You know the Joyner before whose doore the Chest stoode, wherein we did put Ruggiero; there is now a contention betweene him and another man, to whom (it seemeth) the Chest doth belong; in regard whereof, they are readie to quarrell extremly each with other. For the one owning the Chest, and trusting the Joyner to sell it for him, would have him to pay him for the Chest. The Joyner denieth any sale thereof, avouching, that the last night it was stolne from his doore. Which the other man contrarying, maintaineth that he solde the Chest to the two Lombard usurers, as himself is able to affirme, because he found it in the house, when he (being present at the apprehension of Ruggiero) sawe it there in the same house. Heereupon, the Joyner gave him the lye, because he never sold it to any man; but if it were there, they had robd him of it, as hee would make it manifest to their faces. Then falling into calmer speeches they went together to the Lombardes house, even as I returned home. Wherefore Mistresse, as you may easily perceive, Ruggiero was (questionlesse) carried thither in the chest, and so there found; but how he revived againe, I cannot comprehend.
The Mistresse understanding now apparantly, the full effect of the whole businesse, and in what manner it had bene carried, revealed to the maide her husbands speeches, concerning the glasse of sleepie Water, which was the onely engine of all this trouble, clearly acquitting Ruggiero of the robbery, howsoever (in desperate fury, and to make an end of a life so contemptible) he had wrongfully accused himselfe. And notwithstanding this his hard fortune, which hath made him much more infamous then before, in all the dissolute behaviour of his life: yet it coulde not quaile her affection towards him; but being loath he should dye for some other mans offence, and hoping his future reformation; she fell on her knees before her mistresse, and (drowned in her teares) most earnestly entreated her, to advise her with some such happy course, as might bee the safety of poore Ruggieroes life. Mistresse Doctor, affecting her maide dearely, and plainly perceiving, that no disastrous fortune whatsoever, could alter her love to condemned Ruggiero; hoping the best heereafter, as the Maide her selfe did, and willing to save life rather then suffer it to be lost without just cause, she directed her in such discreet manner, as you will better conceyve by the successe.
According as she was instructed by hir Mistris, shee fell at the feete of Master Doctor, desiring him to pardon a great error, whereby shee had over-much offended him. As how? said Master Doctor. In this manner (quoth the Maid) and thus proceeded. You are not ignorant Sir, what a leud liver Ruggiero de Jeroly is, and notwithstanding all his imperfections, how dearely I love him, as hee protesteth the like to me, and thus hath our love continued a yeare, and more. You beeing gone to Malfy, and your absence granting me apt opportunity, for conference with so kinde a friend; I made the bolder, and gave him entrance into your house, yea even into mine owne Chamber, yet free from any abuse, neyther did hee (bad though he be) offer any. Thirsty he was before his coming thether, either by salt meats, or distempered diet, and I being unable to fetch him wine or water, by reason my Mistresse sate in the Hall, seriouslie talking with her Sisters; remembred, that I saw a viall of Water standing in your Chamber Windowe, which hee drinking quite off, I set it emptie in the place againe. I have heard your discontentment for the said Water, and confesse my fault to you therein: but who liveth so justly, without offending at one time or other? And I am heartily sorry for my transgression; yet not so much for the water, as the hard fortune that hath followd thereon; because thereby Ruggiero is in danger to lose his life, and all my hopes are utterly lost. Let me entreat you therefore (gentle Master) first to pardon me, and then to grant me permission, to succour my poore condemned friend, by all the best meanes I can devise.
When the Doctor had heard all her discourse, angry though he were, yet thus he answered with a smile. Much better had it bin, if thy follies punishment had falne on thy selfe, that it might have paide thee with deserved repentance, upon thy Mistresses finding thee sleeping. But go and get his deliverance if thou canst, with this caution, that if ever heereafter he be seene in my house, the peril thereof shall light on thy selfe. Receyving this answer, for her first entrance into the attempt, and as her Mistris had advised her, in all hast shee went to the prison, where shee prevailed so well with the Jaylor, that hee granted her private conference with Ruggiero. She having instructed him what he should say to the Provost, if he had any purpose to escape with life; went thither before him to the Provost, who admitting her into his presence, and knowing that shee was Master Doctors maid, a man especially respected of all the Citie, he was the more willing to heare her message, he imagining that shee was sent by her Master.
Sir (quoth shee) you have apprehended Ruggiero de Jeroly, as a theefe, and judgement of death is (as I heare) pronounced against him: but hee is wrongfully accused, and is clearly innocent of such a heinous detection. So entering into the History, she declared every circumstance, from the originall to the end: relating truly, that being her Lover, shee brought him into her Masters house, where he dranke the compounded sleepy water, and reputed for dead, she laide him in the Chest. Afterward, she rehearsed the speeches betweene the Joyner, and him that laide claime to the Chest, giving him to understand thereby, how Ruggiero was taken in the Lombards house.
The Provost presently gathering, that the truth in this case was easy to be knowne; sent first for Master Doctor Mazzeo, to know, whether hee compounded any such water, or no: which he affirmed to bee true, and upon what occasion he prepared it. Then the Joyner, the owner of the Chest, and the two Lombards, being severally questioned withall: it appeared evidently, that the Lombards did steale the chest in the night season, and carried it home to their owne house. In the end, Ruggiero being brought from the prison, and demanded, where hee was lodged the night before, made answer, that he knew not where. Only he well remembred, that bearing affection to the Chamber-maide of Master Doctor Mazzeo della Montagna, she brought him into a Chamber, where a violl of water stoode in the Window, and he being extreamly thirsty, dranke it off all. But what became of him afterward (till being awake, hee found himselfe enclosed in a Chest, and in the house of the two Lombards) he could not say any thing.
When the Provost had heard all their answers, which he caused them to repeate over divers times, in regard they were very pleasing to him: he cleared Ruggiero from the crime imposed on him, and condemned the Lombards in three hundred Ducates, to bee given to Ruggiero in way of an amends, and to enable his marriage with the Doctors Mayde, whose constancie was much commended, and wrought such a miracle on penitent Ruggiero; that, after his marriage, which was graced with great and honourable pompe, he regained the intimate love of all his kindred, and lived in most Noble condition, even as if he had never beene the disordered man.
If the former Novels had made all the Ladies sad and sighe, this last of Dioneus as much delighted them, as restoring them to their former jocond humour, and banishing Tragicall discourse for ever. The King perceyving that the Sun was neere setting, and his government as neere ending, with many kinde and courteous speeches, excused himselfe to the Ladies, for being the motive of such an argument, as expressed the infelicity of poore Lovers. And having finished his excuse, up he arose, taking the Crowne of Lawrell from off his owne head, the Ladies awaiting on whose head he pleased next to set it, which proved to be the gracious Lady Fiammetta, and thus hee spake. Heere I place this Crowne on her head, that knoweth better then any other, how to comfort this fayre assembly to morrow, for the sorrow which they have this day endured.
Madame Fiammetta, whose lockes of haire were curled, long, and like golden wiers, hanging somewhat downe over her white & delicate shoulders, her visage round, wherein the Damaske Rose and Lilly contended for priority, the eyes in her head, resembling those of the Faulcon messenger, and a dainty mouth; her lippes looking like two little Rubyes with a commendable smile thus she replyed.
Philostratus, gladly I do accept your gift; and to the end that ye may the better remember your selfe, concerning what you have done hitherto: I will and comma
und, that generall preparation bee made against to morrow, for faire and happy fortunes hapning to Lovers, after former cruell and unkinde accidents. Which proposition was very pleasing to them all.
Then calling for the Master of the Housholde, and taking order with him, what was most needfull to be done; shee gave leave unto the whole company (who were all risen) to go recreate themselves until supper time. Some of them walked about the Garden, the beauty whereof banished the least thought of wearinesse. Others walked by the River to the Mill, which was not farre off, and the rest fell to exercises, fitting their own fancies, untill they heard the summons for Supper. Hard by the goodly Fountaine (according to their wonted manner) they supped altogether, and were served to their no mean contentment: but being risen from the Table, they fell to their delight of singing and dancing. While Philomena led the dance, the Queene spake in this manner.
Philostratus, I intend not to varie from those courses heeretofore observed by my predecessors, but even as they have already done, so it is my authority, to command a Song. And because I am well assured, that you are not unfurnished of Songs answerable to the quality of the passed Novels: my desire is, in regard we would not be troubled heereafter, with any more discourses of unfortunate Love, that you shall sing a Song agreeing with your owne disposition. Philostratus made answer, that he was readie to accomplish her command, and without all further ceremony, thus he began.
The Song.
Chorus. My teares do plainly prove, How justly that poore heart hath cause to greeve, Which (under trust) findes Treason in his love.
When first I saw her, that now makes me sigh, Distrust did never enter in my thoughts. So many vertues clearly shin’d in her, That I esteem’d all martyrdome was light Which Love could lay on me. Nor did I greeve, Although I found my liberty was lost. But now mine error I do plainly see: Not without sorrow, thus betray’d to bee. My teares do, &c.
For, being left by basest treachery Of her in whom I most reposed trust: I then could see apparant flatterie In all the fairest shewes that she did make. But when I strove to get forth of the snare, I found myselfe the further plunged in. For I beheld another in my place, And I cast off, with manifest disgrace. My teares do, &c.
Then felt my heart such hels of heavy woes, Not utterable. I curst the day and houre When first I saw her lovely countenance, Enricht with beautie, farre beyond all other, Which set my soule on fire, enflamde each part, Making a martyrdome of my poore hart. My faith and hope being basely thus betrayde; I durst not moove, to speake I was affrayde. My teares do, &c.
Thou canst (thou powerfull God of Love) perceive, My ceasselesse sorrow, voide of any comfort, I make my moane to thee, and do not fable, Desiring, that to end my misery, Death may come speedily, and with his Dart With one fierce stroke, quite passing through my hart: To cut off future fell contending strife, An happy end be made of Love and Life. My teares do, &c.
No other meanes of comfort doth remaine, To ease me of such sharpe afflictions, But only death. Grant then that I may die, To finish greefe and life in one blest houre. For, being bereft of any future joyes, Come, take me quickly from so false a friend. Yet in my death, let thy great power approve, That I died true, and constant in my Love. My teares, &c.
Happy shall I account this sighing Song, If some (beside my selfe) doe learne to sing it, And so consider of my miseries, As may incite them to lament my wrongs. And to be warned by my wretched fate; Least (like my selfe) themselves do sigh too late. Learne Lovers learne, what tis to be unjust, And be betrayed where you repose best trust.
FINIS
The words contained in this Song, did manifestly declare, what torturing afflictions poore Philostratus felt, and more (perhaps) had beene perceived by the lookes of the Lady whom he spake of, being then present in the dance; if the sodaine ensuing darknesse had not hid the crimson blush, which mounted up into her face. But the Song being ended, & divers other beside, lasting till the houre of rest drew on; by command of the Queene, they all repaired to their Chambers.
The End of the Fourth Day.
THE FIFT DAY.
Whereon, all the Discourses do passe under the Governement of the most Noble Lady Fiammetta: Concerning such persons, as have bene successefull in their Love, after many hard and perillous misfortunes.
The Induction.
NOW BEGAN THE Sunne to dart foorth his golden beames, when Madam Fiammetta (incited by the sweete singing Birdes, which since the breake of day, sat merrily chanting on the trees) arose from her bed: as all the other Ladies likewise did, and the three young Gentlemen descending downe into the fields, where they walked in a gentle pace on the greene grasse, until the Sunne were risen a little higher. On many pleasant matters they conferred together, as they walked in severall companies, till at the length the Queene, finding the heate to enlarge it selfe strongly, returned backe to the Castle; where when they were all arrived, shee commanded, that after this mornings walking, their stomackes should bee refreshed with wholsome Wines, as also divers sorts of banquetting stuffe. Afterward, they all repaired into the Garden, not departing thence, untill the houre of dinner was come: at which time, the Master of the houshold, having prepared every thing in decent readinesse, after a solemn song was sung, by order from the Queene, they were seated at the Table.
When they had dined, to their owne liking and contentment, they began (in continuation of their former order) to exercise divers dances, and afterward voyces to their instruments, with many pretty Madrigals and Roundelayes. Uppon the finishing of these delights, the Queene gave them leave to take their rest, when such as were so minded, went to sleep, others solaced themselves in the Garden. But after midday was overpast, they met (according to their wonted manner) and as the Queene had commanded, at the faire Fountaine; where she being placed in her seate royall, and casting her eye upon Pamphilus, shee bad him begin the dayes discourses, of happy successe in love, after disastrous and troublesome accidents; who yeelding thereto with humble reverence, thus began.
Many Novels (gracious Ladies) do offer themselves to my memory, wherewith to beginne so pleasant a day, as it is her Highnesse desire that this should be, among which plenty, I esteeme one above all the rest: because you may comprehend thereby, not onely the fortunate conclusion, wherewith we intend to begin our day; but also, how mighty the forces of Love are, deserving to bee both admired and reverenced. Albeit there are many, who scarsely knowing what they say, do condemne them with infinite grosse imputations: which I purpose to disprove, & (I hope) to your no little pleasing.
Chynon, by falling in love, became wise, and by force of Armes, winning his faire Lady Iphigenia on the Seas, was afterward imprisoned at Rhodes. Being delivered by one named Lysimachus, with him he recovered his Iphigenia againe, and faire Cassandra, even in the middest of their mariage. They fled with them into Candye, where after they had married them, they were called home to their owne dwelling.
The first Novell.
Wherein is approved, that Love (oftentimes) maketh a man both wise and valiant.
ACCORDING TO THE ancient Annales of the Cypriots, there sometime lived in Cyprus, a Noble Gentleman, who was commonly called Aristippus, and exceeded all other of the Countrey in the goods of Fortune. Divers children he had, but (amongst the rest) a Sonne, in whose birth he was more infortunate then any of the rest; and continually greeved, in regard, that having all the compleate perfections of beauty, good forme, and manly parts, surpassing all other youths of his age or stature, yet hee wanted the reall ornament of the soule, reason and judgement; being (indeed) a meere Ideot or Foole, and no better hope to be expected of him. His true name, according as he receyved it by Baptisme, was Galesus, but because neyther by the labourious paines of his Tutors, indulgence, and faire endeavour of his parents, or ingenuity of any other, he could bee brought to civility of life, understanding of Letters, or common carriage of a reasonable creature: by his grosse and deformed kinde of speech, his qualities also savouring rather of brutish breeding, then any way derived from man
ly education; as an epithite of scorne and derision, generally, they gave him the name of Chynon, which in their native Countrey language, and divers other beside, signifieth a very Sot or Foole, and so was he termed by every one.
This lost kinde of life in him, was no meane burthen of greefe unto his Noble Father, and all hope being already spent, of any future happy recovery, he gave command (because he would not alwayes have such a sorrow in his sight) that he should live at a Farme of his owne in a Country Village, among his Peazants and Plough-Swaines. Which was not any way distastefull to Chynon, but well agreed with his owne naturall disposition; for their rurall qualities, and grosse behaviour pleased him beyond the Cities civility. Chynon living thus at his Fathers Countrey Village, exercising nothing else but rurall demeanour, such as then delighted him above all other: it chanced upon a day about the houre of noone, as hee was walking over the fields, with a long Staffe on his necke, which commonly he used to carry; he entred into a small thicket, reputed the goodliest in all those quarters, and by reason it was then the month of May, the Trees had their leaves fairely shot forth.
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 49
