The Decameron (Day 1 to Day 5)

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  Thebaldo Elisei, _having received an unkinde repulse by his beloved,departed from Florence, and returning thither againe (a long whileafter) in the habite of a Pilgrime; he spake with her, and made hiswrongs knowne unto her. He delivered her Father from the danger ofdeath, because it was proved, that he had slaine_ Thebaldo: _he madepeace with his brethren, and in the ende, wisely enjoyed his heartsdesire._

  The seaventh Novell.

  _Wherein is signified the power of Love, and the diversity of dangers,whereinto men may daily fall._

  So ceased _Fiammetta_ her discourse, being generally commended, whenthe Queene, to prevent the losse of time, commanded _?millia_ tofollow next, who thus began. It liketh me best (gracious Ladies) toreturne home againe to our owne City, which it pleased the former twodiscoursers to part from: And there I will shew you, how a Citizen ofours, recovered the kindnesse of his Love, after he had lost it.

  Sometime there dwelt in _Florence_ a young gentleman, named _ThebaldoElisei_, descended of a noble House, who became earnestly enamored of aWiddow, called _Hermelina_, the daughter to _Aldobrandino Palermini_:well deserving, for his vertues and commendable qualities, to enjoy ofher whatsoever he could desire. Secretly they were espoused together,but Fortune, the enemy to Lovers felicities, opposed her maliceagainst them, in depriving _Thebaldo_ of those deare delights, whichsometime he held in free possession, and making him as a stranger toher gracious favours. Now grew shee contemptibly to despise him, notonely denying to heare any message sent from him, but scorning also tovouchsafe so much as a sight of him, causing in him extreme griefe andmelancholy, yet concealing all her unkindnesse so wisely to himselfe,as no one could understand the reason of his sadnesse.

  After he had laboured by all hopefull courses, to obtaine that favourof her, which he had formerly lost, without any offence in him, as hisinnocent soule truly witnessed with him, and saw that all his furtherendeavours were fruitlesse and in vaine; he concluded to retreatehimselfe from the World, and not to be any longer irkesome in her eye,that was the onely occasion of his unhappinesse. Hereupon, storinghimselfe with such summes of money, as suddenly he could collecttogether, secretly he departed from _Florence_, without speaking anyword to his friends or kindred; except one kind companion of his, whomhe acquainted with most of his secrets, and so travelled to _Ancona_,where he termed himselfe by the name of _Sandolescio_. Repairing to awealthy Merchant there, he placed himselfe as his servant, and went ina Ship of his with him to _Cyprus_; his actions and behaviour proved sopleasing to the Merchant, as not onely he allowed him very sufficientwages, but also grew into such association with him; as he gave themost of his affaires into his hands, which he guided with such honestand discreete care, that he himselfe (in few yeeres compasse) proved tobe a rich Merchant, and of famous report.

  While matters went on in this successefull manner, although he couldnot chuse, but still he remembred his cruell Mistresse, and was verydesperately transported for her love, as coveting (above all thingselsee) to see her once more; yet was he of such powerfull constancy, as7 whole yeers together, he vanquished all those fierce conflicts. Buton a day it chanced he heard a song sung in _Cyprus_, which he himselfehad formerly made, in honour of the love he bare to his Mistresse, andwhat delight he conceived, by being daily in her presence; whereby hegathered, that it was impossible for him to forget her, and proceededon so desirously, as he could not live, except he had a sight of heronce more, and therefore determined on his returne to _Florence_.Having set all his affaires in due order, accompanied with a servant ofhis onely, he passed to _Ancona_, where when he was arrived, he senthis Merchandises to _Florence_, in name of the Merchant of _Ancona_,who was his especiall friend and partner; travayling himselfe alonewith his servant, in the habite of a Pilgrime, as if he had beene newlyreturned from _Jerusalem_.

  Being come to _Florence_, he went to an Inne kept by two bretheren,neere neighbours to the dwelling of his Mistresse, and the firstthing he did, was passing by her doore, to get a sight of her if hewere so happie. But he found the windowes, doores, and all parts ofthe house fast shut up, whereby he suspected her to be dead, or elseeto be changed from her dwelling: wherefore (much perplexed in minde)he went on to the two brothers Inne, finding foure persons standingat the gate, attired in mourning, whereat he marvelled not a little;knowing himselfe to be so transfigured, both in body and habite, farrefrom the manner of common use at his parting thence, as it was adifficult matter to know him: he stept boldly to a Shooe-makers shopneere adjoining, and demanded the reason of their wearing mourning.The Shoo-maker made answer thus; Sir, those men are clad in mourning,because a brother of theirs, being named _Thebaldo_ (who hath beeneabsent hence a long while) about some fifteene dayes since was slaine.And they having heard, by proofe made in the Court of Justice, that one_Aldobrandino Palermini_ (who is kept close prisoner) was the murthererof him, as he came in a disguised habite to his daughter, of whom hewas most affectionately enamoured; cannot chuse, but let the World knowby their outward habites, the inward affliction of their hearts, for adeede so dishonourably committed.

  _Thebaldo_ wondered greatly hereat, imagining, that some man belikeresembling him in shape, might be slaine in this manner, and by_Aldobrandino_, for whose misfortune he grieved marvellously. Asconcerning his Mistresse, he understood that shee was living, andin good health; and night drawing on apace, he went to his lodging,with infinite molestations in his minde, where after supper, he waslodged in a Corne-loft with his man. Now by reason of many disturbingimaginations, which incessantly wheeled about his braine, his bedalso being none of the best, and his supper (perhaps) somewhat of thecoursest; a great part of the night was spent, yet could he not closehis eyes together. But lying still broade awake, about the dead timeof night, he heard the treading of divers persons over his head, whodiscended downe a paire of stayres by his Chamber, into the lowerparts of the house, carrying a light with them, which he discernedby the chinkes and crannies in the wall. Stepping softly out of hisbed, to see what the meaning hereof might be, he espied a faire youngwoman, who carried the light in her hand, and three men in her company,descending downe the stayres together, one of them speaking thus tothe young woman. Now we may boldly warrant our safety, because wehave heard it assuredly, that the death of _Thebaldo Elisei_, hathbeene sufficiently approved by the Brethren, against _AldobrandinoPalermini_, and he hath confessed the fact; whereupon the sentence isalready set downe in writing. But yet it behoveth us notwithstanding,to conceale it very secretly, because if ever hereafter it should beknowne, that we are they who murthered him, we shall be in the samedanger, as now _Aldobrandino_ is.

  When _Thebaldo_ had heard these words, hee began to consider withhimselfe, how many and great the dangers are, wherewith mens minds maydaily be molested. First, he thought on his owne brethren in theirsorrow, and buried a stranger in steed of him, accusing afterward (byfalse opinion, and upon the testimony of as false witnesses) a man mostinnocent, making him ready for the stroke of death. Next, he made astrict observation in his soule, concerning the blinded severity ofLaw, and the Ministers thereto belonging, who pretending a diligentand carefull inquisition for trueth, doe oftentimes (by their torturesand torments) heare lies avouched (onely for ease of paine) in theplace of a true confession, yet thinking themselves (by doing so) to bethe Ministers of God and Justice, whereas indeede they are the Divelseexecutioners of his wickednesse. Lastly, converting his thoughts to_Aldobrandino_, the imagined murtherer of a man yet living, infinitecares beleagured his soule, in devising what might best be done for hisdeliverance.

  So soone as he was risen in the morning, leaving his servant behindehim in his lodging, he went (when he thought it fit time) all alonetoward the house of his Mistresse, where finding by good fortune thegate open, he entred into a small Parlour beneath, and where he sawhis Mistresse sitting on the ground, wringing her hands, and wofullyweeping, which (in meere compassion) moved him to weepe likewise; andgoing somewhat neere her, he saide. Madam, torment your selfe no more,for your peace is n
ot farre off from you. The Gentlewoman hearing himsay so, lifted up her head, and in teares spake thus. Good man, thouseemest to me to be a Pilgrim stranger; what doest thou know, eitherconcerning my peace, or mine affliction? Madam (replied the Pilgrime)I am of _Constantinople_, and (doubtlesse) am conducted hither by thehand of Heaven, to convert your teares into rejoycing, and to deliveryour Father from death. How is this? answered shee: If thou be of_Constantinople_, and art but now arrived here; doest thou know who weare, either I, or my Father?

  The Pilgrime discoursed to her, even from one end to the other, thehistory of her Husbands sad disasters, telling her, how many yeeressince shee was espoused to him, and many other important matters,which wel shee knew, and was greatly amazed thereat, thinking himverily to be a Prophet, and kneeling at his feete, entreated him veryearnestly, that if hee were come to deliver her Father _Aldobrandino_from death, to doe it speedily, because the time was very short. ThePilgrime appearing to be a man of great holinesse, saide. Rise upMadam, refraine from weeping, and observe attentively what I shallsay; yet with this caution, that you never reveale it to any personwhatsoever. This tribulation whereinto you are falne, (as by revelationI am faithfully informed) is for a grievous sinne by you heretoforecommitted, whereof divine mercy is willing to purge you, and to makea perfect amends by a sensible feeling of this affliction; as seekingyour sound and absolute recovery, least you fall into farre greaterdanger then before. Good man (quoth shee) I am burthened with manysinnes, and doe not know for which any amends should be made by me, anyone sooner then another: wherefore if you have intelligence thereof,for charities sake tell it me, and I will doe so much as lieth in me,to make a full satisfaction for it. Madam, answered the Pilgrime;I know well enough what it is, and will demand it no more of you,to winne any further knowledge thereof, then I have already: butbecause in revealing it yourselfe, it may touch you with the more truecompunction of soule; let us goe to the point indeede, and tell me, doeyou remember, that at any time you were married to an Husband, or no?

  At the hearing of these words, shee breathed foorth a very vehementsigh, and was stricken with admiration at this question, beleevingthat not any one had knowledge thereof. Howbeit, since the day of thesupposed _Thebaldoes_ buriall, such a rumour ran abroade, by meanesof some speeches, rashly dispersed by a friend of _Thebaldoes_, who(indeede) knew it; whereupon shee returned him this answere. Itappeareth to me (good man) that divine ordinativation hath revealedunto you all the secrets of men; and therefore I am determined, not toconceale any of mine from you. True it is, that in my younger yeeres,being left a widow, I entirely affected an unfortunate young Gentleman,who (in secret) was my Husband, and whose death is imposed on myFather. The death of him I have the more bemoaned, because (in reason)it did neerely concerne me, by shewing my selfe so savage and rigorousto him before his departure: neverthelesse, let me assure you Sir, thatneither his parting, long absence from me, or his untimely death, neverhad the power to bereave my heart of his remembrance.

  Madame, saide the Pilgrime, the unfortunate young Gentleman that isslaine, did never love you; but sure I am, that _Thebaldo Elisei_ lovedyou dearely. But tell me, what was the occasion whereby you conceivedsuch hatred against him? Did he at any time offend you? No trulie Sir,quoth shee; but the reason of my anger towards him, was by the wordesand threatnings of a religious Father, to whom once I revealed (underconfession) how faithfully I affected him, and what private familiarityhad passed betweene us. When instantly he used such dreadfullthreatnings to me, and which (even yet) doe afflict my soule, that ifI did not abstaine, and utterly refuse him, the Divell would fetch mequicke to Hell, and cast me into the bottome of his quenchlesse andeverlasting fire.

  These menaces were so prevailing with me, as I refused all furtherconversation with _Thebaldo_, in which regard, I would receive neitherletters or messages from him. Howbeit, I am perswaded, that if he hadcontinued here still, and not departed hence in such desperate manneras he did, seeing him melt and consume daily away, even as Snowe bypower of the Sunne-beames: my austere deliberation had beene long agoequite altered, because not at any time (since then) life hath allowedme one merry day, neither did I, or ever can love any man like unto him.

  At these wordes the Pilgrime sighed, and then proceeded on againe thus.Surely Madam, this one onely sin, may justly torment you, because Iknow for a certainty, that _Thebaldo_ never offered you any injury,since the day he first became enamoured of you; and what grace orfavour you affoorded him, was your owne voluntary gift, and (as hetooke it) no more then in modesty might well become you; for he lovingyou first, you had beene most cruell and unkinde, if you should nothave requited him with the like affection. If then he continued sojust and loyall to you, as (of mine owne knowledge) I am able to sayhe did; what should move you to repulse him so rudely? Such mattersought well to be considered on before hand; for if you did imagine,that you should repente it as an action ill done, yet you could not doeit, because as he became yours, so were you likewise onely his; andhe being yours, you might dispose of him at your pleasure, as beingtruely obliged to none but you. How could you then with-draw your selfefrom him, being onely his, and not commit most manifest theft, a farreunfitting thing for you to doe, except you had gone with his consent?

  Now Madam, let me further give you to understand, that I am a religiousperson, and a pilgrime, and therefore am well acquainted with all thecourses of their dealing; if therefore I speake somewhat more amplyof them, and for your good, it cannot be so unseeming for me to doeit, as it would appeare ugly in another. In which respect, I willspeake the more freely to you, to the ende, that you may take betterknowledge of them, then (as it seemeth) hitherto you have done. Informer passed times such as professed Religion, were learned and mostholy persons; but our religious professours now adayes, and such ascovet to be so esteemed; have no matter at all of Religion in them,but onely the outward shew & habite. Which yet is no true badge ofReligion neither, because it was ordained by religious institutions,that their garments should be made of narrow, plaine, and coursest spuncloth, to make a publike manifestation to the world, that (in meeredevotion, and religious disposition) by wrapping their bodies in suchbase clothing, they condemned and despised all temporall occasions. Butnow adayes they make them large, deepe, glistering, and of the finestcloth or stuffes to be gotten, reducing those habites to so proudeand pontificall a forme, that they walke Peacock-like rustling, andstrouting with them in the Churches; yea, and in open publike places,as if they were ordinary secular persons, to have their pride morenotoriously observed. And as the Angler bestoweth his best cunning,with one line and baite to catch many fishes at one strike; even sodo these counterfeited habite-mongers, by their dissembling and craftydealing, beguile many credulous widowes, simple women, yea, and men ofweake capacity, to credit whatsoever they doe or say, and herein theydoe most of all excercise themselves.

  And to the end, that my speeches may not savour of any untruth againstthem; these men which I speake of, have not any habite at all ofreligious men, but onely the colour of their garments, and whereasthey in times past, desired nothing more then the salvation of menssoules; these fresher witted fellowes, covet after women & wealth, andemploy all their paines by their whispering confessions, and figuresof painted feareful examples, to affright and terrifie unsetled andweake consciences, by horrible and blasphemous speeches; yet addinga perswasion withall, that their sinnes may be purged by Almes-deedesand Masses. To the end, that such as credit them in these their daylycourses, being guided more by apparance of devotion, then any truecompunction of heart, to escape severe penances by them enjoyned: maysome of them bring bread, others wine, others coyne, all of them matterof commoditie and benefit, and simply say, these gifts are for thesoules of their good friends deceased.

  I make not any doubt, but Almes-deedes and prayers, are very mighty,and prevailing meanes, to appease heavens anger for some sinnescommitted; but if such as bestow them, did either see or know, to whomthey give them: they would more warily keepe them,
or elsee cast thembefore Swine, in regard they are altogether so unworthy of them. Butcome we now to the case of your ghostly father, crying out in youreare, that secret mariage was a most greevous sinne: Is not the breachthereof farre greater. Familiar conversation betweene man and woman,is a concession meerely naturall: but to rob, kill, or banish anyone,proceedeth from the mindes malignity. That you did rob _Thebaldo_, yourselfe hath already sufficiently witnessed, by taking that from him,which with free consent in mariage you gave him. Next I must say, thatby all the power remaining in you, you kild him, because you wouldnot permit him to remaine with you, declaring your selfe in the veryheight of cruelty, that hee might destroy his life by his owne hands.In which case the Law requireth, that whosoever is the occasion of anill act committed, hee or she is as deepe in the fault, as the partythat did it. Now concerning his banishment, and wandring seaven yearesin exile thorow the world; you cannot denie, but that you were theonely occasion thereof. In all which three severall actions, farre morecapitally have you offended; then by contracting of mariage in suchclandestine manner.

  But let us see, whether _Thebaldo_ deserved all these severallcastigations, or not. In trueth he did not, your selfe have confessed(beside that which I know) that hee loved you more dearely thenhimselfe, and nothing could be more honoured, magnified and exalted,then dayly you were by him, above all other women whatsoever. Whenhee came in any place, where honestly, and without suspition heemight speake to you: all his honour, and all his liberty, lay whollycommitted into your power. Was he not a noble young Gentleman? Washee (among all those parts that most adorne a man, and appertaine tothe very choycest respect) inferiour to any one of best merit in yourCitie? I know that you cannot make deniall to any of these demands.How could you then by the perswasion of a beast, a foole, a villaine,yea, a vagabond, envying both his happinesse and yours, enter into socruell a minde against him? I know not what error misguideth women, inscorning and despising their husbands: but if they entred into a betterconsideration, understanding truly what they are, and what nobility ofnature God hath endued man withall, farre above all other creatures; itwould bee their highest title of glory, when they are are so preciouslyesteemed of them, so dearely affected by them, and so gladly embracedin all their best abilities.

  This is so great a sinne, as the divine Justice (which in an equalballance bringeth all operations to their full effect) did purpose notto leave unpunished; but, as you enforced against all reason, to takeaway _Thebaldo_ from your selfe: even so your Father _Aldobrandino_,without any occasion given by _Thebaldo_, is in perill of his life,and you a partaker of his tribulation. Out of which if you desire tobe delivered, it is very convenient that you promise one thing which Ishall tell you, and may much better be by you performed. Namely, thatif _Thebaldo_ doe at any time returne from his long banishment, youshall restore him to your love, grace, and good acceptation; accountinghim in the selfe same degree of favour and private entertainement, ashe was at the first, before your wicked ghostly father so hellishlyincensed you against him.

  When the Pilgrime had finished his speeches, the Gentlewoman, who hadlistened to them very attentively (because all the alleaged reasonsappeared to be plainely true) became verily perswaded, that all theseafflictions had falne on her and her Father, for the ingratefulloffence by her committed, and therefore thus replied. Worthy man, andthe friend to goodnesse, I know undoubtedly, that the words which youhave spoken are true, and also I understand by your demonstration, whatmanner of people some of those religious persons are, whom heretofore Ihave reputed to be Saints, but find them now to be far otherwise. Andto speake truly, I perceive the fault to be great and grievous, whereinI have offended against _Thebaldo_, and would (if I could) willinglymake amends, even in such manner as you have advised. But how is itpossible to be done? _Thebaldo_ being dead, can be no more recalled tothis life; and therefore, I know not what promise I should make, in amatter which is not to be performed. Whereto, the Pilgrime without anylonger pausing, thus answered.

  Madam, by such revelations as have beene shewne to me, I know for acertainety, that _Thebaldo_ is not dead, but living, in health, andin good estate; if he had the fruition of your grace and favour. Takeheede what you say Sir (quoth the Gentlewoman) for I saw him lieslaine before my doore, his body having received many wounds, whichI folded in mine armes, and washed his face with my brinish teares;whereby (perhaps) the scandall arose, that flew abroade to my disgrace.Beleeve me Madam, (replied the Pilgrime) say what you will, I dareassure you that _Thebaldo_ is living, and if you dare make promise,concerning what hath beene formerly requested, and keepe it inviolably;I make no doubt, but you your selfe shall shortly see him. I promiseit (quoth shee) and binde my selfe thereto by a sacred oath, to keepeit faithfully: for never could any thing happen, to yeeld me the likecontentment, as to see my Father free from danger, and _Thebaldo_living.

  At this instant _Thebaldo_ thought it to be a very apt and convenienttime to disclose himselfe, and to comfort the Lady, with an assuredsignall of hope, for the deliverance of her Father, wherefore hesaide. Lady, to the ende that I may comfort you infallibly, in thisdangerous perill of your Fathers life; I am to make knowne an especiallsecret to you, which you are to keepe carefully (as you tender yourowne life) from ever being revealed to the world. They were then ina place of sufficient privacy, and alone by themselves, because sheereposed great confidence in the Pilgrimes sanctity of life, as thinkinghim none other, then as he seemed to be. _Thebaldo_ tooke out of hisPurse a Ring, which shee gave him, the last night of their conversingtogether, and he had kept with no meane care, and shewing it to her,he saide. Doe you know this Ring Madam? So soone as shee saw it,immediately shee knew it, and answered. Yes Sir, I know the Ring, andconfesse that heretofore I gave it unto _Thebaldo_.

  Hereupon the Pilgrime stood up, and suddenly putting off his poorelinnen Frocke, as also the Hood from his head; using then his_Florentine_ tongue, he saide. Then tell me Madam, doe you not knowme? When shee had advisedly beheld him, and knew him indeede to be_Thebaldo_; she was stricken into a wonderfull astonishment, being asfearefull of him, as shee was of the dead body, which shee saw lying inthe streete. And I dare assure you, that shee durst not goe neere him,to respect him, as _Thebaldo_ so lately come from _Cyprus_: but (interror) fled away from him; as if _Thebaldo_ had beene newly risen outof his grave, and came thither purposely to affright her; wherefore hesaide. Be not afraide Madam, I am your _Thebaldo_, in health, alive,and never as yet died, neither have I received any wounds to kill mee,as you and my bretheren have formerly imagined.

  Some better assurance getting possession of her soule, as knowing himperfectly by his voyce, and looking more stedfastly on his face, whichconstantly avouched him to be _Thebaldo_; the teares trickling amainedowne her faire cheekes, shee ran to embrace him, casting her armesabout his necke, and kissing him a thousand times, saying; _Thebaldo_,my true and faithfull Husband, nothing in the World can be so welcometo me. _Thebaldo_ having most kindly kissed and embraced her, said;Sweete wife, time will not now allow us those ceremonious curtesies,which (indeede) so long a separation doe justly challenge; but I mustabout a more weightie businesse, to have your Father safe and soundlydelivered, which I hope to doe before to morrow at night, when youshall heare tydings to your better contentment. And questionlesse, if Ispeede no worse then my good hope perswadeth me, I will see you againeto night, and acquaint you at better leysure, in such things as Icannot doe now at this present.

  So putting on his Pilgrimes habite againe, kissing her once more, andcomforting her with future good successe, he departed from her, goingto the prison where _Aldobrandino_ lay, whom he found more pensive,as being in hourely expectation of death, then any hope he had to befreed from it. Being brought neerer to him by the prisoners favour,as seeming to be a man, come onely to comfort him; sitting downe byhim, thus he began. _Aldobrandino_, I am a friend of thine, whom Heavenhath sent to doe thee good, in meere pitty and compassion of thineinnocency. And therefore, if thou wilt grant me one small reque
st,which I am earnestly to crave at thy hands; thou shalt heare (withoutany failing) before to morrow at night, the sentence of thy freeabsolution, whereas now thou expectest nothing but death; whereunto_Aldobrandino_ thus answered. Friendly man, seeing thou art so carefullof my safety (although I know thee not, neither doe remember thatever I saw thee till now) thou must needs (as it appeareth no lesse)be some especiall kind friend of mine. And to tell thee the trueth, Inever committed the sinfull deede, for which I am condemned to death.Most true it is, I have other heynous and grievous sinnes, which(undoubtedly) have throwne this heavy judgement upon me, and thereforeI am the more willing to undergoe it. Neverthelesse, let me thus farreassure thee, that I would gladly, not onely promise something, whichmight to the glory of God, if he were pleased in this case to takemercy on me; but also would as willingly performe and accomplish it.Wherefore, demand whatsoever thou pleasest of me, for unfainedly (if Iescape with life) I will truly keepe promise with thee.

  Sir, replied the Pilgrime, I desire nor demand any thing of you, butthat you wold pardon the foure brethren of _Thebaldo_, who have broughtyou to this hard extremity, as thinking you to be guilty of theirbrothers death, and that you would also accept them as your brethrenand friends, upon their craving pardon for what they have done. Sir,answered _Aldobrandino_, no man knoweth how sweete revenge is, norwith what heate it is to be desired, but onely the man who hath beenwronged. Notwithstanding, not to hinder my hope, which onely aymeth atHeaven; I freelie forgive them, and henceforth pardon them for ever;intending moreover, that if mercy give me life, and cleere me from thisbloody imputation, to love and respect them so long as I shall live.This answer was most pleasing to the Pilgrime, and without any furthermultiplication of speeches, he entreated him to be of good comfort, forhe feared not but before the time prefixed, he should heare certainetydings of his deliverance.

  At his departing from him, he went directly to the _Signoria_, andprevailed so farre, that he spake privately with a Knight, who was thenone of the States chiefest Lords, to whom he saide. Sir, a man ought tobestow his best paines and diligence, that the truth of things shouldbe apparantly knowne; especially, such men as hold the place and officeas you doe: to the ende, that those persons which have committed nofoule offence, should not be punished, but onely the guilty and haynoustransgressors. And because it will be no meane honour to you, to laythe blame where it worthily deserveth; I am come hither purposely, toinforme you in a case of most weighty importance. It is not unknowne toyou, with what rigour the State hath proceeded against _AldobrandinoPalermini_, and you thinke verily he is the man that hath slaine_Thebaldo Elisei_, whereupon your law hath condemned him to dye. Idare assure you Sir, that a very unjust course hath beene taken in thiscase, because _Aldobrandino_ is falsly accused, as you your selfe willconfesse before midnight, when they are delivered into your power, thatwere the murderers of the man.

  The honest Knight, who was very sorrowfull for _Aldobrandino_, gladlygave attention to the Pilgrime, and having conferred on many matters,appertaining to the fact committed: the two brethren, who were_Thebaldoes_ Hostes, and their Chamber-mayd, upon good advise given,were apprehended in their first sleepe, without any resistance madein their defence. But when the tortures were sent for, to understandtruely how the case went; they would not endure any paine at all, buteach aside by himselfe, and then altogether, confessed openly, thatthey did the deede, yet not knowing him to bee _Thebaldo Elisei_. Andwhen it was demanded of them, upon what occasion they did so foule anact. They answered, that they were so hatefull against the mans life,because he would luxuriously have abused one of their wives, when theyboth were absent from their owne home.

  When the Pilgrime had heard this their voluntary confession, hee tookehis leave of the Knight, returning secretly to the house of Madame_Hermelina_, and there, because all her people were in their beds, shecarefull awaited his returne, to heare some glad tydings of her father,and to make a further reconciliation betweene her and _Thebaldo_,when, sitting downe by her, hee said. Deare Love, be of good cheare,for (upon my word) to morrow you shall have your father home safe,well, and delivered from all further danger: and to confirme her themore confidently in his words, hee declared at large the whole cariageof the businesse. _Hermelina_ being wondrously joyfull, for two suchsuddaine and succesfull accidents to enjoy her husband alive and inhealth, and also to have her father freed from so great a danger;kissed and embraced him most affectionately, welcomming him lovinglyinto her bed, whereto so long time he had beene a stranger.

  No sooner did bright day appeare, but _Thebaldo_ arose, havingacquainted her with such matters as were to be done, and once moreearnestly desiring her, to conceale (as yet) these occurrences to herselfe. So, in his Pilgrimes habite, he departed from her house, toawaite convenient opportunity, for attending on the businesse belongingto _Aldobrandino_. At the usuall houre appointed, the Lords were allset in the _Signioria_, and had received full information, concerningthe offence imputed to _Aldobrandino_: setting him at liberty bypublique consent, and sentencing the other malefactors with death,who (within a fewe dayes after) were beheaded in the place where themurther was committed. Thus _Aldobrandino_ being released, to hisexceeding comfort, and no small joy of his daughters, kindred andfriends, all knowing perfectly, that this had happened by the Pilgrimesmeanes: they conducted him home to _Aldobrandinoes_ house, where theydesired him to continue so long as himselfe pleased, using him withmost honourable and gracious respect; but especially _Hermelina_, whoknew (better then the rest) on whom shee bestowed her liberall favours,yet concealing all closely to her selfe.

  After two or three dayes were over-past, in these complementallentercoursings of kindnesse, _Thebaldo_ began to consider, that itwas high time for reconciliation, to be solemnely past betweene hisbrethren and _Aldobrandino_. For, they were not a little amazed at hisstrange deliverance, and went likewise continually armed, as standingin feare of _Aldobrandino_ and his friends; which made him the moreearnest, for accomplishment of the promise formerly made unto him._Aldobrandino_ lovingly replied, that he was ready to make good hisword. Whereupon, the Pilgrime provided a goodly Banquet, whereat hepurposed to have present, _Aldobrandino_, his daughter, kindred, andtheir wives. But first, himselfe would goe in person, to invite themin peace to his Banquet, to performe this desired pacification, andconferred with his brethren, using many pregnant and forcible argumentsto them, such as are requisite in the like discordant cases. In theend, his reasons were so wise, and prevailing with them, that theywillingly condiscended, and thought it no disparagement to them, forthe recoverie of _Aldobrandinoes_ kindnesse againe, to crave pardon fortheir great error committed.

  On the morrow following, about the houre of dinner time, the fourebrethren of _Thebaldo_, attired in their mourning garments, with theirwives and friends, came first to the house of _Aldobrandino_, whopurposely attended for them, and having layd downe their weapons onthe ground: in the presence of all such, as _Aldobrandino_ had invitedas his witnesses, they offered themselves to his mercy, and humblyrequired pardon of him, for the matter wherein they had offended him._Aldobrandino_, shedding teares, most lovingly embraced them, and (tobee briefe) pardon whatsoever injuries he had received. After this,the sisters and wives, all clad in mourning, courteously submittedthemselves, and were graciously welcommed by Madame _Hermelina_, asalso divers other Gentlewomen there present with her. Being all seatedat the Tables, which were furnished with such rarities as could bewished for; all things elsee deserved their due commendation, but onelysad silence, occasioned by the fresh remembrance of sorrow, appearingin the habites of _Thebaldoes_ friends and kindred, which the Pilgrimehimselfe plainely perceived, to be the onely disgrace to him and hisfeast. Wherefore, as before hee had resolved, when time served to purgeaway this melancholly; hee arose from the Table, when some (as yet) hadscarce begun to eate, and thus spake.

  Gracious company, there is no defect in this Banquet, or more debarresit of the honour it might elsee have, but onely the presence of_Thebaldo_, who ha
ving beene continually in your company, it seemesyou are not willing to take knowledge of him, and therefore I meane myselfe to shew him. So, uncasing himselfe out of his Pilgrimes clothes,and standing in his Hose and Doublet: to their no little admiration,they all knew him, yet doubted (a good while) whether it were heor no. Which hee perceiving, hee repeated his bretherens and absentkindreds names, and what occurrences had happened betweene them fromtime to time, beside the relation of his owne passed fortunes, incitingteares in the eyes of his brethren, and all elsee there present, everyone hugging and embracing him, yea, many beside, who were no kin atall to him, _Hermelina_ onely excepted, which when _Aldobrandino_ saw,he said unto her. How now _Hermelina_? Why doest thou not welcome home_Thebaldo_, so kindely as all here elsee have done?

  She making a modest courtesie to her Father, and answering so loude asevery one might heare her, said. There is not any in this assembly,that more willingly would give him all expression of a joyfull welcomhome, and thankfull gratitude for such especiall favours received, thenin my heart I could afford to do: but only in regard of those infamousspeeches, noysed out against me, on the day when wee wept for him, whowas supposed to be _Thebaldo_, which slander was to my great discredit.Goe on boldly, replied _Aldobrandino_, doest thou thinke that I regardany such praters? In the procuring of my deliverance, hee hath approvedthem to be manifest liers, albeit I my selfe did never credit them. Goethen I command thee, and let me see thee both kisse and embrace him.She who desired nothing more, shewed her selfe not slothfull in obeyingher Father, to do but her duty to her husband. Wherefore, being risen;as all the rest had done, but yet in farre more effectual manner, shedeclared her unfeigned love to _Thebaldo_. These bountifull favoursof _Aldobrandino_, were joyfully accepted by _Thebaldoes_ brethren,as also every one elsee there present in company; so that all formerrancour and hatred, which had caused heavy variances betweene them, wasnow converted to mutuall kindnesse, and solemne friendship on everyside.

  When the feasting dayes were finished, the garments of sad mourningwere quite layde aside, and those, becomming so generall a joy, puton, to make their hearts and habites suteable. Now, concerning theman slaine, and supposed to be _Thebaldo_, hee was one, that in allparts of body, and truenesse of complexion so neerely resembled him,as _Thebaldoes_ owne brethren could not distinguish the one fromthe other: but hee was of _Lunigiana_, named _Fatinolo_, and not_Thebaldo_, whom the two brethren Inne-keepers maliced, about someidle suspition conceived, and having slaine him, layde his body at thedoore of _Aldobrandino_, where, by the reason of _Thebaldoes_ absence,it was generally reputed to be he, and _Aldobrandino_ charged to doethe deede, by vehement perswasion of the brethren, knowing what lovehad passed betweene him and his daughter _Hermelina_. But happy wasthe Pilgrimes returne, first to heare those words in the Inne, themeanes to bring the murther to light; and then the discreete cariageof the Pilgrime, untill hee plainely approved himselfe, to be truly_Thebaldo_.