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 be
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 awhile, 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 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 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 he 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 Danaes 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 some one 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 has 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.