The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
Meanwhile, Gisippus abode in Athens, held in little esteem of well
nigh all, and no great while after, through certain intestine
troubles, was, with all those of his house, expelled from Athens, in
poverty and misery, and condemned to perpetual exile. Finding himself
in this case and being grown not only poor, but beggarly, he betook
himself, as least ill he might, to Rome, to essay if Titus should
remember him. There, learning that the latter was alive and high in
favour with all the Romans and enquiring for his dwelling-place, he
stationed himself before the door and there abode till such time as
Titus came, to whom, by reason of the wretched plight wherein he was,
he dared not say a word, but studied to cause himself be seen of him,
so he might recognize him and let call him to himself; wherefore
Titus passed on, [without noting him,] and Gisippus, conceiving that
he had seen and shunned him and remembering him of that which himself
had done for him aforetime, departed, despiteful and despairing. It
being by this night and he fasting and penniless, he wandered on,
unknowing whither and more desirous of death than of otherwhat, and
presently happened upon a very desert part of the city, where seeing a
great cavern, he addressed himself to abide the night there and
presently, forspent with long weeping, he fell asleep on the naked
earth and ill in case. To this cavern two, who had gone a-thieving
together that night, came towards morning, with the booty they had
gotten, and falling out over the division, one, who was the stronger,
slew the other and went away. Gisippus had seen and heard this and
himseemed he had found a way to the death so sore desired of him,
without slaying himself; wherefore he abode without stirring, till
such time as the Serjeants of the watch, who had by this gotten wind
of the deed, came thither and laying furious hands of him, carried him
off prisoner. Gisippus, being examined, confessed that he had murdered
the man nor had since availed to depart the cavern; whereupon the
prætor, who was called Marcus Varro, commanded that he should be put
to death upon the cross, as the usance then was.
Now Titus was by chance come at that juncture to the prætorium and
looking the wretched condemned man in the face and hearing why he had
been doomed to die, suddenly knew him for Gisippus; whereupon,
marvelling at his sorry fortune and how he came to be in Rome and
desiring most ardently to succour him, but seeing no other means of
saving him than to accuse himself and thus excuse him, he thrust
forward in haste and cried out, saying, 'Marcus Varro, call back the
poor man whom thou hast condemned, for that he is innocent. I have
enough offended against the Gods with one crime, in slaying him whom
thine officer found this morning dead, without willing presently to
wrong them with the death of another innocent.' Varro marvelled and it
irked him that all the prætorium should have heard him; but, being
unable, for his own honour's sake, to forbear from doing that which
the laws commanded, he caused bring back Gisippus and in the presence
of Titus said to him, 'How camest thou to be so mad that, without
suffering any torture, thou confessedst to that which thou didst not,
it being a capital matter? Thou declaredst thyself to be he who slew
the man yesternight, and now this man cometh and saith that it was not
thou, but he that slew him.'
Gisippus looked and seeing that it was Titus, perceived full well that
he did this to save him, as grateful for the service aforetime
received from him; wherefore, weeping for pity, 'Varro,' quoth he,
'indeed it was I slew him and Titus his solicitude for my safety is
now too late.' Titus on the other hand, said, 'Prætor, do as thou
seest, this man is a stranger and was found without arms beside the
murdered man, and thou mayst see that his wretchedness giveth him
occasion to wish to die; wherefore do thou release him and punish me,
who have deserved it.' Varro marvelled at the insistence of these two
and beginning now to presume that neither of them might be guilty, was
casting about for a means of acquitting them, when, behold, up came a
youth called Publius Ambustus, a man of notorious ill life and known
to all the Romans for an arrant rogue, who had actually done the
murder and knowing neither of the twain to be guilty of that whereof
each accused himself, such was the pity that overcame his heart for
the innocence of the two friends that, moved by supreme compassion, he
came before Varro and said, 'Prætor, my fates impel me to solve the
grievous contention of these twain and I know not what God within me
spurreth and importuneth me to discover to thee my sin. Know, then,
that neither of these men is guilty of that whereof each accuseth
himself. I am verily he who slew yonder man this morning towards
daybreak and I saw this poor wretch asleep there, what while I was in
act to divide the booty gotten with him whom I slew. There is no need
for me to excuse Titus; his renown is everywhere manifest and every
one knoweth him to be no man of such a condition. Release him,
therefore, and take of me that forfeit which the laws impose on me.'
By this Octavianus had notice of the matter and causing all three be
brought before him, desired to hear what cause had moved each of them
to seek to be the condemned man. Accordingly, each related his own
story, whereupon Octavianus released the two friends, for that they
were innocent, and pardoned the other for the love of them. Thereupon
Titus took his Gisippus and first reproaching him sore for
lukewarmness[469] and diffidence, rejoiced in him with marvellous
great joy and carried him to his house, where Sophronia with tears of
compassion received him as a brother. Then, having awhile recruited
him with rest and refreshment and reclothed him and restored him to
such a habit as sorted with his worth and quality, he first shared all
his treasures and estates in common with him and after gave him to
wife a young sister of his, called Fulvia, saying, 'Gisippus,
henceforth it resteth with thee whether thou wilt abide here with me
or return with everything I have given thee into Achaia.' Gisippus,
constrained on the one hand by his banishment from his native land and
on the other by the love which he justly bore to the cherished
friendship of Titus, consented to become a Roman and accordingly took
up his abode in the city, where he with his Fulvia and Titus with his
Sophronia lived long and happily, still abiding in one house and
waxing more friends (an more they might be) every day.
[Footnote 469: Sic (_tiepidezza_); but _semble_ "timidity" or
"distrustfulness" is meant.]
A most sacred thing, then, is friendship and worthy not only of
especial reverence, but to be commended with perpetual praise, as the
most discreet mother of magnanimity and honour, the sister of
gratitude and charity and the enemy of hatred and avarice, still,
without waiting to be entreated, ready virtuously to do unto others
that which it would have done to itself. Nowadays its divine effects
are very rarely to be seen in any twain, by the fault and to the shame
of the wretched cupidity of mankind, which, regarding only its own
profit, hath relegated it to perpetual exile, beyond the extremest
limits of the earth. What love, what riches, what kinship, what,
except friendship, could have made Gisippus feel in his heart the
ardour, the tears and the sighs of Titus with such efficacy as to
cause him yield up to his friend his betrothed bride, fair and gentle
and beloved of him? What laws, what menaces, what fears could have
enforced the young arms of Gisippus to abstain, in solitary places and
in dark, nay, in his very bed, from the embraces of the fair damsel,
she mayhap bytimes inviting him, had friendship not done it? What
honours, what rewards, what advancements, what, indeed, but
friendship, could have made Gisippus reck not of losing his own
kinsfolk and those of Sophronia nor of the unmannerly clamours of the
populace nor of scoffs and insults, so that he might pleasure his
friend? On the other hand, what, but friendship, could have prompted
Titus, whenas he might fairly have feigned not to see, unhesitatingly
to compass his own death, that he might deliver Gisippus from the
cross to which he had of his own motion procured himself to be
condemned? What else could have made Titus, without the least demur,
so liberal in sharing his most ample patrimony with Gisippus, whom
fortune had bereft of his own? What else could have made him so
forward to vouchsafe his sister to his friend, albeit he saw him very
poor and reduced to the extreme of misery? Let men, then, covet a
multitude of comrades, troops of brethren and children galore and add,
by dint of monies, to the number of their servitors, considering not
that every one of these, who and whatsoever he may be, is more fearful
of every least danger of his own than careful to do away the
great[470] from father or brother or master, whereas we see a friend
do altogether the contrary."
[Footnote 470: _i.e._ perils.]
THE NINTH STORY
[Day the Tenth]
SALADIN, IN THE DISGUISE OF A MERCHANT, IS HONOURABLY
ENTERTAINED BY MESSER TORELLO D'ISTRIA, WHO, PRESENTLY
UNDERTAKING THE [THIRD] CRUSADE, APPOINTETH HIS WIFE A TERM
FOR HER MARRYING AGAIN. HE IS TAKEN [BY THE SARACENS] AND
COMETH, BY HIS SKILL IN TRAINING HAWKS, UNDER THE NOTICE OF
THE SOLDAN, WHO KNOWETH HIM AGAIN AND DISCOVERING HIMSELF TO
HIM, ENTREATETH HIM WITH THE UTMOST HONOUR. THEN, TORELLO
FALLING SICK FOR LANGUISHMENT, HE IS BY MAGICAL ART
TRANSPORTED IN ONE NIGHT [FROM ALEXANDRIA] TO PAVIA, WHERE,
BEING RECOGNIZED BY HIS WIFE AT THE BRIDE-FEAST HELD FOR HER
MARRYING AGAIN, HE RETURNETH WITH HER TO HIS OWN HOUSE
Filomena having made an end of her discourse and the magnificent
gratitude of Titus having been of all alike commended, the king,
reserving the last place unto Dioneo, proceeded to speak thus:
"Assuredly, lovesome ladies, Filomena speaketh sooth in that which she
saith of friendship and with reason complaineth, in concluding her
discourse, of its being so little in favour with mankind. If we were
here for the purpose of correcting the defaults of the age or even of
reprehending them, I might ensue her words with a discourse at large
upon the subject; but, for that we aim at otherwhat, it hath occurred
to my mind to set forth to you, in a story belike somewhat overlong,
but withal altogether pleasing, one of the magnificences of Saladin,
to the end that, if, by reason of our defaults, the friendship of any
one may not be throughly acquired, we may, at the least, be led, by
the things which you shall hear in my story, to take delight in doing
service, in the hope that, whenassoever it may be, reward will ensue
to us thereof.
I must tell you, then, that, according to that which divers folk
affirm, a general crusade was, in the days of the Emperor Frederick
the First, undertaken by the Christians for the recovery of the Holy
Land, whereof Saladin, a very noble and valiant prince, who was then
Soldan of Babylon, having notice awhile beforehand, he bethought
himself to seek in his own person to see the preparations of the
Christian princes for the undertaking in question, so he might the
better avail to provide himself. Accordingly, having ordered all his
affairs in Egypt, he made a show of going a pilgrimage and set out in
the disguise of a merchant, attended by two only of his chiefest and
sagest officers and three serving-men. After he had visited many
Christian countries, it chanced that, as they rode through Lombardy,
thinking to pass beyond the mountains,[471] they encountered, about
vespers, on the road from Milan to Pavia, a gentleman of the latter