THE SECOND NOVELL

 

       WHEREIN IS SIGNIFIED, THE PROVIDENCE OF A WISE MAN, WHEN

      HE SHALL HAVE REASON TO USE REVENGE. AND THE CUNNING MEANES

      OF ANOTHER, WHEN HEE  COMPASSETH CRAFT TO DEFEND HIMSELFE

                          FROM PERILL

 

  A querry of the Stable, belonging to Agilulffo, King of the

Lombardes, found the meanes of accesse to the Queenes bed, without any

knowledge or consent in her. This being secretly discovered by the

King, and the party known, he gave him a marke, by shearing the

haire of his head. Whereupon, he that was so shorne, sheared

likewise the heads of all his fellowes in the lodging, and so

escaped the punishment intended towards him.

 

  When the Novel of Philostratus was concluded, which made some of the

Ladies blush, and the rest to smile: it pleased the Queene, that Madam

Pampinea should follow next, to second the other gone before; when

she, smiling on the whole assembly, began thus. There are some men

so shallow of capacity, that they will (neverthelesse) make shew of

knowing and understanding such things, as neither they are able to

doe, nor appertaine to them: whereby they will sometimes reprehend

other new errours, and such faults as they have unwillingly committed,

thinking thereby to hide their owne shame, when they make it much more

apparant and manifest. For proofe whereof, faire company, in a

contrary kinde I will shew you the subtill cunning of one, who

(perhaps) may bee reputed of lesse reckning then Massetto; and yet

he went beyond a King, that thought himselfe to be a much wiser man.

  Agilulffo, King of Lombardie, according as his Predecessours had

done before him, made the principall seate of his Kingdome, in the

Citie of Pavia, having embraced in mariage, Tendelinga, the late

left widdow of Vetario, who likewise had beene King of the Lombards; a

most beautifull wife and vertuous Lady, but made unfortunate by a

mischance. The occurrences and estate of the whole Realme, being in an

honourable, quiet and well setled condition, by the discreete care and

providence of the King; a Querrie appertaining to the Queenes Stable

of Horse, being a man but of meane and low quality, though comely of

person, and of equall stature to the King; became immeasurably amorous

of the Queene. And because his base and servile condition, had

endued him with so much understanding, as to know infallibly, that his

affection was mounted beyond the compasse of conveniencie: wisely he

concealed it to himselfe, not acquainting any one therewith, or daring

so much, as to discover it either by lookes, or any other affectionate

behaviour.

  And although hee lived utterly hopelesse, of ever attaining to his

hearts desires; yet notwithstanding, hee proudly gloried, that his

love had soared so high a pitch, as to be enamoured of a Queene. And

dayly, as the fury of his flame encreased; so his cariage was farre

above his fellowes and companions, in the performing of all such

serviceable duties, as any way he imagined might content the Queene.

Whereon ensued, that whensoever shee roade abroad to take the ayre,

shee used oftner to mount on the Horse, which this Querrie brought

when shee made her choise, then any of the other that were led by

his fellowes. And this did he esteeme as no meane happinesse to him,

to order the stirrope for her mounting, and therefore gave dayly his

due attendance: so that, to touch the Stirrop, but (much more) to

put her foote into it, or touch any part of her garments, he thought

it the onely heaven on earth.

  But, as we see it oftentimes come to passe, that by how much the

lower hope declineth, so much the higher love ascendeth; even so

fell it out with this poore Querry; for, most irkesome was it to

him, to endure the heavy waight of his continuall oppressions, not

having any hope at all of the very least mitigation. And being utterly

unable to relinquish his love divers times he resolved on some

desperate conclusion, which might yet give the world an evident

testimony, that he dyed for the love he bare to the Queene. And upon

this determination, hee grounded the successe of his future fortune,

to dye in compassing some part of his desire, without either

speaking to the Queene, or sending any missive of his love; for to

speake or write, were meerely in vaine, and drew on a worser

consequence then death, which he could bestow on himselfe more easily,

and when he listed.

  No other course now beleagers his braines, but onely for secret

accesse to the Queenes bed, and how he might get entrance into her

Chamber, under colour of the King, who (as he knew very well) slept

many nights together from the Queene. Wherefore, to see in what

manner, and what the usuall habit was of the King, when he came to

keepe companie with his Queene: he hid himselfe divers nights in a

Gallery, which was betweene both their lodging Chambers. At length, he

saw the King come forth of his Chamber, himselfe all alone, with a

faire night-mantle wrapt about him, carrying a lighted Taper in the

one hand, and a small white Wand in the other, so went he on to the

Queenes lodging; and knocking at the doore once or twice with the

wand, and not using any word, the doore opened, the light was left

without, and he entered the Chamber, where he stayed not long,

before his returning backe againe, which likewise very diligently he

observed.

  So familiar was he in the Wardrobe, by often fetching and

returning the King and Queenes furnitures; that the fellowes to the

same Mantle which the King wore when he went to the Queene, very

secretly he conveighed away thence with him, being provided of a

Light, and the very like Wand. Now bestowes he costly bathings on

his body, that the least sent of the Stable might not be felt about

him; and finding a time sutable to his desire, when he knew the King

to bee at rest in his owne Lodging, and all else sleeping in their

bed; closely he steals into the Gallery, where alighting his Taper,

with the Tinder purposely brought thither, the Mantle folded about

him, and the Wand in his hand, valiantly he adventures upon his

lives perill. Twice hee knockt softly at the doore, which a wayting

woman immediately opened, and receyving the Light, went forth into the

Gallery, while the supposed King, was conversing with the Queene.

  Alas good Queene, heere is a sinne commited without any guiltie

thought in thee, as (within a while after) it plainely appeared.

For, the Querry having compassed what he most coveted, and fearing

to forfelte his life by delay, when his amorous desire was

indifferently satisfied: returned backe as he came, the sleepy waiting

woman not so much as looking on him, but rather glad, that she might

get her to rest againe. Scarcely was the Querrie stept into his bed,

unheard or discerned by any of his fellowes, divers of them lodging

both in that and the next Chamber: but it pleased the King to visite

the Queene, according to his wonted manner, to the no little

mervaile of the drowsie wayting woman, who was never twice troubled in

a night before. The King being in bed, whereas alwayes till then,

his resort to the Queene, was altogether in sadnesse and

melancholly, both comming and departing without speaking one word: now

his Majestie was become more pleasantly disposing, whereat the

Queene began not a little to mervaile. Now trust mee Sir, quoth

shee, this hath beene a long wished, and now most welcome

alteration, vouchsafing twice in a night to visite me, and both within

the compasse of one houre; for it cannot be much more, since your

being here, and now comming againe.

  The King hearing these words, sodainely presumed, that by some

counterfeit person or other, the Queene had beene this night beguiled:

wherefore (very advisedly) hee considered, that in regard the party

was unknowne to her, and all the women about her; to make no outward

appearance of knowing it, but rather concealed it to himselfe. Farre

from the indiscretion of some haire-braind men, who presently would

have answered and sworne; I came hither this night, till now.

Whereupon many dangers might ensue, to the dishonour and prejudice

of the Queene: beside, her error being discovered to her, might

afterward be an occasion, to urge a wandring in her appetite, and to

covet after change againe. But by this silence, no shame redounded

to him or her, whereas prating, must needs be the publisher of open

infamie: yet was hee much vexed in his minde, which neither by

lookes or words hee would discover, but pleasantly said to the Queene,

Why Madam, although I was once heere before to night, I hope you

mislike not my second seeing you, nor if I should please to come

againe. No truly Sir, quoth she, I onely desire you to have care of

your health. Well, said the King, I will follow your counsaile, and

now returne to mine owne lodging againe, committing my Queene to her

good rest.

  His blood boyling with rage and distemper, by such a monstrous

injurie offered him; he wrapt his night-mantle about out and leaving

his Chamber, imagining, that whatsoever he was, needs he must be one

of his owne house: he tooke a light in his hand, and convayed it

into a little Lanthorne, purposing to be resolved in his suspition. No

guests or strangers were now in his Court, but onely such as

belonged to his houshold, who lodged altogether about the Escurie

and Stables, being there appointed to divers beds. Now, this was his

conceite, that whosoever had beene so lately familiar with the Queene,

his heart and his pulse could (as yet) be hardly at rest, but rather

would be troubled with apparant agitation, as discovering the guilt of

so great an offender. Many Chambers had he passed thorow, where all

were soundly sleeping, and yet he felt both their brests and pulses.

  At last he came to the lodging of the man indeede, that had so

impudently usurped his place, who could not as yet sleepe, for joy

of atchieved adventure. When he espied the King come in, knowing

well the occasion of his search, he began to waxe very doubtfull, so

that his heart and pulse beating extreamely, he felt a further

addition of feare, as being confidently perswaded, that there was

now no other way but death, especially if the King discovered his

agony. And although many considerations were in his braine, yet

because he saw that the King was unarmed, his best refuge was, to make

shew of sleepe, in expectation what the King intended to doe. Among

them all he had sought, yet could not find any likelihood, whereby

to gather a grounded probability; he came to this Querry, whose

heart and pulses laboured so strongly, that he said to himselfe, Yea

mary, this is th man that did the deede.

  Nevertheless, purposing to make no apparance of his further

intention, he did nothing else to him, but drawing forth a paire of

sheares, which purposely he brought thither with him, he clipped

away a part of his lockes, which (in those times) they used to weare

very long, to the end that he might the better know him the next

morning, and so returned backe to his lodging againe. The Querry,

who partly saw, but felt what was done to him; perceived plainely

(being a subtill ingenious fellow) for what intent he was thus marked.

Wherefore, without any longer dallying, up he rose, and taking a paire

of sheares, wherewith they used to trim their Horses; softly he went

from bed to bed, where they all lay yet soundly sleeping, and clipt

away each mans locke from his right eare, in the selfe same manner

as the King had done his, and being not perceived by any one of

them, quietly he laide him downe againe.

  In the morning, when the King was risen, he gave command that before

the Pallace gates were opened, all his whole Family should come before

him, as instantly his will was fulfilled. Standing all uncovered in

his presence, he began to consider with himselfe, which of them was

the man that he had marked. And seeing the most part of them to have

their lockes cut, all after one and the selfe same manner;

marvailing greatly, he saide to himselfe. The man whom I seeke for,

though he be but of meane and base condition, yet it plainely

appeareth, that he is of no deject or common understanding. And

seeing, that without further clamour and noyse, he could not find

out the party he looked for, he concluded, not to win eternall

shame, by compassing a poore revenge: but rather (by way of

admonition) to let the offender know in a word, that he was both noted

and observed. So turning to them all, he saide; He that hath done

it, let him be silent, and doe so no more, and now depart about your

businesse.

  Some other turbulent spirited man, no imprisonments, tortures,

examinations, and interrogations, could have served his turne; by

which course of proceeding, he makes the shame to be publikely knowne,

which reason requireth to keepe concealed. But admit that condigne

vengeance were taken, it diminisheth not one tittle of the shame,

neither qualifieth the peoples bad affections, who will lash out as

liberally in scandal, and upon the very least babling rumor. Such

therfore as heard the Kings words, few though they were, yet truly

wise; marvelled much at them, and by long examinations among

themselves, questioned, but came far short of his meaning; the man

onely excepted whom indeed they concerned, and by whom they were never

discovered, so long as the King lived, neither did he dare at any time

after, to hazard his life in the like action, under the frownes or

favour of Fortune.