On coming to himself, he smelt the perfume of myrtles and roses, and looking out of window saw a garden that descended in successive declivities to the sea. Signora Loreta, standing at his bed’s head, took up her viol and began playing a tender air.
Fabio, ravished with gratitude and pleasure, fell to kissing the lady’s hands a thousand times over. He thanked her earnestly, assuring her he was less touched by the saving of his life than by the fact of his owing his recovery to the pains of so fair a benefactress.
Presently he rose and went to walk with her in the garden, and sitting down to rest in a thicket of myrtles, he drew the young widow on his knee and manifested his gratitude by a thousand caresses.
He found her not insensible to his efforts and spent some hours by her side drowned in amorous delight. But soon he grew pensive, and suddenly asked his hostess what month they were in, and what day of the month precisely it then was.
And when she told him, he fell to groaning and lamenting sore, finding it lacked but twenty-four short hours of a full year since he had received the five hundred ducats of Eliezer the Jew. The thought of breaking his promise and exposing his pledge to the reproaches of the Circumcised was intolerable to him. Signora Loreta inquiring the reason of his despair, he told her the whole story; and being a very pious woman and an ardent votress of the Holy Mother of God, she shared his chagrin to the full. The difficulty was not to procure the five hundred ducats; a Banker in a neighbouring town had had such a sum in his hands for the last six months at Fabio’s disposition. But to travel from the coast of Dalmatia to Venice in four-and-twenty hours, with a broken sea and contrary winds, was a thing beyond all hope.
“Let us have the money ready to begin with,” said Fabio.
And when one of his hostess’s serving-men had brought the sum, the noble Merchant ordered a vessel to be brought close in to the shore. In her he laid the bags containing the ducats, then went to the Signora Loreta’s Oratory in search of an image of the Virgin with the Infant Jesus — an image of cedar-wood and greatly revered. This he set in the little bark, near the rudder, and addressed in these words:
“Madonna, you are my pledge. Now the Jew Eliezer must needs be paid to-morrow; ’tis a question of mine honour and of yours, Madonna, and of your Son’s good name. What a mortal sinner, such as I, cannot do, you will assuredly accomplish, unsullied Star of the Sea, you whose bosom suckled Him who walked upon the waters. Bear this silver to Eliezer the Jew, in the Ghetto at Venice, to the end the Circumcised may never say you are a bad surety.”
And pushing the bark afloat, he doffed his hat and cried softly:
“Farewell, Madonna! farewell!”
The vessel sailed out to sea, and long the merchant and the widow followed it with their eyes. When night began to close in, a furrow of light was seen marking her wake over the waters, which were fallen to a dead calm.
At Venice next morning Eliezer, on opening his door, saw a bark in the narrow canal of the Ghetto laden with full sacks and manned by a little figure of black wood, flashing in the clear morning sunbeams. The vessel stopped before the house where the seven-branched candlestick was carved; and the Jew recognized the Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus, pledge of the Christian Merchant.
1 “... By this image I take Jesus Christ in pledge for you, Him who wrought all men’s salvation, as is writ in Scripture: He is pledge against all your fortune; so good a pledge can no man have.” (Miracles of Our Lady, as they Fell out to Sundry — G. Paris and U. Robert.)
HISTORY OF DOÑA MARIA D’AVALOS AND DON FABRICIO, DUKE D’ANDRIA
TO HENRY GAUTHIER-VILLARS
HISTORY OF DOÑA MARIA D’AVALOS AND DON FABRICIO, DUKE D’ANDRIA
Done Marie d’Avalos, l’une des belles princesses du païs, mariée
avec le prince de Venouse, laquelle s’estant enamourachée du
comte d’Andriane, l’un des beaux princes du païs aussy, et
s’estans tous deux concertez à la jouissance et le mari l’ayant
descouverte ... les fit tous deux massacrer par gens appostez;
si que le lendemain on trouva ces deux belles moictiez et créatures
exposées et tendues sur le pavé devant la porte de la maison,
toutes mortes et froides, à la veue de tous les passants, qui
les larmoyoient et plaignoient de leur misérable estat.1
(Pierre de Bourdeilles, abbé et
Seigneur de Brantôme.
Recueil des dames, seconde partie.)
It was a day of high rejoicing at Naples, when the Prince of Venosa, a rich and puissant Lord, was wed to Doña Maria, of the illustrious house of Avalos.
Drawn by horses bedizened with scales, feathers or furs, in such wise as to figure forth dragons, griffins, lions, lynxes, panthers and unicorns, were twelve cars which did bear through all the city an host of naked men and women, gilded all over, for to represent the Gods of Olympus, come down to Earth to do honour to the Venosian nuptials. On one of these cars was to be seen a young lad with wings treading underfoot three old hags of an hideous ugliness. A tablet was fixed up above the car to display the meaning thereof, to wit: LOVE VANQUISHETH THE FATAL SISTERS. Whereby ’twas to be understood that the new-wedded pair would enjoy many a long year of happiness by each other’s side.
But this presage of Love, more strong than the Fates, was false withal. Two years after her marriage, one day she was gone abroad a-fowling, Doña Maria d’Avalos saw the Duke d’Andria, which was a gallant, handsome and well-knit man, and did straight love the same. An honest girl and a well-born, heedful of her noble name and still in that callow youth when women have not gotten boldness yet to match their naughty desires, she sent no go-between to the nobleman for to make assignation in Church or at her own abode. She never told her love, but did bide the time when her good star should bring beside her him which had grown in the twinkling of an eye more dear to her than the day. She had not to tarry long. For the Duke d’Andria had noted her beauty, and went straightway to pay his court to the Prince of Venosa. Encountering Doña Maria in the Palace with no other by, he did beseech her in right gentle, and withal gallant and masterful wise, that very favour she was herself well disposed and well resolved to grant him. She did lead him to her chamber instantly, and did there refuse him naught of all he was fain to have of her.
But when he did proffer her his thanks for that she had graciously yielded to his desires, she made answer:
“My Lord, the desire was mine own more than it was yours. I, it was, was fain we should lie in the arms one of the other, as we be now laid, in this bed, to the which I will aye make you dearly welcome, as oft as it shall please you to come thither.”
Every time she was able so to do, from that day forth Doña Maria d’Avalos would receive in her chamber the Duke d’Andria and this was many a time and oft, for the Prince of Venosa went much to the chase and would sometimes spend whole weeks together diverting him with his friends in one of his pleasure houses he had in the country parts.
The whole while that Doña Maria was abed with her lover, her nurse Lucia would stand a-watching at the chamber door, telling of her beads and trembling sore lest the Prince perchance should return home against all expectation.
’Twas indeed a nobleman mightily feared by reason of his jealous and grim humour. His enemies did reproach him for his cunning and cruelty, naming him mongrel cur of fox and she-wolf, stinking hound, if ever stinking hound was. But his friends would commend him, for that he kept ever in sure memory whatsoever of right or wrong folk did him, and would in no wise suffer patiently any injury wrought him or his.
During the space of three full months which were now gone by the lovers had great joy of each other and content of their desires without or let or hindrance, when one morning the Nurse came to seek Doña Maria in her chamber, and spake thus to her:
“Listen, my pearl of pearls; albeit my words this day will be neither of flowers nor sugar-plums, but of a right serious and fearsome matter
. My Lord the Prince of Venosa hath heard some ill report concerning you and the Duke d’Andria.
“But now I saw him in the Palace court, as he was a-mounting his horse. He was gnawing his moustache — a fell sign with him. He was in talk with two fellows, which had little of the air about them of leading honest lives; all I heard him tell them was, ‘See ye, without being seen!’ Of such sort the orders the noble Prince was charging them withal. And the worst is, he did stop dead whenas he set eyes on me. My own little pearl of price, so true as God is in the Holy Sacrament, an if the Prince find you with the Lord Duke d’Andria, he will kill both the twain of you. You will be a dead woman; and ah! me, what will become of me?”
The Nurse spake on in this wise and besought her mistress long and sore; but Doña Maria d’Avalos did send her away without deigning so much as one word of answer.
As it was Springtide she went forth that same day a-walking in the country with some ladies of the city. They were following a path bordered with thorn-trees all a-bloom, when one of the ladies said thus to her:
“Dogs will sometimes come and stick at travellers’ heels, Doña Maria. Well! look, to-day we be dogged by a great black and white hound!”
And the Princess, turning her head to see, did recognize a certain Dominican monk which was used to come each day to the courtyard of the Palazzo Venosa for to rest in the shade there, and in winter-time to warm him in the great kitchen.
Meanwhile the Nurse, seeing her lady mistress paid no heed to her words, ran to warn the Duke d’Andria. Moreover the said Duke had reasons of his own to fear the sweet secret of his loves had been unhappily discovered. The very evening afore, finding himself followed by a pair of ruffians armed with arquebuses, he had killed one of the twain with a sword-thrust, whiles the other had taken to his heels. The Duke felt no doubt now but these two rascals had been set at him by the Prince of Venosa.
“Lucia,” he said to the Nurse, “I must needs shudder at this danger, seeing it doth threaten my Lady Maria d’Avalos no less than myself. Tell her I will not return again to her chamber, cost me what regrets it will, before that the Prince’s suspicions be lulled asleep.”
These words the Nurse did report the same evening to Doña Maria, which did hearken to them with impatience, biting her lip till the blood came.
Learning that the Prince was at the moment abroad, she bade her Nurse go straight to fetch the Duke d’Andria, and bring him into her chamber; and so soon as he was come spake thus to him:
“My gracious Lord, a day spent apart from you is to me the cruellest of torments. I shall not fear to die; but I have not the fortitude to endure your absence. You should not have loved me, if you had not the hardihood to brave all for love of me. You should not have loved me if there were aught else in all the world you set above my love, even mine own honour and mine own life. Choose; either you shall see me every day as aforetime, or you shall never see me more.”
He made answer:
“Well and good then, Lady, and so be it; for, indeed, there is no room for ill or evil henceforth betwixt us twain! Verily I do love you as you would have me love you, even more than your own life.”
And that day, which was a Thursday, they did tarry a long time, close pressed one against the other. Naught of moment fell out ere the Monday of the next week, on the which day the Prince did apprise his wife how that he was setting forth with a numerous train for Rome, whither he was called by the Pope, which was his kinsman. And in very deed a score of horses were then standing ready saddled and bridled in the Great Court. Then did the Prince kiss his wife’s hand, as he was used to do on taking leave of her for any lengthy absence. Last of all, when he was now a-horseback, he did turn his face to her and say:
“God have you in His keeping, Doña Maria!” and so rode forth with his company behind him.
Soon as ever she thought her husband’s troop to be gotten forth of the walls, the Princess bade her Nurse summon the Duke d’Andria to her. The old woman besought her to defer a meeting that might easily be cause of such sore calamity.
“My dove,” she cried, falling on her knees, her hands uplifted in supplication, “receive not the Duke to-day! All night long I heard the Prince’s men grinding swords. Yet another thing, my flower of flowers, the good brother that cometh day by day to our kitchen to seek his dole of bread, hath but now overset a salt-cellar of salt with the sleeve of his gown. Give your lover a little repose, little one. Your pleasure will be all the greater to have him again presently, and he will love you all the better for the respite.”
But Doña Maria d’Avalos said:
“Nurse, an if he be not here in one quarter of an hour, I will send you back home to your brethren in the mountains.”
And when the Duke d’Andria was by her side she did welcome him with an exceeding great joy.
“My Lord,” cried she, “this will be a good day for us, and the night better still. I shall keep you till the dawn.”
And straightway did they exchange betwixt them an host of kisses and fond caresses. Presently, after doffing their clothes, they gat them to bed, and held each the other close embraced so long that evening found them yet pressed in each other’s arms. Then, for that they were sore hungered, Doña Maria drew forth of her marriage chest a pasty, dried conserves, and a flask of wine, the which she had been heedful to lay by therein.
After the twain had eaten and drunk their fill, playing the while all sorts of pretty plays, the moon rose and did look in so friendly at the window that they were fain to wish her welcome. So they went forth upon the balcony, and there, breathing the freshness and softness of the night, did watch the fireflies dancing in the dark bushes. All were still save only the shrilling of the insects in the grass. Then there came a sound of footsteps along the street, and Doña Maria did recognize the poor monk which was wont to haunt the kitchen and the Palace courtyards, the same she had encountered one day in the flowery path where she was a-walking with two ladies — her companions. She shut to the window softly, and to bed again with her lover. ’Twas deep in the night, and they were lying so, kissing and murmuring the softest nothings ever were inspired by Love, whether at Naples or any other spot in all the wide world, when of a sudden they caught a noise of steps mounting the stairway and the rattle of arms; at the same time they beheld a red glow shining through the chinks of the door. And they heard the Nurse’s voice shrieking, “Jesu Maria! I am a dead woman.” The Duke d’Andria sprang up, leapt upon his sword, and cried:
“Up, Doña Maria! We must leap forth by the window.”
But, rushing to the balcony and leaning out, he saw how the street was guarded and all bristling with pikes.
Thereupon he came back to Doña Maria, which said:
“’Tis the end of all! But know this, I do not regret aught of what I have done, my dear, dear Lord!”
And he made answer:
“Well and good then, and so be it!” and did haste to don his trunks.
Cracking and crunching under the mighty blows struck by them outside, the door was meantime a-trembling, and the panels began to gape.
He spake again and said:
“Fain would I know who hath betrayed and sold us thus.”
At the instant he was seeking his shoon, the one half of the door gave way, and a troop of men, bearing arms and torches, threw themselves into the chamber. The Prince of Venosa was in their midst, shouting: “Have at the traitor! Kill! Kill!”
Lustily did three swordsmen attack the Duke, but he set him in front of the bed, where was Doña Maria, and made valiant stand against the caitiffs.
Six men were there in all, led on by the Prince, being of his bosom friends every one or his own varlets. Albeit blinded by the dazzle of the torches, the Duke d’Andria did contrive to parry several thrusts, and gave back some shrewd blows himself. But catching his foot in the platters lying on the floor, with the remains of the pasty and conserves, he fell over backward. Finding himself on his back, a sword’s point at his throat, he did se
ize the blade in his left hand; the man, snatching it back, cut off three of his fingers, and the sword was bent. Then, as the Duke d’Andria was heaving forward his shoulders to rise, one of the fellows struck him a blow over the head which did break in the bones of his skull. At this all six did hurl them upon him, and slew him, lunging with such savage haste they did wound each other.
Whenas the thing was done, the Prince of Venosa bade them stand quietly aside; and marching upon Doña Maria, which till now had tarried still beside the bed, he drave her before his sword’s point into the corner of the chamber where was the marriage chest. And there, holding her at bay, he did hiss in her face one word:
“Puttana!” (Harlot!)
Shamed by reason of her nakedness, she went to drag to her some of the bedclothes, which were hanging over the bedside. But he stayed her with a thrust of his sword, which did graze her white side.
Then, leaning against the wall, hands and arms held up to veil her eyes, she stood waiting.
The other never left off crying:
“Puttaccia! Puttaccia!” (Whore! Whore!)
Then, forasmuch as he did yet tarry, and slew her not, she was afraid. He saw that she was afraid, and said gleefully:
“You are afraid!”
But pointing her finger at the dead body of the Duke d’Andria, she made answer:
“Fool! what think you I can have to fear now?”
And, to make a seeming of being no more terrified, she sought to recall a song-tune she had sung many a time as a girl, and began humming the same, or rather hissing it, betwixt her teeth.
The Prince, furious to see how she defied him, did now prick her with his point in the belly, crying out:
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