It happened that, after a few days, seeing a good opportunity, the count, unheard by any other person, said to one of the ladies of the countess whom he observed to be her greatest favourite, and much beloved by her, and to whom he had made some little trifling presents out of his wares, that he had at home one of the most valuable and extraordinary jewels, from its peculiar properties, that had ever been seen in the world, but that he never brought it about with him, lest he should be robbed of it, and that he valued it so, that were it to save his life, he never would part with it. Without saying any more he departed. The lady was distracted till she could tell the countess what Navarro had said to her. When bed-time came, while she undressed her mistress, she related to her the wonderful properties and beauty of the jewel, adding, as is usual with such people, something of her own to the truth, and saying, that if she was the countess, she would move heaven and earth but she would have it, although he swore he never would part with it, because it was a remedy against every evil, except death. Thus by such praising, and such accounts, she made her so eager to possess it, that the lady could not rest the whole night for thinking of this wonderful jewel. Scarcely had the dawn appeared, but she sent her maid to Navarro, to conjure him in her name, and use every means to induce him to sell it, and should she not be able to succeed, that she might persuade him, at least, to show it to her; because, on being seen, it perhaps might lose much of its value in her mind, and thereby lessen the violent desire she felt to have it. She, of course, went to Navarro, and related all that had passed. He was highly delighted at what he heard, and began again to relate the very wonderful effects and power of this jewel, swearing most positively he would sooner part with his life than with it; but that, in compliment to her, he would allow the countess a view of it. The waiting-maid, finding she could not succeed further, accepted the offer; and having fixed the time of the day when the lady could see it, she went back to the countess, and related what had been determined upon. At the appointed time Navarro came with the beautiful jewel. It was a diamond of so large a size, and of so extraordinary a shape, as she had never seen before; he said it had been brought to the old count of Barcelona by certain Catalonian corsairs, who had been cruising beyond the Straights of Gibraltar, and had taken it from some Normans, who proving the weakest in the fight, were made prisoners, and all their property taken from them; many say, added he, that it had been long in the possession of the king of Naples. Greatly did he praise it before he showed it, and said, the least he valued it for was its beauty, but that it was its extraordinary properties that he esteemed, adding, he would not suffer any one else to see it but herself. He then brought it forth, still persisting he would not part with it on any account whatsoever.
The countess, holding the jewel in her hand, was admiring it, and the more she minutely examined it, the more beautiful it appeared to her; such was the desire of possessing it, that she would have given any thing to obtain it; yet, concealing this desire as well as she could, she begged Navarro to inform her of its virtues and properties. After many times refusing so to do, as if he had some great objection to do so, “Madam,” said he, “whenever any one is in doubt how to determine upon any thing of great moment, if they look in it; and the determination they wish to abide by is likely to be of advantage, they see this stone as clear and bright as if all the solar rays were centred within it; if the reverse, it becomes as dark as night. Some say, indeed, that it is the philosophers’ stone, so long sought after in vain, while others think it is not the produce of nature, but of hermetical philosophy. There are others maintain, that it was that which Alexander the Great possessed, who never went into battle without first consulting it; and, lastly, that it was Caesar’s, and was the means of rendering both invulnerable, as you have often heard related.” Having thus replied to the lady, he took the jewel back, and went his way. Being left with her woman, she exclaimed, “Oh! who could be so happy as I, if I could but possess such a beautiful and wonderful thing! look at it, and consult it when I pleased; should I ever be asked again in marriage, as I was awhile ago by the count of Barcelona, what a blessing it would be to me to have the advice of my infallible monitor,” she then intreated her maid again, for her sake, to go and beseech Navarro to let her purchase it at any price he should fix. Though the maid had not the least hope of success, yet she went twice without succeeding, for he even denied ever showing it again. At last, the third day, it appearing to him a proper time to execute the plan he at first had premeditated, Navarro said, “Madam, since your importunity, the beauty, and superior charms of your lady, have so won me over to part with such a wonderful jewel, go and say that I certainly will give it to her, provided, in return, she will admit me, for one night only, in her room, as she would a husband. Should she refuse, tell her that neither entreaties, money, or any other reward, shall ever dispossess me of it, and request her to cease to wish for it any longer, or molest me further.”
The maid related the whole conversation to the countess, adding, that if she could not bring herself to agree to it, she would have no more to do in the business, as she was fully convinced, nothing less than such a sacrifice would do. The lady was seriously angry, considering herself greatly insulted in her honor, and in threatening words reprobated the presumption of the fellow, who dared to contaminate her greatness by such a proposal; with her maid she also found fault, because she had not rebuked him for presuming to make such a proposal. The maid, rather smilingly, said, “Madam when I first went by your order, I thought my duty was to report to both what each other should say; nor should I ever have thought it my province to alter or conceal any thing said; therefore, if you are any way displeased, it is your fault, for you should have ordered me, had he said any thing rude, not to tell you of it, and to have reprimanded him; though had you mentioned such a thing, I declare I should not have meddled in it at all; for I not only cannot punish, but cannot even blame things when they are not unjust. The gods receive alike the prayers of the just as well as of the wicked; true it is, they grant it to the just when they think fit, nor did I suppose you would assume more to yourself. In the name of peace, what has Navarro done to you? in what has he offended you? are you not aware that asking is neither robbing nor giving? You are too young, and do not well distinguish good from evil, but were those locks of yours as grey as mine, you would talk in a very different style. Such speeches may be uttered, ‘tis true, but to whom and where?—not here! nor to me! nor to any of your maids, but to strangers, who, although they will not give credit to them, will consider you as very virtuous, and a woman who is acquainted with female arts, that is, in one word, to dissemble. But with me, who am wholly yours, and have no dearer being than you, you must not talk so; but allowing for your great youth, and bearing with your reproofs, I will proceed and tell you that if you wisely agree to Navarro’s request, you will have the gem, and I really think you will have the best bargain. This pedler, although but a small trader, has in his countenance, manners, and thoughts, something more of the gentleman than the mechanic. Now if you do not take him, you will have done what you choose, but not what you ought.”
With such arguments and discourse did the old lady’s-maid spur on and seduce her mistress; so that wearied at last with her reasoning and importunities, though she thought it a monstrous difficult thing to manage, she after manynaysandyesses, ifsandbuts, said to her, “do what you list, but settle it so that it be only for one night, and late enough, that it may not occasion any mischief to me, and danger to thee; for really when once you begin upon a thing, there is no way of getting rid of you, and one’s obliged to give way.” The lady made no answer, but went to Navarro, and arranged so, that the following evening, after midnight, he should come to the garden-gate behind the house, and she would direct the rest, and not to forget the jewel; all of which was duly performed, and at night when he had given the gem, he said, he had more of equal value which he saved for her, and would dispose of at the same price; the which being heard by her woman, she so teazed her mistress, pointing out to her that repetitions would not make things worse, that she earned a beautiful ruby and an emerald, the one of which Navarro said possessed the virtue of counter poison, the other an antidote to the plague, the which often occurs in Languedoc. But as it often happens that we get that which we do not look for, a few weeks after the countess actually found that she was not likely to escape with impunity, upon which she entered into counsel with her adviser, who afforded her all the consolation she could, and told her that she must keep her own secret, and all things should be provided against, and all go well; that she was not the first by far, and would certainly not be the last, to whom such things had happened, who afterwards, for a true maiden, was taken as a wife.
The flush of shame rising upon the countess’s cheek, she cried, “let others do what they may; heaven forbid, that since I could not guard against the first transgression, I should gloss it over by a second; I never will be the wretch to deceive one that shall think me honourable. The sin shall fall on the sinner, and that fruit shall be his that sowed it. Too long have I followed thy silly counsels, therefore, without any farther consultations, if thou wishest not to offend me, go and bring Navarro to me, for since I have so degraded myself as to become his, though late, I will be noble enough never, by deceit, to become another’s, and am fully determined to submit to that fate which thy ill advice, and thy want of discretion and prudence, have led me to.” The waiting-maid perceiving the countess’s resolution was fixed, though she endeavoured to soothe and persuade her, brought Navarro, who, perhaps, having seen the countess much altered, had well guessed the cause. The countess, almost overcome with grief, yet, without shedding a tear, with the greatest firmness, not like a silly girl, said to him, “my friend, since thy good fortune and my ill one, thy great prudence and my want of it, has led me, nobly born as I am, rather than deceive God and man, to become the wife of a pedler, and thou, whoever thou art, to become the husband of a count’s daughter; I pray thee not to turn thy back on me, but to prepare thyself to become mine. I am pregnant, and do not mean to remain here, a burden and nuisance to others, and an eternal cause of shame and sorrow to myself; I am therefore resolved upon going with thee, living poorly, and labouring for my bread, rather to injure this guilty body, than to live in ease and plenty, to the detriment of my soul; therefore prepare all things so, that by to-morrow night we may go from hence, and having by me thy gems, many of my own, and a little money, we will go as well as we can, sheltered from hunger, until I can see to what better fate the destinies have decreed me.” The count of Barcelona, whom henceforward we shall no longer call Navarro, though much pleased, for it was this which he wished above all things, considered within himself, had he been what she really thought him, what would have been her fate; to what fortune leads us; how often it happens, and how easy it is to deceive women, though they think themselves so wise, and particularly girls. He felt so much pity for her that he was ready to do that, which she, though a woman, had too much pride to do, that is actually to weep and, in great agitation, he said to her, “Madam, I am a poor pedler, as you have clearly seen, and as such I have made up my mind to live and die a bachelor, therefore I intreat you not to molest me with such thoughts, nor bring upon yourself this disgrace.” He would have proceeded, but compassion for her, the desire of possessing her, and the fear she should repent what she had proposed, actually choked his utterance. “My friend,” said she, “I will only say that the most fortunate man in the world has scarcely evermore than one such a lucky opportunity, as thy good fortune offers thee to my great disadvantage; beware of her frowning upon thee for thy folly, should thou, a poor pedler, refuse to marry her who but very lately refused the count of Barcelona.” These last words so fired the soul of the count, and so excited him to vengeance, that he no longer refused, and said that since she wished it, he would be ready to obey, and that she must prepare herself to lead a life suitable to one who was his wife, and not as her father’s daughter; walking on foot without any other companion; inasmuch as not only his profession demanded, but also because it was necessary to avoid the danger to which the carrying away the daughter of a count would expose him. It was agreed, without saying a word to any one except the countess’s maid, that they would sally forth, each under a pilgrim’s dress, to St. James of Gallicia the next night. The bustle and wonder at Toulouse and the adjacent parts were very great when this accident was discovered; but no one being willing to credit it, it was thought that through devotion she had retired into some religious house; for since she had perceived her situation, she had been much more attentive to her religious duties than usual, avoiding, as far as she could, all company; the which circumstance gave additional credit to the belief: and the maid, who had remained, had so well managed her story, intimating her displeasure at being so deceived, that every one thought that was actually the fact; therefore in consequence of this belief, the couple being soon out of the territory of Languedoc, they were not found out, although closely pursued. It would be tedious to relate the many trials and sufferings of the poor unhappy lady on their march; she who had for years scarcely moved a step without her carriage, and being assisted by several cavaliers of her father’s court, was now, in the parching month of July, obliged to walk on flinty stones, besides being pretty large, and enduring every possible suffering on the road which a poor person must bear. The count now and then would make her rest, but in such a harsh tone, and then so uncourteously made her resume her journey, that it went to her very soul; but on the day they left Toulouse she made up her mind patiently to bear every insult of fortune. Proceeding thus on her journey, they reached the inn where she hoped to rest from the fatigues of the day; but whether from the bad accommodations in that country, or that the count chose to have it so, she could not close her eyes, and it became rather an encrease of sufferings, than an alleviation either to body or mind. After several days, being arrived at Barcelona, there he found his friends, whom he had sent off with speed, the very day he left Toulouse, to provide the poorest lodging they could find for him and his lady, but, however, at a good and religious woman’s, though there are but few of those. Having slept with her the first night, and stayed with her the whole day, in the evening he made her believe that some business would detain him out the next day, and that he could not possibly be with her till night, desiring her to attend with the old woman to her work, so that she might provide for her scanty living, for he did not mean to sell any of his jewels, nor waste his money; on the contrary, as he spared from his trade by industry, she must do the same, if she wished for peace and quietness; the unhappy countess sighed from her inmost soul, recollecting how many poor people her father supported, while she was in such a distressed situation, as to be obliged to work for her daily support; but with a sweet smile, she answered she should do as he desired. The count, in a pilgrim’s dress, left her and went to his home, where, as one that had been lost, without hopes of being seen again, he was most tenderly received by his father and mother, for he had considerably lengthened the proposed time of his absence. Thus then did the count jovially spend the days with his friends and courtiers, never omitting, however, returning in his pilgrim’s dress to his lady at night, and commanding her new duties, and ordering her to be always ready to help the hostess in the kitchen and household work, Not being as yet satisfied, he determined to heap upon her new injuries; he therefore said to her one evening, “to-morrow I mean to treat a friend of mine, a skinner, at a tailor’s, where I must, of course, purchase the bread, and as bread is very dear in this part of the world, and I don’t like to be at the expense, I have thought that tomorrow morning, after you have helped the hostess in baking, you must pretend to have dropped something, and hide four rolls in your pocket under your petticoat, and keep them for me, and two or three hours after dinner I’ll come and fetch them.” This appeared a most vile and degrading thing to the noble-minded countess, and had it not been that she had heard much of the idle and lazy habits of the Spaniards and Navarrese, she would have believed he was in jest, yet thinking, after all, it was spoken in good earnest, she intreated him for heaven’s sake, not to compel her to such an act; to which he churlishly answered, “what! have you not yet forgotten you are the daughter of the count of Toulouse, eh! yet the first day we left the place I told thee, and thou didst promise, that forgetting the past thou wouldst only remember that thou wert the poor wife of Navarro; now I tell thee again, that if thou wishest to be happy, thou must make up thy mind to do this, and any thing else I shall command thee, otherwise I will leave thee here alone, and shall go elsewhere to seek my fortune.” Thus was she compelled to obey; and, in the morning, as she had been desired, so she did. The count every evening used to ride about at his pleasure, and, on that day, calling on one of the two friends who were at Toulouse with him, and who was somewhat related to him, he told him what he was to do. The count passed by the poor dwelling of his lady, and there stopped awhile at a distance, while his companion, who had directions how to act, drew near the old woman, who happened to be at the door, at work with the countess; “Mistress,” said he, “who is this young woman sitting by you?” When the old woman had told him who she was, and when she had arrived there; “Oh,” said the gentleman, “you seem to be old in the world, but with very little knowledge of it; this female appears to me to be one of the wickedest women I ever saw, and, if you do not mind, she will strip you of every thing you have in the world;” the which the old woman denied, and bestowed great praise upon her. “Nay,” said the gentleman, “I will convince you with your own eyes before I go; now, only raise her upper petticoat a little, and look in her pocket and see what she has there, and that will prove to you that I have not been studying necromancy at Toledo seven years for nothing;” and as he seemed approaching, to convince her himself, she, out of regard to the countess, rather than suspicion, searched her pocket, where she found the four rolls, at which she was much amazed, and endeavoured to apologize for her to the gentleman. After a little chat, and laughing on the subject, he departed: the reader may well imagine how confounded and ashamed the countess was. She almost swooned in seeing herself so detected and degraded. Having afterwards been gently reproved by the old woman, she, weeping, asked her pardon, and promised never to be guilty of the like sin again, but carefully concealing who it was that had made her do so. At night the count said he had not had any occasion for them, and pretended to be much displeased at the shame she had brought upon herself, saying, that it was in consequence of her ill-will to do it, and her awkwardness.
The countess of Catalonia, his mother, at that time was preparing some curious works which she was engaged to consecrate by a vow to a saint at Barcelona, to be added as ornaments to the various figures, animals, &c. represented on it; now, it occurred to the count that this would be an excellent opportunity of mortifying still more the poor countess; he therefore told his mother that he knew a French woman that understood these things remarkably well, and would send her on the following day; and, in the evening, he told the countess to prepare, and commanded her to steal as many of the pearls as she possibly could. She burst into a flood of tears on hearing this, for the adventure of the rolls was too fresh in her memory, and considering that she was going to the house of him whom she, but scarcely nine months since, had scorned and refused, and where she might easily be discovered, weeping bitterly, she begged him not to insist; but upon his threatening vengeance against her should she not obey, she was compelled to consent; and the better to conceal the theft, it was agreed she should put the pearls in her mouth, under her tongue, for however few she might take, these being so very valuable, it would still be a great gain. In the morning she was introduced and set to work by the count’s mother; her manners and behaviour were so genteel, that such as beheld her agreed that she must have been of noble birth, and well brought up, from her readiness and grace in every thing that belongs to a female; she, little caring for their praises, these being rather as so many daggers to her heart, attended to the concerted plan, and had already got three of the finest pearls under her tongue, when she beheld the very gentleman that had occasioned the bread scene to take place, for he had been sent by the count. The said gentleman began to converse with the old countess, then looking at the poor creature now at work, said he was much astonished that such a vile woman should be admitted in her house; relating to her the story of the rolls, and presently proceeded to tell the old countess what she had robbed her of, which the poor creature, to her great confusion, was compelled to bear; but the lady, excusing her on account of her poverty, paid her for the work she had done, and dismissed her.
The angry count at last thinking he had sufficiently avenged the insult he had suffered from his wife, and punished the rash opinion she had formed of him; she now feeling that she had been guilty of much more meanness than the picking up a seed of pomegranate, and knowing she was near her time, determined no longer to torment her, and having related the whole story to his father and mother and that she had been persuaded to become his prey, not from avarice, but by artful means; likewise, considering how much pain and grief he had heaped upon her in punishment for her offence, he said, that the next day, he intended, it being agreeable to them, to bring her home as the daughter of the count of Toulouse, and his wife. The old folks were as much delighted at hearing this, as they had been grieved when they heard the match had been broken off, and without giving any reason for it, a grand and elegant fete was ordered to be prepared in the evening. The count of Barcelona said to his wife, “to-morrow there will be a grand fete at the house of the count of this country, on account of his marrying the eldest daughter of the king of Arragon, one of the handsomest and most beautiful women in the world; indeed, he may thank heaven that thou didst spurn him from thee, for he has much improved his riches and dignity by this alliance.” The poor creature at this could not repress a deep sigh, considering what she formerly had been, and what she now was. The count proceeded: “to-morrow will be a holiday, there is no work done, therefore I have been thinking that thou and the good old woman should come and spend your time there, for here alone thou wouldst be moped, and meanwhile thou wilt be able to see if any thing can be got at there without being detected; as thou art a woman, though thou hast been seen there, no harm will come of it, but a little shame, that will soon be overcome, and which a poor creature as thou art must make up thy mind to.” Although the countess had suffered so much from the other vexatious scenes she had gone through, she now thought this the most cruel of all, and, in the greatest agony, said, she could be prepared to meet death, rather than do such a thing: but the count, who was fully determined on this last trial, swore, threatened, and abused her so, that she was at last forced to submit, and promised she would not fail to be there. He having apprised the hostess of his design, told her at what hour, and where she was to go the next morning; this done, he returned home. On the following day, all the first nobles and ladies of Barcelona having assembled at the old count’s to honour the festival, before the tables were prepared, various amusements took place. The old hostess, as previously agreed with the count, brought, most reluctantly, and, as it were, by force, the young countess a full hour before dinner. The poor creature had scarcely entered the great room, retiring as much as possible amidst the least conspicuous among them, than the count, sumptuously dressed, joyful and happy, going graciously up to her, said aloud, so that he might be distinctly heard by all, “welcome, the lady countess, my bride! It is now high time that your pedler, Navarro, should be transformed into the count of Barcelona, and that you, a poor pedler’s wife, should become the daughter and wife of a count!” At these words, struck dumb with wonder, shame, fear, and hope, the countess looked around to see whether these words were addressed to any person besides her; yet, in a moment recognising his voice and manners, uncertain what she should do, the words died on her lips: upon which the count added, “my lady, if the having been refused by you, had enraged me so as to make me more cruel towards you than you might consider justifiable, yet, I think, had you been in like circumstances, as much in love as I, and undeserving to be so indignantly treated, I should obtain not only your pardon, but that you would plead my excuse: therefore, as I have found more true nobleness of mind in you, in this low state you have been reduced to, than I at first was able to discover in your higher situation, I do entreat you to forget, as I do, the first offence, my former treatment, and cast into eternal oblivion every revengeful deed of mine, and be pleased, in the presence of my father, mother, and this noble company, to give me in Barcelona that which you refused me in Toulouse, and which I stole from you by the dint of art.” The countess recovering from her astonishment, replied, with a noble countenance, manner, and good sense, and like a princess: “happy am I, my true lord, to know on this day how far greater my good fortune has been than my judgment: since I find you what you really are, not what I at first looked upon you to be; most willingly do I forget the merited wrongs I have suffered, and ready am I to bestow publicly, before this noble and honourable assembly, that which before was granted in Toulouse before less honourable witnesses. I am, therefore, ready to be yours, if it so pleases you, and if it be approved by your father and the lady your mother, whose generous pardon I crave for former offences, and will ever honour and hold dear as a loving daughter.” She would have proceeded, had not the tears of the old count, countess, and bystanders, interrupted her. Her tattered garments were then thrown aside; she was elegantly dressed; the fete became a complete scene of happiness; the count of Toulouse was apprised of every thing, and the alliance joyfully confirmed, the ample portion given, and the former friendship newly cemented, and, a very few days after, the countess was delivered of a beautiful son, and several other children in the course of time; she lived most happily with her husband, and became almost adored throughout the country.
This story is distinctly and circumstantially recorded in both countries, and I leave it to the hearers to determine which was most to be admired—the virtue of Toulouse, or the courtesy of Catalonia.
There lived at Salerno a nobleman of the name of Marino, who had by his lady, named Placida, one only son, who was scarcely two years old when his father became dangerously ill, so much so that all the doctor’s skill could not avail. Finding that it was impossible for him to recover, he called his wife, and requested her to bring his boy to him. When his wife came near, he raised himself in the bed as well as he could, gave one hand to his wife, and held the boy’s in the other, and said to her, “Placida, I am come unto my last hour, therefore am aware I shall not be able to take care of our boy; bring him up, and train him to virtuous pursuits, in which thing I had placed all my future happiness, and in doing for him all that which his tender age required of me; seeing that I must leave him so young, I should feel my approaching dissolution with real dismay, were I not convinced that your principles and prudence will amply make up for the loss of his father. I, therefore, consign unto thy care and power this dear son, in whom I still hope to live again; and I entreat thee, by the dear remembrance of the extraordinary blessings and happiness we have enjoyed hitherto, that as thou hast ever been the ten-derest parent, thou wilt now be both father and mother to him; and since it does not please heaven that we should be continued together in this happy state, I do entreat that thou bestow on him all that tender love and affection that thou wouldst have bestowed on me had I lived to old age; do but this, and I shall depart happy!” Thus saying, he embraced his wife, kissed the boy, and placed him on her bosom. “Marino,” said the afflicted wife, “thou earnest away with thee the better part of me; would it had pleased heaven to have taken us both at the same time; but since it has otherwise decreed, and perhaps in order that our child might not remain entirely bereft of protection, I will be to him the tenderest of mothers. True it is, he would have needed thy assistance more than mine in educating him, and in directing his mind and heart, but nothing shall be wanting in me to justify the reliance and good opinion thou placest in me, or to induce the dear boy, in whom I see thy beloved image impressed, to imitate thy many virtues. Oh! that I could, by the sacrifice of my life, lengthen thine! Rest assured that I will preserve my faith in the care of the charge thou hast given me, while I live, as truly as I have to thee during this life.”
Much did he praise and commend her, and would have said more, but to the great grief of Placida, he expired soon after in her arms.
After the funeral was over, Placida took great care to do every thing that could be conducive to the child’s future welfare. The boy was naturally of a good temper, clever, fond of his mother, and very obedient to her, the which made him improve so much in learning and manners, that every one was astonished, and gave great credit to his mother for the care she had taken of him.
When the boy entered his twelfth year, he was seized with a fever, which by changing its symptoms, induced the medical men to fear it would turn to a consumption, and cause his dissolution. The poor mother, meanwhile, did not omit any one thing that could tend to his recovery, but was wasting away with grief as much as her son was by the fever. The physicians used every means to prevent the disorder from increasing, and the mother took care to give him every morning the medicines that had been ordered in certain portions of endive water, nor would she suffer any of the servants to do it for her. She, therefore, got up every morning, mixed the draught with her own hands, and gave it to him; but, by the sequel, it will be perceived how unavailing is prudence when ill-fortune pursues us. Placida, although yet young, for she was scarcely more than thirty, and though beautiful, and truly virtuous, was most anxious to preserve that beauty which nature had so liberally bestowed on her; for which purpose she was in the habit of using a cosmetic to clear the skin, and prevent the wrinkles which age naturally brings on. It unfortunately happened that after using this wash, she gave it to her maid to put in its proper place. As the latter was going out of the room with the bottle, one of the servants came in, and gave her the bottle of endive water intended for the patient’s mixture; having both hands full, she placed one bottle, as she thought, in the place where the wash used to be deposited, and the other she gave to her mistress, who laid it where she usually put her son’s mixture.
The next morning Placida went to her son, and gave him the medicine which she had prepared as usual, but he had not taken it more than an hour when he began to feel the most excruciating pain, and was tortured almost to death. The mother, in the greatest alarm, sent for the physicians, and related to them the strange effect produced that day on the patient by the draught which had before appeared so serviceable to him. The medical men were at a loss how to account for this extraordinary circumstance, but on examining the effect produced on the patient, they concluded there were signs of poison having been taken. “Good lady,” said they, “your son has not taken his usual medicine; but poison has been given to him; it is that which has brought him to such a state.”
“What! poison!” cried she, “wretch that I am!—Gentlemen, you must be mistaken, for none but I ever administer the draughts.”
“It may be,” said they, “that the person that fetched it may have deceived you, and put poison in the draught.” The servant, upon this, was immediately called up; he said that he had brought that which the apothecary had given him, without looking into what it might be, and that he would rather die than have done such a thing; being extremely fond of the youth, and besides a very worthy servant, he was easily credited. The apothecary was next sent for, but he positively asserted he had sent the same draught as usual. No one could imagine how this could have happened; the physicians, however, determined to come to the bottom of it, desired the bottles to be brought to them, and dipping in the finger, and tasting the dregs, they immediately perceived the sublimate of the cosmetic. “Good lady,” said they, “you have been deceived, this is not the endive decoction, but real poison.” The lady, examining the bottle more minutely, immediately suspected it was that wherein the wash used to be; terror seized her; she called the maid, and it was discovered that she had given her mistress the wrong bottle. The physicians instantly used every means in their power, but the poison had had too much time to work on the vital parts, and nothing could save him. The disconsolate mother threw herself on her lifeless child, and remained there till they really thought she had expired; the doctors, however, used their skill, and soon recovered her, but the poor creature, instead of feeling thankful for their kind offices, reproached them for not allowing her to die; but, said she, that which grief will not do, my hand shall accomplish. Thus saying, she caught a knife that lay on the table, and was in the act of destroying herself, when they all interposed. She called them most cruel in wishing her to endure life; cursed her hard fate, and her ill fortune; accused heaven; raved; insisted that her maid should be brought to her, that she might strangle her with her own hands, since her carelessness had brought her beloved son to the grave. Those present endeavoured to remind her that it was not any ill intention, but a mistake; and that, therefore, the girl did not deserve so severe a punishment. She insisted, however, that she should be taken up, and examined; but the judge, finding her more silly than guilty, absolved her. This did not satisfy dame Placida, and they were obliged to remove the young woman from her service, who was sorely grieved at her careless conduct, having been the cause of so fatal an accident. After this delirium and rage against the poor girl had subsided, she began to reflect on herself, and considering that her pride, in wishing to preserve her beauty, had been the sole cause, she tore her hair, scratched her face, and totally disfigured herself, and talked of nothing but killing herself; “No!” said she, “I, who have murdered my child, do not deserve to live!” She constantly entreated those who had the care of her to kill her. Finding this would not avail, she determined to starve herself, and would neither eat nor drink, and they were obliged to force some nourishing liquid down her throat. She at last went downright mad, and, in her madness, was ever calling upon her beloved son. She continued so a few years, and was at last happily released; happily, it must be allowed, since she would have suffered the most agonizing pain and anguish of heart had she lived.
There was, not many years ago, at a village called Valdistrove near Siena, a countryman of about thirty years of age, a fine stout and sturdy fellow, and industrious too, who never lost an hour in idleness, and one of the best labourers about the place. Santi-grande was his name, grande being added from a nick name given to his father. This fellow was extraordinarily strong and powerful, but the greatest ninny that ever lived; nature had certainly endowed him with strength of body, but had left his upper rooms totally unfurnished, in so much that he became the sport of the villagers, who delighted in playing him all sorts of tricks—no uncommon thing in villages, where an idiot or so is usually to be met with. Even gentlemen of the neighbourhood would often play him some trick or other. Poor Santi took it all very quietly—insensible of his inaptitude. Some time since a favorite goat, which he prided himself in, had brought forth two kids; he was highly delighted, and thought himself a Croesus in the possession of these, and planned what was to be done with the money they would fetch, when they were grown to a proper size. He said to his brother, “Simon! get me those two kids ready by the morning, for I will go to Siena to-morrow, and sell them.” Santi was so elated, that he could not sleep the whole night. Simon, who wished to humour him, got the kids ready, saying to him, “now don’t ye go and make a foolish bargain, for they are well worth three livres; they are stout little creatures.”
“Leave that to me,” said the poor silly fellow, “I knows how to make a bargain, I warrant you,” and away he went, Singing. It so happened that when he came to the Porta del Diavolo, two of his neighbours met him, and being in a merry humour, determined to have a little sport with him. Aware of his errand, one of them said, “well, Santi, have you capons to sell there?”
“Faith,” said Santi, “unless my brother has played me a trick I think they are two fine kids,” so saying, he was feeling their ears and shooting horns. Our two humourists observing that Santi was a little in doubt about their identity, were inclined to carry on the joke. “Nay,” said one, “feel again, for they are capons to a certainty.” A porter that happened to be near him, seeing what was going on, cried out “Here, master, will you sell your capons? What do you ask for them?” Santi stopped short in amazement at the question; the fellow drawing near, said, “well, will you sell them?”
“No,” said Santi, “I won’t; they are not capons, they are kids.” One of the youngsters kept close in conversation with Santi, asking him how he came to be so tricked; while the other, mending his pace, persuaded all those he met with, to ask the man if he would sell his capons? the which they all did. When the fellow got to the inn of the Angel, he told the landlord of the joke, and all the stable-boys and waiters came forth, crying out, “will you sell your capons, Santi?” and all seeming anxious to buy them. Poor Santi looked hard at the kids, and could not be persuaded that they could be capons, therefore made the same answer, that they were kids not capons; “for,” said he, “I told brother to pack up the kids, not capons.”
“Why,” said the youngster, “they are well worth the kids, but if thou attemptest to sell them for kids, every one will think thou art mad.” His companion, meanwhile, had gone forward to the city gate to tell the custom-house officers the joke, so that when Santi came to the gate, they demanded the duty for the capons, which was one penny each: “But,” said Santi, “these are kids.”
“Oh! let him alone,” said one of the officers, “he is mad, and wants to pay the duty for kids instead of capons.”
“You silly fellow,” said one of them, “if they were kids you would have five pence duty to pay, don’t think we should cheat ourselves.” In the meantime numbers of people crowded around, and enjoying the sport, vociferated that they were capons, so that at last Santi began to think they really were. “Yet,” said he to a driver that was talking to him, “I thought I heard them cryba, ba.”
“True,” said the driver, “but were not the capons and kids in the same place?”
“Yes,” said Santi. “Well, the capons learned tobafrom the goat and kids, as children learn to prate from their mothers and nurses. However, were I you, now we are near the town, I would not attempt to offer them as kids, for they will think you mad.”
“A plague on that brother of mine, but I will serve him a trick for this,” said Santi. The two young men, when they came to the gates of the town, left Santi and the driver talking on, and went their way, when they met Girolino Palmieri, a very frolicksome fellow, though rather old.
On hearing the jest they had put upon Santi, and his business leading him that way, he determined to carry on the farce, and have a little sport; having met Santi, he asked him what he would sell the two capons for? Santi, who no longer considered them as kids, bargained with Girolino for three livres, and they being two fine ones, he bought them, rather to prevent some one else from having the bargain, paid Santi for them, and led him to the house of a cousin of his in the market-place, took him up stairs, saying to him, “what is the matter with you? are you not well? are you in any pain? how pale you look; will you have a glass of wine? why, thou art not the same man, how changed!” at these words, and in thinking of the capons, Santi became wild, and thought that, like the kids who had turned capons, he also had turned to something frightful. The young men, who had noticed that Girolino had bought the kids, were determined to inquire how the matter ended, and followed Girolino to the house, where they found Santi drinking. “Well, how is it?” said the one; but before he could well answer, Girolino said, “I have made him take a glass, for he feels very ill.”
“Poor fellow!” said one of the men, “where do you feel pain? how deadly thou dost look, thou art surely dying.”
“He ought to be put to bed,” said the other. Hearing this, and much more to the same purpose, Santi, almost maddening, thought he began to feel very ill, and conceiving he was dying, cried out, “my head aches! my body! my back! my legs! oh dear! oh dear! I am going.”
“Art thou cold?” said Girolino. “He must be so,” said the one, “though it be intensely hot.”
“Indeed, I do begin to feel cold,” quoth Santi. Girolino, still determined to go on with it, ordered a maid servant to warm a bed for him; when put to bed, they said, “Santi, how long is it since thou hast confessed? hast thou been to confess this year?”
“Yes,” said he. “Well, but,” said one of them, “if thou diest, where wilt thou be buried?” Santi, thinking he was either dead or dying, said, “let me be buried at St. Giulia, where my dad lies; and let the money I got for the capons go to my mother, for I won’t let brother have a farthing.” Girolino perceiving that Santi thought he was actually dying, ordered a large old sheet, and he and the other two cut out and sewed up a winding-sheet, and took it unto Santi, saying, “look ye, Santi, I will have ye die like a gentleman; put this on quick, or it will be too late.” Santi, who had no notion that dying was a serious thing, put it on, and in so doing, said, “why its too long! I never shall get it on.” Having thus equipped him, they said, “now, Santi, that thou art dead, lay still, shut your eyes, and don’t speak, and we will get thee carried to the ground where your dad lies.” While they were laying him on a sort of hearse, and four men were sent for to carry him, they alternately cried out, “Poor Santi is dead; poor fellow, he is really dead!” The porters, who thought they were carrying a corpse, went through the gates quietly without being stopped, intending to take him to Strove, his own village: as they went on, there happened to pass by a carrier belonging to the cavalier Cappacci, who knew Santi well, but not recognising him in that state, asked the man who it was that died. They not knowing, answered they could not tell; however, the carrier getting near to the hearse, knew Santi instantly, and cried out, “Why it’s that booby Santi del Grande; how came the mad fellow to die so soon, a stupid dog.” Santi hearing himself thus abused, could not abstain from answering, yet without moving, he opened his eyes, and cried out, “if I was alive, instead of being dead as I now am, I’d let you know who Santi del Grande is.” On hearing the dead man holla thus, the porters dropped their load, and ran off as if the very devil was after them. Santi, meanwhile, lay on the ground weeping and groaning, and as many came round him to see this living dead, and asked him what was the matter, the only thing he could say was, “take and bury me where my daddy lies.” A cousin of his, who had returned from market, where he had been to sell some wood, finding him in that state, bound him safe on the hearse and had him taken home. His mother and brother seeing him in that condition, asked him what was the matter, and how he came to be in such a state; to which he only answered, “Oh! I am dead, bury me—bury me, where my daddy lies.” His brother, suspecting some one had played him a trick, and made him believe that he was really dead, adopted the only means he thought could bring him to his senses, and, taking a horsewhip, began to lay it thick and thin on Santi’s back; upon which Santi, roused by the blows, cried out, “villain that thou art, thou hast caused my death by giving me two capons instead of the kids I asked thee for;” and upon this he run after his brother, and both fell to it.