Chapter XV: Part 15

My Lord, when _Ghinotto_ was yonger then now he is, he studyed Physicke, and he commanded me to tell you, that the very best medicine, he could ever learne, against any disease in the stomacke, was this which he had provided for your Lordship, as an especial preparative, and which he should finde to be very comfortable. The Abbot, who had a better stomacke to eate, then any will or desire to talke: although hee did it somewhat disdainfully, yet hee eate up both the toastes, and roundly dranke off the Glasse of Bastard. Afterward, divers other speeches passed betweene them, the one still advising in Phisicall manner, and the other seeming to care little for it: but moved many questions concerning _Ghinotto_, and earnestly requesting to see him. Such speeches as favoured of the Abbots discontentment, and came from him in passion; were clouded with courteous acceptance, & not the least signe of any mislike: but assuring his Lordship, that _Ghinotto_ intended very shortly to see him, and so they parted for that time.

Nor returned he any more, till the next morning with the like two toastes of bread, and such another Glasse of white Bastard, as he had brought him at the first, continuing the same course for divers dayes after: till the Abbot had eaten (and very hungerly too) a pretty store of dryed Beanes, which _Ghinotto_ purposely, (yet secretly) had hidden in the Chamber. Whereupon he demaunded of him (as seeming to be so enjoyned by his pretended master) in what temper he found his stomacke now? I should finde my stomacke well enough (answered the Lord Abbot) if I could get forth of thy masters fingers, and then have some good food to feed on: for his medicines have made me so soundly stomackt, that I am ready to starve with hunger.

When _Ghinotto_ was gone from him, hee then prepared a very faire Chamber for him, adorning it with the Abbots owne rich hangings, as also his Plate and other moveables, such as were alwayes used for his service. A costly dinner he provided likewise, whereto he invited divers of the Towne, and many of the Abbots chiefest followers: then going to him againe the next morning, he said. My Lord, seeing you doe feele your stomacke so well, it is time you should come forth of the Infirmary. And taking him by the hand, he brought him into the prepared Chamber, where he left him with his owne people, and went to give order for the dinners serving in, that it might be performed in magnificent manner.

The Lord Abbot recreated himselfe a while with his owne people, to whom he recounted, the course of his life since hee saw them; and they likewise told him, how kindly they had bin initeated by _Ghinotto_. But when dinner time was come, the Lord Abbot and all his company, were served with Costly viands and excellent Wines, without _Ghinottoes_ making himselfe knowne to the Abbot: till after he had beene entertained some few dayes in this order: into the great Hall of the Castle, _Ghinotto_ caused all the Abbots goods and furniture to bee brought, and likewise into a spacious Court, whereon the windowes of the said Court gazed, all his mules and horses, with their sumpters, even to the very silliest of them, which being done, _Ghinotto_ went to the Abbot, and demaunded of him, how he felt his stomacke now, and whether it would serve him to venter on horsebacke as yet, or no? The Lord Abbot answered, that he found his stomacke perfectly recovered, his body strong enough to endure travell, and all things well, so hee were delivered from _Ghinotto_.

Hereupon, he brought him into the hall where his furniture was, as also all his people, & commanding a window to be opned, whereat he might behold his horses, he said. My Lord, let me plainely give you to understand, that neither cowardise, or basenesse of minde, induced _Ghinotto di Tacco_ (which is my selfe) to become a lurking robber on the high-wayes, an enemy to the Pope, and so (consequently) to the Romane Court: but onely to save his owne life and honour, knowing himselfe to be a Gentleman cast out of his owne house, and having (beside) infinite enemies. But because you seeme to be a worthy Lord, I will not (although I have cured your stomacks disease) deale with you as I doe to others, whose goods (when they fall into my power) I take such part of as I please: but rather am well contented, that my necessities being considered by your selfe, you spare me out a proportion of the things you have heere, answerable to your owne liking. For all are present here before you, both in this Hall, and in the Court beneath, free from any spoyle, or the least impairing. Wherefore, give a part, or take all, if you please, and then depart hence when you will, or abide heere still, for now you are at your owne free liberty.

The Lord Abbot wondred not a little, that a robber on the high wayes, should have such a bold and liberall spirit, which appeared very pleasing to him; and instantly, his former hatred and spleene against _Ghinotto_, became converted into cordiall love and kindnes, so that (imbracing him in his armes) he said. I protest upon my vow made to Religion, that to win the love of such a man, as I plainely perceive thee to be: I would undergo far greater injuries, then those which I have received at thy hands. Accursed be cruell destiny, that forced thee to so base a kind of life, and did not blesse thee with a fairer fortune. After he had thus spoken, he left there the greater part of all his goods, and returned back againe to Rome, with fewer horses, and a meaner traine.

During these passed accidents, the Pope had received intelligence of the Lord Abbots surprizall, which was not a little displeasing to him: but when he saw him returned, he demaunded, what benefit he received at the Bathes? Whereto the Abbot, merrily smyling, thus replyed. Holy Father, I met with a most skilfull Physitian neerer hand, whose experience is beyond the power of the Bathes, for by him I am very perfectly cured: and so discoursed all at large. The Pope laughing heartely, and the Abbot continuing on still his report, moved with an high and magnificent courage, he demaunded one gracious favour of the Pope: who imagining that he would request a matter of greater moment, then he did, freely offered to grant, whatsoever he desired.

Holy Father, answered the Lord Abbot, all the humble suit which I make to you, is, that you would be pleased to receive into your grace and favor, _Ghinotto di Tacco_ my Physitian, because among all the vertuous men, deserving to have especial account made of them I never met with any equall to him both in honour and honesty. Whatsoever injury he did to me, I impute it as a greater in-fortune, then any way he deserveth to be charged withall. Which wretched condition of his, if you were pleased to alter, and bestow on him some better meanes of maintenance, to live like a worthy man, as he is no lesse: I make no doubt, but (in very short time) hee will appeare as pleasing to your holinesse, as (in my best judgement) I thinke him to be.

The Pope, who was of a magnanimious spirit, and one that highly affected men of vertue, hearing the commendable motion made by the Abbot; returned answere, that he was as willing to grant it, as the other desired it, sending Letters of safe conduct for his comming thither. _Ghinotto_ receiving such assurance from the Court of Rome, came thither immediatly, to the great joy of the Lord Abbot: and the Pope finding him to be a man of valour and worth, upon reconciliation, remitted all former errors, creating him knight, and Lord Prior of the very chiefest Hospitall in Rome. In which Office he lived long time after, as a loyall servant to the Church, and an honest thankefull friend to the Lord Abbot of _Clugny_.

Mithridanes _envying the life and liberality of_ Nathan, _and travelling thither, with a setled resolution to kill him: chaunceth to conferre with_ Nathan _unknowne. And being instructed by him, in what manner he might best performe the bloody deede, according as hee gave direction, hee meeteth with him in a small Thicket or Woode, where knowing him to be the same man, that taught him how to take away his life: Confounded with shame, hee acknowledgeth his horrible intention, and becommeth his loyall friend._

The third Novell.

_Shewing in an excellent and lively demonstration, that any especiall honourable vertue, persevering and dwelling in a truly noble soule, cannot be violenced or confounded, by the most politicke attemptes of malice and envy._

It appeared to the whole assembly, that they had heard a matter of mervaile, for a Lord Abbot to performe any magnificent action: but their admiration ceasing in silence, the King commanded _Philostratus_ to follow next, who forthwith thus began.

Honourable Ladies, the bounty and magnificence of _Alphonso_ King of _Spaine_, was great indeede, and that done by the Lord Abbot of _Clugny_, a thing (perhaps) never heard of in any other. But it will seeme no lesse mervailous to you, when you heare, how one man, in expression of great liberality to another man, that earnestly desired to kill him; should bee secretly disposed to give him his life, which had bin lost, if the other would have taken it, as I purpose to acquaint you withall, in a short Novell.

Most certaine it is, at least, if Faith may bee given to the report of certaine _Genewayes_, and other men resorting to those remote parts, that in the Country of _Cathaya_, there lived somtime a Gentleman, rich beyond comparison, and named _Nathan_. He having his living adjoyning to a great common rode-way, whereby men travayled from the East to the West (as they did the like from the West unto the East, as having no other means of passage) and being of a bountifull and chearfull disposition, which he was willing to make knowen by experience: he summoned together many Master Masons and Carpenters, and there erected (in a short time) one of the greatest, goodliest, and most beautifull houses (in manner of a Princes Pallace) that ever was seene in all those quarters.

With movables and all kinde of furnishment, befitting a house of such outward apparance, hee caused it to be plentifully stored, onely to receive, entertaine, and honor all Gentlemen or other Travailers whatsoever, as had occasion to passe that way, being not unprovided also of such a number of servants, as might continuallie give attendance on all commers and goers. Two and fifty severall gates, standing al way wide open, & over each of them in great golden carracters was written, _Welcome, welcome,_ and gave free admission to all commers whatsoever.

In this honourable order (observed as his estated custom) he persevered so long a while, as not onely the East parts, but also those in the west, were every where acquainted with his fame & renown. Being already well stept into yeares, but yet not wearie (therefore) of his great charge and liberality: it fortuned, that the rumour of his noble Hospitality, came to the eare of another gallant Gentleman, named _Mithridanes_, living in a Countrey not farre off from the other.

This Gentleman, knowing himself no lesse wealthy then _Nathan_, and enviously repining at his vertue and liberality, determined in his mind, to dim and obscure the others bright splendour, by making himselfe farre more famous. And having built a Palace answerable to that of _Nathans_, with like windings of gates, and welcome inscriptions; he beganne to extend immeasurable courtesies, unto all such as were disposed to visite him: so that (in a short while) hee grew very famous in infinite places. It chanced on a day, as _Mithridanes_ sate all alone within the goodly Court of his Pallace: a poore woman entred at one of the gates, craving an almes of him, which she had; and returned in againe at a second gate, comming also to him, and had a second almes; continuing so still a dozen times; but at the thirteenth returning, _Mithridanes_ saide to her: Good Woman, you goe and come very often, and still you are served with almes. When the old Woman heard these words, she said. O the liberality of _Nathan_! How honourable and wonderfull is that? I have past through two and thirty gates of his Palace, even such as are here, and at every one I receyved an almes, without any knowledgement taken of me, either by him, or any of his followers: and heere I have past but through thirteene gates, and am there both acknowledged and taken. Fare well to this house, for I never meane to visit it any more; with which words shee departed thence, and never after came thither againe.

When _Mithridanes_ had a while pondered on her speeches, hee waxed much discontented, as taking the words of the olde woman, to extoll the renowne of _Nathan_, and darken or ecclipse his glorie, whereupon he said to himselfe. Wretched man as I am, when shall I attaine to the height of liberality, and performe such wonders, as _Nathan_ doth? In seeking to surmount him, I cannot come neere him in the very meanest. Undoubtedly, I spend all my endeavour but in vaine, except I rid the world of him, which (seeing his age will not make an end of him) I must needs do with my own hands. In which furious and bloody determination (without revealing his intent to any one) he mounted on horse-backe, with few attendants in his company, and after three dayes journey, arrived where _Nathan_ dwelt. He gave order to his men, to make no shew of beeing his servants, or any way to acknowledge him: but to provide them selves of convenient lodgings, untill they heard other tydings from him.

About Evening, and (in this manner) alone by himselfe, neere to the Palace of _Nathan_, he met him solitarily walking, not in pompous apparrell, whereby to bee distinguished from a meaner man: and, because he knew him not, neyther had heard any relation of his description, he demanded of him, if he knew where _Nathan_ then was? _Nathan_, with a chearfull countenance, thus replyed. Faire Syr, there is no man in these parts, that knoweth better how to shew you _Nathan_ then I do; and therefore, if you be so pleased, I will bring you to him. _Mithridanes_ said, therein he should do him a great kindnesse: albeit (if it were possible) he would bee neyther knowne nor seene of _Nathan_. And that (quoth he) can I also do sufficiently for you, seeing it is your will to have it so, if you will goe along with me.

Dismounting from his horse, he walked on with _Nathan_, diversly discoursing, untill they came to the Pallace, where one of the servants taking _Mithridanes_ his horse, _Nathan_ rounded the fellow in the eare, that he should give warning to all throughout the House, for revealing to the Gentleman, that he was _Nathan_; as accordingly it was performed. No sooner were they within the Pallace, but he conducted _Mithridanes_ into a goodly chamber, where none (as yet) had seene him, but such as were appointed to attend on him reverently; yea, and he did himselfe greatly honor him, as being loth to leave his company.

While thus _Mithridanes_ conversed with him, he desired to know (albeit he respected him much for his yeares) what he was. Introth Sir, answered _Nathan_, I am one of the meanest servants to _Nathan_, and from my child-hood, have made my selfe thus olde in his service: yet never hath he bestowed any other advancement on mee, then as you now see; in which respect, howsoever other men may commend him, yet I have no reason at all to do it. These Words, gave some hope to _Mithridanes_, that with a little more counsell, he might securely put in execution his wicked determination. _Nathan_ likewise demaunded of him (but in very humble manner) of whence, and what he was, as also the businesse inviting him thither: offering him his utmost aide and counsell, in what soever consisted in his power.

_Mithridanes_ sat an indifferent while meditating with his thoughts before he would returne any answer: but at the last, concluding to repose confidence in him (in regard of his pretended discontentment) with many circumstantiall perswasions, first for fidelity, next for constancie, and lastly for counsell and assistance, he declared to him truly what he was, the cause of his comming thither, and the reason urging him thereto. _Nathan_ hearing these words, and the detestable deliberation of _Mithridanes_, became quite changed in himself: yet wisely making no outward appearance thereof, with a bold courage and setled countenance, thus he replyed.

_Mithridanes_, thy Father was a Noble Gentleman, and (in vertuous qualities) inferiour to none, from whom (as now I see) thou desirest not to degenerate, having undertaken so bold & high an enterprise, I meane, in being liberall and bountifull to all men. I do greatly commend the envy which thou bearest to the vertue of _Nathan_: because if there were many more such men, the world that is now wretched and miserable, would become good and conformable. As for the determination which thou hast disclosed to mee, I have sealed it up secretly in my soule: wherein I can better give thee counsell, then any especiall helpe or furtherance: and the course which I would have thee to observe, followeth thus in few words.

This window, which we now looke forth at, sheweth thee a small wood or thicket of trees, being little more then the quarter of a miles distance hence; whereto _Nathan_ usually walketh every morning, and there continueth time long enough: there maist thou very easily meet him, and do whatsoever thou intended to him. If thou kilst him, because thou maist with safety returne home unto thine owne abiding, take not the same way which guided thee thither, but another, lying on the left hand, & directing speedily out of the wood, as being not so much haunted as the other, but rather free from all resort, and surest for visiting thine owne countrey, after such a dismall deed is done.

When _Mithridanes_ had receyved this instruction, and _Nathan_ was departed from him, hee secretly gave intelligence to his men, (who likewise were lodged, as welcome strangers, in the same house) at what place they should stay for him the next morning. Night being passed over, and _Nathan_ risen, his heart altred not a jot from his counsell given to _Mithridanes_, much lesse changed from anie part thereof: but all alone by himselfe, walked on to the wood, the place appointed for his death. _Mithridanes_ also being risen, taking his Bow & Sword (for other weapons had he none) mounted on hors-backe, and so came to the wood, where (somewhat farre off) hee espyed _Nathan_ walking, and no creature with him. Dismounting from his horse, he had resolved (before he would kill him) not onely to see, but also to heare him speake: so stepping roughly to him, and taking hold of the bonnet on his head, his face being then turned from him, he sayde. Old man, thou must dye. Whereunto _Nathan_ made no other answer, but thus: Why then (belike) I have deserved it.

When _Mithridanes_ heard him speake, and looked advisedly on his face, he knew him immediatly to be the same man, that had entertained him so lovingly, conversed with him so familiarly, and counselled him so faithfully: all which overcomming his former fury, his harsh nature became meerly confounded with shame: So throwing downe his drawne sword, which he held readily prepared for the deede: he prostrated himselfe at _Nathans_ feet, and in teares, spake in this manner. Now do I manifestly know (most loving Father) your admired bounty and liberalitie; considering, with what industrious providence, you made the meanes for your comming hither, prodigally to bestow your life on me, which I have no right unto, although you were so willing to part with it. But those high and supreame powers, more carefull of my dutie, then I my selfe: even at the very instant, and when it was most needfull, opened the eyes of my better understanding, which infernall envy had closed up before. And therefore, looke how much you have bin forward to pleasure me; so much the more shame and punishment, I confesse my heinous transgression hath justly deserved: take therefore on me (if you please) such revenge, as you thinke (in justice) answerable to my sin.

_Nathan_ lovingly raised _Mithridanes_ from the ground, then kissing his cheeke, and tenderly embracing him, he said. Sonne, thou needed not to aske, much lesse to obtaine pardon, for any enterprise of thine, which thou canst not yet terme to be good or bad: because thou soughtest not to bereave me of my life, for any hatred thou barest me, but onely in coveting to be reputed the Woorthier man. Take then this assurance of me, and beleeve it constantly, that there is no man living, whom I love and honour, as I do thee: considering the greatnesse of thy minde, which consisteth not in the heaping up of money, as wretched and miserable Worldlings make it their onely felicity; but, contending in bounty to spend what is thine, didst hold it for no shame to kill me, thereby to make thy selfe so much the more worthily famous.

Nor is it any matter to be wondred at, in regard that Emperors, and the greatest Kings, hadde never made such extendure of their Dominions, and consequently of their renowne, by any other Art, then killing; yet not one man onely, as thou wouldst have done: but infinite numbers, burning whole Countries, and making desolate huge Townes and Cities, onely to enlarge their dominion, and further spreading of their fame. Wherefore, if for the increasing of thine owne renowne, thou wast desirous of my death: it is no matter of novelty, and therefore deserving the lesse mervaile, seeing men are slaine daily, and all for one purpose or other.

_Mithridanes_, excusing no further his malevolent deliberation, but rather commending the honest defence, which _Nathan_ made on his behalfe; proceeded so farre in after discoursing, as to tel him plainely, that it did wondrously amaze him, how he durst come to the fatall appointed place, himselfe having so exactly plotted and contrived his owne death: whereunto _Nathan_ returned this aunswere.

I would not have thee _Mithridanes_, to wonder at my counsell or determination; because, since age hath made mee Maister of mine owne will, and I resolved to doe that, wherein thou hast begun to follow me: never came any man to mee, whom I did not content (if I could) in any thing he demanded of mee. It was thy fortune to come for my life, which when I saw thee so desirous to have it, I resolved immediately to bestow it on thee: and so much the rather, because thou shouldst not be the onely man, that ever departed hence, without enjoying whatsoever hee demanded. And, to the end thou mightst the more assuredly have it, I gave thee that advice, least by not enjoying mine, thou shouldest chance to loose thine owne. I have had the use of it full fourescore yeares, with the consummation of all my delights and pleasures: and well I know, that according to the course of Nature (as it fares with other men, and generally all things else) it cannot bee long before it must leave mee.

Wherefore, I hold it much better for me to give it away freely, as I have alwayes done my goods and treasure; then bee curious in keeping it, and suffer it to be taken from me (whether I will or no) by Nature. A small gift it is, if time make me up the full summe of an hundred yeares: how miserable is it then, to stand beholding but for foure or five, and all of them vexation too? Take it then I intreate thee, if thou wilt have it; for I never met with any man before (but thy selfe) that did desire it, nor (perhaps) shall finde any other to request it: for the longer I keepe it, the worse it will be esteemed: and before it grow contemptible, take it I pray thee.

_Mithridanes_, being exceedingly confounded with shame, bashfully sayde: Fortune fore-fend, that I should take away a thing so precious as your life is, or once to have so vile a thought of it as lately I had; but rather then I would diminish one day thereof, I could wish, that my time might more amply enlarge it. Forthwith aunswered _Nathan_, saying. Wouldst thou (if thou couldst) shorten thine owne dayes, onely to lengthen mine? Why then thou wouldest have me to do that to thee, which (as yet) I never did unto any man, namely, robbe thee, to enrich my selfe. I will enstruct thee in a much better course, if thou wilt be advised by mee. Lusty and young, as now thou art, thou shalt dwell heere in my house, and be called by the name of _Nathan_. Aged, and spent with yeares, as thou seest I am, I will goe live in thy house, and bee called by the name of _Mithridanes_. So, both the name and place shall illustrate thy Glorie, and I live contentedly, without the very least thought of envie.

Deare Father, answered _Mithridanes_, if I knew so well howe to direct mine owne actions, as you doe, and alwayes have done, I would gladly accept your most liberall offer: but because I plainlie perceive, that my very best endeavours, must remayne darkened by the bright renowne of _Nathan_: I will never seeke to impayre that in another, which I cannot (by any means) increase in my selfe, but (as you have worthily taught me) live contented with my owne condition.

After these, and many more like loving speeches had passed between them, according as _Nathan_ very instantly requested, _Mithridanes_ returned back with him to the Pallace, where many dayes he highly honored & respected him, comforting & counselling him, to persever alwayes in his honourable determination. But in the end, when _Mithridanes_ could abide there no longer, because necessary occasions called him home: he departed thence with his men, having found by good experience, that hee could never goe beyond _Nathan_ in liberality.

Signior Gentile de Carisendi, _being come from_ Modena, _took a Gentlewoman, named Madam_ Catharina, _forth of a grave, wherein she was buried for dead: which act he did, in regard of his former honest affection to the said Gentlewoman. Madame_ Catharina _remaining afterward, and delivered of a goodly Sonne: was (by_ Signior _there_ Gentile) _delivered to her owne Husband, named_ Signior Nicoluccio Caccianimico, _and the yong infant with her._

The Fourth Novell.

_Wherein is shewne, That true love hath alwayes bin, and so still is, the occasion of many great and worthy courtesies._

By judgment of all the honorable assembly, it was reputed wonderfull, that a man should be so bountifull, as to give away his owne life, and to his hatefull enemy. In which respect, it passed with generall affirmation, that _Nathan_ (in the vertue of liberallity) had exceeded _Alphonso_, King of _Spaine_, but (especially) the Abbot of _Clugny_. So, after every one had delivered their opinion, the King, turning himselfe to Madame _Lauretta_, gave her such a signe, as well instructed her understanding, that she should be the next in order, whereto she gladly yeelding, began in this manner.

Youthfull Ladies, the discourses already past, have been so worthy and magnificent, yea, reaching to such a height of glorious splendour; as (me thinkes) there remaineth no more matter, for us that are yet to speake, whereby to enlarge so famous an Argument, and in such manner as it ought to be: except we lay hold on the actions of love, wherein is never any want of subject, it is so faire and spacious a field to walke in. Wherefore, as well in behalfe of the one, as advancement of the other, whereto our instant age is most of all inclined: I purpose to acquaint you with a generous and magnificent act, of an amourous Gentleman, which when it shall be duely considered on, perhaps will appeare equall to any of the rest. At least, if it may passe for currant, that men may give away their treasures, forgive mighty injuries, and lay downe life it selfe, honour and renowne (which is farre greater) to infinite dangers, only to attaine any thing esteemed and affected.

Understand then (Gracious hearers) that in _Bologna_, a very famous City of _Lombardie_, there lived sometime a Knight, most highly respected for his vertues, named Signior _Gentile de Carisendi_, who (in his yonger dayes) was enamoured of a Gentlewoman, called Madam _Catharina_, the Wife of Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_. And because during the time of his amourous pursuite, he found but a sorry enterchange of affection from the Lady; hee went (as hopelesse of any successe) to be Potestate of _Modena_, whereto he was called by place and order.

At the same time, Signior _Nicoluccio_ being absent from _Bologna_, and his Lady at a Farme-house of his in the Countrey (about three miles distant from the City) because she was great with child, and somewhat neere the time of her teeming: it came to passe, that some dangerous accident befell her, which was so powerfull in operation, as no signe of life appeared remained in her, but she was reputed (even in the judgement of the best Phisitians, whereof she wanted no attendance) to be verily dead. And because in the opinion of her parents and neerest kinred, the time for her deliverance was yet so farre off, as the Infant within her, wanted much of a perfect creature: they made the lesse mourning; but in the next Church, as also the vault belonging to her Ancestors, they gave her buriall very speedily.

Which tydings comming to the hearing of Signior _Gentile_, by one that was his endeared friend: Although (while she lived) he could never be gracious in her favour, yet her so sudden death did greatly grieve him, whereupon he discoursed in this sort with himselfe. Deare Madame _Catharina_, I am not a little sorry for thy death, although (during thy life-time) I was scarcely worthy of one kind looke: Yet now being dead, thou canst not prohibite me, but I may robbe thee of a kisse. No sooner had hee spoke the words, but it beeing then night, and taking such order, as none might know of his departure: hee mounted on horse-backe, accompanied onely with one servant, and stayed no where, till hee came to the vault where the Lady was buried. Which when he had opened, with instruments convenient for the purpose, he descended downe into the vault, and kneeled downe by the Beere whereon she lay, and in her wearing garments, according to the usuall manner, with teares trickling mainly downe his cheekes, he bestowed infinite sweet kisses on her.

But as we commonly see, that mens desires are never contented, but still will presume on further advantages, especially such as love entirely: so fared it with _Gentile_, who being once minded to get him gone, as satisfied with the oblation of his kisses; would needs yet step backe againe, saying. Why should I not touch her yvory breast, the Adamant that drew all desires to adore her? Ah let me touch it now, for never hereafter can I bee halfe so happy. Overcome with this alluring appetite, gently he laid his hand upon her breast, with the like awefull respect, as if she were living, and holding it so an indifferent while: either he felt, or his imagination so perswaded him, the heart of the Lady to beate and pant. Casting off all fond feare, and the warmth of his increasing the motion: his inward soule assured him, that she was not dead utterly, but had some small sense of life remaining in her, whereof he would needs be further informed.

So gently as possible he could, and with the helpe of his man, he tooke her forth of the monument, & laying her softly on his horse before him, conveighed her closely to his house in _Bologna_. Signior _Gentile_ had a worthy Lady to his Mother, a woman of great wisdome and vertue, who understanding by her Sonne, how matters had happened; moved with compassion, and suffering no one in the house to know what was done, made a good fire, and very excellent Bathe, which recalled back againe wrong-wandering life. Then fetching a vehement sigh, opening her eyes, & looking very strangely about her, she said. Alas! where am I now? whereto the good old Lady kindly replyed, saying. Comfort your selfe Madame, for you are in a good place.

Her spirits being in better manner met together, and she still gazing every way about her, not knowing well where she was, and seeing Signior _Gentile_ standing before her: he entreated his mother to tell her by what meanes she came thither; which the good old Lady did, _Gentile_ himselfe helping to relate the whole history. A while she grieved and lamented, but afterward gave them most hearty thankes, humbly requesting, that, in regard of the love he had formerly borne her, in his house she might finde no other usage, varying from the honour of her selfe and her Husband, and when day was come, to be conveighed home to her owne house. Madame, answered Signior _Gentile_, whatsoever I sought to gaine from you in former dayes, I never meane, either here, or any where else, to motion any more. But seeing it hath been my happy fortune, to prove the blessed means, of reducing you from death to life: you shall find no other entertainment here, then as if you were mine owne Sister. And yet the good deed which I have this night done for you, doth well deserve some courteous requitall: in which respect, I would have you not to deny me one favour, which I will presume to crave of you. Whereto the Lady lovingly replyed, that she was willing to grant it; provided, it were honest, and in her power: whereto Signior _Gentile_ thus answered.

Madame, your parents, kindred and friends, and generally all throughout _Bologna_, doe verily thinke you to be dead, wherefore there is not any one, that will make any inquisition after you: in which regard, the favour I desire from you, is no more but to abide here secretly with my Mother, untill such time as I returne from _Modena_, which shall be very speedily. The occasion why I move this motion, aymeth at this end, that in presence of the chiefest persons of our City, I may make a gladsome present of you to your Husband. The Lady knowing her selfe highly beholding to the Knight, and the request he made to be very honest: disposed her selfe to doe as he desired (although she earnestly longed, to glad her parents and kindred with seeing her alive) and made her promise him on her faith, to effect it in such manner, as he pleased to appoint and give her direction.

Scarcely were these words concluded, but she felt the custome of women to come upon her, with the paines and throwes incident to childing: wherefore, with helpe of the aged Lady, Mother to Signior _Gentile_, it was not long before her deliverance of a goodly Sonne, which greatly augmented the joy of her and _Gentile_, who tooke order, that all things belonging to a Woman in such a case, were not wanting, but she was as carefully respected, even as if she had been his owne Wife. Secretly he repaired to _Modena_, where having given direction for his place of authority; he returned back againe to _Bologna_, and there made preparation for a great and solemne feast, appointing who should be his invited guests, the very chiefest persons in _Bologna_, and (among them) Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_ the especiall man.

After he was dismounted from horsebacke, and found so good company attending for him (the Lady also, more faire and healthful then ever, and the Infant lively disposed) he sate downe at the Table with his guests, causing them to be served in most magnificent manner, with plenty of all delicates that could be devised, and never before was there such a Joviall feast. About the ending of dinner, closely he made the Lady acquainted with his further intention, and likewise in what order every thing should be done, which being effected, he returned to his company, & used these speeches.

Honourable friends, I remember a discourse sometime made unto me, concerning the Countrey of _Persia_, and a kind of custome there observed, not to be misliked in mine opinion. When any one intended to honour his friend in effectuall manner, he invited him home to his house, and there would shew him the thing, which with greatest love he did respect; were it Wife, Friend, Sonne, Daughter, or any thing else whatsoever; wherewithall hee spared not to affirme, that as he shewed him those choyce delights, the like view he should have of his heart, if with any possibility it could be done; and the very same custome I meane now to observe here in our City. You have vouchsafed to honour me with your presence, at this poore homely dinner of mine, and I will welcome you after the _Persian_ manner, in shewing you the Jewell, which (above all things else in the world) I ever have most respectively esteemed. But before I doe it, I crave your favourable opinions in a doubt, which I will plainely declare unto you.

If any man having in his house a good and faithfull servant, who falling into extremity of sickenesse, shall be throwne forth into the open street, without any care or pitty taken on him; A stranger chanceth to passe by, and (moved with compassion of his weakenesse) carryeth him home to his owne house, where using all charitable diligence, and not sparing any cost, he recovereth the sicke person to his former health. I now desire to know, if keeping the said restored person, and imploying him about his owne businesse: the first Master (by pretending his first right) may lawfully complaine of the second, and yeeld him backe againe to the first master, albeit he doe make challenge of him?

All the Gentlemen, after many opinions passing among them, agreed altogether in one sentence, and gave charge to Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_, (because he was an excellent and elegant speaker) to give answere for them all. First, he commended the custome observed in _Persia_, saying, he jumpt in opinion with all the rest, that the first Master had no right at all to the servant, having not onely (in such necessity) forsaken him, but also cast him forth into the comfortlesse street. But for the benefits and mercy extended to him; it was more then manifest, that the recovered person, was become justly servant to the second Master, and in detayning him from the first, hee did not offer him any injury at all. The whole Company sitting at the Table (being all very wise & worthy men) gave their verdict likewise with the confession of Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_. Which answere did not a little please the Knight; and so much the rather, because _Nicoluccio_ had pronounced it, affirming himselfe to be of the same minde.

So, sitting in a pretended musing a while, at length he said. My honourable guests, it is now more then high time, that I should doe you such honour, as you have most justly deserved, by performing the promise made unto you. Then calling two of his servants, he sent them to Madame _Catharina_ (whom he had caused to adorne her self in excellent manner) entreating her, that she would be pleased to grace his guests with her presence. _Catharina_, having deckt her child in costly habiliments, layed it in her armes, and came with the servants into the dyning Hall, and sate down (as the Knight had appointed) at the upper end of the Table, and then Signior _Gentile_ spake thus. Behold, worthy Gentlemen, this is the Jewell which I have most affected, and intend to love none other in the world; be you my Judges, whether I have just occasion to doe so, or no? The Gentlemen saluting her with respective reverence, said to the Knight; that he had great reason to affect her: And viewing her advisedly, many of them thought her to be the very same woman (as indeed she was) but that they beleeved her to be dead.

But above all the rest _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_ could never be satisfied with beholding her; and, enflamed with earnest desire, to know what she was, could not refraine (seeing the Knight was gone out of the roome) but demaunded of her, whether she were of _Bologna_, or a stranger? when the Lady heard her selfe to be thus questioned, and by her Husband, it seemed painefull to her, to containe from answering: Neverthelesse, to perfect the Knights intended purpose, she sate silent. Others demaunded of her, whether the sweet Boy were hers, or no; and some questioned, if she were _Gentiles_ Wife, or no, or else his Kinsewoman; to all which demaunds, she returned not any answere. But when the Knight came to them againe, some of them said to him. Sir, this woman is a goodly creature, but she appeareth to be dumbe, which were great pitty, if it should be so. Gentlemen (quoth he) it is no small argument of her vertue, to sit still and silent at this instant. Tell us then (said they) of whence, and what she is. Therein (quoth he) I will quickely resolve you, upon your conditionall promise: that none of you do remove from his place, whatsoever shall be said or done, untill I have fully delivered my minde. Every one bound himselfe by solemne promise, to perform what he had appointed, and the Tables being voided, as also the Carpets laid; then the Knight (sitting downe by the Lady) thus began.

Worthy Gentlemen, this Lady is that true and faithfull servant, whereof I moved the question to you, whom I tooke out of the cold street, where her parents, kindred and friends (making no account at all of her) threw her forth, as a thing vile and unprofitable. Neverthelesse, such hath been my care and cost, that I have rescued her out of deaths griping power; and, in a meere charitable disposition, which honest affection caused me to beare her; of a body, full of terror & affrighting (as then she was) I have caused her to become thus lovely as you see. But because you may more apparantly discerne, in what manner this occasion happened; I will lay it open to you in more familiar manner. Then he began the whole history, from the originall of his unbeseeming affection to her (in regard she was a worthy mans wife) and consequently, how all had happened to the instant houre, to the no meane admiration of all the hearers, adding withall. Now Gentlemen (quoth he) if you varry not from your former opinion, and especially Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_: this Lady (by good right) is mine, and no man else, by any just title, can lay any claime to her.

All sate silent, without answering one word, as expecting what he intended further to say: but in the meane while, _Nicoluccio_, the parents and kindred, but chiefely the Lady her selfe, appeared as halfe melted into teares with weeping. But Signior _Gentile_, starting up from the Table, taking the Infant in his arme, and leading the Lady by the hand, going to _Nicoluccio_, thus spake. Rise Sir, I will not give thee thy wife, whom both her kindred and thine, threw forth into the street: but I will bestow this Lady on thee, being my Gossip, and this sweet Boy my God-sonne, who was (as I am verily perswaded) begotten by thee, I standing witnesse for him at the Font of Baptisme, and give him mine owne name _Gentile_. Let me entreat thee, that, although she hath lived here in mine house, for the space of three monethes, she should not be lesse welcome to thee, then before: for I sweare to thee upon my soule, that my former affection to her (how unjust soever) was the onely meanes of preserving her life: and more honestly she could not live, with Father, Mother, or thy selfe, then she hath done here with mine owne Mother.

Having thus spoken, he turned to the Lady, saying. Madame, I now discharge you of all promises made me, delivering you to your Husband franke and free: And when he had given him the Lady, and the child in his armes, he returned to his place, and sate downe againe. _Nicoluccio_, with no meane joy and hearty contentment received both his wife and childe, being before farre from expectation of such an admirable comfort; returning the Knight infinite thankes (as all the rest of the Company did the like) who could not refraine from weeping for meere joy, for such a strange and wonderfull accident: everyone highly commending _Gentile_, & such also as chanced to heare thereof. The Lady was welcommed home to her owne house, with many moneths of Joviall feasting, and as she passed through the streets, all beheld her with admiration, to be so happily recovered from her grave. Signior _Gentile_ lived long after, a loyall friend to _Nicoluccio_ and his Lady, and all that were well-willers to them.

What thinke you now Ladies? Can you imagine, because a King gave away his Crowne and Scepter; and an Abbot (without any cost to himselfe) reconciled a Malefactor to the Pope; and an old idle-headed man, yeelding to the mercy of his enemy: that all those actions are comparable to this of Signior _Gentile_? Youth and ardent affection, gave him a just and lawfull title, to her who was free (by imagined death) from Husbands, Parents, and all friends else, she being so happily wonne into his owne possession. Yet honesty not onely over-swayed the heate of desire, which in many men is violent and immoderate: but with a bountifull and liberall soule, that which he coveted beyond all hopes else, and had within his owne command; he freely gave away. Beleeve me (bright Beauties) not any of the other (in a true and unpartiall judgement) are worthy to be equalled with this, or stiled by the name of magnificent actions.

_Madame_ Dianora, _the Wife of Signior_ Gilberto, _being immodestly affected by Signior_ Ansaldo, _to free herselfe from his tedious importunity, she appointed him to performe (in her judgement) an act of impossibility, namely, to give her a Garden, as plentifully stored with fragrant Flowers in January, as in the flourishing moneth of_ May. Ansaldo, _by meanes of a bond which he made to a Magitian, performed her request. Signior_ Gilberto, _the Ladyes Husband, gave consent, that his Wife should fulfill her promise made to_ Ansaldo. _Who hearing the bountifull mind of her Husband; released her of her promise: And the Magitian likewise discharged Signior_ Ansaldo, _without taking any thing of him._

The fift Novell.

_Admonishing all Ladies and Gentlewomen, that are desirous to preserve their chastity, free from all blemish and taxation: to make no promise of yeelding to any, under a compact or covenant, how impossible soever it may seeme to be._

Not any one in all the Company, but extolled the worthy Act of Signior _Gentile_ to the skies; till the King gave command to Madame _Æmillia_, that she should follow next with her Tale, who boldly stepping up, began in this order.

Gracious Ladies, I thinke there is none heere present among us, but (with good reason) may maintaine, that Signiour _Gentile_ performed a magnificent deede: but whosoever saith, it is impossible to do more; perhaps is ignorant in such actions, as can and may be done, as I meane to make good unto you, by a Novell not over-long or tedious.

The Countrey of _Fretulium_, better knowne by the name of _Forum Julii_; although it be subject to much cold, yet it is pleasant, in regard of many goodly Mountaines, Rivers, and cleare running Springs, wherewith it is not meanly stored. Within those Territories, is a City called _Udina_, where sometime lived a faire and Noble Lady, named Madame _Dianora_, Wife to a rich and woorthie Knight, called Signior _Gilberto_, a man of very great fame and merite.

This beautifull** Lady, beeing very modest and vertuously inclined, was highly affected by a Noble Baron of those parts, tearmed by the name of Signior _Ansaldo Gradense_, a man of very great spirit, bountifull, active in Armes, and yet very affable and courteous, which caused him to be the better respected. His love to this Lady was extraordinary, hardly to bee contained within any moderate compasse, striving to bee in like manner affected of her: to which end, she wanted no daily solicitings, Letters, Ambassages and Love-tokens, all proving to no purpose.

This vertuous Lady, being wearied with his often temptations, and seeing, that by denying whatsoever he demanded, yet he wold not give over his suite, but so much the more importunatly still pursued her: began to bethinke herselfe, how she might best be rid of him, by imposing some such taske upon him, as should bee impossible (in her opinion) for him to effect. An olde woman, whom hee imployed for his continual messenger to her, as shee came one day about her ordinary errand, with her she communed in this manner. Good woman (quoth she) thou hast so often assured me, that Signior _Ansaldo_ loveth me above all other Women in the world, offering me wonderfull gifts and presents in his name, which I have alwayes refused, and so still will do, in regard I am not to be woon by any such allurements: yet if I could be soundly perswaded, that his affection is answerable to thy peremptory protestations, I shoulde (perhaps) be the sooner wonne, to listen to his suite in milder manner, then hitherto I have done. Wherefore, if he will give me assurance, to perform such a businesse as I mean to enjoyne him, he shall the speedier heare better answer from me, and I will confirme it with mine oath.

Wonderfully pleased was Mistresse _Maquerella_, to heare a reply of such comfortable hope; and therefore desired the Lady, to tel hir what she wold have done. Listen to me wel (answerd Madam _Dianora_) the matter which I would have him to effect for me, is; without the wals of our City, and during the month of Januarie nexte ensuing, to provide me a Garden, as fairely furnished with all kind of fragrant flowers, as the flourishing month of May can yeelde no better. If he be not able to accomplish this imposition, then I command him, never hereafter to solicite me any more, either by thee, or any other whatsoever; for, if he do importune me afterward, as hitherto I have concealed his secret conspiring, both from my husband, and all my friends; so will I then lay his dishonest suite open to the world, that he may receive punishment accordingly, for offering to wrong a Gentleman in his wife.

When Signior _Ansaldo_ heard her demand, and the offer beside thereupon** made him (although it seemed no easie matter; but a thing meerly impossible to be done) he considered advisedly, that she made this motion to no other end, but onely to bereave him of all his hope, ever to enjoy what so earnestly hee desired: neverthelesse, he would not so give it utterly over, but would needs approve what could be done. Heereupon, hee sent into divers partes of the world, to find out any one that was able to advise him in this doubtfull case. In the end, one was brought to him, who beeing well recompenced for his paines, by the Art of Nigromancie would undertake to do it. With him Signior _Ansaldo_ covenanted, binding himselfe to pay a great summe of mony, upon performance of so rare a deed, awaiting (in hopefull expectation) for the month of Januaries comming.