THE NINTH NOVELL

 

      WHEREIN IS FIGURED TO THE LIFE, THE NOTABLE KINDNESSE AND

        COURTESIE, OF A TRUE AND CONSTANT LOVER: AS ALSO THE

                   MAGNANIMOUS MINDE OF A FAMOUS LADY

 

  Frederigo, of the Alberighi Family, loved a Gentlewoman, and was not

requited with like love againe. By bountifull expences, and over

liberall invitations, he wasted and consumed all his lands and

goods, having nothing left him, but a Hawke or Faulcon. His unkinde

Mistresse happeneth to come visite him, and he not having any other

foode for her dinner; made a dainty dish of his Faulcone for her to

feede on. Being conquered by this exceeding kinde courtesie; she

changed her former hatred towardes him, accepting him as her Husband

in marriage, and made him a man of wealthy possessions.

 

  Madam Philomena having finished her discourse, the Queene

perceiving, that her turne was the next, in regard of the priviledge

granted to Dioneus; with a smiling countenance thus she spake. Now

or never am I to maintaine the order which was instituted when wee

began this commendable exercise, whereto I yeeld with all humble

obedience. And (worthy Ladies) I am to acquaint you with a Novell,

in some sort answerable to the precedent, not onely to let you know,

how powerfully your kindnesses do prevalle, in such as have a free and

gentle soule: but also to dvise you, in being bountifull, where vertue

doth justly challenge it. And evermore, let your favours shine on

worthy deservers, without the direction of chaunce or Fortune, who

never bestoweth any gift by discretion; but rashly without

consideration, even to the first she blindly meets withall.

  You are to understand then, that Coppo di Borghese Domenichi, who

was of our owne City, and perhaps (as yet) his name remaineth in great

and reverend authority, now in these dayes of ours, as well

deserving eternall memory; yet more for his vertues and commendable

qualities, then any boast of Nobility from his predecessors. This man,

being well entred into yeares, and drawing towards the finishing of

his dayes; it was his only delight and felicity, in conversation among

his neighbours, to talke of matters concerning antiquity, and some

other things within compasse of his owne knowledge: which he would

deliver in such singular order (having an absolute memory) and with

the best Language, as very few or none could do the like. Among the

multiplicity of his queint discourses, I remember he told us, that

sometime there lived in Florence a yong Gentleman, named Frederigo,

Sonne to Signior Phillippo Alberigo, who was held and reputed, both

for Armes, and all other actions beseeming a Gentleman, hardly to have

his equall through all Tuscany.

  This Frederigo (as it is no rare matter in yong Gentlemen) became

enamored of a Gentlewoman, named Madam Giana, who was esteemed (in her

time) to be the fairest and most gracious Lady in all Florence. In

which respect, and to reach the height of his desire, he made many

sumptuous Feasts and Banquets, joustes, Tilties, Tournaments, and

all other noble actions of Armes, beside, sending her infinite rich

and costly presents, making spare of nothing, but lashing all out in

lavish expence. Notwithstanding, she being no lesse honest then faire,

made no reckoning of whatsoever he did for her sake, or the least

respect of his owne person. So that Frederigo, spending thus daily

more, then his meanes and ability could maintaine, and no supplies any

way redounding to him, or his faculties (as very easily they might)

diminished in such sort, that became so poore; as he had nothing

left him, but a small poore Farme to live upon, the silly revenewes

whereof were so meane, as scarcely allowed him meat and drinke; yet

had he a faire Hawke or Faulcon, hardly any where to be fellowed, so

expeditious and sure she was of flight. His low ebbe and poverty, no

way quailing his love to the Lady, but rather setting a keener edge

thereon; he saw the City life could no longer containe him, where most

he coveted to abide: and therefore, betooke himselfe to his poore

Countrey Farme, to let his Faulcon get him his dinner and supper,

patiently supporting his penurious estate, without suite or meanes

making to one, for helpe or reliefe in any such necessity.

  While thus he continued in this extremity, it came to passe, that

the Husband to Madam Giana fell sicke, and his debility of body

being such, as little, or no hope of life remained: he made his last

will and testament, ordaining thereby, that his Sonne (already

growne to indifferent stature) should be heire to all his Lands and

riches, wherein he abounded very greatly. Next unto him, if he chanced

to die without a lawfull heire, he substituted his Wife, whom most

dearely he affected, and so departed out of this life. Madam Giana

being thus left a widdow; as commonly it is the custome of our City

Dames, during the Summer season, she went to a house of her owne in

the Countrey, which was somewhat neere to poore Frederigoes Farme, and

where he lived in such an honest kind of contented poverty.

  Hereupon, the young Gentleman her Sonne, taking great delight in

Hounds and Hawkes; grew into familiarity with poore Frederigo, and

having seene many faire flights of his Faulcon, they pleased him so

extraordinarily, that he earnestly desired to enjoy her as his owne;

yet durst not move the motion for her, because he saw how choycely

Frederigo esteemed her. Within a short while after, the young

Gentleman, became very sicke, whereat his Mother greeved

exceedingly, (as having no more but he, and therefore loved him the

more entirely) never parting from him night or day, comforting him

so kindly as she could, and demanding, if he had a desire to any

thing, willing him to reveale it, and assuring him withall, that (it

were within the compasse of possibility) he should have it. The

youth hearing how many times she had made him these offers, and with

such vehement protestations of performance, at last thus spake.

  Mother (quoth he) if you can do so much for me, as that I may have

Frederigoes Faulcon, I am perswaded, that my sicknesse soone will

cease. The Lady hearing this, sate some short while musing to her

selfe, and began to consider, what she might best doe to compasse

her Sonnes desire: for well she knew, how long a time Frederigo had

most lovingly kept it, not suffering it ever to be out of his sight.

Moreover, shee remembred, how earnest in affection he had bene to her,

never thinking himselfe happy, but onely when he was in her company;

wherefore, shee entred into this private consultation with her owne

thoughts. Shall I send, or goe my selfe in person, to request the

Faulcon of him, it being the best that ever flew? It is his onely

Jewell of delight, and that taken from him, no longer can he wish to

live in this World. How farre then voyde of understanding shall I shew

my selfe, to rob a Gentleman of his sole felicity, having no other joy

or comfort left him? These and the like considerations, wheeled

about her troubled braine, onely in tender care and love to her Sonne,

perswading her selfe assuredly, that the Faulcon were her owne, if she

would but request it: yet not knowing whereon it were best to resolve,

shee returned no answer to her Sonne, but sate still in her silent

meditations. At the length, love to the youth, so prevailed with

her, that she concluded on his contentation, and (come of it what

could) shee would not send for it; but go her selfe in person to

request it, and then returne home againe with it: whereupon thus she

spake. Sonne, comfort thy selfe, and let languishing thoughts no

longer offend thee: for here I promise thee, that the first thing I do

to morrow morning, shall bee my journey for the Faulcon, and assure

thy selfe, that I will bring it with me. Whereat the youth was so

joyed, that he imagined, his sicknesse began instantly a little to

leave him, and promised him a speedy recovery.

  Somewhat early the next morning, the Lady, in care of her sicke Sons

health, was up and ready betimes, and taking another Gentlewoman

with her; onely as a morning recreation, shee walked to Frederigoes

poore Countrey Farme, knowing that it would not a little glad him to

see her. At the time of her arrivall there, he was (by chance) in a

silly Garden, on the backe-side of the a si House, because (as yet) it

was no convenient time for flight: but when he heard, that Madam Glana

was come thither, and desired to have some conference with him; as one

almost confounded with admiration, in all hast he ran to her, and

saluted her with most humble reverence. She in all modest and gracious

manner, requited him with the like salutations, thus speaking to

him. Signior Frederigo, your owne best wishes befriend you, I am now

come hither, to recompence some part of your passed travailes, which

heretofore you pretended traval I to suffer for my sake, when your

love was more to me, then did well become you to offer, or my selfe to

accept. And such is the nature of my recompence, that I make my

selfe your guest, and meane this day to dine with as also this

Gentlewoman, making no doubt of our welcome: whereto, with lowly

reverence, thus he replyed.

  Madam, I doe not remember, that ever I sustained any losse or

hinderance by you, but rather so much good, as if I was worth any

thing, it proceeded from your great deservings, and by the service

in which I did stand engaged to you. But my present happinesse can

no way be equalled, derived from your super-abounding gracious favour,

and more then common course of kindnesse, vouchsafing (of your owne

liberall nature) to come and visit so poore a servant. Oh that I had

as much to spend againe, as heretofore riotously I have runne

thorow: what a welcome would your poore Host bestow upon you, for

gracing; this homely house with your divine presence? With these

wordes, he conducted her into his house, and then into his simple

Garden, where having no convenient company for her, he said. Madam,

the poverty of this place is such, that it affoordeth none fit for

your conversation: this poore woman, wife to an honest Husbandman will

attend on you, while I (with some speede) shall make ready dinner.

  Poore Frederigo, although his necessity was extreame, and his greefe

great, remembring his former inordinate expences, a moity whereof

would now have stood him in some stead; yet he had a heart as free and

forward as ever, not a jotte dejected in his minde, though utterly

overthrowne by Fortune. Alas! how was his good soule afflicted, that

he had nothing wherewith to honour his Lady? Up and downe he runnes,

one while this way, then againe another, exclaiming on his

disastrous Fate, like a man enraged, or bereft of senses: for he had

not one peny of mony neither pawne or pledge, wherewith to procure

any. The time hasted on, and he would gladly (though in meane measure)

expresse his honourable respect of the Lady. To begge of any, his

nature denied it, and to borrow he could not, because his neighbours

were all as needie as himselfe.

  At last, looking round about, and seeing his Faulcon standing on her

pearch, which he felt to be very plumpe and fat, being voyde of all

other helpes in his neede, and thinking her to be a Fowle meete for so

Noble a Lady to feede on: without any further demurring or delay, he

pluckt off her necke, and caused the poore woman presently to pull her

Feathers: which being done, he put her on the spit, and in short

time she was daintily roasted. Himselfe covered the Table, set bread

and salt on and laid the Napkins, whereof he had but a few left him.

Going then with chearfull lookes into the Garden, telling the Lady

that dinner was ready, and nothing now wanted, but her presence. Shee,

and the Gentlewoman went in, and being sated at the Table, not knowing

what they fed on, the Faulcon was all their foode; and Frederigo not a

little joyfull, that his credite was so well saved. When they were

risen from the table, and had spent some small time in familiar

conference: the Lady thought it fit, to acquaint him with the reason

of her comming thither, and therefore (in very kinde manner) thus

began.

  Frederigo, if you do yet remember your former carriage towards

mee, as also my many modest and chaste denials, which (perhaps) you

thought to savour of a harsh, cruell, and un-womanly nature, I make no

doubt, but you will wonder at my present presumption, when you

understand the occasion, which expressely mooved me to come hither.

But if you were possessed of children, or ever had any, whereby you

might comprehend what love (in nature) is due unto them: then I

durst assure my selfe, that you would partly hold me excused.

  Now, in regard that you never had any, and my selfe (for my part)

have but onely one, I stand not exempted from those Lawes, which are

in common to other mothers. And being compelled to obey the power of

those Lawes; contrary to mine owne will, and those duties which reason

owne wi ought to maintaine, I am to request such a gift of you,

which I am certaine, that you do make most precious account of, as

in manly equity you can do no lesse. For Fortune hath bin so extreamly

adverse to you, that she hath robbed you of all other pleasures,

allowing you no comfort or delight, but onely that poore one, which is

your faire Faulcone. Of which Bird, my Sonne is become so strangely

desirous, as, if I doe not bring it to him at my comming home; I feare

so much, the extreamity of his sicknesse, as nothing can ensue

thereon, but his losse of life. Wherefore I beseech you, not in regard

of the love you have borne me, for therby you stand no way obliged:

but in your owne true gentle nature (the which hath alwayes declared

it selfe ready in you, to do more kinde offices generally, then any

other Gentleman that I know) you will be pleased to give her me, or at

the least, let me buy her of you.

  Which if you do, I shall freely then confesse, that onely by your

meanes, my Sonnes life is saved, and we both shall for ever remaine

engaged to you.

  When Frederigo had heard the Ladies request, which was now quite out

of his power to graunt, because it had bene her service at dinner:

he stood like a man meerely dulled in his sences, the teares trickling

amaine downe his cheekes, and he not able to utter one word. Which she

perceiving, began to conjecture immediately, that these teares and

passions proceeded rather from greefe of minde, as being loather to

part with his Faulcon, then any other kinde of manner: which made

her ready to say, that she would not have it. Neverthelesse she did

not speake, but rather tarried to attend his answer. Which, after some

small respite and pause, he returned in this manner.

  Madame, since the houre, when first mine affection became soly

devoted to your service; Fortune hath bene crosse and contrary to

me, in many occasions, as justly, and in good reason I may complain of

her, yet all seemed light and easie to be indured, in comparison of

her present malicious contradiction, to my utter overthrow, and

perpetuall mollestation. Considering, that you are come hither to my

poore house, which (while I was rich and able) you would not so much

as vouchsafe to looke on. And now you have requested a small matter of

me, wherein she hath also most crookedly thwarted me, because she hath

disabled me, in bestowing so meane a gift, as your selfe will

confesse, when it shall be related to you in few words.

  So soone as I heard, that it was your gracious pleasure to dine with

me, having regard to your excellency, and what (by merit) is justly

due unto you: I thought it a part of my bounden duty, to entertaine

you with such exquisite viands, as my poore power could any way

compasse, and farre beyond respect or welcome, to other common and

ordinary persons. Whereupon, remembring my Faulcon, which now you aske

for; and her goodnesse, excelling all other of her kinde; I

supposed, that she would make a dainty dish for your dyet, and

having drest her, so well as I could devise to do: you have fed

heartily on her, and I am proud that I have so well bestowne her.

But perceiving now, that you would have her for your sicke Sonne; it

is no meane affliction to me, that I am disabled of yeelding you

contentment, which all my life time I have desired to doe.

  To approve his words, the feathers, feete, and beake were brought

in, which when she saw, she greatly blamed him for killing so rare a

Faulcon, to content the appetite of any woman whatsoever. Yet she

commended his height of spirit, which poverty had no power to abase.

Lastly, her hopes being frustrate for enjoying the Faulcon, and

fearing besides the health of her Sonne, she thanked Frederigo for his

honorable kindnesse, returning home againe sad and melancholly.

Shortly after, her sonne either greeving that he could not have the

Faulcon, or by extreamity of his disease, chanced to dye, leaving

his mother a most wofull Lady.

  After so much time was expired, as conveniently might agree with

sorrow, and mourning; her Brethren made many motions to her, to oyne

her selfe in marriage againe, because she was extraordinarily rich,

and as yet but yong in yeares. Now although she was well contented

never to be married any more; yet being continually importuned by

them, and remembring the honorable honesty of Frederigo, his last

poore, yet magnificent dinner, in killing his Faulcon for her sake,

she saide to her Brethren. This kind of widdowed estate doth like me

so well, as willingly I would never leave it: but seeing you are so

earnest for my second marriage, let me plainly tell you, that I will

never accept of any other husband, but onely Frederigo di Alberino.

  Her Brethren in scornefull manner reprooved her, telling her, that

he was a begger, and had nothing left to keepe him in the world. I

know it well (quoth she) and am heartily sorry for it. But give me a

man that hath neede of wealth, rather then wealth that hath neede of a

man. The Brethren hearing how she stood addicted, and knowing

Frederigo to be a worthy Gentleman, though poverty had disgraced him

in the World: consented thereto, so she bestowed her selfe and her

riches on him. He on the other side, having so noble a Lady to his

Wife, and the same whom he had so long and deerely loved, submitted

all his fairest Fortunes unto her, became a better husband (for the

world) then before, and they lived, and loved together in equall joy

and happinesse.