The decameron containing an hundred pleasant nouels. Wittily discoursed, betweene seauen honourable ladies, and three noble gentlemen.

Thebaldo Elisei, hauing receiued an vnkinde repulse by his beloued, departed from Florence, and returning thither againe (a long while after) in the ha∣bite of a Pilgrime; he spake with her, and made his wrongs knowne vnto her. He deliuered her Husband from the danger of death, because it was proued, that he had slaine Thebaldo: he made peace with his brethren, and in the ende, wisely enioyed his hearts desire.

The seauenth Nouell.

Wherein is signified the power of Loue, and the diuersity of dangers, whereinto men may daily fall.

[illustration]

SO ceased Fiametta her dis∣course, being generally com∣mended, when the Queene, to preuent the losse of time, com∣manded Aemillia to follow next, who thus began. It liketh me best (gracious Ladies) to returne home againe to our owne City, which it pleased the former two discoursers to part from: And there I will shew you, how a Ci∣tizen of ours, recouered the kind∣nesse of his Loue, after he had lost it.

Sometime there dwelt in Flo∣rence a young gentleman, named Thebaldo Elisci, descended of a noble House, who became ear∣nestly enamored of a Widdow, called Hermelina, the daughter to Aldo∣brandino Palermini: well deseruing, for his vertues and commendable

qualities, to enioy of her whatsoeuer he could desire. Secretly they were espoused together, but Fortune, the enemy to Louers felicities, opposed her malice against them, in depriuing Thebaldo of those deare delights, which sometime he held in free possession, and making him as a stranger to her gracious fauours. Now grew shee contemptibly to despise him, not onely denying to heare any message sent from him, but scorning also to vouchsafe so much as a sight of him, causing in him extreme griefe and melancholy, yet concealing all her vnkindnesse so wisely to himselfe, as no one could vnderstand the reason of his sadnesse.

After he had laboured by all hopefull courses, to obtaine that fauour of her, which he had formerly lost, without any offence in him, as his in∣nocent soule truly witnessed with him, and saw that all his further endea∣uours were fruitlesse and in vaine; he concluded to retreate himselfe from the World, and not to be any longer irkesome in her eye, that was the onely occasion of his vnhappinesse. Hereupon, storing himselfe with such summes of money, as suddenly he could collect together, secretly he departed from Florence, without speaking any word to his friends or kin∣dred; except one kind companion of his, whom he acquainted with most of his secrets, and so trauelled to Ancona, where he termed himselfe by the name of Sandolescio. Repairing to a wealthy Merchant there, he placed himselfe as his seruant, and went in a Ship of his with him to Cyprus; his actions and behauiour proued so pleasing to the Merchant, as not onely he allowed him very sufficient wages, but also grew into such association with him; as he gaue the most of his affaires into his hands, which he gui∣ded with such honest and discreete care, that he himselfe (in few yeeres compasse) proued to be a rich Merchant, and of famous report.

While matters went on in this successefull manner, although he could not chuse, but still he remembred his cruell Mistresse, and was very des∣perately transported for her loue, as coueting (aboue all things e••se) to see her once more; yet was he of such powerfull constancy, as 7. whole yeers together, he vanquished all those fierce conflicts. But on a day it chanced he heard a song sung in Cyprus, which he himselfe had formerly made, in honour of the loue he bare to his Mistresse, and what delight he concei∣ued, by being daily in her presence; whereby he gathered, that it was im∣possible for him to forget her, and proceeded on so desirously, as he could not liue, except he had a sight of her once more, and therefore determi∣ned on his returne to Florence. Hauing set all his affaires in due order, ac∣companied with a seruant of his onely, he passed to Ancona, where when he was arriued, he sent his Merchandises to Florence, in name of the Mer∣chant of Ancona, who was his especiall friend and partner; trauayling him∣selfe alone with his seruant, in the habite of a Pilgrime, as if he had beene newly returned from Ierusalem.

Being come to Florence, he went to an Inne kept by two bretheren, neere neighbours to the dwelling of his Mistresse, and the first thing he did, was passing by her doore, to get a sight of her if he were so happie. But he found the windowes, doores, and all parts of the house fast shut

vp, whereby he suspected her to be dead, or else to be changed from her dwelling: wherefore (much perplexed in minde) he went on to the two brothers Inne, finding foure persons standing at the gate, attired in mour∣ning, whereat he maruelled not a little; knowing himselfe to be so trans∣figured, both in body and habite, farre from the manner of common vse at his parting thence, as it was a difficult matter to know him: he stept boldly to a Shooe-makers shop neere adioyning, and demanded the rea∣son of their wearning mourning. The Shoo-maker made answer thus; Sir, those men are clad in mourning, because a brothers of theirs, being na∣med Thebaldo (who hath beene absent hence a long while) about some fif∣teene dayes since was slaine. And they hauing heard, by proofe made in the Court of Instice, that one Aldobrandino Palermini (who is kept close prisoner) was the murtherer of him, as he came in a disguised habite to his daughter, of whom he was most affectionately enamoured; cannot chuse, but let the World know by their outward habites, the inward affliction of their hearts, for a deede so dishonourably committed.

Thebaldo wondered greatly hereat, imagining, that some man belike re∣sembling him in shape, might be slaine in this manner, and by Aldobr an∣dino, for whose misfortune he grieued maruellously. As concerning his Mistresse, he vnderstood that shee was liuing, and in good health; and night drawing on apace, he went to his lodging, with infinite molestati∣ons in his minde, where after supper, he was lodged in a Corne-loft with his man. Now by reason of many disturbing imaginations, which inces∣santly wheeled about his braine, his bed also being none of the best, and his supper (perhaps) somewhat of the coursest; a great part of the night was spent, yet could he not close his eyes together. But lying still broade awake, about the dead time of night, he heard the treading of diuers per∣sons ouer his head, who discended downe a paire of stayres by his Cham∣ber, into the lower parts of the house, carrying a light with them, which he discerned by the chinkes and crannies in the wall. Stepping softly out of his bed, to see what the meaning hereof might be, he espied a faire young woman, who carried the light in her hand, and three men in her company, descending downe the stayres together, one of them speaking thus to the young woman. Now we may boldly warrant our safety, be∣cause we haue heard it assuredly, that the death of Thebaldo Elisei, hath beene sufficiently approued by the Brethren, against Aldobrandino Paler∣mini, and he hath confessed the fact; whereupon the sentence is already set downe in writing. But yet it behoueth vs notwithstanding, to con∣ceale it very secretly, because if euer hereafter it should be knowne, that we are they who murthered him, we shall be in the same danger, as now Aldobrandino is.

When Thebaldo had heard these words, hee began to consider with himselfe, how many and great the dangers are, wherewith mens minds may daily be molested. First, he thought on his owne brethren in their sorrow, and buried a stranger in steed of him, accusing afterward (by false opinion, and vpon the testimony of as false witnesses) a man most inno∣cent,

making him ready for the stroke of death. Next, he made a strict ob∣seruation in his soule, concerning the blinded seuerity of Law, and the Ministers thereto belonging, who pretending a diligent and carefull in∣quisition for trueth, doe oftentimes (by their tortures and torments) heare lies auouched (onely for ••ase of paine) in the place of a true confession, yet thinking themselues (by doing so) to be the Ministers of God and Iu∣stice, whereas indeede they are the Diuels executioners of his wicked∣nesse. Lastly, conuerting his thoughts to Aldobrandino, the imagined mur∣therer of a man yet liuing, infinite cares beleagured his soule, in deuising what might best be done for his deliuerance.

So soone as he was risen in the morning, leauing his seruant behinde him in his lodging, he went (when he thought it fit time) all alone toward the house of his Mistresse, where finding by good fortune the gate o∣pen, he entred into a small Parlour beneath, and where he saw his Mi∣stresse sitting on the ground, wringing her hands, and wofully weeping, which (in meere compassion) moued him to weepe likewise; and going somewhat neere her, he saide. Madam, torment your selfe no more, for your peace is not farre off from you. The Gentlewoman hearing him say so, lifted vp her head, and in teares spake thus. Good man, thou see∣mest to me to be a Pilgrim stranger; what doest thou know, either con∣cerning my peace, or mine affliction? Madam (replied the Pilgrime) I am of Constantinople, and (doubtlesse) am conducted hither by the hand of Heauen, to conuert your teares into reioycing, and to deliuer your Fa∣ther from death. How is this? answered shee: If thou be of Constantino∣ple, and art but now arriued here; doest thou know who we are, either I, or my Father?

The Pilgrime discoursed to her, euen from one end to the other, the history of her Husbands sad disasters, telling her, how many yeeres since shee was espoused to him, and many other important matters, which wel shee knew, and was greatly amazed thereat, thinking him verily to be a Prophet, and kneeling at his feete, entreated him very earnestly, that if hee were come to deliuer her Father Aldobrandino from death, to doe it speedily, because the time was very short. The Pilgrime appearing to be a man of great holinesse, saide. Rise vp Madam, refraine from weeping, and obserue attentiuely what I shall say; yet with this caution, that you neuer reueale it to any person whatsoeuer. This tribulation whereinto you are falne, (as by reuelation I am faithfully informed) is for a grieuous sinne by you heretofore committed, whereof diuine mercy is willing to purge you, and to make a perfect amends by a sensible feeling of this af∣fliction; as seeking your sound and absolute recouery, least you fall into farre greater danger then before. Good man (quoth shee) I am burthe∣ned with many sinnes, and doe not know for which any amends should be made by me, any one sooner then another: wherefore if you haue in∣telligence thereof, for charities sake tell it me, and I will doe so much as lieth in me, to make a full satisfaction for it. Madam, answered the Pil∣grime; I know well enough what it is, and will demand it no more of you,

to winne any further knowledge thereof, then I haue already: but be∣cause in reuealing it your selfe, it may touch you with the more true compunction of soule; let vs goe to the point indeede, and tell me, doe you remember, that at any time you were married to an Husband, or no?

At the hearing of these words, shee breathed foorth a very vehement sigh, and was stricken with admiration at this question, beleeuing that not any one had knowledge thereof. Howbeit, since the day of the supposed Thebaldoes buriall, such a rumour ran abroade, by meanes of some spee∣ches, rashly dispersed by a friend of Thebaldoes, who (indeede) knew it; whereupon shee returned him this answere. It appeareth to me (good man) that diuine ordinatiuation hath reuealed vnto you all the secrets of men; and therefore I am determined, not to conceale any of mine from you. True it is, that in my younger yeeres, being left a widow, I entirely affected an vnfortunate young Gentleman, who (in secret) was my Hus∣band, and whose death is imposed on my Father. The death of him I haue the more bemoaned, because (in reason) it did neerely concerne me, by shewing my selfe so sauage and rigorous to him before his depar∣ture: neuerthelesse, let me assure you Sir, that neither his parting, long ab∣sence from me, or his vntimely death, neuer had the power to bereaue my heart of his remembrance.

Madame, saide the Pilgrime, the vnfortunate young Gentleman that is slaine, did neuer loue you; but sure I am, that Thebaldo Elisei loued you dearely. But tell me, what was the occasion whereby you concei∣ued such hatred against him? Did he at any time offend you? No tru∣lie Sir, quoth shee; but the reason of my anger towards him, was by the wordes and threatnings of a religious Father, to whom once I re∣uealed (vnder confession) how faithfully I affected him, and what pri∣uate familiarity had passed betweene vs. When instantly he vsed such dreadfull threatnings to me, and which (euen yet) doe afflict my soule, that if I did not abstaine, and vtterly refuse him, the Diuell would fetch me quicke to Hell, and cast me into the bottome of his quenchlesse and euerlasting fire.

These menaces were so preuailing with me, as I refused all further con∣uersation with Thebaldo, in which regard, I would receiue neither letters or messages from him. Howbeit, I am perswaded, that if he had conti∣nued here still, and not departed hence in such desperate manner as he did, seeing him melt and consume daily away, euen as Snowe by power of the Sunne-beames: my austere deliberation had beene long agoe quite altered, because not at any time (since then) life hath not allowed me one merry day, neither did I, or euer can loue any man like vnto him.

At these wordes the Pilgrime sighed, and then proceeded on againe thus. Surely Madam, this one onely sin, may iustly torment you, because I know for a certainty, that Thebaldo neuer offered you any iniury, since the day he first became enamoured of you; and what grace or fauour

you affoorded him, was your owne voluntary gift, and (as he tooke it) no more then in modesty might well become you; for he louing you first, you had beene most cruell and vnkinde, if you should not haue requited him with the like affection. If then he continued so iust and loyall to you, as (of mine owne knowledge) I am able to say he did; what should moue you to repulse him so rudely? Such matters ought well to be considered on before hand; for if you did imagine, that you should repeate it as an action ill done, yet you could not doe it, because as he became yours, so were you likewise onely his; and he being yours, you might dispose of him at your pleasure, as being truely obliged to none but you. How could you then with-draw your selfe from him, being onely his, and not commit most manifest theft, a farre vnfitting thing for you to doe, except you had gone with his consent?

Now Madam, let me further giue you to vnderstand, that I am a reli∣gious person, and a pilgrime, and therefore am well acquainted with all the courses of their dealing; if therefore I speake somewhat more amply of them, and for your good, it cannot be so vnseeming for me to doe it, as it would appeare vgly in another. In which respect, I will speake the more freely to you, to the ende, that you may take better knowledge of them, then (as it seemeth) hitherto you haue done. In former passed times such as professed Religion, were learned and most holy persons; but our religious professours now adayes, and such as coue•• to be so esteemed; haue no matter at all of Religion in them, but onely the outward shew & habite. Which yet is no true badge of Religion neither, because it was or∣dained by religious institutions, that their garments should be made of narrow, plaine, and coursest spun cloth, to make a publike manifestation to the world, that (in meere deuotion, and religious disposition) by wrap∣ping their bodies in such base clothing, they condemned and despised all temporall occasions. But now adayes they make them large, deepe, gli∣stering, and of the finest cloth or stuffes to be gotten, reducing those ha∣bites to so proude and pontificall a forme, that they walke Peacock-like rustling, and strouting with them in the Churches; yea, and in open pub∣like places, as if they were ordinary secular persons, to haue their pride more notoriously obserued. And as the Angler bestoweth his best cun∣ning, with one line and baite to catch many fishes at one strike; euen so do these counterfeted habite-mongers, by their dissembling and crafty dea∣ling, beguile many credulous widowes, simple women, yea, and men of weake capacity, to credit whatsoeuer they doe or say, and herein they doe most of all excercise themselues.

And to the end, that my speeches may not sauour of any vntruth against them; these men which I speake of, haue not any habite at all of religious men, but onely the colour of their garments, and whereas they in times past, desired nothing more then the saluation of mens soules; these fresher witted fellowes, couet after women & wealth, and employ all their paines by their whispering confessions, and figures of painted feareful examples, to affright and terrifie vnsetled and weake consciences, by horrible and

blasphemous speeches; yet adding a perswasion withall, that their sinnes may be purged by Almes-deedes and Masses. To the end, that such as credit them in these their dayly courses, being guided more by appa∣rance of deuotion, then any true compunction of heart, to escape seuere penances by them enioyned: may some of them bring bread, others wine, others coyne, all of them matter of commoditie and benefit, and simply say, these gifts are for the soules of their good friends deceased.

I make not any doubt, but Almes-deedes and prayers, are very migh∣ty, and preuailing meanes, to appease heauens anger for some sinnes committed; but if such as bestow them, did either see or know, to whom they giue them: they would more warily keepe them, or else cast them before Swine, in regard they are altogether so vnworthy of them. But come we now to the case of your ghostly father, crying out in your eare, that secret mariage was a most greeuous sinne: Is not the breach thereof farre greater. Familiar conuersation betweene man and woman, is a con∣cession meerely naturall: but to rob, kill, or banish any one, proceedeth from the mindes malignity. That you did rob Thebaldo, your selfe hath already sufficiently witnessed, by taking that from him, which with free consent in mariage you gaue him. Next I must say, that by all the power remaining in you, you kild him, because you would not permit him to re∣maine with you, declaring your selfe in the very height of cruelty, that hee might destroy his life by his owne hands. In which case the Law re∣quireth, that whosoeuer is the occasion of an ill act committed, hee or she is as deepe in the fault, as the party that did it. Now concerning his banishment, and wandring seauen yeares in exile thorow the world; you cannot denie, but that you were the onely occasion thereof. In all which three seuerall actions, farre more capitally haue you offended; then by contracting of mariage in such clandestine manner.

But let vs see, whether Thebaldo deserued all these seuerall castigati∣ons, or not. In trueth he did not, your selfe haue confessed (beside that which I know) that hee loued you more dearely then himselfe, and no∣thing could be more honoured, magnified and exalted, then dayly you were by him, aboue all other women whatsoeuer. When hee came in any place, where honestly, and without suspition hee might speake to you: all his honour, and all his liberty, lay wholly committed into your power. Was he not a noble young Gentleman? Was hee (among all those parts that most adorne a man, and appertaine to the very choycest respect) inferiour to any one of best merit in your Citie? I know that you cannot make deniall to any of these demands. How could you then by the perswasion of a beast, a foole, a villaine, yea, a vagabond, enuying both his happinesse and yours, enter into so cruell a minde against him? I know not what error misguideth women, in scorning and despising their husbands: but if they entred into a better consideration, vnder∣standing truly what they are, and what nobility of nature God hath en∣dued man withall, farre aboue all other creatures; it would bee their highest title of glory, when they are are so preciously esteemed of them,

so dearely affected by them, and so gladly embraced in all their best abi∣lities.

This is so great a sinne, as the diuine Iustice (which in an equal ballance bringeth all operations to their full effect) did purpose not to leaue vnpu∣nished; but, as you enforced against all reason, to take away Thebaldo from your selfe: euen so your Father Aldobrandino, without any occasion giuen by Thebaldo, is in perill of his life, and you a partaker of his tribula∣tion. Out of which if you desire to be deliuered, it is very conuenient that you promise one thing which I shall tell you, and may much better be by you performed. Namely, that if Thebaldo doe at any time returne from his long banishment, you shall restore him to your loue, grace, and good acceptation; accounting him in the selfe same degree of fauour and pri∣uate entertainement, as he was at the first, before you wicked ghostly fa∣ther so hellishly incensed you against him.

When the Pilgrime had finished his speeches, the Gentlewoman, who had listened to them very attentiuely (because all the all caged reasons ap∣peared to be plainely true) became verily perswaded, that all these afflic∣tions had falne on her and her Father, for the ingratefull offence by her committed, and therefore thus replied. Worthy man, and the friend to goodnesse, I know vndoubtedly, that the words which you haue spoken are true, and also I vnderstand by your demonstration, what manner of people some of those religious persons are, whom heretofore I haue re∣puted to be Saints, but find them now to be far otherwise. And to speake truly, I perceiue the fault to be great and grieuous, wherein I haue offen∣ded against Thebaldo, and would (if I could) willingly make amends, euen in such manner as you haue aduised. But how is it possible to be done? Thebaldo being dead, can be no more recalled to this life; and therefore, I know not what promise I should make, in a matter which is not to be per∣formed. Whereto, the Pilgrime without any longer pausing, thus answered.

Madam, by such reuelations as haue beene shewne to me, I know for a certainety, that Thebaldo is not dead, but liuing, in health, and in good estate; if he had the fruition of your grace and fauour. Take heede what you say Sir (quoth the Gentlewoman) for I saw him lie slaine before my doore, his body hauing receiued many wounds, which I folded in mine armes, and washed his face with my brinish teares; whereby (perhaps) the scandall arose, that flew abroade to my disgrace. Beleeue me Madam, (replied the Pilgrime) say what you will, I dare assure you that Thebaldo is liuing, and if you dare make promise, concerning what hath beene for∣merly requested, and keepe it inuiolably; I make no doubt, but you your selfe shall shortly see him. I promise it (quoth shee) and binde my selfe thereto by a sacred oath, to keepe it faithfully: for neuer could any thing happen, to yeeld me the like contentment, as to see my Father free from danger, and Thebaldo liuing.

At this instant Thebaldo thought it to be a very apt and conuenient time to disclose himselfe, and to comfort the Lady, with an assured signall of

hope, for the deliuerance of her Father, wherefore he saide. Lady, to the ende that I may comfort you infallibly, in this dangerous perill of your Fathers life; I am to make knowne an especiall secret to you, which you are to keepe carefully (as you tender your owne life) from euer being re∣uealed to the world. They were then in a place of sufficient priuacy, and alone by themselues, because shee reposed great confidence in the Pil∣grimes sanctity of life, as thinking him none other, then as he seemed to be. Thebaldo tooke out of his Purse a Ring, which shee gaue him, the last night of their conuersing together, and he had kept with no meane care, and shewing it to her, he saide. Doe you know this Ring Madam? So soone as shee saw it, immediately shee knew it, and answered. Yes Sir, I know the Ring, and confesse that heretofore I gaue it vnto The∣baldo.

Hereupon the Pilgrime stood vp, and suddenly putting off his poore linnen Frocke, as also the Hood from his head; vsing then his Florentine tongue, he saide. Then tell me Madam, doe you not know me? When shee had aduisedly beheld him, and knew him indeede to the Thebaldo; she was stricken into a wonderfull astonishment, being as fearefull of him, as shee was of the dead body, which shee saw lying in the streete. And I dare assure you, that shee durst not goe neere him, to respect him, as Thebaldo so lately come from Cyprus: but (in terror) fled away from him; as if The∣baldo had beene newly risen out of his graue, and came thither purposely to affright her; wherefore he saide. Be not afraide Madam, I am your Thebaldo, in health, aliue, and neuer as yet died, neither haue I receiued any wounds to kill mee, as you and my brethren haue formerly ima∣gined.

Some better assurance getting possession of her soule, as knowing him perfectly by his voyce, and looking more stedfastly on his face, which constantly auouched him to be Thebaldo; the teares trickling amaine downe her faire cheekes, shee ran to embrace him, casting her armes a∣bout his necke, and kissing him a thousand times, saying; Theboldo, my true and faithful! Husband, nothing in the World can be so welcome to me. Thebaldo hauing most kindly kissed and embraced her, said; Sweete wife, time will not now allow vs those ceremonious curtesies, which (indeede) so long a separation doe iustly challenge; but I must about a more weigh∣tie businesse, to haue your Father safe and soundly deliuered, which I hope to doe before to morrow at night, when you shall heare tydings to your better contentment. And questionlesse, if I speede no worse then my good hope perswadeth me, I wil see you againe to night, and acquaint you at better leysure, in such things as I cannot doe now at this pre∣sent.

So putting on his Pilgrimes habite againe, kissing her once more, and comforting her with future good successe, he departed from her, going to the prison where Aldobrandino lay, whom he found more pensiue, as being in hourely expectation of death, then any hope he had to be freed from it. Being brought neerer to him by the prisoners fauour, as seeming

to be a man, come onely to comfort him; sitting downe by him, thus he began. Aldobrandino, I am a friend of thine, whom Heauen hath sent to doe thee good, in meere pitty and compassion of thine innocency. And therefore, if thou wil•• grant me one small request, which I am earnestly to craue at thy hands; thou shalt heare (without any failing) before to morrow at night, the sentence of thy free absolution, whereas now thou expectest nothing but death; whereunto Aldobrandino thus answered. Friendly man, seeing thou art so carefull of my safety (although I know thee not, neither doe remember that euer I saw thee till now) thou must needs (as it appeareth no lesse) be some especiall kind friend of mine. And to tell thee the trueth, I neuer committed the sinfull deede, for which I am condemned to death. Most true it is, I haue other heynous and grie∣uous sinnes, which (vndoubtedly) haue throwne this heauy iudgement vpon me, and therefore I am the more willing to vndergoe. Neuerthe∣lesse, let me thus farre assure thee, that I would gladly, not onely promise something, which might to the glory of God, if he were pleased in this case to take mercy on me; but also would as willingly performe and ac∣complish it. Wherefore, demand whatsoeuer thou pleasest of me, for vnfainedly (if I escape with life) I will truly keepe promise with thee.

Sir, replied the Pilgrime, I desire nor demand any thing of you, but that you wold pardon the foure brethren of Thebaldo, who haue brought you to this hard extremity, as thinking you to be guilty of their brothers death, and that you would also accept them as your brethren and friends, vpon their crauing pardon for what they haue done. Sir, answered Al∣dobrandino, no man knoweth how sweete reuenge is, nor with what heate it is to be desired, but onely the man who hath been wronged. Notwith∣standing, not to hinder my hope, which onely aymeth at Heauen; I free∣lie forgiue them, and henceforth pardon them for euer; intending more∣ouer, that if mercy giue me life, and cleere me from this bloody imputa∣tion, to loue and respect them so long as I shall liue. This answer was most pleasing to the Pilgrime, and without any further multiplication of speeches, he entreated him to be of good comfort, for he feared not but before the time prefixed, he should heare certaine tydings of his deliue∣rance.

At his departing from him, he went directly to the Signoria, and pre∣uailed so farre, that he spake priuately with a Knight, who was then one of the States chiefest Lords, to whom he saide. Sir, a man ought to be∣stow his best paines and diligence, that the truth of things should be ap∣parantly knowne; especially, such men as hold the place and office as you doe: to the ende, that those persons which haue committed no foule of∣fence, should not be punished, but onely the guilty and haynous trans∣gressors. And because it will be no meane honor to you, to lay the blame where it worthily deserueth; I am come hither purposely, to informe you in a case of most weighty importance. It is not vnknowne to you, with what rigour the State hath proceeded against Aldobrandino Palermini, and you thinke verily he is the man that hath slaine Thebaldo Elisei, where∣vpon

your law hath condemned him to dye. I dare assure you Sir, that a very vniust course hath beene taken in this case, because Aldobrandino is falsly accused, as you your selfe will confesse before midnight, when they are deliuered into your power, that were the murderers of the man.

The honest Knight, who was very sorrowfull for Aldobrandino, gladly gaue attention to the Pilgrime, and hauing conferred on many mat∣ters, appertaining to the fact committed: the two brethren, who were Thebaldoes Hostesse, and their Chamber-mayd, vpon good aduise giuen, were apprehended in their first sleepe, without any resistance made in their defence. But when the tortures were sent for, to vnderstand truely how the case went; they would not endure any paine at all, but each aside by himselfe, and then altogether, confessed openly, that they did the deede, yet not knowing him to bee Thebaldo Elisei. And when it was de∣manded of them, vpon what occasion they did so foule an act. They an∣swered, that they were so hatefull against the mans life, because he would luxuriously haue abused one of their wiues, when they both were absent from their owne home.

When the Pilgrime had heard this their voluntary confession, hee tooke his leaue of the Knight, returning secretly to the house of Madame Hermelina, and there, because all her people were in their beds, she care∣full awaited his returne, to heare some glad tydings of her father, and to make a further reconciliation betweene her and Thebaldo, when, sitting downe by her, hee said. Deare Loue, be of good cheare, for (vpon my word) to morrow you shall haue your father home safe, well, and deliue∣red from all further danger: and to confirme her the more confidently in his words, hee declared at large the whole cariage of the businesse. Hermelina being wondrously ioyfull, for two such suddaine and succesfull accidents to enioy her husband aliue and in health, and also to haue her father freed from so great a danger; kissed and embraced him most affec∣tionately, welcomming him louingly into her bed, whereto so long time he had beene a stranger.

No sooner did bright day appeare, but Thebaldo arose, hauing ac∣quainted her with such matters as were to be done, and once more ear∣nestly desiring her, to conceale (as yet) these occurrences to her selfe. So, in his Pilgrimes habite, he departed from her house, to awaite con∣uenient opportunity, for attending on the businesse belonging to Aldo∣brandino. At the vsuall houre appointed, the Lords were all set in the Signioria, and had receiued full information, concerning the offence im∣puted to Aldobrandino: setting him at liberty by publique consent, and sentencing the other malefactors with death, who (within a fewe dayes after) were beheaded in the place where the murther was committed. Thus Aldobrandino being released, to his exceeding comfort, and no small ioy of his daughters, kindred and friends, all knowing perfectly, that this had happened by the Pilgrimes meanes: they conducted him home to Aldobrandinoes house, where they desired him to continue so long as himselfe pleased, vsing him with most honourable and gracious

respect; but especially Hermelina, who knew (better then the rest) on whom shee bestowed her liberall fauours, yet concealing all closely to her selfe.

After two or three dayes were ouer-past, in these complementall en∣tercoursings of kindnesse, Thebaldo began to consider, that it was high time for reconciliation, to be solemnely past betweene his brethren and Aldobrandino. For, they were not a little amazed at his strange deliue∣rance, and went likewise continually armed, as standing in feare of Aldo∣brandino and his friends; which made him the more earnest, for accom∣plishment of the promise formerly made vnto him. Aldobrandino lo∣uingly replied, that he was ready to make good his word. Whereupon, the Pilgrime prouided a goodly Banquet, whereat he purposed to haue present, Aldobrandino, his daughter, kindred, and their wiues. But first, himselfe would goe in person, to inuite them in peace to his Banquet, to performe this desired pacification, and conferred with his brethren, vsing many pregnant and forcible arguments to them, such as are requisite in the like discordant cases. In the end, his reasons were so wise, and pre∣uailing with them, that they willingly condiscended, and thought it no disparagement to them, for the recouerie of Aldobrandinoes kindnesse againe, to craue pardon for their great error committed.

On the morrow following, about the houre of dinner time, the foure brethren of Thebaldo, attired in their mourning garments, with their wiues and friends, came first to the house of Aldobrandino, who pur∣posely attended for them, and hauing layd downe their weapons on the ground: in the presence of all such, as Aldobrandino had inuited as his witnesses, they offered themselues to his mercy, and humbly required pardon of him, for the matter wherein they had offended him. Aldo∣brandino, shedding teares, most louingly embraced them, and (to bee briefe) pardon whatsoeuer iniuries he had receiued. After this, the sisters and wiues, all clad in mourning, courteously submitted themselues, and were graciously welcommed by Madame Hermelina, as also diuers other Gentlewomen there present with her. Being all seated at the Tables, which were furnished with such rarities as could be wished for; all things else deserued their due commendation, but onely sad silence, occasioned by the fresh remembrance of sorrow, appearing in the habites of Thebal∣does friends and kindred, which the Pilgrime himselfe plainely perceiued, to be the onely disgrace to him and his feast. Wherefore, as before hee had resolued, when time serued to purge away this melancholly; hee arose from the Table, when some (as yet) had scarce begun to eate, and thus spake.

Gracious company, there is no defect in this Banquet, and more de∣barres it of the honour it might else haue, but onely the presence of The∣baldo, who hauing beene continually in your company, it seemes you are not willing to take knowledge of him, and therefore I meane my selfe to shew him. So, vncasing himselfe out of his Pilgrimes clothes, and stand∣ing in his Hose and Doublet: to their no little admiration, they all knew

him, yet doubted (a good while) whether it were he or no. Which hee perceiuing, hee repeated his bretherens and absent kindreds names, and what occurrences had happened betweene them from time to time, be∣side the relation of his owne passed fortunes, inciting teares in the eyes of his brethren, and all else there present, euery one hugging and embracing him, yea, many beside, who were no kin at all to him, Hemelina onely ex∣cepted, which when Aldobrandino saw, he said vnto her. How now Her∣melina? Why doest thou not welcome home Thebaldo, so kindely as all here else haue done?

She making a modest courtesie to her Father, and answering so loude as euery one might heare her, said. There is not any in this assembly, that more willingly would giue him all expression of a ioyfull welcom home, and thankfull gratitude for such especiall fauours receiued, then in my heart I could afford to do: but only in regard of those infamous speeches, noysed out against me, on the day when wee wept for him, who was sup∣posed to be Thebaldo, which slander was to my great discredit. Goe on boldly, replied Aldobrandino, doest thou thinke that I regard any such praters? In the procuring of my deliuerance, hee hath approued them to be manifest liers, albeit I my selfe did neuer credit them. Goe then I com∣mand thee, and let me see thee both kisse and embrace him. She who de∣desired nothing more, shewed her selfe not slothfull in obeying her Fa∣ther, to do but her duty to her husband. Wherefore, being risen; as all the rest had done, but yet in farre more effectual manner, she declared her vnfeigned loue to Thebaldo. These bountifull fauours of Aldobrandino, were ioyfully accepted by Thebaldoes brethren, as also euery one else there present in company; so that all former rancour and hatred, which had caused heauy variances betweene them, was now conuerted to mutuall kindnesse, and solemne friendship on euery side.

When the feasting dayes were finished, the garments of sad mourning were quite layde aside, and those, becomming so generall a ioy, put on, to make their hearts and habites suteable. Now, concerning the man slaine, and supposed to be Thebaldo, hee was one, that in all parts of body, and truenesse of complexion so neerely resembled him, as Thebaldoes owne brethren could not distinguish the one from the other: but hee was of Lunigiana, named Fatinolo, and not Thebaldo, whom the two brethren Inne-keepers maliced, about some idle suspition conceiued, and hauing slaine him, lay de his body at the doore of Aldobrandino, where, by the rea∣son of Thebaldoes absence, it was generally reputed to be he, and Aldo∣brandino charged to doe the deede, by vehement perswasion of the bre∣thren, knowing what loue had passed betweene him and his daughter Hermelina. But happy was the Pilgrimes returne, first to heare those words in the Inne, the meanes to bring the murther to light; and then the discreete cariage of the Pilgrime, vntill hee plainely approued him∣selfe, to be truly Thebaldo.