# Matteo Bandello: Twelve Stories/Story 12

GALEAZZO carries off a damsel from Padua, and then through jealousy kills both her and himself.
AT the time of that wise yet ill-starred prince Lodovico Sforza, there lived in a city of this duchy a merchant of great wealth and great credit among his peers, who had taken to wife a young gentlewoman, well-mannered and sweet of temper, by whom he had one only child, a son. The boy had not reached the age of ten when his father died, leaving him in his mother's charge as heir to all the property. Being desirous that her son should keep close to the noble traditions of her ancestors, the mother would not have him put his hand to trade, but she brought him up most carefully in the study of letters and in those other exercises that go to the making of a thorough gentleman, while doing all she could meanwhile to complete her ​husband's outstanding negotiations with various houses of business in Flanders, Italy, France, Spain, and even in Syria, her intention being to buy property for her son, whose name was Galeazzo.
He grew up to be a gallant youth, courteous and full of spirit, with a taste not only for letters, but for music, riding, wrestling, tilting, and the like. This greatly delighted his mother, and she provided him most liberally with clothes, money, and horses, letting him want for nothing that should please him. In a few years she had paid off all her husband's debts, and had recovered such moneys as were due to him from other merchants, with the exception of one account against a Venetian gentleman who traded in Syria, and, at the time when Galeazzo was about sixteen or seventeen years old, had returned to Venice. Being wishful, as lads are, to see new countries, and particularly the famous and honoured city of Venice, he begged his mother to let him go thither. She, so far from being displeased at his wish, encouraged him to go, desiring him to settle the account still open with the Venetian gentleman aforesaid. So she sent him with her ​bailiff, a man of experience, commending him, moreover, to the care of one of the merchants in Venice who was a great friend of the family. Galeazzo accordingly set out, most properly equipped with clothes and servants.
On reaching Venice, he presented himself to his father's friend, who gladly welcomed him. They then went together to see the Venetian gentleman, who, on learning who Galeazzo was, and the cause of his coming, said, "My dear son, be welcome. It is true that, on working out my accounts, I find I am your debtor to the amount you state, and as calculated by your man of business. If I have not sooner settled this debt, at least by letters, it is because I only arrived here three days ago with the galleys from Syria. Now I am ready to satisfy you, but you will have to wait about eight or ten days, until I can go to Padua, where I have my wife and all my family." Galeazzo said that he was quite willing to wait, and would spend the time in seeing all the sights of Venice, which he did. Then they went to Padua together, and there was nothing for it but Galeazzo must lodge with the Venetian, to whose house he accord​ingly went, taking only a page as escort, the other serving-folk being sent to an inn. Having himself been an honoured guest of the young man's father, the Venetian sought to entertain Galeazzo to the very best of his power.
He had a daughter, fifteen years old, and passing fair. Galeazzo, who saw the girl constantly every day, and who had never yet known what sort of thing love was, grew deeply enamoured of her. As the lad pleased her, she did not avoid love's dart, but, aware of his passion, returned it a thousandfold; and matters reached such a pass, that they soon managed to make the following plan: Her father was to pay over all the money to Galeazzo within three days and then return with him to Venice, where he had to stay for a while. Two days after his departure, the damsel was to flee from home, in charge of Galeazzo's trusted servant, whom he pretended he was sending to his mother. In fact, the Venetian had despatched letters to her by him, but the good servant remained in hiding at Padua until the time fixed for flight.
Having got the money, Galeazzo went back with his host to Venice, and, acting on his advice, ​had the whole sum remitted to Milan by bills of exchange. In fact, he did nothing, and bought nothing, without first consulting him. All at once, the Venetian gets news of his daughter's flight from Padua, and of their being unable to find any trace of her whereabouts. Grieved beyond measure, the good man determined to leave everything and return to Padua. Feigning to share in his sorrow at such misfortune, Galeazzo offered to go with him, and indeed to accompany him whereever he wished. The Venetian thanked him for his offer, and departed; but, hearing nothing of Lucrezia, his missing daughter, he came back to Venice to find Galeazzo still there. Soon afterwards, the young man returned to his home in Lombardy, never daring to say a word to his mother about the girl that he had carried off.
The servant had, meantime, hired a suitable house, furnishing this as his master had instructed him, Galeazzo's nurse and her husband being put there as guardians to the girl. And here, to the marvellous pleasure of both concerned, Galeazzo culled of his Lucrezia the virgin flower and fruit. More did he love her than his very life, passing almost every night in her com​pany, and spending large sums to procure her enjoyment.
Though Galeazzo's mother knew that he often supped and slept away from home, she said nothing, and for nearly three years the lovers led as joyous and merry a life as well might be. Then it so chanced that the mother thought of finding a wife for her son, but to this proposal he would never consent. She suspected that he was probably enamoured of some other fair one, or that perhaps he had taken a wife after his own fashion; therefore she surrounded him with so many spies, that she soon got to know of all that he had done at Padua. The news greatly annoyed her; and one evening, when Galeazzo was supping with his cousin, she contrived to have Lucrezia carried off by three masked men, and placed in a nunnery that very night. Having finished supper, Galeazzo was for going to sleep with his mistress, when the nurse and her husband told him, between their sobs, that Lucrezia had been gagged by three masked men, who had carried her off. He was like to die of grief at the news, and all night long he wept bitterly.
Early in the morning he went to his mother's ​house, and locked himself up in his room, remaining all day without food. During that time his mother made no inquiry as to her son, but on the following day, seeing that he would not dine, she went to him in his chamber, when he begged her to leave him alone in peace. She asked to know the cause for his grief, but he only answered her with sighs and tears. Thereupon, being touched to pity, she spoke as follows: "Dear son of mine, I could never have believed that you would hide aught from me in this world, but thought that you would have shown me all your troubles. However, I find myself much mistaken. Yet, thanks to ny watchfulness, I have found out the cause of your sorrow. I know that you love Lucrezia, whom you carried off from her father's house in Padua. If that was a gallant deed, I leave you to consider, but the time has now come for help, not for punishment. Take heart of grace, and see to it that you recover your health and well-being. Lucrezia shall be yours again. I had her lodged in a monastery, thinking that if you found her not you would please me by taking a wife, as you ought to do."
Hearing this, Galeazzo seemed to be called back ​from death to life, and with shame he confessed to his mother that he loved Lucrezia far more than his own life, beseeching her to let the girl be brought to him forthwith. She urged him to have patience just for that day, and sought to revive him with food and drink, promising to fetch the girl to him on the morrow.
What shall we say? At this simple promise, Galeazzo, who but now was like to die, having lost sleep and appetite through grief, became wholly comforted. He dined; and, when evening came, took supper, while the hope of regaining his Lucrezia gave him a calm restful night.
No sooner had he risen next day than he besought his mother to send for Lucrezia, so, to please her son, she drove in a little cart to the monastery and brought the girl away with her. When the two lovers met, they flung their arms about each other's necks, and in a close embrace shed hot salt tears for very joy. After countless kisses and endearments, Galeazzo, still weeping, asked Lucrezia, "Say, sweetheart, how did you do without me? What sort of life was yours? Did it not grieve you sore never to see me all this while? In truth, I thought I should die, ​nor can I rightly tell why still I live. Ah! life of my life, who shall assure me that others, in this time of your absence from me, have not enjoyed your beauty? Jealousy is like to kill me, and my very heart is broken within my body. As then, O heart of mine, we may but die once, and escape this dire trouble, it is far better that we die together, and end all these our doubts at a single blow." So saying, he took a dagger from his belt, and stabbed the girl to the heart, so that she straightway fell down dead. Then he turned the bloody steel against himself, and, plunging it into his breast, sank down at Lucrezia's side.
Great was the noise of weeping in that house, and the hapless mother's desperate lamentations rent the sky. All that day Galeazzo lingered; and, when the sun went down, he died. Deaf to all comfortings, the mother passionately bewailed her dear dead son; indeed, she merited great pity and compassion, for her story might e'en draw tears from stones, to say nothing of you, gentle, tender-hearted ladies, whose beauteous eyes, as I see, are filled with tears. To keep matters hidden, the lovers were buried secretly, it being ​given out that they had died of the plague, for at that time there was some suspicion of that disease in Milan, and, moreover, the doctors took bribes to declare this to be so. Yet they could not conceal the facts so closely but that in time they were completely known. Who, then, shall deny that jealousy is a noisome reptile which blinds men's eyes, if in sooth this of Galeazzo's was jealousy, and not rather madness and fury?
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