The Power of Love

Naples, a famous city in Italy, is renowned for its wealth, noble citizens, splendid buildings, pleasant location, and great beauty. It is crowned with many gardens and adorned with crystalline fountains, lovely ladies and elegant gentlemen. Laura was born there, a rare miracle of nature, and so exquisite that, among the most beautiful and elegant ladies of the city, she was considered a heavenly wonder. Experts in the city had made a list of the eleven most beautiful women and selected from the eleven three, and Laura was one of the eleven and also one of the three. She was her parents' third child, following two brothers who were as virtuous and noble as she was beautiful. Her mother died giving birth to her, leaving her father as tutor and comfort to the three lovely children who, although motherless, had their father's wise concern to make up for this lack.

Their father, don Antonio was his name, was of the Garrafa family, closely related to the duke and duchess of Nochera. He was lord of Piedrablanca, an estate located four miles from Naples, although he maintained his house and center of activity in town.

Don Alejandro, don Carlos, and Laura were brought up with all the care and attention that their noble position required. Their father made every effort to see that they were worthy of their nobility and wealth, training the children in the manners and exercises appropriate to a lovely lady and fine gentlemen. The beautiful Laura lived with the modesty and decorum befitting such a rich and important young

lady. She was the apple of her father's eye, her brothers' delight, and the splendor of the city.

The one who most doted on Laura was don Carlos, the younger of the two brothers. He loved her so dearly that he outdid himself to please her. This was not surprising given Laura's grace, beauty, charm, discretion, and above all her modesty, which charmed not only her relatives but even those people who had only casual contact with her.

Her modesty needed no mother, for not only did her father and brothers keep vigilant watch over her beauty, her own chaste and pure thinking carefully governed her behavior. When she reached the age of discretion, she could no longer deny her company to the prominent ladies who were her relatives. For this, her great beauty would have to pay its price to misfortune.

It was the custom in Naples for maidens to attend parties and soirees given in the viceroy's palace and in other private homes of the nobility. This practice isn't considered proper in other parts of Italy; indeed, in many places maidens aren't even permitted to go to mass, a custom imposed by long tradition despite the efforts of ecclesiastical and lay authorities to change it.

At last, endowed with her beauty and her modesty, Laura went forth to see and to be seen, although, if she'd remembered the goddess Diana, she wouldn't have trusted in her modesty. Her splendid eyes were mortal basilisks to men's souls, her grace, a monster to endanger their lives, her wealth and noble condition, bait to the desires of a thousand gallant youths of the city, all of whom hoped to enjoy her great beauty in marriage.

Among the many suitors who served Laura, the most notable was don Diego Pinatelo. He was a discreet gentleman of the noble house of the dukes of Monteleon, rich and so enviable in all his qualities that it wasn't surprising that, self-confidently, he felt sure he could win the beautiful Laura. He was certain that her family would want to have such a noble husband for their daughter because, among all the suitors for her lovely hand, don Diego was clearly superior. The moment he saw Laura, her beauty caused him to surrender his heart to her so passionately that he might have died, if it had been time for him to give up his life. (So powerful, sometimes, is the effect of beholding beauty.) He first saw her at a party given by one of the city's princes. Don Diego set eyes upon her and fell head over heels in love. His love was so intense at that moment that he felt as if he'd loved her forever, and he wanted to let her know this.

Another custom in Naples was that at parties there was a master of ceremonies who would lead the ladies out to dance and give them to a gentleman chosen by him. Don Diego took advantage of this custom; undoubtedly money was exchanged, and scarcely had he warmed the master's hands when he found in his own hands those of the beautiful Laura, just in time to dance a galliard. This arrangement did him little good, however, because his passion, inflamed by her icy aloofness, led him to blurt: "My lady, I adore you." Instantly, the beautiful lady excused herself, feigning some indisposition. She left him and returned to her seat. This made don Diego very sad, and everyone who was watching the dance wondered what had happened. Throughout the rest of the party, don Diego suffered deep remorse and despaired. He did not merit a single glance from Laura, not because the beautiful lady wasn't attracted by don Diego's appearance, but because she felt constrained to uphold her modesty as she always had.

Night came and the party ended, which was sad for don Diego because Laura went home and he likewise had to go home. He went to bed (a common recourse for the sorrowful, who consult their pillows as if pillows could offer comfort). He tossed and turned and complained bitterly about his misfortune—if indeed it was a misfortune to have seen the beauty who was driving him crazy. If Laura had heard his complaints on this occasion, she might have felt more kindly disposed toward him than she had shown herself that afternoon.

"Alas!" the wounded youth lamented. "My heavenly Laura, how cruelly you reacted to those ill-fated words I uttered! If only you could know that my soul is more yours than the one you bear within you. There can be no offense against your honor or your family for, clearly, if I intend to employ my soul in your service, I'll make you my wife and in no way will your good name suffer. Is it possible, beloved mistress mine, that one so beautiful can have a heart so cruel it won't let you understand that now I've seen you, I'm not the same person I was before? I've lost my heart and I feel empty. Everything I am I've surrendered to your beauty. If I offend you in doing this, blame your beauty, for once human eyes behold it, they must desire it. There can be no other choice but to love you. Nothing seems more rational than for me to call myself your slave.

"Poor me! But I complain without cause. Since Laura's careful about her modesty and decorum, she was obliged to treat me harshly. It would have been improper for her to accept my love the very mo-

ment it commenced. Scarcely had my desire been born when I declared it to her. I'm rich; in nobility, my parents are in no way inferior to hers, so why should I despair? If I formally ask for her hand in marriage, why should her father refuse to give her to me? Take courage, cowardly heart, just because you love, you shouldn't fear. My misfortune can't be so great that I won't obtain what I desire so much."

Don Diego spent the night thinking these thoughts, sometimes heartened by his hopes, sometimes discouraged by his fears, as is natural in lovers. Meanwhile, the beautiful Laura had been profoundly affected by the sight of the handsome don Diego. In her memory, she kept hearing him say, "I adore you." Thoughtfully, as if loving were a crime, she pondered her freedom and the risks to her reputation; she decided to love him. Then guiltily, she chastised herself, thinking that if she accepted his love she was endangering her reputation. But if she rejected him, she was threatened by the same danger. Laura was the most confused woman on the face of the earth, sometimes encouraging her desires and sometimes struggling to repress them. These thoughts and worries caused her to avoid pleasurable activities. She wouldn't even talk with the people in her household. Then she began to seek occasion to see the cause of her passion.

The days slipped by and don Diego could do nothing but complain about his beloved mistress's disdain, for, even though she was in love, she granted him no favors. She only permitted him an occasional glimpse of her, and this she did so casually and nonchalantly that he never had a chance to tell her of his suffering. Although her own feelings might have led her to allow his courtship, the care with which she disguised her emotions was such that she hid the secret of her love even from her closest and most affectionate maids. Of course her sadness made her father and brothers suspicious and quite apprehensive. Don Carlos, in particular, noted her melancholy. Since he loved her most tenderly and trusted in their close relationship, he kept asking her what was causing her unhappiness. Noting that don Diego kept passing by their house, he came close to suspecting the source of her sorrow. But Laura blamed her poor health and managed to satisfy any doubts he might have had through her modesty and discretion. Even so, her family did not neglect keeping careful watch over her honor.

On one of the many nights don Diego spent outside Laura's house waiting for dawn to arrive, he brought a servant with him to play music and serve as his spokesman, since he had no other way to express his love to her. This servant had one of the sweetest voices in that

city so famous for its fine voices. He was to sing a ballad that don Diego had composed for this occasion about the love and fears he felt. He was jealous of a rich, noble gentleman, a good friend of Laura's brothers, who came to their house with frequency. Don Diego feared that her inattention to him might be caused by her love for this rival—a good example of how jealousy colors even innocent situations. On that night, the musician sang this ballad:

Oh, aspiring love,
if the mistress you have chosen,
already obliged, recognizes another
more fortunate master,
why do you wander lost,
following in her footsteps,
noting all her actions,
seeking to gaze upon her?
What good does it do
for you to ask favor from heaven,
the impossible from love,
change from time?
Why do you call on jealousy
when you know that
in the impossible love
jealousy favors the beloved?
If you desire to see your beloved
far away, you are foolish,
for it makes no sense to punish yourself
simply because you wish to punish her.
If you ask discord
to wound her breast,
clearly you will see pleasure
turn into grief.
If you tell your eyes
to state their feeling,
you see that they accomplish little
no matter how tenderly they look.
If the one who could bring you
remedy for your ills,
one who is a faithful friend,
always gracious,
is also a prisoner
to that proud angel,
how can he help you
in your amorous enterprise?
If only in your love
you were to receive a reward,

if your mistress were to say
I feel sorry for you.
You look at your mistress
and see her unloving,
but even this disappointment
cannot change your desire.
You are like Tantalus
who sees the fleeting crystal
that he can never taste
reaching almost to his lips.
If only you could merit
for your great feeling
some feigned deception,
for I fear you'll die;
your sorrows must be like
the suffering of purgatory;
but I see your pain so hopeless
that it equals the torments of hell.
But you've made your choice
and death is the only remedy
for it would be a cowardly act for you
to turn your back and flee.

Sitting behind the window blind, Laura had been listening to the song from the very beginning. She decided she had to defend her reputation, because the false suspicions expressed in don Diego's verses impugned her honor. And so, what love couldn't accomplish, her fear of losing her good name did. Her shame battled with her love and finally she made up her mind to defend herself. Seeing don Diego nearby, she opened the window and softly, so no one could hear, she whispered to him:

"My lord, don Diego, it would be a miracle if, being in love, you didn't feel jealousy. There has never been a love without jealousy, or jealousy without love, but the jealousy you feel is so unfounded that I feel obliged to speak with you, something I never intended to do. I'm deeply troubled to hear my reputation sullied by the words of your song and the music of the lute, and, worst of all, in the mouth of a musician who, because he's a servant, must be an enemy. I haven't scorned you for any other suitor; indeed, if anyone in the world merits my affection, it's you and you'll be the one to win me, if you're willing to take the risk. May your love pardon my daring and boldness in acting like this and in telling you that, from this day forward, you may consider yourself mine, just as I'll consider myself fortunate to think that I'm yours. Please believe that I'd never have spoken thus if

the night, with her dark mantle, didn't cloak my shame and the color that rushes to my face while I voice this truth. It was born the first day I saw you and has remained locked up inside me ever since. You're the only one who knows this. It would grieve me sorely if anyone were witness to my confession, except you who obliges me to confess."

Overcome by his emotion, the enamored don Diego, the happiest man on earth, was struggling to respond and thank the beautiful Laura, when she heard the doors of her house open and saw two swordsmen assault him so suddenly that, had he not been prepared and his servant not been standing by with drawn sword, he might never have gotten to pursue his amorous desires any further.

Laura saw the attack and recognized her two brothers. Fearing they might catch her, she closed the window as quietly as she could, ran to her room, and quickly went to bed, not to seek repose but rather to dissemble for, with her beloved in such danger, she would certainly find no rest.

When don Alejandro and don Carlos heard the music, they had leapt from their beds and, as I've described, run out with their swords drawn. Although their swordsmanship was not necessarily better than that of don Diego and his servant, it was luckier. During the struggle, don Diego was wounded and had to withdraw. He complained of his misfortune, but it might be more appropriate to call it good fortune because, when his parents learned the cause of the fight, they saw how their son would profit from such a noble marriage. Knowing that this was his desire, they sought intermediaries to present their petition to Laura's father. When Laura feared that the whole episode of the duel might cause eternal discord, she suddenly found herself wed to don Diego, much to everyone's delight. Their marriage brought such joy to the two lovers that it would be foolish to try to describe it in this brief account.

Who, recalling don Diego's love, his tears, his complaints, the burning desire in his heart, can hear about this marvelously happy outcome and not consider Laura terribly fortunate? Who can doubt that everyone who has amorous hopes will say: how I wish I were so fortunate and my troubles could have such a happy conclusion as those of this noble lady? Particularly those ladies who think only of their own desires. Similarly, who can look at don Diego enjoying in Laura the epitome of beauty, lavish wealth, the culmination of discretion, and a prodigy of love and not exclaim that heaven has never created a more fortunate man? Given their correspondence in all these fine

qualities, one would think at the very least that this love would be eternal. And it might have been, if Laura hadn't been unfortunate because of her beauty; if don Diego had not been mutable like all men—if his love hadn't been a prelude to neglect, if his nobility hadn't previously restrained his appetites. Laura's wealth didn't protect her from unhappiness, nor did her beauty from scorn, her discretion from neglect, her love from thanklessness. In this day and age, all these virtues are greatly prized but little valued.

What was lacking for Laura to be happy? Nothing. She trusted in love and believed that its power could overcome the greatest impossibility; but even though she was more beautiful than Venus, don Diego began to scorn her. Is it too much to ask that a man be faithful, particularly when he enjoys possession?

It happened that before don Diego fell in love with Laura, he had fixed his attentions on Nise, an attractive woman from Naples who, while not the "crème de la crème," was certainly not from the dregs of society. Her appearance, her qualities, and her estate were not so deficient that she didn't entertain high aspirations. She wanted to be don Diego's wife, as her noble condition might warrant, and so she had already granted him all the favors he'd sought and all she had to offer. During the early days and months of his marriage he had neglected Nise. She set out to discover the cause of his neglect and it didn't take her long, for there's always someone who'll tell. Since don Diego had never intended to be her husband, and the wedding had been public, he hadn't given a thought to Nise. She was terribly distressed by don Diego's marriage but, after all, she was a woman in love and always forgiving of offenses, even at the expense of her own reputation. Nise remained committed to don Diego; she thought she couldn't live without him. If she couldn't be his wife, at least she could continue to enjoy him as his mistress. To accomplish her goal, she barraged him with letters, she pressed him with tears and, finally, through her insistent pleading, she managed to get don Diego to come back to her house.

This was Laura's undoing. With all her art, Nise knew how to enamor don Diego all over again and now, because Laura was his, she seemed boring. Laura began to feel rejected because of don Diego's neglect, and she grew irksome with her jealous outbursts. Don Diego the solicitous, don Diego the persistent, don Diego the lover, don Diego who, at the beginning of their marriage, had said he was the happiest man in the world, not only denied that he'd ever been like

that, he even denied to himself any acknowledgment of his obligations. Men who spurn their wives so flagrantly give wings to offense; when a man's immorality becomes flamboyant, he comes perilously close to losing his honor. Don Diego started by being inattentive, by missing bed and board. He refused to acknowledge the sorrow he was causing his wife, for it's far easier to deny one's actions than to face up to them. He disdained her favors and, in his speech, he showed contempt for her. When a man behaves so badly, what can he expect? I don't know if I ought to say that he should anticipate some offense to his honor.

Laura noted the changes in her husband's behavior, and she began to express grief, first with tears and then with words, in an effort to deal with his scorn. When a woman shows how much she's affected by her husband's errors, she's lost. When Laura felt it necessary to express her unhappiness, she gave further cause to don Diego, not just to abuse her verbally but even to lay hands upon her, heedless of the infamy of such an act. Indeed, so greatly had he come to hate and loath her that he came home only occasionally to keep up appearances. Having to face Laura was worse than death to don Diego.

Laura tried to find out the cause of these changes in behavior, and she soon learned the whole story. Servants don't have to be tortured to tell all about the failings of their masters, and they don't restrict themselves to telling only true things, they also know how to make up the most elaborate lies. Servants have been called "prose poets" because of their talent for invention, a weakness common in those who cannot help themselves. The only good it did Laura to learn the cause of her misfortunes was to make her feel her sorrows more deeply. Her situation looked hopeless to her. When the will falters there can be no hope, that's why the proverb says, "Will once twisted can never be straightened." If the remedy doesn't come from the source of the injury, no matter what the illness, there can be no cure. That's why, generally, those who are lovesick seldom want to get well.

What Laura gained from finding out the truth about don Diego's licentious behavior was to cause him to become even more shameless, pursuing his desire with greater abandon. When his vice becomes public, the vicious man knows no restraint.

One day Laura saw Nise in church. With tears in her eyes, she begged Nise to give up her claims on don Diego. Laura told her that the only thing she was accomplishing was destroying her own honor and making Laura's life a living hell. Nise had reached the point of

no longer caring about her reputation, so she didn't fear falling any lower than she already had. She replied to Laura so sharply and rudely that what Laura had thought would be the solution to her sorrow left her feeling even more hopeless, and it left Nise even more determined to pursue her love at all costs. She lost all respect for God and for the rules of society. If previously she'd pursued don Diego quietly and modestly by sending him letters, gifts, and other little things, now, shamelessly, she and her servants openly came looking for him. This license increased Laura's torment and passion, for she saw even less possibility of solution than at first. She lived the most desolate life you can imagine, absolutely without hope. No wonder! She suffered from a jealousy worse than any ravaging illness.

Laura's father and brothers noticed her unhappiness, her strained appearance, and the loss of her beauty. (Naturally she hid her sorrow from them as best she could, fearing some tragic outcome.) Finally, however, they became aware of what was going on and of the evil life don Diego was leading, and they had many arguments and ugly disagreements with him about it, which ultimately turned into open enmity.

The sad and beautiful Laura spent some time in this torment. With each day that passed, her husband's liberties increased and her patience diminished. But you can't cry over your misfortunes all the time. One night she was up late, unable to sleep because of don Diego's tardiness and her constant worries; she was sure he was in Nise's arms. She decided to ease her sorrows by singing. (Some say this eases them, but I think it makes them worse.) She took up her harp, which Italian women play very well and, sometimes singing, sometimes bursting into tears, she sang this ballad, disguising don Diego's name as Albano:

Why, tyrant Albano,
if you worship Nise
and offer all the attentions
of your love to her beauty;
why, if your heart
is prisoner to her eyes,
and to your eyes her face
is such a beautiful image;
why if you entangle your love
in the prison of her hair
and she, so responsive to you,
rewards you with her love;

why, if from her mouth,
jewelbox full of lovely pearls,
you hear love's sweet sayings,
which greatly increase your joy,
why do you repay my constancy
with disloyalty and deception
when, because I love you,
I suffer such great torment?
And if truly you give
your heart to your Nise,
why don't you give me cruel death,
since you scorn me so?
Once you feigned for me
a loving tenderness;
why didn't you at least
let me live in ignorance?
But you have used your desire,
your will, and your power,
thankless lover, all to adore her,
and never even told me.
Can't you see it isn't right,
or just, or proper
to awaken one who sleeps,
especially one who loves,
just to make her sorrow?
Woe is me, so unfortunate!
What means do I have
to make this soul of mine
come home to its body?
Tyrant, give me back my soul;
but no, don't return it to me,
it's better for the body
to die for the sake of the soul.
Alas! if in your heart
Nise's soul dwells,
even though the soul is immortal,
the body still must surely die.
Heaven, pity me, for I am dying;
jealousy torments me
like ice that burns my soul,
like fire that chills my heart.
A thousand curses,
tyrannical Albano, on the one
who lets her soul get caught
in the prison of love.
Oh my eyes, let us weep
as many tender tears

as all the waters that the ocean deep
casts upon the sands.
And to the tune of jealousy,
instrument of my complaint,
while we weep, let us sing
sad mournful songs of love.
Listen carefully,
lofty, snowy, peaks,
and let your clear echoes
serve as my response.
Listen lovely little birds,
and with melodious tongue
you shall sing my jealousy
with your sweet voices.
My Albano adores Nise
and leaves me to my sorrows;
I suffer true passion.
I suffer real pain.
He lovingly celebrates
her heavenly beauty
and praises to the skies
letters written by her hand.
Ariadne, what say you
who weep and lament
the inconstancy of your lover,
his abuse, and his absence?
And you, afflicted Prometheus,
although you feel your flesh
ravaged by the eagle
and chained to the Caucasus,
you suffer, yes, but you do not feel
as much pain as I experience,
or any fears as great.
Unhappy Ixion,
you don't feel the wracking pain
of the wheel; what you feel
are all my torments.
Tantalus reaching for the water,
always unable to touch it,
never managing to taste it,
watching it retreat as you approach,
your grief is slight,
no matter how it's described,
for there is no greater pain
than that produced by jealousy.
Ungrateful wretch, may it please heaven
for you likewise to suffer jealousy,

and rage as I am raging,
and suffer as I am suffering.
And may that enemy of mine
cause you such jealousy
that, like Midas and all his gold,
you will be rich in sorrows!

Who wouldn't be deeply touched by Laura's complaints, sung sweetly and with such great feeling? Anyone but don Diego, who was proud of his infidelity. The moment Laura reached this part of her song, her faithless husband entered and heard her words. He well understood their meaning and reacted angrily to what should have affected him differently. What he should have prized and valued filled him with rage. He began to insult Laura and said such terrible, awful things that she burst into tears. Crystal torrents poured down her heavenly cheeks (scattering pearls the dawn might have used to decorate her May flowers and lovely spring meadows). At last, Laura said to him:

"What are you doing, you thankless wretch? How can you so abuse the freedom you enjoy with all your evil ways, with no respect for heaven and no fear of hell. What you ought to praise angers you. You should be ashamed that the whole world knows and the entire city is talking about your vicious excesses. It seems as if you were deliberately stirring my passion and driving me to offend against your honor. If it troubles you that I complain about your behavior, then remove the cause of my complaints or else end my weary life. I'm fed up with your sinful wrongdoing. Is this the way you treat my love? Is this the way you appreciate my affection? Is this the way you reward my suffering? Well, it's a wonder I haven't taken the cause of all my misfortune and torn her to shreds with my bare hands!

"Poor me, to be so unfortunate! No, I'm wrong to say 'poor me.' It would be more fitting to say 'poor you' because, with your vices, you're arousing heaven's wrath, which will surely descend upon you and open wide your way to hell. God will tire of putting up with you, the world is tired of having you around; and the one you idolize will surely give you your due reward. May all women who let themselves be deceived by men's promises learn a lesson from me. May women know that if all men are like you, then women are bound to expect? instead of live. What can any husband who behaves like you expect? Only that his wife, beyond caring about honor, may destroy his honor for him. Not that I'll do that, no matter what cause you give me in

your behavior, because I am who I am, and also because, to my misfortune, the great love I have for you would never let me dishonor you. But I fear that your evil ways will inspire other men, vicious like yourself, to try to take up where you leave off. I fear that the gossips and scandalmongers will imagine my dishonor and spread rumors. What man can look at a woman like me married to a husband like you, who wouldn't be as determined to win me as you are neglectful of me?"

These were such strong words that don Diego opened up the eyes of his heart as well as the eyes of his face, and he saw that Laura was right. But his heart was so filled with Nise that it remained empty of any sense of obligation. Overcome by an infernal rage, he rushed over to her and struck her so violently that the white pearls of her teeth, bathed in the blood shed by his angry hand, looked instead like red coral. Not satisfied with this, he drew his dagger, ready to free her from the yoke as burdensome to him as it was to her. The maids, who'd been trying to separate him from his wife, screamed even more loudly at the sight of the dagger and cried out to Laura's father and brothers.

Furiously they dashed into the room. When don Carlos saw don Diego's frenzy and Laura bathed in the blood that was still gushing from her mouth, he thought her husband had stabbed her. With a sense of dreadful grief, don Carlos attacked don Diego. He wrenched the dagger away from him and was about to thrust it through his heart, when the brazen don Diego, seeing himself in such imminent danger, embraced don Carlos. Laura threw her arms around don Carlos and begged him to come to his senses, saying:

"Oh, dear brother, with his life goes the life of your unfortunate sister!"

Don Carlos checked himself, and his father intervened between the two men and calmed things down. They all returned to their separate rooms. Don Antonio was afraid that it would be his downfall if there were scenes like that every day. He decided he couldn't bear to see with his own eyes the mistreatment of his beloved daughter Laura. The next day, he gathered up his entire household and both his sons and they went to Piedrablanca, abandoning the poor Laura to her unhappy fate. She was so sad and disconsolate to see them go that she wished she could die.

Laura had heard that there were women in the region who, through sorcery, could make the unloving love. Finding her love more despised

with each passing day, she decided to remedy her problem by this means, a mistake often made by passionate people. She arranged to have a sorceress brought to her. In Naples sorceresses enjoy such freedom to exercise their superstitions and schemes that they work their spells publicly. They do strange and amazing things that appear so true you almost have to believe in their powers. The viceroy and the clergy are concerned about this problem, as there's no restriction by the Inquisition or other punishment sufficient to frighten them, for in Italy the usual penalty is a small fine.

The intermediary whom Laura had charged with bringing the sorceress to her didn't tarry. The two were probably friends, for they all know one another. The woman came, and Laura sought to curry her favor with gifts (which is what these women really want). Encouraged by the sorceress's promises, Laura told her about her misfortunes and aroused her sympathy by her many tears. She used these words to make her request:

"My friend, if you can make my husband despise his mistress Nise and love me again as he did at the beginning of our marriage when he was more faithful and I happier, you will find in my satisfaction and gratitude how much I value your services. I'll give you half of all I possess. If this isn't enough, set your fee in terms of my need, state your own price and, if what I possess isn't enough, I'll sell my body to meet it."

The woman assured Laura of her qualifications and told her of the miracles she'd performed in similar cases. She made Laura feel that her request was so feasible that Laura believed success was a sure thing. The woman said she needed certain objects that Laura should obtain and bring to her in a little pouch: hairs from the head and beard and the teeth of a hanged man. With these tokens and a few other things, she would make don Diego change character so dramatically it would astound Laura. As for pay, she wanted only what the results were worth.

"Furthermore, my lady," the false sorceress went on, "all the beauty and all the wealth in the world aren't enough to make one happy without the help of spells such as mine. Why, if you only knew how many women enjoy peace with their husbands because of me, your fears would be allayed and you'd feel assured of your good fortune."

Laura felt very confused when she realized that the woman was asking her to obtain such difficult things. She had no idea how she could get hold of the hair and teeth of a hanged man. She gave the

woman a hundred gold escudos and, since money accomplishes miracles, she told her to find someone to obtain them for her.

The crafty sorceress (who wanted to prolong the cure in order to bleed the lady's purse and cover up her machinations) replied that she didn't know anyone she could trust and, besides, the power lay in the fact that Laura herself obtained those objects and gave them into her hands. Having said this, the sorceress departed, leaving Laura as sad and troubled as you can imagine.

Laura kept wondering how she could get the things the woman asked for, but every thought that occurred to her presented a thousand difficulties. Her only remedy was to shed torrents of tears from her beautiful eyes, because she couldn't think of a soul she could trust. Laura thought it was beneath the dignity of a woman like herself to stoop to such base activities. She was afraid of her servants' lack of discretion, and above all she feared that don Diego might find out. These thoughts only made her weep more and, wringing her hands, she said to herself:

"Unlucky Laura! How could you ever have expected to be lucky? Even when you were born, you cost your mother her life. Why not sacrifice your life to death! Oh Love, mortal enemy of mankind, how much evil you've brought to the world, especially to women who are weak in every way and so susceptible to deception. It seems as if you direct your full power and all your hostility against us women. I don't know why heaven made me beautiful, noble, and rich, if these qualities can't prevent misfortune. The many gifts nature and wealth have bestowed upon me have been powerless against the unlucky star under which I was born. If I am truly unlucky, what can life have in store for me?

"This wretched life is more sorrow than joy. To whom can I tell my sorrows? Who will help me? Who will listen to my complaints and be moved? Who will see my tears and dry them for me? No one. My father and my brothers abandoned me and left me helpless to avoid knowing about my plight. Even heaven, which comforts the afflicted, is deaf to my pleas. Alas, don Diego, who would ever have thought . . . ? But I should've thought, I should've known, for after all, you're a man, and men's deceptions exceed even the exploits of the devil himself. Men do greater evil than all the minions of hell. Where can a true man be found? In what man, especially when he knows he's loved, does love last more than a day? It's as if the more

a man knows he's loved, the more he scorns and abuses. Cursed be the woman who believes in men! In the end, she'll find her love rewarded just as I have. Seeing so many painful examples of the way men behave, what woman can be so foolish as to want to get married. And the very woman who thinks she's most likely to find happiness will be the one to fail most dismally.

"How can I have so little valor, such effeminate courage? How can I be such a coward that I don't strike dead the enemy of all my peace and the ingrate who treats me so harshly? But alas! I love him. I'm afraid to make him angry; I'm afraid I might lose him! Why, vain legislators of the world, do you tie our hands so that we cannot take vengeance. Because of your mistaken ideas about us, you render us powerless and deny us access to pen and sword. Isn't our soul the same as a man's soul? If the soul is what gives courage to the body, why are we so cowardly? If you men knew that we were brave and strong, I'm sure you wouldn't deceive us the way you do. By keeping us subject from the moment we're born, you weaken our strength with fears about honor and our minds with exaggerated emphasis on modesty and shame. For a sword, you give us the distaff, instead of books, a sewing cushion. Woe is me! What good do all these thoughts do? They don't solve my hopeless problem. What I must think about is how to get that sorceress the things she's asked for."

As Laura said this, she set her mind to thinking about what she might do. Again she began to lament. Anyone who heard Laura's laments would say that the power of love had reached its limit, but there were greater trials ahead. Night came, and it was the darkest and the most shadowy night of the winter (to show how night felt about her plan). She didn't take into account any risk or possible consequences of her acts should don Diego come home and find her absent from their house. She instructed her servants, if her husband did by chance return, to tell him she'd gone to visit one of her many women friends in Naples.

Laura put on one of her maid's cloaks, took a little lantern and, accompanied only by her vast fears, she set out down the street with greater courage than her few years warranted. She went to get what she hoped would solve all her problems. Just thinking about where she went fills me with horror. Oh, don Diego, cause of so much evil, why doesn't God take you to account for all your wickedness? You have driven your wife beyond fear of the dreadful place where she

will go, disregarding the suspicions she might arouse in her maids and risking the loss of her honor and her life if she's discovered! If only you thought about it, you'd see how much you owe her!

About a mile from the city of Naples, there's a holy image of Our Lady of Arca much venerated in the whole kingdom. The image is in a chapel just a stone's throw from the main highway that goes to Piedrablanca. The chapel is about fifty feet long and the same across; its door faces the road. In the front of the chapel, there's an altar with the holy image painted on the wall behind it. The ceiling is about nine feet high, and the floor is a pit sunk about twenty feet deep. Surrounding this great pit there's just a ledge about eighteen inches wide along which you can walk around the chapel. At about the height of a man, and sometimes even lower, there are iron hooks in the wall. After criminals sentenced to death have been publicly hanged, their corpses are brought here and hung from these hooks. As the bodies decompose, their bones fall into the pit, which, being holy ground, serves as their tomb. A few days before, six highway bandits had been hanged.

This is the dreadful place where Laura went. With the incredible courage her love inspired in her, she entered. Ignoring the great danger, she was mindful only of her terrible need. She felt less afraid of the people she was going to do business with than of falling into the abyss. If that happened, no one would ever know what had become of her. What incredible heart in such a frail, weak woman! She got to the chapel about ten and stayed until one. Who knows if it was God's will or her own limitation, but she wasn't able to accomplish her mission in spite of the fact that she could easily reach the faces of the dead men. I shall now tell you how that came about.

I've already described how Laura's father and her brothers, to keep from seeing her mistreated and to avoid the risk of open warfare with their brother-in-law, had retreated to Piedrablanca. There they lived, if not forgetful of her, at least removed from the sight of her sorry plight. The night when Laura went to the chapel, don Carlos was fast asleep in his bed. Suddenly he awoke with a start and cried out so loudly that it almost seemed as if he might die. His cry upset the whole household. Confused and worried, his father and all the servants rushed to his room. Showing their grief in tears, they asked him what had caused his outcry, but it was a mystery even to the one who'd suffered it. After don Carlos recovered his composure, he said in a loud voice, "My sister is in danger!" He jumped up, threw on his

clothes, and ordered his horse to be saddled. He leapt on the horse and, without waiting for a servant to accompany him, he took the road to Naples at full gallop. He rode so fast that by one o'clock he'd gotten to the chapel. At that point the horse stopped sharply and stood stock still, as if it were a statue made of bronze or stone.

Don Carlos tried to proceed but, no matter how he tried, he couldn't make the horse budget. He couldn't get him to move either forward or backward. Each time he spurred him on, the horse would utter a frightful snort. When don Carlos couldn't solve this mystery, he remembered that the chapel was nearby. He turned to look at it and saw the light from the lantern his sister was carrying. He thought some sorceress must have detained him there. To make sure, he decided to see if the horse would move toward the chapel; the moment he turned the rein, without any other urging, the horse did his master's will. With sword in hand, he rode up to the door. (The moment whoever was inside heard him, the mysterious person snuffed out the light and huddled close to the wall.) Don Carlos called out:

"Whoever you are there, come out immediately! If you don't, I swear by the king's life, that I won't leave this spot until I see who you are by the light of the sun and find out what you're doing in this place."

Laura recognized her brother's voice. Hoping he'd go away, she disguised her voice as best she could and replied:

"I'm a poor unfortunate woman come to this place for a certain purpose. It's none of your business who I am. Please, for the love of God, go away! And rest assured, kind sir, that if you insist on waiting until daylight, I shall throw myself down into the pit, even though that would cost me my life and my soul."

Laura couldn't disguise her voice well enough, and her brother hadn't forgotten her as completely as she thought. He gasped and cried out loudly, saying:

"Oh, sister, how dreadful for you to be here! Not in vain did my heart warn me of your peril. Come out of there!"

Realizing that her brother had recognized her, Laura used the utmost care she could muster to keep from falling into the pit. Hugging the wall and probably also clinging to the bodies of the dead men, slowly she managed to make her way out. When she reached her grief-stricken brother she threw herself in his arms. (Who can doubt that don Carlos, loving her as much as he did, felt heartsick as he embraced her?) Together they moved away from that dread spot, and then he

listened to Laura briefly relate what had brought her there. She learned how her brother had chanced to come there at that very moment. He considered the rescue miraculous, as did Laura, despite the fact that she was feeling very ashamed of what she'd done. Don Carlos decided to take her back to Piedrablanca on his horse.

Near dawn they reached Piedrablanca. After Laura's father heard the whole story, he, the two brothers, and Laura got into a coach and drove to Naples. They went straight to the palace of the viceroy, who at that time happened to be don Pedro Fernandez de Castro, count of Lemos. He was a very noble, wise, and devout prince whose rare virtues and outstanding qualities should be written on bronze plaques and on the tongue of fame rather than just on paper. Don Antonio (as I was saying) placed himself at the feet of this eminent person. He knelt down and told the viceroy that, in order to relate a most portentous event that had occurred, it was necessary for his son-in-law, don Diego Pinatelo, to be present, because the matter concerned his authority and his domestic relations.

His excellency, well aware of don Antonio's valor and nobility, immediately sent the captain of the guard to fetch don Diego. He was found in a state of despair and the entire household in turmoil. The menservants had fled, terrified of his rage, and the maids had been locked up. What caused the uproar was that he had come home late the night before and found Laura gone. Thinking that his noble wife had deserted him or run away intending to destroy his honor, he'd tried to set the house on fire. He raged like a lion.

When don Diego was informed that the viceroy required his presence, he accompanied the escort, furious and glowering. He entered the hall and was stunned to see his father-in-law, his brothers-in-law, and his wife. He was even more astonished to hear his wife, in his presence, tell the viceroy exactly what we have written here. Laura ended her story and added that she was disillusioned with the world and with men and didn't want to have to struggle any longer. When she thought about what she'd done and the awful place where she'd gone, she was horrified. For this reason, she wanted to enter a convent, the only real sanctuary for the relief of the misery to which women are subjected.

When don Diego heard Laura say this, it touched his heart to realize he'd caused so much pain. Being a well-intentioned man, he prized Laura at this moment more than ever and feared she might really do as she wished. He understood how aggrieved she was and realized he could win no concessions from her, so he tried to use the

viceroy as intermediary. He begged the noble gentleman to intercede and ask Laura to come back to him. He promised to mend his way now that he knew the power of her love. To assure Laura of his own love, he would place Nise, the cause of so much misfortune, in his excellency's hands so he could put her in a convent. Separated from Nise forever and eternally grateful to Laura for the power of her love, he would adore his true wife and serve her always.

The viceroy approved of don Diego's plan, as did don Antonio and his sons. But it was impossible for Laura to accept his offer. She was too afraid because of the past. Ever more resolute in her determination, she told don Diego he was wasting his time. She wanted to give to God, who was infinitely more appreciative, all the love she'd previously devoted to her thankless husband.

That very day Laura entered the rich, noble, and holy convent of the Immaculate Conception. Not even the viceroy himself could make Laura reveal the identity of the woman who'd asked for those outrageous objects in order to have her punished.

In despair, don Diego went home. He gathered up all the jewels and money he could find and, without saying good-bye to anyone, departed the city. A few months later it was learned that while serving in the army of his majesty Philip III, king of Spain, in the war with the duke of Savoy, he was blown up by a mine. Laura, now entirely free, took the habit and soon thereafter made her vows. She lives a devout life in the convent. She still regrets her daring deed and, every time she recalls that awful place where she went, she trembles. I heard this tale from her own lips, and I tell it as a true story so that everyone will know the great power of love and the marvelous enchantment of its power.

Everyone had listened with amazement to the discreet enchantment narrated by the beautiful Nise. Some praised the power of Laura's love, others her intelligence, and everyone praised her courage. They all agreed that not one among them would dare to visit such a dread place as she had. This gave Nise the opportunity to reaffirm that every word she'd spoken was true.

Lysis noted that the lovely Phyllis was preparing to tell her tale so, accompanied by the musicians, she sang this burlesque madrigal:

     Let us understand one another,
sister flea: who has given you
such a tyrannical nature,

such courage and valor,
that you attack everyone?
Why are you the one who forgives no one?

     And such a tiny little thing
to bite more than one poet, what a coup!
You bite people of all classes,
as a beautiful woman might confess,
that what she denied to others
the flea has thoroughly enjoyed.

     When I consider your progeny
and ponder your humble lineage,
I'm amazed at your power
and so I'd call you a scandal-monger,
born, perhaps, in a stable, still
you bite and martyrize the whole world.

     Tailor of human flesh
who makes everyone nervous,
worrying morning, noon, and night
about where you may be wandering;
you and Love are the appellate judges
of all mortal beings.

     Oh, haughty commissioner!
Oh, harsh justice!
Oh, vengeful mayor!
Oh, heartless and designing bailiff!
Oh, tricky notary,
life and death are in your hands!

     Please be grateful for my friendship,
for sometimes I let you bite me;
so let's be friends, and you go bite
the judges with all your might,
and may they give the prize to me
for I've already tasted it.

The prettily sung lyrics gave much pleasure to the audience, who recognized that they'd been composed for some contest. They all thanked the heavenly Lysis, most of all don Diego. With each word the lovely lady sang, he became more passionately enamored, which made don Juan terribly jealous, although he gave a different reason for his dispute with don Diego, suggesting that it was because don Diego feared his pen more than his sword. The truth was that he

loved Lisarda, still, he didn't dislike Lysis, and he didn't want to lose the affection of either woman. Such fickle men belong in solitary confinement.

While the illustrious audience was congratulating Lysis and singing her praise, Nise and Phyllis changed places. They all turned their attention to Phyllis, and she began:

"Since the lovely Nise has told all about the power of love in her enchantment, to continue in her style, I'd like to tell about the power of virtue in mine, about how a woman is disenchanted by the experiences of another woman and ultimately is rewarded. I tell this story so men will realize that there are virtuous women and that it's wrong for the name of good women to be tarnished by the deeds of bad women: all women should not be tarred with the same brush. Without departing one whit from the truth, my story goes like this":