do so. Next day he ordered a magnificent entertainment to be prepared in a pleasant garden belonging to the palace where the lady was kept, and took the two princes and some more friends to dine with her. Constantine was no sooner seated with her at table than he began to gaze upon her with intense admiration, inwardly declaring that he had never seen anything like her, and that the duke, or any other person, was excusable, who, to possess so rare a beauty, should commit any act of baseness or treachery. Gazing still more and more upon her, and evermore with growing wonder and delight, it happened to him just as it had done to the duke; for, going away quite enamoured of her, he had given over all thoughts of the war, contriving only how to steal her away from the duke, at the same time that he concealed his love from every one. 

Whilst he was in this agitation, the prince was advancing near the duke's territories, whereupon the latter, with Constantine and the rest, marched out of Athens to secure the frontiers, and to prevent the prince's passing any further. After remaining with the army for some days, Constantine, whose heart was still set upon the lady, and who thought that he might more easily compass his intent now that the duke was absent, feigned himself extremely sick, and, with the duke's consent, leaving the command of his troops to Emanuel, returned to Athens to his sister. Presently, after having led the latter to talk of her husband's baseness in keeping a mistress, he told her that if she would give her consent, he would rid her of that trouble, by removing the lady out of the way. The duchess, supposing that this was spoken out of pure regard to her, and not to the lady, replied, that she should be very glad if it could be done in such a manner that the duke should never know that she was any way accessory; this Constantine fully promised, and she accordingly agreed that he should do it as he thought most advisable. He provided, therefore, a light vessel, with all secrecy, and sent it one evening near to the garden where the lady was kept, having first informed some of his people that were on board, what he would have them do. Taking others with him to the house, he was respectfully received by the servants in waiting there, and also by the lady herself, who walked with him at his request, their servants following them into the garden. There, drawing her aside towards a door which opened to the sea, as if he had business to communicate from the duke, on a signal being given, the bark was brought close to the shore, and she was seized and carried to it, whilst he, turning back to the people that were with her, said - "Let no one stir or speak a word at the peril of their lives; for my design is not to rob the duke of his lady, but to take away the scorn he casts upon my sister." None being hardy enough to return .an answer to this, Constantine went on board the vessel, and bade the men ply their oars stoutly, which they did to such effect that they reached Egina by the next morning. There they landed, and he enjoyed himself awhile with the ftdy, who had so much reason to deplore her fatal beauty. Thence they went to Chios, where, for fear of his father's anger, and to prevent her being taken away from him, he chose to abide as in a place of security: and though she seemed uneasy for a time, yet she soon recovered, as she had done before, and the consolations afforded her by Constantine, reconciled her to her new lot. 

In the meantime Osbech, king of the Turks, who was constantly at war with the emperor, came by chance to Smyrna, and hearing how Constantine was leading a lascivious life at Chios, with a mistress he had stolen, and with no provision made for his safety, he went privately one night with some armed vessels, and made a descent on the island, surprising many people in their beds before they knew of his coming upon them, and killing all that stood upon their defence; and after he had burnt and destroyed the whole country, he put the prisoners and the booty which he had taken on board, and returned to Smyrna. Upon inspecting his captives, Osbech, who was a young man, saw Alatiel, and knowing that she was Constantine's mistress, because she was found asleep in his bed, he rejoiced greatly, and took her for his own wife, and they lived together very happily for several months. 

Before this happened, the emperor had been making a treaty with Bassano, King of Cappadocia, who was to fall on Osbech on one side, whilst he attacked him on the other; but they could not come to a full agreement, because Bassano stipulated for some things which the emperor was unwilling to grant; but now, hearing of what had befallen his son, and being in the utmost concern, he immediately closed with the King of Cappadocia, requesting him to march with all expedition against Osbech, whilst he himself was preparing to fall upon him from another quarter. When Osbech heard of this, he assembled his army before he should be surrounded by two such mighty princes, and marched to meet the King of Cappadocia, leaving his lady behind, with a faithful servant of his, at Smyrna; and a battle soon ensued, in which Osbech's army was entirely routed, and himself slain. 

Bassano advanced victorious to Smyrna, the people making their submission to him all the way as he went. But now Osbech's servant, Antiochus, who had the lady in charge, although he was in years, yet, seeing her so beautiful, and forgetting the regard which was due to his lord, soon became in love with her himself; and, as he understood her language, it was a great comfort to her, because she had been forced to live for some years like a deaf and dumb person, for want of understanding other people, or being understood by them. This gave him great advantages, and whilst his master was warring abroad, he spared no pains to gain her consent, in which he succeeded so well, that from amicable intercourse they soon advanced to amorous dalliance. On hearing, however, that Osbech was slain, and that Bassano was carrying all before him, they did not wait for his coming upon them, but fled privately to Rhodes, taking with them everything of value belonging to Osbech. They had not been there long before Antiochus was taken extremely ill. There happened to be with him a merchant of Cyprus, who was a great friend of his, and finding himself at the point of death, he resolved to bequeath to him his wealth, and the care of his dear lady. Calling them both to him, therefore, he said: - "I find myself declining apace, which grieves me much, because I had never more pleasure in living than at present; yet one thing is a great comfort to me, namely, that I shall die in the arms of those two persons whom I love and value beyond all the rest of the world, that is to say, in yours, my dearest friend, and in that lady's, whom I have loved, ever since I have known her, more than my own life. I am uneasy, indeed, when I consider that I leave her here a stranger, and destitute both of help and advice, and should be infinitely more so if you were not with us, who, I know, will take the same care of her, on my account, as you would of myself. Therefore I entreat you, in case I should die, to take my affairs, and her too, under your protection, and to act, with regard to both, as you think will be most for the comfort of my departed soul. - And you, my dearest love, let me beg of you never to forget me, that I may boast, in the next world, that I have been beloved by the fairest lady that ever nature formed; assure me of these two things, and I shall die satisfied." 

The merchant and lady were both much concerned, and promised to fulfil his desires, if he should chance to die; and soon afterwards he departed this life, when they took care to have him decently interred. This being done, and the merchant having despatched all his affairs, and wanting to return home in a Catalan ship that was there in port, he questioned the lady, to know what, she intended to do, because it became necessary for him to go back to Cyprus. She was willing, she said, to go with him, hoping that for the love he bore towards his friend he would regard her as his own sister. He replied, that he was ready to oblige her in everything; and, that he might the better defend her from all injuries whatever, till they came to Cyprus, he suggested that she should rather call herself his wife than his sister. Going then on board ship, they had a cabin and one little bed allotted them, agreeably to the account they had given of themselves, by which means that thing was brought about, which neither of them intended when they came from Rhodes; for they forgot all the fine promises they had made to Antiochus, and before they reached Baffa, where the Cyprian merchant dwelt, they began to consider themselves as man and wife. 

Now a certain gentleman happened to arrive at Baffa about that time, on his own private affairs, whose name was Antigono, one advanced in years, and of more understanding than wealth; for by meddling much in the affairs of the King of Cyprus, he had found fortune very unkind to him. One day, when the merchant was gone about his business into Armenia, Antigono happened to pass by the house where Alatiel lodged, and seeing her at the window, he took more than ordinary notice of her, on account of her beauty: till at length he began to recollect that he had seen her somewhere before, but could by no means remember where. She, also, who had long been the sport of fortune, and knew not that the time was now drawing near when her sorrows were to have an end, as soon as she saw Antigono, remembered that she had seen him in no mean station in her father's service at Alexandria. Having now great hopes of regaining her former dignity by his advice and assistance, she took the opportunity of the merchant's absence to send for him. On his coming to her, she modestly asked him whether he was not Antigono of Famagosta, as she really believed. He answered, that he was, and added, - "Madam, I am convinced that I know you, but I cannot call to mind where it is that I have seen you; therefore, if it be no offence, let me entreat you to tell me who you are." 

The lady, perceiving him to be the same person, wept very much, and throwing her arms about his neck, asked him at last, as one confounded with surprise, if he had never seen her at Alexandria? Then he immediately knew her to be Alatiel, the sultan's daughter, whom they supposed to have been drowned; and being about to pay homage to her, she would not suffer him to do it, but made him sit down. He then, in a most humble manner, asked her where she had been, and whence she now came? because for some years it had been believed, through all Egypt, that she was drowned. She replied, "I had much rather it had so happened than to have led such a life as I have done; and I believe my father, if he knew it, would wish the same." With these words the tears ran down her cheeks in great abundance. "Madam," he replied, "do not afflict yourself before it is necessary to do so; tell me only what has happened to you; perhaps it may be of such a nature that, by the help of God, we may find a remedy." "Antigono!" replied the fair lady, "I think when I see you that I behold my father: moved, therefore, with the like duty and tenderness that I owe to him, I shall reveal to you what I might have kept secret. There are few persons that I should desire to meet with sooner than yourself to advise me; if, therefore, when you have heard my whole story, you think there is any probability of restoring me to my former dignity, I must beg your assistance; if you think there is none, then I conjure you to tell no person living that you have either seen or heard anything about me." 

After this preamble, she gave a full account of what had befallen her, from the time of her shipwreck to that very hour, shedding abundance of tears during the whole relation. 

Antigono manifested sincere concern at what he had heard, and after thinking some little time about it, "Madam," he said, 'since it has never been known, in all your misfortunes, who you were, I will restore you to your father, to whom you shall be more dear than ever, and afterwards you shall be married to the King of Algarve." On her inquiring how that could be brought about, he let her know in what manner he intended to do it; and to prevent all danger from delay, he returned directly to Famagosta, and waiting upon the king, thus addressed him: - "My liege, you may, if you please, do great honour to yourself, and service to me, who am impoverished on your account, and that, too, without incurring any expense." The king desiring to know by what means, Antigono answered: "A young lady is just come to Baffa, daughter to the sultan, who was generally thought to have been drowned, and who, to preserve her honour, has undergone great calamities, and is now in poverty, and desirous of returning to her father: if, therefore, your majesty will deign to send her home under my conduct, it will redound greatly to your honour, and prove much to my advantage, nor can the sultan ever forget the favour." The king moved by a truly royal spirit, replied, that he was well pleased with the proposal, and immediately had Alatiel brought in great state to Famagosta, where she was received with all honour and respect, both by himself and the queen; and being questioned by them concerning her misfortunes, she made such answers as she had been taught beforehand by Antigono. 

A few days afterwards, at her own request, she was sent with a great retinue both of lords and ladies, and conducted all the way by Antigono, to the sultan's court; where, with what joy they were all received, it is needless here to mention. When they had rested awhile after their journey, the sultan became desirous to know how it happened that his daughter was now living, and where she had been all this time, without his being ever able to hear a word about her. Thereupon Alatiel, who had all Antigono's lectures perfectly by heart, gave her father the following narration: 

"You must know, my dear father, that about twenty days after my departure from you, our ship was split in the night by a violent tempest, and driven on the western coasts; nor did I ever learn what befell the men that were in it: I only remember this, that when daylight appeared, and I seemed recovered, as it were, from death to life, certain peasants of the country spying the v,"reck, came to plunder it; whilst I was carried first on shore, with two of my women, who were immediately borne away by some young fellows, and taken different ways, so that I could never learn what became of either of them. I also was seized by two of them, making the best defence I could; and as they were dragging me towards a wood by the hair of my head, four persons on horseback came riding by, when they immediately left me and fled. Then the gentlemen on horseback, who appeared to possess some authority, came to me, and we spoke to each other, without either knowing what the other said. At last, after conferring together, they sat me upon one of their horses, and carried me to a monastery of religious women, according to their laws, where I was kindly received, and always treated with honour; and there I joined them in paying great devotion to a certain idol of theirs, called San Cresci in Val Cava, (*1: This saint is not in the calendar - perhaps because his rites are performed in secret. His attributes are implied in his name.) which is held in the highest esteem by the women of that country. After I had been there for some time, and learnt a little of their language, they began to inquire of me who I was, and whence I came; and I (fearful of telling the truth, lest they should turn me out as an enemy to their religion) made them believe that I was daughter of a gentleman of Cyprus, who sending me to be married to one of Crete, we happened to be driven thither by ill weather, and shipwrecked. Conforming to their customs in many things, for fear of the worst, I was asked, at length, by the chief among them, whom they call Lady Abbess, whether I desired to return to Cyprus? I answered, that there was nothing I desired more. But she, tender of my honour, would never trust nxe with any persons that were going to Cyprus, till, about two months ago, certain French gentlemen with their ladies came that way, one of whom was related to the abbess; and, understanding that they were going to visit the holy sepulchre at Jerusalem, where he whom they believe to be God was buried, after he had been put to death by the Jews, the abbess recommended me to them, and desired that they would deliver me to my father at Cyprus. What respect and civilities I received both from the gentlemen and their ladies, would be needless to mention. Accordingly we went on ship-board, and came in a few days to Baffa, where I arrived a stranger to every person, and not knowing what to say to these gentlemen, who were to present me to my father; when behold (by the great providence of God), the first person I met with upon the shore was Antigono. I called to him in our own language (that none of them might understand us) and desired him to own me as his daughter. He easily understood my meaning, and showing great tokens of joy, entertained them as well as his narrow circumstances would allow, and brought me to the King of Cyprus, who received and sent me hither, with such marks of respect as I am no way able to relate: if there be anything omitted in this relation, Antigono, who has often heard the whole from me, will report it." 

Antigono, then turning to the sultan, said, "My lord, according both to her own account, and the information of the gentlemen and their wives, she has said nothing but truth. 

One part only she has omitted, as not suiting with her great modesty to report, namely, what the gentlemen and their ladies told me of the most virtuous life that she led amongst those religious women, and their great concern at parting, which, if I were fully to recount to you, would take up both this day and night too. Let it suffice, then, that I have said enough (according to what I could both hear and see) to convince you that you have the fairest as well as the most virtuous daughter of any prince in the world." 

The sultan was overjoyed with this relation; begging, over and over, that God would pour down his blessings on all who had showed favour to his daughter; and particularly the King of Cyprus, who had sent her home so respectfully. Having bestowed great gifts upon Antigono, he gave him leave to return to Cyprus; and sent letters, as also a special ambassador to the king, to thank him on her account. And now, desiring that what he had formerly proposed should take effect: namely, that she should be married to the King of Algarve; he wrote to give him a full relation of the whole matter, adding, that he should send for her, if he desired the match to proceed. The king was much pleased with the news, and sent in great state, and received her as his queen; whilst she, who had passed through the hands of eight men, now came to him as a pure virgin, and lived happily with him all the rest of her life: - so true is the old saying, "Kissed lips lose no favour, but renew themselves like the moon." 

[This story is taken from the romance of Xenophon Ephesius, and has furnished La Fontaine with his tale of "La Fiancée du Roi de Garbe.” 

2-6 Madam Beritola

NOVEL VI. 

Madam Beritola was found on an island with two goats, having lost her two sons. She went thence to Lunigiana, where one of her sons became servant to the lord thereof, and being found with his daughter, was sent to prison. Afterwards, when Sicily rebelled against King Charles, that same son was discovered again by his mother, and was married to his master's daughter; and his brother being found likewise, they both rose again to great estate and credit. 

The ladies and gentlemen were much diverted with the adventures that befell Andreuccio, as related by Fiammetta; when Emilia, perceiving the story to be at an end, began, by the queen's order, in this manner: - Very sad and grievous are the changes of fortune; yet, whenever we talk of them, they serve to arouse and awaken our understandings, which are but too easily enchanted by her flatteries; and I am persuaded, that to hear them recounted, must be acceptable both to the happy and the wretched, as tending to make the former cautious, and affording matter of consolation to the latter. Wherefore, though great things have been already treated of, yet do I purpose to relate a story no less true than lamentable, which, though it ended well, was yet full of such bitter thwartings, that one would scarcely imagine they could ever be sweetened by any subsequent joy. 

You are aware, dear ladies, that after the death of the Emperor Frederick II., Manfredi was crowned king of Sicily. At the court of that sovereign, and standing very high in his favour, was a Neapolitan gentleman, Arrighetto Capece by name, who had for his wife, Beritola Caracciola, a most beautiful and worthy lady of Naples. This gentleman had the government of the island in his hands at the time when King Charles I. gained the battle of Benevento, in which Manfredi was slain, and he had the grief to find that the whole kingdom had revolted to the conqueror. Reposing then but little trust in the scanty faith of the Sicilians, and not being willing to become a subject to the enemy of his former master, Arrighetto prepared secretly to leave the place; which being discovered by the inhabitants, he and many other of Manfredi's friends and servants were delivered up to King Charles, along with the possession of the island. 

In this sudden change of affairs, the lady Beritola, not knowing what was become of her husband, and fearful of the worst, left everything behind her, to escape dishonour; and taking only a child of eight years old, called Goffredi, and being with child of another, she embarked, in the utmost distress, in a little vessel, for Lipari. There she brought forth another son, whom she called Scacciato, or the Expelled, and having provided a nurse, they went on board again with a design to return to her relations at Naples. But it happened contrary to her expectation; for the vessel, which was bound for Naples, was carried by a contrary wind to the island of Ponzo; where, getting into a little harbour, they waited for a more favourable season to pursue their voyage. There they went on shore, and finding a solitary place, she sat down all alone, to lament the fate of her dear Arrighetto, and this she did every day. 

Now it happened, that whilst she was thus employed one day, without any of the ship's crew knowing where she was, their vessel was surprised by a pirate ship, and carried off with all on board. The lady Beritola, when her daily lamentation was ended, returned, as usual, to see her sons, and was surprised to find nobody; but suspecting what must have happened, and casting her eye towards the sea, she saw the ship at no great distance, dragging her little vessel after it; on which she plainly perceived that she had lost her children, as well as her husband; and seeing herself there poor and desolate, and never expecting to meet with any of them again, she fell down in a swoon upon the shore, calling upon her husband and her children. There was no one near, either with cold water, or any other means, to bring her to herself; so that her spirits might the more freely wander at their pleasure; but when she was a little recovered, then did her tears and lamentations break out afresh, whilst she called out for her children, and ran to every cavern to find them: till, perceiving at last it was all to no purpose, and that dark night was drawing on, yet hoping still, without knowing why, she began to take some care of herself, and, leaving the sea-shore, returned to the cave where she was used to make her lamentation. 

She passed that night not without infinite pain and grief; and day-light appearing, she, who had eaten nothing the evening before, being now pinched with hunger, fed upon the green herbs as well as she could, sadly considering what would become of her for the rest of her life. Whilst she was full of these melancholy reflections, she beheld a goat enter a cave near her, and, after some little stay, come out again and go into the woods: upon that she arose, went in where she saw the beast issue forth, and found two young kids, yeaned perhaps that very day, which she thought at that time the prettiest things in the world. Having milk yet in her breasts from her late delivery, she took them carefully, and applied them to her bosom, and they sucked as naturally as if she had been their mother, and from that time made no distinction between the one and the other. So the lady, thinking that she had now met with company in this solitary place, feeding also on herbs, and drinking water, and lamenting her husband and children so often as she reflected on her past life, became at length disposed to live and die there, growing as familiar with the goat as with its offspring, and herself becoming almost a wild creature by this way of life. 

After some months it chanced that a vessel from Pisa arrived at the island, and continued many days, having on board a gentleman named Conrado de' Malespini, with his most virtuous lady. They had been upon a pilgrimage to visit all the holy places in Puglia, and were now returning home. To divert themselves, they went on shore with their servants and some dogs, and not far from the place where Beritola was, the dogs fell in with the two kids, which being now large, were feeding abroad, and, as they were closely pursued, fled for refuge to her in the cave. On seeing this, she started up, and getting a stick, beat the dogs off": in the meanwhile Conrado and his lady, who were following the dogs, came upon her, and beholding her all swarthy, meagre, and hairy, they were greatly surprised, and she much more so. When Conrado had called off his hounds, at her entreaties, they desired she would acquaint them who she was, and what she did there: whereupon she related to them all that had happened to her, and her resolution to stay. Conrado, who knew her husband very well, was moved with pity at her sad story, and endeavoured, by many arguments, to draw her from her cruel design, offering either to send her home, or to keep her at his own house, where she might wait for better times, and promising to treat her, in the meanwhile, as if she were his sister. When she would not comply with these kind proposals, he left his wife with her, desiring that she would order victuals to be brought, let the wild lady put on some of her clothes, because her own were all ragged, and endeavour, by every possible means, to bring her away. The lady continued with her, and lamented her misfortunes, until the victuals and clothes were brought, when she prevailed upon her to clothe herself, and to eat; and after much entreaty, she declaring that she would never go any more where she was known, she was at last persuaded to depart with them for Lunigiana, together with the two kids and the goat, which had meanwhile come back, and fondled her most lovingly, to the great wonder of the other lady. 

As soon as the weather was favourable, Madam Beritola went on board with Conrado and his lady, being followed by the goat and kids; and, because she wished to be known by nobody else, she would be called by no other name than that of the Goatherdess. The wind was favourable, and soon brought them into the river Magra, where they got on shore: and went to Conrado's castle, where Madam Beritola lived with Conrado's wife, in a widow's dress, as a lady in waiting, behaving herself with all obedience and humility, still loving and nursing her goats. 

Let us now return to the pirates, who had seized upon the little bark at Ponzo, which brought Beritola thither. After leaving her there, unseen by them, they carried the rest of the people away to Genoa, where, when the booty came to be divided among the owners of the ship, it happened that, amongst other things, the nurse and two children fell to the share of one Guasparrino d'Oria, who sent them to his own house, to be kept as servants. The nurse was exceedingly sorrowful at the loss of her mistress, and the low state of life to which she saw herself and the children now reduced. She wept long and bitterly; but seeing that tears were of no avail, and that they were slaves together, she comforted herself in the best manner she was able, for though a poor woman, yet was she wise and prudent. In the first place, it occurred to her that if the two boys were known it might turn to their disadvantage; and then she hoped besides that their affairs might take a new turn, and they regain their former condition. For these reasons she determined not to disclose their names to anybody, unless she saw a proper time for it; and she told every one who inquired about them, that they were her sons. The eldest she called not Goffredi, but Giannotto di Procida; as for the younger, she did not think it necessary to change his name. She told Goffredi, frequently, the reason why she had done so in his case, and to what dangers he would be exposed should he be known: lessons which the child, who was sensible enough, carefully observed. 

They continued in the house of Guasparrino many years, poorly clad, and worse shod, employed in the most servile offices, all which they bore with great patience; but Giannotto, being now in his sixteenth year, and having a spirit much beyond the condition of a servant, was disgusted with the meanness of his station, left Guasparrino, went on board the ships which were bound for Alexandria, and voyaged to divers parts, but without being able in any way to advance himself. At last, about three or four years after his departure from Guasparrino, being grown tall and comely in person, he ascertained that his father, whom he had supposed to be dead, was yet alive, but kept in prison by King Charles. Despairing now altogether of his fortunes, he wandered up and down as a vagabond, till he came to Lunigiana, where by chance he became servant to Conrado de Malespini, and was much liked. He seldom saw his mother, she being commonly with Conrado's wife, nor did he know her any more than she recognised him; so much had time altered both since they last saw one another. 

While he was living thus in the service of Conrado, it happened that a daughter of his, whose name was Spina, being the widow of one Nicholas de Grignano, returned home to her father's, and being a very pretty agreeable young lady, and not much more than sixteen years of age, she soon cast her eyes on Giannotto, and he on her, in such wise that they became intensely enamored of each other. Their mutual desires were not long without being carried into effect, and their intercourse continued for many months before it was discovered. The consequence was that, growing too confident, they were now not so cautious as they ought to have been in such an affair. One day, as they were walking through a pleasant grove, they left the rest of their company behind, and turned aside amongst the trees, where, supposing that the others were far enough off, they made choice of a fine bed of flowers for their amorous amusement. Dallying there too long, though the time seemed short to them, they were surprised first by the mother, and afterwards by Conrado himself, who, being incensed beyond measure, ordered three of his servants to seize and carry them bound to a certain castle of his, resolving, in his extreme rage and passion, to put them both to a shameful death. The mother, though she was much troubled, and thought her daughter worthy of the severest chastisement for the crime she had committed, yet, perceiving what her husband's intention was, she could not bear that he should proceed to such extremities, and begged that he would not, in his old age, be so far hurried away with passion, as to murder his own daughter, and stain his hands with the blood of a servant; but rather show his resentment in a different manner, by committing them to close imprisonment, there to pine and lament the folly they had committed. By these and other persuasions the good lady prevented his putting them to death; and he now gave orders to have them sent to separate prisons, where they should be well watched, and kept with little food and great severity, till he should farther resolve what to do with them. What their life now was in captivity and continual tears, with more fasting than was needed for them, any one may easily imagine. 

Giannotto and La Spina remaining in this comfortless condition, and a whole year having passed without Conrado taking any farther notice of them, it happened that Peter, king of Arragon, by means of Gian di Procida, caused the island of Sicily to revolt, and gained it from King Charles. On this account Conrado, who was of the Ghibelline faction, made great rejoicings, which Giannotto being informed of by some of his keepers, heaved a deep sigh, and said, "Alas! for these fourteen years have I been wandering through the world, waiting only for this event; and now the thing is come to pass, that I may be destitute of all hope, I am in prison, from which I never expect to depart with life! " - "And what," said the keeper, "hast thou to do with the affairs of princes? Or what business hast thou with Sicily?" "My heart is fit to burst," he replied, "when I call to mind the rank my father held there; for though I was but an infant when I fled thence, I can very well remember his being governor under King Manfredi." - "And who was thy father, then?" continued the keeper. "My father," replied he, "I may now safely make known, since I am already fallen into the danger I apprehended from such a discovery. His name was, and is still, if he be living, Arrighetto Capece; and I am not Giannotto, but Goffredi; and I make no doubt, if I was at liberty, but by returning to Sicily I might obtain great promotion." 

The honest man, without asking any more questions, reported all this, as soon as he had an opportunity, to Conrado, who, seeming to the keeper not to take the least notice of it, went directly to Madame Beritola, and inquired of her whether she ever had a son by Arrighetto, who was called Goffredi. The lady replied, in tears, that if her eldest son was living, he was so called, and was now twenty-two years of age. Conrado hearing this, immediately concluded it must be the same person; and if this should prove so, a method occurred to him by which he might at the same time show mercy, and take away his daughter's disgrace and that of his family, by making her Goffredi's wife. 

He consequently called Giannotto secretly before him, and examined him particularly with respect to his past life; and finding, by many manifest tokens, that he was truly Goffredi the son of Arrighetto Capece, he thus addressed him: 

"Giannotto, you know how great an injury you have done me in the person of my daughter; for, as I always treated you well, you ought to have considered my honour and interest in all things as became a servant: many people there are, who, had they been used by you in this manner, would have put you to an ignominious death, which my pity for you would not permit. Wherefore, seeing, as you inform me, that you are honourably descended both by father and mother, I will put an end to your trouble, if you yourself are willing, and, releasing you from your captivity, restore at once both your honour and my own. You know that my daughter La Spina, whom unluckily for you both, I found in dalliance with you, is a widow, and of a good fortune: you are no stranger either to her temper or family; concerning your own circumstances at present, I shall say not a word. Therefore I am disposed, if you are so inclined, that as you have dishonourably made her your mistress, you now make her honourably your wife; and, accepting you for my son. I give you leave to remain with me as long as you both please. 

Imprisonment had made great alteration in the person of Giannotto; but the greatness of mind which he possessed from his birth, was not at all impaired, any more than the affection he bore towards his mistress: and though he most earnestly desired what Conrado had now so frankly offered, and saw himself entirely in his power; yet could he by no means dissemble what his brave soul prompted him to speak on this occasion, and therefore he replied in this manner: "Sir, neither a desire of power, a thirst of wealth, nor any other motive, could ever induce me to plot like a traitor against your life or estate. I have loved your daughter, do still, and always shall love her, because I hold her worthy of it, and if I have committed a crime, it is a crime inseparable from youth. Would people but once call to mind that they have been young themselves, and compare our offences with their own, those offences would appear less grievous. I have always wished for what you now offer, and should have requested it long since, could I have thought it would have been granted me; it is now the more pleasing, as it was less expected; but if you intend nothing of what you say, feed me no longer with expectation, but rather send me back to my prison, where, use me as you please, I shall always love and honour you for her sake." 

Conrado was astonished at hearing this, and esteeming him to be of a generous disposition, and fervent in his affection towards the lady, he valued him the more; wherefore he raised him up and embraced him, and without more delay sent for his daughter, whose confinement had made her pale and meagre, and quite a different person from what she used to be, and, by mutual consent, the espousals were solemnized on the spot. After a few days, without anybody knowing what had been done, he at once furnished them with everything that was proper, and now thinking it a fit time to please the two mothers, he called his own wife and the Goatherdess together, and to the latter he said, "What would you say now, if I should show you your eldest son married to one of my daughters?" She replied, "I can only say this, that I shall think myself more obliged to you, if possible, than I am at present, as you will restore to me what is dearer than my own life: and by doing it in that manner, you will in some measure recall all my lost hopes; "and with these words she began to weep. To his wife he then said, "And what will you think if I show you such a son-in-law?" - "Whether he be a gentleman or a peasant," answered she, "if you like it I shall be pleased." - "Well," replied Conrado, "I hope in a few days to make you two happy women." 

When the young couple had in a measure recovered their former looks, and had furnished themselves with suitable apparel, he one day asked Goffredi, if it would not add greatly to his joy could he have a sight of his mother?" I cannot believe," replied he, "that her misfortunes have suffered her to live so long; but if it should be so, nothing could be more desirable; for, by her assistance, I might reasonably expect to recover my estate in Sicily." Conrado then sent for both the ladies, who expressed the utmost satisfaction at beholding the bride, wondering nevertheless what inspiration had guided Conrado to this extraordinary courtesy in marrying her to Giannotto; whilst Beritola, considering what she had heard from Conrado, began to observe him very attentively, and moved by a hidden virtue, which had aroused in her some remembrance of her son's features in his infancy, without waiting for any other proofs, she threw her arms about his neck, whilst excess of maternal joy and pity denied her the power of utterance; but, as if they had locked up all her senses, she swooned away in his arms. He, remembering to have seen her often in the castle without knowing her, was all amazement; yet now, by mere instinct of nature, immediately called her to mind, and, blaming himself for his long insensibility, embraced her in a most tender and affectionate manner. Beritola had no sooner recovered her senses, by the help of Conrado's wife and daughter, who administered cold water and other necessary helps for such purpose, but she again began to embrace her son, using many kind and tender expressions full of maternal affection; he likewise expressing the same dutiful reverence to her. These affectionate greetings were repeated over and over, to the great joy of the beholders, whilst they recounted for each other their several misfortunes; and Conrado, having signified to his friends, who heard it with great joy, the new alliance made by him, and appointed a magnificent entertainment, suitable to the occasion, Goffredi addressed him in the following manner: 

"sir, you have made me a happy man on many accounts, and treated my mother always with the utmost respect; wherefore, that nothing may be left undone which is in your power to do, I humbly beg you would oblige my mother and myself, and grace our entertainment with the presence of my brother, who now lives as a servant in the house of Signor Guasparrino d'Oria, who as I told you before, took us as a privateer; and at the same time, that you would also send a proper person to Sicily, to learn the state of the country, and to inform himself concerning my father, whether he be alive or dead. If he be alive, then to know fully in what state or condition he is, and to come afterwards to us, and give us an account." 

The proposal made by Goffredi was so pleasing to Conrado, that without more delay he sent two discreet persons, one to Genoa, and the other to Sicily: he who went to Genoa, having met with Guasparrino, entreated him, on the part of Conrado, to send home Scacciato, or the Expelled, and his nurse; relating everything that Conrado had done with regard to Goffredi and his mother; which, when Guasparrino had heard, he was greatly surprised, and replied: "True it is, that I am ready to oblige Signor Conrado to the utmost of my power; I have had such a boy as you speak of, and his mother, about fourteen years, whom I shall willingly send him; but tell him from me not to be too hasty in giving credit to what Giannotto shall say (who calls himself Goffredi), because he is a more wicked boy than he may imagine." Having said this, and made the messenger welcome, he sent privately for the nurse, and questioned her about the thing; who, having heard of the rebellion in Sicily, and understanding that Arrighetto was yet living, now laid all fear aside, and told him everything as it had happened, and the reason for her acting in the manner she had done. Guasparrino, finding the accounts which the nurse and messenger gave to be entirely the same, began now to give credit to it; and inquiring more narrowly into all the circumstances, for he was a very cautious person, and finding them to fall exactly right, he grew ashamed of himself for his vile treatment of his captive, and to make him amends, since he knew of what consequence his father had been, and now was, he gave him his daughter in marriage, a beautiful young lady of about eleven years of age, and with her a very large fortune. The time of feasting being over, he went on board a galley, well armed, taking with him his son and daughter, with the messenger and nurse, and arrived at Lerici, where he was received by Conrado, and conducted thence, with all his attendants, to a castle of his, which was at no great distance, where a most noble banquet was prepared for them. 

Now, as to the joy of the mother in meeting again with her son; of the two brethren in seeing one another; and of all three, in beholding their faithful nurse; as well as the satisfaction which was manifested by all towards Guasparrino and his daughter, and by them again to the whole company, and by the whole company to Conrado, his wife, children, and friends: this was beyond expression, and therefore I refer it to your more able imagination. And, that it might be rendered still more complete, it pleased God, a most liberal giver when he makes a beginning, to add the good news of the life and prosperity of Arrighetto Capece: for even as they were feasting, and the concourse great, both of lords and ladies, it chanced that the first course was scarcely set upon the table, before the messenger arrived who had been despatched to Sicily, and brought an account, amongst other things, concerning Arrighetto, that, being closely confined by King Charles, when the insurrection first began in the country, the people ran to the prison, and having slain the guards, they set him at liberty, and appointed him their leader, he being Charles's principal enemy; and under his conduct they afterwards routed and slew many of the French, on which account he became a great favourite with King Peter, who had reinstated him in all his former possessions. The messenger further announced that he was received with the utmost joy by him, for the most welcome news, concerning his wife and son, of whom he had not received the least intelligence since he had been a prisoner, and that he had sent a yacht to bring them back, which was now at hand, with a great number of gentry on board to bear them company. 

This was most welcome news; and Conrado immediately rose, with some of his friends, and went to meet the gentlemen and ladies, who were sent to Beritola and Goffredi, and after giving them a most hearty welcome, he introduced them to the banquet, which was not half over; there they were beheld by the lady and by Goffredi with such joy, that the like was scarcely ever known: and before they would sit down, they paid their compliments on the part of Arrighetto in the best manner they were able, both to Conrado and his lady, for the honour conferred on his wife and son, as well as upon himself, with the offer of anything that lay in his power which they might please to command. Turning also to Guasparrino, whose kindness came unlooked for, they assured him, that as soon as Arrighetto knew what he had done for the Expelled, similar acknowledgments would be made to him. After which they sat cheerfully down with the new-married people. Nor was it that day only that Conrado feasted his son-in-law with all his relations and friends, but he continued to do so for some time, till at length they desired to depart; and taking leave in a most affectionate manner of Conrado and his lady, and of Guasparrino, they went on shipboard together, namely, Beritola and the two new-married couples, with their attendants; and the wind proving fair, they soon got to Sicily, where they were received by Arrighetto with incredible joy; and it is reported that they lived for a long period together in the utmost felicity, with thankful hearts to Heaven for the mercies received by them.