I marvelled to hear her thus speak, until the lid being opened, we discovered, not my medal of Alessandro de' Medici, for that Margaret had long ago given to his mother as an inconsiderate trifle; but the likeness of the pretty page, Ottavio, which I had painted at their first acquaintance; and which, in despite all contrariety of womanly coquetry, had remained as ineffaceably imprinted upon her heart.
CHAPTER IV
FLOWER O' THE PEACH
Now for a tale illustrative
That shall delight my passion for romance,
Embodying hints authentic of some theme
. . . . . . .
Or incident that to my knowledge came
When sojourning abroad, the background true;
Like to some faded tapestry retouched
With the seductive broidery-work of fancy.
Anon—altered.
I
LET the trovere ease her conscience at the outset—the tale about to be recorded is over true.
Even as there was more truth than called for in the testimony of that ingenious witness who, being adjured by the judge to speak the truth, replied: "Of a surety, your honor, that will I, the truth, the whole truth, and—a little more."
But the little more which I shall give you is peradventure the truest part of my tale; for, though you will find it not in the chronicles of such historiographers as give their quills solely to statecraft and wars, yet it lies like a pressed flower between the musty leaves of the novellini of Franco Sacchetti and of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, who relate with great particularity the artifice by which the head of the house of the Aldobrandini won his bride.