THE SEAVENTH NOVELL

 

     WHEREIN IS SIGNIFIED THE POWER OF LOVE, AND THE DIVERSITY OF

                 DANGERS, WHEREINTO MEN MAY DAYLY FALL.

 

  Theobaldo Elisei, having received an unkinde repulse by his beloved,

departed from Florence, and returning thither (a long while after)

in the habite of a Pilgrime; he spake with her, and made his wrongs

knowne unto her. He delivered her Father from the danger of death,

because it was proved, that he had slaine Theobaldo: he made peace

with his brethren, and in the end, wisely enjoyed his hearts desire.

 

  So ceased Fiammetta her discourse, being generally commended, when

the Queene, to prevent the losse of time, commanded Aemillia to follow

next, who thus began. It liketh me best (gracious Ladies) to returne

home againe to our owne City, which it pleased the for.

  mer two discoursers to part from: And there I will shew you, how a

Citizen of ours, recovered the kindnesse of his Love, after hee had

lost it.

  Sometime there dwelt in Florence a young Gentleman, named

Theobaido Elisei, descended of a noble House, who became earnestly

enamoured of a Widdow, called Hermelina, the daughter to

Aldobrandino Palermini: well deserving, for his vertues and

commendable qualities, to enjoy of her whatsoever he could desire.

Secretly they were espoused together, but Fortune, the enemy to Lovers

felicities, opposed her malice against them, in depriving Theobaldo of

those deere delights, which sometime he held in free possession, and

making him as a stranger to her gracious favours. Now grew shee

contemptibly to despise him, not onely denying to heare any message

sent from him, but scorning also to vouch safe so much as a sight of

him, causing in him extreme griefe and melancholy, yet concealling all

her unkindnesse so wisely to himselfe, as no one could understand

the reason of his sadnesse.

  After he had laboured by all hopefull courses, to obtaine that

favour of her, which he had formerly lost, without any offence in him,

as his innocent soule truly witnessed with him, and saw that all his

further endeavours were fruitlesse and in vaine; he concluded to

retreate himselfe from the World, and not to be any longer irkesome in

her eye, that was the onely occasion of his unhappinesse. Hereupon,

storing himselfe with summes of money, as suddenly he could collect

together, secretly he departed from Florence, without speaking any

word to his friends or kindred; except one kinde companion of

his, whom he acquainted with most of his secrets, and so travelled

to Ancona, where he termed himselfe by the name of Sandoloscio.

Repairing to a wealthy Merchant there, he placed himselfe as his

servant, and went in a Ship of his with him to Cyprus; his actions and

behaviour proved so pleasing to the Merchant, as not onely he

allowed him very sufficient wages, but also grew into such association

with him; as he gave the most of his affaires into his hands, which he

guided with such honest and discreete care, that hee himselfe (in

few yeeres compasse) proved to be a rich Merchant, and of famous

report.

  While matters went on in this successefull manner, although he could

not chuse, but still he remembred his cruell Mistresse, and was very

desperately transported for her love, as coveting (above all things

else) to see her once more; yet was he of such powerfull constancy, as

7 whole yeeres together, he vanquished all those fierce conflicts. But

on a day it chanced he heard a song sung in Cyprus, which he

himselfe had formerly made, in honour of the love he bare to his

Mistresse, and what delight he conceived, by being dayly in her

presence; whereby he gathered, that it was impossible for him to

forget her, and proceeded on so desirously, as he could not live,

except he had a sight of her once more, and therefore determined on

his returne to Florence. Having set all his affaires in due order,

accompanied with a servant of his onely, he passed to Ancona, where

when he was arrived, he sent his Merchandises to Florence, in name

of the Merchant of Ancona, who was his especiall friend and partner;

travayling himselfe alone with his servant, in the habite of a

Pilgrime, as if he had beene newly returned from Jerusalem.

  Being come to Florence, he went to an Inne kept by two brethren,

neere neighbours to the dwelling of his Mistresse, and the first thing

he did, was passing by her doore, to get a sight of her if he were

so happie. But he found the windowes, doores, and all parts of the

house fast shut up, whereby he suspected her to be dead, or else to be

changed from her dwelling: wherefore (much perplexed in minde) he went

on to the two brothers Inne, finding foure persons standing at the

gate, attired in mourning, whereat he marvelled not a little;

knowing himselfe to be so transfigured, both in body and babite, farre

from the manner of common use at his parting thence, as it was a

difficult matter to know him: he stept boldly to a Shooe-makers shop

neere adjoyning, and demanded the reason of their wearing mourning.

The Shooe-maker made answer thus; Sir, those men are clad in mourning,

because a brother of theirs, being named Theobaldo (who hath beene

absent hence a long while) about some fifteene dayes since was slaine.

And they having heard, by proofe made in the Court of justice, that

one Aldobrandino Palermini (who is kept close prisoner) was the

murtherer of him, as he came in a disguised habite to his daughter, of

whom he was most affectionately enamoured; cannot chuse, but let the

World know by their outward habits, the inward affliction of their

hearts, for a deede so dishonourably committed. Theobaldo wondered

greatly hereat, imagining, that some man belike resembling him in

shape, might be slaine in this manner, and by Aldobrandino, for

whose misfortune he grieved marvellously. As concerning his Mistresse,

he understood that shee was living, and in good health; and night

drawing on apace, he went to his lodging, with infinite molestations

in his minde, where after supper, he was lodged in a Corne-loft with

his man. Now by reason of many disturbing imaginations, which

incessantly wheeled about his braine, his bed also being none of the

best, and his supper (perhaps) somewhat of the coursest; a great

part of the night was spent, yet could he not close his eyes together.

But lying still broade awake, about the dead time of night, he heard

the treading of divers persons over his head, who discended downe a

paire of stayres by his Chamber, into the lower parts of the house,

carrying a light with them, which he discerned by the chinkes and

crannies in the wall. Stepping softly out of his bed, to see what

the meaning hereof might be, he espied a faire young woman, who

carried a light in her hand, and three men in her company,

descending downe the stayres together, one of them speaking thus to

the young woman. Now we may boldly warrant our saftey, because we have

heard it assuredly, that the death of Theobaldo Elisei, hath beene

sufficiently approved by the Brethren, against Aldobrandino Palermini,

and he hath confessed the fact; whereupon the sentence is already

set downe in writing. But yet it behooveth us notwithstanding, to

conceale it very secretly, because if ever hereafter it should be

knowne, that we are they who murthered him, we shall be in the same

danger, as now Aldobrandino is.

  When Theobaldo had heard these words, hee began to consider with

himselfe, how many and great the dangers are, wherewith mens minds may

dayly be molested. First, he thought on his owne brethren in their

sorrow, and buried a stranger insteed of him, accusing afterward (by

false opinion, and upon the testimony of as false witnesses) a man

most innocent, making him ready for the stroke of death. Next, he made

a strict observation in his soule, concerning the blinded severity

of Law, and the Ministers thereto belonging, who pretending a diligent

and carefull inquisition for truth, doe oftentimes (by their

tortures and torments) heare lies avouched (onely for ease of paine)

in the place of a true confession, yet thinking themselves (by doing

so) to be the Ministers of God and justice, whereas indeede they are

the Divels executioners of his wickednesse. Lastly, converting his

thoughts to Aldobrandino, the imagined murtherer of a man yet

living, infinite cares beleagured his soule, in devising what might

best be done for his deliverance.

  So soone as he was risen in the morning, leaving his servant behinde

him in his lodging, he went (when he thought it fit time) all alone

toward the house of his Mistresse, where finding by good fortune the

gate open, he entred into a small Parlour beneath, and where he saw

his Mistresse sitting on the ground, wringing hands, and wofully

weeping, which (in meere compassion) moved him to weepe likewise;

and going somewhat neere her, he saide. Madame, torment your selfe

no more, for your peace is not farre off from you. The Gentlewoman

hearing him say so, lifted up her head, and in teares spake thus. Good

man, thou seemest to me to be a Pilgrime stranger; what doest thou

know, either concerning my peace, or mine affliction? Madame

(replied the Pilgrime) I am of Constantinople, and (doubtlesse) am

conducted hither by the hand of Heaven, to convert your teares into

rejoycing, and to deliver your Father from death. How is this?

answered shee: If thou be of Constantinople, and art but now arrived

here; doest thou know who we are, either I, or my Father?

  The Pilgrime discoursed to her, even from the one end to the

other, the history of her husbands sad disasters, telling her, how

many yeeres since she was espoused to him, and many other important

matters, which well shee knew, and was greatly amazed thereat,

thinking him verily to be a Prophet, and kneeling at his feete,

entreated him very earnestly, that if he were come to deliver her

Father Aldobrandino from death, to doe it speedily, because the time

was very short. The Pilgrime appearing to be a man of great holinesse,

saide. Rise up Madame, refraine from weeping, and observe

attentively what I shall say; yet with this caution, that you never

reveale it to any person whatsoever. This tribulation whereinto you

are falne, (as by revelation I am faithfully informed) is for a

grievous sinne by you heretofore committed, whereof divine mercy is

willing to purge you, and to make a perfect amends by a sensible

feeling of this affliction; as seeking your sound and absolute

recovery, least you fall into farre greater danger then before. Good

man (quoth shee) I am burthened with many sinnes, and doe not know for

which any amends should be made by me; any one sooner then other:

wherefore if you have intelligence thereof, for charities sake tell it

me, and I will doe so much as lieth in me, to make a full satisfaction

for it. Madame, answered the Pilgrime, I know well enough what it

is, and will demand it no more of you, to winne any further

knowledge thereof, then I have already: but because in revealing it

your selfe, it may touch you with the more true compunction of

soule; let us goe to the point indeede, and tell mee, doe you

remember, that at any time you were married to an Husband, or no?

  At the hearing of these words, shee breathed foorth a very

vehement sigh, and was stricken with admiration at this question,

beleeving that not any one had knowledge thereof. Howbeit, since the

day of the supposed Theobaldaes buriall, such a rumour ran abroade, by

meanes of some speeches, rashly dispersed by a friend of

Theobaldoes, who (indeede) knew it; whereupon shee returned him this

answer. It appeareth to me (good man) that divine ordinativation

hath revealed unto you all the secrets of men; and therefore I am

determined, not to conceale any of mine from you. True it is, that

in my younger yeeres, being left a widdow, I entirely affected an

unfortunate young Gentleman, who (in secret) was my Husband, and whose

death is imposed on my Father. The death of him I have the more

bemoaned, because (in reason) it did neerely concerne me, by shewing

my selfe so savage and rigorous to him before his departure:

neverthelesse, let me assure you Sir, that neither his parting long

absence from me, or his untimely death, never had the power to bereave

my heart of his remembrance.

  Madame, saide the Pilgrime, the unfortinate young Gentleman that

is slaine, did never love you; but sure I am, that Theobaldo Elisei

loved you deerely. But tell me, what was the occasion whereby you

conceived such hatred against him? Did he at any time offend you? No

truly Sir, quoth shee; but the reason of my anger towards him, was

by the words and threatnings of a religious Father, to whom once I

revealed (under confession) how faithfully I affected him, and what

private familiarity had passed betweene us. When iristantly he used

such dreadfull threatnings to me, and which (even yet) doe afflict

my soule, that I did not abstaine, and utterly refuse him, the

Divell would fetch me quicke to Hell, and cast me into the bottome

of his quenchlesse and everlasting fire.

  These menaces were so prevailing with me, as I refused all further

conversition with Theobaldo, in which regard, I would receive

neither letters or messages from him. Howbeit, I am perswaded, that if

he had continued here still, and not departed hence in such

desperate manner as hee did, seeing him melt and consume dayly away,

even as Snow by power of the Sunne-beames: my austere deliberation had

beene long agoe quite altered, because not at any time (since then)

life hath allowed me one merry day, neither did I, or ever can love

any man like unto him.

  At these wordes the Pilgrime sighed, and then proceeded on againe

thus. Surely Madame, this one onely sin, may justly torment you,

because I know for a certainty, that Theobaldo never offered you any

in many, the day hee first became enamoured of you; and what grace

or favour you affoorded him, was your owne voluntary gift, and (as

he tooke it) no more then in modesty might well become you; for hee

loving you first, you had beene most cruell and unkinde, if you should

not have requited him with the like affection. If then he continued so

just and loyall to you, as (of mine owne knowledge) I am able to say

he did; what should move you to repulse him so rudely? Such matters

ought well to bee considered on before hand; for if you did imagine,

that you should repent it as an action ill done, yet you could not doe

it, because as hee became yours, so were you likewise onely his; and

he being yours, you might dispose of him at your pleasure, as being

truely obliged to none but you. How could you then with-draw your

selfe from him, being onely his, and not commit most manifest theft, a

farre unfitting thing for you to doe, except you had gone with his

consent.

  Now Madame, let me further give you to understand, that I am a

religious person, and a pilgrime, and therefore am well acquainted

with all the courses of their dealing; if therefore I speake

somewhat more amply of them, and for your good, it can not be so

unseeming for mee to doe it, as it would appeare ugly in another. In

which respect, I will speake the more freely to you, to the ende, that

you may take better knowledge of them, then (as it seemeth) hitherto

you have done. In former passed times such as professed Religion, were

learned and most holy persons; but our religious professours now

adayes, and such as covet to bee so esteemed; have no matter at all of

Religion in them, but onely the outward shew and habite. Which yet

is no true badge of Religion neither, because it was ordained by

religious institutions, that their garments should bee made of

arrow, plaine, and coursest spun cloth, to make a publike

manifestation to the world, that (in meere devotion, and religious

disposition) by wrapping their bodies in such base clothing, they

condemned and despised all temporall occasions. But now adaies they

make them large, deepe, glistering, and of the finest cloth or stuffes

to bee gotten, reducing those habites to so proude and pontificall a

forme, that they walke Peacock-like, rustling, and strouting with them

in the Churches; yea, and in open publike places, as if they were

ordinary secular persons, to have their pride more notoriously

observed. And as the Angler bestoweth his best cunning, with one

line and baite to catch many fishes at one strike; even so do these

counterfeited habit-mongers, by their dissembling and crafty

dealing, beguile many credulous widdowes: simple women, yea, and men

of weake capacity, to credit whatsoever they doe or say, and herein

they doe most of all exercise themselves.

  And to the end, that my speeches may not savor of any untruth

against them; these men which I speake of, have not any habite at

all of religious men, but onely the colour of their garments, and

whereas they in times past, desired nothing more then the salvation of

mens soules; these fresher witted fellowes, covet after women and

wealth, and employ all their paines by their whispering confessions,

and figures of painted fearefull examples, to affright and terrifie

unsetled and weake consciences, by horrible and blasphemous

speeches; yet adding perswasion withall, that their sinnes may be

purged by Almes-deedes and Masses. To the end, that such as credit

them in these their dayly courses, being guided more by apparance of

devotion, then any true compunction of heart, to escape severe

penances by them enjoyned: may some of them bring bread, others

wine, others coyne, all of them matter of commoditie and benefit,

and simply say, these gifts are for the soules of their good friends

deceased.

  I make not any doubt, but almes-deedes and prayers, are very mighty;

and prevailing meanes, to appease heavens anger for some sinnes

committed; but if such as bestow them, did either see or know, to whom

they give them: they would more warily keepe them, or else cast them

before Swine, in regard they are altogether so unworthy of them. But

come we now to the case of your ghostly father, crying out in your

eare, that secret mariage was a most greevous sinne: Is not the breach

thereof farre greater? Familiar conversation betweene man and man

and woman, is a concession meerely naturall: but to rob, kill, or

banish any one, proceedeth from the mindes malignity. That thou did

rob Theobaldo, your selfe hath already sufficiently witnessed, by

taking that from him, which with free consent in mariage you gave him.

Next I must say, that by all the power remaining in you, you kild him,

because you would not permit him to remaine with you, declaring your

selfe in the very height of cruelty, that hee might destroy his life

by his owne hands. In which case the Law requireth, that whosoever

is the occasion of an ill act committed, hee or she is as deepe in the

fault, as the party that did it. Now concerning his banishment, and

wandring seaven yeeres in exile thorow the world; you cannot denie,

but that you were the onely occasion thereof. In all which three

severall actions, farre more capitally have you offended; then by

contracting of mariage in such clandestine manner.

  But let us see, whether Theobaldo deserved all these severall

castigations, or not. In trueth he did not, your selfe have

confessed (beside that which I know) that hee loved you more deerely

then himselfe, and nothing could be more honoured, magnified and

exalted, then dayly you were by him, above all other women whatsoever.

When hee came in any place, where honestly, and without suspition

hee might speake to you: all his honour, and all his liberty, lay

wholly committed into your power. Was hee not a noble young Gentleman?

Was he (among all those parts that most adorne a man, and appertaine

to the very choycest respect) inferiour to any one of best merit in

your Citie? I know that you cannot make deniall to any of these

demands. How could you then by the perswasion of a beast, a foole, a

villaine, yea, a vagabond, envying both his happinesse and yours,

enter into so cruell a minde against him? I know not what error

misguideth women, in scorning and despising their husbands: but if

they entred into a better consideration, understanding triely what

they are, and what nobility of nature God hath endued man withall,

farre above all other creatures; it would bee their highest title of

glory, when they are so preciously esteemed of them, so dearely

affected by them, and so gladly embraced in all their best abilities.

  This is so great a sinne, as the divine justice (which in an

equall Ballance bringeth all operations to their full effect) did

not purpose to leave unpunished; but as you enforced against all

reason, to take away Theobaldo from your selfe: even so your father

Aldobrandino, without any occasion given by Theobaldo, is in perill of

his life, and you a partaker of his tribulation. Out of which if you

desire to be delivered, it is very convenient that you promise one

thing which I shall tell you, and may much better be by you performed.

Namely, that if Theobaido do returne from his long banishment, you

shall restore him to your love, grace, and good acceptation;

accounting him in the selfe-same degree of favour and private

entertainment, as he was at the first, before your wicked ghostly

father so hellishly incensed you against him.

  When the Pilgrim had finished his speeches, the Gentlewoman who

had listned to them very attentively (because all the edged reasons

appeared to be plainly true) became verily perswaded, that all these

afictions had falne on her and her father, for the ingratefull offence

by her committed, and therefore thus is replied. Worthy man, and the

friend to goodnesse, I know undoubtedly, that the words which you have

spoken are true, and also I understand by your demonstration, what

manner of people some of those religious persons are, whom

heretofore I have reputed to be Saints, but find them now to be far

otherwise. And to speake truly, I perceive the fault to be great and

greevous, wherein I have offended against Theobaldo, and would (if I

could) willingly make amends, even in such manner as you have advised.

But how is it possible to be done? Theobaldo being dead, can be [no]

more recalled to this life; and therefore, I know not what promise I

should make, in a matter which is not to bee performed. Whereto the

Pilgrime without any longer pausing, thus answered.

  Madam, by such revelations as have beene shewne to me, I know for

a certainety, that Theobaldo is not dead, but living, in health, and

in good estate; if he had the fruition of your grace and favour.

Take heede what you say Sir (quoth the Gentlewoman) for I saw him

lye slain before my doore, his bodie having received many wounds,

which I folded in mine armes, and washed his face with my brinish

teares; whereby (perhaps) the scandall arose, that flew abroad to my

disgrace. Beleeve me Madam, replyed the Pilgrim, say what you will,

I dare assure you that Theobaldo is living, and if you dare make

promise, concerning what hath bin formerly requested, and keepe it

inviolably, I make no doubt, but you your selfe shall shortly see him.

I promise it (quoth she) and binde my selfe thereto by a sacred

oath, to keepe it faithfully: for never could any thing happen to

yeeld me the like contentment, as to see my Father free from danger,

and Theobaldo living.

  At this instant Theobaldo thought it to be a very apt and convenient

time to disclose himselfe, and to comfort the Lady, with an assured

signall of hope, for the deliverance of her Father, wherefore he said:

Ladie, to the end that I may comfort you infallibly in this

dangerous perill of your fathers life, I am to make knowne an

especiall secret to you, which you are to keepe carefully (as you

tender your owne life) from ever being revealed to the world. They

were then in a place of sufficient privacie, and by themselves,

because she reposed great confidence in the Pilgrims sanctity or life,

as thinking him none other then he seemed to be. Theobaldo tooke out

of his Purse a Ring, which she gave him the last night of their

conversing together, and he had kept with no meane care: and shewing

it to her, said; Do you know this Ring Madam? So soone as she saw

it, immediatly she knew it, and answered, Yes Sir, I know the Ring,

and confesse that heretofore I gave it to Theobaldo.

  Heereupon the Pilgrime stood up, and sodainly putting off his

poore linnen Frock, and the Hood from his head, using his Florentine

tongue, he said; Tell me Madam, do you not know me? When she had

advisedly beheld him, and knew him indeed to be Theobaldo, she was

stricken into a wonderfull astonishment, being as fearfull of him,

as she was of the dead body which she saw lying in the street. And I

dare assure you, that she durst not go neere him, to respect him as

Theobaldo lately come from Cyprus, but (in terror) fled away from him;

as if Theobaldo had bin newly risen out of his grave, and came thither

purposely to affright her; wherefore he said. Be not affraid Madam,

I am your Theobaldo, in health, alive, and never as yet died,

neither have I received any wounds to kill mee, as you and my brethren

had formerly imagined.

  Some better assurance getting possession of her, as knowing him

perfectly by his voice, and looking more stedfastly on his face, which

constantly avouched him to be Theobaldo; the teares trickling amaine

downe her faire cheekes, she ran to embrace him, casting her armes

about his necke, and kissing him a thousand times, my faithfull

husband, nothing in the world can be so welcom to me. Theobaldo having

most kindly kissed and embraced her, said; Sweet wife, time wit not

now allow us those ceremonious courtesies, which (indeed) so long a

separation do justly challenge; for I must about a more weighty

busines, to have your Father safely delivered, which I hope to do

before to morow night when you shall heare tydings to your better

contentment. And questionlesse, if I speed no worse then my good

hope perswadeth me, I will see you againe to night, and acquaint you

at better leysure, in such things as I cannot do now at this present.

  So putting on his Pilgrimes habit againe, kissing her once more, and

comforting her with future good successe, he departed from her,

going to the prison where Aldobrandino lay, whom hee found more

pensive, as being in hourely expectation of death, then any hope he

had to be freed from it. Being brought neerer to him by the

prisoners favour, as seeming to be a man come onely to comfort him:

sitting downe by him, thus he began. Aldobrandino, I am a friend of

thine, whom Heaven hath sent to doe thee good, in meere pittie and

compassion of thine innocency. And therefore, if thou wilt grant me

one small request, which I am earnestly to crave at thy hands, thou

shalt heare (without any failing) before to morrow at night, the

sentence of thy free absolution, whereas now thou expectest nothing

but death; whereunto Aldobrandino thus answered. Friendly man,

seeing thou art so carefull of my safety (although I know thee not,

neither doe remember that ere I saw thee till now) thou must needs

be some especiall kinde friend of mine. And to tell thee the truth,

I never committed the sinful deed for which I am condemned to death.

True it is, I have other heinous and greevous sins, which

(undoubtedly) have throwne. this heavy judgement on me, and

therefore I am the more willing to undergo it. Neverthelesse, let me

thus I us farre assure thee, that I would gladly not onely promise

something which might be to the glory of God, if he were pleased in

this case to have mercy on me; but also would as willingly performe

and accomplish it. Wherefore, demaund whatsoever thou pleasest, for

unfained (if I escape with life) I will truly keepe promise with thee.

  Sir, replyed the Pilgrime, I desire nor demand any thing of you, but

that you would pardon the foure Brethren of Theobaldo, that brought

you to this hard extremity, as thinking you to be guilty of their

brothers death, and that you would also accept them as your brethren

and friends upon their craving pardon for what they have done.

  Sir, answered Aldobrandino, no man knoweth how sweet revenge is, nor

 

with what heate it is to be desired, but onely the man who hath bene

wronged. Notwithstanding, not to hinder hope, which onely aymeth at

Heaven, I freely forgive them, and henceforth pardon them for ever,

intending more. over, that if mercy give me life, and cleere me from

this bloody imputation, to love and respect them so long as I shall

live. This answere was most pleasing to the Pilgrime, and without

any further multiplication of speeches, he entreated him to be of good

comfort, for he feared not but before the time prefixed, he should

heare certaine tydings of his deliverance.

  At his departing from him, hee went directly to the Signoria, and

prevailed so far that he spake privately with a Knight, who was then

one of the States chiefest Lords, to whom he saide. Sir, a man ought

to bestow his best paines and diligence, that the truth of things

should be apparantly knowne, especially, such men as hold the place

and office as you doe: to the end, that those persons which have

committed no foule offence, should not bee punished, but onely the

guilty and haynous transgressors. And because it will be no meane

honor to you, to lay the blame where it worthily deserveth, I am

come hither purposely, to informe you in a case of most weighty

importance. It is not unknowne to you, with what rigour the State hath

proceeded against Aldobrandino Palermini, and you think verily he is

the man that hath slaine Theobaldo Elisei, whereupon your Law hath

condemned him to die. I dare assure you Sir, that a very unjust course

hath beene taken in this case, because Aldobrandino is falsly

accused as you your selfe will confesse before midnight, when they are

delivered into your power, that were the murderers of the man.

  The honest Knight, who was very sorrowfull for Aldobrandino,

gladly gave attention to the Pilgrime, and having conferred on many

matters, appertaining to the fact committed: the two Brethren who were

Theobaldoes Hostes, and their Chambermaid, upon good advice given,

were apprehended in their first sleep, without any resistance made

in their defence. But when the tortures were sent for, to understand

truly how the case went, they would not endure any paine at all, but

each aside by himselfe, and then altogether confessed openly, that

they did the deede, yet not knowing him to be Theobaldo Elisei. And

when it was demanded of them, upon what occasion they did so foule

an act, they answered, that they were so hatefull against the mans

life, because he would luxuriouslie have abused one of their wives,

when they both were absent from their owne home.

  When the Pilgrim had heard their voluntary confession, he tooke

his leave of his Knight, returning secretly to the house of Madam

Hermelina, and there (because all her people were in their beds) she

carefully awaited his returne, to beare some glad tydings of her

father, and to make a further reconciliation betweene her and

Theobaldo, when sitting downe by her, he said: Deare Love, be of

good cheere, for (upon my word) to morrow you shall have your father

home safe, well, and delivered from all further danger: and to

confirme her the more confidently in his words, he declared at large

the whole carriage of the businesse. Hermelina being wondrously

joyfull, for two such succesefull accidents to injoy her husband alive

and in health, and also to have her father freed from so great a

danger; kissed and embraced him most affectionately, welcomming him

lovingly into her bed, whereto so long time hee had beene a stranger.

  No sooner did bright day appeare, but Theobaldo arose, having

acquainted her with such matters as were to be done, and once more

earnestly desiring her, to conceale (as yet) these occurrences to

her selfe. So in his Pilgrims habit, he departed from her house, to

awaite convenient: opportunity, for attending on the businesse

belonging to Aldobrandino. At the usuall houre appointed, the Lords

were all set in the Signioria, and had received full information,

concerning the offence imputed to Aldobrandino, setting him at liberty

by publique consent, and sentencing the other malefactors with

death, who (within a few dayes after) were beheaded in place the

murther was committed. Thus Aldobrandino being released, to his

exceeding comfort, and no small joy of his daughter, kindred, and

friends, all knowing perfectly, that this had happened by the Pilgrims

meanes, they conducted him home to Aldobrandinoes house, where they

desired him to continue so long as himselfe pleased, using him with

most honourable and gracious respect, bilt especially Hermelina, who

knew (better then the rest) on whom she bestowed her liberall favours,

yet concealing all closely to her selfe. After two or three dayes were

over-past, in these complementall entercoursings of kindnesse,

Theobaldo began to consider, that it was high time for reconciliation,

to be solemnely past betweene his brethren and Aldobrandino. For, they

were not a little amazed at his strange deliverance, and went likewise

continually armed, as standing in feare of Aldobrandino and his

friends; which made him the more earnest, for accomplishment of the

promise formerly made unto him. Aldobrandino lovingly replied, that he

was ready to make good his word. Whereupon, the Pilgrime provided a

goodly Banquet, whereat he pursued to have present Aldobrandino, his

Daughter, Kindred, and their wives. But first, himselfe went in

person, to invite them in peace to his banquet, using many pregnant

and forcible reasons to them, such as are requisite in the like

discordant cases. In the end, they were so wise and prevailing with

them that they willingly condiscended, and thought it no disparagement

unto them, for the recovery of Aldobrandinoes kindnesse againe, to

crave pardon for their great error committed. On the morrow following,

about dinner time, the foure brethren of Theobaldo, attired in their

mourning garments, with their wives and frends came first to the house

of Aldobrandino, who purposely stayed for them; and having laid

downe their weapons on the ground, in the presence of all such as

Aldobrandino had invited as his witnesses, they offered themselves

to his mercy, and humbly required pardon of him, for the matter

wherein they had offended him. Aldobrandino shedding teares, most

lovingly embraced them, and (to be briefe) pardoned whatsoever

injuries he had received. After this, the sisters and wives, all

clad in mourning, courteously submitted themselves, and were

graciously welcommed by Madame Hermelina, as also divers other

Gentlewomen there present with her. Being all seated at the Tables,

which were furnished with such rarities as could be wished for; al

things else deserved their due commendation, but onely sad silence,

occasioned by the fresh remembrance of sorow, appearing in the habites

of Theobaldoes friends and kindred, which the Pilgrim himselfe plainly

perceived, to be the onely disgrace to him and his feast. Wherefore,

as before he had resolved, when time served to purge away this

melancholly, he arose from the Table, when some (as yet) had scarse

begun to eate, and thus spake.

  Gracious company, there is no defect in this Banquet, or more debars

it of the honour it might else have, but onely the presence of

Theobaldo, who having bin continually in your company, it seemes you

are not willing to take knowledge of him, and therefore I meane my

selfe to shew him. So, uncasing himselfe out of his Pilgrimes clothes,

and standing in his Hose and Doublet, to their no little admiration,

they all knew him, yet doubted whether it were he, or no. Which he

perceiving, he repeated his brethrens and absent kindreds names, and

what occurrences hapned betweene them from time to time, beside the

relation of his owne passed fortunes, inciting teares in the eyes of

his brethren, and all else there present, every one hugging and

embracing him, yea, many beside, who were no kin at all to him.

Hermelina onely excepted: which when Aldobrandino saw, he said unto

her; How now Hermelina? Why doest thou not welcome home Theobaldo,

so kindly as the rest have done?

  She making a modest courtesie to her Father, and answering so

loude as every one might her, There is not any one in this assembly

that more willingly would give him all expression of a joyfull

welcom home and thankefull gratitude for such especiall favours

received, then in my heart I could affoord to do, but onely in

regard of those infamous speeches noysed out against me, on the day

when we wept for him, who was supposed to be Theobaldo, which

slander was to my great discredit. Go on boldly, replied Aldobrandino,

doest thou think that I regard any such praters? In the procuring of

my deliverance, he hath approved them to be manifest lyars, albeit I

my selfe did never credit them. Go then I command thee, and - let me

see thee both kisse and embrace him. She who desired nothing more,

shewed her selfe not sloth full in obeying her father to do but her

duty to her husband. Wherefore being risen, as all the rest had

done, but yet in farre more effectuall manner, she declared her

unfained love to Theobaldo. These bountifull favours of

Aldobrandino, were joyfully accepted by Theobaldoes brethren, as

also to every one there present; so that all former rancour and hatred

which had caused heavie variances betweene them, was now converted

to mutuall kindnesse and solemne friendship on every side.

  When the feasting dayes were finished, the garments of sad

mourning were quite laid aside, and those (becomming so generall a

joy) put on, to make their hearts and habites suteable. Now,

concerning the man slaine, and supposed to be Theobaldo, hee was

one, that in all parts of body, and truenesse of complexion so neerely

resembled him, as Theobaldoes owne brethren could not distinguish

the one from the other: but hee was of Lunigiana, named Fatinolo,

and not Theobaldo, whom the two Brethren Inne-keepers maliced, about

some idle suspition conceived, and having slaine him, layde his body

at the doore of Aldobrandino, where by reason of Theobaldoes

absence, it was generally reputed to be hee, and Aldobrandino

charged to doe the deede, by vehement perswasion of the brethren,

knowing what love had passed betweene him and his daughter

Hermelina. But happy was the Pilgrims returne, first to heare those

words in the Inne, the meanes to bring the murther to light, and

then the discreet carriage of the Pilgrime, untill he plainly approved

himselfe, to bee truely Theobaldo.