Decameron: text - IntraText CT

his will, as utterly despising her, went to Florence, where hee made

love to a young Gentlewoman. Juliet, by a queint and cunning policy,

compassed the meanes (insted of his chosen new friend) to lye with her

owne husband, by whom shee conceived, and had two Sonnes; which

being afterward made knowne unto Count Bertrand, he accepted her

into his favour againe, and loved her as his loyall and honourable

wife.

Now there remained no more (to preserve the priviledge granted to

Dioneus uninfringed) but the Queene onely, to declare her Novell.

Wherefore, when the discourse of Madam Lauretta was ended, without

attending any motion to bee made for her next succeeding, with a

gracious and pleasing disposition, thus she began to speake. Who shall

tell any Tale heereafter, to carry any hope or expectation of a

liking, having heard the rare and wittie discourse of Madame Lauretta?

Beleeve me, it was very advantageable to us all, that she was not this

dayes first beginner, because few or none would have had any courage

to follow after her; and therefore the rest yet remaining, are the

more to be feared and suspected. Neverthelesse, to avoid the breach of

order, and to claime no priviledge by my place, of not performing what

I ought to do: prove as it may, a Tale you must have, and thus I

proceed.

There lived sometime in the kingdome of France, a Gentleman named

Isnarde, being the Count of Roussillion: who because hee was

continually weake, crazie, and sickly, kept a Physitian daily in his

house, who was called Master Gerard of Narbona. Count Isnarde had

one onely Sonne, very young in yeares, yet of towardly hope, faire,

comely, and of pleasing person, named Bertrand; with whom, many

other children of his age, had their education: and among them, a

daughter of the fore-named Physitian, called juliet; who, even in

these tender yeares, fixed her affection upon young Bertrand, with

such an earnest and intimate resolution, as was most admirable in so

yong a Maiden, and more then many times is noted in yeares of

greater discretion. Old Count Isnarde dying, young Bertrand fell as

a Ward to the King, and being sent to Paris, remained there under

his royall custodie and protection, to no little discomfort of young

Juliet, who became greevously afflicted in minde, because she had lost

the company of Bertrand.

Within some few yeares after, the Physitian her Father also dyed,

and then her desires grew wholly addicted, to visite Paris her selfe

in person, onely because she would see the young Count, awaiting but

time and opportunitie, to fit her stolne journey thither. But her

kindred and friends, to whose care and trust she was committed, in

regard of her rich dowrie, and being left as a fatherlesse Orphane:

were so circumspect of her walks and daily behaviour, as she could not

compasse any meane; of escaping. Her yeares made her now almost fit

for marriage, which so much more encreased her love to the Count,

making refusall of many woorthy husbands, and laboured by the

motions of her friends and kindred, yet all denyed, they not knowing

any reason for her refusalles. By this time the Count was become a

gallant goodly Gentleman, and able to make election of his wife,

whereby her affections were the more violently enflamed, as fearing

least some other should be preferred before her, and so her hopes be

utterly disappointed.

It was noysed abroad by common report, that the King of France

was in a very dangerous condition, by reason of a strange swelling

on his stomacke, which failing of apt and convenient curing, became

a Fistula, afflicting him daily with extraordinary paine and

anguish, no Chirurgeon or Physitian being found, that could minister

any hope of healing, but rather encreased the greefe, and drove it

to more vehement extreamitie, compelling the King, as dispairing

utterly of all helpe, to give over any further counsell or advice.

Heereof faire Juliet was wondrously joyfull, as hoping that this

accident would prove the meanes, not onely of her journey to Paris,

but if the disease were no more then she imagined; she could easily

cure it, and thereby compasse Count Bertrand to be her husband.

Hereupon, quickning up her wits, with remembrance of those rules of

Art, which (by long practise and experience) she had learned of her

skilfull Father, she compounded certaine hearbes together, such as she

knew fitting for that kinde of infirmity, and having reduced her

compound into powder, away she rode forthwith to Paris.

Being there arrived, all other serious matters set aside, first

shee must needs have a sight of Count Bertrand, as being the onely

Saint that caused her pilgrimage. Next she made meanes for her accesse

to the King, humbly entreating his Majesty, to vouchsafe her the sight

of his Fistula. When the King saw her, her modest lookes did

plainely deliver, that she was a faire, comely, and discreete young

Gentlewoman; wherefore, he would no longer hide it, but layed it

open to her view. When shee had seene and felt it, presently she put

the King in comfort; affirming, that she knew her selfe able to cure

his Fistula, saying: Sir, if your Highnesse will referre the matter to

me, without any perill of life, or any the least paine to your person,

I hope (by the helpe of heaven) to make you whole and sound within

eight dayes space. The King hearing her words, beganne merrily to

smile at her, saying: How is it possible for thee, being a yong

Maiden, to do that which the best Physitians in Europe, are not able

to performe? I commend thy kindnesse, and will not remaine

unthankefull for thy forward willingnesse: but I am fully

determined, to use no more counsell, or to make any further triall

of Physicke or Chirurgery. Whereto faire Juliet thus replyed: Great

King, let not my skill and experience be despised, because I am young,

and a Maiden; for my profession is not Physicke, neither do I

undertake the ministering thereof, as depending on mine owne

knowledge; but by the gracious assistance of heaven, and some rules of

skilfull observation, which I learned of reverend Gerard of Narbona

who was my worthy Father, and a Physitian of no meane fame, all the

while he lived.

At the hearing of these words, the King began somewhat to admire

at her gracious carriage, and saide within himselfe. What know I,

whether this Virgin is sent to me by the direction of heaven, or no?

Why should I disdaine to make proofe of her skill? Her promise is,

to cure me in a small times compasse, and without any paine or

affliction to me: she shall not come so farre, to returne againe

with the losse of he labour, I am resolved to try her cunning, and

thereon saide. Faire Virgin, if you cause me to breake my setled

determination, and faile of curing me, what can you expect to follow

thereon? Whatsoever great King (quoth she) shall please you. Let me be

strongly guarded, yet not hindered, when I am to prosecute the

businesse: and then if I do not perfectly heale you within eight

daies, let a good fire be made, and therein consume my body unto

ashes. But if I accomplish the cure, and set your Highnesse free

from all further greevance, what recompence then shall remaine to me?

Much did the King commend the confident perswasion which she had

of her owne power, and presently replyed. Faire beauty (quoth he) in

regard that thou art a Maide and unmaried, if thou keepe promise,

and I finde my selfe to be fully cured: I will match thee with some

such Gentleman in marriage, as shall be of honourable and worthy

reputation, with a sufficient dowry beside. My gracious Soveraigne

saide she, willing am I, and most heirtily thankfull withall, that

your Highnesse shall bestow me in marriage: but I desire then, to have

such a husband, as I shall desire or demand by your gracious favour,

without presuming to crave any of your Sonnes, Kindred, or Alliance,

or appertaining unto your Royal blood. Whereto the King gladly

granted. Young Juliet began to minister her Physicke, and within fewer

dayes then her limited time, the King was sound and perfectly cured;

which when he perceived, he saide unto her. Trust me vertuous Mayde,

most woorthily hast thou wonne a Husband, name him, and thou shalt

have him. Royall King (quoth she) then have I won the Count Bertrand

of Roussillion, whom I have most entirely loved from mine Infancy, and

cannot (in my soule) affect any other. Very loath was the King to

grant her the young Count, but in regard of his solemne passed

promise, and his royal word engaged, which he would not by any

meanes breake; he commanded, that the Count should be sent for, and

spake thus to him. Noble Count, it is not unknowne to us, that you are

a Gentleman of great honour, and it is our Royall pleasure, to

discharge your wardship, that you may repaire home to your owne House,

there to settle your affaires in such order, as you may be the readier

to enjoy a Wife, which we intend to bestowe upon you. The Count

returned his Highnesse most humble thankes, desiring to know of

whence, and what she was? It is this Gentlewoman, answered the King,

who (by the helpe of Heaven) hath beene the meanes to save my life.

Well did the Count know her, as having very often before seene her;

and although she was very faire and amiable, yet in regard of her

meane birth, which he held as a disparagement to his Nobility in

blood; he made a scorne of her, and spake thus to the King. Would your

Highnesse give me a Quacksalver to my Wife, one that deales in drugges

and Physicarie? I hope I am able to bestowe my selfe much better

then so. Why? quoth the King, wouldst thou have us breake our faith;

which for the recovery of our health, we have given to this vertuous

virgin, and she will have no other reward, but onely Count Bertrand to

be her husband? Sir, replied the Count, you may dispossesse me of

all that is mine, because I am your Ward and Subject, any where else

you may bestow me: but pardon me to tell you, that this marriage

cannot be made with any liking or allowance of mine, neither will I

ever give consent thereto.

Sir, saide the King, it is our will that it shall be so, vertuous

she is, faire and wise; she loveth thee most affectionately, and

with her mayest thou lead a more Noble life, then with the greatest

Lady in our Kingdome. Silent, and discontented stoode the Count, but

the King commanded preparation for the marriage; and when the

appointed time was come, the Count (albeit against his will)

received his wife at the Kings hand; she loving him deerly as her owne

life. When all was done, the Count requested of the King, that what

else remained for further solemnization of the marriage, it might be

performed in his owne Country, reserving to himselfe what else he

intended. Being mounted on horseback, and humbly taking their leave of

the King, the Count would not ride home to his owne dwelling, but into

Tuscany, where he heard of a warre between the Florentines and the

Senesi, purposing to take part with the Florentines, to whom he was

willingly and honourably welcommed, being created Captaine of a worthy

Company, and continuing there a long while in service.

The poore forsaken new married Countesse, could scarsely be

pleased with such dishonourable unkindnesse, yet governing her

impatience with no meane discretion, and hoping by her vertuous

carriage, to compasse the meanes of his recall: home she rode to

Roussillion, where all the people received her very lovingly. Now,

by reason of the Counts so long absence, all things were there farre

out of order; mutinies, quarrels, and civill dissentions, having

procured many dissolute irruptions, to the expence of much blood in

many places. But she, like a jolly stirring Lady, very wise and

provident in such disturbances, reduced all occasions to such civility

againe, that the people admired her rare behaviour, and condemned

the Count for his unkindnesse towards her.

After that the whole Country of Roussillion (by the policy and

wisedome of this worthy Lady) was fully reestablished in their ancient

liberties; she made choise of two discreet knights, whom she sent to

the Count her husband, to let him understand, that if in displeasure

to her, hee was thus become a stranger to his owne Country: upon the

returne of his answer, to give him contentment, she would depart

thence, and by no meanes disturbe him. Roughly and churlishly he

replied; Let her do as she list, for I have no determination to

dwell with her, or neere where she is. Tell her from me, when she

shall have this Ring, which you behold heere on my finger, and a Sonne

in her armes begotten by me; then will I come live with her, and be

her love. The Ring he made most precious and deere account of, and

never tooke it off from his finger, in regard of an especiall vertue

and property, which he well knew to be remaining in it. And these

two Knights, hearing the impossibility of these two strict conditions,

with no other favour else to be derived from him; sorrowfully returned

backe to their Lady, and acquainted her with this unkinde answer, as

also his unalterable determination, which well you may conceive,

must needs be very unwelcome to her.

After she had an indifferent while considered with her selfe, her

resolution became so indauntable; that she would adventure to practise

such meanes, whereby to compasse those two apparant impossibilities,

and so to enjoy the love of her husband. Having absolutely concluded

what was to be done, she assembled all the cheefest men of the

country, revealing unto them (in mournfull manner) what an attempt she

had made already, in hope of recovering her husbands favour, and

what a rude answer was thereon returned. In the end, she told them,

that it did not sute with her unworthinesse, to make the Count live as

an exile from his owne inheritance, upon no other inducement, but

onely in regard of her: wherefore, she had determined betweene

heaven and her soule, to spend the remainder of her dayes in

Pilgrimages and prayers, for preservation of the Counts soule and

her owne; earnestly desiring them, to undertake the charge and

government of the Country, and signifying unto the Count, how she

had forsaken his house, and purposed to wander so farre thence, that

never would she visit Roussillion any more. In the deliverie of

these words, the Lords and Gentlemen wept and sighed

extraordinarily, using many earnest imprecations to alter this resolve

in her, but all was in vaine.

Having taken her sad and sorrowfull farewell of them all,

accompanied onely with her Maide, and one of her Kinsmen, away she

went, attired in a Pilgrimes habit, yet well furnished with money

and precious jewels, to avoyde all wants which might: befall her in

travaile; not acquainting any one whether she went. In no place stayed

she, untill she was arrived at Florence, where happening into a

poore Widdowes house, like a poore Pilgrime, she seemed well contented

therewith. And desiring to heare some tydings of the Count, the next

day shee saw him passe by the house on horse-backe, with his

company. Now, albeit shee knew him well enough, yet shee demanded of

the good old Widdow, what Gentleman he was? She made answer, that he

was a stranger there, yet a Nobleman, called Count Bertrand of

Roussillion, a very courteous Knight, beloved and much respected in

the City. Moreover, that he was farre in love with a neighbour of

hers, a young Gentlewoman, but very poore and meane in substance,

yet of honest life, vertuous, and never taxed with any evill report:

onely her poverty was the maine imbarment of her marriage, dwelling in

house with her mother, who was a wise, honest, and worthy Lady.

The Countesse having well observed her words, and considered thereon

from point to point; debating soberly with her owne thoughts, in

such a doubtfull case what was best to be done. When she had

understood which was the house, the ancient Ladies name, and

likewise her daughters, to whom her husband was now so

affectionately devoted; she made choise of a fit and convenient

time, when (in her Pilgrimes habit) secretly she went to the house.

There she found the mother and daughter in poore condition, and with

as poore a family: whom after she had ceremoniously saluted, she

told the old Lady, that she requested but a little conference with

her. The Lady arose, and giving her kinde entertainement, they went

together into a withdrawing Chamber, where being both set downe, the

Countesse began in this manner.

Madame, in my poore opinion, you are not free from the frownes of

Fortune, no more then I my selfe am: but if you were so well

pleased, there is no one that can comfort both our calamities in

such manner, as you are able to do. And beleeve me answered the

Lady, there is nothing in the world that can be so welcome to me, as

honest comfort. The Countesse proceeding on in her former speeches

said: I have now need (good Madame) both of your trust and fidelity,

whereon if I should rely, and you faile me, it will be your owne

undoing as well as mine. Speake then boldly, replied the old Lady, and

remaine constantly assured, that you shall no way be deceived by me.

Hereupon, the Countesse declared the whole course of her love, from

the very originall to the instant, revealing also what she was, and

the occasion of her comming thither, relating every thing so

perfectly, that the Lady verily beleeved her, by some reports which

she had formerly heard, and which mooved her the more to compassion.

Now, when all circumstances were at full discovered, thus spake the

Countesse.

Among my other miseries and misfortunes, which hath halfe broken

my heart in the meere repetition, beside the sad and afflicting

sufferance; two things there are, which if I cannot compasse to

have, all hope is quite frustrate for ever, of gaining the grace of my

Lord and Husband. Yet these two things may I obtaine by your helpe, if

all be true which I have heard, and you can therein best resolve

mee. Since my comming to this City, it hath credibly bene told me,

that the Count my husband, is deeply in love with your daughter. If

the Count (quoth the Ladie) love my daughter, and have a wife of his

owne, he must thinke, and so shall surely finde it, that his

greatnesse is no priviledge for him, whereby to worke dishonour upon

her poverty. But indeede, some apparances there are, and such a matter

as you speake of, may be so presumed; yet so farre from a very thought

of entertaining in her or me; as whatsoever I am able to doe, to yeeld

you any comfort and content, you shall find me therein both willing

and ready: for I prize my daughters spotlesse poverty at as high a

rate, as he can doe the pride of his honour.

Madame, quoth the Countesse, most heartily I thanke you. But

before I presume any further on your kindnesse, let me first tell you,

what faithfully I intend to do for you, if I can bring my purpose to

effect. I see that your daughter is beautifull, and of sufficient

yeeres for marriage; and is debarred thereof (as I have heard) onely

by lack of a competent dowry. Wherefore Madame, in recompence of the

favour I expect from you, I will enrich her with so much ready money

as you shall thinke sufficient to match her in the degree of honour.

Poverty made the poore Lady, very well to like of such a bountifull

offer, and having a noble heart shee said: Great Countesse say,

wherein am I able to do you any service, as can deserve such a

gracious offer? If the action be honest; without blame or scandall

to my poore, yet undetected reputation, gladly I will do it; and it

being accomplished, let the requitall rest in your owne noble nature.

Observe me then Madame, replied the Countesse. It is most convenient

for my purpose, that by some trusty and faithfull messenger, you

should advertise the Count my husband, that your daughter is, and

shall be at his command: but that she may remaine absolutely

assured, that his love is constant to her, and above all other: shee

must entreat him, to send her (as a testimony thereof) the Ring

which he weareth upon his little finger, albeit shee hath heard,

that he loveth it deerly. If he send the Ring, you shall give it me,

and afterward send him word, that your daughter is ready to accomplish

his pleasure; but, for the more safety and secrecie, he must repaire

hither to your house, where I being in bed insteed of your daughter,

faire Fortune may so favour mee, that (unknowne to him) I may conceive

with childe. Upon which good successe, when time shall serve, having

the Ring on my finger, and a childe in my armes begotten by him, his

love and liking may be recovered, and (by your meanes) I continue with

my Husband, as every vertuous Wife ought to doe.

The good old Lady imagined, that this was a matter somewhat

difficult, and might lay a blamefull imputation on her daughter.

Neverthelesse, considering, what an honest office it was in her, to

bee the meanes, whereby so worthy a Countesse should recover an

unkinde husband, led altogether by lust, and not a jot of cordiall

love; she knew the intent to be honest, the Countesse vertuous, and

her promise religious, and therefore undertooke to effect it. Within

few dayes after, verie ingeniously, and according to the instructed

order, the Ring was obtayned, albeit much against the Counts will; and

the Countesse, in sted of the Ladies vertuous daughter, was embraced

by him in bed: the houre proving so auspicious, and juno being Lady of

the ascendent, conjoyned with the witty Mercury, shee conceived of two

goodly Sonnes, and her deliverance agreed correspondently with the

just time.

Thus the old Lady, not at this time onely, but at many other meetings

besides; gave the Countesse free possession of her husbands pleasures,

yet alwayes in such darke and concealed secrecie, as it was never

suspected, nor knowne by any but themselves, the Count lying with

his owne wife, and disappointed of her whom he more deerely loved.

Alwayes at his uprising in the mornings (which usually was before

the break of day, for preventing the least scruple of suspicion)

many familiar conferences passed betweene them, with the gifts of

divers faire: and costly jewels; all which the Countesse carefully

kept, and perceiving assuredly, that shee was conceived with childe,

shee would no longer bee troublesome to the good old Lady; but calling

her aside, spake thus to her. Madame, I must needes give thankes to

heaven and you, because my desires are amply accomplished, and both

time and your deserts doe justly challenge, that I should

accordingly quite you before my departure. It remaineth now in your

owne power, to make what demand you please of me, which yet I will not

give you by way of reward, because that would seeme to bee base and

mercenary: but onely whatsoever you shall receive of me, is in

honourable recompence of faire and vertuous deservings, such as any

honest and well-minded Lady in the like distresse, may with good

credit allow, and yet no prejudice to her reputation.

Although poverty might well have tutored the Ladies tongue,

to-demand a liberall recompence for her paines; yet shee requested but

an 100 pounds, as a friendly helpe towards her daughters marriage, and

that with a bashfull blushing was uttered too; yet the Countesse

gave her five hundred pounds, besides so many rich and costly

jewels, as amounted to a farre greater summe. So shee returned to

her wonted lodging, at the aged widdowes house, where first shee was

entertained at her comming to Florence; and the good old Lady, to

avoyde the Counts repairing to her house any more, departed thence

sodainly with her daughter, to divers friends of hers that dwelt in

the Country, whereat the Count was much discontented; albeit

afterward, he did never heare any more tidings of hir or her daughter,

who was worthily married, to her Mothers great comfort.

Not long after, Count Bertrand was recalled home by his people:

and he having heard of his wives absence, went to Roussillion so

much the more willingly. And the Countesse knowing her husbands

departure from Florence, as also his safe arrivall at his owne

dwelling, remained still in Florence, untill the time of her

deliverance, which was of two goodly Sonnes, lively resembling the

lookes of their Father, and all the perfect lineaments of his body.

Perswade your selves, she was not a little carefull of their

nursing; and when she saw the time answerable to her determination,

she tooke her journey (unknowne to any) and arrived with them at

Montpellier, where she rested her selfe for divers dayes, after so

long and wearisome a journey.

Upon the day of all Saints, the Count kept a solemne Feastivall, for

the assembly of his Lords, Knights, Ladies, and Gentlewomen: upon

which Joviall day of generall rejoycing, the Countesse attired in

her wonted Pilgrimes weed, repaired thither, entring into the great

Hall where the Tables were readily covered for dinner. Preassing

through the throng of people, with her two children in her armes, s

presumed unto the place where the Count sate, and falling on her knees

before him, the teares trickling abundantly downe her cheekes, thus

she spake. Worthy Lord, I am thy poore, despised, and unfortunate

wife; who, that thou mightst returne home, and not be an exile from

thine owne abiding, have thus long gone begging through the world. Yet

now at length, I hope thou wilt be so honourably-minded, as to

performe thine owne too strict imposed conditions, made to the two

Knights which I sent unto thee, and which (by thy command) I was

enjoyned to do. Behold here in mine armes, not onely one Sonne by thee

begotten, but two Twins, and thy Ring beside. High time is it now,

if men of honour respect their promises, and after so long and tedious

travell, I should at last be welcommed as thy true wife.

The Count hearing this, stoode as confounded with admiration; for

full well he knew the Ring: and both the children were so perfectly

like him, as he was confirmed to be their Father by generall

judgement. Upon his urging by what possible meanes this could be

brought to passe: the Countesse in presence of the whole assembly, and

unto her eternall commendation, related the whole history, even in

such manner as you have formerly heard it. Moreover, she reported

the private speeches in bed, uttered betweene himselfe and her,

being witnessed more apparantly, by the costly jewels there openly

shewne. All which infallible proofes, proclaiming his shame, and her

most noble carriage to her husband; he confessed, that she had told

nothing but the truth in every point which she had reported.

Commending her admirable constancy, exceliency of wit, and sprightly

courage, in making such a bold adventure; he kissed the two sweete

boyes, and to keepe his promise, whereto he was earnestly

importuned, by all his best esteemed friends there present, especially

the honourable Ladies, who would have no deniall, but by forgetting

his former harsh and uncivill carriage towards her, to accept her

for ever as his lawfull wife, folding her in his armes, and sweetly

kissing her divers times together, he bad her welcome to him, as his

vertuous, loyall, and most loving wife, and so (for ever after) he

would acknowledge her. Well knew hee that she had store of better

beseeming garments in the house, and therefore requested the Ladies to

walke with her to her Chamber, to uncase her of those Pilgrimes weeds,

and cloath her in her owne more sumptuous garments, even those which

shee wore on her wedding day, because that was not the day of his

contentment, but onely this; for now he confessed her to be his wife

indeede, and now he would give the king thanks for her, and now was

Count Bertrand truly married to the faire Juliet of Narbona.