4-8, Girolamo is in love with Salvestra

NOVEL VIII. 

Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and is obliged by his mother to go to Paris; on his return he finds her married; and getting privately into her house, he breathes his last by her side. On his being carried thence to a church to be buried, she dies likewise upon his corpse. 

Emilia's novel was concluded, when, by the king's order, Neifile began as follows: - There are some people, most worthy ladies, who think they know more than other folks, and yet know less; and who upon this presumption not only oppose their opinions to the general sense of mankind, but even to the very nature of things; whence proceed frequently great inconveniences, and never any good. Amongst natural causes, that which the least brooks any advice or opposition is love, the nature of which is such, as more easily to wear away of itself, than to be removed by any admonition. I intend to relate a story of a lady, who, being willing to appear wiser than she really was, or than the thing, in which she would have shewed her good understanding, required; by endeavouring to drive away that passion from a heart, in which it was firmly implanted, deprived her son both of life and love at the same time. 

In our city, as it is reported, there lived a great and wealthy merchant, whose name was Lionardo Sighieri, who by his wife had an only son called Girolamo. Lionardo died soon after his son was born, and the infant's guardians along with his mother took all possible care both of him and his affairs. As he grew up, amongst the other children of the neighbourhood, he used to play with a tailor's daughter much about the same age; in time that acquaintance changed into love, which became so vehement, that he was never easy unless he was in her company, and certainly her love was no less warm for him. His mother observed this, and would frequently reprimand and chastise him for it. Finding that ineffectual, she complained to his guardians; and thinking, on account of his wealth, that she might work impossibilities, she said to them, "This boy of mine, who is but fourteen years old, has taken such a fancy to a tailor's daughter, and unless we remove him he will marry her privately some time or another, which will be death to me; or else he will pine and consume himself away, if he sees her married to another person; for which reason I think it best to send him a distance off, to some of our factors, in order by his absence to put her out of his thoughts, and afterwards we may provide a more suitable wife for him." They agreed with her that it would be right to do so, and promised her all the service that lay in their power. Calling him then into the counting-house, one of them spoke kindly to him in this manner: 

"Young gentleman, as you are now of considerable years, it is fit that you should begin to look after your own affairs; for which reason we consider it proper that you go and reside some time at Paris, where you will see how a great part of your trade is carried on; besides, you will have greater opportunities there of improving yourself than you can have here, and after you have conversed with persons of quality and distinction, of whom there are great numbers at Paris, and learned their breeding and elegant accomplishments, it will then be time for you to return." He listened very attentively, and replied in a few words, that he would not consent, because he thought it full as^ell to stay at Florence. They reproved him a little for it; but finding they could get no other answer, they acquainted his mother. She was in a violent passion, and gave him hard words, not on account of his refusing to go, but for his love affairs; and this availing nothing, she began to use gentler means, entreating him in the mildest terms that he would oblige his guardians; and she prevailed so far, that he consented to go and stay one year there, and no more, and accordingly he went. 

Being sent thus to Paris, over head and ears in love, his return was put off from one day to another, until he was kept there at last two years; when coming home, more enamoured than ever, he found, to his bitter grief, that his mistress was married to a young man, a tent-maker. Seeing, however, that the thing could not be remedied, he endeavoured to bear it patiently; and finding out the place where she lived, he began, as is usual with young lovers, to walk frequently by the house, supposing that she could no more have forgotten him, than he had forgotten her. But the case was otherwise: she remembered him no more than if she had never seen him, at least it seemed so by her behaviour, which gave him great trouble; yet, notwithstanding, he tried all means to make her call him to mind; but, finding it in vain, he resolved to speak to her, though it cost him his life. Having made himself acquainted, through a neighbour, with the interior arrangement of the house, he got into it privately one night, when the husband and wife were gone to spend the evening with some friends, and hid himself in their chamber, behind some sail cloths, where he waited until they returned and were in bed; and when he thought the husband fast asleep, he went softly to her side, and laying his hand upon her breast, said gently to her, "My dear life, are you asleep?” She, happening to be awake, was going to cry out, when he immediately added, "For God's sake make no noise; I am your old lover, Girolamo." She, hearing this, replied, all in a tremble, "Dear sir, go about your business; the time when we might love one another is past; you see I am married, and therefore am only to regard my husband; I entreat you, then, to depart; for if he should know of it, supposing nothing worse to happen, I should be miserable as long as I live, and our lives hitherto have been very comfortable together." The youth was extremely troubled at these words, and though he put her in mind of past times, and used many arguments and fair promises to persuade her, yet it was all in vain. At last he desired, that, as a recompense for all his love, she would only let him lie by her side till he had warmed himself a little, for that he was quite chilled while waiting for her, promising neither to speak or touch her, and when he grew warmer, go away. She, having some compassion left for him, gave leave upon those conditions. He then lay down by her, and calling to mind his long passion, and her inflexible cruelty, as one destitute of all hope, he resolved to die; and holding his breath strongly, he clenched his hands, and expired by her side. 

After some little time, she being surprised at his lying so still, and fearing lest her husband should wake, began to say to him, "Alas I sir, why do you not go away?" Perceiving that he made no answer, she supposed he was asleep, and putting her hand out to jog him, found him quite cold; being greatly amazed at this, and shaking him more strongly, she perceived he was certainly dead. Affected beyond measure, she lay a considerable time, not knowing what course to take. At length she resolved to sound her husband, by making it another person's case; awakening him, therefore, she proposed it to him, as having happened to somebody else, and then asked him what he would do in such an affair. The honest man replied, that he would have him carried privately home, without the least resentment to the woman, because she seemed to be in no way in fault. "Then," said she, "we must do so now: "and taking hold of his hand, laid it upon the dead body. He arose in a great fright, and, lighting a candle, immediately took the corpse upon his shoulders, having first put all its clothes upon it and relying upon his innocence, carried it to the mother's door, and left it there. When it was found in the morning there was a great uproar about it, and the body was examined all over, and no wound or bruise appearing, the physicians declared that he had died for grief, and such was really the case. The corpse was then carried to the church, attended by the sorrowful mother, and other friends and relations to lament over it, according to the custom of our city; and whilst this was doing, the honest man, in whose house he had died, said to his wife, "Go, veil yourself, and hasten to the church, and hear among the women what they say about it, and I will do the same amongst the men, by which means we shall know whether they have any suspicion of us." The woman, who had some pity for him when it was too late, grew desirous of seeing him dead, to whom, whilst living, she would not vouchsafe the favour of one kiss, and went directly thither. 

Wondrously inscrutable are the powerful workings of love. That heart which was proof against the prosperous fortune of Girolamo, was now pierced by his adversity; and the old flames of love, which were revived, had such an effect upon her, that, veiled as she was, she still pressed forwards to the corpse, when uttering a most terrible shriek, and falling down with her face upon it, she shed but a few tears, for the very instant almost that she touched it, grief deprived her of life, as it did Girolamo. Instantly the women began to comfort her, not knowing who she was, and to desire her to rise, but perceiving that she did not stir, they lifted her up, when they knew her to be Salvestra, and beheld that she was quite dead. Overcome, then, as it were by a double compassion, they set up a greater lamentation than before. The news being carried through the church, soon came to the cars of Salvestra's husband. He was deeply affected, and having related to some that stood by the whole affair of the preceding night, the cause of both their deaths plainly appeared, and they were generally lamented. They then took the dead lady, and laid her by his side upon the same bier, and they were buried with the greatest lamentations in the same grave. So this pair, whom love could not join together in their lifetime, were united inseparably by death. 

4-7, Pasquino , Simona, garden, leaf of sage

NOVEL VII. 

Pasquino is in love with Simona; and being in a garden with her, he happens to rub his teeth with a leaf of sage, and immediately dies. She is brought before the judge, when, being desirous of showing him the cause of Pasquino's death, she rubs her teeth with the same herb, and meets with a similar fate. 

Pamfilo had finished his novel, when the king, seeming to be under no concern for Andrevuola, turned to Emilia, and desired her to begin, which she did accordingly in this manner: - Pamfilo's story puts me in mind of another, which is only like it in this respect, that, as Andrevuola lost her lover in a garden, so she of whom I am going to speak, was taken up in the same manner, as Andrevuola was, and delivered from the hands of justice, neither by force nor virtue, but by unexpected death. And though we have said before, that love makes his habitation in the houses of great people, yet does he not disown all influence over the poorer sort. On the contrary, all powerful as he is, he shows his power over them, as well as over the rich, as will appear in a great measure from my novel, which brings me back again to our city, whence we have so far strayed to talk of other subjects that have happened in different parts of the world. 

There lived not long since at Florence, a young woman, agreeable enough, for her rank in life, but descended of mean parents, whose name was Simona; and though she earned her bread by spinning, yet she was not beneath the passion of love, with which she was inspired by the pleasing conversation and behaviour of a young man of the same condition as herself, who used to bring her wool to spin for his master, a clothier. From this youth, whose name was Pasquino, she received the amorous flame, ever wishing, but not expecting anything farther; whilst still, as her wheel went round, she sent forth a thousand sighs, calling him then to mind who had brought her the wool. He, on the other hand, being desirous that his master's work should be well done, used to call oftener upon Simona than upon any one else, as if her spinning was to make up the whole piece; whence the one continuing to solicit, and the other desiring to be solicited, it happened, that the first began to assume more courage than he used to have, and the second lost a good deal of her fear and bashfulness, so that they seemed at last to have come to a tolerable understanding. 

This mutual good will of theirs continuing for some lime, and every day increasing, he said to her one day, that he desired of all things to meet her in a certain garden, where 

they might talk together with greater freedom and less suspicion. She assured him that she was willing; and telling her father, one Sunday after dinner, that she was going for a pardon to St. Gallo, she went along with a companion of hers, called Lagina, to the place appointed. There she found Pasquino with a friend of his, named Puccino, though-more usually called Stramba. Stramba and Lagina soon became acquainted, and each drew to one end of the garden, whilst Pasquino and Simona were at the other. In that part where this couple was, grew a large bush of sage, near which they seated themselves, and having talked about a feast, which they intended to have some holiday in that garden, he plucked a leaf of the sage, and began to rub his teeth and gums with it, saying, that nothing cleansed the teeth better after eating than sage; and when he had done, he returned to his former subject of the feast, when immediately he began to change countenance, his sight and speech both failed him, and he suddenly expired. 

When Simona saw this she began to lament, and scream for help to the other two, who instantly ran up, and seeing him not only swollen, but full of black spots, Stramba immediately cried out, "Oh! thou vile woman, thou hast poisoned him." He made such an uproar, that he was heard by many of the neighbours, who flocked thither, and finding the man dead and swollen, and hearing Stramba lament and accuse Simona of 

his death, whilst grief for the loss of her lover, and astonishment together, had so confounded her, that she scarcely made any defence, they supposed it was as he said. Upon this the poor creature was carried before a magistrate; when Stramba, and two other friends of Pasquino, being her accusers, the judge took immediate cognizance of the case, and not being able to see any malicious intent in Simona, or that she was in the least guilty, he wished to view the dead body, as well as the place and manner of the occurrence, because there were some things which he could not well understand from her account. Coming, then, without any great bustle to the garden, where Pasquino's body lay puffed up like a tun, the judge was surprised, and inquired particularly how it happened. Simona went to the bush of sage, and having related the whole affair, that he might have a perfect account, rubbed her teeth with a leaf, as Pasquino had done. Stramba and the rest looked upon this as a frivolous and vain pretence, and called out violently to the judge to have her burnt for her wickedness; whilst she (miserable wretch!) grieved for the loss of her lover, and terrified to death with their threats, having rubbed her teeth with the same sage that he had used, dropped down dead in a similar manner, to the wonder of them all.

Happy souls! to end both their loves and their lives on the same day. More happy still, if they went together to the same place! Happiest, if they love one another as much in the other world as here! But happiest of all, at least in our judgment, is the soul of Simona, whose innocence fortune would not leave at the mercy of such witnesses, and therefore found a way, by her dying the same death with her lover, for her to escape their slander, and to follow the soul of her beloved Pasquino. The judge was lost in amazement at this accident, as well as the rest of the company; and upon recollecting himself at last, he said, "This sage is plainly venomous; therefore, that nobody else may suffer by it, let it be cut up by the roots, and burnt." This was done by the gardener in his presence, when the cause of the lovers' deaths plainly appeared. Under the sage was a monstrous overgrown toad, with whose breath it was judged to be infected. And none being hardy enough to go near it, they made a circle of stubble round it, and burnt it along with the sage. So ended the process upon the death of poor Pasquino, whose body, as well as that of Simona, was interred by Stramba and the rest of the people present, in St. Paul's church, to which parish they were said to belong. 

4-6, Andrevuola, Gabriotto

NOVEL VI. 

A young lady, named Andrevuola, is in love with Gabriotto; they relate to each other their dreams, and he falls down dead in her arms. As she and her maid are carrying him out, they are apprehended by the officers of justice; she relates how the affair happened, and afterwards, the magistrate would force her, but she resists; at length her father hears of it, and as her innocence is clear, has her set at liberty. From that period she grows weary of the world, and becomes a nun. 

The ladies were all pleased with Filomena's novel, because they had often heard the song, but were unacquainted with the reason of its being made. The king laid his next commands on Pamfilo, who began thus: - The dream in the preceding story puts me in mind of another, in which mention is made of two different dreams, that shewed what was to happen, as the last did what had already come to pass; and which were no sooner related than the effect as suddenly followed. You must know, then, that it is a general passion in all people to see many things in their sleep, which appear real at that time, and when we wake we judge some of them to be so, some to be barely probable, and others to be utterly false, many of which do yet come to pass. For this reason we see many persons pay the same regard to a dream, as they would do to anything which they saw whilst they were really awake; insomuch, that they find constant matter of joy or trouble therein, according to their different hopes or fears; on the contrary, there are others who will believe nothing of that kind, until they fall into the very danger of which they have been in that manner forewarned. Of these, I commend neither the one nor the other; for, as all dreams are not true, neither are they all false. That all are not true, we may each of us have frequently observed; and yet that all are not false, appears from Filomena's novel, and will be farther shown by mine. Therefore, I am of opinion, that in a virtuous life and a good cause you need regard no dream, so far as to forego any good intention; and, on the contrary, that in bad actions, although your dreams seem to be favourable, and to promise success, yet should you give no credit to these any more than to the others. But to proceed with my story. 

In the city of Brescia there lived a gentleman, called Signor Negro da Ponte Carraro, who, besides his other children, had a daughter named Andrevuola, a young and beautiful lady. Now she had taken a fancy to a neighbour, whose name was Gabriotto, a man of mean extraction, but excellent qualities, as well as graceful person; and, by her maid's assistance, she had managed so, that he was not only made acquainted with it, but they had frequent interviews together in her father's garden, to- the mutual satisfaction of both parties. And, that nothing but death should part their affection, they were privately married. 

Continuing their meetings in this manner, it happened one night, that she dreamed they were in the garden together, and, as she had him in her arms, she thought she saw, arising out of his body, something black and frightful, the form of which she could not well comprehend, which took him by force from her, and went with him under ground; and from that time she could neither see the one nor the other. This caused her the utmost distress, and glad she was, upon waking, to find it otherwise: yet she had some dread still upon her on account of the dream. The next night, therefore, on her husband's desiring to meet her, she endeavoured all she could to excuse herself: but seeing him resolute, and fearing to disoblige him, she received him as usual. After they had diverted themselves with gathering flowers, and had sat down by a fountain side, he inquired the reason why she would have prevented his coming that night. She then related her dream, and the apprehensions it had occasioned; which made him laugh, and tell her that it was a folly to mind dreams, which proceeded, for the most part,- from the stomach being either too full, or too empty, and which we every day see to be of no significancy: "But," added he, "had I showed any regard to dreams, I should not have come here, not so much for the sake of yours, as one of my own last night, which was this: I thought I was hunting in a most delightful forest, and that I had taken a beautiful young hind, as white as snow, which in a little time became so tame that it never left me; and I, fearing I might lose it, put a collar of gold about its neck, which I held by a golden chain in my hand. Afterwards, as it couched down by me, with its head in my bosom, on a sudden came rushing upon us, but whence I could not imagine, a greyhound, as black as jet, apparently half starved, and monstrously ugly. At me it made full speed, thrust its snout into my bosom, on my left side, and griped me to my very heart, which I thought it tore away from me, and which gave me such pain, that I instantly awoke, clapped my hand on my side, to feel if anything was amiss; and could not help laughing afterwards at my own weakness for doing so. What can be said, then, in such cases? I have had as bad or worse dreams, and nothing ever happened to me: then let us think of something else." 

The lady was still more dismayed at hearing this, but concealed her thoughts as much as possible, for fear of giving him uneasiness; yet every now and then would she cast her eye down the garden, to see if anything monstrous appeared. 

At length her husband, fetching a deep sigh, embraced her, and said, "Alas, my life, help me, I am dying! "and, having said that, he fell upon the ground. She immediately drew him into her lap, and weeping, said, "My dearest love, what is it that you feel?"He made no answer, but gasping vehemently, and perspiring inordinately, he soon expired. It is easy to conceive how grievous this was to the lady, who loved him more than her own life. She called upon him by name, over and over again, and wept for a considerable time; but, seeing that he was certainly dead, and not knowing what to do, she ran, all in tears, to call her maid, who had been intrusted with the secret, and, after they had lamented over him for some time together, she said to her - 

“Since Heaven has taken away my love from me I mean to live no longer myself; but, before I put my design into execution, I would take the most effectual means to preserve my honour, by concealing the affection that has existed between us; I desire then to have this body first interred, whose dear soul is now departed." "My dear lady," the maid replied, "do no talk of destroying yourself; for, by doing an act of that kind, you will lose him in the other world also: a soul like his must be happy, and you would send yours to endless misery: you had better compose yourself, and think how you may be of service, by offering up some few prayers in his behalf, if by chance he should stand in need of them, for any sin he may have committed. With regard to his interment, that may easily be done in this garden, because it was never known that he came hither; or, if you will not agree to that, we will carry him out, and leave him there: he will be found in the morning, and conveyed home, when his relations will take care to bury him." 

The lady, though she was overwhelmed with grief, listened attentively to the maid's advice; and not approving of the former part of it, she said, with regard to the latter, "Heaven forbid that I should ever suffer a youth so dearly beloved by me, and my husband too, either to be buried like a dog, or left in the street: he has had my prayers, and shall have those of his friends and relations. I am now resolved what to do." And immediately she sent the maid for a piece of rich silk she had in her cabinet, which being brought, she spread it upon the ground, and they laid the body upon it, with the head on a pillow; and closing his eyes and mouth, with abundance of tears, putting a garland of roses on his head, and strewing others over his body, she said to her maid, "It is not far to his house, whither we can easily carry him, as he now is, and we will lay him before the door; it will soon be day, and then he will be found; and though it will be a sad sight to his friends, to me, in whose arms he died, it will be a satisfaction." Having said this, she hung down her head over him, and wept for a considerable time; till, being reminded by her servant that daybreak was at hand, she raised herself up, and taking the ring from her finger, with which he had espoused her, she put it upon his, saying, "My dear lord, if thy soul has any knowledge of my tears, or if there be any sense or understanding left after that is departed from the body, receive this last gift from her who was once so dear to thee: "and at these words she fell down in a swoon. In some little time she came to herself, when they took up the silk, on which the body was laid, and went with it out of the garden, towards his house. 

As they were going along, it happened that they were met by some of the provost's officers, who were out upon another affair, and who seized them as they were carrying off the corpse. Andrevuola, coveting death at that time more than life, said freely to them, "I know who you are, and that it would be in vain to think of escaping; I am ready then to go before the magistrates, and to relate all I know concerning this matter; but let none of you dare to touch me, because I offer no resistance; nor touch anything belonging to this body, under pain of being accused himself." Accordingly it was carried untouched to the provost's hall, and, when notice of it was given to him, he arose, and she being brought before him he began to question her how, and by what means, this thing had happened. Physicians also were sent for to give their opinions, whether it was done by poison, or any such way: they all declared the contrary, affirming that some vein near the heart had burst, which had suffocated him. The provost hearing this, and perceiving her innocence, pretended to make a matter of favour of it, and told her that he would set her at liberty, upon condition that she would yield herself to his pleasure, which she refusing, he was base enough to try force. But she, fired with a noble disdain, defended herself with great courage and resolution. 

It being now broad day, and the news being carried to Signor Negro, he went, full of grief, to the hall, attended by many of his friends, and, being informed of his daughter's innocence, he demanded her from the provost, who, choosing rather to mention himself what had happened, than to allow her to accuse him, began, with great commendation of her constancy and virtue, owned his designs towards her, and offered to marry her, notwithstanding the meanness of her former marriage, if it was agreeable to her father and herself. Whilst he was speaking, Andrevuola entered, and falling down on her knees before her father, said, "My dear father, I suppose I need not tell you either of my boldness or of my misfortune, as you must certainly have heard of both: therefore I most humbly beg your forgiveness for having married without your knowledge, the person whom I most loved; and this I do with no view to a pardon, but that I may die as your daughter, and not as an enemy." 

Signor Negro was advanced in years, and, being one of a courteous and gentle disposition, could not refrain from tears at these words, and, raising her tenderly from the ground, he said, "Daughter, I should have been more glad if you had taken such a husband as I had approved of; yet, if you married to please yourself, this ought to please me. But to conceal it entirely, gives me concern for the little confidence you repose in me; especially as he died before I knew anything of the matter: but since it is so, the respect, for your sake, that I would have showed him, as my son-in-law, whilst he was living, I mean to express now he is dead." Then, turning to his children and friends, he ordered them to get everything in readiness for a solemn and magnificent funeral. 

By this time Gabriotto's friends and relations had assembled, as well as great crowds from all parts of the city; and, the corpse being set in the middle of the court in the manner she had before adorned it, great lamentation was made over it, by all the relations and others present; and thence it was carried to the grave with the utmost honour and respect, not like that of an ordinary citizen, but as of a person of quality, upon the shoulders of some of the most eminent citizens. A few days afterwards, the provost renewed his request, and Signor Negro recommended it to his daughter, who would hear nothing of it; and he, willing to content her, sent both her and her maid into a monastery of great devotion, where after a long course of time, they ended their lives.