The Knight, the Lawyer's Wife, and the Little Dog

It happened not long since, In Mantua-town
 there lived a man, well born, who lacked for naught,
 who spent his youth clad in the flowing gown 
 of those who study what the law has taught.
Silanus was his name, of high renown.

A noble and a virtuous wife he sought,
 and one near by, most beautiful he found,
 who to his fame and honor would redound.

Her ways so winning and so gracious were,
 she seemed all love and loveliness combined.
She was, perhaps, more amorous, I fear,
 than was conducive to his peace of mind.
As soon as he had won and married her,
 no husband more suspicious could you find:
And yet he had no reason save this cause:
 that she *too* lovely and too /loving/ was.

In the same city lived a noble knight
 whose ancient lineage was held in awe,
 for he descended from that race of might
 which sprang from teeth sown from a serpent's jaw,
 whence Manto too descended,
 and some write that its beginnings thence Mantua saw.
Adonio the knight was named;
 and he this lovely lady loved most ardently.

And to achieve fulfilment of this love
 the knight began without restraint to spend on clothing and on feasts,
 his worth to prove, and lustre to his reputation lend.
Such squandering would soon the treasure of Tiberius the Emperor expend.
I do not think two winters had gone by
 before his patrimony had run dry.

The house, which formerly from morn to eve
 was thronged with all his friends, deserted is,
 for they depart as soon as they perceive
 there will be no more quails and partridges.
The leader of the partying they leave;
 almost a /beggar's/ portion is now his,
And he resolves, since all his wealth is flown,
 to seek asylum where he is unknown.

Without a word to anyone at all,
 one morning he departs;
 with tears and sighs  he walks along the lake outside the wall.
His lady (nay, his queen) is in no wise forgotten
 for she holds him still in thrall.

Now as he wanders in this woeful guise,
 Lo! Fortune turns her wheel to lift him high
 from grief to joy supernal, by and by...





A peasant with a cudgel, thick and stout,
 he sees belabouring a bush,
 and so he stops and asks him what he is about.
The peasant's answer to Adonio                             (L)
 is that "I saw a snake, I 'ave no doubt.
 There in the undergrowth I saw it go,
  the longest, thickest which has ever been,
  the oldest too which ever /could/ be seen.
 I am determined not to go away till I have found and killed the snake";

The knight was angered by the things he heard him say.
Since /he/ *liked* snakes, his patience was but slight.
It was his forebear's custom to display a serpent as their emblem,
 and of right, in pious memory of how they sprang from a snake's teeth,
 as many poets sang.

With words and deeds he makes the peasant drop the task in hand
 and soon, though grumblingly,
 he is persuaded he had better stop.
The serpent is not killed, nor yet will be pursued or hurt;
The sport being given up, the knight resumes his way
 and finally a region reaches where, by all unknown
 he lives for seven years in grief and moan.

Distance and straitened means
 (which do not give the thoughts much freedom to go wandering)
 Love's ruthless hold on him do not relieve.
His heart is burning yet, his wounds still sting.
At last he knows he can no longer live
 without the solace she alone can bring;
So, bearded, bowed with sorrow, and ill-clad,
 he travelled back where he departed had.


It happened now, that Mantua had to send
 a legate to the papal court at Rome,
 who with His Holiness would have to spend
 a time unspecified ere he came home.
The lots are drawn, the judge gets the short end.
Ill-omened day!  What sorrow was to come!
He made excuses, promised, bribed, and pleaded,
 but to the people's will at last conceded.

The pain and grief seem no less hard to bear
 than if he saw his bosom torn apart
 and if a cruel hand should then appear
 and mercilessly snatch away his heart.
His face is ashy pale with jealous fear.
What will his wife do when they are apart?
He tries all means to make his wife obey him;
 he begs and pleads that she will not betray him.

He says "Not beauty, not nobility, not fortune                    (L)
  will suffice to raise a wife to highest honour and esteem
  if she neglects to lead a chaste and seemly life."
He says "Most valued is that chastity
  which tested, does not yield, whate'er the strife.
 Now my departure will provide a chance
  for you to practice wifely abstinence."

With words like these and many others too
 he tried to coax his consort to be chaste.
She wept and promised that she would be true.                 (R)
Her tears along her cheeks each other chased.
She could not bear to think he had to go.
She swore the sun in heaven whould be effaced
 ere she so cruel to her love would be;
She'd rather /die/ than *think* of it, said she.

Though he believed her promises and vows
 and by her tears was /somewhat/ reassured,
 his mind was not at rest about his spouse
 till further information be procured
 (and further grief, which this was bound to cause).
He had a friend (whom would he had abjured!):
Of every sorcery and magic art
 he knew the whole -- at least the /greater/ part.

He begged the sorcerer and wheedled him
 his wife Susanna's constancy to test:
Would she be faithful in the interim,
 or would she in temptation prove unchaste?
The fortune-teller yielded to his whim.
Choosing the moment which he judged was best,
 he charted out each aspect of the sky.
The judge returned next day for his reply.

The lips of the astrologer were sealed.
He did not wish to cause the lawyer pain.
Making excuses, he tried not to yield,
 but when he saw his efforts were in vain,
 that she *would* be unfaithful, he revealed,
 after Silanus left from his domain.
Not /beauty/, not /entreaties/ would induce her,
 the bribery of *riches* would seduce her.

How such a warning from the spheres above,
 combined with doubts which had assailed him first,
 weighed on Silanus' heart, if /you/ know love,
 you can imagine for yourself.
The worst affliction, so the lawyer judges,
 of all those with which his soul is now accurst,
 is knowing that his consort's chastity
 by *avarice* thus overcome will be.

He took all the precautions he could take
 to stop her falling into such a pit.
(Want is a master which can sometimes make
 a man appear to have lost all his wit.)
Jewels and gold (of which he has no lack)
 he gives to her to use as she sees fit;
Income and benefits from all his lands,
 all that he has, he places in her hands.







He said, "Feel free to spend it as you will,            (L)
  not only for your pleasures and your needs:
 Squander it, lavish, throw away, or sell,
  do as you wish, whatever Fancy bids.
 I hold you for *one* thing accountable.
 When Fate at last my footsteps homeward leads,
  if you restore *yourself* /intact/ to me,
  do as you like with *all* my property."

He begs her, till she hears of his return,
 to leave the thronging city far away
 and to their villa prudently adjourn,
 in rustic sweet contentment there to stay.
The humble folk who work from early morn till eve,
 tending the sheep or making hay,
 unlikely are, he thinks, to tempt his wife,
 who chastely longs to live an unstained life.

Susanna held her lovely arms embraced
 about her apprehensive husband's neck,
 wetting his countenance with tears
 which raced like a small river that she could not check.
It saddened her to think,
 as if unchaste she were,
 he sought to keep her thus in check;
"My manners have not been so light and vicious,"            (R)
 she says, "To move you to be thus suspicious."

Long it would be if I were to repeat
 what at their parting by them both was said.
"Be careful of my honour, I entreat,"                      (L)
 he says at last and mounts upon his steed.
He turned: his heart no longer seems to beat;
 it is as if it left his breast indeed.
He rides away: to follow him she seeks
 with eyes which overflow and drench her cheeks.


Meanwhile... Adonio, forlorn and sad and bearded, as I said before, and wan,
 some progress on his homeward journey made.
Not recognized, he hoped, by anyone,
 he reached the lake where he had given aid to an old serpent
 which a countryman was busy searching for amidst the scrub,
 wanting to kill it with his heavy club.

He had arrived just at the break of day
 when a few stars still twinkled in the sky.
A damsel came towards him on the way, attired for travel;
Though escorted by no page or maid,
 in every other way she seemed to be of noble birth and high.
She gave him greeting with a friendly smile
 and afterwards addressed him in this style:

"Although you do not know me, cavalier,                 (L)
  I am your kinswoman /and/ in your debt.
 First, how we are related you must hear:
 We both descend from the dragon.
 I who set the first stone of a village yonder there
  am Manto: and my name is living yet in /Mantua/,
  for as perhaps you know 'twas thus *I* named the city long ago.

"I am a sorceress.  
 Let me explain just what this fateful status signifies.
 We are so born that all ills we sustain,               (L)
  save only *death*;
 But you must realize our immortality is tinged with pain
  as sharp as death and all that it implies.
 For, every seventh day we have to take  another shape,
  the dread form of a snake.

"We see our bodies slither on the ground.               (L)
 We see them clad in ugly reptile scales.
 In all the world no equal grief is found;
  each sorceress her curse`d state bewails.
 The debt I owe to you I will expound
  as well as what a serpent's life entails,
  for when we change our forms, as you must see,
  we are exposed to endless jeopardy.

"No creature is so hated as a snake                     (L)
  and we who its appearance must put on
  suffer relentless outrage and attack,
  for we are chased and hit by everyone.
 If refuge underground we do not take
  we feel the weight of weapons swung and thrown.
 Better it *were* to /die/
  than to remain /lamed/ and /disabled/ by the blows which *rain*.

"My obligation to you thus is great,                    (L)
  for, once when you were passing through this grove,
  you rescued me from an unhappy fate.
 Beating around a bush, a peasant strove to kill me;
  but for you, the sorry state I'd have been in does not bear thinking of,
  with fractured skull, crippled, and broken-backed
  (though power to /destroy/ me he had lacked).

"For on the days when slithering we trail  our bodies   (L)
  in a snake's shape, full of fear;
  at *other* times submissive to our will,
  Heaven our incantations does *not* hear.
 At other times, we speak: the sun stands still,
  its light is minished, darkness clouds its sphere,
  the earth, no longer stable, spins and wheels,
  ice burns, and fire freezes and congeals.

"I am here now to give you a reward                     (L)
  for the great favor which you did me then.
 No boon that you can ask me is too hard,
  now I no longer wear my viper's skin.
 Your father left you rich,
  but as my ward you will be *thrice* as rich.
 Never again will you be poor.
 Henceforth the more you spend the more your wealth will grow, and never end.







"By that same knot you are still bound, I know,         (L)
  which Love in former years about you tied.
 The manner and the method I will show
  whereby your longings may be satisfied.
 I hear her husband is abroad;
  with no delay I want this venture to be tried:
 Seek out your lady at her country seat.
 I will come with you, if you will permit."

And she proceeded to explain what guise he must adopt,
 how he must dress, how speak,  how he must pledge his suit, and how entice.
Meanwhile she plans the form that /she/ will take,
 for she is able to assume disguise
 (save on the days when she becomes a snake)
 as any creature she desires to be
 of all of Nature's vast variety.

She dressed him in a pilgrim's garb,
 like one who begs for alms for God from door to door.
/She/ changed into a dog,
 so tiny none so small was seen in Nature's world before.
Its long-haired coat whiter than ermine shone.
Of pleasing little tricks it had a store.
Disguised like this,
 together they draw near  the country-dwelling of Susanne the fair.

At first outside the gates the young man stopped
 and on some pipes at once began to play.
The little dog reared up and danced and hopped.
The sound was heard both near and far away.
His lady to the window went and propped her elbows;
 then to Adonio sent to say
 that he was welcome in her court below.
(The judge's destiny had willed it so.)

Adonio accepted and began to put the little dog through all its paces.
In dances, foreign /and/ Italian,
 with entrechats its steps it interlaces.
Obeying orders like a little man,
 it bows and pirouettes and volte-faces,
 and so amazed are all who watch it
 that they scarcely breathe and not an eyelid bat.

Susanna, by amazement overcome,
 longed to possess the charming animal
 and offered, through her nurse, a goodly sum.
The wily pilgrim had no wish to sell
 and he returned an answer with aplomb
 (instructed by the sorceress):
 "Not all the wealth which *female* greed could satisfy       (R)
 one single paw of this my dog could buy."

To show the nurse the truth of what he said
 he drew her confidentially aside.
He told the dog, which did as it was bade,
 a bright new golden ducat to provide.
It shook itself: a *coin* was promptly /shed/.
He gave it to the nurse and added,
 "I'd be glad to hear if you can name a price                 (R)
 which for a dog so *useful* /could/ suffice.
"Whatever treasure I request of it,                           (R)
  I never come away with empty hands.
 Pearls, rings, and bracelets tumble at my feet,
  sometimes a fine brocaded garment lands.
 But tell your lady, though no gold could meet the price
  (and this make sure she understands)
 If she will let me lie with her *one* night,
  I'll let her have this dog for her delight."

The little dog shook out a gem, unmatched,
 intended by Adonio for his love.
The nurse all these proceedings closely watched;
She rated the dog's value high above
 the ten or twenty marks she was despatched to offer:
And her lady she then strove  to influence to buy the dog;
The cost  was such that what she paid would not be lost.

At first the fair Susanna hesitates;
Partly, she does not wish to break her word;
 partly, the miracles the nurse relates
 appear impossible, if not absurd.
The nurse keeps on at her and nags and prates:
"Rarely has fortune good as this occurred!"                (L)
Susanna yields, and sets a day to see the dog
 where fewer witnesses there'll be.

And when Adonio appeared once more
 the judge's honour was as good as dead.
For as doubloons were scattered by the score
 and strings of pearls and countless gems were shed,
 Susanna's heart was melted to the core.
Learning he was no *pilgrim*,
 but instead the /knight/ who long ago for love of her had left,
 she lowered the last barrier.

The urgings of her nurse (no prude was she!),
 her lover's pleas, his presence in her room,
 the gain he spreads before her temptingly,
 the prolonged absence of the judge in Rome,
 the hope that she would not discovered be,
 Susanna's chaste resolve soon overcome;
She took his little dog, and for his labor, 
 gave him free leave to 'play upon her tabor'.

Adonio long enjoyed the fruit he plucked.
His lady by the spell was set alight with love and greed,
 and only with reluctance let the little dog out of her sight.

The sun through all his signs a year had clocked
 before the judge was granted a respite.
He left at last - but with misgivings filled,
 by the astrologer's forecast instilled.

When he arrived he went at once to call on the astrologer:
Was his wife chaste, or did she, as he had predicted, fall?
A chart was plotted by the seer in haste
 which figured the position of the pole,
 and every planet in its mansion placed.
Then he replied that just as he had feared, and had foretold,
 the judge's wife had erred.

His wife by precious gifts seduced had been
 and fallen prey to a skilled predator.
The judge's heart received a blow so keen,
 it pierced him deeper than a dagger or a lance;
But first the truth to ascertain
 (although of the diviner he was sure),
 he went to find the nurse,
 and all his skill in questioning he used, to make her tell.

Approaching in wide circles, round and round  he went,
 trying his best to scent the trace.
At first no vestige anywhere he found,
 despite the care he lavished on the case.
The nurse, who was no novice, held her ground.
She just said "No" with an impassive face.
More than a month she fenced so skillfully
 he dangled between doubt and certainty.

How sweet his doubt would seem if he but knew
 the grief and pain which certainty would bring!
His soft speech and his presents nothing drew;
 the nurse could not persuaded be to sing.
None of the keys he played upon rang true,
 so, wisely, he deferred his questioning
 until she had a quarrel with his wife:
Where women are, are arguments and strife.

As he expected, so it came about:
 a tiff between the women soon occurred.
The nurse at once returned to him,
 without being asked, and every detail, every word,
 reported to him, leaving nothing out.
The pain he suffered when the truth he heard, his consternation,
 would be long to tell;
A prey to *madness* soon the husband fell.

And he resolved in an excess of rage to end it all,
 but *first* to kill his spouse:
 by the same blade his sorrow to assuage and her misdeeds to punish;
 back he goes to town a trusty henchman to engage,
 and, driven by the frenzy of his woes,
 he sends him to the villa straight away,
 giving strict orders which he must obey.

The henchman is to seek the judge's wife
 and in his name inform her
 that he lies stricken with fever so severe
 his life hangs by the merest thread;
 not otherwise escorted she must come to see him,
 if she /loves/ him -- and on this the judge relies;
He bids the trusty henchman also note
 that on the way he is to cut her throat.







The servant went to do his master's will.
The lady seized her dog, and on her steed set out;
The dog had cautioned her, but still advised her on her journey to proceed;
She could rely upon its canine skill
 to give her what assistance she might need.
It had /already/ planned what it would do
 when finally too close the danger grew.

The henchman left the highway far behind.
Along strange, solitary paths he rode.
Then to a stream he came, as he designed,
 which to the river from the mountains flowed.
Here a dark wood its branches intertwined;
 no city was nearby, and no abode.
This seemed a quiet, likely spot to him
 to execute his master's cruel scheme.

The henchman bared his deadly weapon now;
 but first he told her of the gruesome task  he must perform
 (he did this to allow her to confess her sins, and pardon ask).
She *disappeared* -- I cannot tell you how --
 behind what must have been a magic mask,
 just as the blow descended;
 everywhere he sought her, then could only stand and stare.

And to the judge returning, much dismayed,
 his face expressing deep astonishment,
 he told him everything that passed,
 and said he still could not account for the event.
The husband did not know Susanna had the help of Manto --
 whether by intent or oversight, the nurse omitted it,
 though she had told him every other bit.

He wonders what to do;
 the grave affront is unavenged, his woes remain the same;
 his anguished heart has still to bear the brunt;
 what was a mote has now become a beam;
The case /was/ secret, but a full account will soon be known to many,
 thanks to him.
Susanna's sin could have remained concealed,
 but his to all the world will be revealed.

Now that his consort knows his evil plan,
 (the wretched husband sees this very well),
 She'll never to his rule submit again;
 and his dishonour will be visible if she takes shelter with another man;
The mockery will be unbearable.
Perhaps she'll even fall a victim to a lewd seducer who's a pander too.

Hoping the worst disasters to prevent,
 throughout all Lombardy, in every town,
 letters and messengers in haste he sent 
  to ask her whereabouts and track her down;
Then in pursuit of her in person went;
No path was unexplored, unturned no stone,
 yet not a single clue could he uncover,
 nor any news of where she was discover.



At last he called the henchman
 whom he bade perform the cruel deed which came to naught,
 and went with him to where Susanna had concealed herself.
By day, the husband thought,
 she might have hidden in the bush
 and made, when darkness fell, for shelter in a hut.
The henchman led the way towards the wood
 (as he /believed/) but there a *palace* stood!

Susanna's sorceress (at her request)
 had conjured up with instantaneous effect
 an alabaster palace, dressed with gold inside and out,
 more beauteous than heart has ever dreamed or tongue expressed,
 in all its contents rich and sumptuous.
The loveliest palace /now/ beneath the sun
 would seem a *hovel* by comparison.

The judge (as I was saying) came upon this palace suddenly
 where nothing but a forest /should/ have been;
 and like a stone he stood, so great were his surprise and doubt.
Amazed, he wondered if his wits had flown,
 or if he was asleep or drunk;
 a /hut/ he might have credited perhaps,
 but /this/ beyond *belief* in his opinion is.

Before the gate he sees an Ethiop, broad-nosed, thick-lipped;
 the judge would roundly swear *this* of all ugly faces is the top.
Comparison with Aesop he would bear.
The music of the spheres would surely stop
 if this monstrosity in heaven were.
Greasy and dirty, like a beggar dressed --
 still only half his squalor is expressed.

Silanus (who no other person spies),
 longing to know who owns this fine abode,
 questions the Ethiop, and he replies,
 "This house is mine."                                        (R)
Silanus, in no mood for foolery, is certain that he lies.
And yet in spite of threats the negro stood his ground
 and reaffirmed repeatedly
 that the sole owner of the house was he.

And he invites Silanus on a tour:
 would he not like to see inside?  
If there is anything which takes his fancy
 for himself or for his friends,
 as if it were his own he is to take it.  
Without more ado, the judge dismounts (his squire is near)
 and, through the sumptuous apartments led,
 the house from top to bottom visited.

Woven with costliest materials,
 curtains and arrases and tapestry adorned the cellars, outhouses, and stalls,
 as well as rooms prepared for company.
The tables glitter in the dining halls with gold and silver vessels;
 gems they see carved into goblets, cups,
 and many a plate red, blue, and green, and silken cloth ornate.



To the design, the site, the taste, the skill,
 the opulence, the judge attention pays.
"Not all the gold on earth would meet the bill          (L)
  for such a noble edifice," he says.
The Moor replies,
"There's *one* thing which I will accept for it, and which the price defrays:
 Not gold or silver, but a payment which                (R)
  /costs/ you so little that it /leaves/ you *rich*."

And to the judge he put the same request
 which to his wife Adonio had made.
Silanus thinks, so deep is his disgust,
 the Ethiop is bestial and mad.
Rejected twice, three times, the Moor still pressed,
 in many ways attempting to persuade.
The palace won the day and, as he hoped,
 to his vile wish at last Silanus stooped.

Susanna, hiding all this time quite close,
 seeing her husband fall, at once leapt out and cried,
"Ah!  What a venerable pose for one so learned and of such repute!"
Discovered in a deed so vile and gross,                       (R)
 Silanus blushed bright scarlet and was mute.
O earth! why did you not split open wide
 that he might plunge into your depths and hide?

Excusing what *she* did,
 she poured reproach upon Silanus till his eardrums split:
"What punishment in justice could approach                    (R)
  the sin which with this *monster* you commit?
 To *Nature's* urge I yielded
  and with such a lover -- handsome, noble, as was fit!
 For this, you tried to *kill* me,
  though as naught this palace is to the rare gift he brought.

"And if you think that I deserved to die,                     (R)
  you ought to die a *hundred* times;
  but though here, in this place,
  I have such strength that I could do with you just as I liked,
  yet no more vengeance I desire;
 Let us then try to give and take on /equal/ terms.
 And so husband, on *this* bargain let's agree:
 I'll pardon you, if you will pardon me.

"Let us make peace,                                           (R)
  in mutual accord let our past sins to Limbo be consigned,
  and let us ne'er again in deed or word
  each other of each other's lapse remind."
These terms the husband thought he could afford
 and to forgive he was not disinclined.
Thus joined once more in peace and harmony,
 for ever after they lived happily.