The Works of John Hall-Stevenson :: :: University of Virginia Library

Bandello lived in the sixteenth century, in high reputation for his wit, and corresponded with all the great men of that age. He retired into France upon the taken of Milan by the Spaniards, at which time all his papers wer burnt. In 1551 he was made Bishop of Agen in France, where his Novels were first published.

Outcried against writings, composed with no worse intention than to promote good-humour and chearfulness, by fighting against the Tædium Vitæ, were reserved for an age of refined hypocrisy. There ought to be a great distinction between obscenity, evidently designed to inflame the passions, and a ludicruous liberty, which is frequently necessary to shew th etrue ridicule of hypocritical characters, which can give offence to none, but such as are afriad of every thing that has a tendency to unmasking.

The second part of this Tale is upon a different plan from Bandello's. Zachary has told the Bishop's Tale with more modestly than the Bishop, and I think the catastrophe is more natural. The best edition of Bandello is printed at Lucca in 1554; and reprinted in London, in three volumes, quarto, 1740.

How oft has Boccace been translated
And blunder'd,
And Jean Fontaine assassinated
And plunder'd!
Where is the land where Boccace and Fontaine
Have not in effigy been slain?
Fontaine they imitate and turn,
Boccace they represent and render,
Just as the figures, made to burn,
Are like the Pope and the Pretender.
Why mayn't Bandello have a rap?
Why mayn't I imitate Bandello?
There never was a Prelate's cap
Bestow'd upon a droller fellow.
Like Tristram, in mirth delighting;
Like Tristram, a pleasant Writer;

Like his, I hope that Tristram's writing
Will be rewarded with a mitre.
There was a Knight, says our Bishop,
A Knight from Aragon in Spain,
So jealous, that you cannot fish up
His like and paragon again:
He serv'd Alphonsus many years,
Both in the wars and in affairs of state,
And fell in love up to the ears,
And would not give it up at any rate.
By bribes and flattery he won
Father, mother, daughter, and son.
And yet he serenaded, sigh'd,
And was long doubtful of his doom,
Before he gain'd his lovely Bride,
With all the rights of a Bridegroom.
And after that, they also tell us,
That in less time than you would think,
He grew so timorous and jealous,
He could not sleep o'nights a wink.
He was not jealous, says the Tale,
All the time he was in training;

'Twas not till he began to fail,
And to fall off, by over-straining.
As soon as ever he train'd off,
The nights she pass'd can scarce be told;
All night he could do nought but cough,
Torment, and tantalize, and scold,
Bindocchia was lively and alert,
And had no notion of a bridle;
She requir'd one, not only more expert,
But one as active as her spouse was idle.
Now Angravalle knew all this,
As well as either you or I,
When he thought proper to dismiss
Those, on whose help she might rely.
He dismiss'd both the men and maids
All together;
Birds of a feather;
Rogues, and intriguing jades;
All but a fellow with a surly look,
Gard'ner, butler, groom, and cook:
And, to cut off all hopes to come,
From an intriguing maid at least,

He pick'd up one both deaf and dumb,
And neither fit for man nor beast—
Besides, he had such crotches in his pate,
And such strange notions,
She could not cross the room without her mate
To watch her motions.
Bindocchia was to be pity'd,
So watch'd, so scolded, so ill fitted.
Considering cuckoldom's a sentence,
That cannot be revers'd and null,
By commutation nor repentance,
Nor by his Holiness's Bull:
I cannot think he was to blame,
So much as many folks pretend,
To shut his doors, and to disclaim
All intercourse with every friend.
Those cuckolds, it can't be disputed,
That either heaven or earth can boast,
Have been, and always are, cornuted
By those in whom they trust the most.
However, all were not deny'd;
He had a friend he valu'd next his life;

A friend that he had often try'd;
One, by good luck, related to his wife.
He was admitted, night or day,
To dine or sup,
Or to step up,
If he was not inclin'd to stay.
Niceno had an equal share
In the affections of this pair.
After much thought and perturbation,
Bindocchia grew to have less care,
For the continual defalcation
In Angravalle's bills of fare.—
Though you may think her patience strange,
She thought, but not without some doubt,
The posture of affairs would change,
That things would turn, and come about.
Two months were gone, which was a shame,
Without receiving any news,
Though she had oft put in her claim,
And often stickled for her dues;
The longer he was in arrear,
Her case and his grew still more queer.

In short, there was no end of waiting;
Her husband grew so great a debtor,
There was no way of calculating
The chances of his growing better.—
Now, Ladies, I desire to know,
In such a situation,
Was it unnatural, or no,
To cast her eyes on her Relation?
Observe, I said, to cast her eyes;
With those 'twas natural to speak;
To mingle also a few sighs
With a few roses in each cheek:
Except a blush, a sigh, a soft regard,
All other forms of speech are barr'd.
Accordingly, within her lips
She had a tongue in due subjection;
Not apt to wander, and make slips,
Without her order and direction.
One day she went, upon leave granted,
To see her Cousin—pray, take notice, Sirs!
A female that she often haunted,
Niceno's Cousin too, as well as her's;

As usual, attended by the Mute,
And by the Gardener, her fellow-brute.—
Paulina was her Cousin's name,
A perfect Saint in her demeanour;
Though she was spotless in her fame,
Never was any thing uncleaner:
She could impose upon the Wise and Grave,
And could, with Titus, safely swear;
She never lost a day that she could save,
Nor sav'd a night that she could spare.
Bindocchia told her husband's case,
His former feats were not deny'd;
But then his subsequent disgrace
By rhetoric was amplify'd.
By what means, or by what discovery,
Her Friend reply'd, can you be sure,
That Angravalle's past recovery,
That he is even past your cure?
There's a disorder we call Fumbling,
Amongst the men call'd Fighting shy,
Teazing, tumbling, squeezing, mumbling,
Still worse and worse, the more they try.

Upon our skill in this disease
All our whole happiness depends;
All our importance, all our ease,
All our pow'r of obliging friends.
We must, when call'd to their assistance,
Chearfully undergo the Law:
'Tis death to them to shew resistance,
And worse than death to laugh, or pshaw.
With all their humours, all their fancies,
In every form, in every shape,
We must comply; nay, make advances,
To help them out of such a scrape.
'Tis by this single piece of skill
That I command and rule,
And make my headstrong mule
Submit entirely to my will.
Bindocchia, indeed, I fear,
That you, like many a haughty Beauty,
Think that your goods ought to come clear
Of every charge, and every duty:
And so they will, my dear, by smuggling;
But the foundation must be laid

By honest industry and struggling;
By credit in a lawful trade.
Have you, with both your mind and might,
Endeavour'd to set matters right?
Casting her eyes upon a crucifix,
That hung within her cousin's bed;
Bindocchia said, I have try'd all the tricks
That ever enter'd in a head.
I could as soon persuade those thieves
To steal away, and leave their crosses;
Or the fall'n tree with wither'd leaves
To rise and to repair its losses.
There never will be life within that lump,
Till the dead rise at the last trump.
Paulina, this is my decree,
My spouse must have a Coadjutor;
His Friend, all precedents agree,
Should be preferred to every suitor.
I need not tell you whom I mean,
Nor ask my Friend to go between:
He has had innuendos many:
But make Niceno understand,

That any scruples, if he has any,
Are just like letters wrote on sand;
Or like the fears of truant boys,
Which interrupt their brisk career,
And for a moment damp their joys,
But the next moment disappear;
Or like a boy in brief dispute,
Whether it is a sin to pull
A pocket full of tempting fruit,
And rob an orchard that's quite full:
Nature decides, and doubt no longer hampers;
He fills his pockets, and he scampers.
In fine,
Paulina relish'd her design;
Her friend, by the same guard escorted,
Return'd to her old station.
That night Paulina, 'tis reported,
Finish'd her negotiation:
Her arguments had so much weight,
Niceno gave up the debate.
Bindocchia, put upon her mettle,
Assembles and convenes

Her powers, and all her wits, to settle
And find out ways and means:
She had not been an hour acquainted
With her Friend's motion and success,
Till she was taken ill and fainted,
And carry'd off, and forc'd t'undress.
Her mouth was drawn aside and purs'd,
Her head turn'd like the flying chair
That children ride in at a fair;
Her stomach swell'd, and like to burst.
All night in bed she made a riot,
Her husband thought she was possess'd,
She never had a moment's quiet,
Nor he a single minute's rest.
Just at the time that the cock crew,
Out of the bed Bindocchia flew;
In the next chamber was a water-closet,
Where she began to grunt and moan,
As if she was making a deposit,
And was delivering a stone.
Her husband rose and follow'd near;
And, if she had been off her guard,

She could have heard with half an ear,
He puff'd, and fetch'd his breath so hard;
By smothering his cough he kept a wheezing,
Which for a list'ner is as bad as sneezing.
Hearing him wheeze, she blew a gale,
That seem'd to issue from behind,
And made her husband turn his sail,
And brush away before the wind.
So well did she perform her part,
Trumpeting with her mouth and hand;
He had no mistrust of any art,
Or any dealings contraband.
At every foul report and crack,
That she in agony let fly,
He mov'd, and slunk a little back,
Like a judicious able spy.
Scarce were they laid till he began to snore:
Bindocchia started out of bed once more,
And soon spoil'd Angravalle's snoring;
He thought it was a kettle-drum,
For never any mortal bum
Made such a rattling and roaring.

Again he was upon his feet,
Again she was all wind and griping;
Again he made a safe retreat,
The instant that he heard her wiping.
His jealous freaks were never so kept under,
But they would quickly shoot and flower,
To every one's astonishment and wonder,
Like mushrooms in a thunder-shower.
The moment he began to doze,
It was in vain to think of sleeping;
She started up, whipt on her cloaths,
Ran off, and he came after creeping.
Till broad day-light,
There was no sign at all of ending,
For she kept going all the night,
And he kept list'ning and attending.
The female cousins, with much laughter,
Concerted all the scenes hereafter.
Next day, the better to impose,
She kept her bed, fatigu'd with purging;
And yet Bindocchia often rose,
Her provocations were so urging.

The night was like the night before,
Hurrying, trumpeting, dispatching;
The same attendant at the door
For ever listening and catching,
Till he was weary'd out and spent,
And quite convinc'd no harm was meant.
At three o'clock that very morning
(An hour convenient for horning)
Niceno, punctual to his call,
In the next chamber was in waiting,
Convey'd thro' a window of the hall,
Without much doubting and debating.
There was no servant there to fear,
Except the Mute, and none slept sounder,
And she so deaf, she could not hear
Ev'n an eight-and-forty pounder.
The Gardener, by way of Groom,
The only one watchful and able,
Laid at a distance in a room
Over the stable.
And now Bindocchia went to reap
The fruits of all her labour;

Whilst Angravalle was asleep,
She entertain'd his neighbour,
He was so pleasant and engaging,
She stay'd with him three hours at least;
And, though he wak'd coughing and raging,
Her Husband could not spoil their feast.
They went on joyously, for nothing caring,
(So keen is hunger)
Regarding him no more than a cheese-paring,
Or a Cheesemonger.
She groan'd, she trumpeted, and crack'd,
And made a noise so diabolic,
You would have sworn she had been rack'd,
And torn to pieces with the cholic.
I may thank you for all I feel,
Cry'd she, to Angravalle, coughing;
If one was made of brass or steel,
You soon would wear one out to nothing.
Three months with cold have I been dying,
By your ingenious way of lying;
Such usage is not to be borne,
Tossing and kicking cloaths and sheets!

And never cover'd night nor morn!
I could lie better in the streets I
Thus things being come to a conclusion,
Niceno stole away, she shut up shop,
Jump'd into bed without the least confusion,
Scolded a while, and slept sound as a top.

END OF THE FIRST PART.