[ THE THIRTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.]
Giletta a Phisition’s daughter of Narbon, healed the French King of a Fistula, for reward whereof she demaunded Beltramo Counte of Rossiglione to husband. The Counte being maried against his will, for despite fled to Florence and loued another. Giletta his wife, by pollicie founde meanes to lye with her husbande, in place of his louer, and was begotten with childe of two sonnes: which knowen to her husband, he receiued her againe, and afterwards he liued in great honour and felicitie.
In Fraunce there was a gentleman called Isnardo, the Counte of Rossiglione, who because he was sickely and diseased, kepte alwayes in his house a Phisition, named maister Gerardo of Narbona. This Counte had one onely sonne called Beltramo, a very yonge childe, amiable and fayre. With whom there was nourished and brought vppe, many other children of his age: amonges whom one of the doughters of the said Phisition, named Giletta, who feruently fill in loue with Beltramo, more then was meete for a maiden of her age. This Beltramo, when his father was deade, and left vnder the royall custody of the king, was sente to Paris, for whose departure the maiden was very pensife. A litle while after, her father being likewise deade, shee was desirous to go to Paris, onelye to see the yonge Counte, if for that purpose she could get any good occasion. But being diligently loked vnto by her kinsfolke (because she was riche and fatherlesse) she could see no conuenient waye for her intended iourney: and being now mariageable, the loue she bare to the Counte was neuer out of her remembraunce, and refused manye husbandes with whom her kinsfolke woulde haue matched her, without making them priuie to the cause of her refusall. Now it chaunced that she burned more in loue with Beltramo than euer shee did before, because she hearde tell that hee was growen to the state of a goodly yong gentleman. She heard by report, that the French king had a swelling vpon his breast, which by reason of ill cure was growen to be a Fistula, which did put him to marueilous paine and griefe, and that there was no Phisition to be found (although many were proued) that could heale it, but rather did impaire the griefe and made it worse and worse. Wherfore the king, like one in dispaire, would take no more counsell or helpe. Wherof the yong mayden was wonderfull glad, thinckinge to haue by this meanes, not onely a lawfull occasion to go to Paris, but if the disease were such (as she supposed,) easelye to bringe to passe that shee mighte haue the Counte Beltramo to her husbande. Whereuppon with such knowledge as she had learned at her father’s hands before time, shee made a pouder of certaine herbes, which she thought meete for that disease and rode to Paris. And the first thing she went about when she came thither was to see the Counte Beltramo. And then she repayred to the king, praying his grace to vouchsafe to shew her his griefe. The king perceyuing her to be a fayre yonge maiden and a comelie, would not hide it, but opened the same vnto her. So soone as shee saw it shee put him in comforte, that shee was able to heale him, saying: “Sir, if it maye please your grace, I truste in God without anye greate paine vnto your highnesse, within eighte dayes to make you whole of this disease.” The king hearing her say so, began to mocke her, saying: “How is it possible for thee, beinge a yong woman, to do that which the beste renowmed Phisitions in the world can not?” Hee thancked her for her good will and made her a direct aunsweare, that hee was determined no more to followe the counsaile of any Phisition. Whereunto the maiden aunsweared: “Sir, you dispise my knowledge because I am yonge and a woman, but I assure you that I do not minister Phisicke by profession, but by the aide and helpe of God: and with the cunninge of maister Gerardo of Narbona, who was my father, and a Phisition of great fame so longe as he liued.” The king hearing those words, sayd to himselfe: “This woman peraduenture, is sente vnto me of God, and therefore why should I disdaine to proue her cunninge? for so muche as she promiseth to heale me within a litle spac, without any offence or griefe vnto me.” And being determined to proue her, he said: “Damosel, if thou doest not heale me, but make me to breake my determination, what wilt thou shal folow therof.” “Sir,” said the maiden: “Let me be kept in what guard and keeping you list: and if I do not heale you within these eight dayes, let me be burnt: but if I do heale your grace what recompence shall I haue then?” To whom the kinge aunswered: “Because thou art a maiden and vnmaried, if thou heale me according to thy promise, I wil bestow thee vppon some gentleman, that shalbe of right good worship and estimation.” To whom she aunsweared: “Sir, I am very well content that you bestow me in mariage: but I beseech your grace let me haue such a husband as myselfe shall demaund, without presumption to any of your children or other of your bloud.” Which request the king incontinently graunted. The yong maiden began to minister her Phisicke, and in short space before her appointed time, she had throughly cured the king. And when the king perceiued himselfe whole, said vnto her: “Thou hast well deserued a husbande (Giletta) euen such a one as thy selfe shalt chose.” “I haue then my Lord (quoth she) deserued the Countie Beltramo of Rossiglione, whom I haue loued from my youth.” The king was very loth to graunt him vnto her: but for that he had made a promise which he was loth to breake, he caused him to be called forth, and said vnto him: “Sir Countie, knowing full well that you are a gentleman of great honour, oure pleasure is, that you returne home to your owne house to order your estate according to your degree: and that you take with you a Damosell which I haue appointed to be your wife.” To whom the Countie gaue his humble thanks, and demaunded what she was? “It is she (quoth the king) that with her medecines hath healed me.” The Counte knew her wel and had already seen her, although she was faire, yet knowing her not to be of a stocke conuenable to his nobility, skornefully said vnto the king, “Will you then (sir) giue me a Phisition to wife? It is not the pleasure of God that euer I should in that wise bestow my selfe.” To whom the king said: “Wilt thou then, that wee should breake our faith, which wee to recouer health haue giuen to the damosell, who for a reward asked thee to husband?” “Sir (quoth Beltramo) you may take from me all that I haue, and giue my person to whom you please because I am your subiect: but I assure you I shal neuer be contented with that mariage.” “Wel, you shall haue her, (said the king) for the maiden is faire and wise, and loueth you most intirely: thinking verely you shal leade a more ioyful life with her, then with a Lady of a greater house.” The Countie therewithal held his peace, and the kinge made great preparation for the mariage. And when the appointed day was come, the counte in the presence of the king (although it were against his wil) maried the maiden, who loued him better then her owne selfe. Which done, the Counte determining before what he would do, praied licence to retourne to his countrye to consummat the mariage. And when he was on horsebacke hee went not thither but toke his iourney into Tuscane, where vnderstanding that the Florentines and Senois were at warres, he determined to take the Florentines parte, and was willingly receiued and honourablie intertaigned, and was made captaine of a certaine nomber of men, continuing in their seruice a long time. The new maried gentlewoman, scarce contented with his vnkindnes, hopinge by her well doinge to cause him to retourne into his countrye, went to Rossiglione, where she was receiued of all his subiects for their Lady. And perceyuing that through the Countes absence all thinges were spoiled and out of order, shee like a sage Ladye, with greate diligence and care, disposed his thinges in order againe: whereof the subiects reioysed very much, bearing to her their harty loue and affection, greatly blaming the Counte because he coulde not content himselfe with her. This notable gentlewoman hauing restored all the countrie againe to their auncient liberties, sent word to the Counte her husband, by two knights, to signifie vnto him, that if it were for her sake that hee had abandoned his countrie, vppon retourne of aunsweare, she to do him pleasure, would departe from thence. To whom he chorlishly replyed: “Let her do what she liste: for I do purpose to dwell with her, when she shall haue this ring (meaning a ring which he wore) vpon her finger, and a sonne in her armes begotten by mee.” He greatly loued that ring, and kepte it very carefully, and neuer toke it from his finger, for a certaine vertue that he knew it had. The knights hearinge the harde condition of two thinges impossible: and seinge that by them he could not be remoued from his determination, retourned againe to the Lady, tellinge her his aunsweare: who, very sorowfull, after shee had a good while bethoughte her, purposed to finde meanes to attaine the two thinges, that thereby she might recouer her husbande. And hauinge aduised her selfe what to doe, shee assembled the noblest and chiefeste of her Countrie, declaring vnto them in lamentable wyse what shee had alreadye done, to winne the loue of the Counte, shewinge them also what folowed thereof. And in the ende saide vnto theim, that shee was lothe the Counte for her sake should dwell in perpetuall exile: therefore shee determined to spende the reste of her time in Pilgrimages and deuotion, for preseruation of her Soule, prayinge theim to take the charge and gouernemente of the Countrie, and that they would let the Counte vnderstande, that shee had forsaken his house, and was remoued farre from thence: with purpose neuer to returne to Rossiglione againe. Many teares were shed by the people, as she was speaking those wordes, and diuers supplications were made vnto him to alter his opinion, but all in vaine. Wherefore commending them all vnto God, she toke her way with her maide, and one of her kinsemen, in the habite of a pilgrime, well furnished with siluer and precious Jewels: telling no man whither shee wente, and neuer rested till shee came to Florence: where arriuinge by Fortune at a poore widowes house, shee contented her selfe with the state of a poore pilgrime, desirous to heare newes of her Lord, whom by fortune she sawe the next day passing by the house (where she lay) on horsebacke with his company. And althoughe shee knewe him well enoughe, yet shee demaunded of the good wife of the house what hee was: who aunsweared that hee was a straunge gentleman, called the Counte Beltramo of Rossiglione, a curteous knight, and wel beloued in the City, and that he was maruelously in loue with a neighbour of her’s, that was a gentlewoman, verye poore and of small substance, neuerthelesse of right honest life and good report, and by reason of her pouerty was yet vnmaried, and dwelte with her mother, that was a wise and honest Ladye. The Countesse well noting these wordes, and by litle and litle debating euery particular point thereof, comprehending the effecte of those newes, concluded what to do, and when she had well vnderstanded which was the house, and the name of the Ladye, and of her doughter that was beloued of the Counte: vppon a day repaired to the house secretely in the habite of a pilgrime, where finding the mother and doughter in poore estate amonges their familie, after she had saluted them, told the mother that shee had to saye vnto her. The gentlewoman rysing vp, curteously intertayned her, and being entred alone in a chamber, they sate downe and the Countesse began to speake vnto her in this wise. “Madame, me thincke that ye be one vpon whom Fortune doth frowne, so wel as vpon me: but if you please, you may both comfort me and your selfe.” The lady answered, “That there was nothing in the world wherof she was more desirous then of honest comfort.” The Countesse proceeding in her talke, said vnto her. “I haue neede now of your fidelitie and truste, whereuppon if I do staye, and you deceiue mee, you shall both vndoe me and your selfe.” “Tell me then what it is hardlie (said the gentlewoman:) for you shall neuer bee deceiued of mee.” Then the Countesse beganne to recite her whole estate of loue: tellinge her what she was, and what had chaunced to that present daye, in such perfite order as the gentlewoman beleeuinge her, because shee had partly heard report before; began to haue compassion vppon her, and after that the Countesse had rehearsed the whole circumstaunce, she continued her purpose, saying: “Now you haue heard amonges other my troubles, what two things they bee, which behoueth mee to haue, if I doe recouer my husband, which I know none can helpe me to obtaine, but onelye you, if it be true that I heare, which is, that the Counte my husband, is farre in loue with your doughter.” To whom the gentlewoman sayd: “Madame, if the Counte loue my doughter, I knowe not, albeit the likelyhoode is greate: but what am I able to doe, in that which you desire?” “Madame, aunsweared the Countesse, I will tell you: but first I will declare what I meane to doe for you, if my purpose be brought to effecte: I see your faire doughter of good age, readie to marie, but as I vnderstande the cause, why shee is vnmaried, is the lacke of substance to bestowe her. Wherefore I purpose, for recompence of the pleasure, which you shall doe for mee, to giue so much readie money to marie her honourablie, as you shall thincke sufficient.” The Countesse’ offer was very well liked of the Ladie, because she was poore: yet hauing a noble hart, she said vnto her. “Madame, tell me wherein I may do you seruice: and if it be a thinge honest, I will gladlye performe it, and the same being brought to passe, do as it shall please you.” Then said the Countesse: “I thincke it requisite, that by some one whom you truste, you giue knowledge to the Counte my husband, that your doughter is, and shalbe at his commaundement: and to the intent she may be well assured that hee loueth her in deede aboue anye other, she must pray him to sende her a ring that hee weareth vppon his finger, which ring as she knoweth, he loueth very dearely: and when he sendeth the ringe, you shal giue it vnto me, and afterwards sende him woorde, that your doughter is readie to accomplishe his pleasure, and then you shall cause him secretelye to come hither, and place me by him (in steede of your doughter) peraduenture God will giue me the grace, that I may be with child, and so hauing this ring on my finger, and the childe in mine armes begotten by him, I maye recouer him, and by your meanes continue with him, as a wife ought to do with her husbande.” This thinge seemed difficulte vnto the Gentlewoman: fearing that there woulde folowe reproche vnto her doughter. Notwithstandinge, considering what an honest part it were, to be a meane that the good Ladie might recouer her husbande, and that shee mighte doe it for a good purpose, hauinge affiaunce in her honest affection, not onely promised the Countesse to bring this to passe, but in fewe dayes with greate subtiltie, folowing the order wherein she was instructed, she had gotten the ringe, although it was with the Countes ill will, and toke order that the Countesse in steede of her doughter did lye with him. And at the first meeting, so effectuously desired by the Counte: God so disposed the matter that the Countesse was begotten with child, of two goodly sonnes, and her deliuery chaunced at the due time. Whereuppon the gentlewoman, not onelye contented the Countesse at that time with the companye of her husbande, but at manye other times so secretly as it was neuer knowen: the Counte not thinkinge that he had lien with his wife, but with her whom he loued. To whom at his vprising in the morning, he vsed many curteous and amiable woords, and gaue diuers faire and precious Jewels, which the Countesse kept most carefully: and when she perceiued herselfe with child, she determined no more to trouble the gentlewoman, but said vnto her. “Madame, thanckes be to God and you, I haue the thing that I desire, and euen so it is time to recompence your desert, that afterwards I may depart.” The gentlewoman said vnto her, that if she had done anye pleasure agreeable to her minde, she was right glad thereof which she did, not for hope of reward, but because it appertayned to her by well doing so to doe. Whereunto the Countesse said: “Your sayinge pleaseth me well, and for my part, I doe not purpose to giue vnto you the thing you shal demaunde in reward, but for consideration of your well doing, which dutie forceth me to do.” The gentlewoman then constrained with necessity, demaunded of her with great bashfulnesse, an hundred poundes to marie her daughter. The countesse perceiuinge the shamefastnesse of the gentlewoman, and her curteous demaunde, gaue her fiue hundred poundes, and so many faire and costly Jewels, as almost amounted to like valour. For which the gentlewoman more then contented, gaue most harty thankes to the Countesse, who departed from the gentlewoman and retourned to her lodging. The gentlewoman to take occasion from the Counte of anye farther repaire, or sendinge to her house, toke her doughter with her, and went into the country to her frends. The Counte Beltramo, within fewe dayes after, being reuoked home to his owne house by his subiectes, (hearinge that the Countesse was departed from thence) retourned. The Countesse knowinge that her husbande was goone from Florence and retourned home, was verye gladde, continuing in Florence till the time of her childbedde, being brought a bedde of twoo sonnes, whiche were very like vnto their father, and caused them carefully to be noursed and brought vp, and when she sawe time, she toke her iourney (vnknowen to anie) and arriued at Montpellier, and resting her selfe there for certayne dayes, hearing newes of the Counte, and where he was, and that vpon the daye of Al Sainctes, he purposed to make a great feaste, and assembly of Ladies and Knightes, in her pilgrimes weede she repaired thither. And knowing that they were all assembled, at the palace of the Counte, readie to sitte downe at the table, shee passed through the people without chaunge of apparell, with her twoo sonnes in her armes: and when shee was come vp into the hall, euen to the place where the Counte sat, falling downe prostrate at his feete, weeping, saying vnto hym: “My Lorde, I am thy poore infortunate wyfe, who to th’intent thou mightest retourne and dwel in thine owne house, haue bene a great whyle begging aboute the worlde. Therefore I nowe beseche thee, for the honoure of God, that thou wilt obserue the conditions, which the twoo (knightes that I sent vnto thee) did commaunde me to doe: for beholde, here in myne armes, not onely one sonne begotten by thee, but twayne, and likwyse thy Ryng. It is nowe time then (if thou kepe promise) that I should be receiued as thy wyfe.” The Counte hearing this, was greatly astonned, and knewe the Ryng, and the children also, they were so like hym. “But tell me (quod he) howe is this come to passe?” The Countesse to the great admiration of the Counte, and of all those that were in presence, rehersed vnto them in order all that, whiche had bene done, and the whole discourse thereof. For which cause the Counte knowing the thinges she had spoken to be true (and perceiuing her constant minde and good witte, and the twoo faire young boyes to kepe his promise made, and to please his subiectes, and the Ladies that made sute vnto him, to accept her from that tyme foorth as his lawefull wyfe, and to honour her) abiected his obstinate rigour: causing her to rise vp, and imbraced and kissed her, acknowledging her againe for his lawefull wyfe. And after he had apparelled her according to her estate, to the great pleasure and contentation of those that were there, and of al his other frendes not onely that daye, but many others, he kept great chere, and from that time forth, hee loued and honoured her, as his dere spouse and wyfe.
[ THE THIRTY-NINTH NOUELL.]
Tancredi Prince of Salerne, caused his daughter’s louer to be slayne, and sente his harte vnto her in a cup of golde: whiche afterwardes she put into poysoned water, and drinking thereof died.
Tancredi Prince of Salerne, (an vniuersitie in the region of Italie) was a curteous Lorde, and of gentle nature: had he not in his age imbrued his handes with the bloud of his owne doughter. It chaunced that this Prince in al his life time, had but that doughter: but more happie had he ben if she had neuer ben borne. That doughter he loued so well, as a father might loue his childe: and for the tender loue he bare her, he was not able to suffer her to be out of his sight. And could not finde in his harte to marie her, although she had many yeres passed the time that she was mariageable: notwithstanding, in thende he gaue her to wife to one of the sonnes of the Duke of Capua, with whom she continued no long time, but was a widowe, and then retourned vnto her fathers house againe. This Ladie was very faire and comely of bodie and face, as any creature could be, yonge, lustie, and more wise peraduenture then a woman ought to be. And thus dwelling with her louing father, she liued like a noble Ladie, in great pleasure: and seing that her father for the loue he bare vnto her, had no mynde or care to marie her agayne, and also she thinking it skarce honest to require him thereunto, deuised secretly (if it were possible) to retaine some valiaunt man to be her louer. And seyng manye gentlemen and others, frequenting her fathers court (as we commonly see in the courtes of princes) and marking the behauiour and order of many (amonges all) there was a young man, one of her fathers seruauntes that liked her well, whose name was Guiscardo, of very base birth (but in vertue and honest condicions more noble then the reste) and many times when she sawe him, she wonderfully delited in him, alwayes praysing his doinges aboue all others. The younge man, not hauing good consideration of him selfe, perceiuing her feruent affection, so fixed his minde that he disposed the same vpon nothing els but to loue her. One louing an other secretly in this sorte, and the Ladie verie studious to finde occasion that she might talke with him, vnwilling to committe the secrecie of her loue to any man, she imagined a newe deuise to geue him knowledge thereof. And wrote a letter signifying vnto him, what he should doe the next day, and howe he might vse himselfe to come to talke with her: and then putting the letter into the cane of a rede, she gaue it vnto Guiscardo in sporting wise, and said. “Thou shalt this night make a paire of Bellowes for thy seruaunt wherwith she may kindle the fire.” Guiscardo toke it, and thought that shee did not geue it vnto him, without some special purpose went to his chamber, and loking vpon the Cane perceiued it to be hollowe, and openyng it founde the letter within whiche shee had written. And when he had well perused it, vnderstandyng the tenour thereof, hee thought hym selfe the happiest man in the worlde, and began to put hym selfe in readinesse, to mete with his Ladie, by suche wayes and meanes, as shee had to him appointed. There was in the corner of the Princes palace a Caue, long time before made vnder the syde of a hille, whiche Caue receiued light by certayne ventes made of force within the sayd mountaine, and because the same was not frequented and vsed, it was ouergrowen with busshes and thornes. Into which Caue was a discent by a secrete payre of stayers, into one of the lowest chambers of the Palaice, wherin the Ladie lay, which was out of all men’s minde, because it was not occupied many a day before, and shut vp with a very strong doore. But Loue (in the eyes wherof nothing is so secrete, but will come to knoweledge) had brought the same againe into the remembraunce of the amorous Lady. The opening of which doore (that no man might knowe it) many dayes did trouble her wittes: afterwarde when she had founde the waye, she went downe alone into the Caue, and viewing the vente, whereunto she had geuen order for Guiscardo to come, she tolde him of what height it was from the ground: for the execution whereof, Guiscardo prepared a rope with knots and degrees to goe vp and downe, and putting vpon him a leather coate, to kepe him from the thornes and bushes, went downe the next night at the saide vente, vnknowen of any man: and fastening one of the endes of the rope, to the stocke of a tree, that grewe at the mouth of the vente, hee slipte downe into the Caue, and taried there for the Ladie, who the next daye faining her selfe to slepe after dinner, sent her maydes out of her chamber, and locked her selfe within alone: and then opened the doore, and went downe into the Caue, where finding Guiscardo, they marueilously reioysed one with an other. And from thence went vp together into her chamber: where they remained togethers, the moste parte of that day, to their great delight. And hauing geuen good order for the affaires of their loue, and the secrete vse therof, Guiscardo retourned into the Caue, and the Ladie locked the doore, and came out amonges her maides. The next night after, Guiscardo issued out of the vente vpon the rope, wherewith he descended and conueied him selfe into his chamber. And hauing learned the waye, he resorted thither many times after. But Fortune enuious of that pleasure, so long and great, with dolorous successe, tourned the ioye of those twoo louers into heauie and sorowefull ende. The Prince accustomed sometimes to resorte alone into his doughter’s chamber, and there for a whyle to tarie and talke with her, and so to departe. Vpon a daye after dinner, when the Ladie (whose name was Gismonda) was in the garden with all her maidens, he repaired vnknowen or seene of any man into her chamber. But being loth to trouble his doughter of her pleasure, and finding the wyndowes of her chamber shut and the curtens of her bedde drawen, he satte down vpon a stoole at the beddes feete, and leaning his head to the bedde the Curteine drawen ouer him (as he had bene hidden of purpose) he fel a slepe. And the king being thus a slepe, Gismonda that (in euill time) the same day had appointed Guiscardo to come, left her maydens in the Gardeine, and entred very secretly into her chamber, locking fast the doore after her, and not knowing any man to be there, shee opened the doore of the Caue to Guiscardo, who was redie to wayte for her comming. Then they caste them selues vpon the bedde, as they were wonte to doe, solacing the time together, vntill it chaunced that the Prince awaked, heard and sawe what Guiscardo and his doughter did. Whereof being verie sorowfull, he would vpon the first sight haue cried out: but that he thought it better for that time to holde his peace, still to kepe him selfe secrete, to the intent that he might more priuelie, and with lesse shame, accomplishe that which he purposed to do. The twoo louers continued togethers a great time, as they were wont to do, without any knowledge of the Prince his being there, and when they saw time, they went downe from the bedde: and Guiscardo retourning to the Caue, shee went foorthe of her chamber, from whence Tancredi (as olde as he was) conueyed him selfe into the Gardeine out at a wyndowe of the same, vnseen and not perceiued of any. Who like a pensife man, and carefull euen vnto death, repaired to his owne chamber, and the next night, about one of the clocke, he caused Guiscardo to be apprehended, by an order that he had prescribed, at his comming forth of the Caue, euen clothed as he was, with his leather coate: and by twoo men was secretly conueyed to the Prince. Who so sone as he sawe him, sayd vnto him with teares standing in his eies: “Guiscardo, the beneuolence and goodnes towardes thee, haue not merited this outrage and shame, that thou hast committed this daye in mine owne house, which I sawe with mine owne eyes.” To whom Guiscardo gaue no other aunswere, but that Loue was of greater force, then either any Prince or hym selfe. Then the Prince commaunded him to be kept, in a chamber adioyning. The next day the king (Gismonda being ignoraunt hereof) reuolued in his minde, diuers and sundrye matters, and after diner as he was accustomed, he wente into his doughter’s chamber, and caused her to be called vnto him, and shutting the chamber doore, in lamentable speche sayd vnto her. “Gismonda, I had so much affiaunce and truste in thy vertue and honestie, that it coulde neuer haue entred into my mynde (althoughe it had bene tolde me, if I had not sene it with mine owne propre eyes) but that thou haddest not onely in deede, but also in thought, abandoned the companie of all men, except it had bene thy husbande: whereof I shalbe right pensife and sorowefull so longe as this litle remnaunt of life (that mine olde age doth preserue) indureth in mee. And sithe thou couldest not conteyne from suche dishonest loue, I woulde it had pleased God, that thou haddest taken a manne, equall to thyne estate. But amonges so many that do frequente my court, thou hast chosen this young man Guiscardo, whose birthe is very vile and base, and brought vp (as it were for God’s sake) from a childe to this present daye, in our Court. For which consideration I am verie sore disquieted, not knowing how to take this at thy handes: for with him (whom I haue caused to be taken this nighte in going out of the Caue, and nowe kepte as prisoner) I have already concluded what to do. But with thee what I shal do, God knoweth: of the one side, the loue that I still beare thee, more then any father euer bare to his doughter, doth drawe me: on the other side, a iust displeasure and indignation, taken for thy great follie, doth moue me. The one mocion would that I should pardon thee, the other forceth me against my nature, to be cruell vnto thee. Notwithstanding, before I doe make any certaine resolucion, I desire to heare what thou canst saye for thy selfe.” When hee had spoken those woordes, he kissed her face, weping verie bitterly like a childe that had ben beaten. Gismonda hearing her father, and knowing that not only her secret loue was discouered, but also her louer Guiscardo to be in pryson, conceiued an inestimable sorowe, vttering the same many times, with outcries and schreches, according to the maner of women, howe beit, her great courage surpassed her weakenesse, and did sette a bolde face on the matter, with marueilous stoutnesse determining, before she made any sute for her selfe, no longer to liue, seing that her frende Guiscardo was alreadie dead. Wherefore not like a sorowefull woman, or one taken in any faulte, but as a desperate persone, with a drie and stoute countenaunce, not troubled or vexed, she said thus to her father: “I doe not purpose, deare father, to stande in deniall, nor yet by humble sute to make requeste: for the one wyll nothyng auayle mee, and the other is to none effecte. Moreouer I doe not intende by any meanes, to beseche your clemencie and loue towardes mee, to be beneuolente and bontifull, but confessinge the trouthe, I will first with true reasons and argumentes, defende myne honour, and afterwardes prosecute in vertuous wyse, by effectes, the stoutnesse of my courage. True it is, that I haue loued and do loue Guiscardo, and will loue him so long as I liue, which shalbe but a litle time. And if so be that a woman may loue a man after death, I will not cease to loue him. But womanly frailtie and feminine weakenesse hath not so much induced me hereunto, as the litle care you haue had to bestow me in mariage, and the great vertues that daily I haue seene in Guiscardo. You ought deare father to knowe, that your selfe is of fleshe, and of fleshe you haue engendred me your doughter, and not of Stone or Iron. In likewyse you ought, and must remember (although now you be arriued to olde yeares) what yonge folkes bee, and of what great power the lawe of youth is: and although you were (during the force of your youthlie dayes) trayned and exercised in factes of armes, yet nowe you oughte to knowe what great puissaunce resteth in the idle and delicate life, as well in the aged, as amonges yonge people. I am then as you be, begotten of fleshe, and my yeres so few, as yet but yonge, and thereby full of lust and delight. Wherunto the knowledge which I haue had alredy in mariage, forceth me to accomplishe that desire: and to the same be added marueilous forces, against whiche it is impossible for me to resiste, but rather to folowe, whereunto they drawe me. I am become amorous like a yonge woman, and like a woman as I am, and certainly I would haue imploied my whole force that waye, so farre as I could not to committe any shame to you, or to my selfe in that, whereunto my naturall offence hath forced me. To which thing, pitiful loue, and gentle fortune haue founde out, and shewed a waye secret enough, whereby without knowledge of any man, I am come to the effecte of my desires: which thing I will not denie (who so euer tolde you of it, or by what meanes so euer you are come to the knowledge of it) I haue not taken Guiscardo to be my louer by chaunce, as many women haue done, but I haue chosen him by long aduise and deliberation, aboue all others, and haue brought him into me in this wise, inioying with our wise continuance of longe time, the accomplishment of my desire, wherof me thincke (althoughe I haue not offended but by loue) that you doe purpose to prosecute rather the vulgar opinion, then the truth, purposinge in this wise moste bitterly to comptroll me, saying: ‘That you had not had such an occasion of anger, if I had chosen one that had been a gentleman.’ Wherein you do not consider, that the faulte is not mine, but rather to be ascribed to fortune, who ought to be blamed because many times shee exalteth the vnworthie, and treadeth vnder foote those that be most worthie: but nowe let vs leaue of further talke of this matter, and consider the beginninge hereof. First of all you see, that of one masse of fleshe we haue all receiued flesh, and that one Creatour hath created euery lyuing creature, with force and puissaunce equally, and wyth equall vertue: which vertue was the first occasion that made the difference and distinction of vs all that were borne, and be borne equall, and they that obtayned the greatest part of vertue, and did the workes of her, were called noble, the rest continuing vnnoble. And albeit contrary vse afterwards obscured this Law, yet therefore, shee is not remoued ne abandoned from nature, or good maners. In likewise hee that by vertue performeth all his doinges, doth manifestlie shewe himselfe to be noble: and he that doth otherwise terme him, doth commit the faulte, and not he that is so called. Behold all your gentlemen, and examine well their vertue, their conditions and maner of doinges. On the other part, behold the qualities and condicions of Guiscardo: then if you please to giue iudgement wythout affection, you shall say that he is righte noble: and that all your gentlemen be villaines in respecte of him. The vertuous and excellencie of whom, I beleeue cannot be placed in any other wight, as in hym, as well by your owne report as by the choyse of mine owne eyes. Who euer praysed man so, and with such ample commendacions praise worthie, wherein an honest man ought to be praised, as you haue done? and truly not without cause: for, if mine eyes be not deceiued, you neuer gaue hym anye praise but that I haue knowen more in him then your wordes were able to expresse. Notwithstanding, if I haue bin deceiued herein, it was you by whom I haue bin deceiued: wil you then say that I couple myselfe with a man of base condicion? Truly you cannot well say so. But if you will saye, perchaunce with a poore man, I confesse it: and verely it is to your shame, that you haue not vouchsafed to place in highe estate a man so honest, being your owne seruaunt. Neuerthelesse, pouertie doth not depriue anye parte of nobilitie, but riches hath. Manye kinges and greate Princes, haue bin poore in olde time, and manye ploughmen and sheepeheardes in times past, haue bin aduaunced to riche estate. And the last doubt which troubleth you, is, that you be doubtfull what to doe with me: caste boldly out of your minde that doubte, and if you do intend in thextremity of your age to vse that which in your youth you neuer did, I purpose to become cruel also. Use your cruelty against me, for the auoyding whereof I haue not determined to make any supplication to you as giltie of this faulte, if faultes may be rehearsed. Assuring you, that if you do not vnto me, that which you haue done or will doe to Guiscardo, mine owne handes shall doe it. Wherefore goe to, and let fall your teares with women, and if you purpose to be cruell, kill him and let me also drincke of the same Cuppe, if you thincke we haue deserued it.” The king hearing the stout words of his doughter, thoughte not that shee woulde haue done in deede, as her wordes pretended, and as she said she would doe. Wherefore departing from her, and not willing to vse any maner of crueltie towards her, hee thoughte by the destruction and slaughter of Guiscardo, to coole her burning loue. And therefore commaunded two of his seruauntes (that had Guiscardo in keeping) without any noise, to strangle him the next nighte, and afterwardes plucking his harte out of his bodie, to bringe it vnto him: who did as they were commaunded. And the next day the king caused a faire Cuppe of gold to be broughte vnto him, wherein he laid the harte of Guiscardo, which he sent (by one of his trustiest seruauntes) vnto his doughter: and commaunded him, when hee presented the same vnto her to say these wordes: “Thy father hath sent thee this presente, to comforte thy selfe with the thing, which thou doest chiefle loue, as thou haste comforted him of that which he loued most.” Gismonda not amoued from her cruel determination, caused to be brought vnto her (after her father was gone) venemous herbes and rootes, which she distilled together, and made water thereof to drincke sodenly if that came to passe which she doubted. And when the kinges seruaunte was come vnto her, and deliuered his presente, he said as he was commaunded. Gismonda toke the Cuppe with stoute countenaunce, and couering it, so soone as she sawe the harte, and vnderstoode the woordes, shee thoughte verelye that it was the hart of Guiscardo, wherefore beholding the seruaunt, she saide vnto him: “Truly it behoueth that such a hart as this is, shoulde be intombed in no worse graue then in golde, which my father hath most wisely done.” Afterwards lifting the Cuppe to her mouth, she kissed it, saying: “I haue in all thinges, euen vnto this time (being the last ende of my life) alwayes found the tender loue of my father towards mee: but nowe I knowe it to be greater, then euer I did before. And therefore in my behalfe, you shall render vnto him, the last thanckes that euer I shall giue him, for so great a presente.” After those wordes, tourning herselfe towardes the Cuppe, which shee helde faste, beholdinge the hart, shee said thus: “Oh sweete harboroughe of my pleasures, cursed be the crueltye of him that hath caused mee at this time to loke vppon thee with the eyes of my face: it was pleasure ynoughe, to see thee euery hower, amonges people of knowledge and vnderstanding. Thou hast finished thy course, and by that ende, which fortune vouchsafed to giue thee, thou art dispatched, and arriued to the ende wherunto all men haue recourse: thou hast forsaken the miseries and traueyles of this world, and haste had by the enemy himselfe such a sepulture as thy worthinesse deserueth. There needeth nothing els to accomplishe thy funerall, but onely the teares of her whom thou diddest hartelye loue all the dayes of thy lyfe. For hauing wherof, our Lord did put into the head of my vmercifull father to send thee vnto me, and truly I will bestow some teares vppon thee, although I was determined to die, without sheading any teares at all, stoutlie, not fearefull of any thinge. And when I haue powred them out for thee, I will cause my soule, which thou hast heretofore so carefully kepte, to be ioyned wyth thine. For, in what company can I trauell, more contented, or in better safegard in places vnknowen, then with thy soule? Truly I am well assured, that it is yet here within, that hath respecte to the place, aswell of his owne pleasures, as of mine, being assured (as she who is certaine, that yet he looueth me) that he attendeth for myne, of whom he is greatly beloued.” When she had thus sayd, she beganne to let fall (as thoughe there had been a fountaine in her head) so many teares, as it was a myracle to beholde her, oftentimes kissing the deade harte. Her maydens that stoode aboute her, knewe not what hart that was, nor whereunto those woords did tende: but being moued with compassion they all wepte: pitifullie demaundinge (althoughe in vayne) the occasion of her sorowfull plaintes: and comforted her so well as they could. Who after she had powred forth sufficient teares, lifted vppe her heade and when she had wiped her eyes, she sayd: “Oh louing hart, all my dutie is fulfilled towardes thee, hauinge nowe nothinge to doe but onely to yelde foorth my ghoste, to accompany thyne.” And this sayd, she caused the glasse of water, which she had made the daye before, to be brought vnto her: and poured it out into the cuppe where the hart laye, all bained with a multitude of teares: whiche shee putting to her mouthe, without feare, dronke vp all. And that done went into her bedde, with the cuppe in her hand, tossing her bodie as decently as she could vppon the same, holding the harte of her dead frende, so nere as shee coulde, vnto her owne. Her maidens seing this (although they knewe not what water it was, that she dranke) sent worde to the king, who fearing that whiche happened, incontinentlye wente downe into his doughters chamber: where he arriued euen at that instante that she had cast her selfe vpon the bedde, and being come to late to succour her, with sweete woordes he began (seing her in those pangues) to wepe bitterly. To whome his doughter sayde: “Father, kepe in those vndesired teares and bestowe them not vpon me, for I desire them not: who euer sawe man beside you, to bewayle the wilfulnesse of his owne facte. Howe be it, if there do yet reste in you any sparke of that loue, which you haue alwayes borne towardes me: graunt me this last requeste, that although you were not contented that I should liue secretly and couertly with Guiscardo, yet at lest, cause our bodies to bee openly buried togethers, where it pleaseth you to bestowe them.” The anguishe and sorowe would not suffer the Prince to aunsweare one worde for weping. And the Ladie perceiuing her ende approche, cleped and strained the dead hart harde to her stomacke, saying: “Farewell sweete harte in God, for I am going to him.” And therewithall she closed her eyes, and lost her senses, departing out of this dolorous life. In this maner sorowefully ended the loue of Gismonda and Guiscardo, as you haue hearde, whome the prince after he had wepte his fill, and taken to late repentaunce for his crueltie: caused honorablie to be buried, and intombed both in one graue, not without great sorowe of all the people of Salerne.