The Duke of Urbino, called the Prefect, (1) the same that married thesister of the first Duke of Mantua, had a son of between eighteen andtwenty years of age, who was in love with a girl of an excellent andhonourable house, sister to the Abbot of Farse. (2) And since, accordingto the custom of the country, he was not free to converse with her ashe wished, he obtained the aid of a gentleman in his service, who was inlove with a very beautiful and virtuous young damsel in the service ofhis mother. By means of this damsel he informed his sweetheart of thedeep affection that he bore her; and the poor girl, thinking no harm,took pleasure in doing him service, believing his purpose to be so goodand virtuous that she might honourably be the carrier of his intentions.But the Duke, who had more regard for the profit of his house thanfor any virtuous affection, was in such great fear lest these dealingsshould lead his son (3) into marriage, that he caused a strict watchto be kept; whereupon he was informed that the poor damsel had beenconcerned in carrying some letters from his son to the lady he loved. Onhearing this he was in great wrath, and resolved to take the matter inhand.
He could not, however, conceal his anger so well that the maiden wasnot advised of it, and knowing his wickedness, which was in her eyesas great as his conscience was small, she felt a wondrous dread. Goingtherefore to the Duchess, she craved leave to retire somewhere out ofthe Duke's sight until his passion should be past; but her mistressreplied that, before giving her leave to do so, she would try to findout her husband's will in the matter.
Very soon, however, the Duchess heard the Duke's evil words concerningthe affair, and, knowing his temper, she not only gave the maiden leave,but advised her to retire into a convent until the storm was over. Thisshe did as secretly as she could, yet not so stealthily but that theDuke was advised of it. Thereupon, with pretended cheerfulness ofcountenance, he asked his wife where the maiden was, and she, believinghim to be well aware of the truth, confessed it to him. He feigned tobe vexed thereat, saying that the girl had no need to behave in thatfashion, and that for his part he desired her no harm. And he requestedhis wife to cause her to come back again, since it was by no means wellto have such matters noised abroad.
The Duchess replied that, if the poor girl was so unfortunate as to havelost his favour, it were better for a time that she should not comeinto his presence; however, he would not hearken to her reasonings, butcommanded her to bid the maiden return.
The Duchess failed not to make the Duke's will known to the maiden; butthe latter, who could not but feel afraid, entreated her mistress thatshe might not be compelled to run this risk, saying that she knew theDuke was not so ready to forgive her as he feigned to be. Nevertheless,the Duchess assured her that she should take no hurt, and pledged herown life and honour for her safety.
The girl, who well knew that her mistress loved her, and would notlightly deceive her, trusted in her promise, believing that the Dukewould never break a pledge when his wife's honour was its warranty. Andaccordingly she returned to the Duchess.
As soon as the Duke knew this, he failed not to repair to his wife'sapartment. There, as soon as he saw the maiden, he said to his wife,"So such-a-one has returned," and turning to his gentlemen, he commandedthem to arrest her and lead her to prison.
At this the poor Duchess, who by the pledging of her word had drawn themaiden from her refuge, was in such despair that, falling upon her kneesbefore her husband, she prayed that for love of herself and of hishouse he would not do so foul a deed, seeing that it was in obedience tohimself that she had drawn the maiden from her place of safety.
But no prayer that she could utter availed to soften his hard heart, orto overcome his stern resolve to be avenged. Without making any reply,he withdrew as speedily as possible, and, foregoing all manner of trial,and forgetting God and the honour of his house, he cruelly caused thehapless maiden to be hanged.
I cannot undertake to recount to you the grief of the Duchess; it wassuch as beseemed a lady of honour and a tender heart on beholding one,whom she would fain have saved, perish through trust in her own plightedfaith. Still less is it possible to describe the deep affliction of theunhappy gentleman, the maiden's lover, who failed not to do all thatin him lay to save his sweetheart's life, offering to give his own forhers; but no feeling of pity moved the heart of this Duke, whose onlyhappiness was that of avenging himself on those whom he hated. (4)
Thus, in spite of every law of honour, was the innocent maiden put todeath by this cruel Duke, to the exceeding sorrow of all that knew her.
"See, ladies, what are the effects of wickedness when this is combinedwith power."
"I had indeed heard," said Longarine, "that the Italians were prone tothree especial vices; but I should not have thought that vengeance andcruelty would have gone so far as to deal a cruel death for so slight acause."
"Longarine," said Saffredent, laughing, "you have told us one of thethree vices, but we must also know the other two."
"If you did not know them," she replied, "I would inform you, but I amsure that you know them all."
"From your words," said Saffredent, "it seems that you deem me veryvicious."
"Not so," said Longarine, "but you so well know the ugliness of vicethat, better than any other, you are able to avoid it."
"Do not be amazed," said Simontault, "at this act of cruelty. Those whohave passed through Italy have seen such incredible instances, that thisone is in comparison but a trifling peccadillo."
"Ay, truly," said Geburon. "When Rivolta was taken by the French, (5)there was an Italian captain who was esteemed a knightly comrade, buton seeing the dead body of a man who was only his enemy in that being aGuelph he was opposed to the Ghibellines, he tore out his heart, broiledit on the coals and devoured it. And when some asked him how he likedit, he replied that he had never eaten so savoury or dainty a morsel.Not content with this fine deed, he killed the dead man's wife, andtearing out the fruit of her womb, dashed it against a wall. Then hefilled the bodies both of husband and wife with oats and made his horseseat from them. Think you that such a man as that would not surely haveput to death a girl whom he suspected of offending him?"
"It must be acknowledged," said Ennasuite, "that this Duke of Urbinowas more afraid that his son might make a poor marriage than desirous ofgiving him a wife to his liking."
"I think you can have no doubt," replied Simon-tault, "that it is theItalian nature to love unnaturally that which has been created only fornature's service."
"Worse than that," said Hircan, "they make a god of things that arecontrary to nature."
"And there," said Longarine, "you have another one of the sins thatI meant; for we know that to love money, excepting so far as it benecessary, is idolatry."
Parlamente then said that St. Paul had not forgotten the vices of theItalians, and of all those who believe that they exceed and surpassothers in honour, prudence and human reason, and who trust so stronglyto this last as to withhold from God the glory that is His due.Wherefore the Almighty, jealous of His honour, renders' those whobelieve themselves possessed of more understanding than other men,more insensate even than wild the beasts, causing them to show by theirunnatural deeds that their sense is reprobate.
Longarine here interrupted Parlamente to say that this was indeed thethird sin to which the Italians were prone.
"By my faith," said Nomerfide, "this discourse is very pleasing tome, for, since those that possess the best trained and acutestunderstandings are punished by being made more witless even than wildbeasts, it must follow that such as are humble, and low, and of littlereach, like myself, are filled with the wisdom of angels."
"I protest to you," said Oisille, "that I am not far from your opinion,for none is more ignorant than he who thinks he knows."
"I have never seen a mocker," said Geburon, "that was not mocked, adeceiver that was not deceived, or a boaster that was not humbled."
"You remind me," said Simontault, "of a deceit which, had it been of aseemly sort, I would willingly have related."
"Well," said Oisille, "since we are here to utter truth, I give you myvote that you may tell it to us whatsoever its nature may be."
"Since you give place to me," said Simontault, "I will tell it you."