consent.
Now Madame, let me further give you to understand, that I am a
religious person, and a pilgrime, and therefore am well acquainted
with all the courses of their dealing; if therefore I speake
somewhat more amply of them, and for your good, it can not be so
unseeming for mee to doe it, as it would appeare ugly in another. In
which respect, I will speake the more freely to you, to the ende, that
you may take better knowledge of them, then (as it seemeth) hitherto
you have done. In former passed times such as professed Religion, were
learned and most holy persons; but our religious professours now
adayes, and such as covet to bee so esteemed; have no matter at all of
Religion in them, but onely the outward shew and habite. Which yet
is no true badge of Religion neither, because it was ordained by
religious institutions, that their garments should bee made of
arrow, plaine, and coursest spun cloth, to make a publike
manifestation to the world, that (in meere devotion, and religious
disposition) by wrapping their bodies in such base clothing, they
condemned and despised all temporall occasions. But now adaies they
make them large, deepe, glistering, and of the finest cloth or stuffes
to bee gotten, reducing those habites to so proude and pontificall a
forme, that they walke Peacock-like, rustling, and strouting with them
in the Churches; yea, and in open publike places, as if they were
ordinary secular persons, to have their pride more notoriously
observed. And as the Angler bestoweth his best cunning, with one
line and baite to catch many fishes at one strike; even so do these
counterfeited habit-mongers, by their dissembling and crafty
dealing, beguile many credulous widdowes: simple women, yea, and men
of weake capacity, to credit whatsoever they doe or say, and herein
they doe most of all exercise themselves.
And to the end, that my speeches may not savor of any untruth
against them; these men which I speake of, have not any habite at
all of religious men, but onely the colour of their garments, and
whereas they in times past, desired nothing more then the salvation of
mens soules; these fresher witted fellowes, covet after women and
wealth, and employ all their paines by their whispering confessions,
and figures of painted fearefull examples, to affright and terrifie
unsetled and weake consciences, by horrible and blasphemous
speeches; yet adding perswasion withall, that their sinnes may be
purged by Almes-deedes and Masses. To the end, that such as credit
them in these their dayly courses, being guided more by apparance of
devotion, then any true compunction of heart, to escape severe
penances by them enjoyned: may some of them bring bread, others
wine, others coyne, all of them matter of commoditie and benefit,
and simply say, these gifts are for the soules of their good friends
deceased.
I make not any doubt, but almes-deedes and prayers, are very mighty;
and prevailing meanes, to appease heavens anger for some sinnes
committed; but if such as bestow them, did either see or know, to whom
they give them: they would more warily keepe them, or else cast them
before Swine, in regard they are altogether so unworthy of them. But
come we now to the case of your ghostly father, crying out in your
eare, that secret mariage was a most greevous sinne: Is not the breach
thereof farre greater? Familiar conversation betweene man and man
and woman, is a concession meerely naturall: but to rob, kill, or
banish any one, proceedeth from the mindes malignity. That thou did
rob Theobaldo, your selfe hath already sufficiently witnessed, by
taking that from him, which with free consent in mariage you gave him.
Next I must say, that by all the power remaining in you, you kild him,
because you would not permit him to remaine with you, declaring your
selfe in the very height of cruelty, that hee might destroy his life
by his owne hands. In which case the Law requireth, that whosoever
is the occasion of an ill act committed, hee or she is as deepe in the
fault, as the party that did it. Now concerning his banishment, and
wandring seaven yeeres in exile thorow the world; you cannot denie,
but that you were the onely occasion thereof. In all which three
severall actions, farre more capitally have you offended; then by
contracting of mariage in such clandestine manner.
But let us see, whether Theobaldo deserved all these severall
castigations, or not. In trueth he did not, your selfe have
confessed (beside that which I know) that hee loved you more deerely
then himselfe, and nothing could be more honoured, magnified and
exalted, then dayly you were by him, above all other women whatsoever.
When hee came in any place, where honestly, and without suspition
hee might speake to you: all his honour, and all his liberty, lay
wholly committed into your power. Was hee not a noble young Gentleman?
Was he (among all those parts that most adorne a man, and appertaine
to the very choycest respect) inferiour to any one of best merit in
your Citie? I know that you cannot make deniall to any of these
demands. How could you then by the perswasion of a beast, a foole, a
villaine, yea, a vagabond, envying both his happinesse and yours,
enter into so cruell a minde against him? I know not what error
misguideth women, in scorning and despising their husbands: but if
they entred into a better consideration, understanding triely what
they are, and what nobility of nature God hath endued man withall,
farre above all other creatures; it would bee their highest title of
glory, when they are so preciously esteemed of them, so dearely
affected by them, and so gladly embraced in all their best abilities.
This is so great a sinne, as the divine justice (which in an
equall Ballance bringeth all operations to their full effect) did
not purpose to leave unpunished; but as you enforced against all
reason, to take away Theobaldo from your selfe: even so your father
Aldobrandino, without any occasion given by Theobaldo, is in perill of
his life, and you a partaker of his tribulation. Out of which if you
desire to be delivered, it is very convenient that you promise one
thing which I shall tell you, and may much better be by you performed.
Namely, that if Theobaido do returne from his long banishment, you
shall restore him to your love, grace, and good acceptation;
accounting him in the selfe-same degree of favour and private
entertainment, as he was at the first, before your wicked ghostly
father so hellishly incensed you against him.
When the Pilgrim had finished his speeches, the Gentlewoman who
had listned to them very attentively (because all the edged reasons
appeared to be plainly true) became verily perswaded, that all these
afictions had falne on her and her father, for the ingratefull offence
by her committed, and therefore thus is replied. Worthy man, and the
friend to goodnesse, I know undoubtedly, that the words which you have
spoken are true, and also I understand by your demonstration, what
manner of people some of those religious persons are, whom
heretofore I have reputed to be Saints, but find them now to be far
otherwise. And to speake truly, I perceive the fault to be great and
greevous, wherein I have offended against Theobaldo, and would (if I
could) willingly make amends, even in such manner as you have advised.
But how is it possible to be done? Theobaldo being dead, can be [no]
more recalled to this life; and therefore, I know not what promise I
should make, in a matter which is not to bee performed. Whereto the
Pilgrime without any longer pausing, thus answered.
Madam, by such revelations as have beene shewne to me, I know for
a certainety, that Theobaldo is not dead, but living, in health, and
in good estate; if he had the fruition of your grace and favour.
Take heede what you say Sir (quoth the Gentlewoman) for I saw him
lye slain before my doore, his bodie having received many wounds,
which I folded in mine armes, and washed his face with my brinish
teares; whereby (perhaps) the scandall arose, that flew abroad to my
disgrace. Beleeve me Madam, replyed the Pilgrim, say what you will,
I dare assure you that Theobaldo is living, and if you dare make
promise, concerning what hath bin formerly requested, and keepe it
inviolably, I make no doubt, but you your selfe shall shortly see him.
I promise it (quoth she) and binde my selfe thereto by a sacred
oath, to keepe it faithfully: for never could any thing happen to
yeeld me the like contentment, as to see my Father free from danger,
and Theobaldo living.
At this instant Theobaldo thought it to be a very apt and convenient
time to disclose himselfe, and to comfort the Lady, with an assured
signall of hope, for the deliverance of her Father, wherefore he said:
Ladie, to the end that I may comfort you infallibly in this
dangerous perill of your fathers life, I am to make knowne an
especiall secret to you, which you are to keepe carefully (as you
tender your owne life) from ever being revealed to the world. They
were then in a place of sufficient privacie, and by themselves,
because she reposed great confidence in the Pilgrims sanctity or life,
as thinking him none other then he seemed to be. Theobaldo tooke out
of his Purse a Ring, which she gave him the last night of their
conversing together, and he had kept with no meane care: and shewing
it to her, said; Do you know this Ring Madam? So soone as she saw
it, immediatly she knew it, and answered, Yes Sir, I know the Ring,
and confesse that heretofore I gave it to Theobaldo.
Heereupon the Pilgrime stood up, and sodainly putting off his
poore linnen Frock, and the Hood from his head, using his Florentine
tongue, he said; Tell me Madam, do you not know me? When she had
advisedly beheld him, and knew him indeed to be Theobaldo, she was
stricken into a wonderfull astonishment, being as fearfull of him,
as she was of the dead body which she saw lying in the street. And I
dare assure you, that she durst not go neere him, to respect him as
Theobaldo lately come from Cyprus, but (in terror) fled away from him;
as if Theobaldo had bin newly risen out of his grave, and came thither
purposely to affright her; wherefore he said. Be not affraid Madam,
I am your Theobaldo, in health, alive, and never as yet died,
neither have I received any wounds to kill mee, as you and my brethren
had formerly imagined.
Some better assurance getting possession of her, as knowing him
perfectly by his voice, and looking more stedfastly on his face, which
constantly avouched him to be Theobaldo; the teares trickling amaine
downe her faire cheekes, she ran to embrace him, casting her armes
about his necke, and kissing him a thousand times, my faithfull
husband, nothing in the world can be so welcom to me. Theobaldo having
most kindly kissed and embraced her, said; Sweet wife, time wit not
now allow us those ceremonious courtesies, which (indeed) so long a
separation do justly challenge; for I must about a more weighty
busines, to have your Father safely delivered, which I hope to do
before to morow night when you shall heare tydings to your better
contentment. And questionlesse, if I speed no worse then my good
hope perswadeth me, I will see you againe to night, and acquaint you
at better leysure, in such things as I cannot do now at this present.
So putting on his Pilgrimes habit againe, kissing her once more, and
comforting her with future good successe, he departed from her,
going to the prison where Aldobrandino lay, whom hee found more
pensive, as being in hourely expectation of death, then any hope he
had to be freed from it. Being brought neerer to him by the
prisoners favour, as seeming to be a man come onely to comfort him:
sitting downe by him, thus he began. Aldobrandino, I am a friend of
thine, whom Heaven hath sent to doe thee good, in meere pittie and
compassion of thine innocency. And therefore, if thou wilt grant me
one small request, which I am earnestly to crave at thy hands, thou
shalt heare (without any failing) before to morrow at night, the
sentence of thy free absolution, whereas now thou expectest nothing
but death; whereunto Aldobrandino thus answered. Friendly man,
seeing thou art so carefull of my safety (although I know thee not,
neither doe remember that ere I saw thee till now) thou must needs
be some especiall kinde friend of mine. And to tell thee the truth,
I never committed the sinful deed for which I am condemned to death.
True it is, I have other heinous and greevous sins, which
(undoubtedly) have throwne. this heavy judgement on me, and
therefore I am the more willing to undergo it. Neverthelesse, let me
thus I us farre assure thee, that I would gladly not onely promise
something which might be to the glory of God, if he were pleased in
this case to have mercy on me; but also would as willingly performe
and accomplish it. Wherefore, demaund whatsoever thou pleasest, for
unfained (if I escape with life) I will truly keepe promise with thee.
Sir, replyed the Pilgrime, I desire nor demand any thing of you, but
that you would pardon the foure Brethren of Theobaldo, that brought
you to this hard extremity, as thinking you to be guilty of their
brothers death, and that you would also accept them as your brethren
and friends upon their craving pardon for what they have done.
Sir, answered Aldobrandino, no man knoweth how sweet revenge is, nor
with what heate it is to be desired, but onely the man who hath bene
wronged. Notwithstanding, not to hinder hope, which onely aymeth at
Heaven, I freely forgive them, and henceforth pardon them for ever,
intending more. over, that if mercy give me life, and cleere me from
this bloody imputation, to love and respect them so long as I shall
live. This answere was most pleasing to the Pilgrime, and without
any further multiplication of speeches, he entreated him to be of good
comfort, for he feared not but before the time prefixed, he should
heare certaine tydings of his deliverance.
At his departing from him, hee went directly to the Signoria, and
prevailed so far that he spake privately with a Knight, who was then
