withdrew to the middle of the place, despairing of her life, and ready to faint away a thousand times with thirst, where she sat lamenting her condition.

66

It being now toward evening, the scholar, thinking she had suffered enough, made his servant take her clothes wrapped up in his cloak, and follow him to her house, where he found her maid sitting at the door, all sad and disconsolate for her mistress' long absence. "Pray, good woman," said he,what is become of your mistress?" "Sir," she replied, "I do not know; I thought to have found her in bed this morning, where I saw her last night, but she is neither to be found there, nor anywhere else, nor do I know what has become of her. But can you give me any tidings of her?" "I wish only,' quoth he, that thou hadst been a long with her, that I might have taken the same revenge of thee that I have had of her. But depend upon it thou shalt never escape; I will so pay thee for what thou hast done, that thou shalt remember me every time thou shalt offer to put a trick upon any one. Then he said to the servant, "Give her the clothes, and tell her she may go for her mistress if she has a mind." The servant accordingly delivered them, with that message, and the girl, knowing them again, was afraid her mistress was murdered, and could scarcely help shrieking; nevertheless she made all the haste she could to the tower.

It happened that a laborer of the widow's had lost two of his hogs that day, and coming near to the tower, to look for them, just as the scholar was departed, he heard the complaints the poor creature was making, so he cried out, "Who makes that noise?" She immediately knew his voice, and called him by his name, saying, "Go, I pray, and desire my maid to come to me. The man then knew her, and said, "Alas! madam, who has brought you hither? Your maid has been looking for you all day long. But who could have thought of finding you in this place? Then he took the sides of the ladder, and placed them as they should be, binding them about with osiers; and as he was doing this, the maid came, and being able to hold her tongue no longer, she wrung her hands, and fell a roaring out, "Dear madam, O, where are you? Her mistress hearing her, replied, as well as she could, "Good girl, never

stand crying, but make haste, and bring me my clothes." Comforted by the sound of her mistress' voice, the maid jumped upon the ladder before it was made quite secure, and by the man's help got upon the tower, when, seeing her lie naked there, burnt like a log of wood, and quite spent, she cried over her, as if she had been dead. But the lady desired her to be quiet, and dress her; and understanding from her that nobody knew where she was, but the persons who had brought the

clothes to her, and the laborer that was below, she was a little comforted, and begged earnestly of them to keep the secret. The laborer now took her upon his back, as she had no strength to walk, and brought her down safely in that manner; whilst the girl, following after with less caution than was necessary, slipped her foot, and falling down the ladder, broke her thigh, which occasioned her to make a most grievous outcry. The man, after he had set his lady on the grass, went to see what was the matter with the maid, and finding that she had her thigh broke, he laid her down by the lady, who, seeing this addition to her misfortunes, and that the person from whom she expected most succor was disabled, began to lament afresh, and the man, unable to pacify her, fell a weeping likewise. It was now sunset, and rather than let her lie there till night, as the disconsolate lady would have wished, he took her to his own house, and brought two of his brothers and his wife back with him for the maid, whom they carried upon a tabie. Having given the lady some water to refresh her, and used all the kind, comfortable words they could think of, the laborer carried her to his own chamber, and his wife gave her a little bread soaked in water, and undressed and put her to bed. It was then contrived that they should both be taken to Florence that night, and so they

were.

On her return home, the lady, who was never at a loss for invention, cooked up an artful story, which was believed by her brothers and sisters, and almost every one else, viz., that it was all done by enchantment. Physicians were sent for, who, with a great deal of pain and trouble to her, and not without the loss of her whole skin several times over, cured her of a violent fever, and other accidents attending it; and they also set the girl's broken

thigh. From that time Helena forgot her lover, and was more careful for the future, both in choosing a spark, and in making her sport. The scholar, also, hearing what had happened to the girl, thought he had had full revenge, and so no more was said about it. Thus the foolish lady was served for her wit and mockery, thinking to make a jest of a scholar, as if he had been a common person, never considering that most of them, I do not say all, have the devil, as they say, in a string. Then take care, ladies, how you play your tricks, but especially upon scholars.

[We are informed by some of the commentators on Boccaccio that the circumstances related in this story happened to the author himself, and that the widow is

world. When he found it impossible, therefore, to live longer in town, he retired to his little farm, where he went a birding in his leisure hours; and disdaining to ask favors of any one, he submitted patiently to his poverty, while he cherished in secret a hopeless passion.

It happened about this time that the husband of Monna Giovanna died, leaving a great fortune to their only son, who was yet a youth; and that the boy came along with his mother to spend the summer months in the country (as our custom usually is), at a villa in the neighborhood of Federigo's farm. In this way he became acquainted with Federigo, and be

d'Amore. The unusual minuteness with which the tale is related gives some countenance to such an opinion. However this may be, it has evidently suggested the story in the Diable Boiteux, of Patrice, whose mistress, Lucila, makes him remain a whole night in the street before her windows, on the false pretence that

her brother, Don Gaspard, is in the house, and that her Jover must wait till he departs. A similar story occurs

in the Memoirs of The Count De Gramont, in which Lady Chesterfield is the heroine.]

FEDERIGO BEING IN LOVE, WITHOUT MEETING WITH ANY RETURN, SPENDS ALL HIS SUBSTANCE, HAVING NOTHING LEFT BUT ONE POOR HAWK, WHICH HE GIVES TO HIS LADY FOR HER DINNER

WHEN SHE COMES TO HIS HOUSE; SHE,

KNOWING THIS, CHANGES HER RESO

LUTION, AND MARRIES HIM, BY WHICH

MEANS HE BECOMES VERY RICH.

There lived in Florence a young man, called Federigo Alberigi, who surpassed all the youth of Tuscany in feats of arms, and in accomplished manners. He (for gallant men will fall in love) became enamoured of Monna Giovanna, at that time considered the finest woman in Florence; and that he might inspire her with a reciprocal passion, he squandered his fortune at tilts and tournaments, in entertainments and presents. But the lady, who was virtuous as she was beautiful, could on no account be prevailed on to return his love. While he lived thus extravagantly, and without the means of recruiting his coffers, poverty, the usual attendant of the thoughtless, came on apace; his money was spent, and nothing remained to him but a small farm, barely sufficient for his subsistence, and a falcon, which was, however, the finest in the

ing seen his falcon, he took a great longing for it, but was afraid to ask it of him when he saw how highly he prized it. This desire, however, so much affected the boy's spirits, that he fell sick; and his mother, who doted upon this her only child, became alarmed, and to soothe him, pressed him again and again to ask whatever he wished, and promised, that if it were possible, he should have all that he desired. The youth at last confessed that if he had the falcon he would soon be well again. When the lady heard this, she began to consider what she should do. She knew that Federigo had long loved her, and had received from her nothing but coldness; and how could she ask the falcon, which she heard was the finest in the world, and which was now his only consolation? Could she be so cruel as to deprive him of his last remaining support? Perplexed with these thoughts, which the full belief that she could have the bird if she asked it, did not relieve, she knew not what to think, or how to return her son an answer. A mother's love, however, at last prevailed; she resolved to satisfy him, and determined, whatever might be the consequence, not to send, but to go herself and procure the falcon. She told her son, therefore, to take courage, and think of getting better, for that she would herself go on the morrow and fetch what he desired; and the hope was so agreeable to the boy that he began to mend apace. On the next morning Monna Giovanna, having taken another lady along with her, went, as if for amusement, to the little cabin of Federigo, and inquired for him. It was not the birding season, and he was at work in his garden;

when he heard, therefore, that Monna Giovanna was calling upon him, he ran with joyful surprise to the door. She, on the other hand, when she saw him coming, advanced with delicate politeness; and when he had respectfully saluted her, she said, "All happiness attend you, Federigo; I am come to repay you for the loss you have suffered from loving me too well, for this lady and I intend to dine with you in an easy way this forenoon.' To this Federigo humbly answered: "I do not remember, madam, having suffered any loss at your hands; but on the contrary, have received so much good, that if ever I had any worth, it sprung from you, and from the love with which you inspired me. And this generous visit to your poor host is much more dear to me than would be the spending again of what I have already spent. Having said this, he invited them respectfully into the house, and from thence conducted them to the garden, where, having nobody else to keep them company, he requested that they would allow the laborer's wife to do her best to amuse them while he went to order dinner.

Federigo, however great his poverty, had not yet learned all the prudence which the loss of fortune might have taught him; and it thus happened, that he had nothing in the house with which he could honorably entertain the lady for whose love he had formerly given so many entertainments. Cursing his evil fortune, therefore, he stood like one beside himself, and looked in vain for money or pledge. The hour was already late, and his desire extreme to find something worthy of his mistress; he felt repugnant, too, to ask from his own laborer. While he was thus perplexed, he chanced to cast his eyes upon his fine falcon, which was sitting upon a bar in the ante-chamber. Having no other resource, therefore, he took it into his hand, and finding it fat, he thought it would be proper for such a lady. He accordingly pulled its neck without delay, and gave it to a little girl to be plucked; and having put it upon a spit, he made it be carefully roasted. He then covered the table with a beautiful cloth, a wreck of his former splendor; and everything being ready, he returned to the garden to tell the lady and her companion that dinner was served. They accordingly went in and sat down to

table with Federigo, and ate the good falcon without knowing it.

When they had finished dinner, and spent a short while in agreeable conversation, the lady thought it time to tell Federigo for what she had come. She said to him, therefore, in a gentle tone, "Federigo, when you call to mind your past life, and recollect my virtue, which perhaps you called coldness and cruelty, I doubt not but that you will be astonished at my presumption, when I tell you the principal motive of my visit. But had you children, and knew how great a love one bears them, I am sure you would in part excuse me; and although you have them not, I who have an only child cannot resist the feelings of a mother. By the strength of these am I constrained, in spite of my inclination, and contrary to propriety and duty, to ask a thing which I know is with reason dear to you, for it is your only delight and consolation in your misfortunes: that gift is your falcon, for which my son has taken so great a desire that, unless he obtain it, I am afraid his illness will increase, and that I shall lose him. I beseech you to give it me, therefore, not by the love which you bear me (for to that you owe nothing), but by the nobleness of your nature, which you have shown in nothing more than in your generosity; and I will remain eternally your debtor for my son's life, which your gift will be the means of preserving,

When Federigo heard the lady's request, and knew how impossible it was to grant it, he burst into tears, and was unable to make any reply. The lady imr agined that this arose from grief at the thought of losing his favorite, and showed his unwillingness to part with it; nevertheless, she waited patiently for his answer. He at length said, "Since it first pleased heaven, madam, that I should place my affections on you, I have found fortune unkind to me in many things, and have often accused her; but all her former unkindness has been trifling compared with what she has now done me. can I ever forgive her, therefore, when I remember that you, who never deigned to visit me when I was rich, have come to my poor cottage to ask a favor which she has cruelly prevented me from bestowing. The cause of this I shall briefly tell you. When I found that in your goodness you proposed to dine with me, and when I

How

THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.

[JEAN BAPTISTE POQUELIN MOLIÈRE, the greatest comic dramatist of France, born in Paris, 1622, died 1673. Studying law in early life, Molière was admitted an advocate in 1645, but an early passion for the stage led him to found a troupe of amateur comedians, with whom he travelled in the provinces for twelve years. He began to compose imitations of Italian farces, and brought out his first regular comedy, "L'Etourdi," at Lyons, in 1653. Returning to Paris in 1658, he produced in fifteen years more than thirty plays, many of them masterpieces, which have kept the stage in France for two centuries, and by translation and countless adaptations have adorned the dramatic literature of other countries.

The most noted of Molière's comedies are "L'Avare," satirizing the vices of avarice; "Les Précieuses Kidicules," aimed at the affectations of the coteries in French literature and society (which had a run of four months); "L'Ecole des Maris," and "L'Ecole des Femmes," "Le Misanthrope," perhaps the finest example of his style; "Le Médecin Malgré Lui," a lively farce, "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, ‚" "Le Malade Imaginaire," ridiculing the pretended maladies of hypochondriacs, and "Tartuffe, or the Hypocrite," which has been pronounced by some the greatest effort of his genius. The latter play, however, was for years prohibited, and the archbishop of Paris threatened excommunication to all who should act, read or listen to it. Molière was a great and successful actor, excelling in the most difficult parts. In his private character he was full of nobleness and generosity. The French Academy, which would not admit him to membership in its sacred circle while he lived, because he would not abandon his profession as a comedian, has ever since conspired to do honor to the memory of the illustrious dramatist.]

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

The Physician in Spite of Himself was played for the first time on the 6th of August, 1666, according to Molière's nearly invariable rule, by which he always produced a farcical work, which made people laugh, after a serious one, which had caused people to reflect. The plot of this play was not entirely new; it existed probably in the outline of the Italian Commedia dell'arte, and was found among the stories related by the troubadours and trouvères. Molière must have often played a remodelling of it in the Provinces. La Grange, in his Register, speaks of a farce called Le Fagotier, of another called Le Fagoteux-both words meaning The Faggot-Maker-and of a third called Le Médecin par force. But all these small plays appear to refer to one jocular short comedy, which was changed and doctored to suit the tastes of the different provincial audiences. Molière got his chief plan from these, and probably from nothing else. The Physician in Spite of Himself consists of two different

parts, each drawn from a different source. There is, first, the idea of a clodhopper on whom his wife wishes to be avenged, and whom she pretends to be a skilful physician, whose zeal has to be stimulated by the stick: and there is, secondly, the idea of a girl who feigns to be dumb, but who recovers speech again, and abuses it in such a manner that every one wishes her to be speechless.

One of the oldest accounts of the story on which Molière's play is based, but which we are convinced the French dramatist never saw, is the following, to be found in a Sanscrit collection, La Couka Saptali.

"In the town of Pantchapoura lived a king called Satroumardana. His daughter, named Madanarekha, had an abscess in her throat. The doctors applied all kinds of plasters, but without effect, so at last they agreed that there was no remedy for the disease. Then the king proclaimed in every country that he who cured the princess should be richly rewarded. The wife of a Brahmin who lived in a village, having heard the proclamation, said to the messenger, 'My husband is the most skilful magician and charmer in the world. Take him with you; he will cure the princess.' And she said to her husband, 'Pretend to be a magician and a charmer, and go boldly into the town and cure the princess. You won't waste your time.' The Brahmin went to the palace and to the princess, sprinkled her with water, blew at her, and imitated the charmers, muttering the while between his teeth. Suddenly he cried out at the top of his voice, and uttered a farrago of the most absurd words he could think of. On hearing all these strange utterances, the princess was taken with such a fit of laughter that the abscess broke and she was cured. The king, transported with joy, overloaded the Brahmin with presents."

It is, however, possible that Molière may have seen Olearius' Scientific Journey to Moscow and Persia, which history was translated into French as early as the year 1656 by the celebrated Wickefort.

The account found there is as follows: "The Grand Duke Boris Gudenow, who reigned during the years 1597 and 1605, was, according to the relation of Olearius, very much afflicted with the gout. At a certain period, when he suffered very severe pains, he caused it publicly to be proclaimed at Moscow that he would reward with extraordinary favor and great riches the man, whoever he might be, that would relieve him from those pains. It seems that no one voluntarily appeared to earn the favor of the Grand Duke; and, indeed, no wonder, for a doctor had his whole existence at stake in those times in Russia if his cure failed, upon some high or noble pa. tient; and Gudenow was in the habit of making the surgeon, as if he considered the latter an absolute master of nature, responsible for the result of his art.

"The wife of a certain bojaar, or councillor of the cabinet, who received very harsh treat