Part 10

“Indeed,” said Gianetto, “it seems to me an age since I have seen her;” and thereupon they parted. The judge stept into the gondola, and went in peace. Gianetto treated all his acquaintance, made them presents, and kept open house; then took leave of all his Venetian connexions, taking with him Messer Ansaldo, and many of his former friends, and set off for Belmonte. Most of those of both sexes he left behind, grieved much at his departure, so nobly had he behaved while with them. Now it happened that the lady had arrived several days previous, and had ordered great preparations to be made. The houses were all hung with tapestry; several companies of armed troops were posted here and there, and when Messer Gianetto and Ansaldo arrived, all the knights and barons, with the rest of the court, went to meet him, crying out, “long live our worthy lord!” and when he reached Belmonte, the lady embraced Ansaldo, and shammed a little coolness towards Gianetto, whom still she loved so dearly. Great rejoicings took place; tilting, sham fights, dancing, music, and singing among the ladies and damsels that were present. Gianetto seeing his lady did not look so kindly towards him as she was wont to do, went into his own room and sent for her. “What is the matter with you?” said he. “There is no occasion for this outward show of tenderness,” said the lady, “for I know you have found out your old favourite lady.” Gianetto began to exculpate himself. The lady said, “where is the ring I gave you?”

“Well,” said Gianetto, “what I anticipated is come to pass; I said, I was sure you would be displeased, but I solemnly swear to you, by all that is sacred, that I gave the ring to the judge that extricated Ansaldo from his difficulties.”

“And I swear,” said she, “by all that I hold most dear, that thou hast given it to a woman. I know it well, and thou oughtest to be ashamed to perjure thyself thus.”

“May I die this moment,” said Gianetto, “if I do not tell thee true; and, besides, I told the judge how it would turn out.”

“Thou might have stayed where thou wert, and have sent Ansaldo here by himself, and enjoyed thyself, among thy damsels, for I hear they all wept at thy departure.” Messer Gianetto began to be greatly distressed, and could not refrain from tears, saying, “thou swearest what is not true, and what could not be.” The lady, however, seeing he was in great agitation, and quite miserable, it went to her heart, and she ran to embrace him, laughing immoderately, and showing him the ring, and repeated to him every thing he had said to the judge, and how she herself had acted the part of the judge, and in what manner he had given him the ring. Gianetto marvelled at this account, but seeing it was all true, he began to feel relieved, and extremely pleased, and going out of the room, related the story to some of his friends, and the adventure increased their mutual affection, and thus they lived happily together, surrounded by friends, and not forgetting to pay all kind attention to Ansaldo.

THERE IS A SKELETON IN EVERY HOUSE.

There was at Naples a lady of the name of Corsina, bom at Capovana, and wife of a noble cavalier, whose name was Messer Ramondo del Balzo. It happened after some years that heaven was pleased to deprive this lady of her husband, and she was left a widow, with an only son, whose name was Carlo. This youth possessing all the excellent qualities and endowments of his father, became the mother’s idol and only care. She bethought herself that it would be greatly to his advantage to send him to Bologna, to pursue his studies, in order that he might hereafter become a great man. Having made up his mind to this, she gave him a tutor, provided him with books, and every thing that would make him comfortable, and sent him away with a tender mother’s blessing. There, for several years, she maintained him with every comfort he could wish. The youth, having every advantage, improved greatly, and became an excellent scholar, and by his gentleman-like manners, correct conduct, and great talents, had gained the affection of all his fellow collegians. It happened, that having become, after some years, a doctor in law, and being nearly on the eve of his return to Naples, he was taken seriously ill, whereupon all the best physicians of Bologna anxiously endeavoured to save his life, but had no hopes of success. Carlo, perceiving he was a lost man, said to himself, I do not care so much for myself, as for my poor, dear mother, who will no longer have a son, for whom she has sacrificed her all, and whom she expected would become her consolation, who might form some great alliance, and thereby restore our family name. Now if she hears I am dead, and has not the comfort of seeing me once again, she will assuredly die with excessive grief. This reflection, more than the loss of his own life, overwhelmed him with sorrow, and the thought continuing uppermost in his mind, suggested the idea to him of contriving some means to prevent his mother from being overpowered by her grief; he therefore immediately wrote to her in the following words:--“My dearest mother, I do entreat that you would be kind enough to get me a shirt made by the most beautiful and the most happy lady you can find in Naples, she who is most free from the cares or sorrows of this world.” The letter being dispatched, and coming to hand, the mother immediately considered of the means of satisfying this request, and how she could find one; she enquired among all her acquaintances where she could meet such an unconcerned, and indifferent, and easy-minded woman; but the task was arduous, yet she was determined to do her son’s will. The lady, however, searched to such effect, that she at last found one, who appeared so cheerful, so beautiful, and so happy, and so unconcerned, that she seemed incapable of feeling a single unpleasant thought. Madame Corsina, fancying she had found the very person she was in search of, went to the lady, who received her very politely. Madame Corsina said to her, “can you guess what I am come for? it is because looking upon you as the most cheerful lady in Naples, and the freest from painful thoughts or troubles; I wish to ask you a very great favour, that is, that you would make a shirt for me with your own hands, that I may send it to my son, who has earnestly entreated me to get it made by such a one as yourself.” The young lady answered, “you say you consider me the most cheerful young woman in Naples.”

“Yes,” said Madame Corsina. “Now,” added the lady, “I will prove to you it is quite the reverse, and that there never was born, perhaps, a more unfortunate woman than myself, or who has more sorrows and heavy afflictions, and that you may be convinced of this,” said she, “come with me;” and, taking her hand, she led her into an inner chamber, where, drawing aside a curtain, she pointed to a skeleton which was hanging from a beam: upon which Madame Corsina exclaimed, “Oh, heavens! what means this?” The young lady mournfully sighed, then said, “This was a most worthy youth, who was in love with me; my husband finding him here, caused him directly to be hung as you see; and, to increase my agonies, he compels me to come and see the unfortunate youth every night and morning; think what must be my anguish at being obliged to see him thus daily; yet, if you wish it, I will do that you desire; but, as to being the most cheerful, unconcerned, and happy person, I am, on the contrary, the most wretched woman that ever was on earth.” The dame remained in perfect astonishment, and said, “well, I see clearly that no one is free from troubles and calamities, and that those that consider me the most cheerful young woman in Naples.”

“Yes,” said Madame Corsina. “Now,” added the lady, “I will prove to you it is quite the reverse, and that there never was bom, perhaps, a more unfortunate woman than myself, or who has more sorrows and heavy afflictions, and that you may be convinced of this,” said she, “come with me;” and, taking her hand, she led her into an inner chamber, where, drawing aside a curtain, she pointed to a skeleton which was hanging from abeam: upon which Madame Corsina exclaimed, “Oh, heavens! what means this?”

The young lady mournfully sighed, then said, “This was a most worthy youth, who was in love with me; my husband finding him here, caused him directly to be hung as you see; and, to increase my agonies, he compels me to come and see the unfortunate youth every night and morning; think what must be my anguish at being obliged to see him thus daily; yet, if you wish it, I will do that you desire; but, as to being the most cheerful, unconcerned, and happy person, I am, on the contrary, the most wretched woman that ever was on earth.” The dame remained in perfect astonishment, and said, “well, I see clearly that no one is free from troubles and calamities, and that those that appear the most happy to us, are often the most wretched.” She therefore took leave of the lady, returned home, and wrote to her son, that he must excuse her if she could not send the shirt, for she could not find a single individual who was free from troubles and sorrows. After a few days a letter arrived, stating that her son was dead; she, therefore, wisely thought to herself, that as she clearly saw no one was ever free from misfortunes and tribulations, even the very best of women; she would therefore take comfort, more especially, as she perceived she was not the only one, and thereby quieted her mind, and lived more happily by her submission to the decree of heaven.

THE ELOPEMENT.

The Cavalier Nimagri à Revescio, a descendant of a noble Venetian family, whose name it is immaterial to mention, more particularly as the fact happened only some fifty years ago, being on his way to Rome, passed through Caserta, and wanting a servant, his valet having been taken dangerously ill on the road, enquired of the host, where he alighted, whether he could recommend him such a one? The host said he would enquire, and towards the evening brought a man up, who he said wanted a place. The host having retired, the Cavalier Nimagri asked the man what he could do? To which Gasparo, the servant, answered, “nothing, sir.”

“Nothing,” said the cavalier, “can you dress hair, shave, &c.?”

“No, sir, but have good will, and will learn any thing.”

“But what has been your employment?”

“A very bad one,” said Gasparo, “but I am heartily sick of it, and am determined to get my bread honestly and live in the fear of God.”

“But what are you; where do you come from?”

“Oh, sir,” he continued, “I am a Sicilian, Gasparo is my name; take pity on a poor repentant sinner! hitherto I have been only a thief and a murderer, who for a ducat or two would have murdered any man.” Don Nimagri was astonished at the singularity of the case, and not a little staggered at the horrible countenance before him, wherein his former trade was strikingly depicted; but being a young man of uncommon courage, and altogether struck with the candour and simplicity of the fellow’s tale, as well as the unaffected repentance he showed, he hired him, and he has often been heard to say, in his life he never met with a more trusty or faithful servant.

The next day the cavalier pursued his intended journey to Rome; on the second evening, having stopped at one of the best inns at Mecerra, while Don Nimagri was at supper, the host came in, and having apologized for the intrusion, said, “Signor Cavalier, there is a very noble youth below, just arrived, who, upon hearing I had but one gentleman traveller in the house, has begged I would ask your excellency, whether you would allow him the pleasure of your society: I assure you, sir,” said the host, “he is a very handsome young man, and, I dare say, the son of some nobleman of the first rank, who has been playing some thoughtless pranks; run away from college, or some such trick.” Don Nimagri, who was naturally of a kind disposition, desired the host to give his compliments to the gentleman, and say, he should be very happy in his company. In a few minutes the host introduced the guest, a very elegant youth, seemingly about eighteen, whose genteel and prepossessing appearance bespoke him of high birth; he was in stature rather short, delicate, but well proportioned, of a fair complexion, with beautiful and animated eyes’; after the usual compliments on such occasions, an addition was ordered to the supper. Don Nimagri’s curiosity was a good deal excited by the manners and conversation of his guest; it was sensible, but reserved. Don Nimagri was too well bred to pry into his guest’s affairs, but there was a visible uneasiness about the youth that distressed him; he endeavoured to rouse him by every means in his power, but the stranger answered but little; scarcely eat any thing; sighed deeply; and, upon the whole, seemed to be greatly agitated. Don Nimagri, however, imagining be might have some affair of honour on his hands, generously offered the stranger every assistance in his power. Supper being ended, the youth got up, paced awhile along the room, and, at last, addressing the cavalier, said in a hurried tone, “noble signor, I have a favour to ask you: will you allow me, if the host can accommodate us with a double-bedded room, to sleep in the same apartment?” Don Nimagri hesitated not an instant, but rang for the host, and enquired for a room with two beds; the host answered, that he was sorry to say he had no such thing in the inn. Don Nimagri perceiving the host’s answer very much encreased the youth’s inquietude, though he could not rightly guess at the cause, said, “well, signor, we must do as well as we can, the night is very hot; for my part I only mean to take off my coat and boots, slip on my dressing gown, and lay on the bed, for I propose starting very early, and to travel in the cool of the morning;” and, as Gasparo came in to receive orders, he desired his horse to be ready by five o’clock. These matters being settled, they retired to rest. Don Nimagri would have been glad to have had a few hours sleep, but our youth was so restless as he lay on the bed, that it seemed impossible. Sleep, however, had at last over-powered the signor cavaliero; he had scarcely slept two hours, when he was roused by a tremendous noise, as if the whole inn was in arms; he listened, and the noise still increasing, he jumped up; scarcely was he on his feet, when a loud rap was heard at the room door, and two voices demanded admittance. The youth, at the sound of the voices, ran to Don Nimagri, and hardly able to articulate a word, caught hold of his arm and cried, “Oh, save me, signor! I am an unfortunate young _woman!_” and fell at his feet. The cavalier had not a moment to think, for they threatened to break open the door; upon which Don Nimagri called to them, and said if they dared to force the door, without a proper order from the magistrate, he would blow their brains out, and that he was well prepared to encounter a host of them; to which they replied they had. “If you have,” said the cavalier, “thrust it under the door, and if it is a true one, I will open the door;” but that was not the case, they were not in possession of any such a thing. After many useless threats, they said they would fetch a police officer, and retired. Meanwhile Gasparo, on the first hearing of the bustle, had equipped himself with two large pistols in his belt, a poignard, a huge sword which he always wore, and came in to his master: what was to be done with the lady was the first question; the host was called, and a purse of ducats put into his hand, (the best pleaders for protection); the state of the case being told him, he proposed, while they were gone, to procure an order, which he had no doubt they would obtain, as the magistrate of the place was by no means invulnerable against the attack of a full purse; that the lady should be hidden in the hay-loft under some trusses, properly arranged for the purpose. This being done, the cavalier threw himself carelessly on the bed, and waited in great anxiety to hear of the lady’s safety, till Gasparo ran in, and cried out, “_II Diavolo istesso non la troverebbe_,”--the devil himself could not find her out, she is so well concealed. It was but a short time after every thing was settled, that the two gentlemen returned, accompanied by an officer, who was desired to thrust the warrant under the door, if he really had one. Don Nimagri finding that it was a magistrate’s order, and knowing the lady was safe, ordered Gasparo to open the door; the strangers judging by the appearance of Don Nimagri, and Gasparo’s terrible figure, that the one was a person of some consequence, and well protected, began to apologize, stating that they were in search of a sister who had run away from home to avoid an union with a nobleman of her father’s choice, and whom they were determined to secure.

They searched every where, and as one of the brothers was looking under the bed, Qasparo, who was perhaps seized with an itching after his old habits, was winking and blinking at his master, with a piteous, imploring face, to let him have a pop or two at them; and it was with difficulty he was able, by threatening looks, and a grasp of his arm, to prevent him from discharging both his pieces at them. Being disappointed in their search, the three men withdrew. As soon as Don Nimagri thought they were safe, Gasparo and himself went to release the affrighted lady, who was more dead than alive; some refreshments being brought in, Donna Colomba, having recovered a little, related her story to her protector, informing him that her cruel father, for the sake of interest, insisted she should marry an old dotard, who was old enough to be her grandfather, and whose vices and character she abhorred. “But what do you intend to do?” said our young champion. “Signor,” added she, with a bewitching grace, and tears glistening in her fine eyes, “I am under your protection; the interest you have shown for my safety, repels every idea of fear in me, and I have no hesitation in entrusting my life and my honor in your hands, if you will but escort me with your servant as far as Benevento; I have, at a short distance from thence, an aunt, an abbess, under whose sacred care I shall be safe, and where I mean to take the veil: do but this, and I will ever be grateful to you.” Don Nimagri was too much of a man and a cavalier to withstand the entreaties of a distressed fair one; he immediately gave orders for a carriage to be got ready, desired Gasparo to saddle their horses, look to the pistols in both saddles, and be quick. Gasparo flew; the chaise being ready, the host liberally paid, the better to seal his lips, Donna Colomba and Don Nimagri leaped into the vehicle, and drove off full gallop. Whether the brothers had had scent by some stable-boy or other, that a lady had been at the inn is not certain; but they had laid watch, the which was easy enough, as there was but one road; but being afraid, they placed themselves in ambush and suffered them to pass, and followed behind at a small distance, expecting to overtake them at the rising of the hill, which was about three miles off, when the horses would be tired. By the time they got within a quarter of a mile from the hill, Gasparo who was following, leading his master’s steed, hearing a trampling of horses, looked back, saw them, and instantly gave the alarm, crying as loud as he could, “here they are, here they are, we shall have fine sport.” Don Nimagri looked out of the window, stopped the carriage, got out, mounted his horse, ordered the postillion to drive as fast as he could out of reach, the which he had no occasion to repeat, for he was gone before Don Nimagri could well turn his horse to face the enemy. The sbirro darting forward, pistol in hand, ordered them to stand. Gasparo, who was more expert at this work than his master, fired his pistol, but missing his aim, only shot the horse; down fell the sbirro. Gasparo dismounted in an instant; put his horse’s bridle into his master’s hand, ran up to the sbirro, and with his stiletto most charitably put him out of misery, for the poor devil had broken his arm in the fall. Don Nimagri meanwhile fired at the brothers who had advanced upon him. Gasparo seeing the danger of his master in this unequal match, fired his other pistol so successfully, that whether one alone, or both were wounded, was never heard, for both set spurs to their horses, like the valiant knight who ran away, to live and fight another day.