“Nor can I refrain from saying a word of our lady Duchess, who having for fifteen years lived like a widow in company with her husband, not only was steadfast in never revealing this to anyone in the world, but when urged by her own people to lay aside her widowhood, she chose rather to endure exile, poverty and every other sort of hardship, than to accept that which seemed to all others great favour and blessing of fortune;”[420] and as messer Cesare was going on to speak of this, my lady Duchess said: “Speak of something else, and go no further with this subject, for you have many other things to say.” Messer Cesare continued: “Yet I know you will not deny this, my lord Gaspar, nor you, Frisio.” “Indeed no,” replied Frisio; “but one does not make a host.” 50.—Then messer Cesare said: “It is true that such great results as these are met in few women: still, those also who withstand the assaults of love are all admirable; and those who are sometimes overcome deserve much pity: for certainly the urgence of lovers, the arts they use, the snares they spread, are so many and so continual that it is but too great a wonder that a tender girl can escape. What day, what hour, ever passes that the persecuted girl is not besought by the lover with money, gifts and all things that must please her? When can she ever go to her window, but she shall always see her persistent lover pass, silent in word but with eyes that speak, with sad and languid face, with those burning sighs, often with most abundant tears? When does she ever go forth to church or other place, but he is always before her, and meets her at every turn of the street with his melancholy passion depicted in his eyes, as if he were expecting instant death? I leave aside the fripperies, inventions, mottoes, devices, festivals, dances, games, masques, jousts, tourneys!—all which things she knows are made for her. “Then at night she can never wake but she hears music, or at least his unquiet spirit sighing about the house walls and making lamentable sounds. If by chance she wishes to speak to one of her women, the wench (already corrupted with money) soon has ready a little gift, a letter, a sonnet or some such thing to give her on the lover’s behalf, and then coming in opportunely, makes her understand how the poor man is burning with love, and in her service cares naught for his own life; and how he seeks nothing from her that is less than seemly, and only desires to speak with her. Then remedies are found for all difficulties, false keys, rope ladders, sleeping potions; the thing is painted as of little consequence; instances are given of many other women who do far worse. Thus everything is made so easy that she has no further trouble than to say, ‘I am willing.’ And even if the poor girl holds back for a time, they add so many inducements, find so many ways, that with their continual battering they break down that which stays her.