10-5, Dianora, Ansaldo, garden, January

NOVEL V. 

Dianora requires Ansaldo to present her with a garden in January as beautiful as in May. He engages a necromancer to do it. Her husband, upon this, gives her leave to keep her word with Ansaldo, who hearing of her husband's generosity, acquits her of her promise, and the necromancer likewise takes nothing for his trouble. 

Signor Gentil having been extolled to the very skies by the whole assembly, the king ordered Emilia to follow; and immediately, as though she were desirous of speaking, she began in this manner: - There is no one but must allow that Signor Gentil did a very noble action, but to say that nothing greater could be done, is saying too much, as I shall show in a very short novel. 

In the country of Frioli, which, though very cold, is yet beautified with many pleasant mountains, fine rivers and crystal springs, is a place called Udine, where lived a worthy lady, named Dianora, the wife of a very agreeable man, and one of great wealth, called Gilberto. Now she had taken the fancy of a great and noble lord, called Ansaldo, one of extraordinary generosity and prowess, and known all over the country, who used frequently to solicit her with messages and offers of love, but in vain. At length, being quite wearied with his importunities, and seeing that he still persisted, notwithstanding her repeated denials, she resolved to rid herself of him by a novel, and, as she thought, impossible demand. So she said to his emissary one day, "Good woman, you have often told me that Ansaldo loves me beyond all the world, and have offered me great presents on his part, which he may keep to himself, for I shall never be prevailed upon to a compliance in that manner. Could I be assured, indeed, that his love is really such as you say, then I should certainly be brought to return it: therefore, if he will convince me of that by a proof which I shall require, I will instantly be at his service." - "What is it, then," quoth the good woman, "that you desire him to do." - "It is this," she replied: "I would have a garden in the month of January, which is now coming on, as full of green herbs, flowers, and trees laden with fruit, as though it were the month of May: unless he does this for me, charge him to trouble me no more, for I will instantly complain to my husband, and all my friends." 

Ansaldo being made acquainted with this demand, which seemed an impossibility, and knowing that it was contrived on purpose to deprive him of all hopes of success, resolved yet to try all possible means in such a case, sending to every part of the world to find out a person able to assist him. At length he met with a magician, who would undertake it for a large sum of money; and having agreed upon a price, he waited impatiently for the time of its being done. On the night of the first of January, therefore, the cold being extreme, and everything covered with snow, this wise man so employed his art in a meadow near to the city, that in the morning there appeared there one of the finest gardens that ever was seen, filled with all kinds of herbs, flowers, trees, and fruits. Ansaldo beheld this marvellous creation with infinite pleasure, and picking some of the fairest fruit and flowers, he sent them privately to the lady, inviting her to come and see the garden which she had required, that she might be convinced of his love and fulfil the promise she had made, as became a woman of her word. The lady, seeing the flowers and fruits present, and having already heard from many people of this wonderful garden, began to repent of what she had done. But with all this repentance, being still desirous of seeing strange sights, she went thither with many more ladies, and having highly commended it, returned home very sorrowful, thinking of her engagement. Her trouble was too great to be concealed or dissembled, so that her husband at last perceived it, and demanded the reason. For some time she was ashamed to speak, but being constrained at last, she related the whole thing. Gilberto was greatly incensed about it, till, considering the upright intention of his lady in the affair, he began to be somewhat pacified, and said, "Dianora, it is not the act of a wise and virtuous lady to receive any messages, or make any conditions in regard to her chastity. Words have a more ready admittance to the heart than many people imagine, and with lovers nothing is impossible. You were highly to blame first to listen, and afterwards to covenant; but, as I know the purity of your intention, and to free you from your engagement, I will grant what nobody else would do in such a case. For fear of this necromancer, who, by Ansaldo's instigation, may do us some mischief if you disappoint him, I consent that you go to Ansaldo, and if you can by any means get quit of that tie with safety to your honour, that you endeavour to do so; otherwise that you comply indeed, though your will be chaste and pure." The poor lady wept bitterly, and showed great reluctance, but he insisted upon her doing as he said. So, early in the morning, without any great care to make herself fine, she went with her woman and two men-servants to Ansaldo's house. He was greatly surprised at hearing the lady was there, and said to the wise man, "You shall now see the effect of your skill. So he went to meet her, and showed her into a handsome room, where there was a great fire, and after they had sat down, "Madam," he said, "I beg, if the long regard I have had for you merit any reward, that you would please to tell me why you come here at this time, and thus attended." She blushed, and replied, with eyes full of tears, "sir, it is neither from love, nor from regard to my promise, but merely by my husband's order, who, showing more respect to the labours of your inordinate love than to his honour and mine, has forced me to come hither; therefore, as it is his command, I submit to your pleasure." If Ansaldo was surprised at the sight of the lady, he was now much more so at hearing her talk thus; and, being moved with Gilberto's generosity, his love was changed into compassion. "Madam," he said, "Heaven forbid that I should ever take away the honour of a person who has showed such pity for my love: therefore, you are as safe with me, as if you were my sister, and you may depart, when it seems good to you, upon condition that you tender your husband, in my name, those thanks which you think are due to his great generosity, requesting him, for the time to come, to esteem me always as his brother and faithful servant." The lady, overjoyed with this, replied, "All the world, sir, could never make me believe, when I consider your character, that anything could have happened on my coming hither, otherwise that it has now done; for which I shall always be profoundly grateful to you." She then took her leave, returned to her husband, and told him what had happened, and this proved the occasion of a strict friendship ever after between him and Ansaldo. 

The necromancer now being about to receive his reward, and having observed Gilberto's generosity to Ansaldo, and that of Ansaldo to the lady, said, "As Gilberto has been so liberal of his honour, and you of your love, you shall give me leave to be the same with regard to my pay: knowing it then to be worthily employed, I design it shall be yours." 

Ansaldo was ashamed, and pressed him to take all or part, but in vain. On the third day, the necromancer having made his garden vanish, and being ready to depart, Ansaldo thankfully dismissed him, having extinguished his inordinate desires, purely from a principle of honour. What say you now, ladies? Shall we prefer the dead lady, and the love of Gentil, grown cold, as destitute of all hope, to the liberality of Ansaldo, who loved more than ever, and who was fired with the greater expectation, since the prey so long pursued was then in his power? It seems to me mere folly to compare the generosity of Gentil with that of Ansaldo. 

[Manni observes, that this novel was probably founded on a story current in the age of Boccaccio (and subsequently mentioned by Torthemus), concerning a Jew physician, who, in the year 876, in the middle of winter, caused by enchantment a garden, with trees and flowers in bloom, to appear before a numerous and splendid company. The story, however, of Dianora, as well as the fourth of the present day, had formerly been told by Boccaccio himself, in the fifth book of his "Filocopo," which is an account of the loves of Flores and Biancafior. This story of Boccaccio is the origin of the "Frankelein's Tale," of Chaucer, in which the circumstances are precisely the same as in the "Decameron," except that the impossible thing required by the lady is, that her lover should remove the rocks from the coast of Brittany: a similar tale, however, according to Tyrwhitt, occurs in an old Breton lay, from which he conceives the incidents may have come immediately to the English poet. Boccaccio's story is unquestionably the origin of a story which occupies the whole of the twelfth canto of "Orlando Innamorato," and is related by a lady to Rinaldo, while he escorts her on a journey.] 

10-4, Signor Gentil de' Carisendi

NOVEL IV. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10-3, Mithridanes, Nathan

NOVEL III. 

Mithridanes envies the generosity of Nathan, and goes to kill him, when, conversing with him, but not knowing him, and being informed in what manner he may do the deed, he goes to meet him in a wood, as Nathan had directed. There he recognises him, is ashamed, and becomes his friend. 

The abbot's extraordinary generosity seemed almost a miracle to all that heard it. Then Filostrato was commanded to speak, who instantly said, - Great, most noble ladies, was the magnificence of the King of Spain, and that of the abbot of Cligni something quite unusual; but perhaps it will appear no less strange to you to be told how a person, as a proof of his liberality to another, who thirsted after his blood, nay, and his very soul too, should contrive industriously to gratify him. And he would have done so, if the other would have taken what was so offered, as I am going to show you. 

Most certain it is, if any faith may be given to the Genoese, and others who have been there, that in the country of Cattaio lived a person of noble descent, and rich, beyond comparison, called Nathan, who, having an estate adjoining to the great road which led from the east to the west, and being of a generous spirit, and desirous of showing it by his good works, summoned together many master artificers, and in a very short time raised one of the most grand and beautiful palaces that ever was seen, furnishing it with everything necessary for the more honourable reception of persons of distinction. He had also great numbers of servants, and kept open house for all comers and goers, continuing this noble way of living, till not only the east, but the west also, resounded with his fame. He had now grown into years, his hospitality remaining unabated, when it happened that his renown reached the ears of a young gentleman, named Mithridanes, living in an adjacent country, who, thinking himself full as wealthy as Nathan, began to envy his fame and virtue, resolving to extinguish or obscure them both by a superior generosity. So he built such another palace as Nathan's and was so extravagantly generous to everybody, that how famous he soon became it is needless to say. 

Now one day it happened, as he was all alone in his palace-court, that a woman came in at one of the gates, and demanded alms, which she received; after which she came in at a second, and was relieved a second time, and so on for twelve times successively. On her returning the thirteenth, he said, "Good woman, you grow troublesome;" but yet he gave her. The old woman, on hearing these words, said, "O the prodigious generosity of Nathan! How greatly is it to be admired! I went in at all the thirty-two gates which there are to his palace, as well as this, and received an alms at every one, without being known all the time, as it seemed to me; and here I come but thirteen times, and am known and flouted!" and away she went, and never was seen there more. Mithridanes, imagining that what he heard of Nathan was a diminution of his own fame, grew extremely incensed, and said, "Alas! when shall I equal Nathan in great things, not to say surpass him, as is my desire, when I fall short even in the smallest matters? Undoubtedly, it is all labour in vain, unless I dismiss him from the world, which, seeing old age ineffectual, I must do instantly with my own hands." 

So rising up in a passion, without making any one acquainted with his design, he mounted his horse, taking very few attendants with him; and the third day he arrived at Nathan's palace, when he ordered his people not to seem to belong to him, but provide themselves with lodgings till they heard farther from him. 

Coming there towards the evening, and being left by himself, he found Nathan alone, not far from his palace, taking a walk for his amusement, in a very plain habit, when he, not knowing him, desired he would show him the way to Nathan's dwelling. Nathan cheerfully replied, "son, there is nobody in this country can show you better than myself; then, if you please, I will conduct you thither." The young gentleman replied, "I should be extremely obliged to you: but could wish, if it were possible, neither to be seen nor known by Nathan." - "This also," quoth Nathan, "I will do for you, if it be your design." 

So he alighted, and walked along with him, falling agreeably into discourse together, till they came to the palace, when Nathan bade one of his servants take the horse, and he whispered in the fellow s ear for him to acquaint all the people in the house that none of them should let the gentleman know he was Nathan, which was done. Being entered into the palace, he put Mithridanes into a very fine apartment, where nobody should see him but those whom he had appointed to wait upon him, and showed him all possible respect, himself constantly keeping him company. After Mithridanes had been for some time with him, he asked with a great deal of reverence, who he was. "I am an inferior servant of Nathan's," he replied, "who has grown old in his service, and yet he never promoted me to anything more than what you see; and therefore, though other people commend him, I have little reason to do so." 

These words gave Mithridanes some hopes that he might the better and more securely effect his base purpose. Nathan then inquired very courteously of him concerning what he was, and the occasion of his coming thither, offering him his best advice and assistance. Mithridanes hesitated a little upon that, but at length resolved to let him into his design; so, after a long preamble requesting secrecy, and that he would lend a helping hand, he declared who he was, what he came thither for, and his inducement. Nathan, hearing his detestable resolution, was quite changed within himself; nevertheless, without any appearance thereof, he replied boldly, and with a steady countenance, "Mithridanes, your father was truly a noble person, nor are you willing to degenerate, having undertaken so glorious an enterprise as is that of being liberal to all people; I do greatly commend the envy you bear to Nathan's virtue, because, were there many more men of the same principle, the world, though bad enough at present, would soon grow better. Your affair I shall most assuredly keep secret, which I can further more by my advice, than any help I am able to give you, and that in the following manner: - About half a mile from hence is a grove, where he generally takes a walk for a considerable time every morning; there you may easily meet with him, and do what you purpose. If you should kill him, in order to return home without any hindrance, do not go the way you came, but take a path that leads out of the grove to the left, which, though not so much frequented as the other, is yet a shorter way to your house, as well as more secure." When Mithridanes had received this instruction, and Nathan was departed, he let his attendants, that were in the same house, know privately where they were to wait for him the next day. 

Early in the morning Nathan arose, his mind being no way changed from the counsel given to Mithridanes, and went to the grove with a design of meeting with his death. Mithridanes also took his bow and sword, having no other weapon, and rode to the same place, where he saw Nathan walking at a distance by himself, and being minded before he put him to death, to hear what he had to say, he laid hold of the turban that was upon his head, and cried out, "Old dotard! thou art a dead man." Nathan made no reply but this: "Then I have deserved it." Mithridanes, hearing his voice, and looking in his face, found it was the same person that had so kindly received him, kept him company, and faithfully advised him: upon which his rage and malice were turned into shame and remorse; and throwing away his sword, which he had ready drawn to stab him, he dismounted and fell with tears at his feet, saying, "My dearest father, I am now convinced of your liberality, considering what pains you have taken to bestow your life upon me, which I was very unjustly desirous of having. But God, more careful of my doing my duty than I was myself, opened the eyes of my understanding, which envy had closed, at a time when there was the greatest need of it. The more ready, therefore, you were to oblige me, so much the greater I acknowledge my remorse to be. Take that revenge, then, of me which you think adequate to the nature of my crime." Nathan raised him up, and embraced him, saying, "son, your design, call it wicked, or what you will, needs neither your asking any pardon nor yet my granting it;" because it was out of no hatred, but only a desire to excel. Be assured, then, there is nobody regards you more than I do, considering the greatness of your soul, which was given you not for the amassing of wealth, as is the case of misers, but the distribution of it; be not ashamed of your design of cutting me off, to become more famous, nor think I am at all surprised at it; the greatest monarchs, by no other art than that of killing not one man only, as you would have done, but infinite numbers, destroying whole countries, and laying cities in ruins, have enlarged their empire, and consequently their fame. Therefore, to kill me alone, to make yourself famous, is neither new nor strange." 

Mithridanes, far from excusing his evil intent, but commending Nathan's honest gloss upon it, proceeded so far as to tell him that he wondered exceedingly how he could bring himself to such readiness to die, and be even advising and aiding to it. Nathan replied, "I would not have you wonder at all at it; for ever since I have been my own master, and resolved to do that wherein you have endeavoured to follow my example, - nobody ever came to my house whom I did not content to the utmost of my power, as to what was required of me. Now it was your fortune to come for my life; therefore that you should not be the only person who went away ungratified, I resolved to give it, advising you in such a manner that you might be secure of it without losing your own. Therefore I conjure you to take it, if it will be any pleasure to you: I do not know how I can better bestow it. Eighty years have I had the full enjoyment of it; and, according to the course of nature, and as it fares with other men, and all other things, I can keep it but very little longer: so I hold it better to part with it of my own accord, as I have done with my wealth and estate, than to keep it till it is wrested from me by nature. A hundred years are really no great matter: what, then, are six or eight, which are all that are left me? Take it, then, I say again, if you please; for I never met with any one before that desired it, nor do I expect any other will accept it, if you do not. Besides, the longer it is kept, of the less value it grows; so take it once for all, whilst it is worth something." Mithridanes was extremely confounded, and said, "God forbid, that, so far from touching a thing of the value your life is, I should even desire it as I did just now. Instead of lessening your years, I would willingly add to them of my own, if it were possible." - "And would you," he replied, "if you could? That would be doing to you what I have done yet to no one, I mean robbing you to enrich myself. But I will tell you what you shall do: you shall come and live here, and be called Nathan, and I will go to your house, and take the name of Mithridanes." - "If I knew how to behave as well as you do," said Mithridanes, "I should readily embrace your offer; but as I am sensible I should only lessen the fame of Nathan, I shall never seek to impair that in another which I cannot increase in myself: so pray excuse me." 

With these, and more such compliments, they returned to the palace, where Nathan showed great respect to Mithridanes, confirming him in his great and noble design; and the latter, being disposed to return home, took his leave, fully convinced that he could never come up to Nathan in liberality.