a goodly yonge man of person, and that withoute doubte the same woman was in loue with him, because in all Naples he thought ther was none so proper a stripling as himselfe: whom incontinently he aunsweared, that he would waite vpon her, demaunding when he should come and to what place. To whom she made answere. "Euen when it pleaseth you sir, for my maistresse attendeth at home for you.{"} Andreuccio vpon that, withoute any word spoken to his hoste, whither he was gone, said to the wench. "Go thou before, and I will follow." And the girle did conduct him to her maistres house, which dwelt in a streate called Marpertugio, a name shewing the honestie of the streate, wher she dwelt. But he knowing and suspecting nothing, thought the place to be right honest that he went vnto, and the wife likewise honest and good, and boldlie entred the house, the wenche going before: and mountinge vp the staiers, this yonge gristle called her maistres, sayinge vnto her that maister Andreuccio was come. Who redie at the vpper steppe, seemed as though she attended for him. This Ladie was fine and had a good face, well apparelled and trimmed after the beste maner. And seinge maister Andreuccio at hand, descended two steppes of the staiers with her armes open to imbrace him, foldinge the same aboute his necke, and paused a certaine space without speaking any word, as thoughe great loue and earneste affection enforced her so to doe. Then weeping, she kissed his face, and with a voice halfe vttered betwene howling and speaking, she said vnto him: "O Andreuccio mine owne deare hart, most hartely welcome." Andreuccio marueyling at those tender words, all amazed aunsweared: "Gentlewoman, and you also well found out." Afterwards she toke him by the hand and conueied him vp into a parlour, and from thence (without further talke) into a chamber, which was all perfumed with Roses, with flowers of Orenges, and other sweete smelles: where he sawe a bedde well furnished, and diuers sortes of apparell placed vppon presses (accordinge to the maner of that countrie) and many other faire and riche ornaments. By reason whereof Andreuccio, which was but a freshe water Souldiour, thought that shee had been a great ladie. And they two sittinge together vppon a cheste, at her bed's feete, she began thus to saye vnto him. "Andreuccio, I am assured you do greatly wonder at these faire words, this curteous interteignement, and at the teares which I let fall. And no marueile, although you do not know mee, and peraduenture neuer heard tel of me before: but I wil declare vnto you a thing more straunge and marueilous then that is: and to tell you plaine, I am your owne sister, and I say vnto you, that sith it hath pleased my Lord God, to shew me so much grace and fauour, that I doe now see one of my brethren before I die (althoughe I desire to see them all) I care not when hee do call mee from this wretched world: I am so in minde comforted and releued. And where it may chaunce, that you neuer vnderstoode so much before this time, I will tell you the whole discourse. So it is, that Pietro my father and yours, dwelt of long time (whereof it is possible, that you haue heard report) at Palermo, where through the goodnesse and frendlye behauioure of him, there be yet some remayninge that did beare him singular good wil and frendship. But amonges other which loued him moste, my mother (which was a gentlewoman, and then a widow) without doubt did loue him best: in such wise, that shee forgetting the loue of her father, and of her brethren, and the loue of her owne honour and reputation, they dealed so together as they begat mee, and am here as you see. Afterwardes when your father and mine had occasion to depart from Palermo, he retourned to Perugia, leauing my mother behinde, and me his yong doughter, neuer after that (so farre as I knowe) caringe neither for my mother or me: whereof if he were not my father, I coulde blame him very much, consideringe his ingratitude towards my mother. Albeit, he ought to vse towards mee so muche affection and fatherlye loue as to his owne doughter, being come of no kitchin maide, ne yet of anye base woman: for my mother otherwise not knowinge what he was, did commit into his handes (moued of mere loue) both herselfe and all that she had. But what? thinges ill done, and so longe time past, are more easie to be reprehended then amended. Thus the matter went, he left mee a litle infante at Palermo, where when I was growen to yeares, my mother which was riche, gaue mee to wife, to one of the house of Gergenti, a gentleman of great honesty and reputation, who for the loue of my mother and me, retourned to dwell at Palermo, where greatly fauouringe the faction of the Guelphi, hee began to practise a certaine enterprise with oure king Charles, which being knowen to king Frederick, before the same enterprise could take effect, we were forced to flie out of Scicilia: at what time I had thought to haue been the chiefest ladie, that euer dwelte in that Island. Wherfore taking with vs such fewe things as wee were able to carie (fewe I maye well call them, in respect of them we possessed) and leauinge our houses and Palaces, we came vnto this citie: where we found kinge Charles so beningne towards vs, that he hath recompenced part of our losses, which we sustened in his seruice. For he hath giuen vs possessions and houses, with good prouision of housholde to my husband and your brother in law, as you now see and perceiue: and in this maner I do remaine here, where (sweete brother) I thancke God (and not you) that at this present I see you:" and therwithall she toke him about the necke, weeping tenderly, and then kissed his face againe. Andreuccio hearing this tale spoken in order, and digested from poinct to poinct with good vtterance, wherof no word stucke betwene her teeth, or was impeached by default of tongue, and remembring how it was true that his father dwelt at Palermo, knowing also by himselfe the maner of yong men, which in their youth be prompte and willinge to loue, and seinge her tender teares, her imbracinges and honeste kisses, thoughte all that shee had spoken to be moste certaine and true. And after shee had done her tale, he answered in this wise: "Madame you may not thincke vnkindnesse, if I doe marueile at this, for that in verye deede, I haue no acquaintaunce of you, no more then if you had neuer beene borne: but whether my father hath spoken of you or of your mother at any time, truly I do not now remember: but so much the more I do reioyce that I haue founde a sister here (as I truste) because I am here alone: and certainely I knowe none so honourable, but you may seeme agreeable vnto him so well as to mee, which am but a poore marchaunt: howbeit, I do beseeche you to tell me how you did know that I was in the City." To whom she aunsweared: "This morning a poore woman which oftentimes repaireth to my house, gaue mee knowledge thereof, because of long time (as she told me) she did dwell with your father at Palermo and at Perugia: and because I thought it more conuenient and meete, to bidde you home to mine owne house then to seke you in another man's, I thought good to send for you." After these words, she began in order to inquire of the state of his parents, calling them by their proper names: whereunto Andreuccio made aunswere, that now he perceiued he had better cause to giue credite vnto her words then before. Their discourse and talke of thinges being long and the weather hot, shee called for Greke wine and comfits, and made Andreuccio to drinke. Who after the banquet, desirous to depart to his lodging (for it was about supper time) shee by no meanes woulde suffer him, but making as though she were angrie, said vnto him: "Oh God! I see now most euidently, that you do make little accompte of mee, being your owne sister whom you neuer sawe before, and in her house: whereunto you ought to resorte when so euer you come to towne: and will you nowe forsake the same to suppe in an Inne? But of trouth you shall not chose but take part of my supper: and althoughe my husbande be not at home (whereof I am righte sorie,) yet you shall knowe that his wife is able to make you some good chere." To whom Andreuccio, not knowing wel what to say els, made this aunsweare: "I do loue you as I oughte to loue a sister: but if I goe not to mine Inne, I know they will tarie for mee all this night before they go to supper, to my great reproch and shame." "Praised be God (quoth she then) I haue seruauntes to aduertise your host that you be here with me, to the intente hee shall not tarrie for you. But pleaseth you sir, to do me this great curtesie, that I may sende for your companions hither to beare you company, that afterwardes, if you will needes depart, ye may goe all together." Andreuccio aunsweared, that he would send for none of his company that night: but for so much as she was so importunate, he himselfe was righte well content to satisfie her request. Then she made as thoughe shee had sent to his Inne to giue word that they should not tarie for him: and after much communication supper was placed vppon the table, serued in with manye deuises and sondrie delicates abundantly, and she with like sleights continued the supper till it was darke night. And when they rose from the table, Andreuccio made hast to departe, but shee would not suffer him, tellinge him that Naples was a towne so straight of orders that none might walke abrode in the night, and specially straungers; and that like as she had sent word how they should not tary for him at supper, euen so she had done for his bedde. All which Andreuccio beleeuing, and taking pleasure that he was with his sister, (deceiued though he were of his false beliefe) was wel contented to tarie. Their talke and communication after supper was of purpose dilated and protracted, and one part of the night being spent, she left Andreuccio in his chamber going to bedde, and a litle boye to waite vpon him to see that he lacked nothinge, and shee with her women went into another chamber. The time of the yeare was very hotte, wherefore Andreuccio being alone, striped himselfe and laid his hose and doublette vnder his beddes head, and desirous to go to the priuie, he asked the boie where it was, who pointing to the doore in a corner of the chamber, said vnto him: "Goe in there." Andreuccio safely wente in, and chaunced by Fortune to set his foote vpon a borde, which at both endes was loose from the ioyst whereuppon it lay, by reason whereof the bord and he tombled downe into the Iakes: and God so loued him, that in the fall he receiued no hurt although it were of a good height, sauing he was imbroined and arraied with the dunge of the place, wherof the Iakes was full. Which place (to the intent you may the better vnderstand what is said, and what shall follow) euen as it was I wil describe vnto you. There was in a litle straighte entrie (as manye times we see betweene two houses) certaine bordes laied vppon two Ioistes, betwene the one house and the other: vpon which was placed the seate of the priuie, one of which bordes was the same that fill downe with Andreuccio, who now being in the bottome of the Iakes, sorowfull for that sodaine chaunce, cried oute to the boie for helpe. But the boie so soone as hee hearde, that hee was fallen, wente in to tell his maistres, whoe by and by ranne into his chamber to seeke for his clothes: and when she had founde them, and in the same his money, which Andreuccio like a foole, without mistruste, still caried about him: she now possessed the thing for which she had before laied the snare, in fayning her selfe to be of Palermo and the doughter of one of Perugia. And caring no longer for him, she straight way shut fast the priuy doore whereat he went forth when he fell. Andreuccio seing that the boie would not aunswere, began to cry out a loude, but all was in vaine: wherfore suspecting the cause, and beginning somewhat to late to vnderstande the deceipt, he lept ouer a litle wall which closed the place from the sight of the streat. And when he was in the open streate he went to the dore of the house, which he knew well ynough, makinge a noise, rapping hard and long at the doore, but it was in vaine: for which cause he began to complaine and lamente, like vnto one that manifestly saw his misfortune, saying: "Alas, in howe litle time haue I lost fiue hundred crownes and a sister." And after many other words, he began againe to bounse at the doore, and to crie out. He rapped so long and cryed so loude, as he waked manye of the neighbours there aboutes, who not able to suffer that noyse, rose out of their beds, and amonges others one of the maides of the house (fayning her selfe to be slepie) looked out at the window and said in great rage: "What noise is beneath?" "Oh" saide Andreuccio, "do yee not know me? I am Andreuccio, the brother of madame Floredelice?" "Thou hast droncke to much me thinketh, (quoth the maide) go sleepe and come againe to morow: I know none called Andreuccio, nor yet do vnderstand what thou meanest by those foolish words, get thee hence good man and let vs sleepe I pray thee." "Why (quoth Andreuccio) doest thou not heare me what I say? thou knowest me well ynough if thou wilt, but if the Scicilian kinred be so sone forgotten, giue me my clothes which I haue left behinde me, and I will go hence with al my hart." Whereat the maide laughed and saide: "I thincke the man is in a dreame:" and with that she tourned her selfe and shut fast the window. Andreuccio now sure and certaine of his losses, attached with incredible sorow, conuerted his anger into rage, thoughte to recouer by anoiaunce that which he could not get with fayre wordes. Wherefore takinge vp a bigge stone, he began againe with greater blowes to beate at the doore. Which when manye of the neighbours (that before were waked oute of their sleepe and risen) did heare, thinking that it was some troublesome felow that counterfeited those words to anoye the good wife of the house, and all they likewise troubled with the noyse: loking out of the windowes, began to rate him with one voice (like a sorte of Curres of one streate, which doe baule and barke at a straunge Dogge that passeth by) sayinge: "This is to much shame and villanie, to come to the houses of honest women at that time of the night, and to speake such fonde wordes. Wherefore (good man) gette thee hence for God's sake, and let vs sleepe: if thou haue any thing to do with the good wife, come againe to morrow and disquiet vs no more to night." With which woordes, as poore Andreuccio was somewhat appeased, one that was within the house, a ruffian (that kept the good wife) whom Andreuccio neuer saw, nor heard before: looked out of the windowe, and with a bigge and horrible voice, demaunded who was beneath? Whereat Andreuccio lifting vp his head, saw one, that so far as he could perceiue, seemed to be a long lubber and a large, with a blacke beard, and a sterne visage, looking as though he were newly rysen from bedde, ful of sleepe, gaping and rubbing his eyes. Whom Andreuccio aunsweared in fearefull wise, saying: "I am the good wiue's brother of the house." But the Ruffian interrupting his answeare, speaking more fiercely then at the first, said: "I know not who thou arte, but if I come downe, I will so codgel and bombaste thee, as thou shalte not be able to sturre thy selfe, like an asse and dronken beast as thou art, which all this night wilt not suffer vs to slepe." And with these wordes turning himselfe aboute, he shutte the windowe. Diuers of the neighbours (which knewe better the conditions of that terrible Ruffian) speakinge faire to Andreuccio, saide vnto him: "For God's sake good man, depart hence in time, and suffer not thy selfe to be slaine:" "Gette thee hence (quoth an other) and saye not but thou haddest warning." Whereat Andreuccio being appalled, and with the Ruffians woordes and sight amazed, moued likewise by the counsaile of the neighbours that spake to him as he thoughte, in charitable wyse, toke his waye to retourne to his Inne, the sorowfulles man that euer liued, and in greatest despaire, for losse of his money. Turninge that way, wherein he was guided by a litle girle the day afore, and anoyed with the stenche that he felt about him: desirous to goe to the sea side to washe him, hee declined to muche on the left hande, taking the waye vp to the streat called La Ruga Catellana, and as hee was marching vp the highest parte of the citie, by chaunce he sawe twoo men before him, with a lanthorne light in one of their handes, coming towardes him, for auoyding of whom (because he feared that it was the watche, or some other ill disposed persones) he hidde him selfe in an olde house harde by. But they (as of purpose) went to the very same place: where one of them discharging hym selfe of certain instrumentes of yron, whiche he bare vpon his backe, both of them did vewe and surueie those yrons, debating of diuers thinges touching the same, and as they were talking togethers, one of them sayde: "What meaneth this? I smel the foulest stenche, that euer I felte in all my life." And when he had sayd so, he lifted vp the Lanthorne and espied miserable Andreuccio couching behinde the wall, and being afrayde, asked who it was, Andreuccio helde his peace. But they approching neare him with their lighte, demaunded what hee made there, so filthely araied. To whom Andreuccio rehersed the whole aduenture as it chaunceth. Who considering the cause of that misfortune, sayd one to an other: this no doubt was done in the house of Scarabone Butta Fuoco: and tourning towardes Andreuccio, one of them sayde vnto him. "Good man, although thou hast lost thy money, yet thou hast great cause to prayse God that it was thy chaunce to falle, and not to enter againe into the house: for if thou haddest not fallen, assure thy selfe that when thou haddest bene a slepe, thy throte had bene cutte, and so with thy money shouldest haue loste thy life. But what auaileth it nowe to wepe and lament: for thou shalt so sone plucke the starres out of the Skye, as euer recouer one peny of thy losse: and without doubt he will kill thee, if hee vnderstande that thou make any wordes thereof." When they had sayde so, and had giuen him that admonition, they comforted him in this wyse. "Good felowe, we doe lament thy state: And therefore, if thou wilt ioyne thy self with vs, about an enterprise, which we haue in hande: we warraunt thee, thou shalt get a great deale more than thou hast loste." Andreuccio like one in extreame dispaire, was content. The daie before was buried one Messer Philippo Minutulo, an Archebishop of Naples, in riche pontificalles and ornamentes, with a Rubie vpon his finger, that was worth fiue hundred Ducates of golde, whome they purposed to robbe and dispoile, telling Andreuccio the whole order of their intent: who more couetous, then well aduised, went with them. And going towardes the great church: Andreuccio his perfume began to sente very strong, whereupon one of them sayde. "Is it not possible to deuise a waye, that this shitten beaste may washe him selfe in some place, that he stinke no more thus filthelie?" "Yes, (quod the other) there is a pitte here harde by, ouer whiche there hangeth a pulley, and a great bucket, where we may presently washe him." When they were come to the pitte, they founde the rope hanging still vpon the pulley, but the bucket was taken away: wherefore they thought beste to tie him to the rope, and to let him downe the pitte to washe him selfe: and that when he was washed, he should wagge the rope, and they woulde hoiste him vp againe. Whiche they did. But it chaunced that whiles he was thus clensing him selfe in the pitte: the watche of the citie (because they swette and the night was very hot), being drie and thirstie came to the pitte to drinke. The other twoo perceiuing the watche at hande, left Andreuccio in the pitte and ranne awaye. The watche whiche was come thether to drinke, perceiued not those two that were fledde; and Andreuccio being still in the bottome, when he had clensed him selfe, began to wagge the rope. The watche sitting downe by the pittes syde caste of their clokes and layde downe their halbardes and other weapons, and began to drawe vp the rope, thinking that the bucket full of water was tied to the same. When Andreuccio was haled vp, to the brincke of the pitte, hee forsoke the rope, and cast him selfe with one of his handes vpon the syde of the same. When the watche sawe that, they for feare ranne away so faste as they could without speaking any worde. Wherof Andreuccio did marueile very much: and if he had not taken good holde, he had fallen agayne downe to the bottome, to his great hurt, and peraduenture not without peril of his life. Notwithstanding being out of the pitte, and finding halberdes and other weapons there, which he knew wel his fellowes brought not with them: he then began muche more to wonder. But betwene feare and ignoraunce of that which happened, complaining him self of his harde fortune, without touching of any thing, he determined to go from thence, and wandred he could not tell whether. But as he was departing from that place, he met his fellowes, retiring backe to drawe him vp. And when they perceiued him alredie haled out of the pitte, they wer wonderfully abashed, and asked who drewe him out? Andreuccio made aunswere, that he coulde not tell, rehearsing to them in order, what had chaunced, and of the things he founde without. They vnderstanding the matter, laughed and tolde him againe the cause, wherefore they ran awaye, and what they were that drewe him vp. And without further talke (being then about midnight, they repaired to the great churche: into the whiche they easely entred: and wente to the Tombe, whiche was of Marble, verie huge and weightie: the couer whereof being verye great, with their crowes of yron, and other tooles, they lifted vp so farre, as one man was able to enter, which doen, one asked an other, who should goe in? "Not I" quod one: "And not I" (quod the other) "No, nor I" quod Andreuccio. The other twoo hearing Andreuccio saye so, stepped vnto hym, saying: "Wilte thou not goe in? by the faythe wee owe to God: if thou goe not in, we will so beate thee, with one of these yron barres, as thou shalt neuer sturre againe out of this place." Andreuccio being made their common riding foole, greately fearing when he heard them saye so, went in: and when he was in the graue, he sayde vnto him selfe. "These good felowes do make me goe in, because they would deceiue me: for when I haue geuen them all that is here, and I readie to come out, they meane to runne awaie to saue them selues, and to leaue me behinde without any parte thereof." Wherfore he purposed first, to take his owne porcion to him selfe: and remembring the Ring of great valour, whereof they tolde him: so sone as he was in the graue, he pulled it of from the Archebishop's finger, and put it vpon his own: and afterwardes taking the Crosse, the Miter and the Gloues, dispoyling him euen to his shyrt, he gaue them all saying. "That there was nothing els." But they pressing vpon him that there was a ring behinde, willed him throughly to make searche for it: howebeit he still aunswered that he could not finde it. And because he would make them to tarie a litle longer, he fained as though he had made a further searche. The other so subtile and malicious as he, bad him to seke stil: and when they saw time, they toke away the proppes that staied vp the Tombe, and ran awaye, leauing poore Andreuccio fast shutte in the graue. Whiche when Andreuccio perceiued, what chaunced to him then, eche man may consider: then he assaied some times with his shoulders, sometimes with his head, to remoue the couer, but all was in vaine. Wherefore euen for verie sorowe, he fell in a sownde vpon the dead bodie of the Bishop. And if a man had seene them both at that instant, it coulde not well haue bene discerned, whether was the dead corps, the Archebishhope dead, or poore Andreuccio dying: but after he was come to him self, he began piteously to complaine, seing hee was arriued to one of these twoo endes, either in the Tombe to die for hunger, and with the stenche of the dead bodie, putrifying with wormes, if no man came to open it: or els to be hanged as a thiefe, if hee were founde within: and as he was in these considerations tormented with sorowe: he heard a noyse in the church of diuers men, who as he thought came to the like facte, that he and his felowes had done before, wherewith his feare began much more to augmente. But after they had opened the graue and stayed it vp, it came in question amongs them who should go in. And when they had contended a good space about the same, a priest that was in the companie sayde. "Why are ye afrayde? doe ye thinke that hee will eate you? the dead neuer eate men: I will go in my selfe." And when he had sayde so, he laied him downe vpon his breste at the side of the graue, and thrusting his feete in before, he went downe. Andreuccio seeing that, erected him selfe vpright and caught the Priest by one of the legges, making as though he would haue drawen him in: which when the priest perceiued, he cried out a loude, speeding him self out so fast as he could. Wherewithal the reste dismaied almoste out of their wittes, leauing the graue open, toke their legges and ran, as though a hundred thousand deuels had bene at their tailes: whiche seing, Andreuccio (more ioyful then he looked for) lepte out of the graue, and ran as faste as he could out of the Churche, at the place where he came in. At what time dayelight began to appeare, and he with the ringe on his finger, wandred he wiste not whether, tyll he came to the Seaside, and at length recouered his Inne, where he founde his companie and his hoste al that night, taking greate care for him. To whome recompting that whiche chaunced, his hoste gaue him aduise incontinently, to get him out of Naples, whiche presently he did: and retourned to Perugia, hauing bestowed his v. C. crownes vpon a rynge, whiche he thought to haue imploied vpon horses: for whiche cause he made that iourney.



THE THIRTY-SEUENTH NOUELL.

The erle of Angiers being falsely accused, was banished out of Fraunce, and left his two sonnes in sondry places in Englande, and retourning (vnknowen) by Scotlande, founde theim in great authoritie, afterwardes he repayred in the habite of a seruaunte, to the Frenche kinges armie, and being knowen to be innocent, was againe aduaunced to his first estate.

The Romaine Empire being transferred from the Frenche, vnto the Almanes, there rose a great discencion betwene both the nacions, and in the ende a cruell and continuall warre. For whiche cause, as well for the defence of his kingdome, as to offende his ennemies, the Frenche king and one of his sonnes, with all the power of their owne Realme and of their frendes and allies, assembled a great hoste of menne to encountre with their enemies: and before they proceaded, because they would not leaue their realme without a gouernour, knowing Gualtieri, Erie of Anglers, to be a gentle and sage knight, and their moste trustie frend, and that he was a man moste expert in the art of warfare, seming vnto them (notwithstanding) more apt to pleasure, then paine, lefte him Lieutenaunt generall in their place, for the gouernement of the whole kingdome of Fraunce: and preceded in their enterprise. The Erle then began with great knowledge, and by good order, to execute his office committed vnto hym, doynge nothinge withoute the consente of the Queene and her fayre daughter in lawe, althoughe they were lefte to be vnder his custodie and gouernement, yet neuertheles, he honoured them as his Maistresses and superiours. The Erle Gaultieri was a beautiful personage, about the age of fourtie yeares, so familiar and well condicioned, as any gentleman could be, and be sides that, hee was the moste excellent and trimmest knight that was knowen in those dayes, and one moste comelie in his apparell. It chaunced that the king and his sonne, being at the warres aforesaide, the wife of the Erle died in the meane whyle, leauing him onely twoo litle yong children, a sonne and a doughter, whiche he had by her. He then frequenting the court of the aforesaid ladies, talking many times with theim about the affaires of the Realme: the wife of the kinges sonne, fixed her eyes vpon him, and with great affection (for his persone and vertues) feruently embraced hym with secrete loue. And knowing her selfe to bee yonge and freshe, and him to be without a wyfe, thought (sodainly) to bring to passe, that whiche shee desired, and thinking that nothing could lette it but onelye shame to discouer it, shee purposed vtterlye to abandone the same. And vppon a daye beyng alone, shee sente one to seeke the Erle, as though shee would haue communicated with him of other matters. The Erle whose mynde was farre different from the Ladies, incontinentlye came vnto her: who beyng sette downe together vppon a bedde (whiche she desired) alone in a chamber, he asked her twyse vpon what occasion she sent for hym: and she hauing nothing to saye vnto hym, pressed in the ende, and rapte with loue waxed verie shamefaste and almoste wepinge, and quaking for feare, with faynte woordes, began to saye as foloweth. "My derely beloued and louing frende, and Lorde, you may easely knowe (beyng a wyse man as you bee) the frailtie of men and women: and by diuers considerations, the weakenesse to be more in the one, then in the other. Wherefore (before a iust iudge) one fault of diuerse qualities, ought not of reason to receiue one like punishement. Moreouer who is he that will saye, that a poore man or woman, which getteth their liuing with the labour of their bodie, ought not more to be reprehended if they become amourous, and subiect to their lustes, then the riche Ladye whiche taketh no care for her liuing, or wanteth any thing that shee desireth. Truely I beleue there is none that will saye so: for which reason I suppose that the things beforesayd, ought to serue the greatest part of the excuse to the aduauntage of her that doth possesse them: if it happen that shee geue her selfe fully to the conductions of loue: and the superflusage of her saide excuse ought to consiste, in that shee hath chosen her a sage and vertuous frende, if shee that loueth hath done so in dede. Whiche twoo thinges as they ought to be (in my iudgement) so they are in me, and many other also: whiche ought to induce me to loue, accordingly as my youth requireth, and the great distaunce that is betweene my husbande and mee. It behoueth nowe then, that they should aduaunce them selues in your presence, for the defence of my burning loue: and if the same do raine in you, whiche haue power in the wise, then I beseche you to geue me counsayle and aide in the thing which I shal demaunde. True it is, that for the long absence of my husbande (not able to resist the prickes of the fleshe, and the force of loue) whiche be of suche great effect, that they haue many times past and yet daily do vanquishe and ouercome, not only feble and weake women, but also the strongest men. I liuing in ease and idlenes as you se, and forced to folowe the pleasures of loue and to become amourous: and as I do knowe well, that suche thinges (if they were knowen) should not be reputed honest. Neuerthelesse, the same being kepte secrete, I truste shall not be reprocheful. Notwithstanding dame Loue is so fauourable vnto mee, that not onely shee hath geuen me true iudgement in choise of a frende, but hath reueiled vnto me that it is you whiche is worthy to be beloued, of such a Ladie as I am. For if I be not greatlye deceiued, I doe make accompte that you be the fayrest personage, the semeliest, the moste curteous, and wysest gentleman, in all the Realme of Fraunce. And as I maye saye, by reason of his absence, that I am without a husband so may you affirme that you be without a wife: wherefore I beseche you, for the loue that I beare vnto you, that you will not denye me your loue and frendship, and that you will haue pitie vpon my young yeares, whiche doubtles do consume for you, as I see against the fierie flames." At which worde the teares ran downe in such aboundance, as where she thought to make further supplication and praiers, she had no more power to speake. But holding downe her head, like one that was ouercome, she threw her self downe into the Erles lappe, who like a faithfull knight, began to blame (with sharpe rebukes) her fonde and foolishe loue: pushing her from hym, as shee was about to clepe him aboute the necke, and swoore great othes, that rather hee woulde be drawen in peces then consent to suche a thing, to bee done by him, or any other, against the honour of his Lorde and maister. Whiche woordes the Ladie hearing, sodainly forgat her loue, and in great rage, sayde vnto him: "Shall I then be frustrate, thou arrent villayne, in this wyse of my desired ioye? but sithens thou goest about, to seke my destruction, I will cause thee to be put to death, or els to be banyshed the worlde." When she had sayde so, by and by she caught her selfe by the heare of the head, and almoste tare it of cleane, and then layde handes vppon her garmentes, renting the same in peeces, and afterwardes cried out aloude: "Helpe, helpe, the Erle of Angiers wil rauyshe me by force." The Earle seeing that (and farre more doubting of the enuie, and malice of the Courte, then his owne conscience, for any committed facte, fearing also, that more credite would be geuen to the wickednesse of the Ladie, then to his innocencie) conueighed him selfe from that place, and so soone as hee coulde, hee wente out of the palace, and fledde home to his owne house, where without any further aduise, he placed his children on horsebacke, and so well as he coulde caried them to Callice. At the brute and noyse of the ladie, many people assembled: who seing and hearing the occasion of her crie, not onely beleued her wordes, but also affirmed, that the pompouse state of the Erle, was vsed by him to bring to passe, th'effect of his desire. Then they ranne to the houses of the Erle, in great furie, to arreste his persone: but not finding hym there, they firste sacked his houses, and afterwardes ouerthrewe them to the grounde. The newes hereof (so wicked as might be deuised) arriued at the king and dolphins Campe, whereof they were so troubled and offended, as they condempned the Earle, and all his progenie to perpetuall exile: promising great giftes and rewardes, to them that would present them quicke or dead. The Erle being offended in his conscience, for that he was fled, innocent of the facte, made himself culpable therof, and arriued at Callice with his children, dissembling what he was, and sodainlye passed ouer into England, and in poore apparell, trauailed vp to London. And before he entred the citie, he gaue his children diuers admonicions, but specially of two things: First, that they should beare paciently the pouertie, wherunto fortune (without their offence) had brought theim. Afterwardes, that wisely they should take hede, at no time to manifeste and declare from whence they came, and whose children they were, as they loued the price of their owne lyues. The sonne was named Lewes, almoste of the age of nyne yeares, and the doughter called Violenta, was about the age of VII. bothe whiche chyldren, as their age could suffer them, did well obserue their fathers hest, as afterwardes it did right wel appeare. And because that this might the better be brought to passe, it semed good vnto him, to alter their names, naming the son Perotto, and the doughter Gianetta. And when they were arriued at London, in maner of beggers, they craued their almosse, and being by fortune for that purpose, one morning at a church doore, it came to passe that a great Lady, which was one of the Marshalles of Englandes wiues, in going out of the church, sawe the Erle and his two litle children begging their almose, of whom she demaunded, what countrie man he was, and whether those children were his owne, or not. To whom the Erle answered, that he was a Picarde, and by reason of a wicked facte, done by his eldest sonne (that was an vnhappie boye) he was forced to departe his countrie, with those his twoo children. The Ladie whiche was pitifull, fixed her eyes vpon the girle, who pleased her verie much, because she was beautifull, gentil, and amiable, saying: "Good man, if thou be content to leaue vnto mee, this thy litle doughter, which hath a good face, I will willingly take her, and if she become a duetiful maiden, when shee is mariagable, I wil marie her in honest wise." This demaunde greatly pleased the Erle, who redely aunswered, that hee was contented, and with teares trickeling downe his eyes he deliuered and commended his pretie doughter vnto her. And when he had thus well bestowed her, he determined to tarrie no longer there, but in begging his almose, traueiled through the countrie, with his sonne Perotto, and went into Wales, not without great labour and paine, as one neuer accustomed to trauayle on foote. Where dwelte one other of the kyng of Englandes Marshalles, that was of great authoritie, and kepte a noble house: to whose courte the Erle and his sonne oftentymes repayred, to practise and begge their liuing: where one of the Marshalles sonnes, and other Gentlemens chyldren, doyng certayne chyldyshe sportes and pastymes, as to runne and leape, Perotto began to entermedle hym selfe amonges them (who in those games dyd so excellentlye well, as none was his better) whiche thyng diuers tymes the Marshall perceiuing, well pleased with the order of the chylde, asked of whence hee was. It was tolde him that hee was a poore man's sonne, which many tymes came thyther, to begge his almose. The Marshall desiring to haue the childe, the Erle, whiche prayed vnto God for nothing els, liberallye gaue hym vnto hym, although it greeued hym to departe from him. The Erle then hauing bestowed his sonne and his doughter, determined no longer to tarrie in England, but so well as he coulde, he passed ouer into Irelande, and when he was arriued at Stanforde, he placed him selfe in the seruice of a man of armes, belonging to an Erle of that countrie, doing all thinges that did belong vnto a seruing man, or page: and not knowen to any man, hee continued there a long time, with great paine and toile. Violenta named Gianetta, that dwelt with the Ladie at London, grewe so in yeares, in beautie, in personage, and in such grace and fauour of her lord and lady, and of all the reste of the house, and so well beloued of al them that knew her, that it was maruailous to see. All men that sawe her maners and countenaunce, iudged her to be worthy of great honour and possessions, by reason wherof, the lady that receiued her of her father, not knowing what shee was, but by his reporte, purposed to marrie her honourablie, according to her worthinesse. But God the rewarder of all mens desertes, knowing her to be a noble woman, and to beare (without cause) the penaunce of an other man's offence, disposed her otherwise, and to the intent, that this noble gentlewoman might not come into the handes of a man of ill condicions, it must be supposed that that whiche came to passe was by God's own will and pleasure, suffred to be done. The gentlewoman, with whome Gianetta dwelte, had but one onely sonne by her husband, whiche both shee and the father, loued verie dearelye: as well because hee was a sonne, as also that in vertue and good merites hee greatlye excelled. For hee surpassed all other in good condicions, valiaunce, goodnes, and beautie of personage, being about sixe yeares elder then Gianetta: who seyng the mayden, to be both fayre and comelye, became so farre in loue with her, as he estemed her aboue all thinges of the worlde. And because he thought her to be of base parentage, he durst not demaunde her of his father and mother to wyfe. But fearing that he should lose their fauour, he kept his loue secret, wherby he was worse tormented, then if it had bene openly knowen. And thereby it chaunced, through Loue's malice, he fel sore sicke: for whose preseruation, were many Phisitions sent for, who marking in him all signes and tokens of sickenes, and not knowing the disease, were altogether doubtfull of his health: wherof the father and mother tooke so great sorowe and griefe, as was possible, and many times with pitifull praiers, they demaunded of him the occasion of his disease. To whome he gaue for aunswere, nothing els but heauie sighes, and that he was like to consume, and die for weakenesse. It chaunced vpon a daye there was brought vnto him a Phisicion, that was very yonge, but in his science profoundlie learned, and as he was holding him by the poulces, Gianetta (who for his mother's sake, attended him very carefully, entered vpon occasion into the chamber, where he lay sicke, and so sone as the yonge gentleman perceiued her, and that she spake neuer a woorde, or made any signe, or demonstration towardes him, he felte in his hart to arise his most amorous desire, wherefore his poulces began to beate aboue their common custome: whiche thing the Phisicion immediatly perceiued and marueiled, standing still to see howe long that fitte would continue. Gianetta was no soner gone out of the Chamber, but the beating of the poulces ceased: wherefore the Phisicion thought, that he had founde out some part of the gentleman's disease, and a litle while after seming to take occasion to speake to Gianetta holding him still by the armes, he caused her to bee called in, and she incontinently came, but she was no soner entred the chambre but the poulces began to beate againe: and when she departed, the beating ceased. Wherupon the Phisicion was throughly perswaded that he vnderstode the effecte of his sickenes, and therwithall rose vp and taking the father and mother aside, sayde vnto them: "The health of your sonne doth not consiste in the helpe of Phisicions, but remaineth in the handes of Gianetta your maide, as I haue perceiued by moste manifest signes, which maide the yong man feruently doth loue. And yet (so farre as I perceiue) the maide doth not knowe it: you therfore vnderstand now what to doe, if you loue his life." The gentleman and his wife hearing this, was somewhat satisfied: for so muche as remedy might be founde to saue his life, although it greued theim greatly, that the thing whereof they doubted, should come to passe, whiche was the mariage betwene Gianetta and their sonne. The Phisicion departed, and they repaired to their sicke sonne, the mother saying vnto him in this wyse: "My sonne, I would neuer haue thought, that thou wouldest haue kept secret from mee, any parte of thy desire: specially, seing that without the same thou doest remaine in daunger of death. For thou art, or ought to be assured, that there is nothing that may be gotten, for thy contentment, whatsoeuer it had bene, but it should haue bene prouided for thee, in as ample maner as for my selfe. But sithe thou hast thus done, it chaunceth that our Lord God, hath shewed more mercy vpon thee, then thou hast done vpon thy selfe. And to the ende thou shalt not die of this disease, he hath declared vnto me the cause of the same: whiche is none other, but the great loue that thou bearest to a yonge maiden, wheresoeuer she bee. And in deede thou oughtest not to be ashamed, to manifest thy loue, because it is meete and requisite for thyne age. For if I wist thou couldest not loue, I would the lesse esteme thee. Now then my good sonne, be not afraid, franckly to discouer thine affection. Driue away the furie and thought which thou hast taken, and wherof this sickenes commeth, and comfort thy selfe. Being assured, that thou shalt desire nothing at my handes, that may be done, but it shall be accomplished of mee, that loueth thee better then mine owne life: and therefore expell from thee this shame and feare. And spare not to tell me, if I be able to doe any thing, in that whiche thou louest. And if thou perceiue, that I be not carefull to bring it to passe, repute me for the cruellest mother that euer bare childe." The yonge gentleman hearing these woordes of his mother, was first ashamed, but after thinking with him selfe, that none was so well able to pleasure him as shee (driuing awaye all shame) sayed to her in this wise: "Madame, there is none other thing that hath made me to kepe my loue so secrete, but that, which I see by commune proofe in many, who after they be growen to yeares of discretion, doe neuer remembre that they haue bene yonge. But for so much as herein I doe see your Ladiship discrete and wyse, I will not onely affirme that to be true, whiche you haue perceiued in me, but also I will confesse what it is, vpon condicion that the effect shall folowe your promise, so farre as lieth in you, and whereby you shalbe able to recouer my life." Whereunto the mother trusting to much in that, which she ought not to haue accomplished, for certaine consideracions, which afterwardes came into her minde, answered him liberally: "That he might boldly discouer all his desire, and that forthwith she would bring the same to passe." "Madame (sayde the yonge man then) the great beautie and commendable qualities of your maiden Gianetta, whom as yet not only I haue no power to intreate, to take pitie vpon me, but also I haue made no wight in the world priuie of this my loue. The not disclosing and secrecie of whose loue, hath brought me in case you see: and if so be the thing, whiche you haue promised, doe not by one meane or other come to passe, assure your selfe that my life is but shorte." The Ladie knowing, that it was more tyme to comforte, then to reprehende, sayd vnto him smiling: "Alas, my sonne, were you sicke for this? Bee of good chere and when you are whole let me alone." The yonge gentleman being put in good hope, shewed in litle time tokens and signes of great amendement. Wherof the mother was marueilous glad, disposing her selfe to proue, howe she might obserue that which she had promised. And on a day calling Gianetta vnto her, demaunded in gentle wise, by waye of mery talke, "If she had not gotten her a louer." Gianetta with face al blushing, aunswered: "Madame, I haue no nede therof, and much more vnsemely for so poore a damosell as I am, to meditate or thincke vpon louers, which am banished from my frendes and kinsfolke, remaining in seruice as I doe." To whom the Lady saide: "If you haue none, wee will bestowe one vpon you, whiche shall content your minde, and make your life more delectable and pleasaunt: for it is not meete that so faire a maide as you be, should continue without a louer." Whereunto Gianetta answered: "Madame, waying with my selfe, that you haue taken me from my poore father, and brought me vp as your doughter, it becommeth me to do that whiche pleaseth you. Notwithstanding, I intende neuer to make any complaint to you for lacke of such, but if it please you, to geue me a husbande, I purpose dutifully to loue and honour him. For my progenitours haue left me none other inheritaunce but honestie, whiche I meane to kepe, so long as my life indureth." These woordes to the Ladye, semed contrary to that whiche shee desired to knowe, to atchieue her promyse made to her sonne, although (lyke a wyse Ladie) to her selfe, shee greatly praysed the Damosell, and sayde vnto her. "But Gianetta, what if my Lorde the Kyng (whiche is a younge Prince, and you a fayre mayden) would take pleasure in your loue, woulde you refuse him?" Whereunto the mayde sodaynlye aunswered. "The Kyng maye well force mee, but by consent he shall neuer obtayne the thing of mee that is dishoneste." The Ladye conceyuyng the courage, and stoutnesse of the mayden in good parte, sayde no more vnto her, but thinking to put the matter in proofe, she tolde her sonne, that when he was whole, she woulde put them both in a chamber that he mighte haue his pleasure vppon her. For she thought it dishonest to intreate her maide for her sonne, because it was the office of a Ruffian. The yong man was nothing contented therewith, whereby hee sodainlye waxed sicke againe: which the ladye perceiuinge, opened her whole intent to Gianetta: but finding her more constant than euer she was before, she told her husband all that she had done, whoe agreed (althoughe against their willes) to giue her to be his wife, thinkinge it better (their sonne lyuing) to haue a wife vnagreeable to his estate, then to suffer him to die for her sake. Which after great consultation, they concluded, whereof Gianetta was maruelouslye well pleased, and with deuout harte gaue thankes to God for that he had not forgotten her. And yet for all that, shee woulde neuer name her selfe otherwise, then the doughter of a Picarde. The yong sonne waxed whole incontinently, and was maried, the best contented man aliue, and began to dispose himselfe, louingly to lead his life with her. Perotto which did remaine in Wales with the other Marshall of the king of England, semblably increased, and was welbeloued of his maister, and was a very comely and valiaunt personage, that the like of him was not to be found in all the Island, in such wise as at Torneis, Iustes, and other factes of armes, there was none in al the Countrie, comparable vnto him: wherefore by the name of Perotto the Picarde, hee was knowen and renowmed. And like as God had not forgotten his sister, euen so he shewed his mercifull remembraunce of him. For a certaine plague and mortalitie, happened in that countrie, which consumed the one halfe of the people there: besides that the most part of them that liued, were fledde for feare into other countries, wherby the whole prouince, seemed to be abandoned and desolate. Of which plague, the Marshall his maister, his wife, and his sonne and many other brothers, neuewes, and kinsfolk died, of whom remained no more, but his onely daughter, which was mariageable, and some of his seruauntes, together with Perotto, whom (after the plagues was somewhat ceased) the yong gentlewoman toke for her husband, through the counsaile and consente of certaine of the countrie people that were aliue, because he was a valiaunt and honest personage, and of all that inheritaunce which her father lefte, shee made him lord. A litle while after, the king of Englande vnderstanding that the Marshall was dead, and knowing the valour and stoutnesse of Perotto the Picarde, he made him to supplye the rowme of the deade Marshall. In this sort in short time, it chaunced to the two innocent children of the Erle of Angiers, which were left by him as lost and quite forlorne. It was then the XVIII. yeare sithens the Erle fledde from Paris, hauing in miserable sorte suffred manye aduentures. Who seinge himselfe to begin to waxe olde, was desirous (being yet in Irelande) to knowe (if hee could) what was become of his children. Wherefore, perceyuinge that he was wholy altred from his wonted forme, and feeling himselfe more lustie (throughe the longe exercise and labour which he had susteined in seruice) then he was in the idle time of his youth, he departed from his maister (verye poore and in ill apparel) with whom hee had continued in seruice a long time, and came into England to that place where he had left Perotto, and founde him to be Marshall of the countrie, and saw that he was in health, lustie, and a comelye personage, which reioysed him maruelously, but he would not make himselfe to be knowen to him, till hee had seene what was become of his doughter Gianetta: wherfore taking his iourney, he rested in no place, till he came to London. And there secretely inquyring of the Lady, with whom he had left his daughter, and of her state, he learned that his doughter was her sonnes wife, whereof hee toke exceding great pleasure. And from that time forth, he compted his aduersities past as nothing, sith he had found his children liuing and in such great honour. And desirous to see her (began like a poore man) to harbour himselfe neare vnto her house, whereuppon a certaine daye, beinge seene of Giacchetto Lamyens: (for that was the name of the husbande of Gianetta,) who hauinge pitie vppon him because he was poore and old, commaunded one of his seruaunts, to haue him into the house and to giue him meate for God's sake, which the seruaunt willingly did accomplish. Gianetta had many children by Giacchetto, of which the eldest was but eight yeares olde: the fayrest and beste fauoured children of the worlde. Who when they sawe the Erle eate meate, they all came about him and began to make much of him, as though by nature's instruction they had knowen him to be their Graundfather. And hee knowinge his nephewes, began to shew them tokens of loue and kindnesse. By reason whereof the children would not go from him, although their gouernour did call them away: wherfore the mother beinge tolde the same, came oute of a chamber vnto the place where the Erle was, and threatned to beate them if they would not do as their maister bad them. The children began to crie, and said that they would tary by that good man, that loued them better then their maister did, wherat the Lady and the Erle began to laugh. The Erle not as a father but like a poore man, rose vp to doe honour to his daughter because shee was a noble woman: conceyuing marueilous ioy in his minde to see her: but she knewe him not at all, neither at that instant, nor after, because he was so wonderfully transformed and chaunged from that forme he was wonte to be: Like one that was old and gray headed, hauinge a bearde leane and weather beaten, resembling rather a common personne then an Erle. And the Ladye seinge that the children woulde not departe from him, but still cryed when they were fetched awaye, shee willed the maister to let them alone. The children remayning in this sort with the honest poore man, the father of Giacchetto came in the meane time, and vnderstode this of their maister: He that cared not for Gianetta, said, "Let them alone with a mischiefe, to keepe companye with beggers, of whom they come: for of the mothers side, they be but verlettes children, and therfore it is no marueile, though they loue their company." The Erle hearing those words, was very sorowfull, notwithstanding (holding downe his head) he suffred that iniurie, as well as he had done manye other. Giacchetto which knew the mirth and ioy that the children made to the poore man (althoughe he was offended with those words) neuerthelesse, made as much of the poore Erle as he did before. And when hee sawe him to weepe he commaunded that if the honest poore man would dwel there to do some seruice, he should be reteyned. Who aunsweared, that he wouid tarrie there with a good will, but he said that he coulde do nothinge els but keepe horse, whereunto he was accustomed all the dayes of his life. To whom a horse was appointed to keepe, and dailye when he had dressed his horse, he gaue himselfe to play with the children. Whiles that Fortune thus dealt (according to the maner abouesaid with the Erle of Angiers and his children, it chaunced that the French king (after many truces made with the Almaynes) died, and in his place was crowned his sonne, whose wife shee was that caused the Erle to be banished. When the last truce with the Almaynes was expired, the warres began to grow more sharpe, for whose aide the king of England sent vnto him (as to his new kinseman) a greate nomber of people vnder the gouernement of Perotto his Marshall, and of Giacchetto Lamyens, sonne of his other Marshall, with whom the poore Erle went: and not knowen of any manne, remained a greate while in the Campe as a seruaunt, where notwithstanding, like a valiaunt man, with his aduise and deedes he accomplished notable thinges (more then hee was required.) It chaunced that in the time of the warres, the Frenche Queene was very sore sicke, and perceyuing herselfe at the point of death, repenting her of all her sinnes, and was confessed deuoutly to the Archbishop of Roane, who of all men was reputed an holye and vertuous man: and amonges all her other sinnes she tolde him of the great wronge that she had done to the Erle of Angiers, and was not onely contented to reueale the same to him alone, but also rehearsed the whole matter before many other personages of great honour, desiring them that they would worke so with the king, that if the Erle were yet liuinge or anye of his children, they might be restored to their state againe. Not long after the Queene departed, and was honourablie buried. Which confession reported to the Kinge, (after certaine sorowfull sighes, for the iniuries done to the valiaunt man) hee made Proclamation throughout all the Campe and in many other places, that whosoeuer could bring forth the Erle of Angiers, or any of his children, shoulde for euery of them receiue a great rewarde, because he was innocente of that matter for which he was exiled, by the onely confession of the Queene: and that he entended to exalte him to his former estate, and more higher then euer hee was. Which thing the Erle hearing (being in the habite of a seruaunt) knowing it to be true, by and by he wente to Giacchetto, and prayed him to repaire to Perotto that they might come together, because he woulde manifest vnto them the thinge which the kinge sent to seeke for. And when they were all three assembled together in a chamber the Erle saide to Perotto, that now he thought to let him vnderstand what he was, saying these woordes: "Perotto, Giacchetto whoe thou seest here hath espoused thy sister and neuer had yet any dowrie. And because she maye not be destitute of her Dowrie, I purpose that he and none other shall haue the reward, which the king hath promised to be so great. Thou shalt manifest thy selfe Perotto, to be the sonne of the Erle of Angiers, and Violenta the wife of Giacchetto to be thy sister, and me to be the Erle of Angiers thy father." Perotto hearing this and stedfastly beholding him, began to know him, and weeping, threw himselfe downe at his feete, and afterwards imbracing him, said: "My deare father, you are right hartely welcome." Giacchetto hearing first what the Erle had saide, and after seinge what Perotto did, he was incontinently surprised with so great marueile and ioye that he knew not what to do: notwithstandinge, geuinge credite to his words, as being ashamed of the opprobrious talke, which he had vsed towards the Erle, as to a seruaunt, weeping, fell downe at his feete and humblie asked pardon for all his rashe behauiours towards him: which was curteously graunted vnto him by the Erle, who toke him vp. And after euerye of them had a while debated of their Fortune, and had well bewailed the same, and reioysed one with another, Perotto and Giacchetto would haue newly apparrelled the Erle, but he in no wise would suffer them. And beinge desirous that Giacchetto mighte haue assurance of the rewarde promised, he woulde that he shoulde first present him to the king after that sort in the habite of a seruaunte as he was, that hee mighte make him the more ashamed. Then Giacchetto with the Erle (and Perotto after) came before the king, and offred to present the Erle and his children if it should please him to reward him according to the Proclamation. The king incontinently caused to be brought forth a reward of marueilous value, (as Giacchetto thoughte) and commaunded him forthwith to present the Erle and his children according to his promise. Giacchetto then tourned about, and placed before him the Erle his seruaunt, and Perotto, saying: "Sir, beholde the father and the sonne, the doughter which is my wyfe, is not here. But by God's helpe you shal see her shortly." The king hearing this, behelde the Erle: and albeit he was so greatlye chaunged from his former fauour, after hee had well viewed him, he knew him, and with teares standinge in his eyes, hee caused the Erle to rise vp, that kneeled before him, kissing and imbrasing him, and very graciouslye receiued Perotto: and commaunded forthwith that the Erle should be restored to apparell, seruaunt, horses and furniture, according to his state and degree, which incontinentlye was done: And moreouer the kinge greatly honoured Giacchetto, and forthwith desired to know all their Fortunes passed. And when Giacchetto had taken the great reward for bringing forth the Erle and his children, the Erle said vnto him: "Take these royall rewards of the king, my soueraigne Lord, and remember to tel thy father, that thy children, his nephewes and mine, be no beggers borne of their mother's syde." Giacchetto toke the reward, and caused his wife and his mother in Lawe to come to Paris: likewise thither came the wife of Perotto, where, with great ioy and triumphe, they taried a certaine space wyth the Erle, to whom the kinge had rendred all his goodes, and had placed him in greater aucthoritie, then euer hee was before. Then euery of them toke their leaue and retourned home to their owne houses: and from that time forth the said Erle, to thende of his life, liued in Paris, in greater honour and aucthority, then euer he did before.



THE THIRTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.

Giletta a Phisition's daughter of Narbon, healed the French King of a Fistula, for reward whereof she demaunded Beltramo Counte of Rossiglione to husband. The Counte being maried against his will, for despite fled to Florence and loued another. Giletta his wife, by pollicie founde meanes to lye with her husbande, in place of his louer, and was begotten with childe of two sonnes: which knowen to her husband, he receiued her againe, and afterwards he liued in great honour and felicitie.

In Fraunce there was a gentleman called Isnardo, the Counte of Rossiglione, who because he was sickely and diseased, kepte alwayes in his house a Phisition, named maister Gerardo of Narbona. This Counte had one onely sonne called Beltramo, a very yonge childe, amiable and fayre. With whom there was nourished and brought vppe, many other children of his age: amonges whom one of the doughters of the said Phisition, named Giletta, who feruently fill in loue with Beltramo, more then was meete for a maiden of her age. This Beltramo, when his father was deade, and left vnder the royall custody of the king, was sente to Paris, for whose departure the maiden was very pensife. A litle while after, her father being likewise deade, shee was desirous to go to Paris, onelye to see the yonge Counte, if for that purpose she could get any good occasion. But being diligently loked vnto by her kinsfolke (because she was riche and fatherlesse) she could see no conuenient waye for her intended iourney: and being now mariageable, the loue she bare to the Counte was neuer out of her remembraunce, and refused manye husbandes with whom her kinsfolke woulde haue matched her, without making them priuie to the cause of her refusall. Now it chaunced that she burned more in loue with Beltramo than euer shee did before, because she hearde tell that hee was growen to the state of a goodly yong gentleman. She heard by report, that the French king had a swelling vpon his breast, which by reason of ill cure was growen to be a Fistula, which did put him to marueilous paine and griefe, and that there was no Phisition to be found (although many were proued) that could heale it, but rather did impaire the griefe and made it worse and worse. Wherfore the king, like one in dispaire, would take no more counsell or helpe. Wherof the yong mayden was wonderfull glad, thinckinge to haue by this meanes, not onely a lawfull occasion to go to Paris, but if the disease were such (as she supposed,) easelye to bringe to passe that shee mighte haue the Counte Beltramo to her husbande. Whereuppon with such knowledge as she had learned at her father's hands before time, shee made a pouder of certaine herbes, which she thought meete for that disease and rode to Paris. And the first thing she went about when she came thither was to see the Counte Beltramo. And then she repayred to the king, praying his grace to vouchsafe to shew her his griefe. The king perceyuing her to be a fayre yonge maiden and a comelie, would not hide it, but opened the same vnto her. So soone as shee saw it shee put him in comforte, that shee was able to heale him, saying: "Sir, if it maye please your grace, I truste in God without anye greate paine vnto your highnesse, within eighte dayes to make you whole of this disease." The king hearing her say so, began to mocke her, saying: "How is it possible for thee, beinge a yong woman, to do that which the beste renowmed Phisitions in the world can not?" Hee thancked her for her good will and made her a direct aunsweare, that hee was determined no more to followe the counsaile of any Phisition. Whereunto the maiden aunsweared: "Sir, you dispise my knowledge because I am yonge and a woman, but I assure you that I do not minister Phisicke by profession, but by the aide and helpe of God: and with the cunninge of maister Gerardo of Narbona, who was my father, and a Phisition of great fame so longe as he liued." The king hearing those words, sayd to himselfe: "This woman peraduenture, is sente vnto me of God, and therefore why should I disdaine to proue her cunninge? for so muche as she promiseth to heale me within a litle spac, without any offence or griefe vnto me." And being determined to proue her, he said: "Damosel, if thou doest not heale me, but make me to breake my determination, what wilt thou shal folow therof." "Sir," said the maiden: {"}Let me be kept in what guard and keeping you list: and if I do not heale you within these eight dayes, let me be burnt: but if I do heale your grace what recompence shall I haue then?" To whom the kinge aunswered: "Because thou art a maiden and vnmaried, if thou heale me according to thy promise, I wil bestow thee vppon some gentleman, that shalbe of right good worship and estimation." To whom she aunsweared: "Sir, I am very well content that you bestow me in mariage: but I beseech your grace let me haue such a husband as myselfe shall demaund, without presumption to any of your children or other of your bloud." Which request the king incontinently graunted. The yong maiden began to minister her Phisicke, and in short space before her appointed time, she had throughly cured the king. And when the king perceiued himselfe whole, said vnto her: "Thou hast well deserued a husbande (Giletta) euen such a one as thy selfe shalt chose." "I haue then my Lord (quoth she) deserued the Countie Beltramo of Rossiglione, whom I haue loued from my youth." The king was very loth to graunt him vnto her: but for that he had made a promise which he was loth to breake, he caused him to be called forth, and said vnto him: "Sir Countie, knowing full well that you are a gentleman of great honour, oure pleasure is, that you returne home to your owne house to order your estate according to your degree: and that you take with you a Damosell which I haue appointed to be your wife." To whom the Countie gaue his humble thanks, and demaunded what she was? "It is she (quoth the king) that with her medecines hath healed me." The Counte knew her wel and had already seen her, although she was faire, yet knowing her not to be of a stocke conuenable to his nobility, skornefully said vnto the king, "Will you then (sir) giue me a Phisition to wife? It is not the pleasure of God that euer I should in that wise bestow my selfe." To whom the king said: "Wilt thou then, that wee should breake our faith, which wee to recouer health haue giuen to the damosell, who for a reward asked thee to husband?" "Sir (quoth Beltramo) you may take from me all that I haue, and giue my person to whom you please because I am your subiect: but I assure you I shal neuer be contented with that mariage." "Wel, you shall haue her, (said the king) for the maiden is faire and wise, and loueth you most intirely: thinking verely you shal leade a more ioyful life with her, then with a Lady of a greater house." The Countie therewithal held his peace, and the kinge made great preparation for the mariage. And when the appointed day was come, the counte in the presence of the king (although it were against his wil) maried the maiden, who loued him better then her owne selfe. Which done, the Counte determining before what he would do, praied licence to retourne to his countrye to consummat the mariage. And when he was on horsebacke hee went not thither but toke his iourney into Tuscane, where vnderstanding that the Florentines and Senois were at warres, he determined to take the Florentines parte, and was willingly receiued and honourablie intertaigned, and was made captaine of a certaine nomber of men, continuing in their seruice a long time. The new maried gentlewoman, scarce contented with his vnkindnes, hopinge by her well doinge to cause him to retourne into his countrye, went to Rossiglione, where she was receiued of all his subiects for their Lady. And perceyuing that through the Countes absence all thinges were spoiled and out of order, shee like a sage Ladye, with greate diligence and care, disposed his thinges in order againe: whereof the subiects reioysed very much, bearing to her their harty loue and affection, greatly blaming the Counte because he coulde not content himselfe with her. This notable gentlewoman hauing restored all the countrie againe to their auncient liberties, sent word to the Counte her husband, by two knights, to signifie vnto him, that if it were for her sake that hee had abandoned his countrie, vppon retourne of aunsweare, she to do him pleasure, would departe from thence. To whom he chorlishly replyed: "Let her do what she liste: for I do purpose to dwell with her, when she shall haue this ring (meaning a ring which he wore) vpon her finger, and a sonne in her armes begotten by mee." He greatly loued that ring, and kepte it very carefully, and neuer toke it from his finger, for a certaine vertue that he knew it had. The knights hearinge the harde condition of two thinges impossible: and seinge that by them he could not be remoued from his determination, retourned againe to the Lady, tellinge her his aunsweare: who, very sorowfull, after shee had a good while bethoughte her, purposed to finde meanes to attaine the two thinges, that thereby she might recouer her husbande. And hauinge aduised her selfe what to doe, shee assembled the noblest and chiefeste of her Countrie, declaring vnto them in lamentable wyse what shee had alreadye done, to winne the loue of the Counte, shewinge them also what folowed thereof. And in the ende saide vnto theim, that shee was lothe the Counte for her sake should dwell in perpetuall exile: therefore shee determined to spende the reste of her time in Pilgrimages and deuotion, for preseruation of her Soule, prayinge theim to take the charge and gouernemente of the Countrie, and that they would let the Counte vnderstande, that shee had forsaken his house, and was remoued farre from thence: with purpose neuer to returne to Rossiglione againe. Many teares were shed by the people, as she was speaking those wordes, and diuers supplications were made vnto him to alter his opinion, but all in vaine. Wherefore commending them all vnto God, she toke her way with her maide, and one of her kinsemen, in the habite of a pilgrime, well furnished with siluer and precious Jewels: telling no man whither shee wente, and neuer rested till shee came to Florence: where arriuinge by Fortune at a poore widowes house, shee contented her selfe with the state of a poore pilgrime, desirous to heare newes of her Lord, whom by fortune she sawe the next day passing by the house (where she lay) on horsebacke with his company. And althoughe shee knewe him well enoughe, yet shee demaunded of the good wife of the house what hee was: who aunsweared that hee was a straunge gentleman, called the Counte Beltramo of Rossiglione, a curteous knight, and wel beloued in the City, and that he was maruelously in loue with a neighbour of her's, that was a gentlewoman, verye poore and of small substance, neuerthelesse of right honest life and good report, and by reason of her pouerty was yet vnmaried, and dwelte with her mother, that was a wise and honest Ladye. The Countesse well noting these wordes, and by litle and litle debating euery particular point thereof, comprehending the effecte of those newes, concluded what to do, and when she had well vnderstanded which was the house, and the name of the Ladye, and of her doughter that was beloued of the Counte: vppon a day repaired to the house secretely in the habite of a pilgrime, where finding the mother and doughter in poore estate amonges their familie, after she had saluted them, told the mother that shee had to saye vnto her. The gentlewoman rysing vp, curteously intertayned her, and being entred alone in a chamber, they sate downe and the Countesse began to speake vnto her in this wise. "Madame, me thincke that ye be one vpon whom Fortune doth frowne, so wel as vpon me: but if you please, you may both comfort me and your selfe." The lady answered, "That there was nothing in the world wherof she was more desirous then of honest comfort." The Countesse proceeding in her talke, said vnto her. "I haue neede now of your fidelitie and truste, whereuppon if I do staye, and you deceiue mee, you shall both vndoe me and your selfe." "Tell me then what it is hardlie (said the gentlewoman:) for you shall neuer bee deceiued of mee." Then the Countesse beganne to recite her whole estate of loue: tellinge her what she was, and what had chaunced to that present daye, in such perfite order as the gentlewoman beleeuinge her, because shee had partly heard report before; began to haue compassion vppon her, and after that the Countesse had rehearsed the whole circumstaunce, she continued her purpose, saying: "Now you haue heard amonges other my troubles, what two things they bee, which behoueth mee to haue, if I doe recouer my husband, which I know none can helpe me to obtaine, but onelye you, if it be true that I heare, which is, that the Counte my husband, is farre in loue with your doughter." To whom the gentlewoman sayd: "Madame, if the Counte loue my doughter, I knowe not, albeit the likelyhoode is greate: but what am I able to doe, in that which you desire?" "Madame, aunsweared the Countesse, I will tell you: but first I will declare what I meane to doe for you, if my purpose be brought to effecte: I see your faire doughter of good age, readie to marie, but as I vnderstande the cause, why shee is vnmaried, is the lacke of substance to bestowe her. Wherefore I purpose, for recompence of the pleasure, which you shall doe for mee, to giue so much readie money to marie her honourablie, as you shall thincke sufficient." The Countesse' offer was very well liked of the Ladie, because she was poore: yet hauing a noble hart, she said vnto her. "Madame, tell me wherein I may do you seruice: and if it be a thinge honest, I will gladlye performe it, and the same being brought to passe, do as it shall please you." Then said the Countesse: "I thincke it requisite, that by some one whom you truste, you giue knowledge to the Counte my husband, that your doughter is, and shalbe at his commaundement: and to the intent she may be well assured that hee loueth her in deede aboue anye other, she must pray him to sende her a ring that hee weareth vppon his finger, which ring as she knoweth, he loueth very dearely: and when he sendeth the ringe, you shal giue it vnto me, and afterwards sende him woorde, that your doughter is readie to accomplishe his pleasure, and then you shall cause him secretelye to come hither, and place me by him (in steede of your doughter) peraduenture God will giue me the grace, that I may be with child, and so hauing this ring on my finger, and the childe in mine armes begotten by him, I maye recouer him, and by your meanes continue with him, as a wife ought to do with her husbande." This thinge seemed difficulte vnto the Gentlewoman: fearing that there woulde folowe reproche vnto her doughter. Notwithstandinge, considering what an honest part it were, to be a meane that the good Ladie might recouer her husbande, and that shee mighte doe it for a good purpose, hauinge affiaunce in her honest affection, not onely promised the Countesse to bring this to passe, but in fewe dayes with greate subtiltie, folowing the order wherein she was instructed, she had gotten the ringe, although it was with the Countes ill will, and toke order that the Countesse in steede of her doughter did lye with him. And at the first meeting, so effectuously desired by the Counte: God so disposed the matter that the Countesse was begotten with child, of two goodly sonnes, and her deliuery chaunced at the due time. Whereuppon the gentlewoman, not onelye contented the Countesse at that time with the companye of her husbande, but at manye other times so secretly as it was neuer knowen: the Counte not thinkinge that he had lien with his wife, but with her whom he loued. To whom at his vprising in the morning, he vsed many curteous and amiable woords, and gaue diuers faire and precious Jewels, which the Countesse kept most carefully: and when she perceiued herselfe with child, she determined no more to trouble the gentlewoman, but said vnto her. "Madame, thanckes be to God and you, I haue the thing that I desire, and euen so it is time to recompence your desert, that afterwards I may depart." The gentlewoman said vnto her, that if she had done anye pleasure agreeable to her minde, she was right glad thereof which she did, not for hope of reward, but because it appertayned to her by well doing so to doe. Whereunto the Countesse said: "Your sayinge pleaseth me well, and for my part, I doe not purpose to giue vnto you the thing you shal demaunde in reward, but for consideration of your well doing, which dutie forceth me to do." The gentlewoman then constrained with necessity, demaunded of her with great bashfulnesse, an hundred poundes to marie her daughter. The countesse perceiuinge the shamefastnesse of the gentlewoman, and her curteous demaunde, gaue her fiue hundred poundes, and so many faire and costly Jewels, as almost amounted to like valour. For which the gentlewoman more then contented, gaue most harty thankes to the Countesse, who departed from the gentlewoman and retourned to her lodging. The gentlewoman to take occasion from the Counte of anye farther repaire, or sendinge to her house, toke her doughter with her, and went into the country to her frends. The Counte Beltramo, within fewe dayes after, being reuoked home to his owne house by his subiectes, (hearinge that the Countesse was departed from thence) retourned. The Countesse knowinge that her husbande was goone from Florence and retourned home, was verye gladde, continuing in Florence till the time of her childbedde, being brought a bedde of twoo sonnes, whiche were very like vnto their father, and caused them carefully to be noursed and brought vp, and when she sawe time, she toke her iourney (vnknowen to anie) and arriued at Montpellier, and resting her selfe there for certayne dayes, hearing newes of the Counte, and where he was, and that vpon the daye of Al Sainctes, he purposed to make a great feaste, and assembly of Ladies and Knightes, in her pilgrimes weede she repaired thither. And knowing that they were all assembled, at the palace of the Counte, readie to sitte downe at the table, shee passed through the people without chaunge of apparell, with her twoo sonnes in her armes: and when shee was come vp into the hall, euen to the place where the Counte sat, falling downe prostrate at his feete, weeping, saying vnto hym: "My Lorde, I am thy poore infortunate wyfe, who to th'intent thou mightest retourne and dwel in thine owne house, haue bene a great whyle begging aboute the worlde. Therefore I nowe beseche thee, for the honoure of God, that thou wilt obserue the conditions, which the twoo (knightes that I sent vnto thee) did commaunde me to doe: for beholde, here in myne armes, not onely one sonne begotten by thee, but twayne, and likwyse thy Ryng. It is nowe time then (if thou kepe promise) that I should be receiued as thy wyfe." The Counte hearing this, was greatly astonned, and knewe the Ryng, and the children also, they were so like hym. "But tell me (quod he) howe is this come to passe?" The Countesse to the great admiration of the Counte, and of all those that were in presence, rehersed vnto them in order all that, whiche had bene done, and the whole discourse thereof. For which cause the Counte knowing the thinges she had spoken to be true (and perceiuing her constant minde and good witte, and the twoo faire young boyes to kepe his promise made, and to please his subiectes, and the Ladies that made sute vnto him, to accept her from that tyme foorth as his lawefull wyfe, and to honour her) abiected his obstinate rigour: causing her to rise vp, and imbraced and kissed her, acknowledging her againe for his lawefull wyfe. And after he had apparelled her according to her estate, to the great pleasure and contentation of those that were there, and of al his other frendes not onely that daye, but many others, he kept great chere, and from that time forth, hee loued and honoured her, as his dere spouse and wyfe.



THE THIRTY-NINTH NOUELL.

Tancredi Prince of Salerne, caused his daughter's louer to be slayne, and sente his harte vnto her in a cup of golde: whiche afterwardes she put into poysoned water, and drinking thereof died.

Tancredi Prince of Salerne, (an vniuersitie in the region of Italie) was a curteous Lorde, and of gentle nature: had he not in his age imbrued his handes with the bloud of his owne doughter. It chaunced that this Prince in al his life time, had but that doughter: but more happie had he ben if she had neuer ben borne. That doughter he loued so well, as a father might loue his childe: and for the tender loue he bare her, he was not able to suffer her to be out of his sight. And could not finde in his harte to marie her, although she had many yeres passed the time that she was mariageable: notwithstanding, in thende he gaue her to wife to one of the sonnes of the Duke of Capua, with whom she continued no long time, but was a widowe, and then retourned vnto her fathers house againe. This Ladie was very faire and comely of bodie and face, as any creature could be, yonge, lustie, and more wise peraduenture then a woman ought to be. And thus dwelling with her louing father, she liued like a noble Ladie, in great pleasure: and seing that her father for the loue he bare vnto her, had no mynde or care to marie her agayne, and also she thinking it skarce honest to require him thereunto, deuised secretly (if it were possible) to retaine some valiaunt man to be her louer. And seyng manye gentlemen and others, frequenting her fathers court (as we commonly see in the courtes of princes) and marking the behauiour and order of many (amonges all) there was a young man, one of her fathers seruauntes that liked her well, whose name was Guiscardo, of very base birth (but in vertue and honest condicions more noble then the reste) and many times when she sawe him, she wonderfully delited in him, alwayes praysing his doinges aboue all others. The younge man, not hauing good consideration of him selfe, perceiuing her feruent affection, so fixed his minde that he disposed the same vpon nothing els but to loue her. One louing an other secretly in this sorte, and the Ladie verie studious to finde occasion that she might talke with him, vnwilling to committe the secrecie of her loue to any man, she imagined a newe deuise to geue him knowledge thereof. And wrote a letter signifying vnto him, what he should doe the next day, and howe he might vse himselfe to come to talke with her: and then putting the letter into the cane of a rede, she gaue it vnto Guiscardo in sporting wise, and said. "Thou shalt this night make a paire of Bellowes for thy seruaunt wherwith she may kindle the fire." Guiscardo toke it, and thought that shee did not geue it vnto him, without some special purpose went to his chamber, and loking vpon the Cane perceiued it to be hollowe, and openyng it founde the letter within whiche shee had written. And when he had well perused it, vnderstandyng the tenour thereof, hee thought hym selfe the happiest man in the worlde, and began to put hym selfe in readinesse, to mete with his Ladie, by suche wayes and meanes, as shee had to him appointed. There was in the corner of the Princes palace a Caue, long time before made vnder the syde of a hille, whiche Caue receiued light by certayne ventes made of force within the sayd mountaine, and because the same was not frequented and vsed, it was ouergrowen with busshes and thornes. Into which Caue was a discent by a secrete payre of stayers, into one of the lowest chambers of the Palaice, wherin the Ladie lay, which was out of all men's minde, because it was not occupied many a day before, and shut vp with a very strong doore. But Loue (in the eyes wherof nothing is so secrete, but will come to knoweledge) had brought the same againe into the remembraunce of the amorous Lady. The opening of which doore (that no man might knowe it) many dayes did trouble her wittes: afterwarde when she had founde the waye, she went downe alone into the Caue, and viewing the vente, whereunto she had geuen order for Guiscardo to come, she tolde him of what height it was from the ground: for the execution whereof, Guiscardo prepared a rope with knots and degrees to goe vp and downe, and putting vpon him a leather coate, to kepe him from the thornes and bushes, went downe the next night at the saide vente, vnknowen of any man: and fastening one of the endes of the rope, to the stocke of a tree, that grewe at the mouth of the vente, hee slipte downe into the Caue, and taried there for the Ladie, who the next daye faining her selfe to slepe after dinner, sent her maydes out of her chamber, and locked her selfe within alone: and then opened the doore, and went downe into the Caue, where finding Guiscardo, they marueilously reioysed one with an other. And from thence went vp together into her chamber: where they remained togethers, the moste parte of that day, to their great delight. And hauing geuen good order for the affaires of their loue, and the secrete vse therof, Guiscardo retourned into the Caue, and the Ladie locked the doore, and came out amonges her maides. The next night after, Guiscardo issued out of the vente vpon the rope, wherewith he descended and conueied him selfe into his chamber. And hauing learned the waye, he resorted thither many times after. But Fortune enuious of that pleasure, so long and great, with dolorous successe, tourned the ioye of those twoo louers into heauie and sorowefull ende. The Prince accustomed sometimes to resorte alone into his doughter's chamber, and there for a whyle to tarie and talke with her, and so to departe. Vpon a daye after dinner, when the Ladie (whose name was Gismonda) was in the garden with all her maidens, he repaired vnknowen or seene of any man into her chamber. But being loth to trouble his doughter of her pleasure, and finding the wyndowes of her chamber shut and the curtens of her bedde drawen, he satte down vpon a stoole at the beddes feete, and leaning his head to the bedde the Curteine drawen ouer him (as he had bene hidden of purpose) he fel a slepe. And the king being thus a slepe, Gismonda that (in euill time) the same day had appointed Guiscardo to come, left her maydens in the Gardeine, and entred very secretly into her chamber, locking fast the doore after her, and not knowing any man to be there, shee opened the doore of the Caue to Guiscardo, who was redie to wayte for her comming. Then they caste them selues vpon the bedde, as they were wonte to doe, solacing the time together, vntill it chaunced that the Prince awaked, heard and sawe what Guiscardo and his doughter did. Whereof being verie sorowfull, he would vpon the first sight haue cried out: but that he thought it better for that time to holde his peace, still to kepe him selfe secrete, to the intent that he might more priuelie, and with lesse shame, accomplishe that which he purposed to do. The twoo louers continued togethers a great time, as they were wont to do, without any knowledge