Kabanata Kabanata 33 · CHAPTER XXXIII. IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY”

. CHAPTER XXXIII. IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY”

In Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy in the province called

Tuscany, there lived two gentlemen of wealth and quality, Anselmo and

Lothario, such great friends that by way of distinction they were

called by all that knew them “The Two Friends.” They were unmarried,

young, of the same age and of the same tastes, which was enough to

account for the reciprocal friendship between them. Anselmo, it is

true, was somewhat more inclined to seek pleasure in love than

Lothario, for whom the pleasures of the chase had more attraction; but

on occasion Anselmo would forego his own tastes to yield to those of

Lothario, and Lothario would surrender his to fall in with those of

Anselmo, and in this way their inclinations kept pace one with the

other with a concord so perfect that the best regulated clock could not

surpass it.

Anselmo was deep in love with a high-born and beautiful maiden of the

same city, the daughter of parents so estimable, and so estimable

herself, that he resolved, with the approval of his friend Lothario,

without whom he did nothing, to ask her of them in marriage, and did

so, Lothario being the bearer of the demand, and conducting the

negotiation so much to the satisfaction of his friend that in a short

time he was in possession of the object of his desires, and Camilla so

happy in having won Anselmo for her husband, that she gave thanks

unceasingly to heaven and to Lothario, by whose means such good fortune

had fallen to her. The first few days, those of a wedding being usually

days of merry-making, Lothario frequented his friend Anselmo’s house as

he had been wont, striving to do honour to him and to the occasion, and

to gratify him in every way he could; but when the wedding days were

over and the succession of visits and congratulations had slackened, he

began purposely to leave off going to the house of Anselmo, for it

seemed to him, as it naturally would to all men of sense, that friends’

houses ought not to be visited after marriage with the same frequency

as in their masters’ bachelor days: because, though true and genuine

friendship cannot and should not be in any way suspicious, still a

married man’s honour is a thing of such delicacy that it is held liable

to injury from brothers, much more from friends. Anselmo remarked the

cessation of Lothario’s visits, and complained of it to him, saying

that if he had known that marriage was to keep him from enjoying his

society as he used, he would have never married; and that, if by the

thorough harmony that subsisted between them while he was a bachelor

they had earned such a sweet name as that of “The Two Friends,” he

should not allow a title so rare and so delightful to be lost through a

needless anxiety to act circumspectly; and so he entreated him, if such

a phrase was allowable between them, to be once more master of his

house and to come in and go out as formerly, assuring him that his wife

Camilla had no other desire or inclination than that which he would

wish her to have, and that knowing how sincerely they loved one another

she was grieved to see such coldness in him.

To all this and much more that Anselmo said to Lothario to persuade him

to come to his house as he had been in the habit of doing, Lothario

replied with so much prudence, sense, and judgment, that Anselmo was

satisfied of his friend’s good intentions, and it was agreed that on

two days in the week, and on holidays, Lothario should come to dine

with him; but though this arrangement was made between them Lothario

resolved to observe it no further than he considered to be in

accordance with the honour of his friend, whose good name was more to

him than his own. He said, and justly, that a married man upon whom

heaven had bestowed a beautiful wife should consider as carefully what

friends he brought to his house as what female friends his wife

associated with, for what cannot be done or arranged in the

market-place, in church, at public festivals or at stations

(opportunities that husbands cannot always deny their wives), may be

easily managed in the house of the female friend or relative in whom

most confidence is reposed. Lothario said, too, that every married man

should have some friend who would point out to him any negligence he

might be guilty of in his conduct, for it will sometimes happen that

owing to the deep affection the husband bears his wife either he does

not caution her, or, not to vex her, refrains from telling her to do or

not to do certain things, doing or avoiding which may be a matter of

honour or reproach to him; and errors of this kind he could easily

correct if warned by a friend. But where is such a friend to be found

as Lothario would have, so judicious, so loyal, and so true?

Of a truth I know not; Lothario alone was such a one, for with the

utmost care and vigilance he watched over the honour of his friend, and

strove to diminish, cut down, and reduce the number of days for going

to his house according to their agreement, lest the visits of a young

man, wealthy, high-born, and with the attractions he was conscious of

possessing, at the house of a woman so beautiful as Camilla, should be

regarded with suspicion by the inquisitive and malicious eyes of the

idle public. For though his integrity and reputation might bridle

slanderous tongues, still he was unwilling to hazard either his own

good name or that of his friend; and for this reason most of the days

agreed upon he devoted to some other business which he pretended was

unavoidable; so that a great portion of the day was taken up with

complaints on one side and excuses on the other. It happened, however,

that on one occasion when the two were strolling together outside the

city, Anselmo addressed the following words to Lothario.

“Thou mayest suppose, Lothario my friend, that I am unable to give

sufficient thanks for the favours God has rendered me in making me the

son of such parents as mine were, and bestowing upon me with no niggard

hand what are called the gifts of nature as well as those of fortune,

and above all for what he has done in giving me thee for a friend and

Camilla for a wife—two treasures that I value, if not as highly as I

ought, at least as highly as I am able. And yet, with all these good

things, which are commonly all that men need to enable them to live

happily, I am the most discontented and dissatisfied man in the whole

world; for, I know not how long since, I have been harassed and

oppressed by a desire so strange and so unusual, that I wonder at

myself and blame and chide myself when I am alone, and strive to stifle

it and hide it from my own thoughts, and with no better success than if

I were endeavouring deliberately to publish it to all the world; and

as, in short, it must come out, I would confide it to thy safe keeping,

feeling sure that by this means, and by thy readiness as a true friend

to afford me relief, I shall soon find myself freed from the distress

it causes me, and that thy care will give me happiness in the same

degree as my own folly has caused me misery.”

The words of Anselmo struck Lothario with astonishment, unable as he

was to conjecture the purport of such a lengthy preamble; and though he

strove to imagine what desire it could be that so troubled his friend,

his conjectures were all far from the truth, and to relieve the anxiety

which this perplexity was causing him, he told him he was doing a

flagrant injustice to their great friendship in seeking circuitous

methods of confiding to him his most hidden thoughts, for he well knew

he might reckon upon his counsel in diverting them, or his help in

carrying them into effect.

“That is the truth,” replied Anselmo, “and relying upon that I will

tell thee, friend Lothario, that the desire which harasses me is that

of knowing whether my wife Camilla is as good and as perfect as I think

her to be; and I cannot satisfy myself of the truth on this point

except by testing her in such a way that the trial may prove the purity

of her virtue as the fire proves that of gold; because I am persuaded,

my friend, that a woman is virtuous only in proportion as she is or is

not tempted; and that she alone is strong who does not yield to the

promises, gifts, tears, and importunities of earnest lovers; for what

thanks does a woman deserve for being good if no one urges her to be

bad, and what wonder is it that she is reserved and circumspect to whom

no opportunity is given of going wrong and who knows she has a husband

that will take her life the first time he detects her in an

impropriety? I do not therefore hold her who is virtuous through fear

or want of opportunity in the same estimation as her who comes out of

temptation and trial with a crown of victory; and so, for these reasons

and many others that I could give thee to justify and support the

opinion I hold, I am desirous that my wife Camilla should pass this

crisis, and be refined and tested by the fire of finding herself wooed

and by one worthy to set his affections upon her; and if she comes out,

as I know she will, victorious from this struggle, I shall look upon my

good fortune as unequalled, I shall be able to say that the cup of my

desire is full, and that the virtuous woman of whom the sage says ‘Who

shall find her?’ has fallen to my lot. And if the result be the

contrary of what I expect, in the satisfaction of knowing that I have

been right in my opinion, I shall bear without complaint the pain which

my so dearly bought experience will naturally cause me. And, as nothing

of all thou wilt urge in opposition to my wish will avail to keep me

from carrying it into effect, it is my desire, friend Lothario, that

thou shouldst consent to become the instrument for effecting this

purpose that I am bent upon, for I will afford thee opportunities to

that end, and nothing shall be wanting that I may think necessary for

the pursuit of a virtuous, honourable, modest and high-minded woman.

And among other reasons, I am induced to entrust this arduous task to

thee by the consideration that if Camilla be conquered by thee the

conquest will not be pushed to extremes, but only far enough to account

that accomplished which from a sense of honour will be left undone;

thus I shall not be wronged in anything more than intention, and my

wrong will remain buried in the integrity of thy silence, which I know

well will be as lasting as that of death in what concerns me. If,

therefore, thou wouldst have me enjoy what can be called life, thou

wilt at once engage in this love struggle, not lukewarmly nor

slothfully, but with the energy and zeal that my desire demands, and

with the loyalty our friendship assures me of.”

Such were the words Anselmo addressed to Lothario, who listened to them

with such attention that, except to say what has been already

mentioned, he did not open his lips until the other had finished. Then

perceiving that he had no more to say, after regarding him for a while,

as one would regard something never before seen that excited wonder and

amazement, he said to him, “I cannot persuade myself, Anselmo my

friend, that what thou hast said to me is not in jest; if I thought

that thou wert speaking seriously I would not have allowed thee to go

so far; so as to put a stop to thy long harangue by not listening to

thee I verily suspect that either thou dost not know me, or I do not

know thee; but no, I know well thou art Anselmo, and thou knowest that

I am Lothario; the misfortune is, it seems to me, that thou art not the

Anselmo thou wert, and must have thought that I am not the Lothario I

should be; for the things that thou hast said to me are not those of

that Anselmo who was my friend, nor are those that thou demandest of me

what should be asked of the Lothario thou knowest. True friends will

prove their friends and make use of them, as a poet has said, _usque ad

aras;_ whereby he meant that they will not make use of their friendship

in things that are contrary to God’s will. If this, then, was a

heathen’s feeling about friendship, how much more should it be a

Christian’s, who knows that the divine must not be forfeited for the

sake of any human friendship? And if a friend should go so far as to

put aside his duty to Heaven to fulfil his duty to his friend, it

should not be in matters that are trifling or of little moment, but in

such as affect the friend’s life and honour. Now tell me, Anselmo, in

which of these two art thou imperilled, that I should hazard myself to

gratify thee, and do a thing so detestable as that thou seekest of me?

Neither forsooth; on the contrary, thou dost ask of me, so far as I

understand, to strive and labour to rob thee of honour and life, and to

rob myself of them at the same time; for if I take away thy honour it

is plain I take away thy life, as a man without honour is worse than

dead; and being the instrument, as thou wilt have it so, of so much

wrong to thee, shall not I, too, be left without honour, and

consequently without life? Listen to me, Anselmo my friend, and be not

impatient to answer me until I have said what occurs to me touching the

object of thy desire, for there will be time enough left for thee to

reply and for me to hear.”

“Be it so,” said Anselmo, “say what thou wilt.”

Lothario then went on to say, “It seems to me, Anselmo, that thine is

just now the temper of mind which is always that of the Moors, who can

never be brought to see the error of their creed by quotations from the

Holy Scriptures, or by reasons which depend upon the examination of the

understanding or are founded upon the articles of faith, but must have

examples that are palpable, easy, intelligible, capable of proof, not

admitting of doubt, with mathematical demonstrations that cannot be

denied, like, ‘_If equals be taken from equals, the remainders are

equal:_’ and if they do not understand this in words, and indeed they

do not, it has to be shown to them with the hands, and put before their

eyes, and even with all this no one succeeds in convincing them of the

truth of our holy religion. This same mode of proceeding I shall have

to adopt with thee, for the desire which has sprung up in thee is so

absurd and remote from everything that has a semblance of reason, that

I feel it would be a waste of time to employ it in reasoning with thy

simplicity, for at present I will call it by no other name; and I am

even tempted to leave thee in thy folly as a punishment for thy

pernicious desire; but the friendship I bear thee, which will not allow

me to desert thee in such manifest danger of destruction, keeps me from

dealing so harshly by thee. And that thou mayest clearly see this, say,

Anselmo, hast thou not told me that I must force my suit upon a modest

woman, decoy one that is virtuous, make overtures to one that is

pure-minded, pay court to one that is prudent? Yes, thou hast told me

so. Then, if thou knowest that thou hast a wife, modest, virtuous,

pure-minded and prudent, what is it that thou seekest? And if thou

believest that she will come forth victorious from all my attacks—as

doubtless she would—what higher titles than those she possesses now

dost thou think thou canst bestow upon her then, or in what will she be

better then than she is now? Either thou dost not hold her to be what

thou sayest, or thou knowest not what thou dost demand. If thou dost

not hold her to be what thou sayest, why dost thou seek to prove her

instead of treating her as guilty in the way that may seem best to

thee? but if she be as virtuous as thou believest, it is an

uncalled-for proceeding to make trial of truth itself, for, after

trial, it will but be in the same estimation as before. Thus, then, it

is conclusive that to attempt things from which harm rather than

advantage may come to us is the part of unreasoning and reckless minds,

more especially when they are things which we are not forced or

compelled to attempt, and which show from afar that it is plainly

madness to attempt them.

“Difficulties are attempted either for the sake of God or for the sake

of the world, or for both; those undertaken for God’s sake are those

which the saints undertake when they attempt to live the lives of

angels in human bodies; those undertaken for the sake of the world are

those of the men who traverse such a vast expanse of water, such a

variety of climates, so many strange countries, to acquire what are

called the blessings of fortune; and those undertaken for the sake of

God and the world together are those of brave soldiers, who no sooner

do they see in the enemy’s wall a breach as wide as a cannon ball could

make, than, casting aside all fear, without hesitating, or heeding the

manifest peril that threatens them, borne onward by the desire of

defending their faith, their country, and their king, they fling

themselves dauntlessly into the midst of the thousand opposing deaths

that await them. Such are the things that men are wont to attempt, and

there is honour, glory, gain, in attempting them, however full of

difficulty and peril they may be; but that which thou sayest it is thy

wish to attempt and carry out will not win thee the glory of God nor

the blessings of fortune nor fame among men; for even if the issue be

as thou wouldst have it, thou wilt be no happier, richer, or more

honoured than thou art this moment; and if it be otherwise thou wilt be

reduced to misery greater than can be imagined, for then it will avail

thee nothing to reflect that no one is aware of the misfortune that has

befallen thee; it will suffice to torture and crush thee that thou

knowest it thyself. And in confirmation of the truth of what I say, let

me repeat to thee a stanza made by the famous poet Luigi Tansillo at

the end of the first part of his ‘Tears of Saint Peter,’ which says

thus:

The anguish and the shame but greater grew

In Peter’s heart as morning slowly came;

No eye was there to see him, well he knew,

Yet he himself was to himself a shame;

Exposed to all men’s gaze, or screened from view,

A noble heart will feel the pang the same;

A prey to shame the sinning soul will be,

Though none but heaven and earth its shame can see.

Thus by keeping it secret thou wilt not escape thy sorrow, but rather

thou wilt shed tears unceasingly, if not tears of the eyes, tears of

blood from the heart, like those shed by that simple doctor our poet

tells us of, that tried the test of the cup, which the wise Rinaldo,

better advised, refused to do; for though this may be a poetic fiction

it contains a moral lesson worthy of attention and study and imitation.

Moreover by what I am about to say to thee thou wilt be led to see the

great error thou wouldst commit.

“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or good fortune had made thee master and

lawful owner of a diamond of the finest quality, with the excellence

and purity of which all the lapidaries that had seen it had been

satisfied, saying with one voice and common consent that in purity,

quality, and fineness, it was all that a stone of the kind could

possibly be, thou thyself too being of the same belief, as knowing

nothing to the contrary, would it be reasonable in thee to desire to

take that diamond and place it between an anvil and a hammer, and by

mere force of blows and strength of arm try if it were as hard and as

fine as they said? And if thou didst, and if the stone should resist so

silly a test, that would add nothing to its value or reputation; and if

it were broken, as it might be, would not all be lost? Undoubtedly it

would, leaving its owner to be rated as a fool in the opinion of all.

Consider, then, Anselmo my friend, that Camilla is a diamond of the

finest quality as well in thy estimation as in that of others, and that

it is contrary to reason to expose her to the risk of being broken; for

if she remains intact she cannot rise to a higher value than she now

possesses; and if she give way and be unable to resist, bethink thee

now how thou wilt be deprived of her, and with what good reason thou

wilt complain of thyself for having been the cause of her ruin and

thine own. Remember there is no jewel in the world so precious as a

chaste and virtuous woman, and that the whole honour of women consists

in reputation; and since thy wife’s is of that high excellence that

thou knowest, wherefore shouldst thou seek to call that truth in

question? Remember, my friend, that woman is an imperfect animal, and

that impediments are not to be placed in her way to make her trip and

fall, but that they should be removed, and her path left clear of all

obstacles, so that without hindrance she may run her course freely to

attain the desired perfection, which consists in being virtuous.

Naturalists tell us that the ermine is a little animal which has a fur

of purest white, and that when the hunters wish to take it, they make

use of this artifice. Having ascertained the places which it frequents

and passes, they stop the way to them with mud, and then rousing it,

drive it towards the spot, and as soon as the ermine comes to the mud

it halts, and allows itself to be taken captive rather than pass

through the mire, and spoil and sully its whiteness, which it values

more than life and liberty. The virtuous and chaste woman is an ermine,

and whiter and purer than snow is the virtue of modesty; and he who

wishes her not to lose it, but to keep and preserve it, must adopt a

course different from that employed with the ermine; he must not put

before her the mire of the gifts and attentions of persevering lovers,

because perhaps—and even without a perhaps—she may not have sufficient

virtue and natural strength in herself to pass through and tread under

foot these impediments; they must be removed, and the brightness of

virtue and the beauty of a fair fame must be put before her. A virtuous

woman, too, is like a mirror, of clear shining crystal, liable to be

tarnished and dimmed by every breath that touches it. She must be

treated as relics are; adored, not touched. She must be protected and

prized as one protects and prizes a fair garden full of roses and

flowers, the owner of which allows no one to trespass or pluck a

blossom; enough for others that from afar and through the iron grating

they may enjoy its fragrance and its beauty. Finally let me repeat to

thee some verses that come to my mind; I heard them in a modern comedy,

and it seems to me they bear upon the point we are discussing. A

prudent old man was giving advice to another, the father of a young

girl, to lock her up, watch over her and keep her in seclusion, and

among other arguments he used these:

Woman is a thing of glass;

But her brittleness ’tis best

Not too curiously to test:

Who knows what may come to pass?

Breaking is an easy matter,

And it’s folly to expose

What you cannot mend to blows;

What you can’t make whole to shatter.

This, then, all may hold as true,

And the reason’s plain to see;

For if Danaës there be,

There are golden showers too.

“All that I have said to thee so far, Anselmo, has had reference to

what concerns thee; now it is right that I should say something of what

regards myself; and if I be prolix, pardon me, for the labyrinth into

which thou hast entered and from which thou wouldst have me extricate

thee makes it necessary.

“Thou dost reckon me thy friend, and thou wouldst rob me of honour, a

thing wholly inconsistent with friendship; and not only dost thou aim

at this, but thou wouldst have me rob thee of it also. That thou

wouldst rob me of it is clear, for when Camilla sees that I pay court

to her as thou requirest, she will certainly regard me as a man without

honour or right feeling, since I attempt and do a thing so much opposed

to what I owe to my own position and thy friendship. That thou wouldst

have me rob thee of it is beyond a doubt, for Camilla, seeing that I

press my suit upon her, will suppose that I have perceived in her

something light that has encouraged me to make known to her my base

desire; and if she holds herself dishonoured, her dishonour touches

thee as belonging to her; and hence arises what so commonly takes

place, that the husband of the adulterous woman, though he may not be

aware of or have given any cause for his wife’s failure in her duty, or

(being careless or negligent) have had it in his power to prevent his

dishonour, nevertheless is stigmatised by a vile and reproachful name,

and in a manner regarded with eyes of contempt instead of pity by all

who know of his wife’s guilt, though they see that he is unfortunate

not by his own fault, but by the lust of a vicious consort. But I will

tell thee why with good reason dishonour attaches to the husband of the

unchaste wife, though he know not that she is so, nor be to blame, nor

have done anything, or given any provocation to make her so; and be not

weary with listening to me, for it will be for thy good.

“When God created our first parent in the earthly paradise, the Holy

Scripture says that he infused sleep into Adam and while he slept took

a rib from his left side of which he formed our mother Eve, and when

Adam awoke and beheld her he said, ‘This is flesh of my flesh, and bone

of my bone.’ And God said ‘For this shall a man leave his father and

his mother, and they shall be two in one flesh; and then was instituted

the divine sacrament of marriage, with such ties that death alone can

loose them. And such is the force and virtue of this miraculous

sacrament that it makes two different persons one and the same flesh;

and even more than this when the virtuous are married; for though they

have two souls they have but one will. And hence it follows that as the

flesh of the wife is one and the same with that of her husband the

stains that may come upon it, or the injuries it incurs fall upon the

husband’s flesh, though he, as has been said, may have given no cause

for them; for as the pain of the foot or any member of the body is felt

by the whole body, because all is one flesh, as the head feels the hurt

to the ankle without having caused it, so the husband, being one with

her, shares the dishonour of the wife; and as all worldly honour or

dishonour comes of flesh and blood, and the erring wife’s is of that

kind, the husband must needs bear his part of it and be held

dishonoured without knowing it. See, then, Anselmo, the peril thou art

encountering in seeking to disturb the peace of thy virtuous consort;

see for what an empty and ill-advised curiosity thou wouldst rouse up

passions that now repose in quiet in the breast of thy chaste wife;

reflect that what thou art staking all to win is little, and what thou

wilt lose so much that I leave it undescribed, not having the words to

express it. But if all I have said be not enough to turn thee from thy

vile purpose, thou must seek some other instrument for thy dishonour

and misfortune; for such I will not consent to be, though I lose thy

friendship, the greatest loss that I can conceive.”

Having said this, the wise and virtuous Lothario was silent, and

Anselmo, troubled in mind and deep in thought, was unable for a while

to utter a word in reply; but at length he said, “I have listened,

Lothario my friend, attentively, as thou hast seen, to what thou hast

chosen to say to me, and in thy arguments, examples, and comparisons I

have seen that high intelligence thou dost possess, and the perfection

of true friendship thou hast reached; and likewise I see and confess

that if I am not guided by thy opinion, but follow my own, I am flying

from the good and pursuing the evil. This being so, thou must remember

that I am now labouring under that infirmity which women sometimes

suffer from, when the craving seizes them to eat clay, plaster,

charcoal, and things even worse, disgusting to look at, much more to

eat; so that it will be necessary to have recourse to some artifice to

cure me; and this can be easily effected if only thou wilt make a

beginning, even though it be in a lukewarm and make-believe fashion, to

pay court to Camilla, who will not be so yielding that her virtue will

give way at the first attack: with this mere attempt I shall rest

satisfied, and thou wilt have done what our friendship binds thee to

do, not only in giving me life, but in persuading me not to discard my

honour. And this thou art bound to do for one reason alone, that,

being, as I am, resolved to apply this test, it is not for thee to

permit me to reveal my weakness to another, and so imperil that honour

thou art striving to keep me from losing; and if thine may not stand as

high as it ought in the estimation of Camilla while thou art paying

court to her, that is of little or no importance, because ere long, on

finding in her that constancy which we expect, thou canst tell her the

plain truth as regards our stratagem, and so regain thy place in her

esteem; and as thou art venturing so little, and by the venture canst

afford me so much satisfaction, refuse not to undertake it, even if

further difficulties present themselves to thee; for, as I have said,

if thou wilt only make a beginning I will acknowledge the issue

decided.”

Lothario seeing the fixed determination of Anselmo, and not knowing

what further examples to offer or arguments to urge in order to

dissuade him from it, and perceiving that he threatened to confide his

pernicious scheme to someone else, to avoid a greater evil resolved to

gratify him and do what he asked, intending to manage the business so

as to satisfy Anselmo without corrupting the mind of Camilla; so in

reply he told him not to communicate his purpose to any other, for he

would undertake the task himself, and would begin it as soon as he

pleased. Anselmo embraced him warmly and affectionately, and thanked

him for his offer as if he had bestowed some great favour upon him; and

it was agreed between them to set about it the next day, Anselmo

affording opportunity and time to Lothario to converse alone with

Camilla, and furnishing him with money and jewels to offer and present

to her. He suggested, too, that he should treat her to music, and write

verses in her praise, and if he was unwilling to take the trouble of

composing them, he offered to do it himself. Lothario agreed to all

with an intention very different from what Anselmo supposed, and with

this understanding they returned to Anselmo’s house, where they found

Camilla awaiting her husband anxiously and uneasily, for he was later

than usual in returning that day. Lothario repaired to his own house,

and Anselmo remained in his, as well satisfied as Lothario was troubled

in mind; for he could see no satisfactory way out of this ill-advised

business. That night, however, he thought of a plan by which he might

deceive Anselmo without any injury to Camilla. The next day he went to

dine with his friend, and was welcomed by Camilla, who received and

treated him with great cordiality, knowing the affection her husband

felt for him. When dinner was over and the cloth removed, Anselmo told

Lothario to stay there with Camilla while he attended to some pressing

business, as he would return in an hour and a half. Camilla begged him

not to go, and Lothario offered to accompany him, but nothing could

persuade Anselmo, who on the contrary pressed Lothario to remain

waiting for him as he had a matter of great importance to discuss with

him. At the same time he bade Camilla not to leave Lothario alone until

he came back. In short he contrived to put so good a face on the

reason, or the folly, of his absence that no one could have suspected

it was a pretence.

Anselmo took his departure, and Camilla and Lothario were left alone at

the table, for the rest of the household had gone to dinner. Lothario

saw himself in the lists according to his friend’s wish, and facing an

enemy that could by her beauty alone vanquish a squadron of armed

knights; judge whether he had good reason to fear; but what he did was

to lean his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his cheek upon his hand,

and, asking Camilla’s pardon for his ill manners, he said he wished to

take a little sleep until Anselmo returned. Camilla in reply said he

could repose more at his ease in the reception-room than in his chair,

and begged of him to go in and sleep there; but Lothario declined, and

there he remained asleep until the return of Anselmo, who finding

Camilla in her own room, and Lothario asleep, imagined that he had

stayed away so long as to have afforded them time enough for

conversation and even for sleep, and was all impatience until Lothario

should wake up, that he might go out with him and question him as to

his success. Everything fell out as he wished; Lothario awoke, and the

two at once left the house, and Anselmo asked what he was anxious to

know, and Lothario in answer told him that he had not thought it

advisable to declare himself entirely the first time, and therefore had

only extolled the charms of Camilla, telling her that all the city

spoke of nothing else but her beauty and wit, for this seemed to him an

excellent way of beginning to gain her good-will and render her

disposed to listen to him with pleasure the next time, thus availing

himself of the device the devil has recourse to when he would deceive

one who is on the watch; for he being the angel of darkness transforms

himself into an angel of light, and, under cover of a fair seeming,

discloses himself at length, and effects his purpose if at the

beginning his wiles are not discovered. All this gave great

satisfaction to Anselmo, and he said he would afford the same

opportunity every day, but without leaving the house, for he would find

things to do at home so that Camilla should not detect the plot.

Thus, then, several days went by, and Lothario, without uttering a word

to Camilla, reported to Anselmo that he had talked with her and that he

had never been able to draw from her the slightest indication of

consent to anything dishonourable, nor even a sign or shadow of hope;

on the contrary, he said she would inform her husband of it.

“So far well,” said Anselmo; “Camilla has thus far resisted words; we

must now see how she will resist deeds. I will give you to-morrow two

thousand crowns in gold for you to offer or even present, and as many

more to buy jewels to lure her, for women are fond of being becomingly

attired and going gaily dressed, and all the more so if they are

beautiful, however chaste they may be; and if she resists this

temptation, I will rest satisfied and will give you no more trouble.”

Lothario replied that now he had begun he would carry on the

undertaking to the end, though he perceived he was to come out of it

wearied and vanquished. The next day he received the four thousand

crowns, and with them four thousand perplexities, for he knew not what

to say by way of a new falsehood; but in the end he made up his mind to

tell him that Camilla stood as firm against gifts and promises as

against words, and that there was no use in taking any further trouble,

for the time was all spent to no purpose.

But chance, directing things in a different manner, so ordered it that

Anselmo, having left Lothario and Camilla alone as on other occasions,

shut himself into a chamber and posted himself to watch and listen

through the keyhole to what passed between them, and perceived that for

more than half an hour Lothario did not utter a word to Camilla, nor

would utter a word though he were to be there for an age; and he came

to the conclusion that what his friend had told him about the replies

of Camilla was all invention and falsehood, and to ascertain if it were

so, he came out, and calling Lothario aside asked him what news he had

and in what humour Camilla was. Lothario replied that he was not

disposed to go on with the business, for she had answered him so

angrily and harshly that he had no heart to say anything more to her.

“Ah, Lothario, Lothario,” said Anselmo, “how ill dost thou meet thy

obligations to me, and the great confidence I repose in thee! I have

been just now watching through this keyhole, and I have seen that thou

hast not said a word to Camilla, whence I conclude that on the former

occasions thou hast not spoken to her either, and if this be so, as no

doubt it is, why dost thou deceive me, or wherefore seekest thou by

craft to deprive me of the means I might find of attaining my desire?”

Anselmo said no more, but he had said enough to cover Lothario with

shame and confusion, and he, feeling as it were his honour touched by

having been detected in a lie, swore to Anselmo that he would from that

moment devote himself to satisfying him without any deception, as he

would see if he had the curiosity to watch; though he need not take the

trouble, for the pains he would take to satisfy him would remove all

suspicions from his mind. Anselmo believed him, and to afford him an

opportunity more free and less liable to surprise, he resolved to

absent himself from his house for eight days, betaking himself to that

of a friend of his who lived in a village not far from the city; and,

the better to account for his departure to Camilla, he so arranged it

that the friend should send him a very pressing invitation.

Unhappy, shortsighted Anselmo, what art thou doing, what art thou

plotting, what art thou devising? Bethink thee thou art working against

thyself, plotting thine own dishonour, devising thine own ruin. Thy

wife Camilla is virtuous, thou dost possess her in peace and quietness,

no one assails thy happiness, her thoughts wander not beyond the walls

of thy house, thou art her heaven on earth, the object of her wishes,

the fulfilment of her desires, the measure wherewith she measures her

will, making it conform in all things to thine and Heaven’s. If, then,

the mine of her honour, beauty, virtue, and modesty yields thee without

labour all the wealth it contains and thou canst wish for, why wilt

thou dig the earth in search of fresh veins, of new unknown treasure,

risking the collapse of all, since it but rests on the feeble props of

her weak nature? Bethink thee that from him who seeks impossibilities

that which is possible may with justice be withheld, as was better

expressed by a poet who said:

’Tis mine to seek for life in death,

Health in disease seek I,

I seek in prison freedom’s breath,

In traitors loyalty.

So Fate that ever scorns to grant

Or grace or boon to me,

Since what can never be I want,

Denies me what might be.

The next day Anselmo took his departure for the village, leaving

instructions with Camilla that during his absence Lothario would come

to look after his house and to dine with her, and that she was to treat

him as she would himself. Camilla was distressed, as a discreet and

right-minded woman would be, at the orders her husband left her, and

bade him remember that it was not becoming that anyone should occupy

his seat at the table during his absence, and if he acted thus from not

feeling confidence that she would be able to manage his house, let him

try her this time, and he would find by experience that she was equal

to greater responsibilities. Anselmo replied that it was his pleasure

to have it so, and that she had only to submit and obey. Camilla said

she would do so, though against her will.

Anselmo went, and the next day Lothario came to his house, where he was

received by Camilla with a friendly and modest welcome; but she never

suffered Lothario to see her alone, for she was always attended by her

men and women servants, especially by a handmaid of hers, Leonela by

name, to whom she was much attached (for they had been brought up

together from childhood in her father’s house), and whom she had kept

with her after her marriage with Anselmo. The first three days Lothario

did not speak to her, though he might have done so when they removed

the cloth and the servants retired to dine hastily; for such were

Camilla’s orders; nay more, Leonela had directions to dine earlier than

Camilla and never to leave her side. She, however, having her thoughts

fixed upon other things more to her taste, and wanting that time and

opportunity for her own pleasures, did not always obey her mistress’s

commands, but on the contrary left them alone, as if they had ordered

her to do so; but the modest bearing of Camilla, the calmness of her

countenance, the composure of her aspect were enough to bridle the

tongue of Lothario. But the influence which the many virtues of Camilla

exerted in imposing silence on Lothario’s tongue proved mischievous for

both of them, for if his tongue was silent his thoughts were busy, and

could dwell at leisure upon the perfections of Camilla’s goodness and

beauty one by one, charms enough to warm with love a marble statue, not

to say a heart of flesh. Lothario gazed upon her when he might have

been speaking to her, and thought how worthy of being loved she was;

and thus reflection began little by little to assail his allegiance to

Anselmo, and a thousand times he thought of withdrawing from the city

and going where Anselmo should never see him nor he see Camilla. But

already the delight he found in gazing on her interposed and held him

fast. He put a constraint upon himself, and struggled to repel and

repress the pleasure he found in contemplating Camilla; when alone he

blamed himself for his weakness, called himself a bad friend, nay a bad

Christian; then he argued the matter and compared himself with Anselmo;

always coming to the conclusion that the folly and rashness of Anselmo

had been worse than his faithlessness, and that if he could excuse his

intentions as easily before God as with man, he had no reason to fear

any punishment for his offence.

In short the beauty and goodness of Camilla, joined with the

opportunity which the blind husband had placed in his hands, overthrew

the loyalty of Lothario; and giving heed to nothing save the object

towards which his inclinations led him, after Anselmo had been three

days absent, during which he had been carrying on a continual struggle

with his passion, he began to make love to Camilla with so much

vehemence and warmth of language that she was overwhelmed with

amazement, and could only rise from her place and retire to her room

without answering him a word. But the hope which always springs up with

love was not weakened in Lothario by this repelling demeanour; on the

contrary his passion for Camilla increased, and she discovering in him

what she had never expected, knew not what to do; and considering it

neither safe nor right to give him the chance or opportunity of

speaking to her again, she resolved to send, as she did that very

night, one of her servants with a letter to Anselmo, in which she

addressed the following words to him.