5-4, Ricciardo Manardi, Lizio, daughter, nightingale

NOVEL IV. 

Ricciardo Manardi is found by Lizio along with his daughter, whom he marries, and they become reconciled. 

Eliza was listening to the commendations which her novel had excited, when the queen laid the next charge on Filostrato, who smiled, and began in this manner: - I have been so often lashed by you for giving a harsh and melancholy subject, that, by way of recompense, I think myself obliged to say something which will make you laugh: I shall therefore relate a love affair, which, after being attended with nothing worse than a few sighs and a short fright, mingled with some shame, was brought to a happy ending; and all this shall be told in the compass of a very short novel. 

Not long since there lived in Romagna a worthy and accomplished knight, named Lizio da Valbona, who had, in his old age, by his lady, Madam Giacomina, a daughter, the most beautiful young lady in all the country. Being their only child, they were extremely tender and careful of her, thinking through her to make some grand alliance. Now there was a young gentleman, of a very agreeable person, one of the Manardi, of Brettinoro, Ricciardo by name, who used to come much to their house. Lizio and his lady were under no further apprehensions from him than they would have been from their own son; but often seeing their daughter, and being charmed with her person and behaviour, he fell secretly in love, which, she perceiving, soon delighted him exceedingly, by returning his affection. He was often desirous of speaking to her, yet could never dare to do it; till, at length, he had one day opportunity, and enough courage, to say, "Pray, Caterina, let me not die for love.” She instantly replied, "Would to Heaven you would show me the Ijke mercy! "Overjoyed by this encouragement, he rejoined, "I shall study your will and pleasure in everything; do you find a way to make us happy together." 

"You see, Ricciardo, how I am watched," she answered, "and, therefore, I am unable to contrive the means for your coming to me; but if you can think of any method to do it,without bringing disgrace upon me, tell me, and I shall be very glad." After mature consideration, " My dearest Caterina," he said, "I see no other way, but for you to get leave to sleep in the gallery, which looks towards the garden, and if I knew when that happened, I would certainly contrive to get to you, however great the height from the ground." "If you have the courage to come," she replied, "I think I can manage so as to sleep there." He promised to do so, and for the present they parted. 

The following day, it being about the end of May, Caterina complained grievously to her mother, that the heat had been so excessive the night before, that she could not get a wink of sleep. "Why daughter," said the mother, "you talk of heat, I do not find the weather so sultry." - "Madam, there is some difference between old people and young." - "That may be; but can I change the seasons? You must bear with the time of year as it is: another night it may be more temperate, and then you will sleep better." - "I wish it might," said Caterina, "but the nights are not used to grow cooler, the more the summer advances." - "Then," said the mother, "what would you have me do for you?” She replied, "If you and my father please, I would gladly lie in the gallery adjoining your room, which looks towards the garden; there I shall have plenty of fresh air, and hear the nightingale, and it will be much more pleasant than lying in your chamber." - "Well, my dear," said the old lady, "I will speak to your father about it, and we will do as he thinks best." Accordingly she mentioned the matter to Lizio, who being old, was apt to be a little testy, and he said, "What nightingale is this she talks of? I shall make her sleep to the singing of a cricket." Caterina hearing this, kept awake the next night, more through vexation than heat, and was not only restless herself, but kept her mother also from sleeping. The next morning the old lady complained to her husband, saying, "You shew very little regard for your daughter; what does her lying in the gallery signify to you? She did not rest at all last night for the heat. And as to her fancy about the nightingale, she is young, let her have her way." "Then make her a bed there," he replied, "if you will, and let her hear the nightingale." A bed, therefore, was ordered to be set up for her, which she gave Ricciardo to understand, by a concerted signal, and he at once knew what part he had to act. When she was gone to bed, Lizio locked the door that opened out of his chamber into the gallery, and then went to rest himself. 

As soon as everything was still, Ricciardo got upon the wall, by help of a scaling ladder; then laying hold of the joinings of another wall, he climbed at last (not without great difficulty, as well as danger had he fallen) to the gallery, where the lady had long been expecting him, and welcomed him with the greatest delight imaginable. They passed a delicious night, and the nightingale sang ever so many times. Heated at last by the weather and their sport, they fell asleep without any covering over them, Caterina having her right arm under her lover's neck, and holding in her left hand what modesty forbids me to name before ladies. The night being short, and further spent than they supposed, they lay fast asleep in that way till daylight, when Messer Lizio got out of bed. As soon as he rose, he began to think of his daughter, and, opening the door softly, he said, "Let us see how the nightingale has made Caterina sleep." Going then into the gallery, and drawing the curtains, he found Ricciardo and her asleep together: upon this he stepped back, and woke up his wife, saying, "Up with you! Make haste! Come, and see how fond your daughter is of the nightingale. She has caught it and has it fast in her hand, I tell you." Dressing herself as fast as she could, she followed her husband, and seeing the pair together in that manner, was going to give Ricciardo all the hard words she could think of; but Lizio said, "Hush! not a word, I charge you; make no noise about it; as he has now got her, he shall keep her: he is of a good family, as well as rich, so we cannot have a better son-in-law. If he means to go off in a whole skin, he shall marry her before I part with him; and so he'll find he has put the nightingale in his own cage, and not another's." The wife on this was a little comforted, and the more so as she saw that her daughter had passed a pleasant night, slept very sound, and had caught the nightingale; so she held her peace. 

Soon after this debate, Ricciardo chanced to wake, and seeing it broad day-light, was frightened out of his wits, and waking Caterina, he said, "Alas! my life, what shall we do? the day-light has surprised me here with you?" At these words Lizio stepped from behind the curtain, and said, "We shall do well enough." Ricciardo's heart was in his mouth at seeing him, and sitting up in bed, he said, "For Heaven's sake, sir, forgive me; I confess that I deserve to die; therefore, you may do with me as you please: yet, if it be possible, I pray you to spare my life." Lizio replied, "Ricciardo, my friendship for you did not deserve such a return as I have met with: but since it is so, you have only one way whereby you may save your life and my honour, that is to marry her; either do that, or else make your peace with Heaven, for here you shall die." Meanwhile, Caterina let go the nightingale, and, covering herself up, began to cry and sob, beseeching her father to forgive Ricciardo, and Ricciardo to do what her father required. There was no need of many words: the fear of death, as well as his love for Caterina, soon made Ricciardo come to a decision, and he told Lizio that he was ready to comply. Lizio then took his wife's ring, and caused him instantly to espouse Caterina, which being done, he desired the new married couple to take their own time for rising, as they probably had need of repose. The nightingale had sung six times in the night, but they had two more ditties before they got up. That morning Lizio and his son-in-law had some farther discourse together, and everything being settled to the satisfaction of all parties, the marriage was some days afterwards celebrated in the most public manner with great demonstrations of joy. Ricciardo took his wife home, and they lived together, from that time, in all peace and comfort, and went nightingale catching by day and by night as often as they had a mind. 

[The characters in this tale are mentioned by Dante, in his "Purgatory." A spirit, complaining of the degeneracy of the Italians, exclaims: 

" Ov'è 'l buon Lizio e Arrego Manardi!" - c. 14. 

This demonstrates the existence of these persons, whence Manni, in his "Commentary” infers, according to his usual process of reasoning that the incident related by Boccaccio must have actually occurred. In fact, however, it is derived from one of the ancient Armorican tales of Marie, entitled "Lai de Laustri," which, in the Breton language, signified nightingale. The only modern imitation of this tale is, "Le Rossignol," usually published in the Contes et Nouvelles of La Fontaine, but of which there is some reason to believe he was not the author.] 

// 

usignuolo, rusignuolo in the Italian original.

Che rusignuolo è questo a che ella vuol dormire?

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5-3, Pietro Boccamazza, mistress, thieves, castle

NOVEL III. 

Pietro Boccamazza, running away with his mistress, is set upon by thieves, whilst the lady makes her escape into a forest whence she is conducted to a castle. He is taken, but escapes by some accident, and arrives at the same castle, where they are married, and return thence to Rome. 

There was not one among them all that did not applaud Emilia's novel. The queen, seeing that it was ended, turned to Eliza, and desired her to go on; she readily obeyed in this manner: I have a mind to relate a most melancholy night, as it happened to two lovers; but which, being succeeded by many happy days, is conformable enough to the subject proposed. 

There lived at Rome, which was once the head, though now the tail of the world, a young gentleman of a good family, named Pietro Boccamazza, who was in love with a most beautiful lady, called Angelina, daughter to one Gigliuozzi Saullo, a plebian, but one well esteemed among his fellow citizens; and she, after some time, began to have the same regard for him. Weary of languishing longer for her, Pietro demanded her in marriage, which, as soon as his parents knew, they blamed him very much, and, at the same time, gave her father to understand, that they would have him take no notice of what the young spark might say upon that head; since, should he marry her, they would never own him more. Pietro, seeing himself disappointed in that manner, was ready to die with grief, and, could he but have prevailed upon her father, he would have married her in spite of them all. At last he thought of a scheme, which, if she would agree to it, would answer his purpose, and finding by a messenger that she was willing, it was resolved between them to fly together from Rome. Having concerted measures for their departure, they set out one morning on horseback towards Alagna, where he had some friends in whom he had the greatest confidence; when, not having time to marry, and making the best of their way, for fear of being pursued, it happened, after their riding about eight miles, that they missed their road, turning to the left, when they should have kept to the right. About two miles farther, they came in sight of a little castle, whence twelve men came rushing out upon them, whom she espying, but not till they were almost upon them, cried out, "Ride, Pietro, for we are attacked." Then, clapping spurs to her horse, and holding fast by the pummel of the saddle, she galloped full speed through the forest. Pietro, whose eyes were more upon his mistress than anything else, followed her as well as he could, till unawares he fell amongst the assailants, who seized and made him dismount. They inquired his name, and being told who he was, they said one to another, "This man is a friend to our enemies; let us strip and hang him up on one of these oaks, out of spite to the Orsini family." Having agreed upon this, they ordered him to undress himself, which he complied with, expecting nothing but death; when, on a sudden, an ambuscade of twenty-five others started up behind them, crying out aloud, "Kill them every man." Upon this they left Pietro, to prepare for their own defence; but, finding themselves outnumbered, they took to their heels, and the others followed hard after them. 

Pietro, in the meantime, took his clothes, and getting on horseback again, rode as fast as he could the same way that Angelina had taken; but seeing no track or footsteps of any horse, and finding himself now out of the reach, as well of those who had first taken him, as of the others by whom those persons were attacked, and not being able to make out his Angelina he was almost distracted, and went up and down the forest, calling aloud to see if she could hear, but in vain. In this painful situation, he durst not turn back, and all before him he was ignorant of; besides, he was under perpetual apprehensions for them both, on account of the wild beasts which are in those places, and fancied every moment that he saw some bear or wolf tear her to pieces. In this manner did poor Pietro traverse the forest over and over, hallooing and shouting, and frequently coming back again, when he thought he was going forwards all the time; until, what with his fatigue, and his fright and long fasting, he was quite spent. Perceiving now the night coming upon him, and not knowing what else to do, he tied his horse to an oak tree, and got up into it to secure himself from the wild beasts; whilst the moon rising soon after, and it being a fine clear night, he sat there sighing and lamenting his hard fortune all the night long, not daring to sleep for fear of falling down, or if he had been in a place more commodious his great grief and care for his mistress would not have suffered him to rest. 

The young lady, in the meantime, as we before observed, was carried so far into the wood that she could not find the way out again: therefore, she went up and down full of grief for what had happened. At last, seeing nothing of Pietro, and getting into a little path, as it was now towards the evening, she followed it so long, that in about two miles it brought her in sight of a little hut, to which she rode as fast as she could, and found therein a very old man and his wife; who on seeing her, said, "Daughter, what do you in this country at this time of day?” she wept, and replied, that she had lost her company in the wood, and inquired how near she was to Alagna. The honest man made answer 

- "Daughter, this is not the way; it is more than twelve miles from us." - " And how far is it," she said, "to any inn, where I may go to lodge?" - "There is none near enough for you to go to by night." - "For Heaven's sake," quoth the lady, "as I can go nowhere else, will you please to give me a lodging?" - "Daughter, you shall be very welcome; but I must acquaint you that there are companies of people, both friends and enemies, continually passing this way, who do us great injury sometimes; and should any of them find you here, they might offer rudeness, and we not have it in our power to help you. I apprise you of this, that you may lay no blame upon us, if such a thing should happen." The lady, seeing it was late, though she was terrified by the old man's words, said, 

"I trust to God for my protection, as to what you mention; but if that should happen, I may expect more mercy from men than from beasts." She then dismounted and went to supper with them upon such poor diet as they had, and afterwards lay down upon their bed with her clothes on, lamenting her own misfortune and her lover's all the night, not knowing whether she had more cause to hope or fear on his account. 

About break of day, she heard a great noise of people on horseback, and immediately she rose, and went into a great yard behind the house, in one corner of which was a stack of hay, and there hid herself. This was no sooner done than a knot of thieves was at the door, which was instantly opened to them, and seeing there the lady's horse and saddle, they asked whom it belonged to? The honest man, seeing nothing of her, made answer, "Nobody is here; but this horse came to us last night, having got away, I suppose, from his owner, and we took him in that he should not be devoured by the wolves." - "Then," quoth the captain, "as he has no master, he shall be ours." The gang dispersed up and down the house and yard, laying down their lances and targets, and one of them by chance thrust his lance into the hay where Angelina had hid herself, and was so near killing her, that she was on the point of crying out, for it pierced her clothes; but recollecting herself, she resolved to lie still. In the meantime they fell to boiling some kids and other meat that they had brought with them, and after they had ate and drunk, they went about their business, carrying off the horse. When they were some distance from the house, the honest man began to inquire of his wife what was become of the lady, as he had never seen her since he rose. “she could not tell," she said, and went all about to seek for her. The lady meanwhile finding that the men were gone, came forth from her hiding-place. The old man was much pleased to find that she had not fallen into their hands, and said to her, "It is now daylight, we will go with you therefore to a castle about five miles off, where you may be in safety; but you will be obliged to travel on foot, for these sorry fellows have taken your horse away.” She was under no great concern for that loss, but set forward with them at once, and they arrived there betimes in the morning. Now the castle belonged to one of the family of the Orsini, whose name was Liello di Campo di Fiore, and by great good fortune his lady was then there, a worthy good woman, who, seeing Angelina, soon recollected her, and received her with the utmost respect, inquiring by what means she had come thither. 

She then related the whole story; and Liello's lady, who knew Pietro, as a friend of her husband's was under great concern, supposing him to be dead; and said to Angelina: "As it happens that you know not where Pietro is, you shall stay with me till I have an opportunity of conveying you safe to Rome." 

Now as for Pietro, he had but a dismal night of it, for he soon saw his horse surrounded with a number of wolves, which made him break his bridle, and endeavour to make his escape, but he was so encompassed that he could not, and defended himself with kicking and biting for some time, till at last he was pulled down, and torn all to pieces, and the wolves having devoured him to the very bones went away. This was a sore affliction to Pietro, who expected much from his horse, after all the fatigue that he had undergone; and he began now to despair of ever getting out of the forest. It being at this time almost day, and he nearly dead with cold, as he was looking about him, he chanced to spy a fire at last about a mile off; when it was quite light, therefore, he descended from the tree, not without a great deal of fear, and directing his course thither, he found some shepherds making merry together, who received him out of mere compassion. After he had ate and warmed himself, he related his whole adventure, and inquired whether there was no town or castle in those parts that he could go to. The shepherds told him, that three miles off was a castle belonging to Liello di Campo di Fiore, whose lady was then there. He entreated some of them to go with him, and two readily offered their service. Being arrived, he was known, and as he was going to send out to seek his mistress, he was called by the lady of the castle, and, on stepping up to her, he beheld Angelina, which made him the happiest man in the world; and if he was thus transported, she was no less so. The lady, after giving them a handsome reception, and hearing what had happened to both, began to reprimand him for attempting to do what was so disagreeable to his parents; but seeing him resolved, and finding that he was agreeable to the lady, she said, "What should I trouble myself for? 

They like each other, and are both my husband's friends; besides, it seems as if Providence would have it so, seeing that one escaped from being hanged, the other from being stabbed by a lance, and both from being devoured by wild beasts. Then let it be done." Turning to them now, she said, "If you are resolved to be man and wife, I am content, and will celebrate the wedding at my husband's expense: afterwards I will undertake to make peace between you and your friends. So they were married in the castle, tq their great joy, and with all the magnificence that the country could afford: and in a few days the lady took them both to Rome, where she contrived to reconcile Pietro and his parents, who were much enraged at what he had done. He lived afterwards with Angelina, in all peace and happiness, to a good old age. 

[This, though an insipid story of itself, is curious, as presenting us with the rudiments of a modem romance of the school of Mrs. Radcliffe.] 

5-2, Constantia, Martuccio Gomito

NOVEL II. 

Constantia is in love with Martuccio Gomito; and hearing that he was dead, out of despair goes alone into a boat, which is driven by the wind to Susa: finding him alive at Tunis, she makes herself known; whilst he, being a great favourite of the king's there, marries her, and returns home with her to Lipari, very rich. 

The queen, seeing that Pamfilo's novel was at an end, after praising it highly, ordered Emilia to follow. The latter began thus: - We are all of us justly pleased with such things as we see attended with rewards, according to our wishes; and forasmuch as love is more often deserving of happiness than misery, I shall obey the queen with a great deal more pleasure, by treating on the present subject, than I did the king, in discoursing of that of yesterday. 

You must know, then, ladies, that near to Sicily, is a little island called Lipari, in which, not long since, lived a lady of a worthy family, named Constantia, with whom was in love a young gentleman of the same island, called Martuccio Gomito, one of an excellent character, and very eminent in his way. She also had the same regard for him, so that she was never easy but when she saw him. He, therefore, desirous of marrying her, asked her father's consent, who replied, that as the suitor was in poor circumstances, he would never give it. Martuccio, grieved to see himself rejected on account of his poverty, fitted out a little vessel, with some of his friends and relations, and made a resolution never to return to Lipari till he should be rich. Sailing away, he cruised on the coasts of Barbary, taking everything of less force than himself that came in his way. Fortune was favourable enough to him, could he have set bounds to his desires; but not being satisfied, either he or his friends, with being very rich, and willing still to be more so, it happened that they were taken by some Saracen ships, after making a most obstinate defence, when being plundered of all they had gotten, and the greatest part of them slain, after sinking the ship, he was carried prisoner to Tunis, where he suffered a long and miserable confinement. 

In the meantime news was brought to Lipari, from divers hands, that they were all drowned; which was such an affliction to the lady, that she resolved not to survive it; and not having the heart to make away with herself by any violent means, she chose to lay herself under a necessity of meeting with her death. Accordingly she went privately one night to the haven, where she found by chance a small fishing boat, at liberty from the other ships, and furnished with sails and oars. Getting into this, and having rowed a little way into the sea, she threw away her oars and rudder, and committed herself entirely to the mercy of the winds, supposing of necessity, that as the boat was empty, and nobody to steer it, either it must overset, or else dash against some rock, and so break to pieces; and that, in either case, she could not escape if she would. Wrapping her head then in a mantle, she laid herself down, weeping, at the bottom of the boat. 

But it happened differently from what she imagined; for it being a gentle north wind, and no sea, the boat rode it out all that night, and till the following evening, when it was brought within a hundred miles of Tunis, to a strand near a town called Susa; whilst the poor lady thought nothing either of her being near the land, or upon the wide sea, having never looked up from the time of her laying herself down, nor meaning ever to do so. 

Now it happened, just as the boat struck against the shore, that a poor woman was taking away some nets which had been drying in the sun. Perceiving the boat come full sail against the shore, and supposing the people to be all asleep in it, she stepped into it, and finding only this lady, she called several times to her before she could make her hear, she being fast asleep; and seeing by her dress that she was a Christian, she inquired of her in Latin, how it happened that she had arrived there in the boat all alone. The lady hearing her talk in Latin, was apprehensive that a different wind had driven her back to Lipari; and getting up, and looking all around her, without knowing anything of the country, she inquired where she was! The good woman replied, "Daughter, you are near Susa, in Barbary;" which the lady hearing, sorely lamented that she had not met with the death she had coveted; fearing also, with regard to her modesty, and not knowing what to do, she sat down, and began to weep. The good woman, seeing this, had pity on her, and after much persuasion brought her to her little hut, where she told her at length in what manner she had come thither. The good woman then finding that she was fasting, set coarse bread, with some dressed fish, and water before her, and prevailed upon her to eat a little. 

Constantia now inquired of the good woman who she was, that she talked Latin so well? The hostess told her, that she was of Trapani, that her name was Carapresa, and that she was servant to some Christian fishermen. The lady hearing that name, and full of grief as she was, began to conceive some hope from it, yet could she give no account why, only that she thought she had heard the name before. 

Her desire to die was now much abated; and without telling the woman who she was, or whence she came, she begged of her to have pity on her youth, and give her such counsel as might enable her to avoid any injury that should be offered to her. The good woman left her in the hut, till she had taken care of her nets, when she covered her with her mantle, and conducted her to Susa, saying to her, "Constantia, I will bring you to the house of an old Saracen lady, whom I work for sometimes; she is very charitable, and I dare say, on my recommendation, will receive you, as though you were her own child; you must study then to oblige her as much as possible, till it shall please Heaven to send you better fortune." Accordingly, she did as she had promised. 

The old lady, upon hearing the poor woman's account of Constantia, looked earnestly at her, and began to weep; she afterwards led her into the house, where she and some other women lived together, without having a man amongst them, employing themselves in embroideries, and other kind of needle-work. In a few days she had learned to work in the same way, and behaved herself in such a manner that they were extremely delighted with her company; and at length she made herself mistress of their language. In this manner she continued at Susa, being given over at home for lost. 

In the meantime it happened that one Mariabdela being in possession of the kingdom of Tunis, a young lord of great birth and power in the kingdom of Granada also laid claim to it, and assembled a powerful army to drive him out of the country. This came to the ears of Martuccio Gomito, who was still in prison, and was well acquainted with the Berber language. Understanding, also, that the king had made great preparations for his defence, he said to one of his keepers, "Could I but speak to his majesty, my heart forebodes that I could give him such counsel as should assure him of victory." The keeper reported this to his master, and he immediately informed the king, who then sent for Martuccio, and demanded what counsel it was that he had to give him? 

"My lord," he" replied, "if I am sufficiently acquainted, since I have been in this country, with your manner of fighting, it should seem to me as if you depended principally upon your archers: now if I can contrive a way whereby your enemies would want arrows, at the time that you had plenty of them, I suppose you will think then the battle would be yours." - "Without doubt," replied the king, "if you can do that, I shall make no question of being conqueror." Martuccio then added, "My lord, it may easily be done, if you please, and I will show you which way. You must have much finer cords made for your archers" bows than are commonly used; you must also have the notches of your arrows made to suit these small strings: but this must be done so privately that the enemy hear nothing of it, because they would then provide accordingly. Now the reason is this; after your enemies shall have discharged all their arrows, and likewise after your own bowmen shall have made an end of theirs, you know that they will then gather up your own darts, in order to shoot them back upon you, while your archers will do the same with theirs: but your arrows will be useless to the enemy, because those small notches will not suit their great strings; on the contrary, the slender cords of your archers will very well receive the large notches of their arrows; and thus your people will have plenty of darts, when their adversaries shall be entirely unprovided." The king, who was a most wise lord, was pleased with the advice, and followed it, by which means he got the victory; Martuccio was consequently in high favour, and soon attained to great power and wealth. 

These things were soon noised over the country; till at length Constantia heard that her lover, whom she had thought dead, was yet alive. The flame of her love, which had been so long extinct, now broke out afresh, and with greater vigour, and with it her hopes revived; insomuch, that she related all that had happened to her to the good lady, acquainting her that she desired to go to Tunis, there to satisfy her eyes with beholding what fame had long rung into her ears. The lady commended her design, and, as she had been hitherto a sort of mother to her, embarked with her. 

On arriving at Tunis, they were entertained together at the house of one of the old lady's relations; and Carapresa, whom they had carried with them, being sent to learn what she could about Martuccio, reported that he was alive, and in great repute. The lady then resolving that she would be the person to acquaint him that his Conslantia was there, went one fine day to his house, and said to him, "sir, one of your servants from Lipari is now a captive in my house, and has a desire to speak to you in private; for which purpose, that nobody might be intrusted with the secret, he desired that I would go myself to tell you." Martuccio gave her thanks, and followed her thither. As soon as the young lady saw him, she was perfectly overcome with joy, and being unable to refrain, threw her arms about his neck; whilst calling to mind her long sufferings and present transports, she burst out into a flood of tears. Martuccio stood some time in amazement, till at last he said, with a sigh, "O, my Constantia, are you alive? It is some time since I heard you were lost; nor have there been any tidings of you since." And, having said this, he embraced her with a great deal of tenderness and affection. She then related to him all that had befallen her, as well as the respect with which she had been honoured by the good lady: when, after much discourse together, he went straight to the king, and made him acquainted with the whole story, adding, that, with his consent, he intended to espouse her according to the manner of our laws. 

The king was greatly surprised with the narration, and, sending for her, received the same account from her own mouth. He then said, "Lady, you have well earned your husband;"then ordering many rich presents to be brought, he gave part to her, and part to him, and desired them to do what was most agreeable to themselves. Martuccio was very thankful to the lady who had entertained Constantia, and made her a suitable acknowledgment; and, taking their leave of her, not without many tears, they embarked - having Carapresa along with them - for Lipari, where they were received with inexpressible joy; and, the nuptials being celebrated with the greatest magnificence, they lived long together in the greatest tranquillity and comfort, enjoying the fruits of their mutual loves.