Chapter XV: Part 15

Gentle Princesse; wherefore do you thus hide your selfe from mee? Why do you haunt these retreats and desolate abodes, having power to command over infinite men, that cannot live but by your presence? What hath moved you Madame, to flye from company, to dwel among desert Rockes, and serve as a slave, to such as are no way worthy of your service? Why do you forsake a potent King, whose onely daughter and hope you are; leaving your countrey and royall traine of Ladies, and so farre abasing your selfe, to live in the dejected state of a servant, and to some rusticke clowne or peazant? What reason have you, to despise so many worthy Lords, that dearely love and honour you, but (above them all) your poore slave _Ocharus_, who hath made no spare of his owne life, for the safety of yours, and also for the defence of your honour? Royal maid, I am the same man that delivered you from the villaine, who would have violated your faire chastity; and since then, have not spared any payne or travell in your search: for whose losse, King _Siwalde_ is in extreme anguish, the _Danes_ in mourning habites, and _Ocharus_ even at the doore of death, being no way able to endure your absence.

Are you of the minde, worthy Madame, that I have not hitherto deserved so much as one good looke or glance of your eye, in recompence of so many good & loyall services? If Alas! I am neither ravisher, nor demander of any unjust requests, or elsee incivill in my motions: I may merit one regard of my Mistresse. I require onely so silly a favour, that her eyes may pay me the wages for all which I have hitherto done in her service. What would you do Madam, if I were an importunate solicitor, and requested farre greater matters of you, in just recompence of my labours? I do not desire, that you should embrace me. I am not so bold, as to request a kisse of _Sericthaes_, more then immortall lips. Nor doe I covet, that she should any otherwise entreate mee, then with such severity as beseemeth so great a Princesse. I aske no more, but onely to elevate your chaste eyes, and grace me with one little looke, as being the man, who for his vertue and loyall affection, hath deserved more then that favour, yea, a much greater and excellent recompence. Can you then be so cruell, as to denie me so small a thing, without regarde of the maine debt, wherein you stand engaged to your _Ocharus_?

The Princesse perceiving that it availed nothing to conceale hir selfe, being by him so apparantly discovered; began now to speake (which she had never done before, either to him, or any other of her amorous suters) answering him in this manner. Lord _Ocharus_, it might suffice you, that your importunity made me forsake my Fathers Court, and causeth me to live in this abased condition, which I purpose to prosecute all my life time; or so long (at the least) as you, and such as you are, pursue me so fondly as you have presumed to do. For I am resolved, never to favour you any otherwise, then hitherto I have done; desiring you therefore, that _Serictha_ wanting an Interpreter to tell you her will, you would now receive it from her owne mouth, determining sooner to dye, then alter a jot of her intended purpose.

_Ocharus_ hearing this unwelcome answer, was even upon the point to have slaine himselfe: but yet, not to lose the name of a valiant man, or to be thought of an effeminate or cowardly spirite, that a Woman should force him to an acte, so farre unfitting for a man of his ranke; hee tooke his leave of her, solemnly promising, not to forget her further pursuite, but at all times to obey her so long as he lived, although her commaund was very hard for him to endure. So hee departed thence, not unto the Court, she being not there, that had the power to enjoyne his presence: but home to his owne house, where he was no sooner arrived, but he began to waxe wearie of his former folly; accusing himselfe of great indiscretion, for spending so much time in vaine, and in her service, who utterly despised him, and all his endeavours which he undertooke. He began to accuse her of great ingratitude, laying over-much respect uppon her vertue, to have no feeling at all of his loyall sufferings; but meerely made a mockery of his martyrdome. Heereupon, he concluded to give over all further affection, to languish no longer for her sake, that hated him and all his actions.

While he continued in these melancholly passions, the Princesse, who all this while had persisted in such strict severity, as astonished the courages of her stoutest servants; considering (more deliberately) on the sincere affection of _Ocharus_, and that vertue onely made him the friend to her modesty, and not wanton or lascivious appetite; she felt a willing readinesse in her soule, to gratifie him in some worthy manner, and to recompence some part of his travailes. Which to effect, she resolved to follow him (in some counterfeite habite) even to the place of his own abiding, to try, if easily he could take knowledge of her, whom so lately he saw in the garments of a Shephearddesse. Being thus minded, shee went to her Mistresse whom she served, and who had likewise seen Lord _Ocharus_ (of whom she had perfect knowledge) when hee conferred with the Shephearddesse, and enquiring the cause, why hee resorted in that manner to her; _Serictha_ returned her this answer.

Mistresse, I make no doubt, but you will be somewhat amazed, and (perhaps) can hardly credit when you heare, that she who now serveth you in the poore degree of Shephearddesse, is the onely daughter to _Siwalde_ King of the _Danes_: for whose love, so many great Lords have continually laboured; and that I onely attracted hither _Ocharus_, the Noble Sonne of valiant _Hebonius_, to wander in these solitary deserts, to finde out her that fled from him, and helde him in as high disdaine, as I did all the rest of his fellow rivals. But if my words may not heerein sufficiently assure you, I would advise you, to send where _Ocharus_ dwelleth, & there make further enquiry of him, to the end that you may not imagine me a lyar. If my speeches do otherwise prevaile with you, and you remain assured, that I am she, whom your Noble neighbour so deerely affecteth, albeit I never made any account at all of him: then I do earnestly intreat you, so much to stand my friend, as to provide some convenient means for me, whereby I may passe unknowne to the Castle of _Ocharus_, to revenge my selfe on his civill honesty, & smile at him hereafter, if he prove not so cleerely sighted, as to know her being neere him, whom he vaunteth to love above all women elsee.

The good Countrey-woman hearing these wordes, and perceyving that she had the Princesse in her house, of whose speeches she made not any doubt, in regard of her stout countenance, gravity, and faire demeanour, began to rellish something in her minde, farre differing from matter of common understanding, and therefore roundly replied in this kind of language.

Madam (for servant I may no longer call you) I make no question to the contrary, but that you are derived of high birth; having observed your behaviour, and womanly carriage. And so much the more I remaine assured thereof, having seene such great honour done unto you, by the Noble Lord, and worthy Warriour _Ocharus_: wherefore, it lieth not in my power, to impeach your desseignes, much lesse to talke of your longer service, because you are the Princesse _Serictha_, whom I am to performe all humble dutie unto, as being one of your meanest subjects. And although you were not shee, yet would I not presume any way to offend you, in regarde of the true and vertuous love, which that good Knight _Ocharus_ seemeth to beare you. If my company bee needefull for you, I beseech you to accept it: if not, take whatsoever is mine, which may any way sted you; for, to make you passe unknowne, I can and will provide sufficiently, even to your own contentment, and in such strange manner, as _Ocharus_ (were he never so cleerely sighted) shal be deceived, you being attired in those fashion garments, which heere in these parts are usually worne.

_Serictha_ being wonderously joyfull at her answer, suffred hir to paint, or rather soile her faire face, with the juice of divers hearbes and rootes, and cloathed her in such an habite as those women use to weare that live in the mountaines of _Norway_, upon the sea-coast fronting _Great-Britain_. Being thus disguised, confidently she went, to beguile the eie of her dearest friend, and so to returne backe againe from him, having affoorded him such a secret favour, in requitall of his honourable services; delivering her out of so great a danger, and comming to visite her in so solitarie a life. Nor would she have the womans company any further, then till she came within the sight of _Ocharus_ his Castle; where when she was arrived (he being then absent) the mother unto the Noble Gentleman, gave her courteous welcom; and, notwithstanding her grosse & homely outward appearance, yet she collected by her countenance, that there was a matter of much more worth in her, then to bee a woman of base breeding.

When _Ocharus_ was returned home, he received advertisement by his mother, concerning the arrivall of this stranger, when as sodainely his soule halfe perswaded him, of some kinde courtesie to proceede from his sweet rebell, pretending now some feigned excuse, in recompence of all his travailes, and passed honest offices. Observing all her actions and gestures, her wonted rigour never bending one jot, or gave way to her eye to looke upon any man; he grew the better assured, that she was the daughter to King _Siwalde_. Yet feigning to take no knowledge thereof, he bethought himselfe of a queint policy, whereby to make triall, whether secret kindnesse had conducted this Lady thither, or no, to conclude his torments, and give a final end to his greevous afflictions.

Upon a watch-word given to his Mother, he pretended, and so caused it to be noised through the house, that he was to marry a very honourable Lady; which the constant and chaste maide verily beleeved; and therefore gave the more diligent attendance (as a new-come servant) to see all things in due decency, as no one could expresse herselfe more ready, because she esteemed him above all other men. Yet such was the obstinate opinion she concerned of her owne precisenesse, as she would rather suffer all the flames of love, then expresse the least shew of desire to any man living. Neverthelesse, she was inwardly offended, that any other should have the honour, to make her vaunt of enjoying _Ocharus_; whom (indeed) she coveted, and thought him only worthy in her heart, to be Son in law to the King of _Denmarke_.

Now, as the Mother was very seriously busied in preparing the Castle, for receiving the pretended Bride; shee employed her new Mayde (_Serictha_ I meane) as busily as any of the rest. In the meane while, _Ocharus_ was laid upon a bed, well noting all her carriage and behaviour, shee having a lighted Candle in her hand, without any Candlesticke to hold it in. As all the servants (both men and maids) were running hastily from place to place, to cary such occasions as they were commanded, the candle was consumed so neere to _Sericthaes_ fingers, that it burned hir hand. She, not to faile a jote in her height of mind, and to declare that her corage was invincible; was so farre off from casting away the small snuffe which offended her, that she rather graspt it the more strongly, even to the enflaming of her owne flesh, which gave light to the rest about their businesse. A matter (almost) as marvellous, as the acte of the noble _Romane_, who gave his hand to be burned, in presence of the _Tuscane_ King, that had besiedged _Rome_. Thus this Lady would needs make it apparantly knowne, by this generous acte of hers, that her heart could not be enflamed or conquered, by all the fires of concupiscence, in suffering so stoutly and couragiously, the burning of this materiall fire.

_Ocharus_, who (as we have already saide) observed every thing that _Serictha_ did; perceiving that she spake not one worde, albeit her hand burned in such fierce manner, was much astonished at her sprightly mind. And as he was about to advise her, to hurle away the fire so much offending her; Curiositie (meerely naturall unto Women) made the Ladie lift uppe her eyes, to see (by stealth) whether her friend had noted her invincible constancy, or no. Heereby _Ocharus_ won the honour of his long expected victory; and leaping from off the bed, hee ranne to embrace her, not with any such feare as he had formerly used, in not daring so much as to touch her: but boldly now clasping his armes about her, he said. At this instant Madam, the King your Fathers decree is fully accomplished, for I am the first man that ever you lookt in the face, & you are onely mine, without making any longer resistance. You are the Princely Lady and wife, by me so constantly loved and desired, whom I have followed with such painefull travelse, exposing my life to infinite perils in your service: you have seene and lookt on him, who never craved any thing of you, but onely this favour, whereof you cannot bereave me againe, because the Gods themselves, at such time as I least expected it, have bestowne it on me, as my deserved recompence, and worthy reward.

In the delivery of these words, he kissed and embraced her a thousand times, shee not using any great resistance against him, but onely as somewhat offended with her selfe, either for being so rash in looking on him, or elsee for delaying his due merit so long; or rather, because with her good will shee had falne into the transgression. Shee declared no violent or contending motion, as loath to continue so long in his armes; but rather, evident signes of hearty contentment, yet in very bashfull and modest manner, willing enough to accept his loving kindnesse, yet not wandring from her wonted chaste carriage. He being favourably excused, for the outward expression of his amourous behaviour to her, and certified withall, that since the time of freeing her from the wretch, who sought the violating of her chastity, shee had entirely respected him, (albeit, to shun suspition of lightnesse, and to win more assurance, of what shee credited sufficiently already, shee continued her stiffe opinion against him) yet alwayes this resolution was set downe in her soule, never (with her will) to have any other Husband but _Ocharus_, who (above all other) had best deserved her, by his generosity, vertue, manly courage, and valiancy; whereof he might the better assure himselfe, because (of her owne voluntary disposition) shee followed to find him out, not for any other occasion, but to revenge her selfe (by this honest Office) for all that he had done or undertaken, to winne the grace and love of the King of _Denmarkes_ Daughter, to whom he presented such dutifull service.

_Ocharus_, who would not loose this happinesse, to be made King of all the Northerne Ilands, with more then a thankfull heart, accepted all her gracious excuses. And being desirous to waste no longer time in vaine, lest Fortune should raise some new stratagem against him, to dispossesse him of so faire a felicity; left off his counterfeit intended marriage, and effected this in good earnest, and was wedded to his most esteemed _Serictha_. Not long had these lovers lived in the lawfull and sacred rites of marriage, but King _Siwalde_ was advertised, that his Daughter had given her consent to _Ocharus_, and received him as her noble Husband. The party was not a jot displeasing to him, hee thought him to be a worthy Son in Law, and the condition did sufficiently excuse the match; onely herein lay the error and offence, that the marriage was sollemnized without his knowledge and consent, he being not called thereto, or so much as acquainting him therewith, which made him condemne _Ocharus_ of overbold arrogancy, he being such a great and powerfull King, to be so lightly respected by his Subject, and especially in the marriage of his Daughter.

But _Serictha_, who was now metamorphosed from a maide to a wife, and had lyen a few nights by the side of a Soldiour, was become much more valiant and adventurous then she was before. She took the matter in hand, went to her Father, who welcommed her most lovingly, and so pleasing were her speeches, carried with such wit and womanly discretion, that nothing wanted to approve what she had done. Matters which he had never knowne, or so much as heard of, were now openly revealed, how _Ocharus_ had delivered her from the ravisher, what worthie respect he then used towards her, and what honour he extended to her in the deserts, where she tended her flocke as a Shephearddesse, with manie other honourable actions beside: that the Kings anger became mildely qualified, and so farre he entred into affection, that he would not do any thing thence-forward, without the counsell and advise of his Sonne in Law, whom so highly he esteemed, and liked so respectively of him, and his race; that his Queene dying, hee married with the Sister to _Ocharus_, going hand in band with the gentle and modest Princesse _Serictha_.

This Novell of _Dioneus_, was commended by all the company, and so much the rather, because it was free from all folly and obscennesse. And the Queene perceiving, that as the Tale was ended, so her dignitie must now be expired: she tooke the Crowne of Laurell from off her head, & graciously placed it on the head of _Philostratus_, saying; The worthy Discourse of _Dioneus_, being out of his wonted wanton element, causeth mee (at the resignation of mine Authority) to make choise of him as our next Commander, who is best able to order and enstruct us all; and so I yeeld both my place and honour to _Philostratus_, I hope with the good liking of all our assistants: as plainly appeareth by their instant carriage towards him, with all their heartiest love and sufferages.

Whereupon _Philostratus_, beginning to consider on the charge committed to his care, called the Maister of the houshold, to knowe in what estate all matters were, because where any defect appeared, everie thing might be the sooner remedied, for the better satisfaction of the company, during the time of his authority. Then returning backe to the assembly, thus he began. Lovely Ladies, I would have you to knowe, that since the time of ability in me, to distinguish betweene good and evill, I have alwayes bene subject (perhaps by the meanes of some beautie heere among us) to the proud and imperious dominion of love, with expression of all duty, humility, and most intimate desire to please: yet all hath prooved to no purpose, but still I have bin rejected for some other, whereby my condition hath falne from ill to worse, and so still it is likely, even to the houre of my death. In which respect, it best pleaseth me, that our conferences to morrow, shal extend to no other argument, but only such cases as are most conformable to my calamity, namely of such, whose love hath had unhappy ending, because I await no other issue of mine; nor willingly would I be called by any other name, but onely, the miserable and unfortunate Lover.

Having thus spoken, he arose againe; granting leave to the rest, to recreate themselves till supper time. The Garden was very faire and spacious, affoording large limits for their severall walkes; the Sun being already so low descended, that it could not be offensive to anyone, the Connies, Kids, and young Hindes skipping every where about them, to their no meane pleasure and contentment. _Dioneus_ & _Fiammetta_, sate singing together, of _Messire Guiglielmo_ and the Lady of _Vertue. Philomena_ and _Pamphilus_ playing at the Chesse, all sporting themselves as best they pleased. But the houre of Supper being come, and the Tables covered about the faire fountaine, they sate downe and supt in most loving manner. Then _Philostratus_, not to swerve from the course which had beene observed by the Queenes before him, so soone as the Tables were taken away, gave command, that Madam _Lauretta_ should beginne the dance, and likewise to sing a Song. My gracious Lord (quoth shee) I can skill of no other Songs, but onely a peece of mine owne, which I have already learned by heart, & may well beseeme this faire assembly: if you please to allow of that, I am ready to performe it with all obedience. Lady, replyed the King, you your selfe being so faire and lovely, so needs must be whatsoever commeth from you, therefore let us heare such as you have. Madam _Lauretta_, giving enstruction to the Chorus, prepared, and began in this manner.

_The Song.

No soule so comfortlesse,
Hath more cause to expresse,
Like woe and heavinesse,
As I poore amorous Maide.

He that did forme the Heavens and every Starre,
Made me as best him pleased,
Lovely and gracious, no Element at jarre,
Or elsee in gentle breasts to moove sterne Warre,
But to have strifes appeased
Where Beauties eye should make the deepest scarre.
And yet when all things are confest,
Never was any soule distrest,
Like mine poore amorous Maide.
No soule so comfortlesse, &c.

There was a time, when once I was helde deare,
Blest were those happy dayes:
Numberlesse Love-suites whispred in mine eare,
All of faire hope, but none of desperate feare;
And all sung Beauties praise.
Why should blacke clowdes obscure so bright a cleare?
And why should others swimme in joy,
And no heart drowned in annoy,
Like mine poore amorous Maide?
No soule so comfortlesse, &c.

Well may I curse that sad and dismall day,
When in unkinde exchange;
Another Beauty did my hopes betray,
And stole my dearest Love from me away:
Which I thought very strange,
Considering vowes were past, and what elsee may
Assure a loyall Maidens trust,
Never was Lover so unjust,
Like mine poore amorous Maide.
No soule so comfortlesse, &c.

Come then kinde Death, and finish all my woes,
Thy helpe is now the best.
Come lovely Nymphes, lend hands mine eyes to close,
And let him wander wheresoere he goes,
Vaunting of mine unrest;
Beguiling others by his treacherous showes,
Grave on my Monument,
No true love was worse spent,
Then mine poore amorous Maide.
No soule so comfortlesse, &c._

So did Madam _Lauretta_ finish her Song, which beeing well observed of them all, was understood by some in divers kinds: some alluding it one way, & others according to their own apprehensions, but all consenting, that both it was an excellent Ditty, well devised, and most sweetly sung. Afterward, lighted Torches being brought, because the Stars had already richly spangled all the heavens, and the fit houre of rest approaching: the King commanded them all to their Chambers, where wee meane to leave them untill the next morning.

_The End of the Third Day._

The Fourth Day.

_Wherein all the severall Discourses, are under the Government of Honourable_ Philostratus: _And concerning such persons, whose Loves have had successelesse ending._

The Induction unto the ensuing Novelles.

Most worthy Ladies, I have alwayes heard, as well by the sayings of the judicious, as also by mine owne observation and reading, that the impetuous and violent windes of envy, do sildome blow turbulently; but on the highest Towers and tops of the trees most eminently advanced. Yet (in mine opinion) I have found my selfe much deceived; because, by striving with my very uttermost endeavour, to shunne the outrage of those implacable winds; I have laboured to go, not onely by plaine and even pathes, but likewise through the deepest vallies. As very easily may be seene and observed in the reading of these few small Novelse, which I have written not only in our vulgar _Florentine_ prose, without any ambitious title: but also in a most humble stile, so low and gentle as possibly I could. And although I have bene rudely shaken, yea, almost halfe unrooted, by the extreame agitation of those blustering winds, and torne in peeces by that base back-biter, envy: yet have I not (for all that) discontinued, or broken any part of mine intended enterprize. Wherefore, I can sufficiently witnesse (by mine owne comprehension) the saying so much observed by the wise, to bee most true; That nothing is without envy in this world, but misery onely.

Among variety of opinions, faire Ladies; some, seeing these Novelties, spared not to say; That I have bene over-pleasing to you, and wandered too farre from mine owne respect, imbasing my credit and repute, by delighting my selfe too curiously, for the fitting of your humours, and have extolled your worth too much, with addition of worse speeches then I meane to utter. Others, seeming to expresse more maturity of judgment, have likewise said, That it was very unsuteable for my yeares, to meddle with womens wanton pleasures, or contend to delight you by the verie least of my labours. Many more, making shew of affecting my good fame and esteeme, say; I had done much more wisely, to have kept mee with the Muses at _Parnassus_, then to confound my studies with such effeminate follies. Some other beside, speaking more despightfully then discreetly, saide; I had declared more humanity, in seeking means for mine owne maintenance, and wherewith to support my continuall necessities, then to glut the worlde with gulleries, and feede my hopes with nothing but winde. And others, to calumniate my travailes, would make you beleeve, that such matters as I have spoken of, are meerly disguised by me, and figured in a quite contrary nature, quite from the course as they are related. Whereby you may perceive (vertuous Ladies) how while I labour in your service, I am agitated and molested with these blusterings, and bitten even to the bare bones, by the sharpe and venomous teeth of envy; all which (as heaven best knoweth) I gladly endure, and with good courage.

Now, albeit it belongeth onely to you, to defend me in this desperate extremity; yet, notwithstanding all their utmost malice, I will make no spare of my best abilities, and, without answering them any otherwise then is fitting, will quietly keepe their slanders from mine eares, with some sleight reply, yet not deserving to be dreamt on. For I apparantly perceive, that (having not already attained to the third part of my pains) they are growne to so great a number, and presume very farre uppon my patience: they may encrease, except they be repulsed in the beginning, to such an infinitie before I can reach to the end, as with their verie least paines taking, they will sinke me to the bottomlesse depth, if your sacred forces (which are great indeede) may not serve for me in their resistance. But before I come to answer any one of them, I will relate a Tale in mine owne favour; yet not a whole Tale, because it shall not appeare, that I purpose to mingle mine, among those which are to proceed from a company so commendable. Onely I will report a parcell thereof, to the end, that what remaineth untold, may sufficiently expresse, it is not to be numbred among the rest to come.

By way then of familiar discourse, and speaking to my malicious detractors, I say, that a long while since, there lived in our City, a Citizen who was named _Philippo Balduccio_, a man but of meane condition, yet verie wealthy, well qualified, and expert in many things appertaining unto his calling. He had a wife whom he loved most intirely, as she did him, leading together a sweet and peaceable life, studying on nothing more, then how to please each other mutually. It came to passe, that as all flesh must, the good woman left this wretched life for a better, leaving one onely sonne to her husband, about the age of two yeares. The husband remained so disconsolate for the losse of his kinde Wife, as no man possibly could be more sorrowfull, because he had lost the onely jewell of his joy. And being thus divided from the company which he most esteemed: he determined also to separate himselfe from the world, addicting al his endeavours to the service of God; and applying his yong sonne likewise, to the same holy exercises. Having given away all his goods for Gods sake, he departed to the Mountaine _Asinaio_, where he made him a small Cell, and lived there with his little sonne, onely upon charitable almes, in abstinence and prayer, forbearing to speak of any worldly occasions, or letting the Lad see any vaine sight: but conferred with him continually, on the glories of eternall life, of God and his Saints, and teaching him nothing elsee but devout prayers, leading this kinde of life for many yeares together, not permitting him ever to goe forth of the Cell, or shewing him any other but himselfe.

The good old man used divers times to go to _Florence_, where having received (according to his opportunities) the almes of divers well disposed people, he returned backe againe to his hermitage. It fortuned, that the boy being now about eighteene yeeres olde, and his Father growne very aged; he demanded of him one day, whether hee went? Wherein the old man truly resolved him: whereuppon, the youth thus spake unto him. Father, you are now growne very aged, and hardly can endure such painfull travell: why do you not let me go to _Florence_, that by making me knowne to your well disposed friends, such as are devoutly addicted both to God, and you; I, who am young, and better able to endure travaile then you are, may go thither to supply our necessities, and you take your ease in the mean while? The aged man, perceiving the great growth of his Sonne, and thinking him to be so well instructed in Gods service, as no wordly vanities could easily allure him from it; did not dislike the Lads honest motion, but when he went next to _Florence_, tooke him thither along with him.

When he was there, and had seene the goodly Palaces, Houses, and Churches, with all other sights to be seene in so populous a Cittie: hee began greatly to wonder at them, as one that had never seene them before, at least within the compasse of his remembrance; demanding many things of his Father, both what they were, and how they were named: wherein the old man still resolved him. The answers seemed to content him highly, and caused him to proceede on in further questionings, according still as they found fresh occasions: till at the last, they met with a troope of very beautifull women, going on in seemely manner together, as returning backe from a Wedding. No sooner did the youth behold them, but he demanded of his Father, what things they were; whereto the olde man replyed thus. Sonne, cast downe thy lookes unto the ground, and do not seeme to see them at all, because they are bad things to behold. Bad things Father? answered the Lad: How do you call them? The good olde man, not to quicken any concupiscible appetite in the young boy, or any inclinable desire to ought but goodnesse; would not terme them by their proper name of Women, but tolde him that they were called young Gozlings.

Heere grew a matter of no meane mervaile, that hee who had never seene any women before now; appeared not to respect the faire Churches, Palaces, goodly horses, Golde, Silver, or any thing elsee which he had seene; but, as fixing his affection onely upon this sight, sodainly said to the old man. Good Father, do so much for me, as to let me have one of these Gozlings. Alas Sonne (replyed the Father) holde thy peace I pray thee, and do not desire any such naughty things. Then by way of demand, he thus proceeded, saying. Father, are these naughty things made of themselves? Yes Sonne, answered the old man. I know not Father (quoth the Lad) what you meane by naughtinesse, nor why these goodly things should be so badly termed; but in my judgement, I have not seene any thing so faire and pleasing in mine eye, as these are, who excell those painted Angelse, which heere in the Churches you have shewn me. And therefore Father, if either you love me, or have any care of me, let mee have one of these Gozlings home to our Cell, where we can make means sufficient for her feeding. I will not (said the Father) be so much thine enemy, because neither thou, or I, can rightly skill of their feeding. Perceiving presently, that Nature had farre greater power then his Sonnes capacity and understanding; which made him repent, for fondly bringing his sonne to _Florence_.

Having gone so farre in this fragment of a Tale, I am content to pause heere, and will returne againe to them of whom I spake before; I meane my envious depravers: such as have saide (faire Ladies) that I am double blame-worthy, in seeking to please you, and that you are also over-pleasing to me; which freely I confesse before all the world, that you are singularly pleasing to me, and I have stroven how to please you effectually. I would demand of them (if they seeme so much amazed heereat,) considering, I never knew what belonged to true love kisses, amorous embraces, and their delectable fruition, so often received from your graces; but onely that I have seene, and do yet daily behold, your commendable conditions, admired beauties, noble adornments by nature, and (above all the rest) your womenly and honest conversation. If hee that was nourished, bred, and educated, on a savage solitary Mountain, within the confines of a poore small Cell, having no other company then his Father: If such a one, I say, uppon the very first sight of your sexe, could so constantly confesse, that women were onely worthy of affection, and the object which (above all things elsee) he most desired; why should these contumelious spirits so murmure against me, teare my credite with their teeth, and wound my reputation to the death, because your vertues are pleasing to mee, and I endeavour likewise to please you with my utmost paines? Never had the auspitious heavens allowed me life, but onely to love you; and from my very infancie, mine intentions have alwaies bene that way bent: feeling what vertue flowed from your faire eies, understanding the mellifluous accents of your speech, whereto the enkindled flames of your sighes gave no meane grace. But remembring especially, that nothing could so please an Hermite, as your divine perfections, an unnurtured Lad, without understanding, and little differing from a meere brutish beast: undoubtedly, whosoever loveth not women, and desireth to be affected of them againe; may well be ranked among these women-haters, speaking out of cankred spleene, and utterly ignorant of the sacred power (as also the vertue) of naturall affection, whereof they seeming so carelesse, the like am I of their depraving.

Concerning them that touch me with mine age; Do not they know, that although Leeks have white heads, yet the blades of them are alwaies greene? But referring them to their flouts and taunts, I answer, that I shal never hold it any disparagement to mee, so long as my life endureth, to delight my selfe with those exercises, which _Guido Cavalconti_, and _Dante Alighieri_, already aged, as also _Messer Cino de Pistoia_, older then either of them both, held to be their chiefest honour. And were it not a wandering too farre from our present argument, I would alledge Histories to approove my words, full of very ancient and famous men, who in the ripest maturity of all their time, were carefully studious for the contenting of women, albeit these cock-braines neither know the way how to do it, nor are so wise as to learne it.

Now, for my dwelling at _Parnassus_ with the Muses, I confesse their counsell to be very good: but wee cannot alwayes continue with them, nor they with us. And yet neverthelesse, when any man departeth from them, they delighting themselves, to see such things as may bee thought like them, do not therein deserve to be blamed. Wee finde it recorded, that the Muses were women, and albeit women cannot equall the performance of the Muses; yet in their very prime aspect, they have a lively resemblance with the Muses: so that, if women were pleasing for nothing elsee, yet they ought to be generally pleasing in that respect. Beside all this, women have bin the occasion of my composing a thousand Verses, whereas the Muses never caused me to make so much as one. Verie true it is, that they gave me good assistance, and taught me how I shold compose them, yea, and directed me in writing of these Novelse. And how basely soever they judge of my studies, yet have the Muses never scorned to dwell with me, perhaps for the respective service, and honourable resemblance of those Ladies with themselves, whose vertues I have not spared to commend by them. Wherefore, in the composition of these varieties, I have not strayed so farre from _Parnassus_, nor the Muses; as in their silly conjectures they imagine.

But what shall I say to them, who take so great compassion on my povertie, as they advise me to get something, whereon to make my living? Assuredly, I know not what to say in this case, except by due consideration made with my selfe, how they would answer mee, if necessitie should drive me to crave kindnesse of them; questionles, they would then say: Goe, seeke comfort among thy fables and follies. Yet I would have them know, that poore Poets have alwayes found more among their fables & fictions; then many rich men ever could do, by ransacking all their bags of treasure. Beside, many other might be spoken of, who made their age and times to flourish, meerely by their inventions and fables: whereas on the contrary, a great number of other busier braines, seeking to gaine more then would serve them to live on; have utterly runne uppon their owne ruine, and overthrowne themselves for ever. What should I say more? To such men, as are either so suspitious of their owne charitie, or of my necessity, whensoever it shall happen: I can answere (I thanke my God for it) with the Apostle; I know how to abounde, & how to abate, yea, how to endure both prosperity and want; and therefore, let no man be more carefull of me, then I am of my selfe.

For them that are so inquisitive into my discourses, to have a further construction of them, then agrees with my meaning, or their own good manners, taxing me with writing one thing, but intending another; I could wish, that their wisedom would extend so farre, as but to compare them with their originals, to finde them a jot discordant from my writing; and then I would freely confesse, that they had some reason to reprehend me, and I should endeavour to make them amends. But untill they can touch me with any thing elsee, but words onely; I must let them wander in their owne giddy opinions, and followe the course projected to my selfe, saying of them, as they do of me.

Thus holding them all sufficiently answered for this time, I say (most worthy Ladies) that by heavens assistance and yours, whereto I onely leane: I will proceede on, armed with patience; and turning my backe against these impetuous windes, let them breath till they burst, because I see nothing can happen to harme me, but onely the venting of their malice. For the roughest blastes, do but raise the smallest dust from off the ground, driving it from one place to another; or, carrying it up to the aire, many times it falleth downe againe on mens heads, yea, upon the Crownes of Emperors and Kings, and sometimes on the highest Palaces and tops of Towers; from whence, if it chance to descend again by contrarie blasts, it can light no lower, then whence it came at the first. And therefore, if ever I strove to please you with my uttermost abilities in any thing, surely I must now contend to expresse it more then ever. For, I know right well, that no man can say with reason, except some such as my selfe, who love and honour you, that we do any otherwise then as nature hath commanded us; and to resist her lawes, requires a greater and more powerfull strength then ours: and the contenders against her supreame priviledges, have either laboured meerely in vaine, or elsee incurred their owne bane. Which strength, I freely confesse my selfe not to have, neither covet to be possessed of it in this case: but if I had it, I wold rather lend it to some other, then any way to use it on mine own behalfe. Wherefore, I would advise them that thus checke and controule mee, to give over, and be silent; and if their cold humours cannot learne to love, let them live still in their frostie complexion, delighting themselves in their corrupted appetites: suffering me to enjoy mine owne, for the little while I have to live; and this is all the kindnesse I require of them.

But now it is time (bright beauties) to returne whence we parted, and to follow our former order begun, because it may seeme we have wandered too farre. By this time the Sun had chased the Starre-light from the heavens, and the shadie moisture from the ground, when _Philostratus_ the King being risen, all the company arose likewise. When being come into the goodly Garden, they spent the time in varietie of sports, dining where they had supt the night before. And after that the Sun was at his highest, and they had refreshed their spirits with a little slumbering, they sate downe (according to custome) about the faire Fountaine. And then the King commanded Madam _Fiammetta_, that she should give beginning to the dayes Novelse: when she, without any longer delaying, began in this gracious manner.

Tancrede, _Prince of_ Salerne, _caused the amorous friend of his daughter to be slaine, and sent her his heart in a cup of Gold: which afterward she steeped in an impoysoned water, and then drinking it so dyed._

The first Novell.

_Wherein is declared the power of Love, and their cruelty justly reprehended, who imagine to make the vigour thereof cease, by abusing or killing one of the Lovers._

Our King (most Noble and vertuous Ladies) hath this day given us a subject, very rough and stearne to discourse on, and so much the rather, if we consider, that we are come hither to be merry & pleasant, where sad Tragicall reports are no way suteable, especially, by reviving the teares of others, to bedew our owne cheekes withall. Nor can any such argument be spoken of, without moving compassion both in the reporters, and hearers. But (perhaps) it was his highnesse pleasure, to moderate the delights which we have already had. Or whatsoever elsee hath provoked him thereto, seeing it is not lawfull for mee, to alter or contradict his appointment; I will recount an accident very pittiful, or rather most unfortunate, and well worthy to bee graced with our teares.

_Tancrede_, Prince of _Salerne_ (which City, before the Consulles of _Rome_ held dominion in that part of _Italy_, stoode free, and thence (perchance) tooke the moderne title of a Principality) was a very humane Lord, and of ingenious nature; if, in his elder yeares, he had not soiled his hands in the blood of Lovers, especially one of them, being both neere and deere unto him. So it fortuned, that during the whole life time of this Prince, he had but one onely daughter (albeit it had bene much better, if he had had none at all) whom he so choisely loved and esteemed, as never was any childe more deerely affected of a Father: and so farre extended his over-curious respect of her, as he would sildome admit her to be foorth of his sight; neither would he suffer her to marry, although she had outstept (by divers yeares) the age meete for marriage. Neverthelesse, at length, he matched her with the Sonne to the Duke of _Capua_, who lived no long while with her; but left her in a widdowed estate, and then shee returned home to her father againe.

This Lady, had all the most absolute perfections, both of favour and feature, as could be wished in any woman, yong, queintly disposed, and of admirable understanding, more (perhappes) then was requisite in so weake a bodie. Continuing thus in Court with the King her Father, who loved her beyond all his future hopes; like a Lady of great and glorious magnificence, she lived in all delights & pleasure. She well perceiving, that her Father thus exceeding in his affection to her, had no mind at all of re-marrying her, and holding it most immodest in her, to solicite him with any such suite: concluded in her mindes private consultations, to make choise of some one especiall friend or favourite (if Fortune would prove so furtherous to her) whom she might acquaint secretly, with her sober, honest, and familiar purposes. Her Fathers Court beeing much frequented, with plentifull accesse of brave Gentlemen, and others of inferiour quality, as commonly the Courts of Kings & Princes are, whose carriage and demeanour she very heedfully observed. There was a yong Gentleman among all the rest, a servant to her Father, and named _Guiscardo_, a man not derived from any great descent by bloode, yet much more Noble by vertue and commendable behaviour, then appeared in any of the other, none pleased her opinion, like as he did; so that by often noting his parts and perfections, her affection being but a glowing sparke at the first, grewe like a Bavin to take flame, yet kept so closely as possibly she could; as Ladies are warie enough in their love.

The yong Gentleman, though poore, being neither blocke nor dullard, perceived what he made no outward shew of, and understood himselfe so sufficiently, that holding it no meane happinesse to bee affected by her, he thought it very base and cowardly in him, if he should not expresse the like to her againe. So loving mutually (yet secretly) in this manner, and shee coveting nothing more, then to have private conference with him, yet not daring to trust anyone with so important a matter; at length she devised a new cunning stratageme, to compasse her longing desire, and acquaint him with her private purpose, which proved to bee in this manner. Shee wrote a Letter, concerning what was the next day to be done, for their secret meeting together; and conveying it within the joynt of an hollow Cane, in jesting manner threw it to _Guiscardo_, saying; Let your man make use of this, insted of a paire of bellowes, when he meaneth to make fire in your chamber. _Guiscardo_ taking up the Cane, and considering with himselfe, that neither was it given, or the wordes thus spoken, but doubtlesse on some important occasion: went unto his lodging with the Cane, where viewing it respectively, he found it to be cleft, and opening it with his knife, found there the written Letter enclosed.

After he had reade it, and well considered on the service therein concerned; he was the most joyfull man of the world, and began to contrive his aptest meanes, for meeting with his gracious Mistresse, and according as she had given him direction. In a corner of the Kings Palace, it being seated on a rising hill, a cave had long beene made in the body of the same hill, which received no light into it, but by a small spiracle or vent-loope, made out ingeniously on the hills side. And because it hadde not in long time bene frequented, by the accesse of any body, that vent-light was over-growne with briars and bushes, which almost engirt it round about. No one could descend into this cave or vault, but only by a secret paire of staires, answering to a lower Chamber of the Palace, and very neere to the Princesses lodging, as beeing altogether at her command, by meanes of a strong barred and defensible doore, whereby to mount or descend at her pleasure. And both the cave it selfe, as also the degrees conducting downe into it, were now so quite worne out of memory (in regard it had not bene visited by any one in long time before) as no man remembred that there was any such thing.

But Love, from whose bright discerning eies, nothing can be so closely concealed, but at the length it commeth to light: had made this amorous Lady mindefull thereof, and because she would not bee discovered in her intention, many dayes together, her soule became perplexed; by what meanes that strong doore might best be opened, before shee could compasse to performe it. But after that she had found out the way, and gone downe her selfe alone into the cave; observing the loope-light, & had made it commodious for her purpose, shee gave knowledge thereof to _Guiscardo_, to have him devise an apt course for his descent, acquainting him truly with the height, and how farre it was distant from the ground within. After he had found the souspirall in the hills side, and given it a larger entrance for his safer passage; he provided a Ladder of cords, with steppes sufficient for his descending and ascending, as also a wearing sute made of leather, to keepe his skinne unscratched of the thornes, and to avoide all suspition of his resorting thither. In this manner went he to the saide loope-hole the night following, and having fastened the one end of his corded ladder, to the strong stumpe of a tree being closely by it; by meanes of the saide ladder, he descended downe into the cave, and there attended the comming of his Lady.

She, on the morrow morning, pretending to her waiting woman, that she was scarsly well, and therefore would not be diseased the most part of that day; commanded them to leave her alone in her Chamber, and not to returne untill she called for them, locking the doore her selfe for better security. Then opened she the doore of the cave, and going downe the staires, found there her amorous friend _Guiscardo_, whom she saluting with a chaste and modest kisse; caused him to ascend up the stayres with her into her chamber. This long desired, and now obtained meeting, caused the two deerely affecting Lovers, in kinde discourse of amorous argument (without incivill or rude demeanour) to spend there the most part of that day, to their hearts joy and mutuall contentment. And having concluded on their often meeting there, in this cunning & concealed sort; _Guiscardo_ went downe into the cave againe, the Princesse making the doore fast after him, and then went forth among her Women. So in the night season, _Guiscardo_ ascended uppe againe by his Ladder of cords, and covering the loope-hole with brambles and bushes, returned (unseene of any) to his owne lodging: the cave being afterward guilty of their often meeting there in this manner.

But Fortune, who hath alwayes bin a fatall enemy to lovers stolne felicities, became envious of their thus secret meeting, and overthrew (in an instant) all their poore happinesse, by an accident most spightfull and malicious. The King had used divers dayes before, after dinner time, to resort all alone to his daughters Chamber, there conversing with her in most loving manner. One unhappy day amongst the rest, when the Princesse, being named _Ghismonda_, was sporting in her privat Garden among her Ladies, the King (at his wonted time) went to his daughters Chamber, being neither heard or seene by any. Nor would he have his daughter called from her pleasure, but finding the windowes fast shut, and the Curtaines close drawne about the bed; he sate downe in a chaire behind it, and leaning his head upon the bed; his body being covered with the curtaine, as if he hid himselfe purposely; hee mused on so many matters, untill at last he fell fast asleepe.