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From "The Italian Novelists" translated from the originals with Critical and Biographical Notices by Thomas Roscoe; Frederick Warne and Co.; London; [undated edition, c. 1900; first published, 1824]; pp. 264-272.


Novels of Girolamo Parabosco.




THE novels of this author first appeared in Venice, in octavo, without date, and were afterwards reprinted in the years 1552 and 1558 at the same place. He was a native of Piacenza, where he distinguished himself as an excellent poet and musician, no less than as a novelist, though his title to originality in this last character is by no means well established. Too many of his stories have been borrowed from earlier novelists; and Boccaccio, Sacchetti, and Massuccio are, without the least acknowledgment, respectively laid under contribution. His work is preceded by an introductory eulogy on the city of Venice, where he appears, from descriptions of persons and of places to have spent the chief portion of his time. Thus nearly the whole of the characters introduced in his “Diporti” are Venetian gentlemen, and the retreat chosen for their narration, not far from Venice, with the occasion of their meeting, are all very minutely described. The party is supposed to consist of seventeen persons, among whom are Pietro Aretino, Speron Sperone, Ercole Bentivoglio, Lambertino, &c., who, finding from the appearance of the weather that there was little chance of enjoying themselves upon the water, agree, at the suggestion of Messer Badovaro, to leave their huts, erected for the convenience of angling on the water, and betake themselves to the still more innocent amusement of telling stories. This occupies three days of their diporti, or sports, as each of the party has to repeat a tale, amounting in the whole to seventeen. They are alternately of a grave and humorous cast, and are interspersed with reflections appropriate to each style, and songs to give a further relish to the whole. In this form they were first published at Venice. They are in general of a less exceptionable nature than the tales in the “Decameron,” though Pietro Aretino is supposed to have been present at their delivery, and furnishes one of the number. It is conjectured from what the author himself states in one of his letters, that this publication comprehended only a small part of what he had written, as he promises in a few days to give the remaining hundred.


*  Diporti di M. Girolamo Parabosco. Vinegia, 1552.



THERE once resided in the beautiful city of Brescia a certain youth of the name of Tommaso de’ Tommasi, sprung from one of the most 266 wealthy and ancient families of that place, but unfortunately addicted to those pursuits into which high-spirited and thoughtless young men are too apt to fall. Careless of the consequences which attend their dissipated and licentious course of life, they yield themselves up an easy prey to every variety of gambling, intrigue, and boon companionship, as if they were more desirous of lavishing their regards upon cut-throats, parasites, and buffoons, than upon men of worth. These reprobates, with false and adulatory arts, are incessantly on the watch to impose upon and to ruin such credulous youths as listen to them; and when they once get their victims entangled in their snares, they prey upon the fortunes both of them and of their families, until scarcely a wreck is left. Such, unfortunately, were the companions of this easy but spirited youth, who in the course of four years dissipated almost all his fortune, a little country-seat being the sole remaining property which he could call his own. It was situated in the vicinity of the city, on the declivity of one of those mild and pleasant hills, many of which are in the possession of different nobles, who have fixed upon them for the beauty of their site and views; and these charming residences, resembling little paradises of pleasure rather than places of domestic abode, are called Ronchi. Out of all his noble villas and other houses, this then was the only little place now left him; and as it had been intended rather for a garden of delight, full of sweet fruits and flowers, than a source of profit in grain and wines, so it ill supplied its master’s personal expenses, much less his usual establishment of hawks and dogs, buffoons and parasites, with other companions fully as expensive as these. Having become too late aware of the consequences of his conduct, he resolved, through fear of the disgrace he should incur in the eyes of all his friends, who too well knew the habits into which he had fallen, to abandon the birthplace of his ancestors altogether. With these views he determined to dispose of his little estate and a cottage adjoining, on the most advantageous terms he could obtain, without paying much regard to the honesty and propriety of his measures. Avoiding any public notice, he contrived to give some individuals a knowledge of his intentions, requesting as a favour that each would have the goodness to say nothing to his friends on the subject; and in this way he soon received considerable deposits from a number of different individuals who were desirous of purchasing the residence, without saying a word to each other. Having thus amassed a large sum of money, he soon after availed himself of an opportunity of disposing of the property altogether, and obtaining its full value in addition to the earnest-money which he had already received. But just as he was on the point of setting out with the proceeds in his hands, the whole transaction came to light, on which he was instantly seized and thrown into prison. His sole concern when he was there seemed to be how he could possibly contrive to retain possession of his treasure and obtain his liberty. For this purpose he sent in haste for his attorney, who had been the boon companion of his pleasures during his prosperity, and to him he communicated his views, though the man of law had expressed no little reluctance to attend, and to take his instructions 267 on the subject, believing there was now an end to his client’s business for ever. Having approached the prison gate, Tommaso very politely saluted him as formerly, on which the notary condoled with him, and inquired in what way he could be of service to him. “You know,” replied Tommaso, “the liberal manner in which I have treated you, and all my other friends, as this very place can testify for me, being encaged here like a winged bird, as I am. But I shall not insist on the obligations I have laid you under, because I would willingly relieve you from their weight by begging you to take compassion on me, and assist me to procure my enlargement from this detestable spot. As you must know, at least as well as I do, what brought me here, I shall do much better than waste my time upon the subject, and shall instead inform you how I mean to get away, and keep possession of the proceeds of my house and farm, which I will stay here till Doomsday sooner than render up. I think you are upon good terms with our magnifico, the Podesta, no less on account of your social wit and humour than of the services you rendered him while you were his agent in Venice. Now, what I wish you particularly to impress upon his magisterial mind is, that I have altogether lost my wits, on finding that I have run through my fortune in so short a time and in so very scandalous a manner: and indeed it is almost strange I have not. I shall take care on my side to be guilty of all kinds of extravagant actions that may give probability to your story. And when you have carried me fairly through the difficulty, you will greatly oblige me by accepting of at least twenty-five gold ducats for your pains. Moreover, I shall be eternally indebted to you; and if I succeed by this contrivance in liberating myself from these gloomy walls without refunding my resources, I shall consider myself a great man yet. On thee, then, and on thee only, my friend, is my dependence, and trust me that my enlargement will be a work worthy of thy trouble.”

The wary notary, one of those who possess the cunning of the serpent without the innocence of the dove, sensible of his influence with the magistrate, and tempted by the amount of the proposed fee, gave the prisoner his hand, promising to make the most strenuous exertions to bring his friend Tommaso out of durance, without insisting upon more than five and twenty ducats. Apprehensive lest the prisoner should overact his part in the mad character which he intended to assume, the attorney suggested that he should make no other reply to all the questions which might be put to him than by a single ludicrous gesture; and, repeating his injunction to this effect, he left him to adjourn to the residence of the magistrate. Being upon the pleasantest terms, he immediately entered upon a variety of amusing topics, when there suddenly appeared one of the unlucky personages whom Tommaso had imposed upon, appealing vehemently to the magistrate for redress, and demanding the restitution of his money. To him the attorney in the gentlest possible tone replied, turning at the same time towards his friend the Podesta, “What! is the gentlemen so unfortunate, then, as to have dealings with that madman?” “Madman! what is it you talk of?” returned the creditor. “I wish he were no 268 more wicked than he is mad.” “Alas! I fear, whatever may be your opinion,” said the attorney, in the calmest voice, “that he will turn out a mere idiot, and one that ought to be confined. I imagine that his unfortunate circumstances have driven him altogether out of his senses. Could I suppose for a moment that our magnifico here was acquainted with his real state, I should express my surprise that he has committed to custody for debt a mere fool, such as this poor wretch is. I am very apprehensive that should he really have robbed any one, or been intrusted with money, he may have thrown it into the first ditch he came near or scattered it on the public highway.” The gentleman, however, advanced arguments to prove the perfect sanity of the prisoner, and indeed that he had proved somewhat too acute; but these were so well rebutted by the evidence of the lawyer, that the magistrate, giving credit to it, ordered the accused to appear by way of ascertaining the truth. Signor Tommaso was then brought forward, having already made a strange metamorphosis in his appearance by tearing his clothes to pieces, and being interrogated on the subject nearest his creditor’s heart, gave only the manifest signs of folly recommended by his legal adviser. In a short time the rest of his creditors appeared, and bringing the same charges upon the very same grounds, and obtaining only a repetition of his antics, the Podesta, to try his sincerity, immediately ordered him to be put to the question, which however only elicited symptoms of fear and folly, such as he showed before the application was made. He would, in fact, almost have endured to be torn limb from limb rather than be separated from his money. All other means adopted to obtain some kind of information from him turned out equally fruitless, and the Podesta was at length compelled by the representations of the notary, who carried the whole affair through with great skill, to sign an order for the release of his mad client without paying anything whatever. The attorney, calling on his client the next day for the stated sum, was surprised to find he could get no other answer from him than that which he had himself taught him. By all his entreaties for the five and twenty ducats, he obtained nothing but the same gestures which had sufficed to exonerate him from the rest of his creditors, and the deceiver for once fell into his own trap. As he could not venture to reveal the affair, he was obliged to take the whole patiently, and of the two he was certainly the more deserving of punishment.


ElfEd.  The above story was popular enough to become the basis of scene in a French play in the next century. See the excerpt from The Advocate Patelin, by Brueys and Palaprat also here, on Elfinspell.



THERE formerly resided in the rich and beautiful city of Bologna a brave and intelligent youth of the name of Faustino, whose birth and accomplishments entitled him to rank among the noblest and proudest of the place. To these gifts of nature and of fortune was added a susceptible heart, and he soon became deeply enamoured of a young lady of exquisite beauty, whose name was Eugenia, and who in a short time seemed inclined to return his passion with equal tenderness and 269 truth. Such was her lover’s extreme desire of beholding her, that he availed himself of every opportunity and encountered every risk to enjoy her society, frequently being in wait for hours to catch a mere glimpse of her, and employing numberless emissaries to instruct him as to her motions. Though the young lady’s parents had been unable to extort any confession of her attachment from her own lips, they were at no loss to perceive it, and endeavoured to obviate the danger to be apprehended from its indulgence, believing that the young lover, on account of his superior rank and fortune, entertained no serious intentions of making her his wife. With this view they kept a very strict watch over their daughter, debarring her from the visits, and even from the sight of Faustino, as much as they possibly could. Yet her mother, being of a religious turn of mind, was unwilling that she should relinquish her usual attendance on divine worship, and herself accompanied her daughter every morning to hear mass at a church near their own house, but at so very early an hour, that not even the artisans of the city, much less the young gentry of the place, were stirring. And there she heard service performed by a priest expressly on her own account, though several other persons might happen to be present who were in the habit of very early rising.

Now among these was a certain corn merchant, who had been established only for a short time in Bologna. His name was Ser Nastagio de’ Rodiotti, a man who had driven many a hard bargain and thriven wonderfully in his trade, but of so devout a turn withal, that he would not for the world have made an usurious contract, or even speculated to any extent, without having first punctually attended mass, believing doubtless that so good an example more than counterbalanced, in the eye of Heaven, the evil consequences of his actions. And these were certainly very great, especially in the way of raising the price of bread by his vast monopoly of that necessary article of life. Such, however, was his exemplary conduct in attending church, that he lost not a single opportunity of showing himself there among the earliest of the congregation, having afterwards the consolation to reflect that he had discharged all his religious duties and was ready for business before a great portion of his fellow-citizens were stirring.

Now in a short time it also reached the ears of Faustino, through the good offices, it is supposed, of the young lady, that high mass was to be heard every morning at a certain church, with every particular relating to the devotees who attended and the nearest way thither. Rejoiced at this news, her lover now resolved to rise somewhat earlier than he had been accustomed to do, that he might avail himself of the same advantage that the lady enjoyed in beginning the day with religious duties. For this purpose he assumed a different dress, the better to deceive the eyes of her careful mother, being perfectly aware that she merely made her appearance thus early with her daughter for the sake of concealing her from his sight. In this way the young lady had the merit of bringing Faustino to church, where they had the pleasure of gazing at each other with the utmost devotion; except indeed when the unlucky tradesman whom we have just mentioned happened to place himself, as was frequently the case, exactly in their 270 way, so as to intercept the silent communion of souls. And this he did in so vexatious a manner, that they could scarcely observe each other for a moment without exposing themselves to his searching eye and keen observation. Greatly displeased at this kind of inquisition into his looks and motions, the lover frequently wished the devout corn-dealer in purgatory, or that he would at least offer up his prayers in another church. Such an antipathy did he at length conceive to Ser Nastagio, that he resolved to employ his utmost efforts to prevail upon him to withdraw himself from that spot. Revolving in his mind a great variety of plans, he at last hit upon one which he believed could not fail to succeed, and in a manner equally safe and amusing. With this view he hastened without delay to the officiating priest, whom he addressed in the following pious and charitable strain: “It has ever been esteemed, my good Messer Pastore, a most heavenly and laudable disposition to devote ourselves to the relief of our poorer brethren, and this you doubtless know far better than I can inform you, from the fact of our blessed Saviour having actually appeared on earth to redeem us from our sins. But though every species of charity is highly commendable, that which seeks out its objects without waiting to be solicited far transcends the rest. For there are many who, however destitute, feel ashamed to come forward for the purpose of begging alms. Now I think, my worthy pastor, that I have of late observed one of these deserving objects in a person who frequents your church. He was formerly a Jew, but through the mercy of Heaven, which never ceases, not long ago he became a Christian, and one whose exemplary life and conduct render him in all respects worthy of the name. Yet, on the other hand, there is not a more destitute being on the face of the earth, while such is his modesty, that I assure you I have frequently had the utmost difficulty in persuading him to accept of alms. It would really be a very meritorious act, worthy of the excellent character I have heard of you, were you to touch some morning upon his cruel misfortunes, relating his conversion to our faith, and the singular modesty with which he attempts to conceal his wants. This would probably procure for him a handsome contribution; and if you will only have the kindness to apprize me of the day, I will take care to bring a number of my friends along with me, and we shall be sure to find this poor fellow seated in your church, where I know he is often employed in listening gratefully to your spiritual advice and consolation.”

Our kind-hearted priest, unlike some of his brethren, who are too apt to appropriate the alms of the poor to themselves, making a traffic of the divine mercy of their Redeemer, impelled only by pure zeal and charity, cheerfully complied with the wily lover’s request. He proposed, then, as the most favourable occasion, the next Sunday morning, when a large assemblage of people would be present, regretting that he had not been sooner made acquainted with the affair. Faustino next gave the priest an accurate description of the features, person, and dress of our unfortunate corn merchant, observing that the poor man always appeared neat and clean, so that he could not possibly mistake him. Then taking leave of the good friar, he hastened to 271 communicate this piece of mischief to some of his youthful companions, all of whom now awaited with great impatience for the approaching Sunday. Punctually, on its arrival, were they found assembled at the church, even early enough to hear the first mass, and there Messer Nastagio was seen stationed at his usual post, surrounded by a crowd of people collected for the purpose of witnessing the consecration of the place. After going through the Evangelists and the Creed, and muttering a few aves, the good priest paused and looked about him; then wiping his forehead and taking breath for a while, he again addressed the congregation, opening his subject as follows: “Dearly beloved brethren, you must be aware, for our Saviour Himself has enlightened you on that head, and I have myself likewise insisted upon it, as well as I could; you must be aware, I say, that the most pleasing thing you can do in the eyes of the Lord is to show your charity towards poorer Christians, loving and assisting them according to their wants, as far as lies in your power. I trust, therefore, I shall not have much difficulty in persuading you to show the fruits of this good seed of charity in the manner I desire. For as I know you are not wanting in charity, but rather abounding in good works, I am not afraid to inform you that there is a most deserving yet destitute object before you, who, though too modest to urge your compassion, is in every way worthy of it. Pray take pity upon him; I commend him to your kindness. Behold him,” he cried, pointing full at Ser Nastagio; “Lo! thou art the man. Yes,” he continued, while the corn merchant stared at him in the utmost astonishment, “yes, thou art the man! Thy modesty shall no longer conceal thee from the eyes of the people, which are now fixed upon thee. For though thou wert once an Israelite, my friend, thou art now one of the lost sheep which are found, and if thou hast not much temporal, thou hast a hoard of eternal wealth.” He addressed himself during the whole of this time, both by words and signs, to Ser Nastagio, yet the poor merchant could by no means persuade himself, against the evidence of his own reason, that he was the individual pointed out. Without stirring, therefore, from the spot, he somewhat reluctantly put his hand into his pocket, so far conquering his avarice as to prepare to bestow his alms in the same manner as the rest of the congregation. The first person to present his contribution was the author of the trick, who approaching the spot where the merchant stood, offered his alms, and, in spite of Ser Nastagio, dropped them into his hat, making a sign to the people expressive of his admiration at the poor man’s modesty. And though the incensed tradesman exclaimed in an angry tone to the young lover, “I have a longer purse than thou hast ears, man!” it availed him nothing. The good priest pursued his theme without noticing Ser Nastagio’s remark, except by saying, “Give no credit to his words, good people, but give him alms — give him alms; it is his modest merit which prevents him from accepting them. Yes, go, thrust them into the good man’s pockets; fill his hat, his shoes, his clothes, with them, and make him bear away with him the good fruits of your charity.” Then once more directing his attention to the confused and angry merchant, he exclaimed: “Do not look thus ashamed, but take them — take them! 272 for believe me, good friend, many greater and better men have been reduced to the same piteous plight, yea, even worse than that you are now in. You should rather consider it as an honour than otherwise, inasmuch as your necessities have not been the consequence of your own misconduct, but solely arise from your embracing the light of truth, and becoming a disciple of our Lord.”

The priest had no sooner ended, than there was a general rush of the whole congregation towards the place where the astonished merchant stood, endeavouring who should be the first to deposit their donations in his hands, while he in vain attempted to resist the tide of charitable contributions which now poured in upon him on every side. He had likewise to struggle against his own avarice, no less than against the officious donors of alms, for he would willingly have received the money, though he did all in his power to repulse their offers. When the tumult had at length a little subsided, the incensed merchant began to attack the priest in the most virulent terms, until the preacher was almost inclined to suspect that he must really in some way have been misinformed as to the proper object of his charity. He then began to make his excuses, as well as he could, for the error into which he had fallen; but the lover’s purpose was accomplished and the deed could not be recalled. For it was soon reported that Ser Nastagio, the corn-merchant, had that very morning been recommended to the charitable notice of the congregation as an example of true conversion from the Jewish to the Christian creed. This story was quickly circulated throughout the whole city, to the infinite amusement of all its inhabitants, more especially of the young lovers, who had now full leisure once more to contemplate each other’s perfections, free from the observation of Ser Nastagio, who was never known to enter that church again.


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